Hiccock learned that the U.S. Air Force plane rides, which he had ordered up like taxicabs, cost $18,000 for each coast-to-coast flight. At least in this particular case, he thought that Uncle Sam’s money was well spent. The message he planned to deliver to his team required more than a phone call. He had them flown “ultra class” to Washington from their temporary base at Admiral Parks’s home.
In the cold, featureless gray of the FBI’s Electronic Crime Lab, Hiccock peered into their faces trying to convince himself that what he was about to say was the best possible scenario. “I can’t divulge all the details at this time but I need to tell you our investigation is over.” As Hiccock expected, Tyler, Kronos, and the Admiral were mildly shocked by the news, but he noticed Hansen was not.
“Hansen, did you know about this?”
“I got the word twenty minutes ago that your subliminal machine is to be disconnected and moved to Datacom Systems.”
“What’s Datacom?”
“They are one of our subcontractors. Once an investigative phase is over, we farm out any special equipment that has evidentiary value to them. They are bonded and continue the chain of evidence during the trial phase.”
“I see. That way your FBI lab doesn’t get overrun with Justice Department lawyers looking for every angle.”
“Exactly. And don’t forget the defense attorneys. They bring in the proctoscopes.”
Hiccock looked around. “Well, people, the only thing I can tell you is that we will all know in less than twenty-four hours. I want to thank each of you. You’ve been so great to work with and I’m sure what we have discovered in this project will go a long way in convicting the guilty.”
“Yo, thanks, Hiccock. It was a real trip working with you, too.”
“Same here, Kronos, a real trip.”
“Back into the Washington regimen now, Bill?” Henrietta asked.
“Admiral, I don’t know. I think I made a few enemies here and without the head of the bad guy hanging off my belt, I am going to be walking a very tight rope.”
“Well, Bill, I think you are a well-balanced individual,” Tyler said, trying to lighten the mood. “You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Janice. So here’s the way it will go from here. We will all be staying in Washington to prepare our final report. That should take about three weeks. Then you’ll be able to get back to your lives.”
“That’s great, I get to go back to the big El,” Kronos said sarcastically. “Can’t you put in a good word for me?”
“I’ll see if I can get Reynolds to call the warden at Elmira … see what they might work out. I guess we’ll move into my offices at the White House. I figure we’ll leave for there in about a half hour.”
With that, the Admiral headed for the ladies’ room. Kronos walked off with Hansen. Left alone, Hiccock’s eyes met Janice’s. “I’m sorry I took you away from your patients.”
“Not at all. I redefined a rare branch of behavioral study … ‘bi-stable concurrent schizophrenia.’ That should be good for a couple of papers, maybe even some grants … hell, a book deal!”
“Once the trial is over,” Hiccock added, finger pointed in the air, reminding her of the national security implications of their work.
“Once the trial is over. Yes.”
An awkward moment passed between them. Odd, Hiccock thought, for two people who were married to have an uneasy moment. Out of impulse, he put his arms around her and gave her a hug. She hugged back. Hiccock took a deep breath. Her hair smelled great and she felt good in his arms. “I could never have made it this far without you. I just want you to know I really appreciate your working for me as graciously and as professionally as you have.”
Janice pushed back slightly from Hiccock’s embrace to make eye contact. “No less than you did for me, even though I was too self-absorbed and focused on my research to say ‘thank you’ back then.”
“We are still a pretty good team, aren’t we?” Hiccock smoothed her hair back the way he always did.
“Yeah. If we could only be this good in our personal lives.”
“I thought …”
Janice put her finger over his lips. “Don’t ruin this little feel-good session, okay, boss?”
“Okay, former boss.”
∞§∞
Shit. Joey Palumbo hated what he had just heard, but not as much as the smug look on his boss’s face. “He said his father told him that old shoe story.”
“Then the pattern fits. I knew that science twerp was working another agenda.”
“With all due respect, Sir, we don’t know his motives for sure.”
“You’re his friend, so I’ll allow that. But I am telling you this man has done everything to obstruct this investigation from the highest point.”
“It’s just not like Billy, Sir.”
“Did you know his father was a terrorist?”
“Union shop steward, Sir.”
“He destroyed a subway!”
“Did we pull the case jacket on that?”
“Pull your dick for all I care, Joe. Hiccock’s father is dirty, Hiccock is dirty, and they are both going down!”
Joey tried to calm his own emotions by looking to the next step. “Have you told the president?”
“No, that will be your job.”
“Me? No way!”
“You’re an agent and that’s a direct order from your director.”
“Why?”
“Listen, Joe. You met with him. You were running him for the bureau. Whatever he knew came from you.”
“He got nothing from me, in spite of our deal.”
“Your own report states that he had knowledge of Homegrown. There is nobody else in his group affiliated with the FBI. We held that tighter than a Scot holds a fifty.”
“But all my contact with him was your idea! I carried out your stupid, back-channel plan because you, my director, ordered me to.” Joey decided not to point out the fact that Hiccock’s group spent time in the FBI crime lab with Hansen and the tech boys. It would seem like he was passing the buck to Hansen. Besides, he knew the director was well aware of Hansen, but was tightening the screw on him for some reason.
“That’s not the way this is going to go, Joe, so let’s be clear. You finger Hiccock in front of the president and your record and career soar. You hesitate and I’ll have reason to suspect that I made a big mistake by allowing you to monitor a suspect’s progress.”
“When was he ever a suspect?”
“Whenever I say he was.”
“That’s not just hardball, that’s hard-assed ball.”
“The only way I know how to play, Joe. The country is reeling from these terrorist attacks and the president’s handpicked private eye, and your old buddy, turns out to be the son of a founding member of the Sabot Society. You telling the president will balance the scales.”
“Why do you hate Billy so much?”
“He defamed the bureau.”
“So now we are defaming him?”
∞§∞
“You want to start?” Reynolds said.
“This is Special Agent in Charge of my San Francisco office, Joseph Palumbo.”
“Yes, I remember meeting Agent Palumbo the other day.”
“He will report to you what we know. Joe?”
“Good morning. Sir, first I will read from the New York Daily News July 19, 1963. Under the headline ‘Shuttle Burns, Street Opened to Retrieve,’ there is this picture of a badly burned subway car being lifted onto 42nd Street by a crane through a hastily cut hole in the pavement. The top of the article reads, ‘The end of the line for the automated shuttle was reached yesterday when a fire burned under 42nd Street. The computer-controlled train was still in its testing stages. The TA was set to decide on regular service by year’s end. TA officials have not been able to determine the cause of the fire as of press time. Transit Workers Union spokesperson, Harry Hiccock, proclaimed, “This was just God’s way of saying that he didn’t invent trains
to run themselves.” Mayor Wagner said, “The fire was unfortunate,” but stopped short of weighing in on the controversial train saying, “The TA has to determine whether they should continue research on automated trains.” The TA estimates it would save $150,000 in labor cost per year as soon as the new shuttle trains went into full operation.
Interestingly enough, union shop steward Harry Hiccock is one of the shuttle motormen who would be replaced by the new computerized train. The Grand Central–Times Square shuttle has only two stops and no other traffic uses those rails. TA officials felt it was the best place to test the feasibility of the Automated Trains,’ etc. etc.”
Joe put down the old yellowed newsprint and picked up a ragged-edged oak tag file folder with a frayed blue string binding it. “The following police report was filed one week later. It reads, ‘Pursuant to investigation of Subway Fire, leading suspects, D’angelo, Hiccock, and Mercer seem to have alibis. NYFD indicates fire could have been set to ignite remotely. Therefore alibis are of little use in this case.’”
“Next time send me a briefing paper, ’cause I don’t know where this is going, Tate,” Reynolds said.
“I didn’t think you would want this on paper, Ray. That NYPD report mentions a possible accomplice to Harry Hiccock, Bernard Mercer. We checked the fingerprints; Bernard Keyes was then the 19-year-old Bernard Mercer. He changed his name in the seventies.”
“That’s your Sabot guy?”
“And Harry Hiccock is William Hiccock’s father.”
“Oh, no.”
“Thought you’d want to hear it first, Ray.”
“How many people know?”
“Just this room.”
“Why are you here, Agent Palumbo?”
“Ray, Joe grew up with Hiccock in New York. I have used his relationship with Hiccock to keep tabs on his rogue investigation.”
“Oh yes, I remember him saying you strong-armed an old friend to plead for information.” Reynolds didn’t know why he said it that way, but he guessed until proven guilty, Hiccock was still on his team and Tate was enjoying this a little too much. He turned toward Palumbo. “And you think Hiccock was deliberately obstructing this federal investigation?”
“The facts seem to suggest a possible link between Bernard Keyes, founder of the Sabot Society, and Harry, Bill’s father …”
“Yes, I am aware what the facts suggest Agent Palumbo, but I am asking what you think, Agent Palumbo.”
Palumbo took in a short breath and then let go. “I think it’s a pile of horseshit, Sir. I knew Billy’s dad. He wouldn’t park illegally even if it meant he had to walk ten blocks. And Billy is a straight arrow, always has been.” Joey deliberately did not make eye contact with Tate. Reynolds took it all in.
“You know that on the basis of what you just reported to me, Hiccock is finished. It doesn’t matter if he is a straight or crooked arrow. At this level, even the appearance of impropriety is as bad as having done the deed.”
“Ray, Hiccock never divulged anything about his father before,” Tate said. “He had the president looking at psychedelic web sites instead of following the guidance of his own Justice Department.”
“Sir, we didn’t divulge anything about Sabot to him. And again, I point out, we are assuming he is a member of Sabot.”
“What about that, Tate? Have there been any EI intercepts linking Hiccock to Sabot?”
“Not yet.”
“I will inform the president. When are you making the Sabot arrests?”
“At zero dark hundred hours, tonight,” Palumbo said.
“Then it’s all moot. When the Sabot Society is neutralized, the threat to America will end. Then if your investigation turns up anything about Hiccock, you’ll be free to prosecute.”
“How’s that?” Tate asked.
“Simple. I’ll recommend the president cut him loose as SciAd tomorrow. The press will read it as his failure to achieve results. In two weeks, his name will score lower than Mike Gravel on unaided recall polls. Then you can throw the book at him, if you want.”
“Thanks, Ray.”
Ray felt the need to add a personal note to Palumbo, knowing how hard it was to do what he had just done. “Agent Palumbo, if it matters, I was starting to like Hiccock. But, we all serve the president. If Hiccock is innocent then he will understand the need for distance. If he’s guilty, then who cares what he thinks?”
“It’s a raw deal any way you sell it, Sir,” Palumbo said as he left. Tate nodded to Reynolds and followed.
Alone in his office, Reynolds breathed deep. What just happened? What a good kid that agent was, not selling out his friend. What was it about Hiccock that made people stand up for him? Moreover, what was it about Tate that made even his own men hate him? He shook his head. He scratched a cryptic note to fire Hiccock and moved on to the new legislative agenda. Now that the FBI solved the case, the president should go up in the polls and along with that his political capital. Reynolds needed to be ready.
∞§∞
“Fire Hiccock?” the president said. “Ray, I’m looking at this morning’s agenda and I see ‘Fire Hiccock.’ Why?”
“Sir, can you excuse your man?”
“Don, would you give us a minute?” The president waited until the Secret Service agent closed the door behind him. “Now what’s this all about?”
“Would you consider just firing him because I’m asking you to and therefore absolving yourself of any need to testify before one committee or another?”
The president weighed these words and decided against common sense. “Tell me. Hiccock’s been a team player, I owe him at least that much.”
“The FBI has uncovered a very disturbing link between the Sabot Society and Hiccock. His father may have been a founding member.”
“Whoa … What?”
“Sir, I should point out that this has not yet been proven, but Bernard Keyes and Harry Hiccock may have been involved in the sabotage of a New York City subway in the sixties, the first traceable action of the Sabot Society.”
“That long ago?” The president chewed on this for a while. “And the thinking is that Hiccock buffaloed me into taking the investigative teeth out of the FBI’s efforts?”
“Whether it’s true or not, it has the appearance …”
“And appearance is as good as reality in this office.”
“Unfortunately.”
“So we cut him?”
“Again, unfortunately. If he’s not guilty, then everyone would understand that he failed in his investigation and you had no choice.”
“But in actuality we are really separating ourselves to avoid collateral damage.”
“Just in case.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Yes. He might resign.”
“You think he would?”
“I don’t know. Could go either way. It’s worth a shot.”
“You or me?”
“If I do it, that leaves you with a lot of deniability.”
“Okay, you float it by him, see if he bites. Ray, Tate and his people at the FBI are sure, aren’t they?”
“You mean about Hiccock? No, they aren’t sure.”
“I meant about this Sabot thing. The arrest tonight, this is the end, right?”
“It will be the end, according to Tate.”
The president shook his head. “Sometimes this job bites the big one.”
“There’s an historic quote.”
∞§∞
No big secret—politicians hated “Boy Scouts.” They were mirrors held up to men whose faces were soiled tilling the political fields. Boy Scouts, in their wholesome reflection, made them feel dirty and grimy. Reynolds, who also once believed in the idealistic notion of pure public service, was emotionally torn. At first, Hiccock seemed to be the mother of all Boy Scouts, out to change the world and truly selfless. The possibility of someone else actually living the ideal, the lofty goal he once strove to achieve, is what gnawed at him. His downfall was how quickly
the dream was diluted by the gallons of blood shed in the act of political survival. Ray and hundreds of other politicians would fight right up to the line where their own personal power was threatened, then “do the politically expedient thing” and compromise. Deep down, at the bottom of it all, political power worked because it threatened the one thing cherished most by those who fought to attain it—the power itself. In Reynolds’s case, this permitted the backroom deals, the strange bedfellows, and the “enemy of my enemy is my friend” style of thinking. To a politician, the only real issue was surviving at all cost.
Misery loving company, buried deep inside Reynolds was the selfish hope that Hiccock was not a Boy Scout but a traitor. Ray hoped Tate was right about Hiccock’s true mission being to hamper the investigation, to distract from his father’s, as well as his own, beliefs.
As if on cue, Hiccock appeared at Ray’s door. “Ray, you wanted to see me?”
“Have a seat, Bill.”
“Uh-oh, you never call me Bill. What’s wrong?”
“I would like you to resign, effective immediately.”
“Wow, that’s not a ‘Bill,’ that’s a ‘William’ if I ever heard one. Why would I do that?”
“To save the president embarrassment.”
“Why would the president be embarrassed?”
“Bill, a connection between you and the Sabot Society has been revealed.”
“Me?”
“Actually your father.”
“My dad? Are you nuts? He’s retired.”
“Back in the sixties he worked with the leader of Sabot. Together they may have sabotaged a New York City subway. Those facts are a little murky but there is enough there to present the appearance of impropriety.”
Hiccock did not appear to be insulted or outraged. He seemed to be weighing each piece of information in his mind, scientifically, seeing both sides of the argument at once.
If he’s guilty, he has a great way of not showing it, Reynolds thought.
“No one ever accused my dad …”
“It was in a confidential police department file. Political pressures may not have had the cops dig too deep way back then.”
The Eighth Day Page 27
