Shall We Tell the President? (29 page)

‘Right, go ahead,’ said the Director
crisply.

‘Report to me as soon as they’re ready but
leave the final briefing to the last possible moment, and, Matt, I want no
heliopters
until 10:01. I don’t want there to be a chance
of a leak of any sort; it’s our one hope of catching the assassin.’

‘Why don’t you simply cancel the
President’s visit, sir? We’re in enough deep water as it is, and it’s not
entirely your responsibility in the first place.’

‘If we pull out now, we only have to start
all over again tomorrow,’ said the Director, ‘and I may never get another
chance like this.’

“Yes, sir.’

‘Don’t let me down, Matt, because I am
going to leave the ground operations entirely in your hands.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Rogers left the room. The Director knew his
job would be done as competently as it could be by any professional
law-enforcement officer in
America
.

‘Mrs McGregor.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Get me the head of the Secret Service at
the White House.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The Director glanced at his watch: 7:10.
Andrews was due at 8:15. The phone rang.

‘Mr Knight on the line, sir.’

‘Stuart, can you call me on my private line
and be sure you’re not overheard?’

H. Stuart Knight knew Halt well enough to
realise that he meant what he said. He called back immediately on his special
scrambler.

‘Stuart, I’d like to see you immediately,
usual place, take about thirty minutes, no more. Top priority.’

Damned inconvenient, thought Knight, with
the President leaving for the Capitol in two hours, but Halt only made this
request two or three times a year, and he knew that other matters must be put
to one side for the moment. Only the President and the Attorney General took
priority over Halt.

The Director of the FBI and the head of the
Secret Service met at a line of cabs in front of Union Station ten minutes
later. They didn’t take the first cab in the line, but the seventh. They
climbed in the back without speaking or acknowledging each other. Elliott drove
the Max’s Yellow Gab off to circle the Capitol. The Director talked and the
head of the Secret Service listened.

Mark’s alarm woke him at 6:45. He showered
and shaved and thought about those transcripts he had left in the Senate,
trying to convince himself that they would have thrown no light on whether it
was Dexter or Harrison. He silently thanked Senator Stevenson for indirectly
disposing of
Senators
Brooks
, Byrd, and
Thornton
. He would thank anybody who could
dispose of Senator Dexter. He was beginning to agree with the Director’s
reasoning - it all pointed to Dexter. His motive was particularly compelling,
but . . . Mark looked at his watch; he was a little early. He sat on the edge
of his bed; he scratched his leg which was itching; something must have bitten
him during the night. He continued trying to figure out if there was anything
he had missed.

The Chairman got out of bed at 7:20 and lit
his first cigarette. He couldn’t remember exactly when he had woken. At 6:10 he
had phoned Tony, who was already up and waiting for his call. They weren’t to
meet that day unless the Chairman needed the car in an emergency. The next time
they would speak to each other would be on the dot of 9:30 for a check-in to
confirm they were all in position.

When he had completed the call, the
Chairman dialled room service and ordered a large breakfast. What he was about
to do that morning was not the sort of work to be tackled on an empty stomach.
Matson was due to ring him any time after 7:30, Perhaps he was still asleep.
After that effort last night Matson deserved some rest. The Chairman smiled to
himself. He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower; a feeble trickle
of cold water emerged. Goddamn hotels. One hundred dollars a night and no hot
water. He splashed around ineffectively and began to think about the next five
hours, going over the plan again carefully to be sure he had not overlooked
even the smallest detail. Tonight, Kane would be dead and he would have
$2,000,000 in the Union Bank of
Switzerland
,
Zurich
, account
number AZL-376921- B, a small reward from his grateful friends in the gun
trade. And to think Uncle Sam wouldn’t even get the tax.

The phone rang. Damn. He dripped across the
floor, his heartbeat quickening. It was Matson.

Matson and the Chairman had driven back
from Mark’s apartment at 2:35 that morning, their task completed. Matson had
overslept by thirty minutes. The damned hotel had forgotten his wake-up call;
you couldn’t trust anyone nowadays. As soon as he had woken, he phoned the
Chairman and reported in.

Xan
was safely in the top of the crane and ready - probably the only
one of them who was still asleep.

The Chairman, although dripping, was
pleased. He put the phone down and returned to the shower. Damn, still cold.

Matson masturbated. He always did when he
was nervous and had time to kill.

Florentyna
Kane did not wake until 7:35. She rolled over, trying to recall the
dream she had just had, but none of it would come back to her, so she let her
mind wander. Today, she would be going to the Capitol to plead her case for the
Gun Control bill before a special session of the Senate and then on to have
lunch with all the key supporters and opponents of the bill. Since the bill had
been approved in committee, as she had been confident it would be, she had
concentrated on her strategy for the final day of floor battle; at least the
odds now seemed to be with her. She smiled at Edward, although he had his back
to her. It had been a busy session, and she was looking forward to going to
Camp David
and spending more time with her family. Better
get moving, more than half of America is already up, she thought, and I am
still lying in bed . . . Still, that waking half of America had not had to dine
the previous evening with the four-hundred-pound King of Tonga, who wasn’t
going to leave the White House until he was virtually thrown out. The President
wasn’t absolutely certain she could pinpoint
Tonga
on the map. The Pacific was
after all a large ocean. She had left her Secretary of State, Abe
Chayes
, to do the talking; he at least knew exactly where
Tonga
was.

She stopped thinking about the overweight
king and put her feet on the floor - or to be more exact, on the Presidential
Seal. The damned thing was on everything except the toilet paper. She knew that
when she appeared for breakfast in the dining-room across the hall, she would
find the third edition of the
New fork Times,
the third edition of the
Washington
Post,
the first editions of the
Los Angeles Times
and the
Boston
Globe,
all ready for her to read, with the pieces referring to her marked
in red, plus a prepared digest of yesterday’s news. How did they get it all
completed before she was even dressed?
Florentyna
went to the bathroom and turned on the shower; the water pressure was just
right. She began to consider what she could say finally to convince the
waverers
in the Senate that the Gun Control bill must
become law. Her train of thought was interrupted by her efforts to reach the
middle of her back with the soap. Presidents still do that for themselves, she
thought.

Mark was due to be with the Director in
twenty minutes. He checked his mail - just an envelope from American Express,
which he left on the kitchen table unopened.

A yawning O’Malley was sitting in the Ford
sedan a hundred yards away. He was relieved to be able to report that Mark had
left the apartment building and was talking to the black garage attendant.
Neither O’Malley nor Thompson had admitted to anybody that they had lost Mark
for several hours the previous evening.

Mark walked around the side of the building
and disappeared from the view of the man in the blue Ford. It didn’t worry him.
O’Malley had checked the location of the Mercedes an hour earlier; there was
only one way out.

Mark noticed a red Fiat as he came around
the corner of the building. Looks like Elizabeth’s, he thought to himself,
except for the damage to a bumper. He stared at it again and was taken by
surprise to see
Elizabeth
sitting in it. He opened the door. If he were to be
Ragani
and she were Mata
Hari
, he was now past caring. He
climbed in beside her. Neither of them spoke until they both spoke at once and
laughed nervously. She tried again. Mark sat in silence.

‘I’ve come to say I’m sorry about being so
touchy last night. I should have at least given you a chance to explain. I
really don’t want you to sleep with any other senator’s daughter,’ she said,
trying to force a smile.

‘I’m the one who should be sorry, Liz.
Trust me, as they say in
Hollywood
.
Whatever happens, let’s meet this evening and then, I’ll try to explain
everything. Don’t ask me anything before then and promise that whatever happens
you will see me tonight. If after that you never want to see me again I promise
I’ll leave quietly.’

Elizabeth nodded her agreement. ‘But not as
abruptly as you left once before, I hope.’

Mark put his arm around her and kissed her
quickly. ‘No more nasty cracks about that night. I’ve spent every night since
looking forward to a second chance.’

They both laughed. He started to get out.

‘Why don’t I drive you to work, Mark? It’s
on my way to the hospital and we won’t have to bother with two cars this
evening.’

Mark hesitated. ‘Why not?’

He wondered if this were the final set-up.

As she drove around the corner, Simon waved
them down. ‘Apartment Seven’s car won’t be back until late this morning, Mark.
I’ll have to park the Mercedes on the street for now but don’t worry, I’ll keep
an eye on it.’ Simon looked at
Elizabeth
and grinned. ‘You won’t be needing my sister after all, man.’

Elizabeth pulled out and joined the traffic
on
6
^th
Street
.
A hundred yards away, O’Malley was chewing gum.

‘Where shall we have dinner tonight?’

‘Let’s go back to that French restaurant
and try the whole evening again. This time we’ll complete the final act of the
play.’

I hope it begins, ‘This was the noblest
Roman of them all. All the conspirators, save only he . . .’ Mark thought.

‘This time it’s my treat,’ said
Elizabeth
.

Mark accepted, remembering his unopened
bill from American Express. The lights turned red at the corner of
G Street
. They
stopped and waited. Mark started scratching his leg again, it really felt quite
painful.

The cab was still circling the Capitol but
Halt was coming to the end of his briefing for H. Stuart Knight.

‘We believe that the attempt will be made
when the President gets out of her car at the Capitol. We’ll take care of the
Capitol itself if you can manage to get her into the building unharmed. I’ll
have my men cover the buildings and roofs of buildings and every elevated
vantage point from which it would be possible to shoot.’

‘It would make our job a lot easier if the
President didn’t insist on walking up the steps. Ever since Carter took his
little stroll up
Pennsylvania
Avenue
in ‘77 . . .’

His voice trailed off in exasperation. ‘By
the way, Halt, why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?’

‘There’s a strange quirk to it, Stuart. I
still can’t give you all the details, but don’t worry, they’re not relevant to
the task of protecting the President.’

‘Okay. I’ll buy that. But are you sure my
men can’t help at your end?’

‘No, I’m happy as long as I know you’re
keeping a close watch on the President. It will give me the freedom I need to
catch the bastards red-handed. They mustn’t be allowed to get suspicious. I
want to catch the killer while he still has the weapon in his hand.’

‘Shall I tell the President?’ asked Knight.

‘No, just inform her that it’s a new
security measure you are putting into practice from time to time.’

‘She’s had so many of those she’s bound to
believe it,’ said Knight.

‘Stick to the same route and timetable and
I’ll leave the finer points to you, Stuart. And I don’t want any leaks. I’ll
see you after the President’s lunch. We can bring each other up to date then.
By the way, what’s today’s code name for the President?’

‘Julius.’

‘Good God, I don’t believe it.’

‘You are telling me everything I need to
know, aren’t you, Halt?’

‘No, of course I’m not, Stuart. You know
me, Machiavelli’s younger brother.’