by David Wind
“I know what to do. You just make sure you take care of yourself. Ellie will need you when she comes out of the coma. Don’t forget that, Steven.”
“You’d better go,” Steven said. “Even a doctor needs sleep. I’ll be in touch when I can.”
He walked the young doctor to the door. When he was gone, it was as if a piece of him had gone with Raden. Then he told Carla about Grange’s message.
“We should call him, now,” she said.
“Not yet. I need to talk with Arnie and see if he’s had any luck with the Bureau.”
“Do you think that wise?” Carla asked. “They may have his phone tapped too.”
Steven picked up the phone and dialed Savak’s house. “It’s a chance I’ll have to take. But I doubt they’ve tapped his phone.”
“Where are you?” Savak asked after Steven said hello.
“It’s best if you don’t know. Have you come up with anything?”
“Too much,” Savak said. Steven tensed at the tone of Savak’s voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“A Federal judge signed a warrant for your arrest.”
“Can something be done?”
“I’ve spent the last few hours trying. I’ve called in every favor owed me, but no one will touch this. I was able to pull one string, though. What happened tonight will be contained within the Bureau. There won’t be any further police bulletins, and whatever might have gone out already, if anything, will be followed up with a rescinding memo. No one will know about the warrant, except for the Bureau agents.”
Steven felt a little of his apprehension ease. “That will help.”
“Steven, I—” Savak began, but his voice broke.
Steven’s nerves went tense. His knuckles turned ashen on the receiver. He made himself ignore the feeling of unease, and waited silently for Savak to continue.
“I’m sorry,” Savak said at last, “this isn’t easy for me. I… Damn it, Steven!”
Steven sat heavily in the chair. He was aware of Carla watching him. Her mouth was taut with concern. He was sure of what would come next. He and Savak had touched on it in Pennsylvania.
Swallowing hard, Steven closed his eyes and said, “I’m not going to help you this time, Arnie, spell it out.”
“The West Coast meeting is set for the end of next week. In nine or ten days, Pritman will be on the front page of every newspaper in the country. It’s what you and I have worked so damn hard for. Steven, are you willing to let it all go down the tubes?”
Steven held his silence. He wasn’t sure what he wanted at this very moment; but his anger at the situation and, for some strange reason, at Arnie surged.
“Steven, no matter what, I promise that I’ll find a way out of what’s happened. But you’ve got to work with us. If this gets out, and Pritman’s connected to it, then it will all be for nothing.”
Steven wiped his hand across his eyes. He blinked hard. “Say it, Arnie. I want to know exactly what they want from me.”
“A letter of resignation dated the Friday before you left for Pennsylvania.”
Like Jeremy Raden’s prophetic letter from Nam, Steven’s forecast of his future had come true. Coppery bile flooded the back of his mouth. He turned to Carla, who was still intently watching him. “All right, Arnie.”
“Steven, they felt there was no choice left. I tried to make them see what was happening, but...You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”
Steven closed his eyes, squeezing off the visions of defeat and loss massing against him. If his friends, as well as the people he’d worked beside for almost thirteen years, didn’t believe him, who would? Yet the governing rule of political aspiration was that in order to stop something from tainting a candidate, that candidate had to be distanced and protected from the problem at all costs. Steven was one of the costs.
“Oh yes, Arnie, I understand perfectly,” Steven said in a tight voice. “But I’d like to know who made the decision.”
“The whole group. It was a...a majority decision. Pritman doesn’t know yet. Since the meeting, I’ve given this a lot of thought. I believe in you, and in us. If you want, I’ll drop off the staff. We can work together to find out who’s behind this mess.”
Steven moistened his lips. Savak’s rash offer was tempting. He knew Pritman could navigate the campaign trail without one of them, but not without both, especially the tactician and architect of the Pritman organization.
“No, Arnie, You have to stay with him.”
“I’m going to find a way to help us, Steven. I promise I won’t stop until I do. But you’ll have to keep in contact with me.”
Steven laughed. “I’m running. I may not be able to.”
“Call me at the office, once a day. Vary the times. Use my private number. If there are any changes, I’ll let you know.”
Steven hung up abruptly, unwilling to say more to Arnie. Intellectually, he knew it was inevitable. Pritman had no choice but to disenfranchise himself from Steven and his troubles. Still, it hurt like hell.
Savak’s offer had helped to ease the hurt, but wasn’t enough to make up for the lack of faith and trust from the others.
“What was it?” Carla asked.
Steven twisted the kinks out of his neck, stalling long enough to get his thoughts under control. “I’ve been dumped. I’m no longer part of Pritman’s staff. In fact,” he said, smiling sardonically, “I haven’t been employed since the Friday before Ellie was hurt.”
Carla’s eyes deepened with disbelief. “I’m sorry Steven. I...But they can’t do that now, not after last night. People saw you at the reception. You were videotaped with Pritman.”
“That means nothing. A strong denial citing PTSD, and someone’s omission of having my name taken off the guest list. When I showed up at the reception and forced the issue, Pritman didn’t want to embarrass me in front of everyone so he let me play my usual role.”
“I was there. I can back you up with the truth.”
“To what point? It’s done.” He flashed a smile he didn’t feel. “What Grange said the other night—about the leak originating from Pritman’s office. Do you believe him?”
Carla hesitated. She glanced down at her clasped hands. She released them and looked back at him. “I’ve known Paul for a long time. He wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true.”
“You have no doubts about him at all.”
She met his eyes openly. “I’d trust Paul Grange with my life.”
Steven searched her face. “Are you lovers?”
Carla sat on the edge of the bed. “Paul and I went to school together. I’ve known him a long time. He’s a good man, Steven. You can trust him.”
Seeing that Carla avoided answering the question, Steven didn’t press the issue. Rather, he said, “It’s not just your life I’ll be trusting him with, it’s my life as well. Carla, no matter what Grange thinks, there’s no way that one of Pritman’s top-level people is a Soviet spy.
“And as far as Pritman himself, he’s the most straight forward politician I’ve ever known. Oh, he knows how to wheel and deal, and how to make political arrangements. He has to, because that’s his job. But he’s never made those easy accommodations that can come back to haunt him later.”
“You’re telling me that he’s an honest man.”
“As honest as a politician can be, yes. And that’s what’s wrong with Grange’s theory, unless…”
“Unless what?”
Steven shook his head. “I’m starting to see conspiracies.”
“What kind?”
“The kind that get very big people into very deep water.”
“How big?”
“The very biggest. The President is in political trouble. His administration is in a mess. The countering of his foreign policy maneuvers as soon as he makes them puts him farther and farther behind in the public’s image and lends credence to a theory of security leaks. If they make a circumstantial case, showing someone outside of his
staff giving foreign powers our secret policy decisions before implementation, would exonerate the President in the public’s eye.
“And, if our thinking is right, Philip Pritman has the best chance of knocking the President out of the box. What,” he continued, not taking his eyes from her, “if the White House is pointing the finger at Pritman to make it appear that someone on his staff is sabotaging American foreign policy? That would derail Pritman’s campaign before it begins and just about assure the President of reelection?”
“They wouldn’t do that,” Carla said, her voice edged with outrage. “And Paul Grange wouldn’t be a part of it.”
Steven’s laugh was bitter. “Grange wouldn’t know. And of course they would, if they had the chance. There are plenty of precedents. You’re old enough to remember what happened to Eagleton during the elections. You don’t think a reporter dug up that tidbit on his own, do you? No, it was hand fed to him, with lots of love from the other side.
“Carla, dirt and scandal are the new mainstay of the election process. The public sits, watches, and waits for the innuendos and implication to pile up. Then they watch to see who climbs out of the muck to stay in the race.
“Think about it!” His words turned staccato. “The smallest hint that someone on Pritman’s staff has given secrets to our enemies will discredit the senator. The public won’t think about the good things he’s done for them, all they’ll remember is his exercise of poor judgment in hiring a spy. He wouldn’t get the nomination, which would be a shame.”
“I can’t accept the idea that the President would do that,” Carla reiterated.
“The President may not even know. Someone on his staff could be behind it. And that’s only one possibility.”
Carla hugged herself. “I hope it’s the wrong one,” she whispered, “And you still haven’t answered my question. What are you going to do?”
Steven hadn’t answered the question because, until that very moment, he hadn’t known. Looking at Carla, he made his decision. “Trust you.”
Steven took Grange’s number from his pocket, and called the Secret Service man. “It’s Morrisy,” he said when Grange answered. “You left a message.”
“Where the hell are you?” Grange asked abruptly. “Are you on a safe line?”
“I believe so.”
“You’d fucking better be,” Grange shouted. “Are you out of your mind? Assaulting two FBI agents?”
“They didn’t give me a choice.”
“What the hell are you trying to do, Morrisy? They aren’t going to let you get away.”
“They’ll have to catch me, and that won’t be easy.”
“This isn’t Nam, Morrisy. You don’t have any jungles to hide in. You need help!”
“Carla was with me. You’ll have to get her uninvolved with the Bureau. Can you do that?”
“I figured she was the woman with you. I checked with a source at the Bureau. They haven’t identified her—yet. They won’t now.”
“Do you still think I tried to kill Ellie? That I’m some sort of a spy?”
Steven caught the hesitation in Grange’s reply. “I’ve been looking into that matter you suggested.”
“And?”
“I need to discuss it with you in person. And as soon as it can be arranged.”
“Where?”
“I’m sticking my neck out for you, Morrisy, so you’re going to have to go along with me on this. Are you sure no one knows where you are?”
“One person, but I trust him implicitly.”
“From your office?”
“No.”
“Carla is with you.”
Steven didn’t bother to refute the statement. “If she is?”
“There’s an old farm outside of Hagerstown. My uncle’s. Carla knows where it is. She’s been there. Do not take any main highways. Use country roads once you’re out of Washington. Wait until rush hour before you leave. Get lost in traffic, and take your time. Don’t reach the location until noon. I need time to work things out.”
“Grange, can you arrange protection for Ellie?”
“How much safer can she be than in the hospital.”
That’s what Steven had thought until tonight. “I don’t think she’s safe at all. Whoever tried to kill her killed my friends because they could alibi me. Ellie was supposed to die. She’s still alive, so she’s still a target. While everyone thinks she’s permanently lost her memory, the person who put her in the lake can’t take the one chance in a million she might remember what happened. Do you follow what I’m telling you?”
“I think I do. I’ll have it taken care of. Morrisy, for what it’s worth, I do have strong doubts about the validity of the Bureau’s charges. May I speak with Carla?”
Steven handed Carla the phone.
“Paul, I think Steven is right about Ellie,” she said while looking at Steven. A moment later she smiled, and gave Steven a thumbs up sign.
“Yes, we’re fine,” he heard her say as he stood and went into the bathroom.
When he came out, Carla was off the phone. “Did he tell you about Hagerstown?”
Carla nodded. “I know the farm. We’ll be safe there. It’s out-of-the-way. Are you going to give him Raden’s letter?”
“I don’t know what I’ll do, yet. That will depend on Grange.”
Chapter Seventeen
Julius Axelrod hung up the phone and relit his pipe. He looked around the office, wondering when he would get a chance to go home again. He thought it wouldn’t be for quite a while.
To add to his problems, Morrisy was out in the cold before he and Grange had been able to set their own plan into motion.
Axelrod’s anger at the Bureau’s meddling sent his blood pressure rising. The damn idiots at the Bureau never know when to stop, always looking at themselves as the country’s watchdog, and trusting no one but themselves.
He breathed deeply, exercising a firm control over his emotions, and told himself this was not the first time, nor would it be the last the FBI would interfere with a security agency operation, knowingly or unknowingly.
After setting the dark thoughts of the Bureau aside, Axelrod pressed a memory button on the phone. Four rings later, Amos Coblehill answered.
“Morrisy is on the run, without control. The Bureau’s men made a grab for him at the hospital,” Axelrod reported matter-of-factly to the director of the National Security Agency.
“Is he covered now?” Coblehill’s voice, booming over the speakerphone, sounded as tired as Axelrod felt.
“To a good enough degree. Grange was able to talk him into going to a safe house. Once he’s there, we’ll leak word in tomorrow’s NSC session. We’ll brief Pritman on it. Then, if everything goes according to schedule, we’ll be able to contain and conclude the situation.”
“I’ll inform the President,” Amos Coblehill said.
Axelrod drew on his pipe, and exhaled fully before adding, “Morrisy is at risk until he meets Grange, tomorrow. The Bureau’s move put him into the open, and no one knows where he is. He wouldn’t tell Grange.”
<><><>
Steven woke just before seven. Looking across the chasm created by the two beds, he saw Carla sleeping peacefully. He decided to give her a few extra minutes, and went into the bathroom. He shaved with the disposable razor the motel supplied, took a quick shower, and dressed.
When he came out, Carla was sitting up, wiping at the inside corners of her eyes. She wore one of his tee shirts, her breasts clearly outlined beneath the thin fabric, her hair disheveled.
“Is there time for me to shower?”
When Steven nodded, Carla got out of bed and went into the bathroom. Watching her, Steven thought that if this were another time and place, his feelings toward this very desirable woman would be different—if there was no Ellie.
But there was an Ellie, and he loved her. When the bathroom door closed, Steven turned on the TV and dressed to a network morning show.
When the local news seg
ment came on, he watched, feeling relief that there was only a brief mention of the Chinese reception, and nothing about him.
He shut off the television, went to the desk, and reread Jeremy Raden’s letter. He pictured Jeremy Raden, as he had been when he’d first met him, and wished he had known the man for longer than the three weeks they’d been together.
He took out a sheet of motel stationery and began his letter of resignation. Even though he knew it was necessary, finding the right words was difficult. He went through five sheets of paper before he reduced what he had to say to a simple paragraph of resignation for personal reasons.
He signed the letter, folded it, and put it into an envelope. After addressing it, he slipped the envelope into his inside jacket pocket.
“All set,” Carla said, coming out of the bathroom.
“Hungry?”
She nodded. “Can we chance it?”
“We’ll get something in the coffee shop. To go,” he added when he saw her expression of worry.
They drove the Bronco to the front, and parked in the only available space. As they entered the lobby, Steven bought a stamp from the desk, put it on the envelope, and dropped his letter into the mailbox. The coffee shop was crowded, and although he felt uneasy, they waited patiently until they were able to order.
When they emerged from the motel’s main entrance, with coffee and rolls in a brown paper bag, Steven looked around. The sun was up and glowing.
The day promised to be mild. He checked everywhere, trying to spot Blayne or Grodin, or anyone that might appear to be an FBI agent, but he saw no one suspicious.
There were half dozen men in suits, who were either heading to the lobby, or going to their cars. A couple in their sixties was just getting out of a twelve-year-old Cadillac. A bus stopped abreast from them. Three women in maid’s uniforms lumbered onto the sidewalk and started toward the hotel.
Steven guided Carla toward the car. Halfway to the Bronco, he heard the discordant sound of a horn. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a car swerve sharply, its tires squealing as it barely missed a silver Ford crossing the center line.
