The President's Henchman

by Joseph Flynn

  His youngest was already aboard the helicopter. McGill didn’t trust her not to give away the deceit by taunting her brother. Then he’d have to take all his children along.

  “And this place doesn’t have its own dentist?” Kenny asked.

  “An oversight. I’m sure Patti will have it corrected it shortly.”

  “I still want to go,” his son said.

  “You can’t.”

  “I won’t mind sitting out in the waiting room.”

  McGill sighed. “Kenny, did you know this place does have a skeet-shooting range?”

  “What’s that?”

  McGill told him. Kenny beamed. “You’d let me shoot a shotgun?”

  “At clay pigeons only. I’ll tell the range master to expect you after breakfast.”

  “Thanks, Dad. That’s way cooler than going to some old dentist.”

  But Kenny still wanted to ride on the Marine helicopter sometime.

  As for Abbie, he could only give her a hug.

  “We’ll be back as soon as we can, honey. We’ll work it out so all you guys can go home soon and not have to worry.”

  Abbie’s arms tightened around her father. “You know how Mom used to worry about you all the time, Dad?”

  Abbie was the only one of his children old enough to know about that.

  “Yeah.”

  “She still does. I do, too.”

  McGill kissed the top of his daughter’s head and told her he had to go.

  The Sikorsky Sea King helicopter, part of Marine Helicopter Squadron One, took off with a roar. Both McGill and Caitie were looking out windows and waving good-bye to Abbie and Kenny, but in seconds they were out of sight as the machine rose into the sky, and the sweep of the Catoctin forest hid Camp David.

  Reclining in the oversized leather seat that was normally the province of the president of the United States, Caitie asked, “Did they buy it, Dad? The toothache story.”

  “I think so. They’re not used to hearing lies from their father.”

  That concept didn’t seem to bother Caitie — as long as it wasn’t used to her disadvantage. She wriggled her bottom on the plush seat and looked around the cabin of the aircraft. McGill could almost see the idea form in his daughter’s mind that one day she would have such perquisites of power for her own.

  Looking back at him, she asked, “Dad, you’re somebody special these days, aren’t you?”

  “I’m just along for the ride. Patti’s the special one.”

  An honest answer and suitably humble, but he feared he was only cementing his little megalomaniac’s ambitions. Caitie’s nod confirmed it. He could only hope she’d develop a taste for tattoos and body piercings that would make her unacceptable to the voting public.

  “We need to talk, you and me,” McGill told her.

  “About what?”

  “I told you I want you to help Sweetie, but I didn’t tell you how.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll do anything.”

  “It could be dangerous.”

  Caitie grinned, as if he’d sprinkled sugar on her favorite cereal.

  “And your mother could still veto the whole thing.”

  “Daaad … we won’t tell her.”

  “You might want to change your mind, too.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Listen, then tell me what you think.” He held up a hand to wave off another denial of anything but eagerness to participate. “You know the people who’ve threatened Abbie and Kenny and you? They’re the ones Sweetie plans to confront.”

  “She’s gonna bash them?” Caitie’s eyes grew wide at the prospect.

  “She’s going to make them see the light of reason.”

  His bloodthirsty imp’s glee disappeared. “What fun is that?”

  “Grown-up fun. The kind Patti and I and maybe your mom can get behind.”

  “You mean Sweetie’s only going to talk to them?”

  “She’s going to talk to them forcefully. It should be very interesting.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  McGill considered his words carefully and hoped none of the helicopter’s crew had family or friends in Reverend Godfrey’s movement. Just to be safe, he leaned forward and dropped his voice. “You remember The Lion King?”

  “Yeah, of course. But I haven’t watched it in a long time.” The animated classic had become far too jejune for the sophisticated Ms. McGill.

  “There’s a scene near the end,” McGill said, “where Scar is facing off against all the hyenas? It could be like that. Where Sweetie’s the only lion around.”

  “But Scar was the bad guy, and Sweetie is a good guy,” Caitie said, finding the flaw in her father’s cinematic analogy.

  “Right, Sweetie’s the good guy.”

  “But the hyenas are still the bad guys?”

  “Right again. The point I was trying to make was you should remember how that scene in the movie ended for that particular lion.”

  Caitie did, and her enthusiasm waned. “Oh.”

  “Now, I’m not saying that’s how it’ll happen this time, only that there’s an element of danger. For you, too, if you decide to join in.”

  “Well …” His daughter was much more deliberate now. Which he found very reassuring. “… what would I have to do?”

  “Just show your face. Only for a few seconds.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes, and Deke will be right behind you. If anything goes wrong, he’ll grab you and get you out of there fast.”

  “You won’t be there?”

  That was McGill’s original plan. Not to give Godfrey and his minions anything more than Sweetie to inflame their passions. But he could see now that like his movie analogy, this, too, was imperfect thinking. No way was he going to let Caitie go out there without him. No disrespect to Deke, but McGill just wouldn’t be able to do it.

  “Of course, I’ll be there. But I’m going to have to hang back a little ways. Keep my presence a secret.” As ever in Washington, compromise was a must.

  “Then it will be you, me, and Sweetie against the bad guys.”

  “Us and Deke, too.”

  Caitie stuck out her hand for McGill to shake.

  “Count me in, Dad.”

  McGill pulled his daughter onto his lap. Held her close.

  “If your mother says okay,” he told her.

  The intercom on the president’s desk buzzed.

  “Mr. McGill and Caitlin have arrived. They’re in the residence, Madam President.”

  “Thank you, Edwina,” the president told her secretary. “Would you ask Jim if he can spare a few minutes for me now? Please tell Caitie hello for me and ask Blessing to find something to keep her amused while her father’s in the Oval Office.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Welborn Yates, who’d just spent the past fifteen minutes briefing the president on his investigation, got to his feet and saluted. The president looked at him with a bemused smile.

  “You have pressing business elsewhere, Lieutenant?”

  Welborn’s cheeks reddened. “Ma’am, I … I thought I was being dismissed … as you’ve sent for Mr. McGill.”

  The president shook her head. “I thought I’d introduce you. The two of you haven’t met, have you?”

  “Only informally, in passing one day.”

  Welborn felt like a complete idiot and was relieved when the president asked him to sit down and turned her attention to the notes she’d made on his briefing until her husband arrived. Whereupon he got smartly to his feet once more and saluted McGill.

  Who grinned and returned the salute.

  “I think we can dispense with that courtesy from now on,” McGill told him.

  “Jim, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Welborn Yates, United States Air Force, Office of Special Investigations. Lieutenant, this is my husband, James J. McGill.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “A pleasure, sir,” Welborn said.

  “Likewise,” McGill responde
d.

  They looked each other in the eye, both of them knowing the relationship they had, one helping the other, but neither so much as winked at it.

  “Now you may leave, Lieutenant,” the president told him.

  Welborn snapped off his best salute, did a perfect about-face, and left.

  After he closed the door, McGill said, “Nice kid but a little intense.”

  “He’s young, he’s nervous, and I’m the big boss.”

  McGill sat down opposite his wife. “Sometimes I forget.”

  “Of course. You’ve never been in awe of me.”

  “Oh, there are times. If I’m allowed to say that in the Oval Office.”

  Patti gave him a grin. “It’ perfectly all right. No president since Nixon has made recordings in here.” Changing the subject, she asked, “So you’ve decided to let Caitie participate with Sweetie?”

  “From my point of view and Caitie’s, yes. I wasn’t able to reach Carolyn just now. She and Lars decided to get out of town for a couple days. Barbara Sullivan tells me they’ve gone up to Wisconsin by themselves. I know where Carolyn likes to stay. I’ll try her again in a couple of hours.”

  “Abbie and Kenny are fine at Camp David?”

  “They’d be finer if Carolyn or I was there. They’re feeling a bit isolated.”

  Patti hesitated a moment before asking, “Would it help, do you think, if I went up and spent the night with them?”

  McGill beamed … then he thought the question through.

  “They’d be thrilled. But why do you need to get out of town?”

  Patti told him what she had planned for Cuba and that the balloon was about to go up. “For appearances’ sake,” she continued, “I thought it would look better if I wasn’t at the White House when the action commences.”

  McGill nodded. “I think you’re right about that.”

  “And my plan?” Patti asked.

  “Outside my area of expertise, but I’ll light a candle.”

  “When you light one for Caitie and Sweetie?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re sure the kids will want me at Camp David? I won’t be a poor substitute?”

  It amazed McGill that the most powerful woman in the world, one of the richest and most beautiful women in the world, could still find something about which she felt insecure. But he kept the thought to himself.

  “My children love you,” he told her. “So much so that at least in your heart if nowhere else, you should think of them as your children, too.”

  The president suddenly had to clear her throat and look away. When she turned back to McGill, there was a smile on her face. “I’ll go to Camp David then.”

  “And if the brats give you any guff, spank the hell out of them.”

  Patti and McGill both laughed.

  “I understand you’ve also lodged Ms. Lochlan at Camp David. So she’s not a threat to my welfare, after all?” McGill told Patti what had happened to Chana. “Poor woman,” Patti said.

  That matter settled, Patti recounted for McGill the briefing Welborn had given her.

  “Wow,” McGill said, “talk about your tangled web.”

  “And how would you sort it out, my dear private detective husband?”

  McGill let his eyes lose focus for a moment as he reviewed and sorted the facts. Bringing his attention back to Patti, he said, “Let’s start from the beginning.”

  “A logical place.”

  “The Air Force is considering bringing a charge of adultery against Colonel Linberg for having sex with Captain Cowan, a married man.”

  “Correct.”

  “The colonel admits the sexual relationship but says the captain told her he was divorced.”

  “Also correct.”

  “General Altman, the Air Force chief of staff, is pushing for Colonel Linberg’s court-martial. We suspect, but don’t know, that the general may also have had a sexual relationship with the colonel. That suspicion, however, becomes stronger with the death of Mrs. Altman, allegedly at the hands of Captain Cowan.”

  “Cowan killed Mrs. Altman before she could spill the beans on her husband to Lieutenant Yates. That’s Welborn’s thinking.”

  “It’s a natural enough assumption,” McGill said. “On the other hand …”

  He lapsed back into rumination. Patti waited him out in silence.

  “Let’s remember what this Commander Sheridan, the friend of Cowan’s, said. He said the captain would never knowingly share a woman with another man. Do you think General Altman would knowingly share a lover with Cowan?”

  Patti shook her head. “I don’t see that.”

  “Then if Altman had been sleeping with the colonel, the affair was over. And he’d have to be a pretty vengeful guy to push an adultery charge against a former lover, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, he would. But push it he did. So something had to be motivating him.” Then Patti saw what McGill was getting at.

  He nodded. “What if Colonel Linberg had been sleeping with Mrs. Altman to get ahead?”

  “Oh, my,” the president said. “That certainly would have embarrassed the general once it got out.”

  “Not to mention the Air Force,” McGill added.

  “But why would she have done it?”

  “Mrs. Altman? Sleep with the colonel?” McGill shrugged. “She found her alluring. Possibly, she was following her husband’s example. Sleeping with comely junior officers. Be a heckuva way for a senior military wife to get even with a wandering husband. Especially if Mrs. Altman was also blackmailing the general into advancing the colonel’s career.”

  “All right, but then why would Mrs. Altman want to confess? Why did she set up that lunch date with Welborn?”

  McGill had a notion. “The general wants to break up his wife’s relationship with the colonel by sending the colonel to prison. So he brings in Captain Cowan. That punishes his wife in two ways. It shows Mrs. Altman just what a tramp Colonel Linberg is, and it sends Mrs. Altman’s lover off to languish in durance vile. Mrs. Altman doesn’t want her husband to win. So she plans the unthinkable: going public. She’ll have to reveal her own sins, but she’ll have the pleasure of ruining her husband. Her mistake was letting the general find out what she was about to do.”

  “And he couldn’t let that happen,” Patti said.

  “No.”

  “So he turns to Cowan, whom he’s sponsoring for a cushy job with American Aviation, to get rid of her — and possibly incriminate the pesky Lieutenant Yates. Or at least get him thrown off the case so he can bring in another investigator who will be under his control.”

  “Yeah,” McGill said.

  “But there’s a hole in your theory, Jim. Even with Cheryl Altman gone, Colonel Linberg, could still testify against General Altman if she was really his wife’s lover. She could still embarrass both him and the Air Force. Why wouldn’t the colonel just preempt the possibility of facing a court-martial by saying she’d reveal her affair with Mrs. Altman?”

  McGill had considered that. “If she made that threat to General Altman up front, she’d be confessing to adultery. Cheryl Altman was, after all, a married woman. Plus she’d be admitting a lesbian relationship, and as far as I know, the military still frowns on homosexuality. She might have relied initially on Mrs. Altman to keep her from anything worse than being discharged from the Air Force. But then for further protection, the alluring Colonel Linberg gets Captain Cowan to fall in love with her. He double-crosses the general. He plans not to testify against the colonel but to take her along with him to enjoy gainful employment in the defense industry. How can the general object without risking that Cowan, too, will turn against him?”

  “And I thought I’d seen it all in Hollywood,” Patti said. “And the American Aviation connection tells us that Roger Michaelson is also involved in this mess through the Merriman brothers.”

  “A fine Washington stew, indeed,” McGill said. “But to confirm any of it, you’ll have to get Cowan talking.”
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br />   “Lieutenant Yates intends to arrest him today,” Patti said.

  Damon Todd had a new plan for James J. McGill. Death was no longer enough for the man who’d come between him and Chana. He had a much better idea now. He would send McGill deeper into a K-hole than he’d ever sent anyone. When he pulled him out the other side he would know all of McGill’s secrets, understand how the man was put together. With that knowledge in hand he would twist the fundamentals of McGill’s personality.

  If McGill had moments of temper, they would become fits of maniacal rage. If he had a suspicious nature, he would become an unrelenting paranoiac. If he had restless nights, he would experience debilitating insomnia.

  The possibilities were endless. Everyone had weaknesses. Extending those flaws, amplifying them, would be no harder for him than getting a rock to roll downhill. True, he’d never worked in a destructive fashion before, but that’s what these people, McGill especially, had driven him to. Maybe he should thank them.

  Because fucking with people’s heads would be a lot more fun than sorting out their conflicts, defining their goals, winding them up, and sending them off down productive paths they never could have found on their own.

  That ungrateful bitch Chana.

  There was only one problem with his plan. The means he’d found for getting into McGill’s P Street office, the place Todd intended to ambush him, had been taken away from him.

  On the night he’d first cased the building, he’d gone around to the rear and easily clambered up a sturdy drainpipe to the roof. He found a door there that opened to his touch. A stairway from the roof led to a landing and two doorways. Directly ahead was a door that opened to the hallway outside the office of McGill Investigations, Inc. To the right of the landing was another door to the same suite. That door was locked, but it was also concealed from public view. Todd was sure he could quietly force it open.

  Last night, however, he’d gone back to make sure he could still gain access from the roof. But he couldn’t. Some cretin had put a sturdy new lock on the roof door.

  As he strolled along P Street in the early-morning sunlight, he saw the very man who might have been responsible for creating that problem. He was dark-haired, with a prominent nose and an olive complexion. Fortyish and fairly large but soft. He was placing chairs around the café table in front of McGill’s office building. The man had just opened a Cinzano parasol above the table when Todd stopped a few feet away from him.