Then another Yukon with flashing lights pulled into what had been the taxi lane, followed by two limousines, which also had flashing red and blue lights behind their grilles.
What had been the taxi lane was now filled.
Next came another limousine, this one a stretch limousine without flashing lights. It pulled into the space reserved for vehicles discharging or picking up passengers.
A burly man spoke into his lapel, and then opened the rear door of the limousine. A moment later, a line of men came through the revolving door and quickly entered the limousine.
“There’s ten of them,” Delores announced. “I counted them.”
“I wonder who they are,” Bob mused aloud.
The burly man closed the door and the stretch limousine pulled away from the curb.
What happened next occurred so quickly that no one but Delores could keep up with it. Limousines and Yukons kept pulling up to the curb, and then backing out of it-or going forward onto Connecticut Avenue and then backing up as passengers-some of them women and some of them carrying submachine guns-got into the various vehicles, and then sometimes out of them.
“You know what that looks like, Herb?” Bob said. “That automated package-distribution machine FedEx showed us in Kansas City. Except this is for people.”
“You know, Bob, it does,” Herb said thoughtfully.
He then gestured with his hands, miming FedEx’s automated system, which had apparently impressed him with its ability to move a lot of things in different directions at the same time.
The Vice President came through one of the revolving doors and was hustled into one of the limousines with the flashing lights, and then the secretary of State came through the revolving door and was hustled into hers.
There was a wail of sirens and then it was suddenly all over. All the vehicles were gone, and so were all the Secret Service people.
“I will be damned,” Herb said. “That was something!”
“And you didn’t want to stay here,” Delores said. “You said it was too expensive.”
THREE
The President’s Study The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 1430 15 April 2007
“When the Vice President’s car reached where we were standing, Mr. President, just outside the main gate,” Secret Service Special Agent Mark Douglas reported, “it stopped and the rear window went down. Vice President Montvale said, ‘The four limousines are with me.’ So I let them pass.”
“Did you see who was in them?” President Clendennen asked.
“Yes, Mr. President. To double-check, so to speak, I stopped each one and opened the door and had a look.”
“And?” the President asked impatiently.
“There were eight men, mostly Caucasian-mostly Latinos, I judged-and some Afro-Americans, in each of the first two limousines. The third one had Mr. Danton-the reporter from The Washington Times-Post-and Mr. Parker in it. Just them. The last limo was empty.”
“And then what happened?”
“The convoy moved directly to the grave site, to the road near it. And everybody got out.”
“And?”
“The Vice President and the secretary of State got out and walked to where you and the other dignitaries were standing-where you were waiting for the whatchamacallit, the caisson with the casket, to come down the road.”
“And the people in the limousines?”
“Mr. Danton followed the Vice President and Secretary Cohen.”
“And Mr. Parker?” the President asked softly.
“I didn’t see him there anymore. I guess he didn’t get out of the limousine. I did see him later-”
“Get to later, later,” the President interrupted him. “What about the people in the limousines?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. Well, they got out of the limos and arranged themselves in a line where they could watch what was going to happen at the grave. While they were doing that, a woman with a couple of kids walked up to them. They all knew her, and gathered around her.”
“And did you learn who this woman was?”
“Yes, sir. When I told Supervisory Agent Mulligan about the limousines, he told me to find out who they were, I went there, and asked, and they said they were. .”
He interrupted himself to consult a notebook.
“. . from the American Legion. From China Post Number One of the American Legion. The guy who told me that showed me his American Legion card.”
“And did you have a chance to. . overhear. . any of their conversations?”
“No, sir. I mean, I stuck around to do that, but they weren’t speaking English. Chinese, probably, I guess. But they called the woman ‘Mrs. Ferris’ and I put that together. She’s the wife of the officer who was kidnapped in Mexico when the guy they buried got shot.”
“They all spoke Chinese?”
“I’m not sure if it was Chinese, Mr. President. But it certainly wasn’t English. A couple of them started speaking Spanish. . Supervisory Agent Mulligan’s orders to me were to stick around, find out where they went. . but one of them-a guy they called ‘Colonel’-pointed to me and they stopped speaking that and went back to Chinese or whatever it was.”
“And when the interment was over, what happened?”
“As soon as you gave Mrs. Salazar the flag, they got in the limousines and left. Mrs. Ferris and the kids went with them.”
“They didn’t stay for my remarks?”
“No, sir. They got in the limousines and left. Like Supervisory Agent Mulligan told me to do, I got in one of our Yukons and followed them.”
“Where did they go?”
“To the Mayflower Hotel, sir. That was where I saw Mr. Parker again. He and Mr. Danton were with them.”
“And did you follow them into the hotel?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. They went to the tenth floor. After a while-I didn’t want them to know I was following them-I went up there. They were in room-I guess suite-1002. When a couple of waiters started rolling in carts of food, I got a look in. It was them, all right.”
“Did you manage to learn who was registered in suite 1002?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President, I got that from the waiters.”
Special Agent Douglas consulted his notebook again.
“Suite 1002 is registered to a German guy. His name is Karl von und zu Gossinger. The waiters told me he lives there. I mean, he keeps the suite all the time.”
“Anything else?”
“Like Supervisory Agent Mulligan told me to, I got him on the radio, and he said to come here. That you wanted to talk to me.”
“And I did indeed. You did very well, Agent. . what did you say your name was?”
“Douglas, Mr. President. Special Agent Mark Douglas.”
“Special Agent Douglas, would you wait outside for a moment? I may have a few more questions.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”
Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan followed Douglas to the door and closed it after Douglas had gone through it.
“Special Agent Douglas is not a nuclear physicist, is he?” the President said. “How the hell did he get in the Secret Service?”
“He was a New Jersey state trooper, Mr. President,” Mulligan said. “He’s not too swift, I admit. But he’s reliable.”
“I was thinking he might be useful, now that we know what I suspected was going on is going on. And they don’t seem to care that I know, do they? Montvale himself, that sonofabitch, and Cohen-I’m a gentleman and I won’t say out loud what I think of her-actually took those Special Forces people to Arlington.”
He paused and shook his head as if in disbelief, and then went on: “Where they walked out before I made my remarks. An insult, and they damn well knew it. Goddamn! And they had Colonel Castillo with them. That was him, right?”
“Yes, sir, that was Castillo. And Colonel Torine was there, too.”
“Mulligan,” Clemens McCarthy asked, “who is this German man? What’s
his involvement in this?”
“His real name is Castillo, Clemens,” the President answered for him. “Or maybe his real name is Goldfinger, or whatever Mulligan’s rocket scientist said. As to his involvement in what’s going on, he’s up to his ears in it. He probably thinks President Montvale will make him director of National Intelligence. Or secretary of Defense.
“But back to my original thought. Do you agree, Mulligan, that your man, who looks to me like he has a strong back, takes orders, and can keep his mouth shut, would be useful to us?”
“Yes, I do, Mr. President.”
“Well, then, get him back in here. And see if Schmidt is out there.”
“Director Schmidt is out there, Mr. President,” Mulligan replied. “I saw him just now. You want him to come in?”
“When I’m through with Dumbo,” the President said.
“Yes, Mr. President?” Special Agent Douglas said.
“Your first name is Mark, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you mind if I called you that?”
“I’d be honored, Mr. President, sir.”
“Well, Mark, Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan tells me that he’s had his eye on you for some time, and Mr. McCarthy agrees with me that you did a fine job today, showing high intelligence, discretion, and perseverance.”
Special Agent Douglas’s face colored.
“And we need someone with those characteristics around here, right around me,” Clendennen said. “The first thing I require of people in my intimate circle, Mark, is loyalty. Or, phrased another way, I absolutely cannot stand disloyalty. You can have the other things I mentioned, but if loyalty is not your strong point. .”
“I can understand that, Mr. President,” Douglas said.
“Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan tells me he thinks you have that loyalty, understand the need for it. So I’m going to take a chance on you.”
“Yes, sir?”
“From this moment, Mark, you are relieved of all your normal duties. You will be reporting directly to Supervisory Special Agent Mulligan, who will explain to you what your duties will be. Now-and this is important, Mark-for a number of reasons we want to keep your special assignment from becoming public knowledge. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”
Clendennen rose and offered Douglas his hand.
“Welcome aboard, Mark. We all expect great things from you.”
“I will try my best, Mr. President. Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Okay, Mark. You can wait for Mr. Mulligan in the outer office. And while you’re out there, you can tell Mr. Schmidt he can come in.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. President,” FBI Director Mark Schmidt said.
“Did you see those people standing with Colonel Castillo at Arlington?” the President asked without any preliminaries.
“The ones who looked like they just might be Special Forces, maybe even Delta or Gray Fox?” Schmidt replied smiling. “Yes, I did, Mr. President.”
“And did you see them insult their Commander in Chief by getting in their limousines and driving off before I had finished-hell, before I had started to make my remarks?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid I didn’t.”
“Tell him, Clemens,” the President said.
“They got into their limousines and left before the President had a chance to even begin his remarks,” the press secretary said.
“Mr. President, I just don’t think it was an intentional insult. I can’t believe they’d knowingly, much less purposefully. .”
“There’s a good deal going on here, Mr. Director, that you’d have trouble believing if I told you. They went from the cemetery to the Mayflower, where a couple of minutes ago, they were in suite. . what did Dumbo say the room number was, Mulligan?”
“Ten-oh-two, Mr. President.”
“What I want you to do, Mr. Director, is get a team of your people over there, right now, with cameras. Movie cameras would be better, but if that can’t be arranged on such short notice, the regular kind will have to do. Try not to be seen of course. I want a picture of every last one of those sonsofbitches. I want each picture to show when and where it was taken in such form that will stand up in court. And of course I want to have each of them identified. Name, rank, serial number, where they’re assigned.”
Schmidt looked at him in disbelief.
“Mr. President, may I respectfully suggest that you may be overreacting?”
“I don’t want to argue with you about this, Mr. Director. What I want you to do is say, ‘Yes, sir,’ then do what I tell you to do.”
“Yes, sir,” Schmidt said.
“And when you have assembled all these photographs and the information, I want you to personally bring them here and give them to Mulligan.”
“I’ll get right on it, Mr. President,” Schmidt said.
“And I don’t want this spread all over the J. Edgar Hoover building. I don’t want anybody who is not directly involved to know anything about it. Got it?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Schmidt said.
“Now, what have you done about El Paso? Did you place the advertisement those people asked for?”
“The FBI has a very good man in El Paso, Mr. President,” Schmidt said. “The SAC-”
“The what?”
“The special agent in charge, Mr. President. His name is William Johnson. He’s the man who intercepted the second message to General McNab-”
“And instead of sending it to Washington, sent it to McNab. I didn’t see it until the next day. I don’t want that to happen again, Mr. Schmidt.”
There was a brief hesitation before Schmidt went on: “SAC Johnson placed the classified advertisement in El Diario de El Paso, the Spanish language newspaper-”
“Did you hear what I said about wanting any messages addressed to General McNab that the FBI discovers to be sent to me, immediately?”
“Mr. President, what I can do, should another FedEx or UPS envelope addressed to General McNab be uncovered, is immediately photocopy the envelope and its contents and send those to you.”
“I don’t want copies. I want the real thing.”
“Mr. President, there is no provision in the law permitting that.”
“Well, you and Attorney General Crenshaw are clever people. . in his case, maybe a little too clever. . and I’m sure you’ll be able to find a provision.”
Schmidt did not reply, having decided he was going to drop this in the lap of Attorney General Crenshaw and let him deal with it.
He went on: “What SAC Johnson also did, Mr. President, is investigate the post office box-P.O. Box 2333-mentioned in the kidnapper’s first message. When he learned that it had not been rented, he rented it.
“It’s possible the kidnappers knew that Box 2333 had been rented. He’s looking into that. . which postal employees would have knowledge of that. Perhaps the kidnappers intend to send further communications to P.O. Box 2333. On the other hand, it may be just a coincidence.”
“Whatever means these people use to communicate with us, I want to see whatever they send immediately. You understand that?”
Schmidt nodded. “Yes, Mr. President.”
“I intend to get this Colonel Ferris back, and I have no intention of letting anyone get in my way, whether through stupidity or ineptness. Or anything else.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Schmidt said.
“That will be all. Thank you.”
The President turned to Mulligan.
“Just as soon as the director has gone, get the secretary of Defense on the phone.”
FOUR
Office of the Commanding General U.S. Special Operations Command Fort Bragg, North Carolina 1515 15 April 2007
When the red telephone on his desk buzzed and a red LED on it began to flash, Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab put his hand on it.
“I wonder what message General Naylor is about to relay to me from the Deity,” he
said to Colonel Max Caruthers, and then he pushed the LOUDSPEAKER button before picking up the handset and putting it to his ear.
“McNab.”
“I have just been on the telephone with Secretary Beiderman,” General Allan B. Naylor announced without any preliminaries.
“Yes, sir?”
“General, I am not in any mood to tolerate any of your wit, sarcasm, or, more important, obfuscations. If I were you, I’d keep that in mind.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll keep that in mind. May I inquire into what you think I have done to displease Secretary Beiderman?”
“You will answer my questions, General. I will take none from you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will recall my telling you personally, as a result of Secretary Beiderman’s orders to me to do so, that you were not even to contemplate any military action with regard to freeing Colonel Ferris?”
“Yes, sir. I remember your personally telling me that,” McNab parroted.
“And do you also recall that I ordered you not to attend the interment of Warrant Officer Salazar?”
“Yes, sir, I remember that very well. May I say that I have not even been contemplating any action with regard to freeing Colonel Ferris,” McNab parroted, “and that I did not attend Mr. Salazar’s interment?”
“Instead, you send a delegation of Delta Force and Gray Fox personnel. Does that about sum it up?”
“I did not send a delegation of Delta Force and Gray Fox personnel anywhere, General,” McNab parroted again.
This time Naylor picked up on it.
“Goddamn you, McNab, don’t you mock me!”
“It’s hard to resist, Allan.”
“Goddamn you! How dare you use my first name?”
“That’s twice that you’ve cursed me, Allan,” McNab said. “Wouldn’t you agree that’s conduct unbefitting a general officer and a gentleman?”
The flashing red LED on the telephone died, indicating the connection had been broken.
McNab replaced the handset and looked at Colonel Caruthers.
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