Two Songs This Archangel Sings

by George C. Chesbro

  “Sounds like Secret Service.”

  “Could be. The door to the limousine is open, and the help look like they’re just hanging out. I wonder where our esteemed visitor is.”

  “Probably talking to McGarvey, finding out what we said to him and precisely what happened.”

  “What’s our strategy with this guy, brother?” Garth asked quietly.

  “A good question; I’m not sure of the answer. We’re still a long way from home, and I’m pretty sure we still have miles to go before we sleep. The administration has finally gotten a whiff of what Orville Madison really smells like, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to be awarded any medals. On the contrary; there are going to be a lot of people rushing to cover their own asses, while at the same time they do everything in their power to protect Kevin Shannon. This guy’s here to assess how much damage we could inflict if we wanted to, and to try to gauge our attitudes. I think we’ll just have to wait and hear what he has to say, and play it by ear.”

  “Agreed.”

  Fifteen minutes later the female trooper opened the door and ushered in a youngish-looking man in his mid or late thirties. He was lean, with a full head of razor-cut brown hair and large brown eyes. Elegantly dressed in a three-piece black pinstripe suit, he wore highly polished Gucci shoes that matched his black leather attaché case. He looked decidedly uncomfortable as the trooper closed the door behind him, leaving him alone with us.

  I immediately recognized the man as Burton Andrews, a baby-faced troubleshooter whose star had rapidly risen because of his ability to bash state committees into line during the campaign and bash delegates into line during the convention. He had a reputation for single-minded loyalty to Kevin Shannon, and now carried the title of Personal Aide to the President. There was no doubt in my mind that the aide had been dispatched to a trooper substation near Albany to try to bash us into line, regardless of what we had to say, or what we might think.

  Andrews kept switching his attaché case from one hand to the other as he glanced back and forth between Garth and me. I suspected he was waiting for me to get up and offer him the swivel chair; he would have a very long wait. Garth had settled down into the second most comfortable chair in the office, and it was obvious that he wasn’t moving either. Andrews, a man used to power and its accoutrements, as well as the deference of others, was going to have to sit in a metal folding chair, which he did after a few more moments of case and foot shuffling. He placed both feet flat on the floor, rested the attaché case on his knees, and folded his hands on top of the case.

  The presidential aide coughed nervously, cleared his throat. “My name is Burton Andrews. I’ve … uh, I’ve heard a great deal about the two of you.”

  Garth and I looked at each other, then back at Andrews. We said nothing, but Andrews must have seen something in our faces, because his own face reddened. “Forgive me, gentlemen,” he continued. “I know that we have a great deal to discuss, and that you’re certainly not in the mood for chitchat. It’s just that it’s very difficult knowing how or where to begin.”

  “Begin by cutting out the bullshit,” Garth said in a voice that was a low rumble from his chest. “The first thing we want to know is what your boss has done about that fucking madman Orville Madison. He damn well better be locked up someplace.”

  Andrews’ face grew even redder, and he began to fumble nervously with the handle of his attaché case. “Gentlemen, obviously all of us in the adminstration are aware that we have a serious crisis on our hands. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, would I?”

  “Crisis?” Garth said in a voice that I knew was deceptively mild, like the eye of a hurricane. “What fucking crisis? We’re not talking about any crisis. Are we talking about a crisis, Mongo?”

  “No, Garth, we’re not talking about any crisis.”

  “Andrews, what have you done about Madison? That’s what we’re talking about. Try to pay attention.”

  “I don’t think I care for your tone of voice, Lieutenant,” Andrews said to my brother, his own tone slightly petulant.

  “You’re not listening, Andrews,” I said, waggling my feet at the aide. Slouched in the swivel chair, I could just see over the desk into Andrews’ face. I felt shielded from all the power Andrews had brought with him into the room, and I liked it that way; I made no effort to sit up straighter. “Garth’s point, which I believe he has been most patient in trying to make, is that we don’t care pigshit about the administration’s political problems as a result of this business, which is what you mean when you talk about a crisis. A lot of innocent people are dead, and Orville Madison’s men, acting under his direct orders, killed them. Since Orville Madison is the president’s responsibility, we would like to know what Kevin Shannon is doing about it. In short, we would like to know where Orville Madison is at this moment.”

  “I’m not your enemy, Dr. Frederickson,” Andrews said in the same slightly petulant tone.

  “We never said you were, Andrews. But you’re certainly not our friend, either. You’re the president’s man, and I think you’d do just about anything to protect him—which leads me to point out that you haven’t answered the question. Madison’s trying very hard to kill us, you know.”

  “This is a very complicated matter, Dr. Frederickson.”

  “Answer the question, or you won’t get what you came here for.”

  “What did I come here for?”

  “To find out exactly how much we know about a number of things, and what we intend to do with the information. Now, can you guarantee our safety?”

  “Yes,” Andrews replied curtly. “I might point out that neither of you would be alive at this moment if it weren’t for the president.”

  “That’s who called McGarvey?”

  “I called; the president authorized the call.”

  “How did he find out where we were and what was going on?”

  “I think we may be getting ahead of ourselves,” Andrews said in a low, strained voice, averting his gaze. “I’m not certain we yet know exactly what’s been going on.”

  “Bullshit,” Garth said evenly.

  I asked, “How did you find out we were here?”

  “We … received word.”

  “From whom?”

  “We just received word.”

  “You’ve spoken to Captain McGarvey. You know what’s happened here, and you must certainly understand that Orville Madison’s men intended to kill us.”

  “I understand that the two of you have made a lot of allegations and may be prepared to make more.”

  “Allegations,” Garth murmured, looking up at the ceiling. “Great word.”

  “I can prove those were Orville Madison’s men who came to get us,” I said to the presidential aide as I swung my feet to the floor, sat up in the chair, and leaned forward on the desk. “I can prove Madison’s involvement in thirteen murders, and I can demonstrate his reasons for ordering them to be carried out.”

  “Can you, really?” Burton Andrews’ eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

  “Beyond a reasonable doubt, yes—to reasonable men who care about the truth and want to see justice done, regardless of the consequences. I’m not sure you fit into that category, which is why I see no reason for trying to prove it to you; a Senate hearing would be a more proper forum. You have no legal status, Andrews. You’re just a high-powered errand boy sent here to assess what measures have to be taken to assure optimum damage control. Maybe we’ll help you contain that damage, maybe we won’t. We don’t like your attitude. We’ve been through a gauntlet of death and destruction set up by Shannon’s secretary of state, and we’ve watched a lot of good people—men, women, and children—die because of that maniac. Then, a couple of hours after Madison almost kills us, you show up and want to play games. You’d be well advised to play straight with us. Otherwise, Garth and I take a hike—maybe to the newspapers.”

  “We should have you negotiating with the Russians, Frederickson,” Andrews said wryly.
/>   “Fuck you. What do you want from us?”

  “You’d go to the newspapers with your so-called proof?”

  “There’s nothing ‘so-called’ about it. Is that what we’re doing? Negotiating?”

  “See what I mean? You’d be a tough man to bargain with—if we were bargaining. Tell me what your proof is. Show it to me.”

  “First admit that the president knows that Orville Madison is a murderer, and then tell me what’s being done about it. Is Madison under arrest?”

  Andrews’ answer was to snap open the case in his lap. A vein pulsed in his temple as he took out a sheet of paper, which he did not offer to show to either Garth or me. “Dr. Frederickson,” the baby-faced man said stiffly, “you filed a petition under the Freedom of Information Act for certain documents concerning any and all operations in the Viet Nam war under the general code name Archangel. You also requested the ‘true and original’—your words—service records of one Veil Kendry. Is that correct?”

  “If you know that, am I to assume that the materials I requested are waiting for me at home in my mailbox?”

  “I would doubt it very much, Frederickson. First of all, it often takes months—sometimes years—to process petitions like yours. In addition, as you may or may not know, the information you request is highly classified. Your petition will eventually be denied.”

  “Then why bring it up?”

  “Because even a request for such information could make some people question your motives.”

  “My motives were to shake up certain people and get their attention; it seems to have worked. In any case, I don’t need any of your documents; Garth and I already know all we need to know about Archangel.”

  “Do you, really?”

  “Yes. Do you know about Archangel, Andrews?”

  “How did you get mixed up with this man, Veil Kendry?”

  “Am I mixed up with him?”

  “You asked for his service records.”

  “He’s a friend of mine.”

  “What do you know—or think you know—about Kendry?”

  “Let me tell you something about Veil Kendry, Andrews,” I said softly. “He is, or was, Archangel, and there are two songs this Archangel sings. One song is of gentle, almost aching beauty; the other is of savagery, violence, and death.” I paused, then—curious as to what his reaction might be—raised my right hand and waggled my thumb at him. “You know what I mean?”

  He knew what I meant. The presidential aide’s face went pale, and he quickly looked away. For a moment I thought he was going to be sick, but he contented himself with taking a series of deep breaths. It meant that, while the first five thumbs had almost certainly gone to Orville Madison, the last batch, from the commandos in the mountains, had gone directly to the Oval Office along with a detailed report on everything that had happened since the night of the president’s speech at the Waldorf, and perhaps with a list of certain demands. It explained the president’s quick action in having Andrews call the trooper substation. Veil had saved our lives once again, this time through the mails.

  “If your boss got the thumbs,” I continued, “it means he also got a report on what Madison has been up to. What does the president think of his secretary of state now?”

  “Please,” Andrews said, a pained expression on his face. “He’s not going to remain as secretary of state, Frederickson. Certainly, I don’t have to tell you that.”

  “Well, that’s the first piece of good news we’ve had since you walked in here; but it’s not that good. What else is going to happen to him? Sending him off to Martha’s Vineyard with a fat pension isn’t quite going to do the trick. The party’s over, and it’s time for you to stop playing hide and seek. We’ve got the goods on Madison, and you know it. Are we going to work together, or not?”

  Andrews’ pained expression hadn’t changed; if anything, it had grown more pained. “Frederickson, surely you’re sophisticated enough to know that we—”

  “We?”

  “The administration. We have to keep our options open. This mess could cause a great deal of trouble for a lot of innocent people.”

  “You mean it could cause a great deal of trouble for Kevin Shannon.”

  “Of course it could. But I also include the citizens of the United States of America, and our allies. This matter must be handled with discretion. Kevin Shannon is the president of our country, which makes him a symbol as well as a man.”

  “Not to us. Shannon’s just a man with a big job. If he can’t handle it, he shouldn’t have run. Or he should resign.”

  “Have Madison killed,” Garth said matter-of-factly. “Blow the son-of-a-bitch away.”

  They were the first words my brother had spoken in some time; he’d been staring out the window during most of my conversation with Andrews, and I hadn’t even been sure he was listening. Now his words hung in the air like dark, soaring birds of prey. I thought it was a rather good suggestion, providing a full and satisfying measure of poetic justice, and I waited to see what Andrews’ reaction would be.

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Lieutenant,” the aide said after a long pause. “Making casual statements like that could get you a long term in a federal prison.”

  “First of all, you heard me wrong if you thought I was being casual,” Garth said in the same flat tone. “Second, you have too many conflicting loyalties and interests for me to give a shit what you do, pal. You don’t want this story to come out because it would embarrass your boss, which means you don’t want a trial. But I guarantee you that Mongo and I aren’t about to let Madison have a pass on this. So, you have him killed. Madison has made a whole career of that type of thing, so there’s no reason why the favor shouldn’t be returned. If you don’t want to bite that bullet, hand him over to me; I’ll do the job for you.”

  “Well, Lieutenant, let’s look at some alternatives. What if I were to assure you that—”

  “You can’t assure us of anything, Andrews,” I interrupted. “You have to do something. We couldn’t negotiate with you over what to do with Madison, even if we wanted to. We’re not the final arbiters of his fate. There’s still an avenging Archangel out there, remember? And he’ll stay out until this business is taken care of to his satisfaction, not ours. Garth’s suggestion is a good one.”

  “Please don’t mention the possibility of killing anyone again,” the aide said tightly.

  “What the hell was Kevin Shannon thinking of when he nominated this guy?” I asked.

  “I’m really not at liberty to discuss the president or his decisions.”

  “Does Madison have something on him?”

  Andrews stiffened. “President Shannon is his own man.”

  “That would make him a unique politician. Did he know about Madison’s involvement in Operation Archangel before he nominated him?”

  Andrews frowned. “You really do know about the Archangel plan, don’t you?”

  “You’re damn right, I do. Want me to go through it with you?”

  “No,” Andrews said after a pause. “I believe you. Frankly, I’ve just found out the details. That, along with the statement Veil Kendry submitted to the president, was my reading material on the flight here. The Archangel plan may have been tacky, but I don’t really see anything sinister in it.”

  “That’s your opinion. But the Archangel plan itself really isn’t the point, is it? It’s the sequence of events that led up to Veil’s defection, and then what happened after the plan fell apart; it’s the death sentence Orville Madison personally imposed on Veil, and his subsequent attempt to carry it out on the eve of his nomination; it’s all the carnage that’s resulted from Madison’s botching the assassination and then striking out in all directions in a panic because of his fear of both Veil and the truth coming out. The issue here is the punishment of a murderer. We’re not saying that the president should have known about, or even guessed at, the dark side of Madison’s character. Paranoid schizophrenics are usually intellige
nt, and they’re very good at concealing their illness, especially from powerful people the paranoid schizophrenic thinks can help him.”

  “Oh? You’re a psychiatrist in addition to all your other accomplishments, Dr. Frederickson?”

  “No, Andrews, but I do happen to be a recognized authority on paranoid schizophrenia. Check it out.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Andrews replied dryly.

  “Another characteristic of paranoid schizophrenics is that they never know enough to quit while they’re ahead. Also, they love to gloat in victory over their enemies—real or imagined. Orville Madison blew it all when he decided to celebrate his nomination to one of the most powerful positions in the world by making good on a threat he’d made almost twenty years before. In effect, he engineered his own destruction. Now bury him.”

  “Perhaps we’re trying to. But what we know, or suspect, may be very difficult to prove in a court of law. And for you two to start making what some might call wild accusations could only make matters worse. Do you see what I mean?”

  “I see that you’re a slippery son-of-a-bitch,” Garth said. “You know we’re telling the truth.”

  “Not the point, Lieutenant,” Andrews replied without looking at Garth. “There’s still not a shred of physical evidence linking Orville Madison to your troubles. There is only your word, and Veil Kendry’s statement. Bear in mind that most people would brand Veil Kendry as a madman for the things he’s done.”

  “Whatever he’s done, Andrews, the fact is that he’s given your boss ample time to clean his own house. Veil’s already been betrayed once by this country. Now he has, in effect, done the work of Congress and the administration by exposing Madison for what he is. If you don’t act against Madison, you’ll be betraying Veil again.”

  “That’s preposterous, Frederickson. You can’t even link Madison to this Archangel plan, let alone to Veil Kendry. All the people you talked to who were supposed eyewitnesses to the events Kendry describes are dead.”

  “Killed by Madison.”

  “Proof, Frederickson. Where’s the proof?”

  “Damn it, there are records. The government has them. What the hell were you reading on the plane?”