Jeffrey Archer

by Shall We Tell The President (lit)

  He opened the meeting formally, as any regular chairman would, by asking for reports from his men in the field. First Matson.

  The big nose bobbed, the heavy jaw moved.

  'I was tuned into the FBI's Channel One.' During his years as an FBI agent, preparing for a career in crime, Matson had stolen one of the Bureau's special portable walkie-talkies. He had signed it out for some routine purpose and then reported that it was lost. He was reprimanded and had to reimburse the Bureau; it had been a small price to pay for the privilege of listening to FBI communications. 'I knew the Greek waiter was hiding somewhere in Washington, and I suspected that because of his leg injury, he would eventually have to go to one of DCs five hospitals. I guessed he wouldn't end up with a private doctor, too expensive. Then I heard that bastard Stames come up on Channel One.'

  'Cut out the profanity, if you please,' said the Chairman.

  Stames had given Matson four reprimands during his service with the FBI. Matson did not mourn his death. He started again.

  'I heard Stames come up on Channel One, on his way to Woodrow Wilson Medical Center, to ask a Father Gregory to go to the Greek. It was a long shot, of course, but I remembered that Stames was a Greek himself, and it wasn't hard to trace Father Gregory. I just caught him as he was about to leave. I told him the Greek had been discharged from the hospital and that his services would no longer be needed. And thanked him. With Stames dead, no one is likely to follow that one up and, if they do, they won't be any the wiser. I then went to the nearest Greek Orthodox church and stole the vestments, a hat, a veil, and a cross and I drove to Woodrow Wilson. By the time I arrived, Stames and Calvert had already left. I learned from the receptionist on duty that the two men from the FBI had returned to their office. I didn't ask for too much detail as I didn't want to be remembered, I discovered which room Casefikis was in and it was simple to reach there unnoticed. I slipped in. He was sound asleep. I cut his throat.'

  The Senator winced.

  'There was a nigger in the bed next to him, we couldn't take the risk. He might have overheard everything, and he might have given a description of me, so I cut his throat too.'

  The Senator felt sick. He hadn't wanted these men to die. The Chairman had showed no emotion, the difference between a professional and an amateur.

  'Then I called Tony in the car. He drove to the Washington Field Office and saw Stames and Calvert coming out of the building together. I then contacted you, boss, and Tony carried out your orders.'

  The Chairman passed over a packet. It was one hundred one-hundred-dollar bills. All American employ-

  yees are paid by seniority and achievement; it was no different in the criminal world.

  'Tony.'

  'When the two men left the Old Post Office Building, we followed them as instructed. They went over Memorial Bridge. The German passed them and I managed to get well ahead of them. As soon as I realised they were turning up on to the G.W. Park­way

  , as we thought they would, I informed Gerbach on the walkie-talkie. He was waiting in a clump of trees on the middle strip, with his lights off, about a mile ahead. He turned on his lights and came down from the top of the hill on the wrong side of the divided highway. He swung in front of the Feds' car just after it crossed Windy Run Bridge. I accelerated and overtook on the left-hand side of the car. I hit I hem with a glancing sideways blow at about seventy miles an hour, just as that damn-fool German hit them head-on. You know the rest, boss. If he had kept his cool,' Tony finished contemptuously, 'the German would be here today to make his report in person.'

  'What did you do with the car?' 'I went to Mario's workshop, changed the engine block and the licence plates, repaired the damage to I the fender, sprayed it, and dumped it. The owner probably wouldn't recognise his own car if he saw it.’

  'Where did you dump it?'

  'New York. The Bronx.'

  'Good. With a murder there every four hours, they don't have a lot of time to check on missing cars.'

  The Chairman flicked a packet over the table. Three thousand dollars in used fifties. 'Stay sober, Tony, we'll be needing you again.' He refrained from saying what assignment number two would be; he simply said, 'Xan.' He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another one. All eyes turned to the silent Vietnamese. His English was good, though heavily accented. He tended, like so many educated Orientals, to omit the definite article, giving his speech a curious staccato effect.

  'I was in car with Tony whole evening when we got your orders to eliminate two men in Ford sedan. We followed them over bridge and up freeway and when German swung across path of Ford, I blew both back tyres in under three seconds, just before Tony bounced them. They had no chance of controlling car after that.'

  'How can you be so sure it was under three seconds?'

  'I'd been averaging two-point-eight in practice all day.'

  Silence. The Chairman passed yet another packet. Another one hundred fifties, twenty-five hundred dollars for each shot.

  'Do you have any questions, Senator?'

  The Senator did not look up, but shook his head lightly.

  The Chairman spoke. 'From the press reports and from our further investigation, it looks as if nobody has connected the two incidents, but the FBI just aren't that stupid. We have to hope that we eliminated everybody who heard anything Casefikis might have aid, if he had anything to say in the first place. We may just be oversensitive. One thing's for certain, we eliminated everybody connected with that hospital. But we still can't be sure if the Greek knew anything worth repeating.'

  'May I say something, boss?'

  The Chairman looked up. Nobody spoke unless it was relevant, most unusual for an American board meeting. The Chairman let Matson have the floor.

  'One thing worries me, boss. Why would Nick Stames be going to Woodrow Wilson?'

  They all stared at him, not quite sure what he meant. 'We know from my inquiries and my contacts that Calvert was there, but we don't actually know that Stames was there. All we know is that two agents went and that Stames asked Father Gregory to go. We know Stames was on his way home with Calvert, but my experience tells me that Stames wouldn't go to the hospital himself; he'd send somebody else—'

  'Even if he thought it were a serious matter?' interrupted the Chairman.

  'He wouldn't know it was a serious matter, boss. He wouldn't have known until the agents had reported back to him.'

  The Chairman shrugged. 'The facts point to Stames going to the hospital with Calvert. He left the Washington Field Office with Calvert driving the same car that left the hospital.'

  'I know, boss, but I don't like it; I know that we've covered all the angles, but it's possible that three or more men left the Washington Field Office and that there is still at least one agent running around who knows what actually happened.'

  'It seems unlikely,' said the Senator. 'As you will discover when you hear my report.'

  The lips compressed in the heavy jaw.

  'You're not happy are you, Matson?'

  'No, sir.'

  'Very well, check it out. If you come up with anything report back to me.'

  The Chairman never left a stone unturned. He looked at the Senator.

  The Senator despised these men. They were so small-minded, so greedy. They only understood money, and Kane was going to take it away from them. How their violence had frightened and sickened him. He should never have allowed that smooth-talking plausible bastard Nicholson to pump so much into his secret campaign funds, although God knows he would never have been elected without the money. Lots of money, and such a small price to pay at the time: steadfast opposition to any gun control proposals. Hell, he was genuinely opposed to gun control anyway. But assassinating the President to stop the bill, by God, it was lunacy, but the Chairman had him by the balls. 'Co-operate, or be exposed, my friend,' he had said silkily. The Senator had spent half a lifetime sweating to reach the Senate and what's more, he did a damned good job there. If they stopped him now he would be f
inished. A public scandal. He couldn't face it. 'Co-operate, my friend, for your own good. All we need is some inside information, and your presence at the Capitol on 10 March. Be reasonable, my friend, why ruin your whole life for a Polish woman?' The Senator cleared his throat.

  'It is highly unlikely that the FBI knows any details about our plans. As Mr Matson knows, if the Bureau had anything to go on, any reason to think that this supposed threat is any different from a thousand others the President has received, the Secret Service would have been informed immediately. And my secretary has ascertained that the President's schedule for this week remains unchanged. All her appointments will be kept. She will go to the Capitol on the morning of 10 March for a special address to the Senate—'

  'But that's exactly the point,' Matson interrupted with a contemptuous sneer. 'All threats against the President:, no matter how far-fetched, are routinely reported to the Secret Service. If they haven't reported anything, it must mean that—'

  'It may mean that they don't know a thing, Matson,' said the Chairman firmly. 'I told you to look into it. Now let the Senator answer a more important question: If the FBI knew the details, would they tell the President?'

  The Senator hesitated. 'No, I don't think so, or only if they were absolutely certain of danger on a particular day; otherwise they'd go ahead as planned. If every threat or suggestion of a threat were taken seriously, the President would never be able to leave the White House. The Secret Service report to Congress last year showed that there were 1,572 threats against the Presi-

  dent's life, but thorough investigations revealed that there were no actual known attempts.'

  The Chairman nodded. 'Either they know everything or they know nothing.'

  Matson persisted. 'I am still a member of the Society of Former Special Agents and I attended a meeting yesterday, and no one there knew a damn thing. Someone would have heard something by now. Later, I had a drink with Grant Nanna, who was my old boss at the Washington Field Office, and he seemed almost uninterested, which I found strange, I thought Stames was a friend of his, but I obviously couldn't push it too far, since Stames was no friend of mine. I'm still worried. It doesn't make sense that Stames went to the hospital and no one in the Bureau is saying anything about his death.'

  'Okay, okay,' said the Chairman. 'If we don't get her on 10 March, we may as well quit now. We go ahead as if nothing had happened, unless we hear any rumbles - and that's in your hands, Matson. We'll be there on the day, unless you stop us. Now let's plan ahead. First I'll go over Kane's schedule for that day. Kane' — no one in that room except for the Senator ever called her the President - 'leaves the White House at 10 am. She passes the FBI Building at three minutes past, she passes the Peace Monument at the north-west corner of the Capitol grounds at five minutes past. She gets out of her car at the east front of the Capitol at six minutes past. Normally, she would go in the private entrance, but the Senator has assured us that she will milk this visit for all it's worth. It takes her forty-five seconds to walk from the car to the top of the Capitol steps. We know that Xan can easily complete the job in forty-five seconds. I will be watching at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue

  when Kane passes the FBI Building. Tony will be there with a car, in case of an emergency, and the Senator will be on the Capitol steps to stall her, if we need more time. The most important part of the operation is Xan's, which we have worked out to a split second. So listen and listen carefully. I have arranged for Xan to be on the construction crew working on the renovation of

  the front of the Capitol. And, believe me, with that union it was no mean feat to place an Oriental. Take over, Xan.'

  Xan looked up. He had said nothing since his last invitation to speak.

  'Construction on west front of Capitol has been going on for nearly six months. No one is more enthusiastic about it than Kane. She wants it finished in time for her second Inaugural.' He grinned. All eyes were upon the little man, intent on his every word. 'I have been part of work force now for just over four weeks. I am in charge of checking all supplies that come on to site, which means I am in site office. From there, it has not been hard to discover movements of everybody connected with construction. The guards are not from FBI, Secret Service, or from CIA, but from Government Building Security Service. They are usually a lot older than normal agents, often retired from one of services. There are sixteen in all, and they work in fours on four shifts. I know where they drink, smoke, play cards, everything; no one is very interested in site because at moment it overlooks nothing and it's on least-used side of Capitol. A little petty theft from site but not much else to excite guards.' Xan had total silence. 'Right in middle of site is biggest American Hoist Co crane in world, number 11-3-10, specially designed for lifting new parts of Capitol into place. Fully extended, it is 322 feet, almost double regulation height allowed in Washington buildings. Nobody expect us on west side, and nobody figure we can see that far. On top is small covered platform for general maintenance of pulleys, used only when it is flat and parallel to ground, but platform becomes like a small box in effect. It is four feet long, two feet three inches in width, and one foot five inches in height. I have slept there for last three nights. I see everything, no one can see me, not even White House helicopter.'

  There was a stunned silence.

  'How do you get up there?' asked the Senator.

  'Like cat, Senator. I climb. An advantage of being very small. I go up just after midnight and come down at five. I overlook all Washington and no one see me.'

  'Do you have a good view of the Capitol steps from such a small platform?' asked the Chairman.

  'Perhaps it will take four seconds,' Xan replied. 'View allows me to see White House as no one has ever seen it. I could have killed Kane twice last week. When she make official visits, it will be easy. I can't miss—'

  'What about the other workers on Thursday? They may want to use the crane,' the Senator interrupted.

  This time the Chairman smiled. 'There will be a strike next Thursday, my friend. Something to do with unfair rates for overtime, no work while Kane is

  visiting the Capitol to emphasise their point. One thing is certain, with no one on the site other than some ageing guards, nobody will be eager to climb to the top of a crane that is all but open to the world. From the ground it doesn't look as if a mouse could hide up there, let alone a human being.' The Chairman paused. 'Xan flies to Vienna tomorrow and will be back in time to report the results of his trip at our final meeting next Wednesday. By the way, Xan, have you got your can of yellow paint?'

  'Yes, stole one from site.'

  The Chairman looked around the table - silence. 'Good, we seem to be well organised. Thank you, Xan.'

  'I don't like it,' mumbled Matson. 'Something's wrong. It's all too easy, it's all too clever.'

  'The FBI has taught you to be overly suspicious, Matson. You'll discover that we're better prepared than they are, because we know what we're going to

  do and they don't. Fear not, you'll be able to attend Kane's funeral.'

  Matson's big chin moved up and down. 'You're the guy that wants her dead,' he said sourly.

  'And you're being paid to see it happens,' said the Chairman. 'Right, we meet again in five days to go over the final plan. You will be told where to report on Wednesday morning. Xan will have returned from Austria long before then.'

  The Chairman smiled and lit another cigarette. The Senator slipped out. Five minutes later, Matson left. Five minutes later, Tony left. Five minutes later, Xan left. Five minutes later, the Chairman ordered lunch.

  Friday afternoon, 4 March

  4:00 pm

  Mark was too hungry to work efficiently any longer, so he left the Library in search of some food. When the elevator stopped, the opening doors provided a view of the card catalogue: 'Harrison-Health' confronted him. Some subconscious word association triggered in his mind the welcome vision of the beautiful, witty girl he had met the previous day, walking along the corridor
in her black skirt and red shirt, heels tapping on the tiles. A big grin spread across Mark's face. It was amazing the pleasure it gave him just to know he could call her and rearrange the date, unusual for him to find just how much he wanted to.

  Mark found the snack bar and munched his way through a hamburger, letting his mind recall all the things she had said, and the way she had looked while she was saying them. He decided to call Woodrow Wilson.

  'I'm sorry, Dr Dexter is not on duty today,' said a nurse. 'Can Dr Delgado help?'

  'No thank you,' said Mark. 'I'm afraid she can't.'

  He took out his diary, and dialled Elizabeth Dexter's home number. He was delighted to find her in.

  'Hello, Elizabeth. It's Mark Andrews. Any hope of giving you dinner tonight?'

  'Promises, promises. I continue to live in the hope of a real meal.'

  'Not a laughing matter,' said Mark, almost to himself.