LACKING VIRTUES

by Thomas Kirkwood

  “Don’t write a word, Hopkins,” Galloway seethed. “And delete anything you have written from the point I adjourned this meeting onward. What is said after adjournment does not constitute part of today’s session.”

  Galloway put an arm around General Salinski’s shoulder and led him into the corridor to make sure Warner didn’t approach him. The others left too, avoiding Warner as if he had some dread disease.

  Warner caught up with CIA Director Willis in an anteroom and blocked his exit. “All right, Ed, let me have a word with you.”

  “Sure, Frank, but not here. I’ll be available around ten this evening.”

  “You’re available right now. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve heard me out.”

  Willis tried to keep walking. Warner glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then grabbed him by the arm and viciously jerked him down into a chair. “I need an agent in Paris tomorrow night. Your man, William Fairchild, has been notified of the situation. He or one of his people could fit the bill. He cites need for approval from the top. You’re the top, Ed. I want you to get on the wire and get your Paris contingent moving.”

  Willis rubbed his elbow. “What the hell’s gotten into you, Frank? I spoke with William Fairchild this morning. I know about that crackpot journalist who came to see him. I hope she’s not the source of your information. Because if she is, Frank, all I can say is that this crisis has put you under more stress than any of us realized.”

  Warner had to take a deep breath to calm himself. “Look, I have new evidence from Seattle which I’ll gladly share with you. What the journalist told your man in Paris is correct. Those who commissioned these atrocities are French, not Iraqi. They’re going to meet tomorrow night in a house outside Paris. I have access to a listening post. With proper nighttime equipment, we can also shoot photos.”

  “I’m sorry, Frank, but I’ve heard the entire ludicrous – ”

  “Just a minute. I haven’t finished. You’re going to hear it again. A large sum of money is to be paid to the ex-Soviet agent hired to bring down the planes. If you will work with me, we can record this transaction. We can solve a terrible crime and return our civil aviation industry to health.

  “If I’m wrong, Ed, what’s the downside? There isn’t one. It will take time to organize a military action. The proponents of the Iraqi hypothesis will not be delayed. However, Ed, if you are wrong – ”

  Willis stood abruptly. “All right. I get the point. Now tell me something, Frank. Are any of these Frenchmen whom you believe, for reasons I can’t fathom, to have commissioned these crashes, per chance in public life?”

  “Yes. You know that from Fairchild.”

  “Then what I have to say to you is this: I cannot authorize the Agency to do what you’re asking. We do not have the authority to conduct such operations against friendly governments. However, if you believe this strongly you’re on to something, why don’t you go over there yourself? Put your own career on the line, not someone else’s. If you bring back hard evidence of the sort I can use, I guarantee you’ll have the Agency behind you.”

  Warner reflected for a moment. They weren’t leaving him much choice. “Suppose I were to do just that. Would you be willing to furnish me with cameras and listening devices?”

  “Frank, come to your senses. We already know who the culprit is. You’re not going to find anything over there. Most likely, you’re going to get caught. In that case, I must be in a position to shrug my shoulders and claim I had no idea you were in France. If you’re schlepping around a bunch of our equipment, that would be difficult to do, wouldn’t it?”

  Warner almost took a swing at him. “Fuck you, Ed. If you’re representative of our intelligence community, it’s no wonder the Soviets had thirty undisturbed years to perfect Operation Litvyak. Get out of here before I lose my temper.”

  Warner lingered for a few minutes, trying to remember if anything in the NTSB charter gave him the authority to exercise what had become his last option. Literally speaking, the answer was no. But in a broader sense, the answer was yes. This wasn’t the normal situation for which bureaucratic rules were written. Whatever the book said, his responsibility to the millions of men and women who boarded commercial aircraft every day was more important. A court of law or governmental disciplinary body might disagree. He didn’t care. He had to go.

  ***

  Simmons paced nervously around the office, waiting for the promised call from his boss. He had accompanied Warner to the White House for the meeting. During the drive, Warner had brought him up to date on the contents of the call from Sophie Marx and the positive identification of Claussen’s photo by the cement people in Seattle.

  What a relief! Trying to make sense of the puzzle created by these crashes had driven him crazy. Now it was clear they hadn’t been dealing with an ordinary succession of crashes but with the work of a brilliant sabotage operation. No wonder they had not been quick with answers. In fact, if it weren’t for some damned good luck in Seattle and the coincidental discovery by the woman in Paris, they still wouldn’t have a clue.

  He only hoped they hadn’t come upon the solution to the puzzle too late. He hoped that Warner had been able to convince them this wasn’t just another false lead. There had been so many. He sat in his swivel chair, put his feet up on his desk and stretched. Yes, Frank Warner would somehow have managed to get the job done.

  The telephone rang at last. “Tim, it’s me.”

  “Chief! Did they see the light.”

  “No. It was an unmitigated disaster. I’ll be on Air France, Flight 23 to Paris, departing Dulles at six forty. I want you to meet me there with my cool weather bag and the best listening and recording device you can come up with. See if Schultz is still in the lab. If so, have him issue you the camera with the infrared lens we acquired last spring. And Tim, get yourself a police escort. Tell them we have an emergency abroad. I want you at the airport in an hour.”

  “It’s rush hour, chief. I – ”

  “Just be there.”

  Warner hung up and Simmons burst into action. He grabbed his assistant, Gwyn, who was on her way out, and marched her back into the office. “Get me a driver and a police escort to Dulles. This is an emergency. Emergency, Warner’s orders, don’t take any guff. I’ll be waiting down below in five minutes. I want them out front with motors running.”

  He rushed to the lab, where Schultz was putting on his coat. “Emergency, Bob, get me the infrared camera.”

  The old man moved like he had been hit with a cow prodder. Everyone in this building knew what emergency meant and how to respond to it. Never mind that he had taken certain liberties with the usual definition.

  Listening device . . . listening device. While he waited on the lab foreman to return with the camera, his eyes settled on a black box from one of the crashes. Perfect, he could disassemble the shell and take out the guts during the drive to the airport. Hook that CVR to an independent power supply and you’d have a recorder as good as any.

  He started to scavenge. Tools, simple tools, a battery pack, something to carry the whole mess in.

  By the time Schultz returned, he was ready. He swung back by the office to pick up Warner’s cold weather bag, then took the six floors of stairs down to ground level at a full sprint. No missed aerobics today.

  He stepped into the murky evening rush hour just as his car and police escort pulled up.

  PART III

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Are you alive?” Sophie asked, pulling off her coat.

  It was early Friday morning. Steven was still sprawled out on the divan in her office where he had spent the night. He sat up and stretched. It was good to see a friendly face after six hours alone with the demons of his imagination. “I’m alive, but I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when we have those guys on tape.”

  “We all will, darling.” She tossed an overnight bag in his direction. He snared it in midair.

  “What’s this?”

&
nbsp; “Clothes, articles de toilette. I dropped by your flat on my way downstairs. I thought you’d enjoy getting clean before you got dirty.”

  “Thanks, Sophie, but you shouldn’t have done that. There’s no use taking risks when we’re this close. I was going to go out and buy some stuff when the stores opened.”

  “It was safe. I didn’t sleep a wink all night. You know how that old marble staircase of ours echoes. If you had had visitors, I would have known.”

  “Well . . . thanks. Did you check my answering machine while you were there?”

  “Of course, darling. There were no calls. Nicole must be convinced her father has bugged your line.”

  “Yeah. So am I. I’m worried about her, Sophie. It doesn’t seem to me her dad would let her off with just a week or two of lounging around at her aunt’s. He probably has something horrible planned.”

  “Perhaps, but he has a lot on his mind. By the time he gets around to you and Nicole, he’ll be in prison.”

  “If I don’t blow it tonight.”

  “You won’t. You’re going to have plenty of help. Warner will make sure they don’t send us a slouch. I’ve seen him in action. That’s the way he is.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Steven walked to the window, groaning and stretching. A steady rain had begun to fall after their return from Bonn, and it was still coming down. Place Vendôme looked cold and forbidding in the sodden gray dawn.

  The earth around Michelet’s country home would be muddy by now, he thought. If he left a thick trail of footprints on the cellar steps, he was a dead man. One more thing to worry about.

  “Where’s that bitch, Monique?” he grumbled. “I could use a coffee.”

  “I gave her the day off, Steven. Go get a shower in the john across the hall. I’ll have coffee and croissants waiting when you come back.”

  ***

  He washed in the cramped stall, shaved, dressed in the khaki trousers and olive sweater Sophie had brought him. The sense of unreality that had plagued him during the night returned. In less than five hours he would be on the road to Fontainebleau.

  When he opened the door to Sophie’s office, a man was sitting with her in the foyer looking at photographs. Steven felt like slapping himself. Things were happening! This was no dream. He could forget about his first worry. The agent was here!

  “Come in, Steven,” Sophie said. “I’ve been bringing our guest up to date.”

  The man was older, probably in his fifties. He wore a pin-striped gray suit that made him look better armed for battle in business than espionage. He stood and looked directly at Steven.

  He was an agent all right. Forget the suit, his eyes told the story. They were bloodshot, intense, piercing. This was someone you didn’t want to piss off.

  “I’m Frank Warner,” the man said, offering his hand.

  Steven took it. “Warner? Isn’t that the name of our friend at the NTSB?”

  “Same name, same person. You’ve done a great job. I don’t think we would ever have put the pieces together without you and Sophie.”

  “Beginner’s luck on my part,” Steven said. “Sophie must have smelled this story without realizing it. She sent me in. I was just dozing on top of a crate of wine when they started to talk. So, Mr. Warner, when’s our agent going to show up?

  “I’m afraid you’re looking at him,” Warner said. “There were problems. Let’s just say it was easier to come myself.”

  Steven shook his head. “I can’t believe this. You had to come from Washington because the CIA thinks we’re full of shit?”

  “That’s an accurate assessment.”

  Sophie said, “It’s the William Fairchild phenomenon on a much more disheartening scale. No wonder Operation Litvyak got past them.”

  “No wonder,” Warner murmured.

  “Well, Jesus, thanks for coming,” Steven said, trying to hide his disappointment. Now he had a new worry. He had been counting on the agent to be armed and ready to defend him if they got into a tight spot.

  Sophie patted the chair beside her. “Come sit down, Steven. You two get acquainted. Frank finished off the coffee, but I’m making another pot. I’ll be right back.”

  She got up and disappeared into Monique’s tiny kitchen alcove, then stuck her head out the door. “And do me a favor, messieurs. Use first names. I can’t bear the thought of you two gorgeous men trapped together for hours in a dark wine cellar ‘Mr. LeConte-ing’ and ‘Mr. Warnering’ each other into terminal numbness.”

  Sophie withdrew into the nook. Warner said, “She’s a pretty unique woman, isn’t she?”

  Steven smiled. “Unique, magnificent, you name it. Before I met her, I thought a person had to choose between being successful or being human. I was wrong. Sophie’s both.”

  Warner laughed drily. “She certainly is that. I could have used her in Washington.”

  “Do you ever read her stuff?”

  “Not often enough,” Warner said. “That’s going to change.”

  Sophie returned a few minutes later with a fresh pot of coffee and a tray of hot croissants. She seemed different, more focused, more determined. Steven recognized the transformation. He’d seen it before, in the Jardin du Luxembourg.

  She said, “We need to get organized these next hours. Suggestions on how we begin?”

  “Damned right,” Steven said. “Let’s begin by talking about guns. Remember how relieved you were when Frank told you he was sending us an agent?”

  “Where are you going with this, Steven?”

  “I think you know. You were relieved because that agent was going to be armed. Well, the agent isn’t here and we’re not armed. I don’t know about you, Frank, but I’d feel better if we were.”

  “Steven,” Sophie said, “if you armed yourselves, you would only increase the risk of a tragedy. I’m sure Frank doesn’t know any more about guns than you do.”

  “I’m from Nevada,” Warner said. “I grew up popping gophers from my stroller. I agree with your colleague.”

  “I still think it’s a mistake,” Sophie said.

  “Let me tell you something,” Warner went on. “I’ve seen the results of the crimes these men have committed. I’ve seen them up close. I’ve watched the charred, mutilated bodies of children being carried out of wreckages. I’ve pushed through the crowds of hysterical mourners at airports, all screaming for an explanation of why it had to happen. I’ve grappled with my own feelings of guilt for not being able to stop the carnage. I’m a bureaucrat by profession, but I’m also a man. These men have become my personal enemies. I’m going after them, and I’m not going to put myself in a position where I can’t defend myself. If Steven hadn’t brought up the subject of guns, I would have.”

  “Therefore, Sophie,” Steven said, “we are asking you to visit your old friend, Chabrol.”

  “Steven – ”

  “Don’t be doctrinaire. This is war. You don’t send men into battle without arms.”

  Warner said, “Sorry but Steven is right, Sophie. If you have a contact, help us out. It will allow us to concentrate on other aspects of our preparation.”

  She looked at her hands.

  “Come on, Sophie,” Steven said. “I know what you’re thinking but you didn’t get me into this. You don’t have to feel like you’ve taken an innocent boy turned him into a violent gun slinger. It’s not like that. What happened just happened. We’re here and we’ve got to move ahead. We don’t have a choice. We’re taking a risk tonight, and if we get caught we’ve got to be in a position to fight back. So please, Sophie, save us some trouble and some time. You can write about your moral misgivings when the job is done.”

  Sophie stood and made a single counter-clockwise tour of the foyer. When she came back, Steven could see she had been wrestling with herself.

  She said, “You know, I hate the idea of combatting violence with violence. But in this instance I grudgingly admit you’ve got a point. It would be unfair of me to stand on the sidelines and ask you to go in
to that basement defenseless. Now, Frank, you are probably wondering who Chabrol is.”

  “I was going to ask.”

  Sophie sat down and sighed. “I did a piece on the illicit arms trade in Europe a couple of years ago. Chabrol is a long story, and I’m still not sure I did the right thing. Let’s just say I feared for my life and printed more selectively as a result. In other words, I did the man and his associates a favor. He knows it. I think he would be willing to return the favor. In fact, I’m sure he would.”

  “That would be helpful,” Warner said. “Very helpful.”

  “All right. You’ve convinced me. I’ll do it.”