Shall We Tell the President? (20 page)

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 “In 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 kiss - are her eyes
open? - no, closed. She’s enjoying it - good - longer 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
back - I’ve been this far before with her - can’t possibly be any objection -
move hand to leg - pause – what 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.’

1:00 am 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 landed - George Washington. Mark dialled the Director’s private number at
the Bureau.
^l
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 bad 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
computerised 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.

‘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 I 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
naivete
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’ – he repeated it even more pointedly - ‘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.’

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.’

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 there - Senator
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 bill - but 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’ - the Director looked at his
watch - ‘I mean today. Make it 7:00 am 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.’