We Killed Yamamoto

Previously: POTUS raved about The War of the Roses -- the production of Shakespeare's Plantagenet plays, not that movie with Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner; C.J. was assigned Secret Service protection in the form of manly Simon Donovan; Sam was backstabbed by a friend in the GOP; Qumari Defense Minister Abdul Shareef may have been the mastermind behind a foiled terrorist attack on the Golden Gate Bridge.

Sunday morning. Various military intelligence personnel are briefing POTUS in the situation room. Through various roundabout methods, they've managed to track down money paid to the man who was captured while trying to leave his exploding boat in San Francisco. The payment leads back to a bank owned by Abdul ibn Shareef. They've uncovered similar money transfers taking place around the time of other terrorist attacks as well. Leo points out, with surprise, that after one of these terrorist attacks, Shareef ordered the arrest of three men who were responsible. One of the men says that Shareef had them executed, and Leo comes to the realization that their deaths prevented the U.S. from questioning them. Fitzwallace puts everything together for us in a nice package: similar methods were used in each attack; a prisoner in Chechnya pointed to Shareef as the leader; and the money trail leads back to his bank.

After taking all this in, Bartlet sighs and takes off his glasses in frustration, telling the men, "[They] haven't got it." No, Joey Potter's got "it." Just ask anybody in Capeside or Boston. Bartlet means they don't have enough evidence. He exposits that they want to bring the defense minister of Qumar, who is publicly believed to be an ally of the United States, up on charges for killing civilians and Marines and a number of other crimes, but they don't have anything concrete. "This isn't a cave dweller," he says. "This is Capone." He repeats that they "haven't got it."

Credits and commercials. We return to the strains of Van Morrison and the strain of seeing Amy Gardner dance around an apartment in a skimpy bathrobe. I believe this is Amy's place. Although the layout looks almost exactly like Josh's apartment, the dcor is different, with lots of plants, and a dog (a beagle, I think, or at least a beagle mix). My guess is that they're getting mileage out of the set for Josh's place. The alternative would be to suggest that Amy has moved into Josh's apartment and redecorated, and I see that some people's heads are about to explode at the very possibility, so we'll just step back from that. Amy dances around some more, celebrating the news that she'll be back season, and we pan across the apartment to see Josh lying in bed in a t-shirt and boxers, talking to Donna on the phone. He's making fun of Amy, telling Donna that Amy's playing Van Morrison and dancing around like in Flashdance.

Josh sits up in bed to toss some exposition Donna's way. He tells Donna that he's sending her to Bismarck, North Dakota, to represent the White House at a DNC platform meeting. Donna first thinks she's being punished, but Josh assures her she isn't. He explains that North Dakota wants a plank eliminating "North" from their name. A plank? They want the Democratic Party to take a position on their state's name? I can see it now: "We believe that all law enforcement agencies in America should adopt a zero-tolerance policy toward racial profiling. Also, North Dakota should just be called 'Dakota.'" Donna is going to read a statement on behalf of the White House to show that they care, even though they really don't. Josh wanders into the kitchen to grab some coffee and asks Donna why she's at the office. She's putting together information for Josh's meeting later today with Congressman Rick Pintero. Oops. Josh forgot he has a meeting with him. There's some stupid, unfunny business with Donna whining about how cold and isolated Bismarck is and jokes from Josh about taking sled dogs to get there. Donna was born in northern Minnesota and nearly got drafted into Canada or whatever. She knows what it's like up there, so this is annoying rather than amusing. Josh tells her he'll be in as soon as he gets dressed, and hangs up.

Amy, meanwhile has slipped into some jeans and a black tank top and is sitting on a kitchen counter, singing into her mug of coffee, trying way too hard to be cute. Amy and Josh had made plans to spend their Sunday together, but Josh has to cancel due to the Pintero meeting. He couches it in feminist terms, explaining that they're hammering out a welfare reform bill: "Poor women are counting on me." Amy: "All women count on you, Josh. We find you godlike." That sounds like a shout-out. But I guess they've forgotten that all of Josh's most devoted fans hate him now. Josh blathers something about having bought Amy's birthday present. I mention it only because it might become relevant to continuity at some point. Amy asks, "Why have I been dancing?" as Josh walks away. I hate people who feel the need to draw attention to their own cutesy behavior.

Sam comes into his office in casual attire to meet two women who thank him for coming to meet with them on a Sunday. Their names are Jane and Muriel, but we don't find that out until later, and we don't find out which is which. So now we have the female counterparts to Ed and Larry. They have an environment-related legislative idea that they want Sam to bring to Bruno and Leo. They suggest that the president announce an $8 billion, twenty-year plan to restore the waterways and bolster the wildlife population of the Everglades. Sam balks at the price tag, but Jane and Muriel have plan for that, too: eliminate the federal subsidy to one of Florida's biggest polluters, the sugar industry. Jane or Muriel insists that it's "great for us, bad for Ritchie, and puts Florida back into play." I get the first two but not the third. When you eliminate pork, you don't normally win the hearts of the citizens who were financially benefiting from it. Muriel or Jane insists that Ritchie would then have to spend time and money campaigning in his own state. If she says so. Sam doesn't think it's a good idea, either, and tells them that he's not going to take it to Bruno. When pressed for an explanation, he explains that sugar growers are big Ritchie supporters, and that it will look like they're trying to tax their opponents. Jane and Muriel try to argue the finer points but Sam walks off. I'm not a fan of subsidies for big business, but if I had to pay $5.00 for my Zingers, I'm not sure what I'd do. Sugar must remain cheap. I still have a few teeth left!

Josh rushes into the White House to greet Congressman Pintero and apologize for his tardiness. He escorts Pintero into his office, greeting Donna along the way. Donna's on her way out to buy "prairie gear." Whatever. Not funny. Pintero, it turns out, is a certified exposition catalyst. He tells Josh that he looks frazzled, triggering a cavalcade of information about Bartlet's planned trip to New York to see Plantagenets on Parade. It turns out that Governor Ritchie is going to attend as well, which turns the whole thing political, and they have to decide what to do.

Transition into a discussion of the real reason behind Pintero's visit: he's there to let Josh know that they have the votes to get the Working Toward Independence Act out of committee. Josh is surprised, and asks how they managed that. Pintero explains that the president has to agree to a compromise. Josh starts to say that they can't cave on child care, but Pintero interrupts that they're actually going to get an additional billion for child care. However, they have to agree to $300 million more for "marriage incentives," and raise the work requirements to thirty-eight hours per week. Josh isn't happy with the idea of the compromise. He says "marriage incentives are terrible," but Pintero insists that it's the only way to move the bill forward. Josh resigns himself to the idiocy of the additions, and says he'll talk to the others about it.

The presidential motorcade is parked at the side of the road by Arlington National Cemetery. Leo winds up a cell-phone conversation by a car, then heads toward the graveyard. POTUS is out there, talking to a gravestone, while Charlie stands a respectable distance behind him. They're both holding flowers. Bartlet tells the gravestone that he's seeing a shrink, then admits that he feels silly talking out loud. But it wouldn't be nearly as silly as having us hear his thoughts like on a soap opera. He says, "I can't believe it's been a year. Anyway...." And then he puts the flowers at the grave -- revealed to that of Dolores Landingham and her husband, Henry -- and walks off. That wasn't very warm. But then again, what else exactly do you say to a grave?

The camera stays on Jed as he meets up with Leo, denying us the opportunity to hear what Charlie had to say. ("They're adding two people to the cast, yet I still can't get a decent storyline!") Jed wants to know what's going on. Leo wants to wait until they're someplace a little less sacred than a graveyard, but Jed insists. They pedenecroconference as Leo explains that Shareef was recorded at a meeting with two Muslim clerics in Bechar. Three Arabic experts translated the conversation. Leo hands over a notepad with the translation as they arrive back at the motorcade. It reads, "The enemy imagines he is secure. The bridge did not fall. He looks down from his high -- or elevated -- place or places, but our great victory is still assured. There will be other moments.... I have brought him low. I will do it again." Well, that was a little vague. It sounds like a Rambaldi prophecy or something. They look concerned at each other, then get into the car. The motorcade takes off. Did they just ditch Charlie? Wait, I think I can see him in the background, getting into a car a couple of vehicles back. Why doesn't he ride with the president? He is Jed's aide, after all.

Commercials. We return to the start of a new work week. Toby's explaining to various staffers gathered in the conference room that they can't have Bartlet and Ritchie in the same room, because it "elevates" Ritchie and "diminishes" Bartlet. Wow, that sounds awfully arrogant. He's going to be the nominee, folks. It's time to stop acting like you guys are above it all. C.J. points out that that the two of them appearing together will also give Ritchie access to a huge press corps. I think Ritchie's probably got a huge press corps of his own by now since he's a lock for the GOP nomination. Toby asks how they'll get out of the whole thing. Josh worries that they'll look impolite and cowardly for backing out. Ed and Larry are at the meeting, for those who care. One of them jokes that they should try to convince Ritchie to cancel by saying that the play isn't any good. Well, if Ritchie's as big a yokel as they try to make him out to be, I'm sure he's not seeing Shakespeare because he wants to. Josh tells them that they just won't go: "It's better to look like a chicken than to get broasted, my mother used to say." This whole conflict seems incredibly stupid to me. What do they think is going to happen at a play? ["That's what Lincoln said." -- Wing Chun]

Toby calls on Sam to ask him what he thinks. Sam says he doesn't know. Toby asks whether he agrees that they shouldn't attend. Sam does, so Toby makes the call. He says that the president will have to call the Archbishop to break the news. There's some banter about C.J. wanting to see the play, concluding with her suggestion that Josh come to her house to perform it for her. He reminds her that he's already in a love triangle. The meeting breaks up.

Toby rushes over to Sam's side to pedeconference about Sam's weekend meeting. Jane and Muriel called Toby about Sam's refusal to consider their Everglades plan. Toby asks Sam whether he's sure about his decision to cut them off at the knees. Sam tells Toby that he's welcome to look over the proposal if he wants to, but Toby quickly tells him that it's okay. If Sam wants government-subsidized Pixy Stix for everybody, that's fine with him. They break off to their separate offices.

Back down in the situation room, POTUS is still coming to terms with the nation's uncomfortable situation with Qumar. He reminds them all that Shareef is flying into D.C. soon, and wants to know why they can't just arrest him. Well, I guess Jed has to be the dumb one this week in order to launch the exposition. It's nice that they all take turns being stupid. A man sitting to Jed explains that Shareef has diplomatic immunity. This man, by the way, is the same actor who played Karl Rove on That's My Bush (thanks to epogurl for pointing that out), giving this entire scene a surreal edge. The men all argue about the nature of diplomatic immunity and how they go about revoking Shareef's. Karl explains that they can set Shareef's immunity aside, but that they'd have to go to the sultan of Qumar for that, and the sultan is Shareef's brother. Leo doesn't think that the sultan is going to be up for a plan to lock up his brother. Karl mentions some treaties they signed with England back when Qumar was their protectorate, but doesn't think Qumar would be willing to recognize them. Leo says that he doesn't care what they'll recognize, and tells them all to have an answer for them by tomorrow. POTUS concludes that he wants Shareef to stand trial at a U.S. court, "and if [they] have to stick heroin on his plane to get him there, that's what [they're] going to do." Gee, it would be terrible if Shareef actually turned out to be innocent, wouldn't it?

C.J. heads to her office to find Simon there, waiting for her. After calling him "Agent 99," C.J. demands to know what they're doing to find her stalker. Simon non-answers that they're doing everything they can. C.J. expresses dissatisfaction at his non-answers, so Simon explains that they've discovered that a stalker sent C.J. a Trojan horse virus in his or her emails to C.J. The virus allows the stalker to read C.J.'s emails. He or she found out about the Barney's excursion through an email C.J. had sent to Hogan. So who exactly is responsible for the stupidity of a virus ending up on C.J.'s hard drive? The government IT people for not making certain that C.J. had up-to-date anti-virus protection, or C.J., for downloading attachments? And they can't trace back the virus or the emails? The plot holes in this storyline annoy me so very much. I mean, I've been sent six viruses through the email this past week and haven't been able to track down who's sending them. Of course, I'm not responsible for the safety of our nation's leaders, either. Simon informs C.J. that the stalker saw her shopping and sent her an email about the Vera Wang dress. C.J. is shocked, and says she didn't want to know that. Simon points out that he didn't want to tell her, but that she insisted.

Simon pushes the discussion back to today's coverage: he asks her whether she's going to her gym tonight. C.J. acts shocked for a moment, thinking that he asked her if she wanted to have "gin" tonight. Gah, that's just awful. This Freudian banter doesn't work very well when we know exactly where this is going. She says she can't, because her local gym is flooded. Simon suggests the White House gym. She points out that it closes at seven. He suggests they use the Secret Service gym. You're her guard, not her personal fitness trainer. Quit nagging her to work out just because you want to ogle her while she's jogging or whatever. She asks if it's a good gym. Simon points out that they run alongside moving cars. After some more snarking, she agrees. It's a date! Well, it's not really a date, but we all know it's a date. He leaves. C.J. stares at her laptop, wondering whatever possessed her to want to look at Anna Kournikova pictures in the first place.

Elsewhere, POTUS and Leo pedeconference down the hallway while loudly discussing their plans to arrest Shareef. Not very discreet, guys. Leo explains that they need to get Shareef's jet to land at Dulles because of jurisdiction issues. Jed asks about other issues. Leo brings up the Working Toward Independence Act. Jed sarcastically asks whether the bill's name could be any more patronizing. Yeah, he would know. He's probably upset that he didn't think of it first. Leo breaks the news that they can get the bill out of committee if they agree to the marriage incentives. Jed complains about the idiocy of it all, asking, "Where the hell are all the small-government conservatives when we're talking about Washington getting into the yenta business?" I figured out that little game years ago. They all demand local control of schools, but then they try to freeze federal funding for schools that make decisions they don't approve of, like banning the Boy Scouts or ROTC groups. Anyway, Leo encourages Jed to accept the compromise. Jed mutters, "Marriage incentives. It used to be that all you had to have was a decent dental practice." Leo wryly observes, "I don't understand. You didn't grow up in the Catskills, yet...." It's not the same as calling him President Shecky, but close enough. Leo thanks him for his time, and zooms off elsewhere.

Jed encounters Charlie just outside the Oval Office. He tells Charlie, as they pedeconference toward Jed's desk, that he wants Charlie to lead the search for a new executive secretary. Jed warns him that it may take awhile before Charlie picks somebody that he likes. Charlie expresses doubts that POTUS is going to hire anybody at all yet, but says it's a step in the right direction. Charlie thanks Jed, and leaves.

The Frigid, Howling Plains of American Siberia, also known as North Dakota. Donna sits on a panel in a large meeting hall, reading a statement from the White House. The statement essentially says, "You guys figure it out yourselves," though in a more polite fashion. Essentially, the White House feels that it's a state issue and not important enough for national attention. It does make me wonder what sort of official guidelines there might be for a state to change its name. If it's not a national issue, does that mean the people of a state can vote to change its name to anything they want, and the U.S. government would just have to recognize it? "The state of Nevada will henceforth be known as Pleasure Paradise. Please make the appropriate adjustments to your records, and update our state quarter to reflect this change." Perhaps they can sell their name to corporate sponsors to balance their state budgets: "AOL/Time Warner presents West Virginia." Or maybe their mottos: "Alabama: Try Vanilla Coke." ["That sounds more like Georgia to me." -- Wing Chun]

After Donna is done with her statement, a man from the audience speaks from a podium, asking her whether she's aware that studies show that people attribute the word "north" in their state name as an indication of a snowy, cold, and flat environment, damaging their tourism trade. Donna politely observes that North Dakota's average temperature is seven degrees (Fahrenheit for you Commie metric-system lovers), and their annual snowfall is forty-two inches. A woman whines that they have the same weather as South Dakota. But North Dakota had annual tourism revenues of only $73.7 million, while South Dakota raked in more than $1 billion. Donna brings up that little landmark known as Mount Rushmore. This is such typical behavior among local governments, I've found. Many small cities (and states) just can't accept the fact that they'll never be an important tourist destination. They're just certain that if they had just the right motto, or a big convention center, or find just the right way to let everybody understand how wonderful they are, tourists would come running. I've had to sit through countless meetings in a small city desperately trying to increase tourism by promoting their many interesting local features. The problem was that they were the same local features you get in every small city, so it was a totally wasted effort. Somebody tries to get Donna to clarify the White House's position, but she explains that she's there to read a statement on behalf of the administration, and that's it.

We cut to a mess of icky, bubbling goo: a pot full of stew on a stovetop. And probably a metaphor for something. Van Morrison is playing again. Amy is sitting by the stove, doing some research. There's a knock at the door. Aha, this is her apartment after all. It's Josh, stopping by after work to partake of his woman and his stew. He actually refers to Amy as "[his] woman," but I guess it's okay because she referred to him as "[her] man" earlier. Well, it's not okay -- it's silly and childish and, again, way too cutesy. But it's not sexist or anything. They banter about the stew and about the Mets game and about Van Morrison. Amy says that Josh never told her how the meeting with Pintero went. He gives her the good news about the bill making it out of committee and getting an additional billion for child care. Amy realizes that they probably had to give the Republicans something for that.

Josh spills about the marriage incentives. Amy looks nonplussed. Josh begs her not to start an argument, but Amy's disgust of the marriage incentives propels her into full exposition mode, explaining that the incentives give cash bonuses to every mom on welfare who marries the father of her children, canceling out child-support debts if the parents get together, etc. Josh makes the incredibly unwise move of bringing up studies showing that kids turn out better if they're raised in two-parent households. Amy rightly points out that they turn out better if the two parents actually love each other and rants that the "old, fat-ass men" who run the government believe that they can just pay families to act like Leave it to Beaver. She asks Josh, "Did you really think the person in my job was going to sit?" Well, if Josh hadn't told you what was going on, you would indeed just be sitting there as the bill passed you right by. Way to be connected, there, Amy. She whines about this compromise being a way to get votes from white men. Why is Josh defending the incentives to Amy? Why not be honest and tell her that it was the only way they can get the good parts of the bill passed? Yeah, I think the incentives are reprehensively stupid, but as far as I can tell, they aren't punitive. Single mothers on welfare can roll their eyes at the idiot bureaucrats who make the idiot suggestions that they marry some idiot they don't love, and they won't get penalized for refusing. And since there was a billion-dollar boost in the total, this same single woman would get more assistance for her children than she would have before the compromise. But no, Josh has to be stupid and play it as though Amy and her minions should just roll over for Bartlet because a Ritchie administration wouldn't be nearly so friendly on welfare issues. This gets Amy's ire up, of course, and she promises to kill the bill. She calls the office and starts organizing them to take action. Josh mutters, "And we're back to work," and reaches for his cell phone. Without skipping a beat, Amy picks up Josh's phone and drops it into the stew. Confronted with such an overwhelming display of childishness, Josh breaks up with Amy and walks out on her. No. No, he doesn't. Instead, he walks over into another room and dials out on a normal phone. Amy walks over while Josh is trying to organize his own people and cuts the cord with a pair of scissors. Then she apologizes and tells him it was an accident. This scene bugs me in so many ways, but Mary-Louise Parker's delivery is actually sort of amusing. Her deadpan lockjawness works for her here. Josh finally realizes that this isn't going to be one of those "we'll just agree to disagree" arguments, grabs his jacket, and stomps out.

Commercials. We return to the giant igloo in the icy wastes of [North] Dakota, where men and women -- wrapped in furs and seal skins -- argue about the name change in order to keep warm. The chairman, tired of all the nonsense, politely calls the meeting to a close for the evening. Those tribesmen who survive the frigid night will return in the morning to continue the discussion. As folks are leaving, the chairman turns to Donna and tells her she did a good job, handling questions with poise. I don't think revealing to the crowd that she's just an underling there to read a prepared statement was a particularly smart thing to do, but she was polite. The chairman asks him how "his old friend" Sam is doing. Donna says he's fine. The chairman clarifies that he's referring to Sam's screw-up last week with the attack ad. Donna repeats that he's fine. The chairman says he just wanted to make sure that there's no deeper meaning to the fact that they didn't send Sam to this meeting. Donna shows great poise in not laughing in the guy's frostbitten face. She tries to find a diplomatic way of explaining that this little discussion is so very, very unimportant to the senior staff, but the chairman already understands that. Donna tosses out a load of baseball metaphors indicating that Sam's still a starting player; he just "took one in the teeth." The chairman tells Donna to tell Sam he said to "get up off the dirt."

We hear gunshots. Since it's not the season finale until week, they aren't aimed at anybody. It's the Secret Service firing range. Simon wanders out of the range, wearing a West Point sweater, and finds C.J. out in the hall, having just completed her workout. C.J. expresses surprise that they have a firing range at the Secret Service training facility. Yeah, I don't know why she's surprised either. ["I thought it was Jed's week to be the stupid one." -- Wing Chun] C.J. wants to give firearms a whirl. As she heads toward the range, Simon asks her if she's shot a gun before. C.J. hasn't, but she's seen people shoot them in the movies. She probably figures that if Keanu can do it, certainly she can.

Inside the firing range area, C.J. and Simon banter about the merits of using bull's-eye targets over ones shaped like people. Blah blah blah, "If somebody's coming for you, they probably don't have a bull's-eye on them." "They do if I'm guarding you," Simon says. Awww. C.J. likes Simon's tough talk. Then she demands that he let her play with his gun. God, I feel like I'm recapping a bad police-themed sitcom on FOX. Simon suggests that he get C.J. a smaller gun, but she wants to handle his giant .357 Magnum. If she starts licking the barrel, I'm gone. She puts on goggles and earmuffs. Simon tells her that he'll hold her shoulder to steady her, but she insists that she doesn't need "training wheels." So he lets go, she fires the gun, and just as the First Law of Never-Fired-a-Gun-Before-Comedy Thermodynamics requires, the kickback knocks C.J. on her ass. She gets up, joking that she was wrong about gun control all along and wants to hand guns out to all the criminals. Then she demands that Simon "show [her] what [he's] got." Simon looks at her like he knows that invisible forces are slathering subtext all over the both of them. She makes a bet with him -- if he can't hit the dead center of the bull's-eye in five shots, she gets to drive her own car. Simon agrees, but adds that if he makes the bull's-eye, C.J. also has to say something nice to him. C.J. agrees, but tells him he has to get three bull's-eyes for a nice word. Simon shoots. Do I need to tell you what happens? Okay, he gets three directly in the center, right to each other. C.J. is shocked. He's a Secret Service agent. What were you expecting, C.J.? Well, given their massive incompetence with the email virus issue, I can see why she might be skeptical. Simon demands the nice comment C.J. promised him. C.J. looks awkward for a few moments, then mutters, "I like that you're tall." She preens herself a little and adds, "[It] makes me feel more feminine." I want to pick that apart, but culture does associate height with masculinity, so I guess I understand where she's coming from. Just ask female basketball players. But I don't like it. Anyway, she heads off to change her clothes, turning back to give him an ambiguous look as he goes. Simon smiles to himself, then after she's gone, spins his handgun around in his hand like a cowboy, and sticks it down the front of his pants. Then he pulls it right back out because the barrel is hot. What a dork. ["Wait. That actually happened? I thought you were joking! Wow." -- Wing Chun] But nice work putting the text and the subtext together there. Except by this point, people who were actually watching the season finale of The Amazing Race instead still managed to figure out what this scene meant.