The Value Of Valor - KJ3

by Lynn Ames

  The vice president sat glowering across the desk.

  The Value of Valor

  “Still as far as I can tell, the damage hasn’t been done yet. I need some time to decide what I’m going to do about this. I’ll let you know when I’ve made up my mind. Until then, I suggest you lay low because if I find out you’ve done otherwise, I won’t hesitate to take you down.”

  The vice president, angered at having so little control over his own fate, stormed out the door, slamming it behind him.

  “I’m telling you, he knows everything. He knows about the phone call to your guy in China, he knows about the plan, and he’s threatening to charge me with treason.” The vice president paced agitatedly around Hawthorne’s office.

  “Calm down, Al. He’s not going to blow the whistle. If he does, his administration will be doomed before it even starts.”

  “Easy for you to sit there all confident, Bob—it’s not you who’ll be impeached.”

  “It won’t be you, either. Just sit tight and let me handle this.”

  “The way you’ve handled things so far?”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “Overreacting?” The vice president whirled around. “I could go to jail for the rest of my life. How is that overreacting?”

  “It isn’t going to happen. I’m telling you, go back to your office and go about your business. He said he was going to contact you when he had made up his mind, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then. We’ve got a little time to work with.”

  “We have no idea how much, though.”

  Hawthorne smiled. “We won’t need much.” He watched as the vice president continued to pace. It was clear he was coming apart at the seams. “Al, I promise you, Americans will remember you as a great patriot and a champion of democracy, you’ll see.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I know I am,” Hawthorne soothed as he ushered the vice president through the doorway.

  When he was gone, Hawthorne closed the door and sat heavily in his chair. Without Wheeler, everything would be lost. Although he hadn’t said so directly, Hawthorne was pretty sure the vice president had implicated him in the scheme. That wouldn’t sit well with the Commission. In truth, none of it would. He swiveled in his chair to face his credenza, picked up a framed picture he kept sitting there, and stared at the image. His beloved Emily—his only child and the light of his life.

  If he failed in his assignment, he would lose her forever. Reluctantly, he picked up the phone and dialed a number.

  “Grayson.”

  Lynn Ames

  “It’s Hawthorne. We have a situation.” When the DNC chairman was done with his explanation, he held his breath, waiting for the explosion.

  The fact that Grayson was silent on the other end made Hawthorne even more nervous than an outburst would have.

  In a voice Hawthorne thought eerily calm, Grayson said, “All right.

  Sit tight, we’ll take care of it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “You’ve left us no choice, now have you? I’ll need you to disappear for a little while, though.”

  “Disappear?”

  “Yes, drop out of sight. We don’t want the president to be able to find you. Chances are he may try to have you removed; we don’t want to give him that opportunity.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “That is not your concern at the moment. Your job is to stay out of the way.”

  “Until when?”

  “Until you hear from us again.”

  “What about the vice president?”

  “The advice you gave him was sound. When the time is right, you will be told what to do with him.”

  “How will you find me?”

  Grayson’s laugh was mirthless. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you.”

  A dial tone buzzed in Hawthorne’s ear. He packed up his briefcase as quickly as he could and left the office. He thought a boat on the Caribbean sounded good.

  Grayson looked out over the Potomac, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face. Everything was going according to plan. He buzzed his secretary on the intercom. “Get me the Viper.”

  Less than twenty seconds later, his private line rang. “I have a job for you. We need to initiate Operation Overhaul.” He listened for a moment.

  “Yes, now. Will it work with the schedule?” He nodded. “Good. Proceed as outlined.” He hung up the phone.

  As was their custom before the president retired to the residence, a team of three Secret Service agents swept the rooms. Agent Douglas was responsible for the president’s bedroom and the master bathroom suite.

  He checked the closets, under the bed, and around the window areas.

  Finding nothing out of place, he moved into the bathroom.

  He examined the shower, the separate bathtub, and under the sinks.

  He opened the medicine cabinet. Looking inside, he noted the first lady’s prescription for a hypoactive thyroid, a bottle of ibuprofen, various cold The Value of Valor

  remedies, and the president’s asthma medications. The agent checked the president’s inhaler and his allergy drugs. Next he picked up the metered dose nasal spray the president used once daily in the morning to relieve his allergies. The agent placed the medicine in his left inside jacket pocket. From his right pocket, he removed an identical bottle containing carbon monoxide. Peering around to make sure no one was watching, he placed the new bottle on the shelf in the exact location from which he had removed the original. Satisfied, he closed the medicine cabinet and exited the room.

  Kate picked up the phone in her office, wondering who would be calling her at this late hour. “Katherine Kyle.”

  “Kate, I figured you might be working late.”

  “Mr. President,” she sat up a little straighter, “what can I do for you?”

  “How would you feel about a walk in the moonlight?”

  Kate didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir, I’ll be right there.” When the president said he wanted to take a walk outside, it usually meant he was troubled by something and that he wanted to talk outside the confines of the Oval Office. Kate put on her overcoat and hurried down the hall.

  The president met her as she reached the door to the executive suite.

  He led the way through the French doors, out onto the portico, and down a path that wound around the outside of the lawn. Two Secret Service agents trailed at a discreet distance; this was the closest they could come to being completely alone.

  Kate matched the president’s long strides and waited for him to talk.

  She noted that he looked troubled and distracted—a rare occurrence for him even under the most stressful of circumstances.

  “You know, Kate, I’ve been in this business a long time—most of my adult life, really. I like to pride myself on the fact that I understand politics and politicians. Two things generally motivate them: ego and self-aggrandizement or a desire to help people. It’s been a long time since I’ve been shocked or befuddled by a politician’s actions.” He shook his head and fell silent for a moment.

  Kate was content to stay quiet, waiting for the president to get to the point in his own time.

  “Something’s happened, and I’m not really sure what to make of it.”

  He turned his head to look at her for the first time.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Yes, Kate, I believe you may be one of the few people I do trust to help me with this.”

  “I’m flattered, sir.”

  He nodded. “Do you remember when you had dinner with me and I got interrupted by a phone call?”

  Lynn Ames

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you recall what it was about?”

  “It was a friend of yours from college—Keith, I think you said his name was, the Agency’s number two man in the Pan Pacific region.”

  “Right.”

  “He said someone in the administration had authorized inc
iting a revolution in China. You hadn’t done any such thing and didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Yes.”

  “I take it you know more about it now.”

  The president nodded. “It seems the vice president is the one who made the call.”

  “That’s treason,” Kate said, flabbergasted.

  “Yes, it is, which is exactly what I told him. But that’s not the most disturbing part.” The president sighed. “Bob Hawthorne was the one who talked him into being his stooge.”

  “The chairman of the DNC?” she asked incredulously.

  “Exactly.”

  “What does Hawthorne have to gain by provoking a revolution in Communist China?” Kate wondered aloud.

  “I keep asking myself the same question, and nothing comes to me.”

  “If I may, sir, perhaps he’s just a puppet, as well.”

  The president stopped walking and looked at Kate. His energy was palpable. “That’s what I’ve been thinking, too. But for whom? That’s the part I can’t figure.”

  They resumed their stroll. “Who stands to gain from China opening its borders to the West?”

  “Lots of folks, Kate. That’s why I summoned Hawthorne to a meeting tonight. I decided it was time I got some answers.”

  “And?”

  “He never showed. Not only that, but his assistant said he’d left the country this afternoon. She didn’t know anything else.”

  “Vacation?”

  “Sort of sudden, don’t you think?”

  “Mmm.”

  “To top it all off, I received a very mysterious call just a little while ago from Keith. Even though I assured him the line was secure, he said he couldn’t talk. He’s on the run. I don’t know where he is right now; he said he’s found out something that I need to know, but he can’t come directly to me.”

  “Okay. How does he intend to get the information to you?”

  The president took Kate by the elbow. “That’s where you come in.”

  “It is?”

  The Value of Valor

  “How do you feel about black tie cocktail receptions?”

  “Depends on who’s throwing the party.”

  “The Russians.”

  “Sounds like a recipe for a hangover.” Kate rolled her eyes.

  The president laughed. “Normally, I’d agree with you. In this case, however, I’ve got something else in mind.” He stopped walking again and faced her. “I’ve arranged for Keith to meet you at a diplomatic reception tomorrow night at the Russian Embassy. You’ll be there as my emissary. He will be your escort. He’ll pass you the information.”

  The president touched Kate on the sleeve. “I’ve tried to think of other ways to do this that wouldn’t involve you, Kate. I would rather send Peter to meet Keith. The truth is, I need someone at the reception whose presence won’t be questioned and who I know I can trust to help me get to the bottom of this. Peter has no official role in my administration. His appearance would raise a red flag. You, on the other hand…”

  “I understand, Mr. President. I’m happy to be of service.”

  “Once you have the information from Keith, you’ll come to the National Press Club, where as you know, I’ll be speaking tomorrow night. Since it’s natural for you to be present when I make public remarks, no one will question us being seen together. You’ll leave with me in the limo after the event, and you can tell me whatever it is that has Keith running scared.”

  Kate would have laughed at the cloak and dagger nature of the plan, but it was obvious the president was not joking. “Do you think Keith’s in any danger, sir?”

  “Yes, I do. Keith was always a very calm, cool, funny guy—not one given to histrionics. It’s not his style. He was really, really spooked when I talked to him tonight. Whatever he found out, it must be very serious.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll know tomorrow night.”

  “Yes. I want you to be careful, too. As I said, I hate to involve you in all this.”

  “I’m glad I can help, sir. I’m flattered that you trust me with something this important.”

  “I’d trust you with my life.”

  “I appreciate that, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t. I tried to contact Peter to fill him in, but I got no answer.”

  “Did you try his pager? He always answers that.”

  “No, I decided it could wait until after we hear from Keith. There’s not much to tell him yet, anyway.”

  “I can reach him if you want, sir. He’s in New York.”

  “Working?”

  “Tracking down a lead on Jay’s murder,” Kate said flatly.

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  “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “That’s all right, sir. You’ve had a few things on your mind.”

  They walked on in silence a while longer. “Kate, if you’re uncomfortable with this—”

  “No, sir. I’m fine, really.”

  “Shall we head back then?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Later that night after the president had gone to bed and his daytime Secret Service shift had been relieved, Grayson’s private line rang.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s done.”

  “Good. He doesn’t suspect anything?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well done, Viper.”

  “There’s a complication.”

  “What is it?”

  “Loose ends.”

  “Tie them up.”

  “Yes, sir. But there may be others we don’t know about.”

  “Agreed. I’ll take care of that, you take care of the ones we do know about.”

  “Consider it done. By this time tomorrow night, all will be secure.”

  “Make sure of that.”

  “Yes, sir. You have my word. I will not fail.”

  On an impulse on her way home, Kate decided to stop by the condo Peter was renting while he was in D.C. She used the key he had given her to get in, sat down at the kitchen table, and wrote him a short note. She kept it deliberately vague, which she knew he would appreciate.

  “Technowiz, I’ll be at a cocktail reception tomorrow night (Friday) on the arm of one of my boss’s oldest friends, who is returning to this country unexpectedly from the Far East. My boss thinks we’ll have a lot to talk about; I promised him I would tell him all about it before the evening was over—he’s anxious to get the full report. He’s going to be working across town visiting the fourth estate. Either he or I will fill you in afterward.”

  Kate didn’t bother to sign the note—she knew Peter would know who had left it.

  The Value of Valor

  CHAPTER NINE

  obert Hawthorne was jolted from sleep when the sailboat he’d R rented shifted sharply to the left. He rolled out of his queen-sized berth and made for the main deck. When he’d arrived on Paradise Island in the Bahamas the day before, he had arranged for a charter with two crew. After all, if he had to disappear, there was no reason he couldn’t do it in style.

  “What just happened?” he asked of the skipper.

  “We came about.”

  “Why did you change course? I told you I wanted to head farther out.”

  “It’s time for you to go home, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I paid for a full week.”

  The skipper, an unassuming, smallish Bahamian, laughed. In his lilting accent, he said, “I’m sure Mr. Grayson will reimburse you.”

  Hawthorne’s eyes widened. “Who are you?”

  “We are everywhere, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Back to the airport. Your plane is waiting.”

  “As in a private plane?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going back to Washington?”

  “Yes. It seems you are about to become a very important figure in American history.”

  Hawthorne wanted to ask what the skippe
r meant by that but thought better of it. Instead he made his way back down below deck and packed his gear. He was rattled, more rattled than he wanted to let on. He had heard Grayson when he said they would find him, but he never imagined this scenario. How the hell had Grayson known where he was? He had told no one where he was going—not even his secretary. He supposed it was all part of the plan to keep him off balance and remind him of the Commission’s power. It was working.

  Peter walked through the double doors of the squad room and into bedlam. Detectives were milling around talking or typing reports, desks Lynn Ames

  were piled high with papers, and phones were ringing constantly. He walked to the back left corner of the room, as he had been instructed to do by the duty sergeant outside, stopping at the desk of Detective Richard Norton.

  The man sitting at the desk appeared to be close to retirement age, with a balding pate and a protruding belly. His clothes were rumpled and looked as though he had slept in them; Peter figured he probably had.

  “Detective Norton?”

  Without looking up, the detective answered, “Who’s asking?” His accent clearly identified him as a Brooklyn native.

  “Peter Enright.”

  “So?”

  “I wanted to ask you about a case you worked a long time ago. Can we talk?”

  The detective continued to type, his fingers working in the halting hunt and peck style used by so many who never learned to type properly.

  He still hadn’t looked at Peter. “I’m listening.”

  “I’m interested in a perp by the name of Kirk Hexall. Went down for manslaughter in ’72.”

  Detective Norton’s head snapped up. “Let’s take a walk.” He picked up his jacket from the back of his chair, shrugged into it, and led the way out and down to the street. It wasn’t until they were two blocks away that he said, “What’s your interest in Hexall?”

  “Someone whitewashed his record. I want to know why.”

  “You a private dick?”

  “No. Hexall made an appearance at one of the inaugural balls in January, and I want to know what a guy like that is doing in D.C.

  hobnobbing with the president.”

  Detective Norton snorted. “Well, I see the punk is certainly coming up in the world.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Kirk Hexall was a two-bit thug. Then he went and offed a woman who had the good sense to refuse a date with him. Guy’s got issues with rejection, I guess.”