Whitewater runs deep - investigation into Bill and Hillary Clinton's real estate investments that may have involved abuse of government funds - includes satirical ideas for motion script that Oliver Stone could produce about the Clintons - Cover Story

National Review, March 21, 1994 by Richard Brookhiser

STEPHANOPOULOS: WhO knows? It's 1994. That was ten years ago. Anything on health care? Anything? Anything? The Monocle.

EVANS-PRITCHARD: Hullo, Congressman. Thanks for agreeing to meet me. [extends hand] Evans-Pritchard.

Leach eyes him suspiciously. Then extends his hand.

LEACH: Call me Jim, Evan.

EvANS-PRITCHARD: No, no. My name is Ambrose Evans-Pritchard. My Christian name is Ambrose. My surname is Evans-Pritchard. It's a hyphenated name. Double-barreled as it were. Quite common in England, though a bit non-U, I'm afraid.

LEACH: What do you want, Ambrose? Im busy.

EVANS-PRITCHARD: Right. Sorry. I'm a journalist, you see--

LEACH: If you want an interview, go through my office.

EVANS-PRITCHARD: No, no. It's nothing like that. I just--listen, do you think we could talk somewhere more private? Will you meet me in the men's room in one minute?

LEACH: The last time an English guy asked me that I popped him in the mouth.

Leach gets up to go.

EVANS-PRITCHARD: Just trying to save your life, here, Congressman ! Leach stops. Turns around.

EVANS-PRITCHARD: So far, two people have died. There's been a fire. Documents have gone missing. Now, I'm a journalist. I write for the Sunday Telegraph. I'm in this to get rich and famous. You're the ranking minority leader on the House Banking Committee. You're in a lot of trouble. And if I'm not mistaken, somebody has already threatened you. So you can walk away and take your chances, or you can hear what I have to say.

Pause.

EVANS-PRITCHARD: It just might keep you from parking your car in Fort Marcy Park and making a big mess on the upholstery. Leach regards him carefully.

LEACH: Can I buy you a drink?

EVANS-PRITCHARD: Oh, well, I drink so rarely. And it's still quite early. Oh, what the hell. I'll have a gin and water. Hold the water.

Cut to: A fluorescent lightbox lights up. A hand clips on a few X-rays of a human skull. A metal pointer taps on the X-rays.

MAN'S VOICE: Here you see the entry wound. The bullet entered Mr. Foster's skull approximately here. Cause of death was instantaneous.

EVANS-PRITCHARD: Any exit wound?

MAN'S VOICE: There wasn't one.

Cut to: Medical Examiner's office.

Leach, Evans-Pritchard, and the

EVANS-PRiTCHARD:Or, ahh, Deep Throat, eh?

GEOFFREY: What?

EVANS-PRITCHARD: Deep Throat?

GEOFFREY: Who?

EVANS-PRICHARD: Never mind. Leach puts the tape in the VCR and cues it up. Geoffrey is still there, though the two others are lost in thought and don't notice him.

LEACH: The problem is that we still don't know who's behind all of this.

EVANS-PRITCHARD: Who has the motive, the opportunity, and the ability to orchestrate this kind of thing?

GEOFFREY: Mr. Fiske says it's all a bunch of hooey. He says he'd rather be back at Davis, Polk collecting his partnership checks.

Leach suddenly whirls around.

LEACH: What did you just say, kid?

GEOFFREY: About Fiske's checks?

LEACH: About Davis, Polk.

GEOFFREY: Mr. Fiske's firm?

LEACH: And also the firm of--

EVANS-PRICHARD: [reading file] International Paper ! LEACH: [to Geoffrey] Kid, you're a genius ! The VCR pops on, and we see Jim McDougal in tight close-up, answering questions. He is clearly drained and tired. The background is drab and institutional. The sound is tinny and hard to decipher.