Conspiracy

135

Dean had never been in the presidential limo before, and his first impression was one of disappointment. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the reality seemed almost disappointing. The back consisted of two bench seats facing each other. The leather seats were plush, but otherwise the interior seemed no more luxurious than what you would find in a standard Mercedes S. There was a bit more room, but still, Dean’s knees nearly touched the President’s.

“And what did Senator McSweeney say when you told him about the money?” asked President Marcke.

“Not much. He just took it in.”

“Did he react when you mentioned Tolong?”

“Not that I saw.”

Marcke nodded. The two men were alone; the President had pointedly asked his aides to stand outside the car while Dean briefed him at the airport.

“George Hadash used to speak very highly of you, Mr. Dean,” said Marcke. “He was the reason you came to Deep Black.”

“Dr. Hadash was a very good man,” said Dean.

“A straight shooter,” agreed the President. “Rare for an academic, don’t you think?”

Dean nodded.

“Marines have a reputation for straight shooting,” added Marcke. “And I’d like you to do that now. What’s your impression of McSweeney — do you think he took the money?”

“Hard to say. The evidence seems to point that way.”

“If he did take the money, he’s responsible for another man’s death,” said Marcke. “At least one.”

“It’s possible he didn’t know anything about it,” said Dean. “He might have been oblivious. Maybe one of the noncommissioned officers in his unit really ran things.” A faint smile appeared on the President’s lips. “You’re trying hard not to jump to any conclusions, aren’t you, Mr.

Dean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Because he’s a fellow Marine, or because that’s the way you are?”

“Probably a little of both.”

Marcke nodded, then reached for the button to lower his window. “Stay with me today, Mr. Dean. If you can.”

“Yes, sir.”