Shall We Tell the President? (7 page)

The phone rang and he heard Polly’s voice.
He prayed it would be
Stames
, but his prayer was not
answered.

‘Hey, Mr Andrews, are you still there? I’ve
got Homicide on the line. Captain Hogan wants to talk to you.’

‘Andrews?’

‘Yes, Captain.’

‘What can you tell me?’

Mark reported truthfully that
Casefikis
was an illegal immigrant who had delayed seeking
treatment for his leg, and untruthfully that he alleged he had been shot by a
crook who had subjected him to blackmail, threatening exposure of his illegal
entry into the States. A full written report would be sent around to his office
by tomorrow morning.

The detective sounded disbelieving.

‘Are you holding out on me, son? What was
the FBI doing there in the first place? There’s going to be one hell of a scene
if I find out you’re withholding information. I wouldn’t hesitate to roast your
ass over the hottest coals in
Washington
.’

Mark thought of
Stames’s
repeated injunctions about secrecy.

‘No, I’m not withholding information,’ he
said in a raised voice; he knew he was trembling and could hardly have sounded
less convincing. The Homicide detective grumbled to himself, asked a few more
questions, and hung up. Mark put the phone down. The receiver was clammy with
sweat, his clothes still stuck to him. He tried Norma
Stames
again; still the boss hadn’t reached home. He called Polly again, and asked her
to go through the whole routine with the radio channels again; still nothing
except a buzzing sound on Channel One. Finally, Mark abandoned the telephone
and told Aspirin he was leaving. Aspirin didn’t seem interested.

Mark headed for the elevator and walked
quickly in his car. Must get on to home ground. Then call the Director. Once
again he was speeding through the streets towards his home.

It wasn’t the most luxurious part of town,
but the renovated south-west section of Washington was home for many young,
single professionals. It was on the waterfront near the Arena Stage,
conveniently located next to a Metro station. Pleasant, lively, not too
expensive - the place suited Mark perfectly.

As soon as he reached his apartment, he ran
up the stairs, burst through the door and picked up the phone. After several
rings, the Bureau answered. ‘Director’s office. Duty officer speaking.’

Mark drew a deep breath. ‘My name is
Special Agent Andrews, Washington Field Office,’ Mark began slowly. ‘I want to
speak to the Director, priority and immediate.’

The Director, it seemed, was dining with
the Attorney General at her home. Mark asked for the telephone number. Did he
have special authority to contact the Director at this time of night? He had
special authority, he had an appointment with him at 10:30 tomorrow morning
and, for God’s sake, he had special authority.

The man must have sensed Andrews was
desperate.

‘I’ll call you right back, if you’ll give
me your number.’

Andrews knew that this was simply to check
that he was an FBI agent and that he was scheduled to see the Director in the
morning. The phone rang after one minute and the duty officer was back.

‘The Director is still with the Attorney
General. Her
private number is 761-4386.’

Mark dialled the number.

‘Mrs Edelman’s residence,’ said a
deferential voice.

This is Special Agent Mark Andrews,’ he
began. ‘I need to speak to the Director of the Federal Bureau of
Investigation.’

He said it slowly, he said it clearly,
although he was still trembling. The reply came back from a man whose biggest
worry that night had been that the potatoes had taken longer than expected.

‘Will you hold the line one moment please,
sir?’

He waited, he waited, he waited.

A new voice said: ‘Tyson here.’

Mark drew a deep breath and plunged in.

‘My name is Special Agent Mark Andrews. I
have an appointment to see you with SAC
Stames
and
Special Agent Calvert at 10:30 tomorrow morning. You don’t know the details,
sir, because it was made through Mrs McGregor after you had left your office. I
have to see you immediately, you may wish to call me back. I’m at home.’

‘Yes, Andrews,’ said Tyson. ‘I’ll call you
back. What is your number?’

Mark gave it.

‘Young man,’ Tyson said, ‘this had better
be a priority.’

‘It is, sir.’

Mark waited again. One minute passed, and
then another. Had Tyson dismissed him as a fool? What was going on? Three
minutes passed. Four minutes passed; he was obviously checking more thoroughly
than his duty officer had done.

The phone rang. Mark jumped.

‘Hi, Mark, it’s Roger. Want to come out for
a beer?’

‘Not now, Roger, not now.’ He slammed the
phone down.

It rang again immediately.

‘Right, Andrews, what do you have to tell
me? Make it quick and to the point.’

‘I want to see you now, sir. I need fifteen
minutes of your time and I need you to tell me what the hell to do.’

He regretted ‘hell’ the moment he had said
it.

‘Very well, if it’s that urgent. Do you
know where the Attorney General lives?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Take this down:
2942 Edgewood Street
Arlington
.’

Mark put the phone down, wrote the address
carefully in block capitals on the inside of a matchbook advertising life
insurance, and called Aspirin, who just couldn’t get 7-across.

‘If anything happens, I’ll be on my car
radio; you can get me there, I’ll leave the line on Channel Two open the whole
time. Something’s wrong with Channel One.’

Aspirin sniffed: the young agents took
themselves far too seriously
nowa
-days. It wouldn’t
have happened under J. Edgar Hoover, shouldn’t be allowed to happen now. Still,
he only had one more year and then retirement. He returned to the crossword.
Seven-across, ten letters: gathering of those in favour of buccaneering.
Aspirin started to think.

Mark Andrews was thinking too as he rushed
into the elevator, into the street, into his car, and moved off at speed to
Arlington
. He raced up
East Basin Drive
to
Independence Avenue
,
past the Lincoln Memorial to get on to
Memorial
Bridge
.
He drove as fast possible through the early night, cursing the people
’
calmly strolling across the road on
this mild, pleasant evening, casually on their way to nowhere in particular,
cursing the people who took no notice of the flushing red light he had affixed
to the car roof, cursing all the way. Where was
Stames
?
Where was Barry? What the hell was going on? Would the Director think he was
crazy?

He crossed
Memorial
Bridge
and took the
G.W. Parkway
exit. A tie-up. He couldn’t move an inch. Probably an accident. A goddamn
accident right now.

That was all he needed. He pulled into the
centre lane- and leaned on his horn. Most people assumed he was connected with
the police rescue team: most people let him by. Eventually he made it to the
group of police cars and rescue-squad ambulances. A young Metropolitan
policeman approached the car. ‘Are you on this detail?’

“No. FBI. I’ve got to get to
Arlington
. Emergency.’

He flashed his credentials. The policeman
ushered him through. He raced away from the accident. Goddamn accident. Once he
was clear of it, the traffic became light. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at
2942 Edgewood Street
,
Arlington
. One last check with
Polly at the Washington Field Office on the car phone. No, neither
Stames
nor Calvert had called in.

Mark jumped out of the car. Before he had
take
a step, a Secret Service man stopped him. Mark showed
his credentials and said that he had an appointment with the Director. The
Secret Service man courteously asked him to wait by his car. After consultation
at the door, Mark was shown into a small room just on the right of the hall
which was obvious used as a study. The Director came in. Mark stood up.

‘Good evening, Director.’

‘Good evening, Andrews. You’ve interrupted
a very important dinner. I hope you know what you are doing.’ The Director was
cold and abrupt, clearly displeased at being summoned to a meeting by an
unknown junior agent.

Mark went through the whole story from the
first meeting with
Stames
through to his decision to
go over everybody’s head. The Director’s face remained impassive throughout the
long recital. It was still impassive when Mark had finished. Mark’s only
thought was: I’ve done the wrong thing. He should have gone on trying to reach
Stames
and Calvert. They were probably home by now. He
waited, a little sweat appearing on his forehead. Perhaps this was his last day
in the FBI. The Director’s first words took him by surprise.

‘You did exactly the right thing, Andrews.
I’d have made the same decision in your place. It must have taken guts to bring
the whole thing to me.’ He looked hard at Mark. ‘You’re absolutely certain only
Stames
, Calvert, you, and I know all the details of
what happened this evening? No one from the Secret Service, and no one from the
Metropolitan Police Department?’

‘That’s correct, sir, just the four of us.’

‘And the three of you already have an
appointment with me at 10:30 tomorrow morning?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Take this down.’

Mark took out a pad from his inside coat
pocket.

‘You have the Attorney General’s number
here?’

‘Yes, sir,’

‘And my number at home is 721-4069. Learn
them and then destroy them. Now I’ll tell you exactly what you do next. Go back
to the Washington Field Office. Check on
Stames
and
Calvert again. Call the morgue, call the hospitals, call the highway police. If
nothing turns up, I’ll see you in my office at 8:30 tomorrow morning, not
10:30. That’s your first job. Second, get me the names of the Homicide officers
working on this detail with the Metropolitan Police. Now tell me if I have this
right you told them nothing about the reason you went to see
Casefikis
?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘Good.’

The Attorney General put her head around
the door.

‘Everything under control, Halt?’

‘Fine, thanks, Marian. I don’t think you’ve
met Special Agent Andrews of the Washington Field Office.’

‘No. Nice to meet you, Mr Andrews.’

‘Good evening, ma’am.’

‘Will you be long, Halt?’

‘No, I’ll be back as soon as I’ve finished
briefing Andrews.’

‘Anything special?’

‘No, nothing to worry about.’

The Director had obviously decided nobody
was going to be told the story until he got to the
bottorm
of it himself.

‘Where was I?’

‘You told me to return to the Washington
Field Office, sir, and check on
Stames
and Calvert’

‘And then to call the morgue, the
hospitals, and the highway police.’

‘Right.’

‘And you told me to check on the Homicide
officers, get their names.’

‘Right. Take down the following: check the
names of all hospital employees and visitors, as well as any other persons who
can be identified as having been in the vicinity of Room 4308 between the time
the two occupants were known to be alive and the time you found them dead.
Check the names of the two dead then through NCIC and Bureau indexes for any
background information we may have. Get fingerprints of all persons on duty and
all visitors and all others
who
can be identified as having been near Room 4308, as well as fingerprints of the
two dead men. We will need all these prints both for elimination purposes and
possible suspect identification. If you don’t find
Stames
and Calvert, as I said, see me at 8.30
in my office tomorrow morning. If
anything else arises tonight, you call me here or at home. Don’t hesitate. If
it’s after 11:30, I’ll be home. If you call me on the phone, use a code name -
now let me think - Julius - let’s hope it’s not prophetic, and give me your
number. Make sure you use a pay phone and I’ll call you back immediately. Don’t
bother me before 7:15
til
the morning, unless it’s
really important. Have you understood all that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right. I think I’ll get back to dinner.’

Mark stood up, ready to leave. The Director
put a hand on his shoulder.