Shall We Tell the President? (24 page)

‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Mark.

‘I check in advance, man, I
ain’t
got time to waste with my pretty body.’ Simon burst
out laughing.

‘Think about me when you go to bed tonight,
all alone, Mark, ‘cause I sure will have forgotten you. Cool your jets, man.’

Mark threw him the keys and watched him as
he walked towards the Mercedes swinging his hips, dancing and laughing.

‘You
ain’t
got
it, baby, whatever it is.’

‘Bullshit! You’re a jive-ass bastard,’ Mark
said, and laughed.

‘Now, you’re just jealous, man, or
prejudiced,’ said Simon, as he revved up the car and moved to a parking space.
As he passed Mark, he shouted, ‘Either way, I’m the winner.’

Mark wondered if he ought to apply for a
job as a garage attendant at the apartment building. It seemed to have its
compensations. He looked around; something moved; no, it was just his nerves or
his imagination. Once in his room, he wrote his report for the morning session
with the Director and fell into bed.

Two days to go.

Wednesday morning, 9 March

1:00 am The phone rang. Mark was just
falling asleep, still in that world between sleeping and waking. The phone
insisted. Try to answer it, it could be Julius.

‘Hello,’ he said, yawning.

‘Mark Andrews?’

‘Yes,’ he said wearily, shifting himself to
a more comfortable position in the bed, fearing if he woke up fully he would
never get back to sleep.

‘It’s George
Stampouzis
.
Sorry to wake you, but I’ve come up with something I thought you would want to
know about immediately.’

Stampouzis’s
statement acted like cold water, Mark was wide awake instantly.

‘Right, don’t say anything else, I’ll call
you from a pay phone. What’s your number?’ Mark wrote it down on the back of a
Kleenex box, the only thing he could reach. He threw on a bathrobe, forced his
feet into a pair of tennis shoes, and started for the door. He opened the door,
looked both ways. Hell, he was getting paranoid. There was no sound in the
hall; there wouldn’t be even if someone were waiting for him. He took the
elevator down to the garage level, where there was a pay phone. Simon was
asleep on the chair - how did he manage it? Mark had found it hard enough to
sleep in bed.

He dialled the 212 area code.

‘Hello,
Stampouzis
.
Mark Andrews.’

‘Do you G-men always play games at one in
the morning? I would have thought you’d figured out a better system by now.’

Mark laughed; the sound echoed in the
garage; Simon twitched.

‘What can I do for you?’

‘I traded some information today, now you
owe me two stories.’
Stampouzis
paused. ‘The Mafia
had nothing to do with
Stames’s
death, and they are
not going overboard for the Gun Control bill, although they basically oppose
it. So you can eliminate them. I wouldn’t have gone this far for anyone but
Nick, so make sure you handle it right.’

‘I’m doing my best,’ Mark replied. ‘Thanks
for your help.’

He put the phone on the hook and walked
back to the elevator, thinking about the tousled bed which he hoped was still
warm. Simon was still asleep.

Wednesday morning, 9 March

5:50 am

‘It’s for you, sir.’

‘What?’ mumbled the Director, still
half-asleep.

‘The phone, sir, it’s for you.’ His
housekeeper was standing by the doorway in her dressing-gown.

‘Ugh. What time is it?’

‘Ten to six, sir.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Mr Elliott, sir.’

‘Right, switch it through.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Elliott had woken him up. A decision he
would never have taken unless it was urgent.

‘Good morning, Elliott, what is it?’ He
paused,

‘Can you be sure? That changes the whole
situation. What time is he due in? 7:00, of course. I’ll see you at 6:30.’

The Director put the phone down, and sat on
the edge of the bed, and said very loudly: ‘Damn,’ which by the Director’s
standards was extreme. His big feet placed firmly on the floor, his large hands
splayed on his equally large thighs, he was deep in thought. Eventually he
rose, put on a dressing-gown, and disappeared into the bathroom, repeating the
expletive several times.

Mark also had a phone call, not from the
anonymous man, but from
Elizabeth
.
She needed to see him urgently. They agreed to meet at eight o’clock in the
lobby of the Mayflower. He felt sure no one would recognise him there, but he
wondered why
Elizabeth
had chosen that particular meeting place.

Mark took off his dressing-gown and
returned to the bathroom.

The Senator took an early-morning phone
call as well, not from the anonymous man or from
Elizabeth
,
but from the Chairman, who was confirming their midday meeting for the final
briefing at the Sheraton Hotel in
Silver Spring
.
The Senator agreed, replaced the phone, and roamed around the room in his dressing-gown
thinking.

‘Coffee for three, Mrs McGregor. Are they
both here?’ the Director asked as he passed her.

‘Yes, sir.’

Mrs McGregor looked very chic in a new
turquoise, two-piece suit, but the Director didn’t notice. He strolled into his
office.

‘Good morning, Matt. Good morning, Mark.’

When should he drop the bomb? He decided to
let Andrews speak first. ‘Right, let’s hear what you’ve found out.’

‘As I told you yesterday, sir, I think I’ve
cut the list of senators down to five — Brooks of Massachusetts, Byrd of West
Virginia, Dexter of Connecticut, Harrison of South Carolina, and Thornton of
Texas. The only common factor is their interest in the Gun Control bill, which
as we know, sir, is likely to become law on 10 March. Assassination of the
President would now be about the only way of holding that bill up.’

‘I would have thought,’ said
Rogers
, ‘that that could
be the one act that would make certain the bill passed through both Houses.’

‘You tell that to two Kennedys, Martin
Luther King, George Wallace and Ronald Reagan and see what they
ail
have to say,’ responded the Director.

‘Continue, Mark.’

Mark summarised what
Lykham
and
Stampouzis
had briefed him on each man, and
explained how he was able to eliminate two other men from the list of seven —
namely Pearson and Nunn. ‘That completes my report, sir, unless, of course, we
are approaching this thing in the wrong way and I’m heading down a blind alley.
And as far as I’m concerned that is entirely possible, as I seem to be boxing
with shadows.’

The Director nodded and waited.

Mark continued: ‘I was going to spend today
trying to hear each one of them in action in the Senate. I wish I could think
of a good way of finding out where they were at lunchtime on 24 February, short
of asking them outright, that is.’

‘Don’t go anywhere near any of them. That
would be the surest way to shut down the whole plot. Now, Mark, I must warn you
my news is not good, so settle back and prepare for the worst. We are beginning
to think the man we are after is Dexter,’ said the Director.

Mark went cold. ‘Why, sir?’ he managed to
get out.

The Assistant Director leaned forward to
speak. ‘I have had some men checking out the Georgetown Inn, very
unobtrusively. We didn’t expect to turn anything up. We questioned all the day
staff but they couldn’t help. Early this morning, just to be thorough, we
interviewed the night staff. Turned out that one of the night porters, who was
off duty during the day, of course, is pretty sure he saw Senator Dexter
hurrying away from the hotel some time like 2:30 in the afternoon on 24
February.’

Mark was stunned. ‘How did he know it was
Senator Dexter?’

‘The man was born and raised in
Wilton
,
Connecticut
;
he knows his face well. I’m afraid there’s something else, too; he was
accompanied by a young woman whose rough description tallies with his
daughter.’

‘That’s not proof,’ said Mark. ‘It’s all
circumstantial. It wouldn’t stand up in a court of law.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ said the Director,
‘but it’s an unfortunate coincidence for Senator Dexter, Remember his
involvement in the arms business; it won’t do his finances any good if the Gun
Control bill goes through; in fact our inquiries show he stands to lose a
personal fortune, so we have a motive as well.’

‘But, sir,’ Mark argued, carried away by
the desire to believe in
Elizabeth
,
‘do you really think that a senator would plot to kill the President just to
keep one of his companies afloat? There are so many less drastic ways to stall
the bill. He could try to tie it up in committee. Or organise a filibuster...’

‘He already has tried - and failed, Mark,’
Matthew Rogers interrupted.

‘The other four senators may have more
powerful motives we don’t happen to know about. It doesn’t have to be Dexter,’
continued Mark, sounding unconvinced.

‘Mark, I understand what you’re saying and
you do have a point. Under ordinary circumstances I’d agree that it seems
unlikely, but we have to go on the evidence we have, even if it’s slim and at
present no more than circumstantial. And there’s something else. On the night
of 3 March, when
Casefikis
and the postman were
killed, Dr Dexter’s name was not marked on the duty register. She should have
finished work at five, but for some inexplicable reason she stayed an extra two
hours, treated the Greek - who was not her patient - and then went home. Now
it’s possible that she was just conscientious and working overtime, or that she
was filling in for a colleague, but there are a hell of a lot of coincidences
here, Mark. I’m bound to say if one is dispassionate about it, the odds are
stacked heavily against Senator Dexter — and his daughter.’

Mark did not reply.

‘Now listen and listen carefully,’ the
Director went on. ‘I know you want to believe that all this is circumstantial
and that it’s one of the other four – but I only have twenty-six hours left
before the President leaves the White House, and I have to live with the facts
as they present themselves. I want to catch the man involved, whoever he is,
and I’m not willing to risk the life of the President to do it. When are you
seeing the girl next?’

Mark looked up. ‘At eight, at the
Mayflower.’

‘Why?’

‘I have no idea, sir. She just said that it
was important.’

‘Um, well, I think you still ought to go
but then report back to me immediately you’re through.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I can’t understand why, Andrews. Be
careful.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘It’s twenty to eight now, you’d better be
on your way. Incidentally, we’re still having no luck with those fifty-dollar bills.
We’re down to the last eight, but still no prints from Mrs
Casefikis
.
Better news on the German,
Gerbach
, however. We’ve
established beyond a doubt that he had no connection with the CIA during his
stay in
Rhodesia
or at the time of his death, so that’s one more problem out of the way.’

Mark didn’t give a damn about the
fifty-dollar bills, the German driver, the Mafia, or the CIA. All his hard work
appeared to be leading them straight to Dexter. He left the office even more
despondent than he had been when he came in.

Once back on the street, he decided to walk
to the Mayflower in the hope of clearing his head. He didn’t notice that two
men followed him down
Pennsylvania
Avenue
, past the White House, and on towards the
hotel.

At the press of a button, Elliott entered
the Director’s Office.

‘Elliott, you were right about the
Mayflower. What have you done about it?’

‘There are two men already there, sir, and
one following Andrews.’

‘It’s the first time in thirty-six years
that I’ve hated my job,’ said the Director. ‘You’ve done very well, Elliott,
and all too soon I’ll be able to tell you what this whole damn thing is about.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Follow up these five names. Leave no
stone,
unturn
-ed.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Thank you.’

Elliott slid out of the room.

Damn man has no heart. Can’t have a
right-hand man without a heart. Makes him damn useful in a strange situation
like this though. When this operation’s all over, I’ll transfer him back to
Idaho
and—

‘You said something, sir?’

‘No, Mrs McGregor, I’m just going quietly
mad. Don’t worry about me. When the men in the white coats come to take me
away, just sign the forms in triplicate and look relieved.’

Mrs McGregor smiled.

‘I like your new suit,’ the Director said.

She blushed. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Mark pushed through the revolving doors of
the Mayflower Hotel, his eyes searching the lobby for
Elizabeth
. How he wanted to see her and how
he wanted to stop being devious and tell her the truth. It’s all
circumstantial, he continued to insist. He couldn’t spot her so chose a
comfortable seat which had a good view of the lobby.

On the far side of the lobby, a man was
buying
The Washington Post
from the newspaper stand. Mark didn’t notice
that he made no attempt to read it. Suddenly he saw
Elizabeth
heading towards him with Senator
Dexter by her side. Hell, that was all he needed.

‘Hello, Mark.’ She kissed him gently on the
cheek.

Judas showing the Pharisees which one was
to be killed? The unkindest cut of all.

‘Mark, I’d like you to meet my father.’

‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Good morning, Mark, it’s good to meet you.
Elizabeth
has
told me quite a bit about you.’

And what should you be able to tell me,
thought Mark. Where were you on 24 February? Where will you be tomorrow?

‘Mark, are you all right?’
Elizabeth
enquired.

‘Yes, fine. I’m sorry, Senator, it’s good
to meet you too.’

The Senator was staring at him strangely.

‘Well, I must be getting along, dear - I
have a busy schedule. I look forward to our usual lunch tomorrow.’

‘See you then, Father. Thanks for the
breakfast and the chat.’

‘Goodbye, Mark. See you again soon, I
hope.’ Senator Dexter still looked at him quizzically.

‘Perhaps,’ replied Mark quietly.

They watched him leave. So did three other
people. One of them left to make a phone call.

‘Mark, what’s come over you? Why were you
so brusque with my father? I especially wanted you to meet him.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m just tired.’

‘Or is there something you’re not telling
me?’ said Elizabeth.

‘I could ask you the same question.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, let’s forget it,’ said
Mark. ‘Why did you want to see me so urgently?’

‘Simply because I wanted you to meet my
father. What’s so strange about that? Why the hell did I bother?’

She began to walk away down the corridor,
pushing her way quickly through the revolving door at the entrance to the
hotel. Three men saw her leave. One followed her, two stuck with Mark. He
walked slowly towards the doors. The doorman saluted him punctiliously.

‘Cab, sir?’

‘No, thanks. I’ll walk.’

The Director was on the phone when Mark
returned and waved him into the large leather chair by his desk. He sank down
in it, his mind fuzzy. The Director put the phone down and looked directly at
him.

‘So now you’ve met Senator Dexter, and I
must tell you that either Dr Dexter knows nothing or she deserves an Oscar for
her performance at the May-flower.’

‘You saw everything,’ said Mark.

‘Of course, and more. She was just involved
in an automobile accident, two minutes ago. That phone call was the details.’

Mark jumped out of his seat.

‘She’s all right. A couple of hundred
dollars’ worth of damage to the front of her little Fiat and not a mark on the
bus she hit. Sensible girl. She’s on her way to work now in a cab, or rather,
she thinks it’s a cab.’

Mark sighed, resigned to whatever would
happen next. ‘Where is Senator Dexter?’ he asked.

‘He’s gone to the Capitol. Made one phone
call when he got there, but it didn’t turn out to be of any significance.’

Mark was beginning to feel like a puppet.
‘What do you expect me to do now?’

There was a knock on the door and the
anonymous man appeared. He handed a note to the Director, who read it quickly.

‘Thank you.’

The anonymous man left. Mark feared the
worst. The Director placed the note on the desk and looked up.

‘Senator Thornton has called a press
conference at 10:30 in Senate Committee Room 2228. Better get down there
immediately. Phone me as soon as he has said his piece. The questions from the
press afterwards will be irrelevant; they always are.’

Mark walked to the Senate, once again
hoping it would clear his head. It didn’t. He wanted to ring Elizabeth and ask
if she were all right after the accident; he wanted to ask her a hundred
questions, but he only wanted one answer. Three men also walked to the Senate,
two of them taking a half of the route each, and the third walking the whole
way. All three of them arrived eventually in Room 2228; none of them was
interested in Senator Thornton’s statement.

The room was already well lit by the large
Idreg
lights especially set up for the television cameras,
and the members of the press were chatting among them- selves. It was a packed
house, even though Senator Thornton had not yet arrived. Mark wondered what he
had to say, whether it would throw any light on his own questions. Point the
guilty finger at
Thornton
perhaps, supply a motive he could return with to the Director. He thought, as
he looked at the senior reporters, that they might have a shrewd idea or even a
tip from one of Thornton’s staff as to the contents of his statement. But he
didn’t want to ask them any questions for fear of being remembered. With an
entrance that would have pleased Caesar himself, Senator Thornton came in,
accompanied by three aides and a private secretary. He certainly was making the
most of it. His dark hair was covered with grease, and he had put on what he
obviously imagined to be his best suit, green with a blue pin-stripe. No one
had briefed him on what to wear when facing colour television - only dark
clothes, as plain as possible – or if he had been briefed, he hadn’t listened.