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Authors: Jeffrey Archer

Shall We Tell the President? (25 page)

BOOK: Shall We Tell the President?
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They reached the police cordon surrounding the Capitol. The Director showed his credentials to get himself and Andrews through. The young Capitol policeman double-checked them; he couldn't believe it; he was looking at the real live object. Yes, it was the Director of the FBI. H.A.L. Tyson himself.
“Sorry, sir. Please come through.”
“Elliott to the Director.”
“Yes, Elliott?”
“Head of the Secret Service for you, sir.”
“Stuart.”
“The advance car is leaving the front gate now. Julius will leave in five minutes.”
“Thank you, Stuart. Keep your end up and surprise me.”
“Don't worry, Halt. We will.”
Five minutes later, the Presidential car left the South Entrance and turned left onto E Street. The advance car passed the Chairman on the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and 9th. He smiled, lit another cigarette and waited. Five minutes later, a large Lincoln, flags flying on both front fenders, the Presidential Seal on the doors, passed
by the Chairman. Through the misty gray windows, he could see three figures in the back. A limousine known as the “gun car” and occupied by Secret Service agents and the President's personal physician, followed the President's car. The Chairman pressed a button on his watch. The vibrator began to tickle his wrist. After ten seconds, he stopped it, walked one block north and hailed a taxi.
“National Airport,” he said to the cab driver, fingering the ticket in his inside pocket.
The vibrator on Matson's watch was touching his skin. After ten seconds, it stopped. Matson walked to the side of the construction site, bent down and tied his shoelace.
Xan started to take off the tape. He was glad to be moving; he had been bent double all night. First he screwed the barrel into the sight finder.
“Assistant Director to Director. Matson is approaching the construction site. Now he has stopped to tie his shoe. No one on the construction site but I'm asking a helicopter to check it out. There's a huge crane in the middle of the site which looks deserted.”
“Good. Stay put until the last minute. I'll give you the timing the moment the President's car arrives. You must catch them red-handed. Alert all agents on the roof of the Capitol.”
The Director turned to Mark, more relaxed. “I think it's going to be all right.”
Mark's eyes were on the steps of the Capitol. “Have you noticed, sir, both Senator Dexter and Senator Harrison are in the welcoming party for the President?”
“Yes,” said the Director. “The car is due to arrive in two minutes; we'll catch the others even if we can't figure out which Senator it is. We'll make them talk in due course. Wait a minute—that's odd.”
The Director's finger was running down a couple of closely typed sheets he held in his hand.
“Yes, that's what I thought. The President's detailed schedule shows that Dexter will be there for the special address to Congress but isn't attending the luncheon with the President. Very strange: I'm sure all the key leaders of the opposition were invited to lunch. Why won't Dexter be present?”
“Nothing strange about that, sir. He always has lunch with his daughter on Thursdays. Good God! ‘I always have lunch with my father on Thursdays.'”
“Yes, Mark, I heard you the first time.”
“No, sir, ‘I always have lunch with my father on Thursdays.'”
“Mark, the car will be here in one minute.”
“It's Harrison, sir. It's Harrison. I'm a fool—Thursday, 24 February, in Georgetown. I always thought of it as 24 February, not as Thursday. Dexter was having lunch with Elizabeth. ‘I always have lunch with my father on Thursdays.' That's why he was seen in Georgetown that day, must be. They never miss it.”
“Are you sure? Can you be certain? There's a hell of a lot riding on it.”
“It's Harrison, sir. It can't be Dexter. I should have realized it on the first day. Christ, I'm stupid.”
“Right, Mark. Up those steps quickly, watch Harrison's every move and be prepared to arrest him whatever the consequences.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rogers.”
The Assistant Director came in. “Sir?”
“The car is pulling up. Arrest Matson immediately; check the roof of the Capitol.” The Director stared up into the sky. “Oh my God, it's not a helicopter, it's that damn crane. It has to be the crane.”
Xan nestled the butt of the yellow rifle into his shoulder and watched the President's car. He had attached a feather to a piece of thread on the end of the gun barrel, a trick he had picked up when training for the Olympics—no wind. The hours of waiting were coming to an end. Senator Harrison was standing there on the Capitol steps. Through the thirty-power Redfield scope he could even see the beads of sweat standing out on the man's forehead.
The President's car drew up on the north side of the Capitol. All was going according to plan. Xan leveled the telescopic sight on the car door and waited for Kane. Two Secret Service men climbed out, scanned the crowd, and waited for the third. Nothing happened. Xan put
the sight on the Senator, who looked anxious and bemused. Back at the car, still no Kane. Where the hell was she, what was going on? He checked the feather; still no wind. He moved his sight back on the President's car. Good God, the crane was moving and Kane wasn't in the car. Matson had been right all along, they knew everything. Xan knew exactly what had to be done in these circumstances. Only one man could ditch them and he wouldn't hesitate to do it. Xan moved his sight up the Capitol steps. One and one-half inches above the forehead. A moment's hesitation before he squeezed the trigger once … twice, but the second time he didn't have a clear shot, and a fraction of a second later he could no longer see the Capitol steps. He looked down from the moving crane. He was surrounded by fifty men in dark suits, fifty guns were pointing up at him.
Mark was about a yard away from Senator Harrison when he heard him cry out and fall. Mark jumped on top of the Senator and the second bullet grazed his shoulder. There was a panic among the other senators and officials on the top steps. The welcoming party scurried inside. Thirty FBI men moved in quickly. The Director was the only man who remained on the Capitol steps, steady and motionless, staring up at the crane. They hadn't nicknamed him Halt by mistake.
“May I ask where I'm going, Stuart?”
“Certainly, Madam President. To the Capitol.”
“But this isn't the normal route to the Capitol.”
“No, Madam. We're going down Constitution Avenue to the Russell Building. We hear there has been a little trouble at the Capitol. A demonstration of some kind. The National Rifle Association.”
“So I'm avoiding it, am I? Like a coward, Stuart.”
“No, Madam, I'm slipping you through the basement. Just as a safety precaution and for your own convenience.”
“That means I'll have to go on that damned subway. Even when I was a senator, I preferred to walk outside.”
“We've cleared the way for you, Madam. You'll still be there bang on time.”
The President grumbled as she looked out of the window and saw an ambulance race in the opposite direction.
Senator Harrison died before he reached the hospital and Mark had his wound patched up by a house doctor. Mark checked his watch and laughed. It was 11:04—he was going to live.
“Phone for you, Mr. Andrews. The Director of the FBI.”
“Sir?”
“Mark, I hear you're fine. Good. I am sorry to say the Senate went into recess out of respect for Senator Harrison. The President is shocked but feels this is precisely the moment to emphasize the significance of gun control, so we're all now going into lunch early. Sorry
you can't join us. And we caught three of them—Matson, a Vietnamese sharpshooter, and a petty crook called Tony Loraido. There may still be more, I'll let you know later. Thank you, Mark.”
The telephone clicked before Mark could offer any opinion.
10 March
7:00 P.M.
Mark arrived in Georgetown at seven that evening. He had gone to Simon's wake and paid his respects to the bewildered parents that afternoon. They had five other children, but that never helped. Their grief made Mark long for the warmth of the living.
Elizabeth was wearing the red silk shirt and black skirt in which he had first seen her. She greeted him with a cascade of words.
“I don't understand what's been going on. My father called earlier and told me you tried to save Senator Harrison's life. What were you doing there anyway? My father is very upset about the shooting. Why have you been following him around? Was he in any danger?”
Mark looked at her squarely. “No, he wasn't involved in any way so let's try and start over again.”
Still she didn't understand.
When they arrived at the Rive Gauche, the maître d' welcomed them with open arms.
“Good evening, Mr. Andrews, how nice to see you again. I don't remember your booking a table.”
“No, it's in my name. Dr. Dexter,” said Elizabeth.
“Oh, yes, Doctor, of course. Will you come this way?”
They had baked clams, and, at last, a steak with no fancy trimmings and two bottles of wine.
Mark sang most of the way home. When they arrived, he took her firmly by the hand and led her into the darkened living room.
“I'm going to seduce you. No coffee, no brandy, no music, just straightforward seduction.”
“I should be so lucky.”
They fell on the couch.
“You're too drunk,” Elizabeth added.
“Wait and see.” He kissed her fully on the lips for a long time and started to unbutton her shirt.
“Are you sure you wouldn't like some coffee?” she asked.
“Yes, quite sure,” he said as he pulled the shirt slowly free from her skirt and felt her back, his other hand moving on to her leg.
“What about some music?” she said lightly. “Something special.” Elizabeth touched the start button on the hi-fi. It was Sinatra again, but this time it was the right song:
Is it an earthquake or simply a shock
Is it the real turtle soup or merely the mock,
Is it a cocktail, this feeling of joy,
Or is what I feel—the real—McCoy?
Is it for all time or simply a lark,
Is it Granada I see or only Asbury Park,
Is it a fancy not worth thinking of,
Or is it at … long … last … love?
She settled back into Mark's arms.
He unzipped her skirt. Her legs were slender and beautiful in the dim light. He caressed her gently.
“Are you going to tell me the truth about today, Mark?”
“Afterwards, darling.”
“When you've had your way with me,” she said.
He slipped his shirt off. Elizabeth stared at the bandage on his shoulder.
“Is that where you were wounded in the line of duty?”
“No, that's where my last lover bit me.”
“She must have had more time than I did.”
They moved closer together.
He took the phone off the hook—not tonight, Julius.
“I can't get through, sir,” Elliott said, “just a continual busy signal.”
“Try again, try again. I'm sure he's there.”
“Shall I go through the operator?”
“Yes, yes,” said the Director testily.
The Director waited, tapping his fingers on the Queen Anne desk, staring at the red stain and wondering how it had got there.
“The operator says the phone is off the hook, sir.
Shall I ask her to bleep him; that'll certainly get his attention.”
“No, Elliott, just leave it and go home. I'll have to call him in the morning.”
“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”
He'll have to go—back to Idaho or wherever he came from, thought the Director, as he switched off the lights and made his own way home.
11 March
7:00 A.M.
Mark woke first; perhaps because he was in a strange bed. He turned over and looked at Elizabeth. She never wore make-up and was just as beautiful in the morning as she was on the other side of a dinner table. Her dark hair curled in towards the nape of her neck and he stroked the soft strands gently. She stirred, rolled over, and kissed him.
“Go and brush your teeth.”
“What a romantic way to start the day,” he said.
“I'll be awake by the time you get back.” She groaned a little and stretched.
Mark picked up the Pepsodent—that was one thing that would have to change, he preferred Macleans—and tried to figure out which part of the bathroom he was going to be able to fit his things into. When he returned, he noticed the phone was still off the hook. He looked at his watch: 7:05. He climbed back into bed. Elizabeth slipped out.
“Only be a minute,” she said.
It was never like this in the movies, thought Mark.
She returned and lay down beside him. After a moment she said, “Your chin is hurting my face. You're not as clean-shaven as you were the first time.”
“I shaved very carefully that first evening,” said Mark. “Funny, I was never so sure of anything. Didn't happen quite the way I intended.”
“What did you intend?”
“It was never like this in the movies.” This time he stated the sentiments clearly. “Do you know what the Frenchman said when accused of raping a dead woman?”
“No.”
“I didn't realize she was dead; I thought she was English.”
After she had proved she wasn't English Elizabeth asked Mark what he would like for breakfast.
After Mark had told her, he disappeared into the shower.
Mark turned on the shower, getting the temperature just right.
“Disappointing, I thought we would take a bath together,” said Elizabeth.
“I never bathe with the domestic staff. Just give me a call when breakfast is ready,” Mark replied from under the shower and started to sing “At Long Last Love” in several different keys.
A slim arm appeared through the falling water and
turned off the hot water tap. The singing stopped abruptly. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.
Mark dressed quickly and put the phone back on the hook. It rang almost immediately. Elizabeth appeared in a brief slip.
Mark wanted to go back to bed.
She picked up the phone. “Good morning. Yes, he's here. It's for you. A jealous lover, I shouldn't wonder.”
She put on a dress and returned to the kitchen.
“Mark Andrews.”
“Good morning, Mark.”
“Oh, good morning, sir.”
“I've been trying to get you since eight o'clock last night.”
“Oh, really, sir. I thought I was on vacation. If you look in the official book in the WFO, I think you'll find I've signed out.”
“Yes, Mark, but you are going to have to interrupt that vacation because the President wants to see you.”
“The President, sir?”
“Of the United States.”
“Why would she want to see me, sir.”
“Yesterday I killed you, but today I've made you a hero and she wants to congratulate you personally on trying to save Senator Harrison's life.”
“What?”
“You'd better read the morning papers. Say nothing for now; I'll explain my actions later.”
“Where do I go, what time, sir?”
“You'll be told.” The line clicked.
Mark replaced the phone and thought about the conversation. He was just about to call Elizabeth to ask if the morning paper had come when the phone rang again.
“Answer it will you, Mark darling. Now that the lovers have found your whereabouts, it's bound to be for you.”
Mark picked it up.
“Mr. Andrews?”
“Speaking.”
“Hold the line one moment, please. The President will be with you in one moment.”
“Good morning. Florentyna Kane. I just wanted to know if you could find time to drop into the White House this morning at about ten o'clock. I'd like to meet you and have a chat.”
“I'd be honored, Madam.”
“Then I'll look forward to it, Mr. Andrews, and the chance to meet you and congratulate you personally. If you come to the West Entrance, Janet Brown will be there to meet you.”
“Thank you, Madam.”
One of those legendary phone calls that the press so often wrote about. The Director had only been checking where he was. Had the President been trying to reach him since eight last night?
“Who was it, darling?”
“The President of the United States.”
“Tell her you'll call back; she's always on the line, usually calls collect.”
“No, I'm serious.”
“Yes, of course you are.”
“She wants to see me.”
“Yes, darling, your place or hers?”
Mark went into the kitchen and attacked some Wheaties. Elizabeth came in brandishing the
Post.
“Look,” she said. “It's official. You're not a villain, you're a hero.”
The headline read: SENATOR HARRISON KILLED ON STEPS OF CAPITOL.
“It was the President, wasn't it?” she said.
“Yes, it was.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I did, but you didn't choose to listen.”
“I'm sorry,” said Elizabeth.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, but let's not go through this every week.”
She continued to read the paper. Mark munched his Wheaties.
“Why would someone want to kill Senator Harrison, Mark?”
“I don't know. What does the
Post
say?”
“They haven't figured out a reason yet; they say he was known to have many enemies both here and abroad.” She began to read from the paper:
“Senator Robert Harrison (D-South Carolina) was shot by an assassin on the steps of the Capitol yesterday morning at 10:06.
“The assassination took place only moments
before President Kane was due to arrive for her final assault on behalf of the Gun Control bill, which had been scheduled for a vote in the Senate yesterday. Because they had been warned of a demonstration on the steps of the Capitol, the Secret Service diverted the President's car to the Russell Senate Office Building.
“The bullet lodged in Senator Harrison's brain and he was pronounced dead on arrival at Woodrow Wilson Medical Center. A second bullet grazed the shoulder of FBI Agent Mark Andrews, 28, who threw himself on the Senator in an effort to save his life. Andrews was treated at the same hospital and later released.
“There was no immediate explanation of the fact that a second presidential motorcade did arrive at the Capitol steps a few moments before the assassination, without the President.
“Vice President Bradley ordered an immediate recess of the Senate out of respect for Senator Harrison. The House then voted unanimously to extend the recess for seven days.
“The President, who arrived at the Capitol via the congressional subway from the Russell Building, first learned the news of Harrison's assassination when she reached the Senate. Visibly shaken, she announced that the luncheon to discuss gun control would continue as planned but asked the assembled Senators to observe a minute of silence in honor of their dead colleague.
“The President went on to say, ‘I know we are all shocked and saddened by the tragic and horrifying event which has just occurred. This senseless killing of a good and decent man must, however, only strengthen our determination to work together in making our country safe from the easy access of arms.'
“The President plans to address the nation at nine o'clock tonight.”
“So now you know everything, Liz.”
“I know nothing,” she replied.
“I didn't know very much of that myself,” Mark admitted.
“Living with you is going to be difficult.”
“Who said I was going to live with you?”
“I took it for granted from the way you're eating my eggs.”
At the Fontainebleau Hotel a man was sitting by the side of the swimming pool reading the
Miami Herald
and drinking coffee. At least Senator Harrison could cause no more trouble which made him feel a little safer. Xan had kept his part of the bargain.
He sipped the coffee, a little hot, it didn't matter, he was in no hurry. He had already given new orders; he couldn't afford any further risks. Xan would be dead by the evening; that had been arranged. Matson and Tony would be freed for lack of evidence, so his lawyer, who
had never let him down yet, had assured him, and he would not be visiting Washington for a while. He relaxed and settled back in his beach chair to let the Miami sun warm him. He lit another cigarette.
At 9:45, the Director was met at the White House by Janet Brown, the President's Chief of Staff. They waited and chatted. The Director briefed her on Special Agent Andrews' background. Brown made careful notes.
Mark arrived just before 10:00. He had only just managed to get home and change into a new suit.
“Good morning, Director,” he said nonchalantly.
“Good morning, Mark. Glad you could make it.” Slightly quizzical but not disapproving. “This is the President's Chief of Staff, Janet Brown.”
“Good morning, ma'am,” said Mark.
Janet Brown took over. “Will you be kind enough to come through to my office, where we can wait. The President will be videotaping her address to the nation for this evening's television broadcast so that she can fly to Camp David at 11:15. I imagine you and the Director will have about fifteen minutes with her.”
Janet Brown took them to her office, a large room in the West Wing with a fine view of the Rose Garden through a bow window.
“I'll get us some coffee,” she said.
“That'll be a change,” murmured Mark.
“I'm sorry?” said Janet Brown.
“Nothing.”
The Director and Mark settled down in comfortable chairs where they could watch a large liquid-crystal monitor screen on one of the walls, already alive with comings and goings in the Oval Office.
The President's forehead was being powdered in preparation for her speech and the cameramen were wheeling around her. Janet Brown was on the phone.
“CBS and NBC can roll, Janet, but ABC is still fixing things up with their OB unit,” said an agitated female voice.
Janet Brown got the producer of ABC on the other line.
“Get a move on, Harry, the President doesn't have all day.”
“Janet.”
Florentyna Kane was on the middle of the screen.
She looked up. “Yes, Madam President?”
“Where's ABC?”
“I'm just chasing them, Madam President.”
“Chasing them? They've had four hours' warning. They couldn't get a camera to the Second Coming.”
“No, ma'am. They're on their way now.”
Harry Nathan, ABC's producer, appeared on the screen. “We're all set now, Janet. Ready to record in five minutes.”
“Fine,” said Florentyna Kane and looked at her watch. It was 10:11. The digits changed—and were replaced by the rate of her heartbeat—72; normal, she thought. They disappeared again, to be replaced by her blood pressure,
140/90; a little high; she'd get it checked by her doctor this weekend. The digits were replaced by the Dow-Jones index, showing an early fall of 1.5 to 1,409. This disappeared and the watch showed 10:12. The President rehearsed the opening line of her speech for the last time. She'd gone over the final draft with Edward that morning, and she was satisfied with it.
“Mark.”
“Sir?”
“I want you to report back to Grant Nanna at the WFO this afternoon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I want you to take a vacation. I mean a real vacation, some time in May. Mr. Elliott is leaving me at the end of May to take up the post of Special Agent in Charge of the Columbus Field Office. I'm going to offer you his job, and enlarge it to your being my personal assistant.”
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