by David Wind
“A sister’s knowledge. Paul, he didn’t do it.”
Grange snorted. “Not good enough. How about it, Morrisy? You want to give me a reason to believe you?”
“Are you married?”
Grange’s head arched back. He looked at Steven suspiciously. “Yes.”
“Would you kill your wife?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. I’m giving you your reason. I love Ellie. I would never hurt her. It’s that simple. You can believe me or not: you can help me if you want. You can also let the FBI muddle around in their pseudo-intellectual bureaucracy until they’ve put together enough damning information to put me in Leavenworth for the next century or two, and let the real person behind this accomplish whatever it is he’s set out to do.”
Steven waited silently for Grange to reflect on his words. A second later, there was a subtle shift in the man’s eyes. “I don’t believe you, but for Carla’s sake, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. If you didn’t try to kill her, who did?”
Steven answered with his own question. “Do I look insane? If I tried to kill her. Would I be standing here now?”
Grange smiled coldly. “Nobody says a killer or a spy has to be sane. For a traitor who has to protect himself, killing wouldn’t be a problem.”
“That’s just it, Grange, I never turned against my country, even when I had the chance.”
Grange pounced on the statement. “Does that mean you were approached by a foreign power?”
“Don’t be an ass,” Steven said, waving his predictability away. “I need the answer to a few questions.”
“That depends on what they are.”
“Why does the Bureau think I’m involved in espionage? And why does it center around Ellie?”
Grange looked at Carla. “Please, Paul, what harm can telling Steven do?”
Grange nodded. “It’s a ticklish situation. I don’t know for certain what the Bureau’s reasons are. I have to base my assumption on what they wouldn’t tell me, which leads me to believe they’re conducting a full-scale espionage investigation.
“Hell,” he continued, “every agency in Washington has been doing covert investigations for almost two years. Too many secret and highly sensitive matters are getting into Russian hands. You’re in a high position, politically, and you’re too smart to believe what’s happening with foreign policy matters is the result of an inept administration.”
Steven didn’t say that that was exactly what he thought. “Why Ellie? What has she to do with it?”
“All I know is she’s the senator’s assistant. As such, she’s been cleared for high level security.”
“Of course she has. It’s a requirement for the job.”
Grange’s voice took on a patient tone. “Look at it from my point of view. In all the time the investigations have been going on, she’s the first person to have met a mishap. And...”
He paused to look at Carla. “I’m sorry Carla, this could go either way. She may have been the leak, and may have decided that what she was doing was wrong. When she told her control she wanted to get out...well, that could be another explanation as to why she was taken out.”
“Horse shit,” Steven snapped.
“It’s not unheard of. It’s a viable theory, but one I don’t want to believe either,” Grange added. “Now, it’s your turn.”
Steven scrutinized the Treasury agent. “All right Grange, in the form of two questions for you to mull over. If what our military jackets say is true, why were all three of us given the Medal of Honor?”
“The escape from the POW camp—”
“A silver star at the most,” Steven said disdainfully. “After all, we gave information to the enemy. No,” Steven said, his voice going flat, “if you want to learn something about me and about my friends, because you don’t want to believe my truth, do it the right way. Get the records, the original ones, including the full debriefings, from Nam and the one here.”
Grange shifted on his feet. His eyes changed as he studied Steven. When he spoke, his voice softened. “I’m not one of the bad guys, Morrisy. I’ll admit I came here knowing you were the one we’re looking for, but after listening to you, I have my doubts. I’ll pull a few strings and see what I can find. In the meantime, I want you to do the same thing at your office. See what you can find.”
“What would I be looking for?”
Grange smiled for the first time. “I’ll give you the same answer you gave me, earlier. If I knew, I wouldn’t be here; I’d be going after a killer. Morrisy, if you’re fucking with me, I’ll destroy you!” With that, Paul Grange walked out of the apartment.
“Pleasant fellow,” Steven commented dryly.
“He usually is. I don’t know why he was acting like a tough guy,” Carla said, her face registering puzzlement.
“I do. And I don’t like it.”
Carla put her hand on his arm. Her touch was light. He felt the warmth of her skin through his clothing. “What did you mean about what wasn’t in your military records?”
Steven didn’t reply for a moment, his head was still spinning from the encounter with Grange. “The truth about our real mission. Someone altered the records to cover a mistake. A very big mistake.” Steven went to the balcony and stepped outside. He gazed out upon Alexandria, and the Capitol in the distance. The winter sun, low cast in the west, sent patterns of gold skittering across the glass facades of the distant buildings.
He watched the scene, trying to ease the tension knotting his muscles and churning his stomach. He told himself he shouldn’t be as angry as he was at the outcome of the meeting. After all, he’d asked Carla to arrange it.
A short time later, Carla joined him outside. She stood silently next to him, one hand on the railing. Glancing at her, he saw she was troubled.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked.
“That depends.”
“How would you like to go to a diplomatic reception?”
“For any particular purpose?”
“Oh, yes, a very particular purpose.”
Chapter Twelve
“Very well. See if you can penetrate the cover, but carefully. I don’t trust the Colombians,” Julius Axelrod, Director of the US Secret Service said as he hung up and turned to the man seated across the desk from him.
“Where were we. Morrisy, wasn’t it?” he asked Amos Coblehill.
The director of the National Security Agency redistributed his weight on the chair. “Are you sure we’re wrong about him?”
Axelrod picked up a single sheet of white twenty-pound bond paper. “According to this report, the risk is within acceptable parameters.”
“Which means what?” Coblehill pressed.
“How the hell do I know?” Axelrod growled irritably before checking his temper. “Sorry, this thing’s getting me all twisted about.”
“No apology necessary. But it worries me, Julius. Asking for those records could be asking for trouble. And not just from the mole.”
“It’s a chance we’ll have to take.”
“What makes your man think Morrisy isn’t our bird?”
“His actions since they found the woman,” Axelrod said, dumping the residue from his meerschaum into a large ashtray. He studied the pipe, running a finger along its side before looking up at his counterpart from NSA.
“Morrisy’s actions are those of a man dealing with a severe personal blow, who’s suffered a deep loss. He’s hurt and angry and wants to know why the woman he loves was almost killed. My man doesn’t see it as a front. A deep cover mole wouldn’t be pressing for answers. He’d be acting devastated; he wouldn’t be forcing issues and voicing doubts, which could come back at him in the wrong way. No, a mole would be subtly working to smooth things over and cast suspicion away from him. He’d also have an airtight alibi. One that couldn’t be shaken.”
“Morrisy’s two friends,” Coblehill suggested. “They were his alibi. But the plane crash…”
“Is still an unknown factor. Whether it was an unfortunate accident or murder will be determined shortly. I’ve sent one of our people to West Virginia with the FAA inspector. I see it as another example of the plausibility factors involved in this case. A mole on our man’s level wouldn’t take the chance of anything happening to his alibi. He’d have an alibi so unshakable we’d end up looking like jackasses for just mentioning his name. He wouldn’t be anywhere near the vicinity of a disposed body, even if it wasn’t scheduled to be found for months.”
Coblehill nodded. “You’re right, of course. I wasn’t thinking along those lines. They wouldn’t permit that risky a gamble this far into the game.”
“Which has always worked to our advantage.”
“I’ll concede the point, for now, but why the military records?”
“Grange thinks something is in them. Perhaps enough information to point a finger toward the real mole.”
“Morrisy will have to be watched carefully, though,” Coblehill said.
“Oh, he will be,” Axelrod said as he began his pipe filling ritual. Without looking up from his task, he added, “I’m also concerned about those junior Hooverites. How the hell did they latch onto this? My people had a lot of trouble getting anything out of them. How about you?”
The Director of the National Security Agency held his hands out, palms up. “I couldn’t call for obvious reasons. My assistant had a bitch of a time getting a straight answer from anyone at the Bureau. The best he could come up with is that they’ve been investigating an espionage ring and have clamped a classified operation lid on it.”
“Naturally, they won’t share with any other agency,” Axelrod said dryly.
“A national security operation. Their territorial exclusivity. They’re acting like we’re the CIA.”
“I know,” Axelrod said. “Earlier, I spoke with an operative who has solid connections in the Bureau. He thinks the Bureau has someone planted on Pritman’s staff. He’s going to try to run it down.”
“Jesus,” Coblehill groaned, “if that’s true, then everyone’s sending in deep cover agents and nobody’s telling who or where. For all we know, we may be investigating a Bureau man. I tell you Julius, this entire operation is becoming ludicrous. Perhaps it’s time that we go to the Attorney General and have him order the Bureau to cooperate.”
Axelrod shook his head emphatically. “We can’t ignore the President’s directive. He wants it contained, and that’s on us. Bringing the Bureau into it puts more fingers in the pie. To be candid, I don’t think they have any idea of the depth or sensitivity of our situation. We’ll have to keep an eye on them. Don’t want them popping up where they shouldn’t be.
“The files?” Axelrod asked.
“I’ll have them sent directly to you. Eyes only.”
“Purpose?”
Coblehill blew a stream of air from between compressed lips. “Why the best one possible. Since Pritman is undeclared and not in the race, we set it up to appear that the President of the United States is considering adding Savak and Morrisy to the White House staff, in very sensitive areas. He’s asked NSA to run the new security clearances.”
“Good,” Axelrod agreed. “If Moscow has somehow gotten an ear there, they’ll be very pleased.”
“What about the other suspects?”
Axelrod depressed the lighter and lifted it to the pipe. He puffed the tobacco into life and, when it was glowing satisfactorily, he put the lighter down.
“They’re being watched, as is Mr. Morrisy.”
<><><>
After leaving Carla Rogers’ apartment, Steven drove to the hospital. As he rode up in the elevator, he found himself questioning his motives for inviting Carla to the reception. The more he thought about his reason, the harder it was to find an answer.
When the elevator door opened, he set aside his thoughts of Carla, and went directly to Ellie’s room. As he reached the observation window, he noticed the thin curtain was drawn. He leaned against the glass, peered inside, and saw a man standing next to Ellie’s bed.
The man’s back was to Steven. He was bent over Ellie. He had one hand on her neck, the other was adjusting a dial on her intravenous line.
Something about the way the man was standing seemed wrong. With his sense of alarm growing dangerously strong, Steven rushed to the door, pushed it open and, as he stepped inside, said, “What are you doing?”
The man straightened suddenly and turned. A look of surprised irritation was on his face. “Jesus, Steven, do you always barge into hospital rooms?”
Steven exhaled in relief. His heartbeat slowed. “I think I have enough cause after what’s happened to her. What are you doing here?”
Chuck Latham smiled warmly. “Checking up on my patient. Actually,” he added, as he walked up to Steven and embraced him, “I think I’ve been suffering with a bad case of guilty conscience.”
Steven’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
Latham shrugged, “Because you’re my friend. Because I know what you’ve been going through, and I didn’t have enough sense to come to Washington with you and Ellie. I should have been with you for the transfer.”
“It went all right,” Steven said.
“I wasn’t talking about the medical aspects, I was talking about you,” he said, tapping his finger over Steven’s heart.
“I’m all right, too.”
“Are you? I spoke with Joshua Raden. He gave me the results of the tests. Steven...”
Steven stepped past Latham and went to Ellie. He looked down at her still form. He swallowed hard. “This isn’t right, Chuck.”
Latham came up behind him. “I know.” He put his hand on Steven’s shoulder and pressed tightly. “When I got here, I spent an hour with Joshua Raden and the head of Neurology. They have every hope that Ellie will come out of the coma and be able to lead a normal life again.”
Ignoring Latham’s last comment, Steven reached down and grasped Ellie’s hand. Her skin was cool. “Was it strange for you, meeting Jeremy’s brother?” Latham grunted. “It knocked me for a loop. He seems like a hell of a doctor. Smart as a whip. Jeremy would have been proud of him.”
Steven glanced at Latham. “Why did you really come?”
Latham smiled boyishly. “I wanted to be here for you. You’ve done the same for me, more times than I can count.”
“I really am okay,” Steven said, knowing that no matter what Chuck said, his friend wouldn’t believe him until he satisfied himself.
“Steven, let’s go get some dinner, then you can invite me to stay at your place tonight. I’m flying back in the morning.”
He bent over Ellie, and brushed his lips across her forehead. When he faced Latham, he said, “Do you want me to call Arnie and have him join us?”
Latham shook his head. “I came here to spend time with you, not with you and Arnie. I’ll see him next trip.”
Steven nodded and, with a final glance at Ellie, led Latham out of the room.
Chapter Thirteen
The State Department reception for the Chinese Delegation was at the Shoreham. The elegant ballroom, with its curving dark wood staircase, overflowed with dignitaries. White jacketed and gloved servers circulated with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres: a seventeen-piece orchestra played classical music on the bandstand.
Every important politician was present, along with all the State Department people who counted. This was not a reception to skip.
Deep within the swarm of high level Washingtonians, Steven and Carla stood together, forming a solitary island amidst the ocean of humanity.
While cordial to all who acknowledged him, Steven held himself back from joining the myriad of conversations. His thoughts, vacillating between Ellie and seeing Xzi Tao again, were introspective. The timing was bad. He did not want to have to face an old ghost with his life in so volatile a state.
“What is it, Steven?” Carla whispered after his silence had drawn on for a long time.
He glanced at her, and saw concern mirrored in her eyes. “I’m sorry; I’ve a lot on my mind.”
“I understand.”
Steven took her hand and squeezed it gently before letting go. He believed she did understand. “It’s all right. Have I told you that you look stunning tonight?”
In truth, she did, Steven realized. Her formal gown was white silk. It hugged her slim torso before flaring at the hips into a ruffled bottom. It was a simple gown, and very elegant because of its simplicity.
“Thank you. Did you find out anything at the office?”
Steven shook his head. It had been a normal day at the Pritman offices. Everyone had worked at their usual frenetic pace. He’d spent most of the day going over the Entente proposal with Pritman, showing the senator the points he had refined during his week in Pennsylvania. But he’d learned nothing to shed any light on what happened to Ellie. Savak had also spent a good deal of time calling his contacts. No one, it appeared, knew anything.
“According to my secretary, Ellie was her normal self all day last Monday. Which means whatever happened was after everyone left, and—” He cut himself off when he saw Pritman leave the group of senators he’d been with, and started toward the side of the ballroom.
He followed the senator, bringing Carla with him as he had all evening. He’d explained, earlier, that he wanted to keep Pritman within hearing distance. Carla had not questioned him.
When Pritman stopped to chat with a senator from California, Steven said to Carla, “We’ll talk about Ellie later.”
“Of course,” Carla said as a tall and heavyset man angled toward them.
“Steven, this is a pleasant surprise,” the man said, coming to a halt in front of Steven, and cutting Pritman off from view. “I had expected Arnie.”
Steven took the offered hand and smiled. “Jack, it’s been a while. Arnie was tied up,” Steven lied smoothly as he turned toward Carla. “Carla Rogers, meet Jack Metzger. Jack’s with State.”
“Miss Rogers,” Metzger said, shaking Carla’s hand. “It’s a pleasure.” To Steven, Metzger said, “I’d like to get together with you and Arnie, soon.”
