The Lions Of Lucerne

37

Despite the confidence he had shown upon saying good-bye and packing Natalie and André off to the Radisson, Harvath had no idea what his next move was going to be. His credibility wasn’t exactly first-rate in Washington these days, and he knew he would have to be very careful about whom he shared his newfound knowledge with. What he had was explosive and could do an incredible amount of damage whether it was true or not. The mere suggestion that a senator, possibly two, might have been involved with the kidnapping of the president of the United States was almost inconceivable.

Scot normally did his best thinking on his feet, so when he left J.R.’s he walked, ignoring the light but steady rain that fell. He moved south on Seventeenth Street, passing Farragut Square, and turned left when he reached H Street. He walked along Lafayette Square until he reached Fifteenth, sorting and resorting everything he had heard. He spun the name Star Gazer around and around, trying to get a handle on it. Who or what was Star Gazer and what did the name have to do with what Senator Snyder was up to?

At Fifteenth, without giving it any thought, he automatically turned right. A block and a half later he was standing in front of the Treasury Building. In less than eight hours he was supposed to be back at this exact site for a detailed debriefing with Director Jameson and the secretary of the treasury, Paul Feigen. He wondered if once they’d extracted from him everything they wanted, they would terminate him on the spot.

Scot remembered what he had told himself only yesterday, though it seemed like a lifetime ago. If he was going to have any hope of keeping his career intact, he would need to be part of something that helped crack the case. That something might have fallen right into his lap, thanks to Natalie Sperando. Or, so he hoped. If no one believed André’s story, or if it couldn’t be verified, Scot was probably as good as washed up. It would look as if he were grasping at straws, doing anything he could to save himself, no matter how ridiculous it was and no matter whose name he dragged through the mud. He had to be very careful how he handled things.

But even if André turned out to be a dead end, Harvath had taken an oath to protect the president and he had made a promise to Sam Harper. Those commitments would not disappear, no matter how tough things got. He knew he had to bring this information into the open, and he now knew exactly whom he could count on for help.

Cutting up New York Avenue, Harvath hailed a cab in front of the Presbyterian church and gave the driver an address in Arlington, Virginia. The chances that the man he was going to see would still be awake were pretty slim, but he was the only person who could help Scot and potentially…the president.

The front porch lights were out when Scot climbed the stairs, and he took that as a bad sign. He knew that the minute he rang the bell, not only would he wake the man inside, but the man would be pretty upset. William Shaw had a very short fuse. The Director of Secret Service Operations for the White House, and Scot’s boss, hadn’t come by his call sign of Fury for nothing. Scot steeled himself and reached for the glowing orange button that seemed to hover over the house’s brick facade.

After several seconds, lights began turning on within the house, and eventually an exterior overhead light came on, pinning Harvath against the darkness.

“Who the hell is it?” came a gruff voice from inside.

“It’s Harvath, Bill. Open up.”

From inside, Scot heard a chain slide back, followed by several dead bolts. Finally, the door opened and there stood a sleepy William Shaw. He had a face of unshaved whiskers, bed head, and one hand in the pocket of his terry cloth robe, probably curled around his SIG-Sauer semiautomatic.

“Harvath, this had better be very, very good. You are just bound and determined to get on every single person’s shit list, aren’t you?”

“Bill, this is important. Can I come in?”

“Be my guest. Maybe I can cook up a little breakfast while you’re here,” said Shaw sarcastically as he closed the door behind them and relocked his dead bolts.

“Nice place,” said Scot, and he meant it. The entry hall gave way to a room dominated by oxblood leather couches with brass buttons and a big-screen TV. Two walls were lined with books, and there were recessed surround-sound speakers in the ceiling. The fireplace was trimmed with an ornate mantelpiece covered with pictures of the Shaw family in silver frames. In the middle of the floor was a very large and very ornate oriental rug.

“Mrs. Shaw had good taste in everything but husbands,” he said, joining Harvath at the edge of the den. Scot knew that Shaw’s wife had recently divorced him and that it had been very difficult. Scot decided to change the subject and get to the point right away.

“Bill, I think I may have some new information on the president’s kidnapping.”

“You? How the hell would you have any? You’re not even supposed to be active. I don’t know why Jameson didn’t grab your creds and suspend you last night. The kidnapping of the president is no longer the purview of the Secret Service anyway. End of story.”

“Can we sit down? I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

Shaw let out an exasperated sigh and waved Harvath toward one of the couches. They took seats opposite each other, and as Shaw was rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes, Scot began his story. “I have reason to believe the kidnappers had some very high placed help.”

“No shit, Sherlock. We’ve suspected all along that there was some sort of leak.”

“I’m not talking about the leak, Bill. I’m talking about guys with enough power and influence to help facilitate the introduction between the kidnappers and the source of the leak.”

“You know, Harvath,” said Shaw, glancing at his watch, “I have to be up for work in a few hours. I am going to be able to fall right back asleep without hearing any fairy tales, so why don’t you take yours and-”

“Bill, this is serious. I have reason to suspect that Senator Snyder and maybe Senator Rolander were involved somehow in the president’s kidnapping.”

Shaw moved forward on the couch. “Snyder and maybe Rolander? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Tonight I had a meeting with a man who claims to have been Snyder’s lover-”

“Lover?”

“Let me finish and it will all become clear. I had the same reaction at first. Do you remember that aide on the Hill who was killed in a drive-by about a year ago?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Well, the man I met with tonight, a Mr. André Martin, was involved with the aide. The aide worked for Senator Snyder and, according to Martin, was having an affair with him.”

“The aide and the senator?”

“Yes. Apparently Martin got sick of the aide cheating on him and left him. The aide tried to break things off with the senator while still trying to hold on to his job and might even have tried to blackmail Snyder. Shortly thereafter the aide was killed in the drive-by.”

“C’mon, Harvath. Not only is that hearsay, but it’s so thin you can see through it. It sounds more like a Jackie Collins novel.”

“I thought the same thing until-”

“Until what?”

“Until Martin told me that he worked his way in close to the senator and started having an affair with him himself.”

“We’re talking about Senator David Snyder? Confirmed bachelor and renowned ladies’ man?”

“We’ve all got our secrets, Bill. Anyway, this Martin begins an affair with the senator, convinced he was responsible for the aide’s death and determined to expose him. He watches, and more important, he listens. He listens to everything, but never lets on that he’s listening. He feigns he’s a heavy drinker, a sound sleeper, anything plausible that might put the senator more at ease and create an environment in which he’ll slip up. Then, he does. Recently, Martin overheard some stuff the senator thinks he shouldn’t…”

“Overheard stuff? What did he hear?”

“Well, he not only heard things relating to the president’s kidnapping, but he also followed Snyder to Senator Rolander’s house after Snyder had received some suspicious phone calls in the middle of the night. By the way, remember that FBI agent I had the problem with in Park City?”

“The guy you creamed? What was his name?”

“Zuschnitt.”

“Yeah, you decked him, so?”

“Well, from what Martin told me, he’s been calling in regular reports from Park City to Snyder, and it seems the two of them were behind framing me as the leak to CNN.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. From what Martin says, he heard it all loud and clear when he was listening on another extension. There’s no way we can prove it right now, but if I could get my hands on that Zuschnitt again, I think I could encourage him to talk.”

Shaw’s fingers dug into the leather arm of the couch. “What about the president?”

Harvath continued to fill his boss in on everything Martin had told him and then shared something he had not told anyone about.

“Do you remember how I went over to that Mormon farm where that couple was murdered?”

“Do I remember? Of course I do. What about it?”

“I found a piece of evidence there I didn’t tell anybody about.”

“Evidence?” Shaw’s face was white. “What kind of evidence?”

“Well, when I entered the house, I smelled cigarette smoke. The local law enforcement guys said they hadn’t been smoking in the house, and as the couple were apparently devout Mormons, I knew they weren’t smokers. It wasn’t a huge leap of logic to figure out that the farm had been used as some sort of a base camp for the kidnapping.”

“Why did you think that?”

“The old couple was done by a professional. Shots to the head-”

“The man was, but according to the report, not the woman,” said Shaw.

“Yeah, I know. I think he did the man first and the woman tried to run or something. I think he lost it and, if you’ll forgive the Cagneyism, filled her full of lead. The president was most likely brought to the farm via snowmobile from the scene of the kidnapping and then transferred into whatever vehicle or vehicles they used from there. Nothing was amiss or stolen in the house, so that’s why I think it was just used as a base.”

“So, cigarette smoke is your evidence?”

“No. While the killer was waiting for the rest of the kidnappers to get back from doing the job, he was smoking and probably watching TV in the family room. I think he was eating chocolate too.”

“Chocolate? Jesus, Harvath. First you tell me Senator Snyder goes both ways, then he likes to tie up and torture people who may or may not have been listening in on his phone calls and tailing him, and then your coup de grâce is that one of the kidnappers may have been eating candy at a scene that has yet to be determined was connected in any way with the president’s kidnapping?”

“The chocolate was Swiss.”

“So? There’s lots of Swiss chocolate in the U.S., and around the world, for that matter. I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but after yodeling and watches, it’s probably one of the biggest things the Swiss are known for!”

“I disagree. I don’t think this chocolate is an export product. At least not for the States. It had German writing on it.”

“So? Maybe someone brought it back from a trip to Germany as a gift for the old couple.”

“But, the couple was Mormon and caffeine is another thing that is forbidden by their religion.”

“Listen, you’re in enough trouble as it is. Tell me you didn’t take anything from the crime scene. You left that chocolate right where you found it, right?”

Harvath couldn’t tell if Shaw was trying to lead him toward the answer he wanted to hear or if he really wanted the truth. Either way, something told Scot that he should not admit to having removed the chocolate from the crime scene. “No. I left it there.”

“Good. Then it’s the FBI’s problem and they can decide whether it’s relevant or not when they find it. I think, though, that you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. You’re very stressed out. I haven’t had a chance to read your fitness report. Did you see Dr. Helsabeck?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And, nothing. She says I’m fine. Says my head may feel scrambled for a few more days, but that’s pretty much it.”

“Are you taking any medications?”

“Only Tylenol. I haven’t been able to shake this headache.”

Shaw was quiet for a few moments while he thought. His fingertips were pressed together in an arch in front of his nose, with his thumbs supporting his chin. Scot could hear the ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall. Finally, Shaw broke the silence. “All right, I think there’s enough here to bring André Martin into protective custody while we look into this. Where is he?”

“He’s with Natalie Sperando at the Radisson Old Town in Alexandria.”

“Sperando?”

“She’s the one who introduced Martin to me. He was a very close friend of her brother’s.”

“How much does she know?”

“Pretty much everything Martin does.”

“Okay, so they’re both at the Radisson. Is that the one on Fairfax at Montgomery?”

“Yes, about fifteen minutes down from the Metro.”

“I know it. Okay, we’ll send a car to pick them up and bring them in. We have a safe house not too far from there that we can use. Were you able to ascertain whether they had talked to anyone else about this?”

“No, they assured me that they hadn’t. I stressed to them that anyone that they might have even hinted about this to could be in danger, and they said they were the only ones.”

“Good. That makes our job a lot easier. Now, I can’t promise you that this is going to help your case. At best, it’s all circumstantial and it’s André Martin’s word against Senator Snyder’s. I think he was smart to kick that piece of rope under the dryer. Forensics can place him in Snyder’s house and in the basement. That kid was thinking.

“As far as you’re concerned, I am going to do this quietly. You are in enough trouble as it is, and if this turns out to be a load of BS, you don’t need any more problems. I am going to ask you this once, and I want you to answer me honestly. Have you spoken with anyone other than Martin and Sperando about this?”

“No.”

“Are you sure that no one overheard you talking at the bar?”

“As sure as I can be.”

“Okay, good. Now, is there anything else you want to tell me about what happened in Park City? If you’ve got anything, now is the time to get it out.”

Harvath thought for a moment. “No. You know the full story.”

“Do you have any idea who or what this Star Gazer might be?”

“None at all.”

“For all we know,” said Shaw, “with all your astronomy gear, it could be you.”

“Me? What the hell do you-”

“God, calm down Harvath. I was just pulling your chain. Cripes, you’re irritable.”

“I’m sorry, Bill. I’m just a little on edge.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“So, what’s our next move?”

“Okay, I’ll get my laptop from the den for you and put a pot of coffee on. I want a full report, including any of the details you might have accidentally forgotten concerning Park City. If I am going to go to bat for you, I can’t have any surprises. I want all of it while it’s fresh in your mind. While you are working on that, I’ll get started on bringing Martin and Sperando in. Was there an established code for calling so they would know it was you?”

“I had her register under the name Cashman.”

“Fine. I’ll whip up some coffee and get the laptop. In the meantime, you can use the phone on the end table there to call them.”

Harvath did as he was told. He explained to Natalie that either he or Shaw would be calling back shortly with details on the pickup. He told her that they would be taken to a nearby safe house and André placed in protective custody, pending a preliminary investigation. She had done the right thing calling him, and she should be proud. They were going to be all right.

Ten minutes later, Shaw appeared with a mug of coffee and his laptop. As Scot began typing his report, Shaw headed for his den. Closing the doors behind him, he crossed the distance to the phone in three fast strides. He picked it up and dialed the number in McLean from memory.