by David Wind
Hirshorne laughed. “Everyone who worked on the project lived there. We took the laborers from the areas surrounding the Pamirs. These were inferior people, in mind and in soul. They worked and lived in the installation. When all the work was completed, we buried the laborers there, along with the architects and engineers who had overseen the work. No one ever left the installation. Even in that aspect, the way I kept the installation secret was as perfect as the entire plan.”
Chapin swallowed the bile that had risen so quickly into his mouth. He cleared his throat, and said, “Not perfect. Failure is not perfect.”
Hirshorne smiled. “You are mixing metaphors with theory. Mr. Chapin, the plan—my convention—is perfect. It was orchestrated in precisely the right way, carried out in complete secrecy, and it matured in the way I had originally determined. No, the failure was not a result of my planning; rather, it was a result of an unforeseeable bureaucratic blunder.
“You see, the records Davidov was working on were not to have been unsealed. In fact, they were with the most secret of all papers within the Soviet Union. But because of a clerical mistake, they, and many other papers, were transferred to a warehouse and designated for input into data banks. I was unaware of the situation until I received word that Davidov had learned about the Sokova code name.”
“Who turned you?” Chapin asked. The question had been in his mind ever since discovering that Hirshorne was Sokova.
“No one turned me, Mr. Chapin. You have to remember the world I grew up in was a simpler world than the one in which you now live. I turned myself, if you must use that phrase. I was wealthy. My family aristocratic. I could walk out of my house on any given day and see the class difference between myself and other people. I saw those who were helpless, those who were starving, and those who were oppressed by people like myself and my family.”
“And so you just became a communist. Is that it?”
“Again, nothing so simple. I followed in the footsteps of all the men in my family, and after finishing law school, I entered public service.”
“In nineteen thirty-three, my father was asked to be the ambassador to the Soviet Union. He accepted the position and asked me to come with him. I took a sabbatical from my position on a very well respected senator’s staff, and moved to Moscow with my family. There I learned the true meanings of the two political systems; and, how, if run properly, the communist political system could and would be the salvation of the world. Mr. Chapin, it was in Moscow where I discovered my role in life.”
“To be a traitor?” Chapin said before he could stop himself.
“No, to make this country right.”
“By killing and lying and hurting those who trusted you?”
“By doing what was necessary to accomplish my goals. Please, Mr. Chapin, you must learn to think in much broader terms. Nothing in life is as simple as black and white. But you want to hear about how I accomplished what I did, before you, ah...terminate me, do you not?”
Chapin held Hirshorne’s stare for fifteen full seconds before saying, “Yes.”
“Then, have the courtesy to listen without interruption.” When Chapin said nothing further, Hirshorne started to speak again. He began with the raising of Robert Mathews, and of how he reported everything he did to Russia so Robert’s twin brother could repeat everything. No one spoke Russian around him. A couple from Nebraska—good people who had arrived in the Soviet Union shortly after the revolution—raised him.
“And as the two Roberts grew older, they became more and more alike. The only real difference was the Robert living within the Pamirs knew he would one day be expected to go to America and become the president.” Chapin knew the rest. He could not stand still and listen to the man speak anymore. Yet, there were questions that needed answers.
“You say that Robert’s brother was raised to be the president; yet, Robert himself told many people that you had always been opposed to his being a politician.”
“Yes, that was one of the differences. Yet the reality was that every word I spoke in opposition was after I had manipulated him into the position I opposed. It was necessary that everyone know, publicly, that I opposed Robert in his career, but would always stand behind him.”
“Manipulation is what you have always been the best at. You manipulated governments and people alike. You kill both with equal coldness.” He exhaled slowly, and then said, “How could you have him killed? You raised him. He was your son, even though he wasn’t your blood.”
For the first time, Hirshorne’s face appeared troubled. “I had no choice.”
“No choice?” Chapin echoed in surprise. “You had a lot of choices.”
“No,” Hirshorne reiterated. “A person who has no goals, no ultimate project, has choices. I had a goal, therefore no choice. I’d spent my life working for what was supposed to happen this very afternoon. I couldn’t let my emotions stop me from doing what was necessary.”
The octogenarian’s eyes turned into two pleading circles surrounded by white. “I had to do it. I had to see this through to its completion. It would have made the world better. And to sacrifice one life for that cause was not too great a thing. Don’t you understand what I did was for the good of all mankind.”
“For all mankind?” Chapin snapped. “You aren’t a god. You don’t have the right to make that decision for anyone else. Is that why you had his wife and son killed? For the good of mankind?”
“Yes. They were the only people who might be able to tell the difference. I could not chance it. It would only take one night for her to know the difference—one question involving something of their shared intimacy that I could not possibly know of and she would. Yes, it was better that she was gone. And politically, their deaths helped Robert in the hearts of many voters.”
“I was right, then,” Chapin said almost absently. “He was never supposed to make the trip with them. How did you arrange to stop him? Did you call?”
Hirshorne shook his head. “No. I arranged for an emergency. His assistant called him. It was on a water bill he had sponsored. If he did not make certain changes that very night, the bill would not pass the vote. He had no choice.”
“And of course you knew that he would send his family on ahead.”
“Yes. I waited for them, even expressed my disappointment of not seeing my ‘son’ when he called. After the accident, I offered myself up as the one to blame.”
“Of course. From that point on, he was clay in your hands. You molded him and set him up for the nomination. You were the one who had his name dropped into Etheridge’s ear by the most important people in the party. Then you manipulated the platform they ran under, and had Robert voice the anticommunism you had spent years brainwashing him with, for just that occasion.
“Then, just before the elections, you made your first mistake. You had Joel Blair killed because he was asking the wrong questions.”
“I had no choice.”
“Of course not. It was for the good of mankind,” Chapin sneered. “That was your first real mistake. Your second mistake was reacting to me. If you had left me alone. If you had ignored what happened in Russia when I met Davidov, it would have all blown over. But you couldn’t. You panicked because you were afraid I would interfere with your master plan. You used Mitchell, and when that didn’t work, you set Abby on me.
“And each time you failed to take me out, I got a little closer to the plan. When I was in Russia, I went to the Pamirs and saw what you had created.
“When I came back, and went to Wyoming, I found out the switch had already been made. And Robert’s brother, without knowing it, gave you away to me. He told me he had gotten a new chess piece from Spain. But he couldn’t have.”
Chapin paused to take a breath, cognizant that Hirshorne was watching wide-eyed and had not blinked once. “You see, Robert believed the set was one of a kind, because you told him so. He told Joel Blair as much when he gave him this.”
Chapin reached into his jacket pocke
t and took out the chess piece he’d retrieved from Kline earlier. He tossed it to Hirshorne. It landed in the man’s lap, next to his folded hands. Hirshorne picked up the piece and looked at it.
“Yes, that’s Robert’s queen,” Chapin continued. “The other queen is still in Wyoming. Joel Blair’s editor gave this queen to me, shortly after his death. Robert knew I had it. So when your twin told me the story of having the queen replaced, I knew Robert was dead.”
“As you should have been.”
“As I almost was. But unlike Robert, or his brother, I survived.”
Hirshorne stared at the silver queen. “I have lived with my plan for so long I still cannot believe it has failed. And its demise was for only one reason—you!” he said, his eyes hot with hatred.
“It is inconceivable you could have stopped me. How could you have timed a bullet you could not know was being fired?”
Chapin smiled for the first time since entering the house. “I wasn’t timing your assassin’s bullet. I was timing the bullet fired by another sniper, on another rooftop. Nevertheless, I am surprised you didn’t put it together.
“You see,” Chapin said, stepping closer to Hirshorne-Sokova, “a second before your sniper fired, he was killed by a Mossad agent. There was another Mossad agent on the rooftop on the other side of the ceremony area, waiting. I was in full contact with everyone. When I pushed Mathews into Etheridge, our sniper fired, killing his target, but making it seem as if Mathews was protecting Etheridge. Therefore, in death, your version of Robert Mathews did exactly what the real Robert Mathews would have done. He protected his country with his life.”
“A good counter move,” Hirshorne said. “If you had used the CIA, I would have known. It’s over, isn’t it? You have agents waiting in the hall?”
“Outside,” Chapin corrected.
“Leave me,” Hirshorne ordered suddenly.
Chapin laughed. “No chance. You are going to be taken in, and then you are going to stand trial as a traitor.”
“No,” Hirshorne said. “You can’t do that. If you do, the story of what happened will get out. No matter if the man who died was a Soviet and not the real vice president, the CIA and the Secret Service cannot allow the details of his death to reach the public. To do so would destroy their credibility.
“The public would ask why he was killed, rather than arrested and jailed. No. You will leave me. But rest assured, I will not run away,” Hirshorne said as he reached next to him and slipped his hand past the edge of the cushion.
Chapin reacted by drawing his Browning and pointing it at Hirshorne.
The old man shook his head as he lifted a pistol. Chapin recognized the old, army issue Colt forty-five. “Don’t,” he said.
“I have no choice.”
Before Chapin could react, Hirshorne arced the weapon upward, shoved the barrel into his mouth, and pulled the trigger.
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Epilogue
“I have no choice,” Hirshorne said.
The single gunshot that followed the words echoed hollowly in the deputy director’s office. The general shut off the machine and turned to the people sitting on the couch.
“He was right. We could never have brought him to trial. He would have spent the rest of his life locked in one of our green houses.”
Chapin looked at Leslie Brannigan, and then at Ann Tanaka before nodding. “But we lost all the information in his head. His network.”
“I don’t think there was a network,” Tanaka said. “Hirshorne was one of the most trusted men in our country. He had lunch with the president two days ago. He and the director have been friends for years. Hirshorne is one of our civilian board members. No, Hirshorne gained his information because of who he was and who he knew, not because he had spies planted in the CIA.”
“Except for Mitchell,” the general reminded her.
“I don’t think so. Mitchell was turned before he came back. I think Mitchell was working for the KGB, not for Hirshorne. Hirshorne simply used him, and then disposed of him when the job was done.”
Chapin felt Brannigan shudder next to him. He took her hand and squeezed it. Her flesh was cold. He looked at her, and saw the lines of tension at the corners of her eyes.
“Like it or not, it’s our world.”
“It’s the way we made it,” she replied. “Why can’t the public know about Mathews? Isn’t it their right?”
The general sat back. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Because it would shake them. What we did, right or wrong, was necessary. You know that, or you would not have agreed to be part of it. So how could we tell the people about it now?
“What could we say? How do we explain that the Robert Mathews who was killed in Los Angeles was not the same man who was elected to the office? How do we tell two hundred million people the man who was their vice-president was a Soviet minion about to turn their country over to another power? To do so would show everyone how vulnerable our system of government is.”
“It can be strengthened by changing regulations and by finding new methods of verifying identifications that would not end the first time someone passed the identification procedure.”
“No. Its strength lies in the people, not in laws or regulations. By the manner of Mathews’ death, we have solved part of the problem. Instead of Mathews becoming the president, he becomes a martyr and a symbol of courage against the face of malignant foreign powers.
“Everything the original Mathews believed in will now become stronger for his death. I’m sorry, Miss Brannigan, but it’s the events that are the causation of political stability, not the people who bring about those events.”
Falling silent, the general shifted in his chair. “And I hope the knowledge you have gained, being with Kevin these last few months, will help you understand what happened today, and why we must act the way we are.”
Brannigan’s grip tightened on Chapin’s hand. “Yes, but it doesn’t mean I will accept it.”
“No, it doesn’t. And in a way, I don’t accept how we must do things either. If I did, I don’t believe the powers that be would allow me to sit in this chair. You see, by being here, I am trying to find a better way. But until that way is found, it is up to people like myself, like Kevin, and like Ann Tanaka and you, to keep some sort of a control on the people who would take the world and make it the way they want.”
“Enough,” Chapin said. “It’s over.”
“For now,” the Deputy Director agreed as he stood. “Are you coming back?”
Chapin stared at him. “I’m taking a month off. A leave of absence. I’ll give you an answer then.”
The DD nodded. “While you’re thinking about it, think about this. Jesse Martling is retiring in three months. I would like you to replace him.”
Chapin stared at the general, unsure of his reaction. Martling was the assistant deputy director for Intelligence. Martling’s position was two steps away from the deputy director’s itself.
It was a big career move, and carried a great responsibility with it. But was it right for him? He didn’t know. He had always been a field agent, and with the operation just over, he wasn’t sure he could think about it clearly.
“I’ve always been a field agent.”
“Which is a prerequisite. All I’m asking is for you to think about it.”
“I will,” Chapin promised. “Along with other things. Are you ready?” he said, turning to Brannigan.
When she nodded, he stood and helped her to her feet. “Where will you be?”
“We haven’t worked that out yet,” he said, looking at Brannigan and not the DD. He started out, paused, and turned back to Ann Tanaka.
The tall Japanese woman smiled at him. He returned the smile. “I’ve said it enough times in the last few months, but I need to say it once more. Thank you.”
With that, he took Brannigan’s hand and led her out of the office. They didn’t speak until they were in the car and had passed through the gates of Langley.
“I don’t know. Away from here. Away from anything to do with politics and governments. Someplace where we can be alone, and can learn about each other without looking over our shoulders.”
“I’d like that,” she said.
“After we do one more thing.”
“What?”
“I owe Ed Kline the truth about what happened.”
“He won’t be able to print it,” Brannigan said.
“I know, but if it hadn’t been for him, Mathews would be the president today.”
“That’s not CIA thinking.”
“No, it’s the way I think.”
“And after we see Ed?” she asked, leaning her head on his shoulder as he pulled onto the ramp of the expressway.
He shifted and put his arm around her. “I liked the villa in Caesarea. Could you handle a little time there?”
“With you and not the Mossad?”
“Just you and me.”
“We’ll see.”
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THE MORRISY MANIFEST
By: David Wind
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This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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All rights reserved.
Copyright © David Wind.
Dedication
For Alana Sarah
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Acknowledgements
It is with appreciation that I offer my thanks to: The infallible research of Leslie O’Gwin-Rivers; and, Vietnam veteran Henry Dassler, for his help with The Nam.
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