Read Shall We Tell the President? Online
Authors: Jeffrey Archer
Shall We Tell the President? (15 page)
“Good night, Mr. Andrews.” Much bowing and scraping. “I hope we will see you and Mademoiselle again soon.”
“Yes, indeed.”
You'll need a very good memory to recognize me next time I come. Open car door for Elizabeth. Will I do this when we're married? Christ, I'm thinking about marriage.
“I think I must have eaten too much. I'm rather sleepy.”
Now what does that mean? You could take that about twenty different ways.
“Oh, really, I feel ready for anything.”
A bit clumsy, maybe. Look for parking space again. Good. There's one right in front of the house and no Volkswagen to stop me grabbing it. Open car door for Elizabeth. She fumbles with front door keys. Into kitchen. Kettle on.
“What a nice kitchen.”
Silly remark.
“I'm glad you like it.”
Equally silly.
Into living room.
Good, there are the roses.
“Hello, Samantha. Come and meet Mark.”
Christ Almighty, she has a roommate.
Samantha rubbed up against Mark's leg and purred.
Relief. Samantha is Siamese, not American.
“Where shall I sit?”
“Anywhere.”
She's no help at all.
“Black or with cream, darling?”
“Darling.” The odds must be better than 50-50.
“Black, please, with one sugar.”
“Amuse yourself till the water boils. I'll only be a few minutes.”
“More coffee, Halt?”
“No thank you, Madam, I have to be getting home, if you'll excuse me.”
“I'll walk you to the door. There are one or two things I'd like to discuss with you.”
“Yes, of course, Madam President.”
The Marines at the West Entrance came to attention. A man in a dinner jacket hovered in the shadows behind the pillars.
“I'll need your backing a hundred percent for this Gun Control bill, Halt. The committee is bound to be pushing for your views. And although the numbers are
just with us on the floor of the House, I don't want any last-minute hiccups; I'm running out of time.”
just with us on the floor of the House, I don't want any last-minute hiccups; I'm running out of time.”
“I'll be with you, Madam. I've wanted it ever since the death of John F. Kennedy.”
“Have you any particular worries about it, Halt?”
“No, Madam. You deal with the politics and sign the bill, and I'll see that the law is enforced.”
“Any advice, perhaps?”
“No, I don't think so ⦔
Beware the ides of March.
“ ⦠although it's always puzzled me, Madam President, why in the end you left the bill this late. If something goes wrong on 10 March and if you were to lose next year's election, we would all be back at square one.”
“I know, Halt, but I had to decide between my Medicare bill, which was a controversial enough way to start an administration, and pushing a Gun Control bill through at the same time; I might have ended up losing both. To tell you the truth, it had been my intention to start the bill in committee a year earlier, but no one could have anticipated Nigeria attacking South Africa without warning, and America finally having to decide where she stood on that continent.”
“You sure stuck your neck out on that one, Madam President, and I confess at the time I thought you were wrong.”
“I know, Halt. I had a few sleepless nights myself. But, getting back to the Gun Control bill: don't ever forget that Dexter and Thornton have run the most successful two-man filibuster in the history of the Senate.
By 10 March, this damn bill will have been going the rounds for nearly two years despite the tacit support of Senator Byrd as Majority Leader. But I'm not too worried. I still believe we'll pull it off. I can't foresee anything that can stop it now, can you, Halt?”
By 10 March, this damn bill will have been going the rounds for nearly two years despite the tacit support of Senator Byrd as Majority Leader. But I'm not too worried. I still believe we'll pull it off. I can't foresee anything that can stop it now, can you, Halt?”
The Director hesitated. “No, Madam.”
The first lie I have ever told the Chief. Would an investigating commission believe my reasons if the President is assassinated in three days' time?
“Good night, Halt, and thank you.”
“Good night, Madam President, and thank you for an excellent dinner.”
The Director stepped out, and into his car. The special agent in the driver's seat looked around at him.
“An important message has just come in for you, sir. Could you return to the Bureau immediately?”
Not again.
“All right, but it might be simpler to keep a bed in the place, except someone would accuse me of trying to live rent-free on taxpayers' money.”
The driver laughed; the Director had obviously had a good dinner, which was more than he had.
Elizabeth brought the coffee in and sat down by him.
Only the brave deserve the fair. Lift arm casually, place at the back of the couch, touch her hair lightly.
Elizabeth rose. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Would you like a brandy?”
No, I don't want a brandy. I want you to come back.
“No, thank you.”
She settled back into Mark's shoulder.
Can't kiss her while she's got the coffee cup in her hand. Ah, she's put the cup down. Hell, she's up again.
“Let's have some music.”
No thank you.
“Great idea.”
“How about âIn Memory of Sinatra'?”
“Great.”
⦠“This time we almost made the pieces fit ⦠didn't we ⦠gal?”
It's got to be absolutely the wrong song. Ah, she's back. Try the kiss again. Damn, still more coffee. The cup's down at last. Gentle. Yes, very nice. Christ, she's beautiful. Long kissâare her eyes open?âno, closed. She's enjoying itâgoodâlonger and even better.
“Would you like some more coffee, Mark?”
No no no no no no no.
“No, thank you.”
Another long kiss. Start moving hand across backâI've been this far before with herâcan't possibly be any objectionâmove hand to legâpauseâwhat fabulous legs and she's got two of them. Take hand off leg and concentrate on kissing.
“Mark, there's something I have to tell you.”
Oh, Christ! It's the wrong time of the month. That's all I need now.
“Uh-mh?”
“I adore you.”
“I adore you too, darling.”
He unzipped her skirt, and began to caress her gently.
She began to move her hand up his leg.
Heaven is about to happen.
Ring, ring, ring, ring.
Jee-sus!
“It's for you, Mark.”
“Andrews?”
“Sir.”
“Julius.”
Shit.
“I'm coming.”
8 March
1:00 A.M.
The man standing at the corner of the churchyard was trying to keep warm in the chill of the early March morning by slapping himself on the back. He had once seen Gene Hackman do it in a movie and it had worked. It wasn't working. Perhaps he needed the big Warner Brothers arc light Hackman had had to help him. He considered the matter, while he continued slapping.
There were actually two men on surveillance, Special Agent Kevin O'Malley and Assistant Field Supervisor Pierce Thompson, both selected by Tyson for their ability and discretion. Neither had shown any sign of surprise when the Director had instructed them to tail a fellow FBI man and report back to Elliott. It had been a long wait for Mark to emerge from Elizabeth's house, and O'Malley didn't blame him. Pierce left the churchyard and joined his colleague.
“Hey, Kevin, have you noticed that someone else is tailing Andrews for us?”
“Yeah. Matson. Why?”
“I thought he was retired.”
“He is. I just assumed old Halt was making sure.”
“I guess you're right but I wonder why Tyson didn't tell us.”
“Because the whole operation's pretty irregular. No one seems to be telling anyone anything. You could always ask Elliott.”
“You ask Elliott. You might as well ask the Lincoln Memorial.”
“Or you could ask the Director.”
“No, thank you.”
A few minutes passed by.
“Think we should talk to Matson?”
“You remember the special orders. No contact with anyone. He probably has the same orders, and he would report us without thinking about it. He's that sort of bastard.”
O'Malley was the first to see Mark leaving the house and could have sworn he was carrying one shoe. He was right and Mark was running, so he began to follow him. Must avoid getting burned, thought O'Malley. Mark stopped at the pay phone; his pursuer disappeared into some new shadows, to continue his vain attempts to keep warm. He was thankful for the brisk walk, which had helped a little.
Mark had only two quarters; the others were all lying uselessly on the floor by the side of Elizabeth's couch. Where had the Director phoned from? Could it have been the Bureau? That didn't make sense, what would
he be doing there at this time of night? Wasn't he supposed to be with the President? Mark looked at his watch. Hell, 1:15. He must be at home; if he isn't I'll be out of quarters. Mark put on his other shoe. Easy slip-on. He cursed, and tossed one of the quarters; George Washington, I call the Bureau.
E pluribus unum,
then I call him at home. The coin landedâGeorge Washington. Mark dialed the Director's private number at the Bureau.
he be doing there at this time of night? Wasn't he supposed to be with the President? Mark looked at his watch. Hell, 1:15. He must be at home; if he isn't I'll be out of quarters. Mark put on his other shoe. Easy slip-on. He cursed, and tossed one of the quarters; George Washington, I call the Bureau.
E pluribus unum,
then I call him at home. The coin landedâGeorge Washington. Mark dialed the Director's private number at the Bureau.
“Yes.”
God bless George Washington.
“Julius?”
“Come in immediately.”
That didn't sound very friendly. Perhaps he had just returned from the President with some important new information, or maybe something at the dinner had given him indigestion.
Mark walked quickly to his car, checking his shirt buttons and tie as he went. His socks felt uncomfortable, as if one of the heels were in the arch of his foot. He passed the man in the shadows, who watched as Mark returned to his car and hesitated. Should he return to Elizabeth and say, say what? He looked up at the light in the window, took a deep breath, cursed again, and fell into the bucket seat of the Mercedes. There hadn't even been time for a cold shower.
It took only a few minutes to reach the Bureau. There was very little traffic, and with the streets so quiet, the computerized lights meant no stopping.
Mark parked the car in the basement garage of the
FBI and immediately there was the anonymous man, the anonymous man who obviously was waiting for him. Didn't he ever go to bed? A harbinger of bad tidings, probably, but he didn't let him know, because as usual he didn't speak. Perhaps he's a eunuch, Mark thought. Lucky man. They shared the elevator to the seventh floor. The anonymous man led him noiselessly to the Director's office; wonder what he does for a hobby, thought Mark. Probably a prompter at the National Theater for the Deaf.
FBI and immediately there was the anonymous man, the anonymous man who obviously was waiting for him. Didn't he ever go to bed? A harbinger of bad tidings, probably, but he didn't let him know, because as usual he didn't speak. Perhaps he's a eunuch, Mark thought. Lucky man. They shared the elevator to the seventh floor. The anonymous man led him noiselessly to the Director's office; wonder what he does for a hobby, thought Mark. Probably a prompter at the National Theater for the Deaf.
“Mr. Andrews, sir.”
The Director offered no greeting. He was still in evening clothes and looked as black as thunder.
“Sit down, Andrews.”
Back to Andrews, thought Mark.
“If I could take you out into the parking lot, stick you up against the wall, and shoot you, I would.”
Mark tried to look innocent; it had usually worked with Nick Stames. It didn't seem to cut any ice with the Director.
“You stupid, unthinking, irresponsible, reckless idiot.”
Mark decided he was more frightened of the Director than he was of those who might be trying to kill him.
“You've compromised me, the Bureau, and the President,” continued the Director. Mark could hear his heart pounding. If he could have counted it, it would have been a hundred and twenty. Tyson was still in full cry. “If I could suspend you or just dismiss you, if only I could do something as simple as that. How many senators are there left, Andrews?”
“Seven, sir.”
“Name them.”
“Brooks, Harrison, Thornton, Byrd, Nunn, Dex ⦠Dexter, and ⦔ Mark went white.
“Summa cum laude
at Yale, and you have the naïvete of a boy scout. When we first saw you with Dr. Elizabeth Dexter, we, in our stupidity, knowing she was the doctor on duty on the evening of 3 March at Woodrow Wilson, assumed in our stupidity”âhe repeated it even more pointedlyâ“that you were on to a lead, but now we discover that not only is she the daughter of one of the seven senators whom we suspect of wanting to murder the President but, as if that's not enough, we find out you're having an affair with her.”
at Yale, and you have the naïvete of a boy scout. When we first saw you with Dr. Elizabeth Dexter, we, in our stupidity, knowing she was the doctor on duty on the evening of 3 March at Woodrow Wilson, assumed in our stupidity”âhe repeated it even more pointedlyâ“that you were on to a lead, but now we discover that not only is she the daughter of one of the seven senators whom we suspect of wanting to murder the President but, as if that's not enough, we find out you're having an affair with her.”
Mark wanted to protest but couldn't get his lips to move.
“Can you deny you've slept with her, Andrews?”
“Yes, sir, I can,” Mark said very quietly.
The Director was momentarily dumbfounded. “Young man, we wired the place; we know exactly what went on.”
Mark leaped out of his chair, stunned dismay yielding to fierce anger. “I couldn't have denied it,” he cried, “if you hadn't interrupted me. Have you forgotten what it feels like to love someone, if you ever knew? Fuck your Bureau, and I don't use that word that often, and fuck you. I've been working sixteen hours a day and I'm not getting any sleep at night. Someone may be trying to murder me and I find that you, the only man I've trusted, have ordered your anonymous pimps to play
Peeping Tom at my expense. I hope you all roast in hell. I'd rather join the Mafia because I'm sure they let their people have it off occasionally.”
Peeping Tom at my expense. I hope you all roast in hell. I'd rather join the Mafia because I'm sure they let their people have it off occasionally.”
Mark was angrier than he had ever been in his life. He collapsed back into the chair, and waited for the consequences. His only strength was that he no longer cared. The Director was equally silent. He walked to the window and stared out. Then he turned slowly; the heavy shoulders, the large head were turning towards him. This is it, thought Mark.
The Director stopped about a yard away from him, looking him square in the eyes, the way he had done from the first moment they had met.
“Forgive me,” said the Director. “I've been thoughtless but I'm becoming paranoid about the whole problem. I've just left the President, healthy, fit, full of plans for the future of this country, only to be told that her one hope of carrying out those dreams is sleeping with the daughter of one of the seven men who might at this very moment be planning to assassinate her. I didn't think much further than that.”
A big man, thought Mark.
The Director's eyes hadn't left him.
“Let's pray it's not Dexter. Because if it is, Mark, you may well be in considerable danger.” He paused again. “By the way, those anonymous pimps have been guarding you night and day, also on a sixteen-hour day, without a break. Some of them even have wives and children. Now we both know the truth. Let's get back
to work, Mark, and let's try and stay sane for three more days. Just remember to tell me everything.”
to work, Mark, and let's try and stay sane for three more days. Just remember to tell me everything.”
Mark had won. No, Mark had lost.
“There are seven senators left.” The words were slow and tired, the man was still on edge. Mark had never seen him like this and doubted that many members of the Bureau had.
“My discussions with the President have confirmed my suspicion that the link between 10 March and the Senator is the Gun Control bill. The chairman of the Judiciary Committee, who handled the planning stages of the bill, was thereâSenator Bayh. He's still on the list. You had better see what he and our other suspects on that committee had to say about the billâbut keep your eye on Pearson and Nunn at Foreign Relations as well.” He paused. “Only three days to go. I intend to stick to my original plan and let things run just as they are for the moment. I'm still in a position to cancel the President's schedule for the tenth at the very last minute. Do you wish to add anything, Mark?”
“No, sir.”
“What are your plans?”
“I am seeing the staff directors of both the Foreign Relations and Judiciary committees tomorrow, sir. I may have a clearer idea then on how to approach the problem and what to be looking for.”
“Good. Follow them both up meticulously, just in case I've missed something.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We've had our fingerprint men working overtime on those twenty-eight bills; at the moment, they are only looking for the prints of Mrs. Casefikis. That way at least we will know which one might have our man's on it. They have found over a thousand prints, so far, but none fit Mrs. Casefikis's. I'll brief you the moment I hear anything. Now let's call it a day, we're both bushed. Don't bother to come in at seven tomorrow”âthe Director looked at his watchâ“I mean today. Make it 7:00 A.M. on Wednesday and make it on time because then we'll have only one full day left.”
Mark knew he was being invited to leave but there was something he wanted to say. The Director looked up and sensed it immediately.
“Save it, Mark. Go home and get some rest. I'm a tired old man, but I would like those bastards, each and every one of them, behind bars on Thursday night. For your sake, I hope to God Dexter isn't involved. But don't close your eyes to anything, Mark. Love may be blind, but let's hope it's not deaf and dumb.”
A very big man, thought Mark.
“Thank you, sir. I'll see you on Wednesday morning.”
Mark drove his car quietly out of the FBI's garage. He was drained. There was no sign of the anonymous man. He stared in the rear-view mirror. A blue Ford sedan was following him, and this time it seemed obvious. How could he ever be sure whose side they were on? In three more days, he might know. This time next week he'd know everything or nothing. Would the President be alive or dead?
Simon, still on duty at the entrance to the apartment house, gave Mark a cheerful grin. “Make it, man?”
“Not exactly,” he replied.
“I could always call up my sister, if you're desperate.”
Mark tried to laugh.
“A generous offer, but not tonight, Simon.” He tossed the car keys over and headed for the elevator. Once locked and bolted into his apartment, he strode into his bedroom, pulled off his shirt and tie, picked up the phone and dialed seven digits slowly. A gentle voice answered.
“You still awake?”
“Very much so.”
“I love you.” He put the phone down and slept.
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