Paramour

by Gerald Petievich

  "You're telling me the defection of Marilyn Kasindorf was staged?"

  "I'm not sure. But I know the person I followed to Germany wasn't her."

  "How do you know this?"

  The President fidgeted as Powers reached into his back pocket, took out Susan's written statement, and handed it to him. The President unfolded it, put on his eyeglasses, and read for what must have been half a minute or more. He removed his eyeglasses and stared at Powers.

  "Susan Brewster was activated from the Inter-Agency Source Index. She resembles Kasindorf and posed as her," Powers said.

  "What is your theory on all this, Jack?" the President said, giving himself time to think.

  "I'm not sure. But I think someone is out to finish you politically. "

  The President leaned back on the sofa. "Why should the defection of Marilyn Kasindorf ruin me politically?"

  "If everything came out-"

  "What do you mean?"

  Powers throat felt dry. He swallowed. "Her ... connection with you, Mr. President."

  "Your three minutes are just about up, Jack. What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I don't know exactly how to say this, sir-"

  "Just say it."

  "The affair you and she were having."

  "And what exactly have you heard about this so-called affair?"

  "I was told you were secretly meeting with her here at Camp David. That she was your . . . girlfriend. "

  "If I was having such an affair with her it would mean I'd been compromised by a spy. And the concern would be that this fact would come out and ruin me politically?"

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  "You say your assignment to follow Kasindorf came from the Chief of Staff."

  "Through Pete Sullivan. He briefed me and asked me to follow her."

  "I see."

  The telephone rang.

  Powers's stomach muscles tightened. It rang again. On the third ring, the President, without taking his eyes off Powers, leaned to the coffee table and picked up the receiver.

  Powers stepped forward. "Sir-"

  "It's okay, Jack. Relax."

  "I'm busy now," the President said after a moment. "Reschedule the meeting." He set the receiver back on the cradle.

  The President glanced at the statement again and came to his feet. At the liquor cabinet, he picked up a bottle of Jack Daniel's and filled two cocktail glasses. He sauntered across the room to Powers. "You look like you can use this," he said, holding out a drink.

  "Thanks."

  The President sipped his drink, then set the glass down on the table. "Jack, I've never had an affair with Marilyn Kasindorf. And I didn't authorize anyone to initiate a surveillance on her."

  Powers felt a chill, as if all his pores had suddenly opened.

  His skin felt clammy. "It's none of my business anyway, sir, even if-"

  The President met him eve to eye. "Jack, you've just broken into my house dressed like the creature from the black lagoon, but I believe you. And I expect you to believe me,"

  "Yes, sir."

  The President went to his desk. He sat down and picked up a fountain pen and a yellow legal tablet. "Pull a chair over here to the desk," the President said.

  Powers complied.

  "Jack, the election debate is tomorrow afternoon. That means every minute between now and then is important. There is no time for anything but frankness and honesty. Right now, I want you to start from the beginning and, again, tell me everything-leaving out no detail."

  During this telling, Powers spared nothing, giving dates and times as best as he could remember. The President, like a prosecutor interviewing a witness, nodded, interrupted him with brief questions, and took copious notes. Finally, Powers had completed his story.

  The President set his pen down and left his desk. "After the Lebanon crisis, I detected the Syrians were anticipating my moves," he said softly. "During secret negotiations they would hold to positions in areas where I'd planned to give way . . . and give up too quickly on positions I'd planned to hold firm. It was always very subtle. But there was no doubt in my mind they had a pipeline, There was a group of pro-Western Syrian army officers, a second front, who had begun providing my predecessor valuable intelligence information during the heat of Operation Desert Journey. One by one they were killed by the Syrian Intelligence Service. We established that the leak wasn't in the CIA; the info was getting out of the White House itself. So I had Patterson limit access at CIA, and he assigned Marilyn Kasindorf as liaison to me. Even other CIA employees didn't know she was my briefer. Things worked fine for a while like that, and I thought the White House leak had been plugged. Then more Syrian officers began to disappear." The President picked up his drink and sipped. "The woman who posed as Marilyn Kasindorf-who is she?"

  "Susan Brewster, an airlines flight attendant recruited by the Agency a few years ago to service dead drops. A CIA helpmate. "

  "How was she activated?" the President said.

  "She received her assignments by a telephone cutout."

  The President rubbed his eyes for a moment and leaned forward in his chair. "What do you think of all this?"

  Powers didn't respond. He couldn't bring himself to say what he thought.

  "If what Sullivan told you was true, the White House Chief of Staff, who sits in on every strategy session I have and has access to ninety percent of our Top Secret information, may be an agent of a foreign power," the President said. "Any suggestions as to how to proceed?"

  "I'm just an ex post-stander, Mr. President. This is a little out of my league."

  The President rubbed his chin, then ran his hands through his hair. "I need a moment to think. If you'd like to change and clean up, you'll find clothes in there," he said, motioning to the bedroom.

  By the gesture Powers knew that the President believed him. As well as needing a few minutes to think about his next move, he'd want Powers, his key witness, to be dressed in something other than a frogman costume for the investigation that was about to begin.

  Powers went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. From the closet, he took a pair of slacks and a jacket and set them on the bed. In the bathroom, he showered quickly and dried off. Less than ten minutes later, dressed in presidential gray slacks and a blue jacket (both slightly too big), and a gray silk necktie with a Windsor knot, Powers returned to the study. He realized he was out of breath.

  The President, head in hands and looking gray, was sitting at the desk. "As a Senator and a Congressman things were a lot easier, Jack. Even the knottiest of problems could be shared with my staff, my political allies. But things are different now. We're living in the age of narcissism. It looks like you and I will have to wade into this one alone."

  "Yes, sir," Powers said, feeling like a hundred-pound weight had just been lifted from the top of his head.

  The President came to his feet, picked up the telephone receiver, and dialed. "Get David Morgan. I need to go over tomorrow's itinerary with him. Thank you, Mary." He set the receiver down.

  Moments later, there was a knock on the door. The President said to come in. Morgan entered, closing the door behind him. Seeing Powers, he stopped abruptly, his expression shocked.

  "Mr. President, Jack Powers is on the watch list. He threatened your life."

  "I've determined he's not a threat."

  "But, Mr. President-"

  "I said he's not a threat, David. Jack's brought me some information concerning the defection of Marilyn Kasindorf. I'll come right to the point. Did you order him to surveil her?"

  "No," Morgan said, in a tone of subdued astonishment.

  "Did you tell Powers or Peter Sullivan or anyone else I was having an affair with Miss Kasindorf?"

  "Absolutely not. Why-"

  "Did you tell anyone you'd been sneaking Miss Kasindorf into Camp David to visit me?" the President interrupted.

  "No," Morgan said, glaring at Powers. "Mr. President, the Secret Service believes Powers is in
sane, and if he's given you some story-"

  "I've resolved all that, David," the President said, picking up the legal tablet and referring to his notes. "Did you activate a CIA helpmate named Susan Brewster to impersonate Marilyn Kasindorf?"

  "No, sir."

  The President coughed dryly. "Do you have any knowledge concerning the death of Ken Landry?"

  "None. I don't understand what this is all about, Mr. President," Morgan went on. "But if there is some question as to my loyalty I'm willing to submit to a lie detector test."

  "I'm the lie detector in this administration," the President said. He picked up Susan's statement and handed it to Morgan.

  Morgan pulled a pair of eyeglasses without temples from his vest pocket and put them on. As he read, his jaw dropped. "Holy shit."

  "How is it that Peter Sullivan took over the duties of bringing me CIA briefing papers after Marilyn Kasindorf defected?" the President said.

  "After her defection, someone suggested that the Secret Service pick up the papers from the CIA and hand-deliver them to the President."

  "Do you remember who suggested that?" the President asked grimly.

  "Peter Sullivan."

  Powers felt a tinge of nausea ... nausea and anger.

  "And did you take his suggestion?" the President said.

  "Sullivan said the Secret Service had never been compromised and he would personally guarantee that the papers would be secure. For the last three weeks he's been driving to Langley every morning and getting the briefing papers from Director Patterson himself."

  There was a long silence in the room. Powers thought Morgan looked ill.

  "Jack, give me the names of two detail agents, men you trust."

  "Tomsic and Harrington."

  The President turned to Morgan. "Phone the Secret Service command post and ask those agents to meet you here."

  Morgan picked up the receiver and complied. Tomsic, a former Denver police officer and army ranger, was wearing a tailored blue suit and shiny black shoes. In his right hand, he was holding a walkie-talkie. Harrington and Capizzi followed him in the door.

  "I thought I'd come along too," Capizzi said obsequiously. "Can I be of help, sir?"

  Tomsic and Harrington looked astonished as they turned and saw Powers.

  Capizzi turned toward him. "Mr. President-"

  "Agents, Mr. Powers is on a special assignment for me. He isn't a threat to me in any way."

  The President picked up the telephone receiver. "Send Deputy Director Sullivan in." He set the receiver down. Capizzi avoided looking Powers in the eye.

  There was a knock. The President nodded and Morgan opened the door. Sullivan, dressed in a tailored dark suit and tie, entered the room. Seeing Powers, he stopped suddenly.

  "How did he get in?"

  "Mr. Powers has my permission to be here," the President said smoothly.

  "Are you aware he's on the watch list, Mr. President?"

  Powers felt a chill creep along his spine. Was it Sullivan?

  "Yes. But I've learned some things that lead me to believe that perhaps he's not the one who should be watched," the President said.

  "I don't understand, sir."

  "Did you tell Agent Powers I was having an affair with Marilyn Kasindorf?"

  "Sir," Sullivan said, looking to the others, "Powers has threatened your life. He is insane, and you are in danger just being near him."

  "I asked you a question."

  "No," Sullivan said. "I never told him any such thing."

  "But you did ask Agent Powers to surveil Miss Kasindorf?"

  Up to that moment, Sullivan hadn't shown any sign. But suddenly, with the distinctive "look" that overtook him, Powers knew. He'd seen that look cross the faces of hundreds of people he'd arrested over the years. It was not so much a single expression as a combination of facial aspect, body movement, and a rapid loss of color that, occurring simultaneously, gave the lie to any pretense of innocence. It was the-cards-have-been-dealt, back-to-the-wall, on-the-ropes-in-the-corner, down-on-the-mat and being-counted-out: the trapped look of those caught in the very act of crime.

  "I was only relaying orders I received from Mr. Morgan."

  The President turned. "Mr. Morgan?"

  Morgan glared. "He's lying. So help me, God, he's lying."

  "Pete," Powers heard himself saying, "you son of a bitch."

  "Tomsic, take Director Sullivan's weapon," the President said. Tomsic stepped forward, reached inside Sullivan's suit coat, and pulled out Sullivan's revolver. Capizzi, seeing an opportunity to look good, stepped in to take the gun from Tomsic as Tomsic frisked Sullivan for other weapons.

  "Mr. Sullivan, you are hereby relieved of duty pending a formal investigation," the President said. "Chief of Staff Morgan and Mr. Powers are, at this time, detaining you for the crime of espionage until the arrival of the Attorney General of the United States." The President reached for the phone.

  With a quick karate motion, Sullivan punched Capizzi in the stomach, grabbed the gun from his hand, and aimed it at the President.

  Powers, like Tomsic and Harrington, froze rather than move toward Sullivan and endanger the President. Capizzi writhed on the carpet, trying to catch his breath.

  "Put the phone down," Sullivan said, aiming the gun at the President. His hand was shaking.

  "Pete, don't do this," Powers said.

  "Shut up."

  "There's no need to harm anyone." Morgan said.

  "And after I walk out of the room you sound the alarm?" Sullivan said. "No." He moved to the table and grabbed the phone. "Sullivan here. The President wants to take a drive. He doesn't want any other shift agents along. I'll accompany him alone." He set the receiver down for a moment, then picked it up again. "Give me a local number, 265-4291.... Is Mr. Keller available for the concert? Thank you." He set the phone down.

  "Letting the Syrians know where to pick you up, eh, Pete?" Powers said.

  "That's right. And the man is going to get me there." Powers eyed the President. "I'm not going to jail, Jack," Sullivan said. "If you try to take me, you'll be responsible for killing the man. I'll shoot him first."

  "Do as he says, Jack," the President said, "There is no need for anyone to be hurt "

  Powers recalled standing in front of San Francisco's Fairmont Hotel near President Ford when shots rang out and at the Washington Hilton when President Reagan had been wounded by an armed lunatic. In both places everything had occurred in the flash of a second. Both times his instinct had been to protect the President.

  Was he going to be pegged as the agent who failed? He'd decided then that he would rather be killed. Now he was facing the same question. Was he going to be known as the man who allowed a White House mole to kidnap the President and force him to help in his escape? There'd be no explaining that one away over drinks at Blackie's.

  Powers stepped between Sullivan and the President. Following his lead, Tomsic and Harrington moved close to the President in a protective formation. He could hear the others breathing.

  "You killed Marilyn Kasindorf," Powers said to Sullivan. "And to make the murder look like a defection, you went to the Special Projects Office and forged her name on a request for annual leave. Stryker caught you in the act and you had to kill him too. To cover up, you had Nassiri sent here to blame Stryker and set the stage for the phony defection."

  "Shut up."

  "...The CIA was nosing around so you had the Syrians hire some freelancers to kill Miller and me. I hope they paid you well." Powers felt a tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers.

  There was a shot as Powers dove for Sullivan's gun arm. Powers felt his right side undulate with the powerful shock of a bullet and he was suddenly on the carpet, wondering whether he'd been killed. Tomsic and Harrington were struggling, punching and kicking Sullivan. Then Tomsic had Sullivan in a choke hold. He thrashed like a snared animal as Harrington snapped handcuffs on his wrists.

  Powers, charged by adrenaline and ignoring the bur
ning pain of his wound, came to his feet. Then, overcome by a wave of nauseating pain, he sunk to his knees.

  "I got him," Capizzi shouted, aiming his gun at the handcuffed Sullivan.

  At the Camp David medical office, Powers phoned Susan at the Decatur Hotel and told her she would be picked up by Tomsic and Harrington. Then he was lifted onto a long aluminum table. Admiral Hollis, the White House doctor, administered intravenous fluid and drugs and Powers's pain moderated. Susan arrived while he was being treated and held his hand. Finally, with Susan describing the procedure for Powers, Hollis placed tiny plastic drains in both the entrance and the exit wounds in his side.

  From the sound of voices, doors opening and closing, and cars arriving and departing outside, Powers knew the President was calling in his most trusted advisers and explaining what had happened. He would listen to their advice and then make a decision.

  "This wound is through-and-through, Jack," Hollis said. "You have nothing to worry about."

  A few minutes later, the President, his sleeves rolled up and his eyeglasses pushed back on his forehead, came into the office.

  "How are you feeling, Jack?"

  "A little weak, Mr. President."

  He looked at Susan. "You have a good nurse."

  "Yes, sir."

  "What happened tonight has been classified Top Secret," the President said. "I'd like you to stay at Camp David until everything is sorted out. You can take as long as you like to recuperate. And Susan, I'd appreciate it if you'd accompany Jack. There will be a lot of necessary debriefings, and Camp David is a good place to conduct them. You two will be staying in my quarters."

  "Yes, sir," Powers said.

  "Yes, Mr. President," Susan said.

  The President strode out of the room.