“Interesting story, Katie, but I’m afraid the point missed me.”
“I want you to know I forgive you, Bill. It’s my way of offering hot tallow.”
He stared up at her with an uncomprehending look. “That’s wonderful, really. But I still don’t understand.”
“NOMan,” Clay Dixon said.
The senator’s eyes swung toward his son, and for an instant, his face seemed to soften. “That’s a pretty chilly tone. You sound like a man whose heart is ice.”
The president said, “I’ve ordered a suspension of all functions performed by National Operations Management, and mandatory administrative leave for NOMan personnel.”
“That’s quite a layoff. It could alienate a lot of voters.”
“Even as we speak, evidence is being gathered by federal law enforcement agencies. I anticipate a number of indictments against key government officials, both inside and outside NOMan.”
“Evidence of what? Indictments on what charges?”
“We both know what I’m talking about. National Operations Management, or NOMan as you seem to prefer it be called, operates from a much different agenda than its mandate calls for. From what we’re uncovering, it’s evident that NOMan has worked for decades in a covert manner to influence events of national scope and importance. Let me be clear. By covert, I’m speaking of nothing less than murder.
“Most recently, NOMan was responsible for the murder of Robert Lee, for the murder of a Secret Service agent named Diana Ishimaru, and for a plot to assassinate the First Lady and her father. I’ve asked for further investigation into the death of Alan Carpathian, whom, I’m now convinced, you had killed in the hope of opening the door of the White House to NOMan.
“These actions, and others that are coming to light, go far beyond murder. They’re clearly treasonous in their effect of subverting the authority of the federal government. They strike at the heart of the legal and constitutional processes that underlie this nation.”
The senator clapped his hands. “That’s quite a speech. Where are the cameras?” He shook his head. “You know, Clayboy, to the average American voter you’ll sound like a lunatic. If I were you, I wouldn’t rely too heavily on the things Tom Jorgenson has said. After what that poor man’s been through, that awful head injury and then his stroke, I’m betting it won’t be hard to convince the American people that he’s just a little confused. You go public with your accusations and you’ll throw the election away.”
“My first responsibility is to this nation, Senator, to do my best to see that it’s secure from enemies outside our borders and within.”
“Enemies?” A deep, angry flush colored the senator’s usual white pallor, and his knuckles humped tight over the head of his cane. “I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. You weren’t much bigger than my hand. I promised myself that my son would never go through the kind of hell I’d gone through. I promised myself that if I had anything to do with it, no man’s son ever would.
“I’m going to speculate here for just a minute. If NOMan actually functioned in the way you seem to believe, it could be that this country never had a better friend. Do you have any idea of the number of international blunders, partisan follies, and just plain crazy decisions made by the men in this office that have resulted in tragedies of catastrophic proportions?” He pointed a finger at his son. “You presidents. You come here with a dream, at best. At worst, you’ve got a laundry list of ill-conceived notions. You’re here for a few years, and then you’re a footnote in history. In war, it would be like letting green recruits play general. You have no idea of the havoc you wreak.
“But maybe there are those who do, men and women who know firsthand the pain caused by the bunglings and betrayals of this office and others. And if they’ve committed their lives and their fortunes to doing their best to help this country avoid disaster whenever possible, then I’d certainly be tempted to applaud them.
“Enemies? Clayboy, you’re so concerned about keeping all those trophies of yours polished that you wouldn’t know a friend if he bit you on the ass.
“I’ll tell you something, Mister President. You can shut down the agency. You can draw up a mountain of indictments. But an organization like that can’t be stopped. Its people are everywhere. You go forward with all this, and I swear you’ll be nothing but history’s whipping boy.”
“Are you finished?”
“Not by a long shot.”
“I think you are.”
“We’ll see,” Dixon said. “We’ll just see.” He stood and turned toward the door, but found his way blocked by a man in a wheelchair whom Lorna Channing had quietly brought into the room.
The president said, “Senator, I’d like you to meet Bo Thorsen. In my estimation, a great patriot. This man risked everything, his reputation and his life, for his country. I wanted you to see him and him to see you. In war, you should look into the face of your enemy and understand that it’s human. Bo, I’d like you to meet Senator William Dixon. One of the fathers of NOMan, and my father as well.”
The senator fixed Bo with a stony glare. “When I look at you, it’s not a patriot I see.”
Bo replied with a pleasant smile, “You know, you’re much smaller than I imagined.”
chapter
forty-nine
Kate wheeled him through the Rose Garden. She wore a yellow dress that made her look, among all those flowers, like a flower herself, the loveliest of them all, Bo thought.
It was a mild afternoon, a beautiful day, early September. In a few weeks, the green would drain from the trees and the leaves would turn to fire. A wonderful chill would slip into the morning air. Winter would follow, probably too soon, but Bo knew that for a brief while the world would seem perfect.
As if she’d read his mind, Kate said, “We’re heading into my favorite time of year.”
“Election?”
“Funny.” She laughed lightly. “I love the fall. Full of sweet nostalgia.”
Her hand, warm as the sunshine, lit on his shoulder. She wheeled him to a stone bench in the shade of a hedge, turned him toward the White House, then she sat down.
“Mind if I ask you something?” Bo said.
“Go ahead.”
“Have you really forgiven the senator?”
“If he’d succeeded in having me killed, believe me, I’d have no compassion.” She smiled briefly. “The courts will judge him, I’m sure. As for me, how could I not forgive him? I think about David Moses and all he forgave me.”
“You’re being generous. I was with Moses in his last moments, and I’m still not sure what drove him, what was in his heart at the end.”
She looked away, and her gray-blue eyes reminded Bo of a November sky, hinting at winter. “I think the human heart’s a mystery only God knows the answer to.”
Bo followed her gaze, which had settled on the colonnades outside the Oval Office. “It’s a big place,” he said.
“The human heart?”
“I was talking about the White House.”
“Oh.” She laughed again, and her mood brightened. “You get used to it. By the way, I have a gift for you.”
Earlier, she’d hung a canvas bag over one of the handles on Bo’s wheelchair. She pulled from it a package wrapped in white tissue paper tied with a red bow. Bo took the gift and carefully removed the wrapping. It was a picture frame, scuffed gold metal. Bo grinned when he saw that it framed the photograph that had appeared on the cover of the tabloid not long before, the photo showing him and Kate together at the hospital in what was rumored to be a burgeoning romance.
“It was Clay’s idea,” she said.
“He never took me seriously as a threat, huh?”
Kate put her hand out and cupped Bo’s cheek. “You’re a very special man, Bo Thorsen. The best guardian angel anyone could ask for.”
Looking into her eyes, he said, “I have a confession.”
“What?”
“I didn’t vote for him.”
“No? Why not?”
“I thought he was just a jock.”
“For a while, I thought so, too.”
“I’ll vote for him this time.”
“I’ll let him know. I’m sure it will please him.”
A White House aide appeared at the end of the hedge and motioned.
“My car’s here,” Bo said.
Kate got up and wheeled him forward. As she neared the end of the hedge, she slowed, as if they were coming to the end of a road she was reluctant to abandon.
“I plan to visit Wildwood as soon as the election is over,” she said.
“If I’m not in jail, I’ll stop by.”
“You know they won’t bring charges, Bo. Not after everything that’s come to light.”
“Then I’ll see you for sure.”
“I’m already looking forward to it.” She bent and kissed his cheek.
“Good-bye.”
The aide took her place behind the wheelchair, and she headed away. A moment before the shadow of the White House swallowed her, she turned and waved to Bo one last time.
He caught a late flight out of Dulles, and as the plane climbed to a cruising altitude of thirty thousand feet, Bo caught a glimpse of the setting sun. At first, the country below him was on fire, but the nearer he came to Minnesota, the more the land settled into the deep, peaceful blue of evening. By the time he landed, it was solid night and a moon was rising, nearly full.
“You heard the news?” Coyote said when he met Bo at the airport.
“Chris Manning’s had a change of heart. Dropped all his allegations about your handling of Wildwood.”
“They told me.”
“There’s talk they’re going to put you in charge of the field office,” he said as he slung Bo’s bag and crutches into the backseat.
“I’m not doing anything until I’ve had a long rest. It’s almost harvesttime. I’m thinking of heading down to Blue Earth, maybe give a hand on the farm for a while.”
“With that leg?”
“I’ll find some way to help.”
“But you’ll come back,” Coyote said.
“I don’t know. Worrying about something as simple as drought and hail and tornadoes sounds pretty appealing right now.”
Coyote hit Highway 5 heading into St. Paul. “You’ll never give up the Secret Service.”
“Why’s that?”
Even in the dark, Bo could see Coyote’s big grin. “You’d miss me too much.”
Coyote helped him out of the car in front of the duplex in Tangletown. “Let me give you a hand with that bag.”
“I can handle it. But thanks anyway.”
“Get some rest, okay? And stay in touch.”
“Thanks, Stu.” Bo leaned on his crutches and watched until the taillights of Coyote’s car were lost around a wide curve.
The night was clear, the moon butter yellow. It washed the stars from the sky and cast hard shadows across the ground. As Bo started up the walk, a dark shape separated itself from the deep shade under the porch awning and came at him, startling him so that he instinctively raised a crutch to defend himself.
“Take it easy, Spider-Man. It’s only me.”
Otter stepped into the moonlight. “Coyote told me he’d be dropping you off. I thought you might want a little company. Hoped you would, anyway.”
“A little company would suit me just fine, Otter.”
Otter looked up at the sky. “Nice night. Okay if we sit for a bit while I have a smoke.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They settled themselves on the front steps. Otter lit an unfiltered Camel. “You know, I haven’t seen Freak for a long time now.”
“Maybe the dead have finally gone to rest.”
“They never do, Bo.”
He thought about the dead who were with him now and who always would be, and he knew Otter was right.
Otter put an arm around his shoulder. “Good to have you back, Spider-Man.”
“Good to be home,” Bo said.
They sat a long time while the moon climbed toward the middle of the sky, and the shadows shrank to puddles, and Otter smoked his cigarette, and Bo, who reminded himself that he was not alone, for a little while let himself be happy.
Table of Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Also by William Kent Krueger
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
La Cama del Diablo
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter twenty-one
chapter twenty-two
chapter twenty-three
chapter twenty-four
chapter twenty-five
chapter twenty-six
chapter twenty-seven
chapter twenty-eight
chapter twenty-nine
chapter thirty
chapter thirty-one
chapter thirty-two
chapter thirty-three
chapter thirty-four
chapter thirty-five
chapter thirty-six
chapter thirty-seven
chapter thirty-eight
chapter thirty-nine
chapter forty
chapter forty-one
chapter forty-two
chapter forty-three
chapter forty-four
chapter forty-five
chapter forty-six
chapter forty-seven
chapter forty-eight
chapter forty-nine
The Devil’s Bed Page 35
