by Tom Hron
“Overzealous with a drill bit—something’s wrong with that picture. You’re part of the cover-up.” Harry opened his door on the Ford. “Joe, get him out. I’m driving directly to the White House so we’ll be there when they first open in the morning. Skeleter and Reechi are in for a big surprise.”
“I better go along.” Joe opened his door as well. “He’ll try to get away.”
“No, stay here in the Ford and follow me. Have Alexis drive, and Shawki and you stand by with the dogs. He can’t outrun them, and besides, he knows that he’s too old to even try. Come to think of it, I wonder how long Moscow has had him in Washington.” In the dome light, Harry glanced at the Frenchman and saw that his face looked pale. The White House press core would explode with the news of him being dragged into the West Wing, and even Brian Williams’ rich voice on the NBC Nightly News came to mind. There would be worldwide repercussions.
Alexis joined in. “One of them is a pathological killer, and I don’t think you should go alone.”
“No, confrontation is the only thing that will work at this point, or otherwise the president will be at too much risk. For that matter, we’re in the same situation.” Harry stepped out of the minivan. “Where did you hide the key for the car?”
A little later they all set off, with one vehicle following the other. Closely watching the Frenchman’s dark image beside him, Harry drove onto the four-lane and headed for D.C., with Foggy Bottom and the White House less than an hour away. He prayed that his emergency plan would work out.
The Frenchman broke the silence. “I hope you realize they will kill us, and you will never get near the president.”
“Are you ready to spill your guts, as they say in the old black-and-white movies?”
“I’m simply giving you some good advice.”
“Look, I’m not backing off, and besides, what are you worried about? My guess is that you have full diplomatic immunity, and so you’ll be sent home when everything is said and done.”
“Home … I’m not sure where that is anymore.” Suddenly, the Frenchman sounded older than the hills. “I really wish that you would rethink what you are doing.”
“Why are you so afraid?”
“Unbelievable … done in by amateurs.” The Frenchman shook his head. “It’s getting light out. Do you think we’ll live to see the sunrise?”
“Did you kill Chambers, or was it somebody else?”
The muffled whoosh of the highway filled the car. Harry supposed that he might as well let the question hang. The Frenchman was probably a veteran case officer in a spy ring that was coming apart, and maybe his melancholy would yield some clue to the identity of SiddhArtha. The code name was the key to everything.
Suddenly, the Frenchman let out an enormous sigh. “I didn’t kill him. He tried going to the World Jewish Congress and that was his undoing. They couldn’t let that happen.”
Harry decided to take a long shot. “You were blackmailing Skeleter, et al, for what you wanted in the way of top-secret information, or otherwise you’d blow the whistle on the CIA for salvaging the leprosy from the Black Dragon. What? in the seventies sometime, when they were running around salvaging everything from the ocean bottom using Howard Hughes’ Glomar Explorer as their cover?”
The answer sounded angry. “Harry, you’re too smart for your own good. I didn’t know anything about the leprosy.”
“Chambers matched up the old files and discovered you guys, including who SiddhArtha was, didn’t he?”
The Frenchman’s silhouette nodded. “I guess…”
“Were you the one who underestimated Alexis?”
“Not me…”
“Would you have really killed her?”
The Frenchman didn’t answer and swiftly looked out his side window at the coming morning. Arlington was just ahead and the gloom of the trees was now turning green in the daylight. There wouldn’t be any more answers, thought Harry, since the old spy had decided to clam up. Checking his mirror, he saw Alexis, Joe, and Shawki still tailing him. The Potomac River was only a couple of miles ahead.
Too late, he glimpsed the dark figure on the green space above the interstate tunnel. The Frenchman’s chest burst into a fireball of blood from the high-velocity round the gunman had fired at him. Despite swerving, the second round ripped the flesh on his shoulder and he knew that he had to roll the Chevy or the sniper would get a good bead on him and kill him as well. He locked the brakes, cranked the steering wheel over, then watched everything go into slow motion. The car rolled like a circus ride, and he prayed the seat belts and airbags would save him. Dust filled his eyes, glass flew against his face, and the top started beating down on his head. Once, twice, three times the car flipped, finally coming to a stop in some grass. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t focus on anything. Next, he felt strong hands pulling him out of the wreck.
Strangely, Joe’s voice was clear as a bell. “Godalmighty, your still alive.”
“Get him out of there,” cried Shawki, “because we can’t stay here. Let’s go.”
He hadn’t realized that Joe was so strong. Up he went, then there were footsteps, slamming car doors, and the screech of rubber as Alexis tore away. A vacuum settled over him and he floated in it like a boxer who’d been knocked down for the count. Finally, his vision started coming back. “Did you get a look at the shooter,” he asked.
“Lay still,” said Joe. “I need to get a good look at you. Godalmighty, I can’t believe what I’ve just seen.”
“We are worse off than ever, completely,” shouted Shawki. “Now what do we do?”
“Shut up, you guys, maybe not,” answered Alexis. “It’s my turn now.” She whipped through the morning traffic and raced across the Roosevelt Memorial Bridge with Tungsten hanging onto the front seat for dear life.
THE WATERGATE COMPLEX
They had agreed to meet in the parking lot where the movers and shakers of D.C. often ran into each other, and it would give them ironclad alibis as well. Both cars stopped side by side below the round walls of the white and blue complex.
“What happened?” Skeleter asked nervously after he had rolled down his window. “How many of them did you get?”
“Probably two, the most important two.”
“What in hell do you mean, probably? Fuck!”
“I’m not really sure about Sharp. I think I hit him and the car rolled, but I had to get out of there. Don’t worry, because he’s getting rolled around on a gurney if he’s still alive.”
“What about the others?”
“They were in another car and I didn’t get any shots at them. You only have a few seconds to do these things or you will get caught, you know.”
“Sarychev is dead for sure?”
“I hit him dead center.”
“I’m worried about the girl. She knows too much.”
“She’s next, and I’m going to stick around until I find her.”
“Okay, what about the president?”
“You make goddamn sure he leaves on time for the G-eight conference in Japan. Our other guy is all set.”
“How do you know things will work out just for once? This is getting way out of control.”
“I guess we’ll just have to trust him, and besides, he’ll get the death penalty right along with the rest of us if he screws up.”
“We should be safe with the president dead, right? I’m almost sure he knows it’s us.”
“Well, for sure things will be a lot safer with Sarychev deader than hell.”
“Make damn sure you find that girl.”
“I will.”
They rolled up their windows and drove away.
CHAPTER 26
THE WHITE HOUSE LIVING QUARTERS
President Connolly stopped halfway up with his coffee cup and glanced at his wife, to whom he’d been married for thirty years. She had golden hair that accented her oval face, and it was their habit to have breakfast together while they watched the morning news on telev
ision. He saw that she was reading the Washington Post. Shifting his attention to the TV again, he listened carefully to a reporter at an accident scene.
“…Stepan Sarychev, the sixty-three year old Russian diplomat, whose career in the United Nations and Washington, D.C. has spanned two decades, was fatally shot by a gunman on Interstate sixty-six, police have said. The eastbound car that he was a passenger in overturned on its side about a mile from Little River. The driver was evacuated from the crash by a second vehicle, according to John Gallagher, a police spokesman. Apparently, some people stopped when they saw the car go off the road, he told us. However, we don’t know who took the driver, who was injured in the ambush. The police say they are calling area hospitals and investigating the slaying…
“What’s wrong?” his wife asked, interrupting him. “You look awful.”
“Someone has just murdered a Russian official and … well, I’m wondering if I had ever met him.”
She shivered as a warning. “I really didn’t want to hear that, not with you leaving for Japan later today.”
“I’ll be just fine, sweetheart.” He was slow spoken and anxiety strained his face. “But I think I’ll dress early and go down to the office.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Jim?”
“Nothing, I’m just anxious to see what the CIA’s daily briefing says. Vladimir Putin will want his pound of flesh and now all our diplomats in Moscow will be at risk, and it’s important that I see this doesn’t turn into another absolute disaster. Lord knows we are full up right now.”
She gave him a pointed look over her coffee cup and then went back to her paper, letting him know that she wasn’t being fooled. Self-consciously, he got up and went to shower. He had watched the newspapers and searched his PDB for any news about Harry Sharp for days. The isolation, sweating it out alone, and not knowing whom to trust had taken its toll on him. Time was running out and the Congress and the Senate were screaming for his head, egged on by every media conglomerate in the world. Everyone was calling for investigations, impeachment, and/or his resignation, and his own political party had turned against him. What had started out as a small operation to protect the Aurora project and maybe identify one or two inside spies had now turned into a murderous game costing four lives. He was doomed no matter what he did. He walked down to the Oval Office just in time to see the CIA’s courier coming in. Why must they dress the poor guy in a trench coat, winter or summer? he wondered to himself.
He read his PDB front to back, but there wasn’t a single mention of Sarychev. The omission spoke volumes to him. However, as much as he dreaded it, he would still have to wait and hope that something would break his way.
THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT
“Magruder has to be the weak sister,” said Alexis, “and if I call him, the CIA will put a trace on me in two seconds.”
Despite Joe and Shawki’s protests and feeling like the guy who had just played as the losing running back in the Super Bowl, Harry sat up. Thank God, nothing is broken, he thought. “Then what?” he asked, unable to get anything more intelligible out of his mouth.
“Well, for starters, whoever killed the Frenchman and shot you will almost certainly come after me. He thinks that I’m their last threat.”
“My God, you’re sounding like a complete airhead, and you’ll get yourself killed.”
“You should talk, moron, look what you’ve done to yourself.” Silent tears ran down Alexis’s face as she fought for control. “Shawki and Joe will protect me, and we have to end this or the president will be killed, probably right along with us. We can’t give them time.”
Praying the cobwebs would go away, Harry shut his eyes and shook his head like a reeling boxer. “I’m sorry, and you’re right on both points. Okay, explain your Magruder thing to me.”
“He’s come late to the party, and he’s a deputy director who the president has temporarily let run the CIA. Skeleter and the others must have recruited him so they could always outflank the president politically and keep their access to all the nation’s top secrets as well.”
“You’re talking about spies and political operatives pulling all the strings.” He was being allegorical, but he wanted to let his head clear completely.
“That’s how the Aurora and the Black Dragon were linked, and also why we’ve found ourselves together.” A smile forced its way through her hurt feelings. “I guessed right when I saw your picture in the newspaper. Why else would Reechi go after you? Skeleter, Scirpo, Reechi, and Magruder are everywhere we turn. They must be in it together.”
Joe’s voice filled the Ford minivan, which Alexis was now threading through the morning traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue. “Listen to her, Harry, because she’s the smartest person I know, and it’s time to squash those bastards.”
Harry gazed at the grand buildings along the nation’s most famous street. Trees, hotels, museums, and government edifices lined each side, reflecting the power and glory of the Capitol. The sunrise had bathed everything in a golden haze, even the dark pavement. The country wasn’t perfect by any means, he thought, but why would anyone want to weaken or destroy it. Where was there a better place to live? Joe’s outspokenness had said it best. It was time.
“Go back to the Mall and park by the Ellipse. It’s still early so there should be a spot.”
Joe eyed him suspiciously. “What do you think you’re going to do?”
“Play it Alexis’s way, since she’s right.” He bent his attention to his gunshot wound, which Joe had bandaged with a wad of undershirt. “When the gift shops open in the museums, buy me a light jacket so I can hide this.”
Alexis quickly turned onto Fourteenth Street, Constitutional Avenue, then parked below the Ellipse, just off the Mall. The White House stood nearby in its sublime elegance. Directly opposite of the Lincoln Memorial, the reflecting pool shone in the morning sunshine, with green and white images mirrored on its perfect surface. Washington was waking itself for another day, and they all sat quietly for a few minutes. All right, Alexis, how do you want to do this? Harry asked finally.
“I want Joe and the dogs pretending that he’s blind and Shawki acting like he’s the typical tourist. I’ll telephone Magruder on Shawki’s cell phone and start toward the Capitol—”
“I don’t like it.” He couldn’t help the interruption. “It’s too weak.”
“We don’t have time for anything fancy, and there’s enough people around so it’ll work.” She said it a second time. “It will work because they really don’t know what Joe and Shawki look like, and I have red hair now. The killer will have to work hard to find me, and he won’t have time to worry about you three.”
There was a pause while they let her idea sink in.
“What are you going to say?” asked Harry finally. “The second that Magruder hears your voice, his warning bells will go off.”
“Mostly the truth, but I’ll act hysterical, saying that you’re dying and I’m going to tell Senator Jefferies everything. Even if he’s suspicious, he will send the killer after me. He won’t let me reach the Capitol Building, no matter what, since he has no idea who I might start taking to.”
“I think that’s too dicey, Alexis. For God’s sake, from the Washington Memorial to the Hill is almost a mile, with a million places to hide, and worse yet, the whole area is loaded with pick pockets and thieves.”
“That’s all part of the bait.” She took a quick breath. “Look, it’s clear the killer is a pro, plus he and his buddies have seen me here before. That will make him feel confident.”
I don’t blame him, Harry thought in his mind. With the thousands who tramped between the different museums every day, getting close enough to kill someone was a piece of cake. But, they had little choice.
“How do you know who you’re looking for?” he asked, wishing he could think of something more intelligent to ask. They were working with the weakest of plans, the longest of long shots.
“If Magruder answers my call, which I�
��m sure he will when he’s told that I’m on the phone, we’ve instantly cut it down to three.” She flashed a smile. “Don’t you see? The killer then has to be Skeleter, Reechi, or Scirpo. Spies at this level won’t let a subordinate do their dirty work because there’s too much at risk, so I’ll recognize my assassin.”
She has a death wish, he thought, and Christ he wished he could think of something better. Then he heard her go on.
“Harry, it’s not entirely what you think.” She now smiled sadly. “The moment I see him, I’m running back toward you.”
He stared at her for the longest time. She was either the bravest person he knew or the very dumbest.
At ten o’clock, they went with the plan, as reckless as it seemed. Yes, there might be alternatives, but none where they could be sure their adversaries wouldn’t eventually get off by claiming all the evidence was purely circumstantial. There wasn’t any of proof of anything, and besides, it wasn’t against the law to be a political opponent of the president, regardless of whether you worked for him or not. That would give them great cover. Same old deal, their word against ours, as Joe so aptly put it. They didn’t stand a chance unless they came up with something really solid. Adding to the untenable situation, Alexis was determined to risk her life.
Harry watched her walk from the Washington Monument toward the Capitol Building. Red hair, black cat, with a cell phone stuck in her ear. She wouldn’t be as hard to find as she believed, he told himself, since she stood out like a sore thumb. Joe wasn’t a lot better, with his wraparound sunglasses and two border collies. Who in hell did they think they were fooling? Shawki was the only one who blended in well with the tourists walking between the museums and cultural sights along the green strip leading to Capitol Hill. The carnival-like setting was the only thing they had going for them.
He waited until all three were out of sight and then he headed for their first rendezvous. He was to stay back, far back, and let them do their thing. When he reached the red sandstone Smithsonian Castle, he slowed. Alexis, looking the part of harlequin gone to pieces, was barely visible in the crowd ahead. Joe and Shawki were paralleling her like flat-faced sleuths. He counted to one hundred and watched them disappear toward the Sculpture Garden alongside the West Building at Seventh Street. Cautiously, he followed again.
