Permanent Interests (30 page)

"Does anyone have any insight into what motivated Horvath? What caused him to snap?"

"I know that he'd been under a lot of pressure lately,"

Selmur responded in his low, considered voice.

"Both work and family, I believe," added Dennison.

"For crying out loud, why didn't you bring it to my attention?" Corgan demanded.

An awkward silence ensued.

Corgan let out a deep breath. "Gentlemen, this terrible tragedy may very well mark the end of this troubled administration. Our dream of a rejuvenated America keeps taking hits as one misfortune after another falls on our…my head."

"Mr. President, at least no one was killed," Dennison said in a voice attempting consolation.

Corgan bowed and shook his head. "A 70-year old nun has one of Horvath's bullets lodged in her brain. If she doesn't die, the doctors say she'll never come out of her coma. Seventeen people are injured, eleven seriously." He PERMANENT INTERESTS

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picked up the
Washington Post
in front of him. "The editorialists are wasting no time. One has drawn the catchy metaphor of 'the White House taking pot shots at the American people.' A TV commentator went so far as to say the White House has 'formally declared war on America.' We're in trouble, deep trouble. And I fear we're in a downward spiral that is out of control."

The President's men bowed their heads dejectedly.

"All we can do is hunker down, Mr. President," Selmur said. "Launch a full investigation, institute an immediate overhaul of White House security. Call it a terrible tragedy inflicted by a very disturbed man, a man whose troubles no one knew, not even his wife."

"Draw a parallel with previous isolated assaults on the Executive Mansion by imbalanced men," Dennison added.

"A rare tragedy beyond the control of anyone. Tell the American people that changes are being made in security and personnel screening and stress that we must put this behind us."

"Then after two or three days, we push the Innes spy case to the front burner. Play up our having uncovered him mere weeks after his recruitment by Russian intelligence.

And then announce his arrest. Public attention will turn away from today's event," Selmur said.

All eyes turned to Karlson.

"The Constitution says a man is innocent until proven guilty. Furthermore, we haven't seen enough evidence to seek his arrest," Karlson asserted.

"Get Innes!" Selmur commanded.

The President nodded.

266 JAMES

BRUNO

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Innes sat in the Wheeler living room scanning the headlines. "State Dept Official on Lam - Wanted for Espionage"; "Feds Will Apprehend Alleged Spy, Dennison Assures"; "State Competence vs CIA Fumbling: A Case Study in Effective Counterespionage." He shook his head.

"They've got everybody snowed. The greatest con job of the decade and everyone is swallowing it hook, line and sinker," Innes mumbled to himself.

Scher's face appeared on CNN. Exuding confidence with his pipe jutting from his mouth, Scher emitted several well-rehearsed sound-bites: "There will be no repeat of the Felix Bloch case"; "Our Ames is different: it took us only nine weeks instead of nine years"; "We're hot on his trail.

It's only a matter of time before we nab this traitor."

Innes felt sick. The weight of the entire U.S.

government was upon him and was likely to crush him.

The Salem Witches, Sacco and Venzetti, the Rosenbergs, the McMartin preschool family, Richard Jewell. American history was replete with handy victims of the hysteria of the moment, of sacrificial lambs to morally corrupt, self-serving politicians and a gullible public. He was now learning up front and personal how challenging big PERMANENT INTERESTS

267

government's version of truth could be dangerous to one's health. He couldn't use his credit cards nor draw money from the bank for risk of being traced and caught. At this point, Innes feared for his mental health.
National
Enquirer, Inside Edition
and
On the Record
had descended on his home town like a plague of locusts, interviewing naive locals about his past. He could have no contact with his family or friends. He missed his kids. What would they think? Surely they were being told that their father was a Benedict Arnold. And he missed Colleen terribly.

Colleen got her letters to Innes via Wheeler. Assuming she was being surveilled, Colleen handwrote the letters, then left them with Wheeler during her frequent hospital visits. Marion picked up the correspondence and brought it home to Innes. Colleen's tone was increasingly fearful.

Everybody at State assumes you are guilty of
spying. Only Robin Croft and I reject the
notion. People don't want to know me these
days. They must assume that I'm part of the

'plot.' 'Mrs. Robert Hansen,' someone
catcalled the other day. I received my first
hate mail. They said they couldn't wait for me
to join you in jail. I'm constantly fending off
reporters. I've been called in three times by
Security. I'm scared, Bob. I find myself
looking over my shoulder. I see clean-cut, fit-looking men eyeing me. I assume they're FBI,
or State Department Security, or something.

Or, it may be my paranoia. What happens
now? How can I help? My love for you is
only made stronger by this affair. I long to
see you, to hold you and to kiss your sweet
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BRUNO

face again. 'May God make smooth the path
before you.'

With all my love,

Colleen

Innes was getting restless. Staying holed up indoors with no plan of action was not exactly a morale-booster.

And, as a fugitive from the authorities, he jeopardized the Wheeler family. Wheeler counseled him to be patient. The
Post
would deliver him from this evil. It would bring down this amoral administration just as it had Nixon's. Good investigative reporting required methodical, persistent digging. Officials would bolt, they'd rat on their corrupt superiors. Word was the FBI smelled something fishy. It was only a matter of time. But Innes became antsier by the day. He'd already been tried and convicted in the court of the news media without being able to defend himself. The FBI was his sole potential ally among the Washington power giants. He decided to give Speedy a call.

He waited till Courtney had gone to school and Marion had left for the hospital. He donned Wheeler's large fishing hat and sunglasses. Checking to see that no neighbors were around, Innes slipped out the back door and sprinted toward Nebraska Avenue where he caught a bus. He got off at the nearest subway stop and took the metro to the Smithsonian, where he blended in with the masses of tourists. He entered the Museum of American History and made for the nearest pay phone. Funny, he thought, only two blocks from the White House. He got Speedy.

"Where the hell are you?!" Speedy demanded.

"Never mind. Give me a quick low-down on what's going on. What does Karlson think? Are you guys with me or in the White House's palm?"

"Bob, I really think you should come in--"

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"I haven't got time, Speedy. You've got exactly three minutes before I hang up."

"Okay, okay. Karlson has his doubts about the charges.

He has us working overtime to get to the bottom of this thing. Berlucci needs to talk to you."

"Maybe later. Like I said, I can't stay on the line--"

"Bob?" It was Berlucci's voice.

"So what now, big brother? You guys going to help me, or what?"

"Bob, come in. We can't do this without you."

"Do what exactly?"

"Look into this thing--"

"That's not good enough,
compare
. I'll stay in touch."

He hung up.

After dinner each evening, Colleen stretched out in the overstuffed chair that her grandfather heired to her, put on the Walkman earphones and listened to Thai lessons on tape.

Savat di khun Mali. Phakan pai du nang lue khrap?

Mai dai kha. Dichan tong yu baan wan ni na kha.

Repeat after me:

Savat di khun Mali. Phakan pai…

Colleen tripped over the words. As she repeated the dialogue, about a young man asking a girl if she wanted to go to the movies, she pictured herself with Innes in a dark movie theater. He had his arm around her as she snuggled up against his neck. The Thai lesson went in one ear and out the other. She couldn't concentrate. All she could think of was Bob Innes, his soft kiss behind her ear, the laughs, 270 JAMES

BRUNO

the warmth of their bodies together. She smiled but the tears streamed down her cheeks. She tore off the earphones, opened the tape player and replaced "FSI Thai Lesson No. 12" with her favorite jazz singer, Johnny Adams, "Good Morning Heartache," and closed her eyes.

She sang the lyrics with Adams and closed her eyes tighter. As her mind drifted further from reality, she felt Innes's presence. His tall frame stood before her, his face had that distinctive Innes demi-smile. He reached to her.

She raised her hand to touch his. He grasped it gently and rubbed it between his thumb and fingers. Her mind surged back from the dream world. The touch was real.

Adrenaline shot through her veins like rocket fuel and her heart stopped. She sprang from the chair and opened her eyes.

Standing before her was Bob Innes, just as she had envisioned.

Colleen fell to the floor. She looked up and blinked.

"Hi," he said.

"Is it really you?"

"In

the

flesh."

"Christ!" She held her hand to her forehead. Her chest heaved.

"Well, nice to see you again too."

She pushed her hair back from her face. "How did you get here?! How did you get in?!"

"By metro." He held a key up. "I used to live here once too, remember?"

"You scared the living daylights out of me." She picked herself up, paused, and threw herself at him. They kissed hungrily. Then after several minutes of tender embracing, she led him to the sofa. Their faces touched.

"Bob, you're in danger."

"I'm being framed."

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"I know. But coming here will get you in trouble.

You'll only fall into their trap."

"At least I'll finally be able to defend myself, and expose who the real scoundrels are."

"They'll keep you under wraps. In some military prison somewhere. You'll be completely cut off. Even so, what proof can you show that some of the highest officials in this administration are crooks and traitors?"

"Well, none. But I think the FBI may help me out."

"You

'think'?"

"Yes…Maybe…I don't know." Innes rested his chin on clasped hands, with elbows on his knees, lost in thought.

Colleen stroked the back of his neck.

"Baby. Let's go to bed," she said. She stood up, took his hand and tugged him upward.

Hand-in-hand they slowly ascended the stairs to the bedroom. In the dark they stood facing each other, glimmers of light from the outside traffic moved across their faces. She pressed against him and rested her cheek against his chest.

"I…," he began. But she hushed him with two fingers on his lips. She took Innes by the hand and brought him to the bed. She lay back and looked up at him. Innes thought how beautiful she was in this state of vulnerability. He placed himself beside her. Gently, they embraced and kissed. How long it had been since they made love. The denial made so delectable this moment. They were impatient, but loved slowly, savoring every second.

Her delicate fingers undid the top button of his shirt, then the second and on down to his belt buckle. The feel of his body released a pulsing energy in her. His gentle hands on her body intensified this primal force. Their pace quickened.

272 JAMES

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Their lovemaking was at the same time driven and tender. Reveling in this sweet time, Colleen and Innes together harnessed the magic energy and rode it to greater heights throughout the night.

They snuggled languorously in each other's arms. "I love you," he whispered. "Don't ever leave me," she said.

Innes rose upright on his knees. He reached out for her.

The invitation to love again made her warm and tingly.

She smiled and began to rise to meet him.

The headlights of a turning automobile shone through the venetian blinds, briefly illuminating the room and radiating their faces.

In the flash of a second, Innes became perplexed as he saw Colleen's loving expression turn instantly into one of terror. She thrust her arm out as if to protect herself.

"Colleen,

wha…?"

The light also revealed a powerful figure standing just behind Innes. A stone-like male figure with a broad face.

A gash ran diagonally across its rough surface.

By instinct, Colleen kicked at Innes as hard as she could with the sole of her foot, causing him to go flying floorward, off to the side. A gleaming blade swooshed through the space occupied only a half-second before by Innes's head.

Puzzlement flashed across the man's face. Innes's sudden involuntary departure had caught him by surprise.

He then lunged toward Colleen with the knife. A roll to the left saved her but not her pillow which exploded into a mini-mushroom cloud of goose down. By this time, Innes got his senses back. He picked up a metal vanity chair and brought it crashing down onto the intruder's back. The knife flew from his hand onto the floor. Like a wounded bear, he struck back with both fists, which dispatched Innes hard against a wall. Innes slumped downward unconscious.

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His black eyes frantically searched the dark for the blade, but Colleen's movement commanded the attacker’s attention. He threw his weight onto her naked body and pinned both her arms down. The more she struggled, the greater his enormous weight bore down on her. The breath was being crushed out of her. She felt herself blacking out.