'Which is exactly what he did,' agreed MJ.
'Then Security would reach the “relay contact” and deliver the message thinking it'd be channelled to the right people.'
'The message being that someone called code name S had been terminated.'
'We got an operation with a code-S?'
'No.'
'Maybe it's the Bureau or Treasury.'
'I doubt it,' said Payton.
'Why?'
'Because in this case the relay is the last stop. The message wouldn't have gone any farther.'
'How do you know that?'
'Area code three-zero-one is Maryland, and unfortunately I recognize the number. It's unlisted and very private.'
Payton leaned back in his chair, briefly understanding how alcoholics felt when they believed they could not get through the next hour without a drink, which meant a step away from reality. How ludicrously illogically logical! The voice heard by the ears of presidents, a man the nation's leaders knew had the nation's interests always in the forefront of his profound thinking, without fear, without favour, with constant objectivity… He had chosen the future. He had selected a little-known but outstanding congressman with a story to tell that would mesmerize the country. He had guided his anointed prince through the political labyrinth until the designated tyro emerged into the media sunlight, no longer a fledgling but a practitioner to be reckoned with. Then with the suddenness and audacity of a bolt of lightning, the story was told and the nation, indeed a large part of the world, was transfixed. A giant wave had been set in motion carrying the prince to a land he had never considered, a land of power, a royal house of awesome responsibility. The White House. Samuel Winters had broken the rules and, far worse, at an enormous loss of life. Mr. A had not dropped from the sky in a crisis. The blond European had worked solely for the august Samuel Winters.
The director of Special Projects picked up his phone and gently touched the numbers on his console. 'Dr Winters,' he said in response to the single word Yes. 'This is Payton.'
'It's been a terrible day, hasn't it, Doctor?'
'That's not a title I use any more. I haven't for years.'
'A shame. You were a fine scholar.'
'Have you heard from Mr. A since yesterday evening?'
'No… Although his information was tragically prophetic there'd be no reason for him to call me. As I told you, Mitchell, the man who employs him—a far more distant acquaintance than you—suggested he contact me… very much as you did. My reputation exceeds my presumed influence.'
'Through you I saw the President,' said Payton, closing his eyes at the old man's lies.
'Well, yes. The news you brought me was devastating, as was Mr. A's. In his case I naturally thought of you. I wasn't sure Langford or his people had the expertise that you did—’
'I obviously didn't have it,' interrupted MJ.
'I'm certain you did all you could.'
'Back to Mr. A, Dr Winters.'
'Yes?'
'He's dead.'
The gasp of breath was like an electric shock over the line. It was several seconds before Winters spoke, and when he did his voice was hollow. 'What are you saying?'
'He's dead. And someone known to you as code name S has been killed.'
'Oh, my God,' whispered the spokesman of Inver Brass, the whisper a tremulous echo of itself. 'How do you come by this… information?'
'I'm afraid that's privileged, even from you.'
'Damn you, I gave you Jennings! The President of the United States!'
'But you didn't tell me why, Doctor. You never explained to me that your overriding concern—your consummate concern—was the man you had chosen. Evan Kendrick.'
'No!' protested Winters, as close to a scream of denial as he could manage. 'You must not delve into such matters; they're not your business! No laws have been broken.'
'I'd like to think you believe that, but if you do, I'm afraid you're terribly wrong. When you contract the talents of someone like your European, you can't divorce yourself from his methods… As we've pieced it together they include political extortion through blackmail, the corruption of the legislative process, the theft of maximum classified documents and indirectly causing the death and maiming of numerous government personnel—and finally murder. Code name S was terminated,'
'Oh, dear God…!'
'That's who you were playing—’
'You don't understand, Mitchell, that's not the way things happened.’
'On the contrary, it's exactly the way they happened.'
'I know nothing about such things, you must believe that.'
'I do because you employed a skilled professional for results, not for giving you explanations.'
'“Employed” is too simplistic a term! He was a dedicated man who had his own mission in life.'
'So I was told,' interrupted Payton. 'He came from a country whose government had been stolen from its people.'
'What do you think is happening here?' said the leader of Inver Brass, his words now controlled but the depth of their meaning clear.
It was several moments before MJ replied, again with his eyes closed. 'I know,' he said softly. 'We're putting that together, too.'
'They killed the Secretary of State and the entire delegation in Cyprus. They have no conscience, no allegiance to anything but their own ever-expanding wealth and power… I want nothing, we want nothing!'
'I understand. You wouldn't get it if you wanted it.'
'That's why he was chosen, Mitchell. We found the extraordinary man. He's too perceptive to be fooled and too decent to be bought. In addition, he has the personal requisites to command attention.'
'I can't fault your choice, Dr Winters.'
'So where are we?'
'In a dilemma,' said Payton. 'But for the moment it's mine, not yours.'
7:25 pm San Diego. They held each other; Khalehla leaned back, touching his hair as she looked at him. 'Darling, can you do it?'
'You forget, ya anisa, I've spent most of my profitable life dealing with the Arab propensity for negotiation.'
'That was negotiating—exaggeration, of course—not lying, not sustaining a lie in front of people who'll be suspicious of everything you say.'
'They'll desperately want to believe me, that's two points for our side. Besides, once I see them and meet them, I don't really give a damn what they believe.'
'I wouldn't advise you to think that way, Evan,' said Rashad, lowering her hand and stepping away. 'Until we have them, which includes degrees of traceable evidence, they'll operate as usual—down and dirty. If they think for a moment that it's a trap, you could be found washed up on the beach, or maybe just not found at all, just out there somewhere in the Pacific.'
'As in the shark-infested shoals of Qatar.' Kendrick nodded, remembering Bahrain and the Mahdi. 'I see what you mean. Then I'll make it plain that my office knows where I am tonight.'
'It wouldn't happen tonight, darling. Down and dirty doesn't mean stupid. There'll be a mix in there—some legitimate staffers and probably a smattering of Bollinger's kitchen cabinet. Old friends who act as advisers—they're the ones you want to zero in on. Use that well-recognized cool of yours and be convincing. Don't let anything throw you.'
The telephone rang and Evan started towards it. ‘That's the car,' he said. 'Grey with tinted windows as befits the Vice President's residence in the hills.'
8:07 pm San Diego. The slender man walked rapidly through the terminal at San Diego's International Airport, a garment bag slung over his right shoulder, a black medical bag in his left hand. The automatic glass doors to the taxi area snapped back as he passed through on to the concrete pavement. He stood for a moment, then headed for the first cab in the line of taxis queued up for passengers. He opened the door as the driver lowered a tabloid newspaper.
'I assume you're available,' said the new fare curtly as he climbed in, throwing the carry-on across the seat and lowering his medical bag to the floor.
&nbs
p; 'No trips over an hour, mister. That's when I pack it in for the night.'
'You'll make it.'
'Where to?'
'Up in the hills. I know the way. I'll direct you.'
'Gotta have an address, mister. It's the law.'
'How about the California residence of the Vice President of the United States?' asked the passenger testily.
'It's an address,' replied the driver, unimpressed.
The taxi started off with a planned, mean-spirited jolt, and the man known briefly in southwest Colorado as Dr Eugene Lyons was slapped back into the seat. He was unaware of the insult, however, his anger clouding all normal perceptions. He was a man who was owed, a man who had been cheated!
The Icarus Agenda
Chapter 39
The introductions were brief and Kendrick had the distinct impression that not all the names or titles were entirely accurate. As a result, he studied each face as if he were about to commit it to a canvas he was incapable of painting. Khalehla had been right, the seven-man council was a mix but not as difficult to discern as she had thought. A staffer making thirty to forty thousand dollars a year did not dress or behave like someone who spent such sums on a weekend visit to Paris… or Divonne. He judged that the staff was in the minority: three official aides versus four outside advisers—the kitchen cabinet from California.
Vice President Orson Bollinger was a man of medium height, medium build, medium middle age, and afflicted with a medium high voice that fell between the narrow parameters of being dismissible and convincing. He was… well, medium, the ideal second in command so long as Number One was in good health and vigour. He was vaguely perceived as a toady who might just possibly rise to the occasion, but only possibly. He was neither a threat nor was he stupid. He was a political survivor because he understood the unwritten rules of the also-ran. He greeted Congressman Evan Kendrick warmly and led him into his impressive private library where his 'people' were assembled, sitting in various leather armchairs and on dark leather couches.
'We've cancelled our Christmas festivities here,' said Bollinger, sitting in the most prominent chair and indicating that Evan should sit beside him, 'in deference to dear Ardis and Andrew. Such a terrible tragedy, two such magnificently patriotic people. She simply couldn't live without him, you know. You'd have to have seen them together to understand.'
Nods and impatient grunts of agreement came from around the room. 'I understand, Mr. Vice President,' interjected Kendrick sadly. 'As you may know, I met Mrs. Vanvlanderen a number of years ago in Saudi Arabia. She was a remarkable woman and so very sensitive.'
'No, Congressman, I didn't know that.'
'It's immaterial, but of course not to me. I'll never forget her. She was remarkable.'
'As, indeed, is your request for a meeting this evening,' said one of the two official aides sitting on the couch. 'We're all aware of the Chicago movement to challenge the Vice President, and we understand that it may not have your endorsement. Is that true, Congressman?'
'As I explained to the Vice President this afternoon, I didn't hear about it until a week ago… No, it doesn't have my endorsement. I've considered other plans that do not concern further political pursuits.'
'Then why not simply declare your non-candidacy?' asked a second aide from the same couch.
'Well, I guess things are never as simple as we'd like them to be, are they? I'd be less than candid if I said I wasn't flattered by the proposal, and during the past five days my staff did some fairly extensive polling, both regionally and among the party leadership. They've concluded that my candidacy is a viable prospect.'
'But you just said you had other plans,' interrupted a heavyset man in grey flannels and a gold-buttoned navy blue blazer… not an aide.
'I believe I said that I've considered other plans, other pursuits. Nothing's finalized.'
'What's your point, Congressman?' asked the same staffer who had suggested that Evan should declare he would not stand.
'That could be between the Vice President and me, couldn't it?'
'These are my people,' offered Bollinger unctuously, smiling benignly.
'I understand that, sir, but my people are not here… perhaps to guide me.'
'You don't look or sound like someone who needs a hell of a lot of guidance,' said a short, compact adviser from a leather chair unflatteringly large for his small frame. 'I've seen you on television. You've got some pretty strong opinions.'
'I couldn't change those any more than a zebra could change his stripes, but there may be mitigating circumstances why they should remain privately held beliefs rather than publicly expressed ones.'
'Are you trading horses?' asked a third contributor, this a tall, lanky man in an open shirt with deeply tanned features.
'I'm not trading anything,' objected Kendrick firmly. 'I'm attempting to explain a situation that hasn't been clarified and I think it damn well should.'
'No need to get upset, young fella,' said Bollinger earnestly, frowning at his large, suntanned adviser. 'It's not a demeaning choice of words, you know. “Trading” is intrinsic to our great democratic contract. Now, what's this situation that should be clarified?'
'The Oman crisis… Masqat and Bahrain. The basic reason I've been singled out for higher political office.' Suddenly, it was apparent that the Vice President's people all thought they were going to be given information that might wash away the Oman myth, vitiate the potential candidate's strongest appeal. All eyes were riveted on the congressman. 'I went to Masqat,' continued Evan, 'because I knew who was behind the Palestinian terrorists. He used the same tactics on me, driving my company out of business and robbing me of millions.'
'You wanted revenge, then?' suggested the heavyset adviser in the gold-buttoned blazer.
'Revenge, hell, I wanted my company back—I still want it. The time will come fairly soon now and I want to head back to pick up the pieces, to make up for all those profits I left behind.'
The fourth contributor, a florid-faced man with a distinct Boston accent, leaned forward. 'You goin' back t' the Middle East?'
'No, to the Persian Gulf states—there's a difference. The Emirates, Bahrain, Qatar, Dubai, they're not Lebanon or Syria or Gaddafi's Libya. The word from Europe is that construction's starting up all over again and I intend to be there.'
'You sold your company,' said the tall, suntanned contributor with the open shirt, his speech laconic but precise.
'At a forced sale. It was worth five times what I was paid. But that's not too large a problem for me. Against West German, French and Japanese capital, I may have a few problems at the beginning, but my contacts are as extensive as anyone else's. Also…' Kendrick played out his scenario with understated conviction, touching on his relationships with the royal houses and ministers of Oman, Bahrain, Abu Dhabi and Dubai, mentioning the protection and the assistance, including private transportation, provided for him by the governments of Oman and Bahrain during the Masqat crisis. Then, as abruptly as he began, he stopped. He had drawn the picture sufficiently for their imaginations; more might be too much.
The men in the library looked at one another, and with an almost imperceptible nod from the Vice President, the heavy man in the navy blue blazer spoke. 'It strikes me that your plans are pretty well solidified. What would you want with a job that pays a hundred and fifty thou a year and too many chicken dinners? You're not a politician.'
'Considering my age, the time factor could be attractive. Five years from now I'll still be in my forties, and the way I read things, even if I started tomorrow over there it would take me two, perhaps three years to be in full operation—and I could be shy a year there, there are no guarantees. But if I go the other way and actively seek the nomination, I might actually get it—that's no reflection on you, Mr. Vice President. It's merely the result of the media treatment that I've been given.'
When several others began speaking at once, Bollinger held up his hand, barely inches above the arm of his chair. It was e
nough to quiet them. 'And, Congressman?'
'Well, I think it's pretty obvious. There's no question in anyone's mind that Jennings will win the election, although he may have problems with the Senate. If I were fortunate enough to be on the ticket, I'd go from the House to the vice presidency, spend my time and come out with more international influence—and, quite frankly, resources—than I could ever hope to have otherwise.'
'That, Congressman,' cried an angry young third aide from a straight-backed chair next to his colleagues on the couch, 'is blatantly using the trust of public office for personal profit!'
There was a mass lowering and straying of the contributors' eyes. 'If I didn't think you spoke out impetuously and mistakenly because you don't understand,' said Evan calmly, 'I'd be extremely offended. I'm stating an obvious fact because I want to be completely open with Vice President Bollinger, a man I deeply respect. What I mentioned is the truth; it goes with the office. But in no way does that truth take away from the energy or the commitment I'd give to that office while serving it and the nation. Whatever rewards might come from such a position, whether in the form of publishing, corporate boardrooms or golf tournaments, they wouldn't be given to a man who took his responsibilities lightly. Like Vice President Bollinger, I couldn't operate that way.'
'Well said, Evan,' commented the Vice President softly while looking harshly at the impulsive aide. 'You're owed an apology.'
'I apologize,' said the young man. 'You're right, of course. It all goes with the office.'
'Don't be too apologetic,' admonished Kendrick, smiling. 'Loyalty to one's boss isn't anything to be sorry about.' Evan turned to Bollinger. 'If he's a black belt, I'm getting out of here fast,' he added, breaking the momentary tension with laughter.
'He plays a mean game of Ping-Pong,' said the older aide on the left of the couch.
'He's very creative keeping score,' said the oldest staffer on the right. 'He cheats.'
'At any rate,' continued Evan, waiting until the grins—mostly forced—had left the assembled faces. 'I meant it when I said I wanted to be completely frank with you, Mr. Vice President. These are the things I have to think about. I've lost four, almost five years, of a career—a business—I worked extremely hard to develop. I was short-circuited by a mad killer and forced to sell because people were afraid to work for me. He's dead and things have changed; they're getting back to normal, but the European competition is heavy. Can I do it by myself or should I actively campaign for the ticket and, if I succeed, have certain guarantees that result from holding the office? On the other hand, do I really want to spend the additional years and the enormous amounts of time and energy that go with the job?… These are questions only I can answer, sir. I hope you understand.'
The Icarus Agenda Page 67
