You're not leaving!" Sharon Felter said. There was an awkward silence. Sandy saw that Sharon was close to tears.
"No, of course not," Lowell said, after a moment.
"I'll make us another drink," Sharon said. Lowell saw that aron's glass was empty.
Sanford Felter walked up the stairs to his bedroom. The tch had no right to ask him things like that; he had no
to upset Sharon. God only knows what the human stud been saying to her before he got home. Felter had noticed
quickly his wife had drained her glass.
Goddamn him!
Felter walked to the chest of drawers and unloaded his bets. There were a couple of bills crumpled into a ball; a r or so in coins; a sweat-stained wallet; a leather folder a badge and a plastic identification card identifying as a veputy United States Marshal (which served, in case e zealous cop got curious, to justify the.45) and a plastic
riveted to an alligator clip, containing his photograph, name, and three diagonal red stripes. This granted him access at any time to any area of the Pentagon, the Defense gence Agency, the State Department, and the CIA, as
s access to any information he might ask for.
classified files of DCSINTEL, where his service record were kept, was a copy of the Department of Army general which had placed Major Sanford T. Felter, Infantry (De-
Military Intelligence) of the Defense Intelligence Agency, temporary duty with the White House. In the Eyes Only of the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, the r of the FBI, and the Director of the CIA, was a short on White House notepaper:
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON
Effective immediately, and until further notice, Major
Sanford T. Felter, USA, is relieved of all other duties, and will serve as my personal liaison officer with the intelligence community with the rank of Counselor to the President. This appointment will not be made known publicly. Major Felter will be presumed to have the Need
To Know when this question arises.
DDE
There was a photograph on the dresser. It had been taken in Greece, near the Albanian border. It showed two very young officers. They were wearing American khaki shirts. The of their uniforms were British. The smaller of them, First Lieutenant
Sanford T. Felter, twenty-two years old, cradled a
Thompson.45 caliber submachine gun in his arms, like soi bootleg era gangster. The taller of them, Second Lieutenaa
Craig W. Lowell, aged nineteen, had an M1 Garand slung over his shoulder like a hunter. There were two 8-round cartridges clips pinned to the Garand's leather strap.
Felter remembered, very clearly, other photographs thi had been on that roll of 35 mm film. In an act of incre4 stupidity, he had sent it home to Sharon to have it develop and printed. And when it came back from the all drugstore on the corner of Aldine Street and Lyons Avenue, one bloc down from the Felters' bakery, Sharon, his wife of eight monthes had seen what his room in Greece looked like and what dog they had acquired somewhere looked like, and what ni new friend Craig Lowell looked like. Two of the photographs had told Sharon much more about what he was doing in Greece than he wanted her to know. The two photographs showed
Craig Lowell in the traditional pose of the successful big gai hunter, smiling broadly, cradling his rifle proudly in his am kneeling on the fruits of the hunt. What he was kneeling was a pile of three bodies. One of the bodies was looking the camera with a look of surprise on his mustached face. There was a neat little.30 caliber hole in the middle of his forehead.
The back of his head had been blown away.
Sharon had kept the print and the negatives until he came and then wordlessly given them to him. He had wordlessly burned them. Felter looked at the photograph of them together, way back then, and then he forced his eyes away and went into the bathroom and took a shower.
There was such a thing as pushing a friendship too far, told himself. Craig expected too much.
As he soaped his balding head with Sharon's woman's ampoo (if he used soap, or regular shampoo, his skin flaked), remembered how Craig W. Lowell had solved the problem what he was going to tell Sharon and his mother and father id her mother and father about what he was doing in the ispital in Hawaii. While they were airlifting him from the ispital ship in Pusan Harbor to Hawaii, Craig, Porter, Kenyon
I Dawes, investment bankers, had sent a nice young man wind to Felter's Warsaw Bakery. The nice young man had limousine, and the nice young mm had traveled with them
Hawaii, just in case someone in the airlines hadn't gotten
A word that the Felters and the Lavinskys were personal ids of the man who owned half of the firm that had just med the airline however many millions of dollars it took to
a down payment on a fleet of intercontinental transport raft.
And when they carried him into his room on the stretcher, had all been there, and Sharon was hugging him and
and nobody could talk, except his mother.
5o, Sanford," his mother said, "you wouldn't believe r hotel. Would you believe we got two whole apartments? the beach. You can look out from the porch and see these
"milan schwartzes riding on those boards. The Royal Ha- in, yet."
And he remembered what Sharon had told him, after come back from Dien Bien Phu. That Craig W. Lowell eat in the chair where he was now sitting, swilling down me and crying like a baby.
"In a way, Sandy, it was funny," Sharon said later. "Here we were, the widow and the orphans, and what we were doing was trying to make Uncle Craig stop crying."
"Shit!" Sanford Felter said. He stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and went to his bed and sat on it. He opened the door of the bedside table and took out a black telephone with several buttons on it.
He dialed a number.
"Liberty 7Ž1936," a male voice said.
"Scramble Four Victor Twenty-Three," Felter said.
"Confirm Four Victor Two Three," the voice said, after a moment. "Go ahead."
Felter pushed the appropriate buttons on the special telephone.
"This is Felter," he said. "Get onto somebody in G-2 or the Defense Intelligence Agency and find out (a) why the CIC is investigating a man named Franklin, William B., and (b) what the investigation has come up with so far."
"Yes, sir," the male voice said. "Will you spell, sir?"
"Franklin, as in Poor Richard's Almanac," Felter said.
The name rang a bell, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
There were so many names.
"Yes, sir."
"I'm at my home," Felter said. "Get back to me here."
"Yes, sir."
Felter replaced the handset in the receiver without sayini anything else. He put the phone back in the space under bedside table. Then he stood up and walked back into we bathroom and put the towel in the hamper.
What he had done was absolutely a breach of the with which he had been entrusted. There was no other way ti look at it. On the other hand, it was equally clear that he wont get away with it. He reported to the PresidentŽand noh else. Even if the directors of the FBI or CIA somehow he about this, there would be no questions asked. For a long tini now, he had been one of the very few who were given th benefit of any doubt.
He put on a sports shirt and a pair of slacks and w downstairs.
Craig was in the kitchen with Sharon. Sharon was maki a salad. Craig was pressing roughly ground peppercorns into steak with his thumb.
"So how were things in Germany?" Felter asked. "Is there more whiskey, or did you two drink it all up?"
How'd you know I was in Germany?" Lowell asked.
"I spoke to your father-in-law yesterday," Felter said. He the bottle of scotch and made himself a drink. That killed
bottle. He was sure there had been four inches of whiskey it when he'd gone upstairs. He saw that both his wife and owell had full, dark glasses.
"We took Peter hunting for his first time," Lowell said.
"Craig, you did
n't!" Sharon said. "My God, he's only nine mrs old."
"He's a real kraut," Lowell said. "He loved it."
"He's half-American, Craig," Sharon said.
"He finds that somewhat embarrassing," Lowell said.
"Oh, Craig!" Sharon said.
Felter pushed the curtain on the kitchen door aside to see w the charcoal was coming.
"You haven't started the fire," he accused.
Lowell snapped his fingers. "I knew there was something to do besides stick peppercorns in this." it wasn't that funny, but Sharon and Craig thought it was. it took forty minutes for the charcoal to achieve what Major
W. Lowell thought was the proper grayish hue. Time, saw, for two more drinks. Sharon, he thought, is going sick to her stomach. Then, aware that he was being it. he enjoyed the notion that it would serve her right. insisted on red wine to go with the meal. That was ing to make Sharon sick. had just about finished eating when the door chimes
Be it ever so humble."
drained his wine glass and went to answer it. A y, gray-haired man in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, before the door. Felter saw a black Chevrolet four-door in the driveway behind Lowell's Eldorado. There was the behind the wheel. He opened the door. evening, sir," the gray-haired man said.
in, please, Colonel," Felter said, opening the door.
Felter led him into the dining room.
"You know Mrs. Felter, of course," Felter said.
"Ma'am," the colonel said.
"Colonel," Sharon said.
"This is Major Lowell," Felter said.
"How do you do, sir?" Lowell said. They shook hands, the colonel did not offer his name, and Felter didn't use it.
"Can I offer you a glass of wine, Colonel? Or a drink?"
Felter asked.
"Thank you, sir, no. I have the duty."
"You apparently have some answers for me," Felter said.
The colonel looked uncomfortable.
"I rather doubt that either my wife or Major Lowell wi rush to the nearest telephone to inform the Russian Embassy of this conversation," Felter said.
"Yes, sir," the colonel said. "Sir, I wasn't given much go on, so I decided it would be best to bring you what I have myself."
"I'm sorry you had to drive all the way out here," Feltee said.
"Sir, there are three Franklins, William, under investigation," the colonel said. He sat down at the table and opene his briefcase. "Two are routine background investigations. have their summaries with me. The third, Lieutenant Colon
Franklin, who I would guess is the subject of your interesi has been, we believe, sexually compromisedŽwe're not qi sure by whomŽin Yokohama."
He laid three folders on the dining room table.
"Colonel Franklin's file, sir, is the thick one," the color said.
Felter nodded. He looked through the two thinner files, then pushed them toward Lowell. Their eyes met. Lowell select one of the two thinner files and flipped through it quicki
Felter read the file concerning Lieutenant Colonel who had apparently discovered at age thirty-six an interest i young, relatively hair-free male youths.
"Colonel," Felter said, "when you have finished this, you be sure that I get a copy and otherwise be kept up to dater
"Yes, sir," the colonel said. "Of course, sir. Sir, if thee mu any areas of particular interest to you?"
"Nothing your people are not presently covering very well,
Colonel," Felter said. "I'm afraid that my concerns here amount to much ado about nothing."
"It never hurts to make sure, does it, sir?" the colonel said.
"It sometimes inconveniences people," Felter said. "Lowell, have you any questions for the colonel?"
"No, sir," Lowell said, straight-faced. "The colonel's people we obviously on top of the situation."
I The colonel's pleasure was evident on his face.
"I feel rather bad about getting you all the way out here, when it turns out that there is no problem," Felter said. "Are you sure you won't have a drink? Or perhaps something to
"Thank you just the same, sir," the colonel said. "I have
& duty."
The colonel stuffed the files back into his briefcase and
Felter walked him to the door.
"Thank you again, Colonel," Felter said. "I'm very impressed with your response time."
Thank you, sir," the colonel said.
Felter closed the door, walked into the kitchen, and made drinks. He walked into the dining room and set one before veil. Then he sat down and stared at him. They stared at h other for a long time, and then they began to chuckle, d then to laugh.
There was a touch of hysteria in the laughter.
"Is that a private joke?" Sharon asked, pleased that they we laughing together.
"The things you get me to do, you bastard," Felter said.
"From now on, that poor fruitcake in Yokohama won't be e to take a leak without three creeps from CIC timing him
.topwatches," Lowell said.
you going to tell me or not?" Sharon demanded.
Jon't know why the hell I'm laughing," Felter said. "It isn't funny."
is an element of overkill, isn't there?" Lowell asked, kling.
"I'm getting mad, Sandy, I mean it," Sharon said.
"When Don Juan here was in Algiers," Felter explained,
"he had a Signal Corps photographer sergeant named Franklin,
William. The kid did his time, and got out of the army, and went back to Canton, Ohio, where, after a couple of months, he decided that he really didn't want to spend the rest of his life taking photographs of weddings. So he re-upped and put in for the warrant officer candidate helicopter pilot program.
Before they give them their warrants, they give them a complete background investigation. The kid naturally listed Craig here as a reference. The kid figured that a field-grade officer of such an impeccable reputation was a good reference to have."
"So?" Sharon said.
"So MDW sent some sergeant in civilian clothes around to ask Major Lowell if he had, in fact, known Franldin, William
B., and to inquire if he would recommend Franklin, William
B., for a position of great trust and responsibility."
"Well, he could have been in trouble," Lowell said. "How was I supposed to know?"
"If he was a friend of yours, you could almost count on his being in trouble," Felter said.
"I still don't understand," Sharon said.
"What happened, honey," Felter said, "was that Don Juan did it to me again. I just put what is laughingly known as the intelligence community in high gear. The deputy chief of Army
Counterintelligence rushed out here devoutly believing he was involved in a security matter of the highest priority. If he really knew what it was all about..
"Hell, Sandy, you made his whole week. He'll be waitins for his boss at 0700 to tell him Super Spook himself told h personally he was impressed with his reaction time."
"I don't know why I'm laughing," Felter said. "Goddani you, Craig, you're dangerous."
"Hand me the phone, Sharon, honey, will you?" Lowe asked.
"Don't you dare!" Felter said. "God knows who he wan to call."
"I'm going to call Franldin, that's who I'm going to call."
"No, you're not," Felter said.
"Why not?"
"For one thing, you're drunk," Felter said. "The last thing that kid needs now, two months before he graduates, is a aelephone call from a drunken officer."
"rm drunk? You're the one who could barely pronounce
4reaction time,"' Lowell said.
"Don't call him, Craig," Felter said. "You'd just make trouble for him."
"What Craig wants to do is see if he needs anything," Sharon said, somewhat thickly, defending him.
"Right. What's wrong with that?" Lowell demanded of Felter
You're just going to call attention to him," Felter said.
s the last thing he needs righ
t now."
I'll call Phil Parker," Lowell said. "He's down there."
"Don't call anybody," Felter said. "Quit while you're ahead."
Lowell thumbed his nose at Felter and picked up the telephone
W E B Griffin - BoW 03 - The Majors Page 33