The Diplomatic Coup

by Alan Elsner

  All was quiet outside the house. Delphine washed up quickly over the sink, dragged a brush through her disgusting hair and changed into her black warm-up suit, which had proved to be more useful than she’d ever expected. Then she stuffed some toiletries into an overnight bag and returned to the van. While she’d been indoors, Craig had called his boss.

  “We’re going to the Bureau. He’ll join us there in an hour,” he said as Delphine fastened her seatbelt. As they drove off, she instinctively checked the wing mirror. Nobody was following. Ten minutes later, they were waved past the checkpoint to the FBI’s underground parking garage on 8th Street, North West.

  Craig led them to a small cubicle on the 5th floor. Even at this hour, agents were working. One looked up briefly before turning back to her screen.

  “Sit there. Shouldn’t be long,” Craig said, pointing at a chair. Delphine was instantly asleep. Her next memory was of someone gently shaking her shoulder.

  “Delphine, this is my supervisor, Agent-In-Charge Ramirez.”

  “What, what?” She looked up to see a tall, bronzed man. Even at two in the morning, he was wearing a perfectly pressed navy suit complete with crisp white shirt, red and blue striped tie and gold cufflinks.

  “Don’t get up. I understand you’ve been through quite a lot. Maybe you should tell me about it – from the beginning.” He took a seat opposite her and leaned forward, palms resting on his knees.

  Delphine gave a much-abridged version of her story. Then they watched her video. Ramirez swore softly as Cooter’s head exploded.

  “Get that copied immediately,” he ordered.

  “There’s also this surveillance video we took from Elton Schuyler’s house,” Jason said. “It shows Webb and Schuyler together an hour after the murder.”

  Ramirez slipped the video cassette into a machine and they watched in silence. “Pity there’s no sound,” Craig said.

  “Oh, but I think there is,” Delphine said. The three men stared at her as if she were crazy. “I believe there is a device, probably several, recording every word that’s spoken in that office and possibly other rooms as well.”

  “What makes you think so?” Ramirez asked kindly, humoring her the way one would a child.

  “That room they’re sitting in is an exact replica of Nixon’s Oval Office.”

  “So?”

  “Even I, who grew up in another country far away, know the one thing about that era that has gone down in history.”

  “You mean Watergate?”

  “I mean the White House tapes.” Again she tried to mimic John Dean’s famous declaration to Nixon: “There’s a cancer on the presidency and it’s growing every day.” Jason couldn’t help smiling, evidently finding her attempt at an American accent funny, then straightened his face. This was no time for levity.

  “I did some research when this idea first came to me,” Delphine continued. “Nixon installed seven hidden microphones in the Oval Office. Five were under his desk, the other two by the mantelpiece. He also had his phone wired. They ran to a voice-activated Sony reel-to-reel tape recorder hidden in a locker in the White House basement. The machine used a special thin tape and the recorder ran at half speed. That’s why the sound quality was so poor even for those days.”

  “But those recordings are what brought Nixon down. Surely you can’t think Schuyler would be stupid enough…?” Jason said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s crazy.”

  “You’d have to be at least a little crazy to build a facsimile of Nixon’s Oval Office in the first place. Schuyler was obsessive about getting all the details absolutely right. He has a photo of Nixon’s wife and daughters on his desk. He has the same bust of Abraham Lincoln that Nixon did, the same flags, the same drapes, the same carpet, the same old-fashioned phone. Why not the same ancient tape recorder? He’s the kind of man who would get perverse pleasure out of it. And another thing: if he and Secretary Dayton planned anything criminal in that office, then he has her over a barrel. She once told me the two of them discussed everything under the sun. She feels safe in that room and she trusts Schuyler utterly. If she became president, just think how much leverage those tapes would give him. She’d get the title but he’d call the shots.”

  They were all silent for a few seconds.

  “Wait here,” Ramirez said abruptly and retreated into an office, closing the door behind him. Delphine yawned and looked at her watch. It was almost three o’clock. What wouldn’t she have given for a couple of hours in a nice soft bed?

  An hour later, the Director of the FBI himself arrived looking simultaneously harried and self-important and they went through the whole story yet again. By now, Delphine was so tired she could barely speak coherently.

  “You think you can find the body of this Cooter?” the Director asked.

  Delphine nodded. “We left Jason’s tie knotted around a tree around 80 meters back from the place. We’d just have to follow the trail down from there. Webb dragged the corpse off into the woods but it shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  “OK, Ramirez get a forensics team ready to go in at first light to secure the body. You, Ms. Roget and you Mr. King, will show them where to look. Call me as soon as you’ve found it. Have another team go through this Cooter’s home. Meanwhile, I’ll brief the Attorney General. We may even have to go to POTUS with this. Hell of a day for it, with the peace signing ceremony coming up.”

  “And late this afternoon, after the ceremony, Secretary Dayton is supposed to be adopting me as her daughter. After that, we were going to the Inn at Little Washington for a special celebration dinner, just the two of us,” Delphine said.

  “Say what?” Ramirez blurted out.

  “She’s adopting me. I’m scheduled to become her daughter at six o’clock if you haven’t arrested her by then, which I sincerely hope you have. I’m supposed to show up with a witness for the adoption ceremony.”

  “You’re joking.”

  Delphine shook her head no.

  “Let’s not have any more wild talk about arresting the Secretary of State,” the Director said. “As far as I’ve seen, there’s no evidence of her involvement, just innuendo. Right now, we’re focusing solely on this Mitchell Webb and Mr. Schuyler. Now go find me a body.”

  Chapter 22

  It was a lovely morning in the Maryland hills, the grass gleaming with dew as the rising sun began staining the sky. Delphine dozed through most of the trip but opened her eyes as they left the highway. They quickly found the logging track and began the climb, a motorcade of five or six vehicles trailing behind their lead car, churning up the muddy trail. The radio crackled from time to time but nobody said much.

  Jason’s tie was still where he left it.

  They parked and walked slowly down the trail following the tire tracks, staring at the ground. The sun had not yet risen far enough to warm this place although the birds were well into their dawn chorus, unnaturally loud against the morning stillness. It seemed different from the previous day – colder, greyer, almost monochrome. Delphine shivered, although it was not cold. Finally they reached the place where Mitchell had scuffed up the dirt to cover Cooter’s blood. Within seconds, they had the area cordoned off. Delphine pointed into the woods.

  “Webb dragged the body off somewhere down that way. You can see where the undergrowth has been trampled down.”

  Ramirez gestured to his men. “Right, let’s go.”

  “I’m not coming,” Delphine told them. “I don’t want to see any more.”

  “OK, we’ll handle it. Just wait back in the car.”

  The agents returned about half an hour later. One look at their faces told her they’d found the body. “What now?”

  “Back to headquarters,” Ramirez said. “We’ll leave forensics to work the scene. Whatever happens next will have to be decided at a much higher pay grade than
mine.”

  They took Delphine and Jason back to the Bureau, now abuzz with important-looking officials in smart suits. She was so grubby and greasy it wasn’t funny and she was sure she smelled like a goat. Jason looked even worse. Unlike Delphine, he hadn’t had the chance to change clothes since the previous day’s unscheduled dip in the Potomac.

  “Wait,” Ramirez said, leading them into an empty room.

  “Is there a shower anywhere around here?” Delphine asked.

  “Best we can do is the women’s bathroom.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  She emerged after an improvised wash to find Jason watching TV.

  “The signing ceremony is about to begin,” he said gesturing her to sit down. “Look, there’s Mitchell Webb, standing there cool as a fucking cucumber.”

  Indeed he was, just behind Secretary Dayton with a large band aid stuck on his forehead where she’d wacked him the day before. “I wish I’d killed the bastard,” she muttered. “Why haven’t they arrested him yet?”

  “Probably waiting until the ceremony is done.”

  “You think they’ll try to cover this up? The Director said he didn’t want to hear about Dayton being involved.”

  “Are you surprised? You presented the poor guy with a massive dilemma at four in the morning. Give him a couple of hours to digest it. There won’t be any cover up.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “This is so big they’ll have to inform the President and he’ll jump at a chance to get rid of Dayton before she challenges him for the nomination next year. You’ll probably end up with a medal if he’s re-elected.”

  “So it’s all politics.”

  “Always.”

  Delphine felt strange passively watching the ceremony. She should have been sitting in front of a computer in the middle of a busy newsroom, pounding out the story. Jean-Luc would be tearing his hair out, cursing her for abandoning her duty at this crucial moment. She found herself instinctively listening for the best sound bites and trying to figure out how she would write the lead. Of course, she probably wouldn’t even have a job after failing to show up for the biggest story in years.

  The ceremony began with opening remarks from POTUS after which, speaking through interpreters, Prime Minister Shoresh and President al-Bakr delivered their speeches to rapturous applause. Finally, Secretary Dayton stepped to the podium. Everyone knew this was her moment and she’d dressed for maximum effect in a crimson suit. She beamed at the assembled dignitaries.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, this is a wonderful day for the world, a wonderful day for Middle East, a wonderful day for peace,” she began. “On this day, we are finally bringing to an end one of the most bitter and destructive conflicts in history, a war which has caused untold suffering on both sides. Truly this is a blessed day.

  “The Book of Isaiah tells us, ‘And they will hammer their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not lift up sword against nation. And never again will they learn war.’ And the Gospel of St. Matthew says, ‘Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.’ The Koran too says, “Therefore, if they leave you alone … and offer you peace, then God gives you no way to go against them.’

  “And so we say with confidence that the work we do here today is sanctified by the three great monotheistic religions and by people of goodwill everywhere. We can be confident that we are doing a great and worthy thing on this historic day. May God bless the people of Israel and of the newly independent state of Palestine that will soon come into being. May God protect their brave leaders and grant peace to their people. And may God also bless the United States of America and the entire world. And now, dear friends, all that remains is to sign the agreement.”

  The Israeli and Palestinian leaders, escorted by the President of the United States, walked over to a desk set out on the lawn and were seated. Uniformed Marines handed each of them fountain pens and carefully blotted the ink dry once they had signed the document. Then, as motor drives whirred and cameras flashed, they stood and shook hands. Everyone applauded as the President placed his arms around both their shoulders. Then he beckoned Secretary Dayton to join the group and stood aside, graciously allowing her to take the glory. Women in the audience, and not a few men, dabbed their eyes. Secretary Dayton gestured for the President to join the group photograph but he smilingly declined.

  The TV commentator called it a remarkably generous gesture but Delphine knew different. Probably he’d been briefed and wanted to avoid appearing in the same picture as her on this particular day.

  The ceremony ended and the distinguished visitors began to disperse. Shoresh was heading for New York for meetings with American Jewish leaders. President al-Bakr was returning home. The cameras showed a long line of limos ferrying the distinguished guests away—and still they waited. It was already two o’ clock, three hours before the adoption ceremony, and nobody had told Delphine anything.

  At around three thirty, Ramirez came into the room smiling broadly.

  “What’s going on?” Delphine asked.

  “Peace has broken out all over.”

  “I mean with us.”

  “This way. The Director wants to see you again.”

  They went up to the top floor and were shown straight into a large conference room where half a dozen men and a couple of women sat around a large, oval table.

  “Sit down Ms. Roget, Mr. King,” the Director said. “You’re probably wondering what’s been going on. After we found the body, a high-level decision was made to search Mr. Schuyler’s home for evidence that might tie him to the murder. That search is still continuing. However I can tell you that we have located a room in the basement with a large collection of reel-to-reel audio tapes.”

  “So I was right,” Delphine said.

  “You were indeed.”

  “What did Schuyler say when you arrested him?”

  “We have not yet spoken to Mr. Schuyler who was on his way to Tokyo for a previously-scheduled business trip. He should land in about six hours from now. Our Japanese friends will detain him at the airport, after which we’ll seek his return to the United States. That gives us some time to solidify the case.”

  “What about Webb?” Delphine asked.

  “We decided to wait. The moment we grab him, we also tip off Secretary Dayton and we’re not yet ready to do that.”

  “This morning you said she wasn’t a target.”

  “Since then, this matter has gone to the highest level in the White House and some decisions have been made.”

  “What did you get from the tapes?”

  “We’re still listening. It’s going to take days, if not weeks to go through everything. There are hours and hours of recordings, much of it irrelevant to this matter. So far we’ve only come across one conversation of interest. What I’m going to play you is strictly off the record. Listen and tell me what you make of it.” He already had the recording cued up.

  “Elton?” The sound was terrible but still, it was unmistakeably her, speaking on the phone.

  “Is that you, my dear? How’s my best girl keeping?”

  “I just returned from dinner with King Farouk.”

  “How was it?”

  “Deadly boring, but it had to be done.”

  “And does my angel miss her grumpy old man as much as he misses her?”

  “She does. Dreadfully.”

  “She must hurry home as soon as she can.”

  “She will. But seriously darling, an unfortunate thing happened. I wanted to tell you before you read about it tomorrow in the papers.”

  “Yes?” Schuyler’s voice had shed its lovey-dovey tone.

  “There was a little mishap. It’s very sad.” Dayton giggled, one of the most ghoulish sounds Delphine had ever heard.

  “Wha
t?” His voice had turned as cold as stone.

  “Don Masters, the ABC correspondent. He’s been taken ill. He’s in the hospital. “

  “Will he survive?”

  “Not expected to.”

  “So there’ll be a post-mortem. And then what?”

  “Don’t worry, we have it covered. It looked like a heart attack and we’ll make sure the post-mortem confirms that.”

  “For heaven’s sake, I warned you there were too many things that could go wrong. Next time, perhaps you’ll listen before taking such drastic action ...”

  “Luckily no major harm done.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “It’s a nuisance, certainly. But not more.”

  The director turned off the recording. “What do you think?”

  “It proves poor Don was murdered just as I thought,” Delphine said. “What are you waiting for? Why haven’t you arrested her?”

  “Unfortunately, the Attorney General has determined that this tape, in and of itself, is suggestive but not conclusive. Secretary Dayton never exactly says what happened; she never mentions the word ‘poison.’ She’s an experienced politician. Perhaps she was equally careful in all her conversations.”

  “You’re going to let her get away with it?”

  “Certainly not. But we need more. That’s where you come in. We want you to go ahead with your adoption ceremony. We’ll send a female agent along with you as your witness. You can say she’s your neighbor.”

  “After all this, you want me to become her daughter?”

  “The adoption can be easily annulled when the time comes. You mentioned that after the ceremony the two of you were supposed to go to the Inn at Little Washington to celebrate?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That will give you at least 45 minutes alone in the limo with her, maybe an hour. Talk to her, try to get her to incriminate herself. Perhaps she’ll open up after you’ve become her daughter, especially since she’ll be in her own car where she feels secure.”

  “What good will that do? It will still be my word against hers.”