Jeffrey Archer

by Shall We Tell The President (lit)

  'They'll be hounding me long before then, sir.'

  'Let them hound you,' said the Director sharply.

  'Yes, sir.'

  'At eleven, you will put out another statement saying the agent is alive ...'

  Bill Gunn's face registered surprise.

  '... and that a mistake has been made, and the man who died was a young garage attendant who had no connection with the FBI.'

  'But, sir, our agent?'

  'No doubt you would like to meet the agent who is supposed to be dead. Bill Gunn - this is Special Agent Andrews. Now not a word, Bill. This man is dead for the next three hours and if I find a leak, you can find a new job.'

  Bill Gun looked convincingly anxious. 'Yes, sir.'

  'When you've written the press statement, call me and read it over to me.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Bill Gunn left, dazed. He was a gentle, easy-going man and this was way above his head, but he like so many others trusted the Director.

  The Director was becoming very aware just how many men did trust him and how much he was carrying on his own shoulders. He looked back at Mark, who had not recovered from the realisation that Simon had died instead of him - the second man to do so in eight days.

  'Right, Mark, we have under two hours left, so we will mourn the dead later. Have you anything to add to yesterday's report?'

  'Yes, sir. It's good to be alive.'

  'If you get past eleven o'clock, young man, I think you have a good chance for a long and healthy life, but we still don't know if it's Dexter or Harrison. You know I think it's Dexter.' The Director looked at his watch again: 8:29 - ninety-seven minutes left. 'Any new ideas?'

  'Well, sir, Elizabeth Dexter certainly can't be involved, she saved my life by bringing me in this morning. If she wanted me dead, that sure was a funny way of going about it.'

  'I'll accept that,' said the Director, 'but it doesn't clear her father.'

  'Surely he wouldn't kill a man he thought might marry his daughter,' said Mark.

  'You're sentimental, Andrews. A man who plans to assassinate a President doesn't worry about his daughter's boyfriends.'

  The phone rang. It was Bill Gunn from Public Relations.

  'Right, read it over.' The Director listened carefully. 'Good. Issue it immediately to radio, television, and the papers, and release the second statement at eleven o'clock, no earlier. Thank you, Bill.'

  The Director put the phone down. 'Congratulations, Mark, you're the only dead man alive and, like Mark Twain, you will be able to read your own obituary. Now, to bring you quickly up to date. I have three hundred field agents already out covering the Capitol and the area immediately surrounding it. The whole place will be sealed off the moment the Presidential car arrives—'

  'You're letting her go to the Capitol?' said Mark in astonishment.

  'Listen carefully, Mark. I'll have a minute-by-minute briefing on where the two senators are from 9:00 am on and six men are tailing both of them. At 9:15, we're going into the street ourselves. When it happens, we're going to be there. If I'm going to carry the ultimate responsibility, I may as well carry it in person.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  The intercom buzzed.

  'It's Mr Sommerton. He wants to see you urgently, sir.' The Director looked at his watch: 8:45. On the minute, as promised.

  Daniel Sommerton rushed in, looking rather pleased with himself. He came straight to the point. 'One of the prints has come up on the criminal file, it's a thumb, his name is Matson - Ralph Matson.'

  Sommerton produced a photograph of Matson, an Identikit picture, and an enlarged thumbprint.

  'And here's the part you're not going to like, sir. He's an ex-FBI agent.' He passed Matson's card over for the Director to study. Mark looked at the photo. It was the Greek Orthodox priest, big nose, heavy chin.

  'Something professional about him,' said the Director and Mark simultaneously.

  'Well done, Sommerton, make three hundred copies of the picture immediately and get them to the Assistant Director in charge of the Investigation Division - and that means immediately.'

  'Yes, sir.' The fingerprint expert scurried away, pleased with himself. They wanted his thumb.

  'Mrs McGregor, get me Mr Rogers.'

  The Assistant Director was on the line; the Director briefed him.

  'Shall I arrest him on sight?'

  'No, Matt. Once you've spotted him, watch him and keep your boys well out of sight. He could still call everything off if he got suspicious. Keep me briefed all the time. Move in on him at 10:06. I'll let you know if anything changes.'

  'Yes, sir. Have you briefed the Secret Service?'

  'Yes, I have.' He slammed the phone down.

  The Director looked at his watch: 9:05. He pressed a button and Elliott came in. 'Where are the two senators?'

  'Harrison's still in his Alexandria town house, Dexter has left Kensington and is heading towards the Capitol, sir.'

  'You stay here in this office, Elliott, and keep in radio contact with me and the Assistant Director on the street. Never leave this room. Understood?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'I'll be using my walkie-talkie on Channel Four. Let's go, Andrews.' They left the anonymous man.

  'If anybody calls me, Mrs McGregor, put them through to Special Agent Elliott in my office. He will know where to contact me.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  A few moments later, the Director and Mark were on the street walking up Pennsylvania Avenue

  towards the Capitol. Mark put on his dark glasses and pulled his collar up. They passed several agents on the way. None of them acknowledged the Director. On the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue

  and 9th Street

  , they passed the Chairman, who was lighting a cigarette and checking his watch: 9:30. He moved to the edge of the sidewalk, leaving a pile of cigarette butts behind him. The Director glanced at the cigarette butts: litter bug, ought to be fined a hundred dollars. They hurried on.

  'Come in, Tony. Come in, Tony.'

  'Tony, boss. The Buick's ready. I've just heard it announced on the car radio that pretty boy Andrews bought it.'

  The Chairman smiled.

  'Come in, Xan.'

  'Ready, await your signal.'

  'Come in, Matson.'

  'Everything's set, boss. There's a hell of a lot of agents around.'

  'Don't sweat, there's always a lot of Secret Service men around when the President is travelling. Don't call again unless there's a real problem. All three keep your lines open. When I next call, I will only activate the vibrators on the side of your watches. Then you have three minutes forty-five seconds, because Kane will be passing me. Understood?'

  'Yes.'

  'Yes.'

  'Yes.'

  The Chairman broke the circuit and lit another cigarette: 9:40.

  The Director spotted Matthew Rogers in a special squad car and went quickly over to him. 'Everything under control, Matt?'

  'Yes, sir. If anybody tries anything, no one will be able to move for half a mile.'

  'Good; what time do you have?'

  'Nine-forty-five.'

  'Right, you control it from here. I'm going to the Capitol.'

  Halt and Mark left the Assistant Director and walked on.

  'Elliott calling the Director.'

  'Come in, Elliott.'

  'They have spotted Matson at the junction of Maryland Avenue and 1st Street, other side of the Garfield statue, south-west corner of the Capitol grounds, near the west front renovation site.'

  'Good. Observe and post fifty men around the area, don't move in yet, brief Mr Rogers and tell him to keep his men out of Matson's field of vision.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'What the hell is he doing on that side of the Capitol?' said Mark softly. 'You couldn't shoot anyone on the Capitol steps from the north-west side unless you were in a chopper.'

  'I agree, it beats me,' said the Director.

  They reached the police cordon surrounding the Cap
itol. The Director showed his credentials to get himself and Andrews through. The young Capitol policeman double-checked them; he couldn't believe it; he was looking at the real live object. Yes, it was the Director of the FBI. H. A. L. Tyson himself.

  'Sorry, sir. Please come through.'

  'Elliott to the Director.'

  'Yes, Elliott?'

  'Head of the Secret Service for you, sir.'

  'Stuart.'

  'The advance car is leaving the front gate now. Julius will leave in five minutes.'

  'Thank you, Stuart. Keep your end up and surprise me.'

  'Don't worry, Halt. We will.'

  Five minutes later, the Presidential car left the South Entrance and turned left on to E Street. The advance car passed the Chairman on the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue

  and 9th. He smiled, lit another cigarette and waited. Five minutes later, a large Lincoln, flags flying on both front fenders, the Presidential Seal on the doors, passed by the Chairman. Through the misty grey windows, he could see three figures in the back. A limousine known as the 'gun car' and occupied by Secret Service agents and the President's personal physician followed the President's car. The Chairman pressed a button on his watch.

  The vibrator began to tickle his wrist. After ten seconds, he stopped it, walked one block north and hailed a taxi.

  'National Airport,' he said to the cab driver, fingering the ticket in his inside pocket.

  The vibrator on Matson's watch was touching his skin. After ten seconds, it stopped. Matson walked to the side of the construction site, bent down and tied his shoelace.

  Xan started to take off the tape. He was glad to be moving; he had been bent double all night. First he screwed the barrel into the sight finder.

  'Assistant Director to Director, Matson is approaching the construction site. Now he has stopped to tie his shoe. No one on the construction site but I'm asking a helicopter to check it out. There's a huge crane in the middle of the site which looks deserted.'

  'Good. Stay put until the last minute. I'll give you the timing the moment the President's car arrives. You must catch them red-handed. Alert all agents on the roof of the Capitol.'

  The Director turned to Mark, more relaxed. 'I think it's going to be all right.'

  Mark's eyes were on the steps of the Capitol.

  'Have you noticed, sir, both Senator Dexter and Senator Harrison are in the welcoming party for the President?'

  'Yes,' said the Director. 'The car is due to arrive in two minutes; we'll catch the others even if we can't figure out which Senator it is. We'll make them talk in due course. Wait a minute - that's odd.'

  The Director's finger was running down a couple of closely typed sheets he held in his hand.

  'Yes, that's what I thought. The President's detailed schedule shows that Dexter will be there for the special address to Congress but isn't attending the luncheon with the President. Very strange: I'm sure all the key leaders of the opposition were invited to lunch. Why won't Dexter be present?'

  'Nothing strange about that, sir. He always has lunch with his daughter on Thursdays. Good God! "I always have lunch with my father on Thursdays."'

  'Yes, Mark, I heard you the first time.'

  'No, sir, "I always have lunch with my father on Thursdays."?

  'Mark, the car will be here in one minute.'

  'It's Harrison, sir. It's Harrison. I'm a fool - Thursday, 24 February, in Georgetown. I always thought of it as 24 February, not as Thursday. Dexter was having lunch with Elizabeth. "I always have lunch with my father on Thursdays." That's why he was seen in Georgetown that day, must be. They never miss it.'

  'Are you sure? Can you be certain? There's a hell of a lot riding on it.'

  'It's Harrison, sir. It can't be Dexter. I should have realised it on the first day. Christ, I'm stupid.'

  'Right, Mark. Up those steps quickly, watch Harrison's every move and be prepared to arrest him whatever the consequences.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Rogers.'

  The Assistant Director came in. 'Sir?'

  'The car is pulling up. Arrest Matson immediately; check the roof of the Capitol.' The Director stared up into the sky. 'Oh my God, it's not a helicopter, it's that damn crane. It has to be the crane.'

  Xan nestled the butt of the yellow rifle into his shoulder and watched the President's car. He had attached a feather to a piece of thread on the end of the gun barrel, a trick he had picked up when training for the Olympics - no wind. The hours of waiting were coming to an end. Senator Harrison was standing there on the Capitol steps. Through the thirty-power Redfield scope he could even see the beads of sweat standing out on the man's forehead.

  The President's car drew up on the north side of the Capitol. All was going according to plan. Xan levelled the telescopic sight on the car door and waited for Kane. Two Secret Service men climbed out, scanned the crowd, and waited for the third. Nothing happened. Xan put the sight on the Senator, who looked anxious and bemused. Back at the car, still no Kane. Where the hell was she, what was going on? He checked the feather; still no wind. He moved his sight back on the President's car. Good God, the crane was moving and Kane wasn't in the car. Matson had been right all along, they knew everything. Xan knew exactly what had to be done in these circumstances. Only one man could ditch them and he wouldn't hesitate to do it. Xan moved his sight up the Capitol steps. One and one-half inches above the forehead. A moment's hesitation before he squeezed the trigger once . . . twice, but the second time he didn't have a clear shot, and a fraction of a second later he could no longer see the Capitol steps. He looked down from the moving crane. He was surrounded by fifty men in dark suits, fifty guns were pointing up at him.

  Mark was about a yard away from Senator Harrison when he heard him cry out and fall. Mark jumped on top of the Senator and the second bullet grazed his shoulder. There was a panic among the other senators

  and officials on the top steps. The welcoming party scurried inside. Thirty FBI men moved in quickly. The Director was the only man who remained on the Capitol steps, steady and motionless, staring up at the

  crane. They hadn't nicknamed him Halt by mistake.

  'May I ask where I'm going, Stuart?'

  'Certainly, Madam President. To the Capitol.'

  'But this isn't the normal route to the Capitol.'

  'No, Madam. We're going down Constitution Avenue

  to the Russell Building. We hear there has been a little trouble at the Capitol. A demonstration of some kind. The National Rifle Association.'

  'So I'm avoiding it, am I? Like a coward, Stuart.'

  'No, Madam, I'm slipping you through the basement. Just as a safety precaution and for your own convenience.'

  'That means I'll have to go on that damned subway. Even when I was a senator, I preferred to walk outside.'

  'We've cleared the way for you, Madam. You'll still be there bang on time.'

  The President grumbled as she looked out of the window and saw an ambulance race in the opposite direction.

  Senator Harrison died before he reached the hospital and Mark had his wound patched up by a house doctor. Mark checked his watch and laughed. It was 11:04 - he was going to live.

  'Phone for you, Mr Andrews. The Director of the FBI.'

  'Sir?'

  'Mark, I hear you're fine. Good. I am sorry to say the Senate went into recess out of respect for Senator Harrison. The President is shocked but feels this is precisely the moment to emphasise the significance of gun control, so we're all now going into lunch early. Sorry you can't join us. And we caught three of them - Matson, a Vietnamese sharpshooter, and a petty crook called Tony Loraido. There may still be more, I'll let you know later. Thank you, Mark.'

  The telephone clicked before Mark could offer any opinion.

  Thursday evening, 10 March

  7:00 pm

  Mark arrived in Georgetown at seven that evening. He had gone to Simon's wake and paid his respects to the bewildered parents that afternoon. They had f
ive other children, but that never helped. Their grief made Mark long for the warmth of the living.

  Elizabeth was wearing the red silk shirt and black skirt in which he had first seen her. She greeted him with a cascade of words.

  'I don't understand what's been going on. My father called earlier and told me you tried to save Senator Harrison's life. What were you doing there anyway? My father is very upset about the shooting. Why have you been following him around? Was he in any danger?'