Sea of Crises

by Marty Steere

  Of course, it was possible the man was playing the decoy, distracting him so an accomplice might sneak up and take him from behind. But Krantz knew there was only one man alive who’d be able to perform that kind of maneuver against him with success. And that man was standing right in front of him.

  Krantz sighed. “You can’t run forever.”

  “I’m not running,” Marek replied calmly.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to know who ordered it. Who’s calling the shots.”

  Krantz shook his head slowly. “You’re here. That means you already know.” His own words suddenly gave him pause.

  Marek said nothing. His eyes, unblinking, studied Krantz.

  A warning sounded deep in Krantz’ consciousness. But the realization that, instead of Marek, it was the man’s twin he was looking at didn’t strike him until the moment the hands from behind came gracefully across his chest and up under his chin, clamping themselves in place, quickly and effectively immobilizing his upper body. A part of him couldn’t avoid a professional nod to the technique. And the setup.

  It was an awesome kill.

  The last thought that went through Krantz’ mind was the idle question whether he’d actually hear the snap of his neck before the spinal cord was severed. He didn’t.

  #

  From the far side of the rotunda, Nate watched as Matt lowered the limp body of the man known as Krantz to the marble floor. The whole thing had happened so quickly, if he’d blinked, he’d have missed it.

  “I need help here,” Matt was saying loudly. “Someone call 911.”

  A woman cried out and pointed in Matt’s direction, but whatever she said was drowned out by the sudden cacophony that filled the large area. People began crowding around the prostrate figure, talking at once, their voices echoing off of the domed ceiling. Matt allowed the onlookers to push past him, casually backing away. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. Peter, who had turned as soon as Matt had put his arms around Krantz, had calmly strolled to the main entrance. As Nate glanced his way, he stepped out and was gone.

  A pair of Capitol Police officers pushed their way through the throng and began urging people back.

  “I’m a doctor,” a man in a tweed jacket called out, and he was allowed through.

  Matt had eased his way to the rear of the crowd. He now pivoted and, without hurry, walked to the entrance. Nobody tried to stop him. He pushed open the door, and he was gone as well.

  Nate took an involuntary step toward the people gathered in the center of the room. Through the crowd, he saw the doctor kneeling by the body. After a moment, the man looked up and spoke to one of the police officers. Nate couldn’t hear him, but he could read his lips clearly. “He’s dead.” The police officer asked him a question, and the doctor merely shrugged, as if to say, I don’t know.

  There was another commotion near the entrance. Two men in uniform, arms held down at their sides, laden with equipment, had been halted by Capitol Police officers just beyond the metal detectors. After a moment, they were allowed to pass, and Nate saw that they were emergency medical technicians. Behind them, a similarly uniformed man appeared wheeling a portable gurney.

  Nate felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned quickly and found himself staring into a face he realized with a start he’d seen before. The man’s gray hair had been died blond and trimmed, so it was no longer pushed back behind his ears. And, instead of a work shirt, he was wearing a sport coat and tie. But there was no mistaking who it was. Though it had been dark, with only a three-quarter moon for light, Nate knew he had met this man a few days earlier while standing behind a moving van on a deserted country road in Maine.

  “We’ve done everything that needs to be done here,” the man said quietly. “Time to go.”

  Then he stepped past Nate and walked nonchalantly to the entrance. With one last quick glance back at the pandemonium in the center of the rotunda, Nate turned and followed.

  16

  Under a brilliant blue sky, Nate ascended the steps to the United States Capitol Building. General Rick Delahousse waited for him at the top with two others. The general, like Nate, wore a business suit, but the men with him were in military uniforms. When Nate reached them, the general made the introductions.

  “Nate, I’d like you to meet General Bryce McConnell, Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. In a prior life, the general and I served together in the office of the Air Force Chief of Staff. Of course, that was a few years ago.”

  “More years than any of us would like to remember,” General McConnell said with a slight smile, reaching out and shaking Nate’s hand.

  “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, sir,” Nate said.

  “And this is Admiral Logan Vance, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

  The admiral also smiled and proffered a hand. “Nate,” the admiral said, “I had the privilege of meeting your father. I was an ensign, fresh out of the Naval Academy, on my first cruise. Your father was the executive officer in one of the strike squadrons assigned to the USS Midway. There was no particular reason why he’d give me the time of day. But he sought me out the first week, showed me around. Made sure I was squared away. He was a good man.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “He didn’t,” the admiral added, grimly, “deserve what happened to him.”

  Nate nodded, not sure what to say in response. He was still processing the fact that he had just shaken hands with the two highest ranking officers in the United States military. When Nate had met with Delahousse three days before, the general had told Nate he’d “pull some strings.” Delahousse had, indeed, delivered on that promise.

  “We have a few people waiting for us inside,” Admiral Vance said, “so we should get going. Will either of your brothers be joining us Nate?”

  Nate had talked this over with Matt and Peter, and they had agreed with Nate’s suggestion.

  “Sir, we thought it best that I come to this meeting alone.”

  The admiral nodded. He seemed to understand.

  Their entry into the building was expedited by a cadre of uniformed Capitol Police officers who had obviously been standing by waiting for them. Two of the officers accompanied them to a room on the second floor near the Senate Chamber. When they entered, Nate discovered that a handful of others had already gathered around a large oval table. Nate instantly recognized the man at the head of the table.

  Anthony Strickland had recently been confirmed by the Senate as the new Attorney General, the nation’s top lawyer. He stood when they entered the room, and Admiral Vance introduced Nate.

  “Please have a seat,” Strickland said, and Nate took the adjacent chair indicated by the Attorney General. Admiral Vance and Generals McConnell and Delahousse sat to Nate’s left. Across the table were two men approximately Nate’s age. They had not been introduced, and they had said nothing from the time Nate had entered. There was something about their watchful manner that struck a familiar chord. Nate was pretty sure he knew what it was.

  Between the two men was an elderly woman. Nate knew exactly who she was. Matt had described her to a tee. She nodded to him, not unpleasantly, but she also said nothing.

  Strickland looked at Vance and said, “Admiral, if you don’t mind.” The other man nodded.

  “Mr. Cartwright,” Strickland began, “I’ve just been briefed by these gentlemen.” He indicated the two men sitting across the table. “You don’t know them, but I believe you are somewhat familiar with their organization.”

  Nate considered the two men. They returned his look without expression.

  After a moment, Nate nodded and said slowly, “I think so.”

  “Yes, well,” Strickland said, dryly, “I can understand your less than enthusiastic reaction.” He gave Nate a direct look. “Believe me when I tell you that, until yesterday, I was not aware this organization existed. Nor, for that matter, was my boss.”

  That caught Nate by surprise. Strickland’s “boss�
�� was none other than the President of the United States.

  To his side, he heard Vance clear his throat.

  Strickland looked at Vance and gave him a tight smile. “I’ve also received a briefing from the Joint Chiefs. I understand the dynamic at work here.”

  He returned his attention to Nate. “We walk a fine line at times with our intelligence services. The need for such assets is a difficult but necessary thing in a less-than-perfect world. But, as a nation, we still have certain values we consider important, and we endeavor to guard against encroachment on those values. In an effort to maintain discipline, we’ve put procedures in place. Checks and balances, if you will. Most of the time, they work. Occasionally, they don’t. In this case, our procedures failed miserably.”

  Strickland looked down at a legal pad in front of him on which he’d scratched several notes. “After considering the relevant facts, I’ve concluded that we did not provide adequately for the appropriate oversight here. That’s a collective failing.”

  He glanced up and took in the entire room.

  “However,” he continued, “this could not have happened - would not have happened - without some extraordinary misconduct. And that, I believe, falls at the feet of one man.”

  There was a sudden commotion in the hallway outside, and the door banged open. Speaking loudly to someone behind him, the hunched figure of Senator Harrison Burton entered. He’d taken a number of steps into the room before he realized it was already occupied. That brought him up short. Behind him, a number of others spilled in, gathering around the older man and looking with curiosity at the collection of people sitting at the table. In addition to Burton, Nate recognized several other senators.

  “What in the hell are you doing in my conference room?” Burton snarled. The man’s eyes were fierce, and the look on his face was withering. His reputation, Nate could see, was well-deserved.

  Burton seemed to notice Admiral Vance and General McConnell for the first time, and Nate saw just a flicker of uncertainty in the old man’s eyes. Then the fury returned and Burton focused it on Strickland.

  Pointing a slightly bent finger at the Attorney General, he roared, “Clear this room.”

  “Strategic Security Force,” Strickland said calmly.

  That caught Burton by surprise, and the man’s face froze in mid-sneer. The uncertainty Nate had seen a moment before flashed, but, again, the man recovered quickly. He drew himself up and, impossibly, the scowl on his face deepened. In a commanding voice, the senator said, “This is an outrage. I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to let the president’s lap dog come sniffing around on my turf without so much as a courtesy call. This is my jurisdiction. Not yours.”

  Strickland’s expression didn’t change. “Under other circumstances, I might take issue with the lap dog comment, but there are too many more important things we need to deal with at the moment. Suffice it to say this is very much my jurisdiction. I’m here on official Department of Justice business. With,” he added, “the full concurrence of my colleague, the United States Attorney for the District of Columbia.”

  The Senator, Nate could see, was practically apoplectic. Cheeks flushed, breathing hard, the man opened his mouth to say something, and Strickland interrupted.

  “You are familiar with a man named Krantz?” Though he posed it as a question, Strickland didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Of course you are. In the past twelve years, you met with the man,” Strickland consulted a page from the top of the stack of notes in front of him, “forty-seven times. The reason I know that, by the way, is because I have the transcripts from each of those meetings.”

  The Senator hadn’t moved. Though his face was still twisted in anger, his mouth hung open and there was a new look in his eyes. It wasn’t exactly fear or panic, though Nate couldn’t completely rule out either. In any event, it certainly lacked the imperiousness of a moment before.

  “I take it you weren’t aware your conversations were being recorded. Well, they were,” Strickland said, as though he were having a casual conversation.

  “And not only do I have the transcripts, I have the original source tapes. We went to the trouble of verifying the voice signatures. I didn’t want there to be any mistake. Of course, there’s a sticky issue regarding the recordation of conversations without notice. That would normally put Mr. Krantz in some hot water. But there’s not much point in belaboring it now, since he’s dead.”

  The Senator, Nate saw, actually flinched at that.

  “Ah, I see the report of his death is news to you. Yes, a few minutes after leaving your office two days ago, the man you know as Krantz experienced a medical emergency in the rotunda of the Russell Senate Office Building. You may have heard from your staff that there was a bit of excitement that morning.”

  Strickland leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him.

  “Senator, I’m placing you under arrest on multiple federal counts of first degree murder. I have a warrant to that effect signed by the presiding judge of the District Court. These charges will likely be supplemented by several other lesser offenses, including the misuse of your office, but I don’t want the tail to wag the dog. Here’s the bottom line: Just preliminarily, we’re looking at over thirty capital cases. Even if you avoid the death penalty, you’re still facing several life sentences. Perhaps, with some luck, you might be able to work a plea bargain that will make you eligible for parole some time in, oh, I’d say, the twenty-third century. Maybe.”

  The other senators, Nate noticed, had moved away from Burton, putting distance between themselves and the man.

  Strickland nodded to the two uniformed Capitol Police officers who’d escorted Nate and the others to the conference room and had remained just inside the door. “Please take Mr. Burton into custody and read him his rights. In light of the seriousness of the charges, I think it would be appropriate to cuff him.”

  Burton seemed to dig deep, summoning reserves. His well-known scowl returned. “You’re making a big mistake.”

  “No,” Strickland said, immediately. “I’m correcting one.”

  The two police officers stepped over to Burton. They towered over him, and Nate guessed that it was not a coincidence. Strickland, he thought, had probably arranged to have two of the largest men assigned the duty. Burton looked suddenly diminished between them. They quickly and efficiently put the man in handcuffs. Though Burton, Nate could tell, was trying to keep up a facade of defiance, it was crumbling quickly. One of the officers pulled a card from his back pocket and read Burton his rights. Then his colleague turned the man toward the door, and, as the crowd parted, marched him out of the room.

  There were murmurs from the other senators. Finally, one of them, a woman Nate recognized as one of the two senators from California, turned to face Strickland. “Tony, what’s this about?”

  “The organization known as the Strategic Security Force,” Strickland said. “Are you familiar with it?”

  The woman’s brow furrowed. She turned and looked questioningly at a couple of her colleagues, who both shook their heads. Finally, she returned her attention to the Attorney General. “I don’t think so. Should I be?”

  “That, Senator,” Strickland said, with some irony, “is a complicated question. The organization falls under your committee’s oversight responsibility. But, I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it. Your soon-to-be-former colleague apparently became quite adept at keeping it hidden.”

  Strickland indicated the people sitting around the table. “I need to finish up here. I apologize for taking your committee’s room. But I think, under the circumstances, it would be best if you and I and Senator Greeley,” he nodded toward another of the gathered senators, the one Nate knew was the senior senator from Nebraska, “discuss this privately. Perhaps I can come to your office this afternoon?”

  The woman hesitated. Nate could see that she was thinking, making, he thought, somewhat uncharitably, political calculations. Finally, she nodded.r />
  “Call my administrative assistant,” she said. “We’ll talk this afternoon.”

  Then she turned and nodded toward the door. The collection of legislators began filtering out of the room, exchanging quiet comments. When they’d all gone and the door had again closed, Strickland turned to Nate.

  “The suggestion,” he said with a slight smile, “that we consult Ms. Branson turned out to be a good one.”

  Nate glanced involuntarily at the woman across the table from him. At Strickland’s mention of her name, she had looked over at the Attorney General, but, after a moment, she returned her attention to Nate, considering him directly. There was no hostility in her expression. Just simple curiosity.

  It had been at Matt’s insistence that Nate requested her involvement through General Delahousse. Matt had explained to Nate that, if there was anyone in The Organization who might know where all the bodies were buried, it was Ruth Branson. She had been there forever, Matt explained, having seen several directors come and go. She, Matt suggested, had been the ultimate fly on the wall. Nate now studied her.

  “Ms. Branson,” Strickland said, “provided us the transcripts and tapes from the meetings with Senator Burton. And, while we appreciate that,” Strickland added, with a bit more emphasis, “we’re still working through everything else.”

  The man to the woman’s left said quietly, “Ask your questions.”

  Nate was struck by the man’s self-possession. Though it was an innocuous statement, the man had, in effect, just told the United States Attorney General to stop screwing around. Nate was impressed.

  Strickland seemed to take it in stride. Nate realized he was in the company of some extraordinary people. It was, despite everything else, fascinating.

  “There is,” Strickland said, looking at Nate, “a lingering question about what happened to the man named Krantz.”

  Nate had been prepared for this. “And what is that?” he asked innocently.