Shall We Tell the President?

Wednesday morning 9 March

5:50 A.M.

“It’s for you, sir.”

“What?” mumbled the Director, still half-asleep.

“The phone, sir, it’s for you.” His housekeeper was standing by the doorway in her dressing-gown.

“Ugh. What time is it?”

“Ten to six, sir.”

“Who is it?”

“Mr. Elliott, sir.”

“Right, switch it through.”

“Yes, sir.”

Elliott had woken him up. A decision he would never have taken unless it was urgent.

“Good morning, Elliott, what is it?” He paused. “Can you be sure? That changes the whole situation. What time is he due in? 7:00, of course. I’ll see you at 6:30.”

The Director put the phone down, and sat on the edge of the bed, and said very loudly: “Damn,” which by the Director’s standards was extreme. His big feet placed firmly on the floor, his large hands splayed on his equally large thighs, he was deep in thought. Eventually he rose, put on a dressing-gown, and disappeared into the bathroom, repeating the expletive several times.

Mark also had a phone call, not from the anonymous man, but from Elizabeth. She needed to see him urgently. They agreed to meet at eight o’clock in the lobby of the Mayflower. He felt sure no one would recognize him there, but he wondered why Elizabeth had chosen that particular meeting place.

Mark took off his dressing-gown and returned to the bathroom.

The Senator took an early-morning phone call as well, not from the anonymous man or from Elizabeth, but from the Chairman, who was confirming their midday meeting for the final briefing at the Sheraton Hotel in Silver Spring. The Senator agreed, replaced the phone, and roamed around the room in his dressing-gown thinking.

“Coffee for three, Mrs. McGregor. Are they both here?” the Director asked as he passed her.

“Yes, sir.”

Mrs. McGregor looked very chic in a new turquoise, two-piece suit, but the Director didn’t notice. He strolled into his office.

“Good morning, Matt. Good morning, Mark.” When should he drop the bomb? He decided to let Andrews speak first. “Right, let’s hear what you’ve found out.”

“As I told you yesterday, sir, I think I’ve cut the list of senators down to five — Brooks of Massachusetts, Byrd of West Virginia, Dexter of Connecticut, Harrison of South Carolina, and Thornton of Texas. The only common factor is their interest in the Gun Control bill, which as we know, sir, is likely to become law on 10 March. Assassination of the President would now be about the only way of holding that bill up.”

“I would have thought,” said Rogers, “that that could be the one act that would make certain the bill passed through both Houses.”

“You tell that to two Kennedys, Martin Luther King, George Wallace and Ronald Reagan and see what they all have to say,” responded the Director. “Continue, Mark.”

Mark summarized what Lykham and Stampouzis had briefed him on each man, and explained how he was able to eliminate two other men from the list of seven — namely Pearson and Nunn. “That completes my report, sir, unless, of course, we are approaching this thing in the wrong way and I’m heading down a blind alley. And as far as I’m concerned that is entirely possible, as I seem to be boxing with shadows.”

The Director nodded and waited.

Mark continued: “I was going to spend today trying to hear each one of them in action in the Senate. I wish I could think of a good way of finding out where they were at lunchtime on 24 February, short of asking them outright, that is.”

“Don’t go anywhere near any of them. That would be the surest way to shut down the whole plot. Now, Mark, I must warn you my news is not good, so settle back and prepare for the worst. We are beginning to think the man we are after is Dexter,” said the Director.

Mark went cold. “Why, sir?” he managed to get out.

The Assistant Director leaned forward to speak. “I have had some men checking out the Georgetown Inn, very unobtrusively. We didn’t expect to turn anything up. We questioned all the day staff but they couldn’t help. Early this morning, just to be thorough, we interviewed the night staff. Turned out that one of the night porters, who was off duty during the day, of course, is pretty sure he saw Senator Dexter hurrying away from the hotel some time like 2:30 in the afternoon on 24 February.”

Mark was stunned. “How did he know it was Senator Dexter?”

“The man was born and raised in Wilton, Connecticut; he knows his face well. I’m afraid there’s something else, too; he was accompanied by a young woman whose rough description tallies with his daughter.”

“That’s not proof,” said Mark. “It’s all circumstantial. It wouldn’t stand up in a court of law.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said the Director, “but it’s an unfortunate coincidence for Senator Dexter. Remember his involvement in the arms business; it won’t do his finances any good if the Gun Control bill goes through; in fact our inquiries show he stands to lose a personal fortune, so we have a motive as well.”

“But, sir,” Mark argued, carried away by the desire to believe in Elizabeth, “do you really think that a senator would plot to kill the President just to keep one of his companies afloat? There are so many less drastic ways to stall the bill. He could try to tie it up in committee. Or organize a filibuster...”

“He already has tried — and failed, Mark,” Matthew Rogers interrupted.

“The other four senators may have more powerful motives we don’t happen to know about. It doesn’t have to be Dexter,” continued Mark, sounding unconvinced.

“Mark, I understand what you’re saying and you do have a point. Under ordinary circumstances I’d agree that it seems unlikely, but we have to go on the evidence we have, even if it’s slim and at present no more than circumstantial. And there’s something else. On the night of 3 March, when Casefikis and the postman were killed, Dr. Dexter’s name was not marked on the duty register. She should have finished work at five, but for some inexplicable reason she stayed an extra two hours, treated the Greek — who was not her patient — and then went home. Now it’s possible that she was just conscientious and working overtime, or that she was filling in for a colleague, but there are a hell of a lot of coincidences here, Mark. I’m bound to say if one is dispassionate about it, the odds are stacked heavily against Senator Dexter — and his daughter.”

Mark did not reply.

“Now listen and listen carefully,” the Director went on. “I know you want to believe that all this is circumstantial and that it’s one of the other four — but I only have twenty-six hours left before the President leaves the White House, and I have to live with the facts as they present themselves. I want to catch the man involved, whoever he is, and I’m not willing to risk the life of the President to do it. When are you seeing the girl next?”

Mark looked up. “At eight, at the Mayflower.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea, sir. She just said that it was important.”

“Um, well I think you still ought to go but then report back to me immediately when you’re through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can’t understand why, Andrews. Be careful.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s twenty to eight now, you’d better be on your way. Incidentally, we’re still having no luck with those fifty-dollar bills. We’re down to the last eight, but still no prints from Mrs. Casefikis. Better news on the German, Gerbach, however. We’ve established beyond a doubt that he had no connection with the CIA during his stay in Rhodesia or at the time of his death, so that’s one more problem out of the way.”

Mark didn’t give a damn about the fifty-dollar bills, the German driver, the Mafia, or the CIA. All his hard work appeared to be leading them straight to Dexter. He left the office even more despondent than he had been when he came in.

Once back on the street, he decided to walk to the Mayflower in the hope of clearing his head. He didn’t notice that two men followed him down Pennsylvania Avenue, past the White House, and on toward the hotel.

At the press of a button, Elliott entered the Director’s office.

“Elliott, you were right about the Mayflower. What have you done about it?”

“There are two men already there, sir, and one following Andrews.”

“It’s the first time in thirty-six years that I’ve hated my job,” said the Director. “You’ve done very well, Elliott, and all too soon I’ll be able to tell you what this whole damn thing is about.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Follow up these five names. Leave no stone unturned.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Elliott slid out of the room.

Damn man has no heart. Can’t have a right-hand man without a heart. Makes him damn useful in a strange situation like this though. When this operation’s all over, I’ll transfer him back to Idaho and—

“You said something, sir?”

“No, Mrs. McGregor, I’m just going quietly mad. Don’t worry about me. When the men in the white coats come to take me away, just sign the forms in triplicate and look relieved.”

Mrs. McGregor smiled.

“I like your new suit,” the Director said.

She blushed. “Thank you, sir.”

Mark pushed through the revolving doors of the Mayflower Hotel, his eyes searching the lobby for Elizabeth. How he wanted to see her and how he wanted to stop being devious and tell her the truth. It’s all circumstantial, he continued to insist. He couldn’t spot her so chose a comfortable seat which had a good view of the lobby.

On the far side of the lobby, a man was buying The Washington Post from the newspaper stand. Mark didn’t notice that he made no attempt to read it. Suddenly he saw Elizabeth heading toward him with Senator Dexter by her side. Hell, that was all he needed.

“Hello, Mark.” She kissed him gently on the cheek.

Judas showing the Pharisees which one was to be killed? The unkindest cut of all.

“Mark, I’d like you to meet my father.”

“Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Mark, it’s good to meet you. Elizabeth has told me quite a bit about you.”

And what should you be able to tell me, thought Mark. Where were you on 24 February? Where will you be tomorrow?

“Mark, are you all right?” Elizabeth inquired.

“Yes, fine. I’m sorry, Senator, it’s good to meet you too.”

The Senator was staring at him strangely.

“Well, I must be getting along, dear — I have a busy schedule. I look forward to our usual lunch tomorrow.”

“See you then, Father. Thanks for the breakfast and the chat.”

“Goodbye, Mark. See you again soon, I hope.” Senator Dexter still looked at him quizzically.

“Perhaps,” replied Mark quietly.

They watched him leave. So did three other people. One of them left to make a phone call.

“Mark, what’s come over you? Why were you so brusque with my father? I especially wanted you to meet him.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”

“Or is there something you’re not telling me?” said Elizabeth.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know, let’s forget it,” said Mark. “Why did you want to see me so urgently?”

“Simply because I wanted you to meet my father. What’s so strange about that? Why the hell did I bother?”

She began to walk away down the corridor, pushing her way quickly through the revolving door at the entrance to the hotel. Three men saw her leave. One followed her, two stuck with Mark. He walked slowly toward the doors. The doorman saluted him punctiliously.

“Cab, sir?”

“No, thanks. I’ll walk.”

The Director was on the phone when Mark returned and waved him into the large leather chair by his desk. He sank down in it, his mind fuzzy. The Director put the phone down and looked directly at him.

“So now you’ve met Senator Dexter, and I must tell you that either Dr. Dexter knows nothing or she deserves an Oscar for her performance at the Mayflower.”

“You saw everything,” said Mark.

“Of course, and more. She was just involved in an automobile accident, two minutes ago. That phone call was the details.”

Mark jumped out of his seat.

“She’s all right. A couple of hundred dollars’ worth of damage to the front of her little Fiat and not a mark on the bus she hit. Sensible girl. She’s on her way to work now in a cab, or rather, she thinks it’s a cab.”

Mark sighed, resigned to whatever would happen next. “Where is Senator Dexter?” he asked.

“He’s gone to the Capitol. Made one phone call when he got there, but it didn’t turn out to be of any significance.”

Mark was beginning to feel like a puppet. “What do you expect me to do now?”

There was a knock on the door and the anonymous man appeared. He handed a note to the Director, who read it quickly.

“Thank you.”

The anonymous man left. Mark feared the worst. The Director placed the note on the desk and looked up.

“Senator Thornton has called a press conference at 10:30 in Senate Committee Room 2228. Better get down there immediately. Phone me as soon as he has said his piece. The questions from the press afterwards will be irrelevant; they always are.”

Mark walked to the Senate, once again hoping it would clear his head. It didn’t. He wanted to ring Elizabeth and ask if she were all right after the accident; he wanted to ask her a hundred questions, but he only wanted one answer. Three men also walked to the Senate, two of them taking a half of the route each, and the third walking the whole way. All three of them arrived eventually in Room 2228; none of them was interested in Senator Thornton’s statement.

The room was already well lit by the large Idreg lights especially set up for the television cameras, and the members of the press were chatting among themselves. It was a packed house, even though Senator Thornton had not yet arrived. Mark wondered what he had to say, whether it would throw any light on his own questions. Point the guilty finger at Thornton perhaps, supply a motive he could return with to the Director. He thought, as he looked at the senior reporters, that they might have a shrewd idea or even a tip from one of Thornton’s staff as to the contents of his statement. But he didn’t want to ask them any questions for fear of being remembered. With an entrance that would have pleased Caesar himself, Senator Thornton came in, accompanied by three aides and a private secretary. He certainly was making the most of it. His dark hair was covered with grease, and he had put on what he obviously imagined to be his best suit, green with a blue pin-stripe. No one had briefed him on what to wear when facing color television — only dark clothes, as plain as possible — or if he had been briefed, he hadn’t listened.

He sat in a large throne of a chair at the far end of the room, his feet only just touching the ground. He was now surrounded by arc lights and the TV acoustics men put microphones all around him and in front of him. Suddenly, three more vast Idreg lights were switched on. Thornton was sweating already, but still smiling. The three television networks agreed that they were ready for the Senator. Thornton cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press...”

“That’s a pompous start,” said a correspondent in front of Mark, writing every word down in shorthand. Mark looked more closely, he thought he recognized the face. It was Bernstein of The Washington Post. Senator Thornton now had complete silence from the room.

“I have just left the White House after a private session with the President of the United States and because of that meeting, I wish to make a statement for press and television.” He paused. “My criticisms of the Gun Control bill and my vote against it in committee were motivated by a desire to represent my constituents and their genuine fear of unemployment...”

“...and your own genuine fear of unemployment,” remarked Bernstein, sotto voce. “What bribe did the President offer you at dinner on Monday?”

The Senator cleared his throat again. “The President has assured me that if this piece of legislation is passed, and domestic production of guns is prohibited, she will sponsor legislation to give immediate financial assistance to gun manufacturers and their employees, in the hope that the facilities of the gun industry can be turned to other, less dangerous uses than the production of weapons of destruction. The President’s concern has made it possible for me to vote in favor of the Gun Control bill. I have for some considerable time been in two minds...”

“True enough,” said Bernstein.

“...concerning this bill, because of my genuine fear of the freedom and ease with which criminals can obtain firearms.”

“It didn’t worry you yesterday. Just what contracts did the President promise,” murmured the correspondent, “or did she say she would help you win re-election next year?”

“And the problem for me has always been in the balance...”

“...and a little bribe tipped that balance.”

Bernstein now had his own audience, which was enjoying his offerings far more than those of the Senator from Texas.

“Now that the President has shown such consideration, I feel able to announce with a clear conscience...”

“...so clear we can see right through it,” more Bernstein.

“...that I am now able to support my party’s position over gun control. I will, therefore, not be opposing the President on the floor of the Senate tomorrow.”

Wild applause from scattered parts of the room, sounding — and looking — suspiciously like aides placed in strategic spots.

“I shall, ladies and gentlemen,” Senator Thornton continued, “rest an easier man tonight...”

“And a re-elected one,” added Bernstein.

“I should like to end by thanking the members of the press for attending...”

“We had to; it was the only show in town.”

Laughter broke out around the Post correspondent, but it didn’t reach Thornton.

“And I would like to say that I will be delighted to answer any questions. Thank you.”

“Bet you don’t answer any of mine.”

Most of the other reporters left the room immediately, in order to catch the early editions of the afternoon papers, already going to press right across the country. Mark joined them but glanced over the famous journalist’s shoulder. He had been scribbling in longhand.

“Friends, Romans, country bumpkins, lend me your jeers; I come to bury Kane, not to praise her.” Not exactly front-page material.

Three other men who had attended the press conference followed Mark out of the room, as he ran to the nearest pay telephones, halfway down the hall. Mark found them all occupied by newspapermen anxious to get their copy in first, and there was a long line behind those already dictating. Another line had formed by the two phones at the other end of the hall. Mark took the elevator to the ground floor; same problem; his only chance would be the pay phone in the Russell Building across the street. He ran all the way; so did three other men. When he reached there, a middle-aged woman stepped into the booth a pace ahead of him, and put her quarter in.

“Hello... it’s me. I got the job... Yeah, pretty good... Mornings only. Start tomorrow... But I can’t complain, money’s not bad.”

Mark paced up and down while the three men caught their breath. At last, the woman finished talking and, with a big smile all over her face, she walked away, oblivious of Mark or the nation’s problems. At least someone is confident about tomorrow, thought Mark. He glanced around to be sure that there was no one near him, though he could have sworn he recognized a man standing by the Medicare poster; perhaps it was one of his colleagues from the FBI. He had seen that face behind the dark glasses somewhere. He was getting better protection than the President. He dialed the Director’s private line and gave him his pay phone number. The phone rang back almost immediately.

“Thornton’s off the list, sir, because he has—”

“I know, I know,” said the Director. “I’ve just been briefed on what Thornton said. It’s exactly what I would have expected him to say if he were involved. It certainly does not get him off my list; if anything, I’m a little more suspicious. Keep working on all five this afternoon and contact me the moment you come up with anything; don’t bother to come in.”

The phone clicked. Mark felt despondent. He depressed the cradle and waited for the dial tone, put in a quarter and dialed Woodrow Wilson. The nurse on duty went on a search for Elizabeth, but returned and said that no one had seen her all day. Mark hung up, forgetting to say thank you or goodbye. He took the elevator down to the basement cafeteria to have lunch. His decision gained the restaurant two more customers; the third man already had a lunch date, for which he was running late.