02 Avalanche Pass (43 page)

“Seven hostages dead,” he said bitterly. “I would like to have done better.”

“Seven?” The president’s forehead creased in a frown. “I thought there were five casualties?”

“Two more died subsequently. One from burns and one from severe lung problems caused by smoke inhalation. Plus the pilot of the Apache. His gunner survived, somehow. I wish we had done better,” he repeated. The president lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug.

“You could have done a whole lot worse,” he told the director. “We all could have. We could be looking now at a figure of fifty dead. Seven is regrettable, naturally. But on balance, I don’t know that you could have done better.”

Benjamin accepted the assessment. In his heart, he knew the president was right. They had been in a no-win situation from day one. The best they could have ever hoped for was to minimize their losses.

“It seems Emery’s theory was correct,” he said, looking carefully at the man opposite to see what effect the words would have. To his surprise, the president grinned ruefully.

“The damned man usually is,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons why I find him so insufferable. Still, I suppose we do owe him a debt.” He dismissed the former professor by moving onto another subject. “Your man on the spot handled the situation well. Colby, was it?”

Benjamin nodded. “That’s right, Mr. President. He had to make a tough decision on the spur of the moment and he made the right one. And thank God for that.”

The president nodded several times. “I was thinking that some gesture on my part might be appropriate—some kind of citation perhaps?” he suggested. Benjamin grinned slightly.

“A presidential citation in his personnel file never did any FBI agent harm, Mr. President,” he replied. Regardless of your political leanings or personal feelings about the man in the White House, a presidential citation was a certain aid to rapid promotion.

“Then there’s the matter of the girl”—he glanced down at a legal pad on his desk—“Bowden. Tragic that she should be among the casualties.”

Benjamin said nothing. The president had summed it up. The eyewitness accounts, particularly Nate Pell and Senator Carling, left no doubt that all the survivors were indebted to Tina Bowden for their lives. The president was shuffling a few papers on his desk until he found the one he was looking for.

“It seems that Ms. Bowden was still on the Marine Corps reserve list,” he said. “That means it’s within my powers to recommend her
for a decoration. I’ve spoken with the marine commandant and we feel the Navy Cross might be appropriate.”

“I’m sure her family would appreciate that, Mr. President,” Benjamin replied and again, the president’s reaction caught him by surprise.

“Not as much as they’d appreciate having their daughter still alive, I’m sure. I thought maybe a private ceremony here at the White House. No press. Just an informal presentation to her parents.”

Benjamin noticed the quick sidelong glance that Gorton directed at his chief of staff as he said the words “no press.” He guessed that had been a matter of disagreement between them. Pohlsen would have hated to see a photo op like that pass by.

“I’m sure it would mean a lot to them, sir,” he said. He was a little bewildered by this conversation. He had assumed there would be an official debriefing at some time in the next week, not this informal and undeniably friendly chat.

“And how about the other guy—the deputy from Steamboat Springs? You think maybe we should do something for him?”

Benjamin hesitated. He didn’t want to deny Jesse Parker his moment in the sun but Dent Colby had discussed the matter with him at some length.

“Parker has been helping Dent Colby with the debrief, sir. Then he plans to go back to Colorado as soon as possible. I believe he was pretty torn up about the girl’s death. Took it hard, Colby tells me.”

The president raised an eyebrow at the news. “Is that right? Something between them, was there?” Benjamin shook his head.

“Not really. Agent Colby feels it was more a case of the two of them being thrown together as they were, each being the other’s only contact during a high stress time. Besides, I believe that Parker has a relationship with the sheriff back in Routt County.”

The president’s eyebrow soared at that and Benjamin hurried to correct the impression. “The sheriff is a woman, Mr. President. And from all reports, a very attractive one.”

President Gorton shook his head. “That’s a relief,” he said. “The alternative was too complicated to consider.”

“I think maybe a personal letter of gratitude and commendation
from you might be enough there, sir,” Benjamin concluded and the president made a note on the legal pad.

In the background, Pohlsen cleared his throat apologetically and Gorton rose from behind the desk. Taking his cue, Benjamin rose also, preparing to leave. The next words stopped him.

“Take a quick turn in the Rose Garden with me, Mr. Director,” said the president. Terence Pohlsen glanced at his watch and the clipboard that held Gorton’s list of appointments.

“Mr. President, you’re already overdue for your meeting with the delegation from Lagos—” he began, but Gorton cut him off.

“They can wait, Terry,” he said with some asperity. “Christ, we’re giving them a hundred million dollars worth of aid. That should be worth five minutes of their time!”

Pohlsen shrugged, defeated. He glanced at the list, mentally juggling appointments for the rest of the day as he planned how to make up the lost time. Automatically, he began to follow as Gorton ushered the FBI director through the French doors into the crisp spring sunshine.

“No need for you to bother, Terry,” the president said quietly and the chief of staff stopped, puzzled. Outside, two ever-present secret service agents fell into place behind the president and Linus Benjamin. One of them raised his sleeve mike to his mouth and spoke into it. Linus could imagine the exchange.

“Banjo is leaving the Oval Office. In the Rose Garden with Director Benjamin.”

When Gorton had been sworn in, he had made it clear that he would not be referred to as POTUS (President of the United States). The name, he said, sounded like some kind of a soup and he had instructed the service to use the code name assigned to him as VP. “Banjo” was the result, created after he confessed to a weakness for Dixieland jazz. The agents followed, just out of earshot and as he noticed them, Benjamin understood the reason for the move from the Oval Office. There were no microphones out here. Their conversation would not be recorded.

Gorton nodded to the bare rosebushes. “No roses to show you, Mr. Director, I’m afraid,” he said in a bantering tone.

“I’ll try to live without them, Mr. President.”

“So, our best guess is that this drug lord was behind the whole thing, is that right?” the president asked thoughtfully.

“We’ve no solid proof, Mr. President. Only one of the gang survived and he knew nothing beyond the facts of the kidnapping. There were another four that the marines caught up with on the mountain—the ones who went after Jesse Parker. But they died in the shootout as well.”

“Probably cleaner that way. The last thing we want is more terrorists trying to blackmail us into setting prisoners free.”

“From all we can see, they weren’t terrorists, Mr. President. At least, not in the sense that they were politically motivated. We’ve identified six so far and they were all mercenaries—American, Rhodesians and one Italian. One of the guys on the mountain was an ex-mobster named Pallisani. He had no political connections that we’re aware of.”

“So, on the face of it, it was all about money.”

Benjamin nodded. “Except when you go below the surface, Kormann was obviously prepared to kill the hostages at the last moment while he tried to make his getaway. If it was all about money, why do that?”

The president pondered the matter for a few seconds, staring unseeingly at one of the bare rosebushes in the garden.

“Unless someone else was paying him to do it and that was the plan right from the first moment?” he said, and Benjamin nodded agreement.

“That’s pretty much the way we see it. And of course, there’s a reasonable amount of evidence to suggest that the ‘someone’ is Estevez.” He paused, then went on. “As a matter of fact, we’re starting to think it wasn’t the first time he’s tried to have the senator killed.”

Gorton stopped and turned toward him. “He’s tried before? When?”

“The Atherton shooting, sir. Carling was with him that night. At the time, everyone assumed that Atherton was the target and the shooter was some gun crazy right to lifer. Now we’re starting to think that maybe Carling was the target. They both stooped to pick
up the glove at the same time. But Carling was on the side closest to the sniper.”

President Gorton sighed deeply. He was an ordinary man, he knew, thrust into an extraordinary position. “It’s kind of frightening, isn’t it, that there are two equally plausible reasons behind that shooting?” he asked. Benjamin had no answer to that and guessed that the president wasn’t asking for one. The silence between them grew. Finally, it was the president who broke it.

“You did a good job, Benjamin. I want you to know I appreciate that.”

Benjamin nodded his acceptance of the compliment. He sensed there was more to come and the president’s next words proved him right.

“I’ve got a hell of a job making this office my own, you know?” he said, half to himself. “This presidency is still seen as belonging to Adam Couch and I’m just an accidental blow-in. Well, if I’m stuck with the job, I plan to make it my own.”

He paused and looked meaningfully at the director. Benjamin shrugged. He couldn’t argue with that.

“You were a Couch appointment, Director Benjamin. You were part of his administration and I want to make changes so that this becomes my administration. Do you follow where I’m going?”

Benjamin nodded carefully. “I think so, Mr. President. The last director with permanent tenure was Hoover, I guess,” he replied. Gorton nodded once or twice.

“I felt I owed it to you to tell you to your face,” he said, eventually. “I’ll be making changes to my emergency council because I need them. Not because you haven’t performed and not because I think you wouldn’t perform in future. But be honest with me, you’d always look on me as a second choice to Couch, wouldn’t you?”

It was on the tip of Benjamin’s tongue to deny the suggestion. Then wryly, he realized that the president was correct. His opinion of Gorton had improved in the previous week, but he still saw him as a second choice, and way behind Adam Lindsay Couch, he realized.

“I guess I would at that, Mr. President.”

Again, Gorton nodded. “I appreciate your honesty. We both know it’s the truth. And one thing I’ve learned is that I cannot carry out this office unless my inner group of advisers are committed to me—totally and absolutely. And not to the ghost of some former incumbent.”

“I understand, sir,” Benjamin replied. He felt a twinge of disappointment at the thought of leaving the Bureau. But then, he thought, he’d only been in the job six months. He guessed it wouldn’t be too big a wrench to leave.

“Any other way we can help you, we’ll be glad to,” Gorton continued. “There’s a vacancy coming up for state’s attorney general in New York. I can almost guarantee you’d have it if you wanted it.”

Benjamin shoved his hands in his pockets and gazed across the White House lawn. It was a crisp spring day in Washington, with a slight haze in the sky and a chill still in the air.

“I’d like to think it over, sir,” he said and Gorton nodded repeatedly once more. Benjamin was beginning to realize that this was a mannerism of the president’s.

“Think it over. Think it over. Let me know. It’s not a punishment, Benjamin, I want you to know that. It’s not some kind of revenge. It’s what I need if I’m to do this job halfway decently, is all.”

He glanced at his watch. “Now I guess I’d better get back to these people from Lagos. What the hell do you call them—Lagotians?”

Benjamin couldn’t help grinning. “I guess that’s as close as anything, Mr. President.” He added, “Thanks for taking the time to explain.”

Gorton waved a hand in dismissal. “It was the least you deserved. I’m sorry things turned out this way. Damned sorry. But…” he shrugged. Everything had been said and he turned away again, heading for the French doors. But Benjamin had one more thing to say.

“Mr. President?” he said again and Gorton stopped, turned back to face him, eyebrows raised in a question.

“I want to thank you, sir. For your directness… and your honesty.”

Gorton allowed a trace of a smile to lift the corners of his mouth. “I could say the same for yours, Mr. Director,” he replied and Benjamin shrugged.

“I owe it to the office, sir,” he said and the smile widened a trifle.

“Just to the office, Mr. Director? Not to the man as well?” the president asked.

Benjamin hesitated then replied, knowing he was speaking the truth. “Maybe to him as well, Mr. President.”

I
t fell away below him. Steep. Impossibly steep. Seeming almost sheer as he stood at the edge looking down.

It had snowed the day before and the fresh fall had covered all traces of his last run down The Wall with a thick blanket of fresh Wasatch powder. The mid-morning sun shone on it now, reflecting fiercely so that even behind his dark glasses, his eyes narrowed.

Below and beyond, the various ski runs of Snow Eagles Resort stretched out to the hotel. It was empty now of skiers as the resort was closed while Dent’s people carried out their final investigations. The snowfall had almost covered the traces of the burned out Apache as well. A little later in the day, a big Boeing chopper was due to come in and lift the wreckage out of the valley.

His breath clouded on the clear, frigid air. It was a perfect day. Clear sky, bright sun, no wind and the air so cold it cut like a knife into your lungs as you breathed it in. It was the sort of day Jesse lived for and he wished that the sadness weighing down upon him would lift.