All the best,
Jack
Powers dropped the letter into the shoebox and closed it. Using tape and string, he wrapped the box securely; then, numb from the events of the evening, he sat on the sofa and, without changing channels, stared at television until about 4 A.M.
Finally, he staggered in to bed and dropped into fitful sleep.
He awoke at 6 A.M., thinking about Marilyn. Having showered and shaved, he left the apartment carrying the shoebox and took the Metro to Secret Service headquarters. In the mailroom, he used a magic marker to label the shoebox with Landry's name. Then he shoved it into a canvas classified message bin marked IMMEDIATE DELIVERY and hurried out of the building to avoid contact with anyone.
On the way back to his apartment, he stopped at Long's Cafeteria and ordered bacon and eggs. He ate a few bites of the meal, realized he wasn't hungry, and left.
He spent the rest of the day lounging about the apartment just worrying about what it was going to be like to start a new career.
Sullivan phoned him that evening and gave him instructions: a job had been arranged by David Crumpmaster, president of Highland Oil and Gas of Arlington, Virginia. Crumpmaster, the President's former law partner, was the chief political fixer and point man for the administration and, for all intents and purposes, wielded more actual power than any officer of the government. In every administration, there was always at least one Crumpmaster. During presidential campaigns, Secret Service agents, like political reporters, made a game of figuring out who would fill this secret position.
The next day Jack Powers reported to work at the security department of Highland Oil and Gas. The building was located in the heart of the Arlington business area, in a modern four-story pillar of tinted glass.
He was shown into the office of the Highland vice president in charge of security, Casimir Novatny. Novatny was in his fifties, overweight, and wore a dark, linty blue suit and an ill-fitting hairpiece.
Powers remembered him from the last presidential campaign. Novatny had been a political advance man for the President, organizing rallies in the Midwest, mostly Chicago. Though he always introduced himself as a former FBI agent, his FBI experience had been more than twenty years ago and he'd been an agent for less than a year, which Powers knew meant he was terminated before achieving probationary status. Powers disliked him immediately.
"You'll be making a salary almost twice what you were making as a Secret Service agent," Novatny said in a heavy New York accent. "That includes a company car and an expense account. How's that sound?"
"Great," Powers said, forcing a smile.
"Occasionally you'll be a trouble shooter," Novatny said. "If one of our employees steps on his dick, then we conduct an investigation. You report to me, and I decide what to do with the information. You don't do anything on your own. You understand that?"
Powers nodded, realizing the source of the faint clacking sound as Novatny spoke. Novatny had false teeth.
"And with your Secret Service experience, I plan on using you for executive protection. Now and then Mr. Crumpmaster and the Board of Directors like to have someone around when golfing or taking vacations, and you'll be in charge of seeing to it that the alarm systems on their homes are in working order." He pronounced order as odaah.
Novatny left his chair and closed the door. "It's not so much actual security work; having body guards makes them look important to their customers and social contacts," he said, returning to his seat. "That means if you're on the golf course with one of the members of the Board and he asks you to carry golf clubs, you carry the golf clubs. But this sort of work will be only a small part of your duties. Okay so far?"
Powers nodded.
"Let's take a look at your office," Novatny said, coming to his feet.
Powers followed him down a halfway to another office. Novatny allowed him to enter first. Like Novatny's office, the facing wall was tinted glass and provided a view of a similar office building across the street. The only furnishings in the room were a blue synthetic-fabric chair and a medium-sized veneer desk. There was nothing on the desk but plastic trays labeled IN and OUT. In the IN box was a stack of printed health insurance forms.
Novatny picked up the printed forms and clacked some instructions about filling them out. Powers only half listened.
"All set to this point?" Novatny said.
"Yes, I think so."
"How do you like your office?"
"Fine."
Novatny sat down on a chair in front of the desk. He pointed to the framed emblem on the wall, an alert American eagle superimposed on an oil derrick. "N.H.A.H.," he said. "This is what will take up most of your time here at Highland."
"Pardon?"
"The Never High at Highland program. This is the company drug resistance effort. It's the man's pet project." Novatny leaned back in his chair, his wig lifting slightly from his forehead. "The man-that's Mr. Crumpmaster. Those of us in Security call him the man. "
"What kind of drug program is it?"
Novatny opened a file cabinet desk drawer and removed a thick binder titled "Highland Oil and Gas Security Manual." He slid it across the desk. "Your duties are all explained in here. Mr. Crumpmaster is determined to have a drug-free environment at Highland."
"What exactly do I have to do?"
"Your actual title will be compliance officer. You have the full responsibility, and no one will get in your way as long as the compliance requirements are met."
Powers had a sinking feeling. "Compliance? Are we talking drug testing?"
"Yes, regular supervised testing of all employees is part and parcel of the program. I take it you do agree with the concept of a drug-free workplace?"
"Of course," Powers said after a moment.
"All the equipment you need is in this file cabinet ... including the master schedule of when employees are due."
"Due?"
"Due to give you a urine sample."
"I'm in charge of seeing to it that people piss?"
"That's one way to put it," he said warily. "Any other questions?"
Powers shook his head.
Novatny winked at him insincerely and left the room.
Powers sat down at the desk. Telling himself that, as in the Secret Service, new employees were always given the most disagreeable tasks and in time he'd be promoted to a better position in the company, Powers opened the security manual and spent the next couple of hours thumbing pages. But his mind was on Marilyn, and for the life of him he couldn't concentrate. Over and over, he remembered waking in the hotel room in Kassel to find her gone. Somehow, sitting in the sterile office he had the feeling that nothing had changed and he was only on another Secret Service temporary assignment: that any minute he would be headed to Andrews Air Force Base to board Air Force One.
Later in the day, Novatny led Powers around the office introducing him ("This is our new compliance officer Jack Powers") to the other members of the security staff, most of whom were ex-policemen or federal agents. Though mortified because he figured they knew he was the new piss monitor, Powers smiled and shook hands with everyone. Back in his office, Powers realized that out of all the people he'd met he couldn't recall a single name.
After work, Powers purchased a quart of Chivas Regal at a liquor store.
At his apartment the red light on his answering machine was blinking. He pressed REWIND, then the PLAY button. The messages were as follows:
1. Landry telling him he'd received his letter and asking him to call.
2. Louise Fisher asking him not to believe the things Capizzi was saying about her.
3. Mrs. Hammerstrom informing him that he wouldn't be able to leave his footlockers in the storeroom during future trips because she was going to rent the storeroom itself to the Georgetown Arms cleanup crew, who were all Colombians and needed a place to stay.
4. Sharon Fantozzi, an aggressive telephone company security agent whom he dated occasionally, telling him she was horny and
asking him to call.
Powers pressed the ERASE button.
As with all Secret Service agents, his career, though unique and challenging in its own way, had not prepared him for any other occupation. Unlike others in law enforcement work who easily fit into the corporate security field upon retirement, leaving the White House was, by any and all standards, an unequivocal step down. At forty-four years old, he was now a has-been working for a never-been, Casimir Novatny-a President's man ending up as a piss monitor at Highland Oil and Gas.
In bed, he told himself he would just have to accept it. But he couldn't sleep.
The next morning, Powers showed up a few minutes late for the Highland Oil and Gas security department daily staff meeting and listened as Casimir Novatny read a security bulletin concerning the theft of six hundred and fourteen dollars in company imprest funds. Then he gave a short lecture on how to examine employee expense vouchers in order to detect cheating. When the meeting was over Powers returned to his desk to avoid chatting with the other members of the security staff.
At about 10 A.M., a paunchy, middle-aged man in horn-rimmed eyeglasses with thick lenses came into Powers's office. He was wearing slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt with a pocket sagging with pens and mechanical pencils.
"Roy Hawkins from the engineering department," he said gruffly. "I'm here for my yearly test."
"I see," Powers said. He stood up and introduced himself. Hawkins accepted his handshake reticently. Recalling the procedure as outlined in the security manual, Powers opened the file drawer and took out a small glass specimen bottle. Avoiding eye contact, he handed the bottle to Hawkins.
"How about a paper cup."
"Excuse me?"
"The last guy that had your job gave out a Dixie cup with the jar," Hawkins said. "In the bathroom, it's easier to piss into the cup, then pour the piss into the glass bottle. Otherwise you have to aim-"
"I'm sorry. I don't have any cups."
Hawkins shrugged. He moved to the door and stopped, as if waiting for Powers to follow. "Well, aren't you coming?"
"Coming where?"
"Coming in the bathroom to watch me piss. That's what the other guy always did. He said the security manual said he had to watch so if a person had been using narcotics they couldn't substitute another person's piss and beat the test."
"That's okay. I trust you," Powers said.
Hawkins gave him a puzzled expression and left the room. There was the sound of his footsteps in the hall and the door of the men's rest room opening and shutting.
Powers moved to the window. In the distance was the Washington monument and, just beyond it, the White House.
He felt like punching his fist through the glass.
Hawkins returned a few minutes later and set his urine-filled bottle on the desk. It was wet, and moisture dampened the ink blotter.
"There she be," Hawkins said, wiping his hands on his trousers. He left the room.
Powers was still standing at the window a few minutes later when Novatny came in the room.
"I just spoke with Roy Hawkins from engineering," Novatny said, ignoring the urine sample on the desk. "He mentioned that you didn't monitor the taking of the sample."
"That's right," Powers said without turning around.
"The security manual calls for monitoring. You have to stand right there when the sample is given. This is to ensure-"
"How long has Hawkins worked here?" Powers asked.
"Over twenty years."
"Do you suspect him of using narcotics?"
Novatny crossed his arms across his chest and smiled sardonically. "Of course not. But that doesn't change the fact that people have to obey rules."
Powers just shook his head.
"Does this mean you are refusing an order?" Novatny said.
Powers walked past Novatny and out the door.
"Where are you going?"
Powers headed down the hallway and descended the stairs. Novatny was behind him.
Powers reached the ground floor lobby and headed toward the front door.
"You're fired!" Novatny shouted.
****
SEVENTEEN
Landry leaned back in his chair and stretched. It had been a busy day at the White House-and any day when the President did something other than remain inside the Oval Office was a good day. Landry preferred activity, any activity, over sitting at the radio console monitoring radio transmissions as agents moved from post to post in the White House rotation. Post thirteen requesting a push. . . . Post nine has a visitor who's lost his pass. . . . He heard the damn radio in his sleep.
At 8 A.M., Landry had led the President from the Oval Office to the White House briefing room for a press conference: thirty-six minutes of the man evading questions about the U.S. loss of influence in the Middle East.
Later, Landry had accompanied the President to the DC Marriott Hotel, where the President was scheduled to give a speech to the Veterans of Foreign Wars convention. Riding in the right front passenger seat of the presidential limousine, Landry bore overall Secret Service responsibility for the trip. But as Agent-in-Charge, his only required duty per the Secret Service Manual of Protective Operations was to stay within arm's reach of the President at all times and ceremonially open the limo door for him upon arrival and departure. Of course, in the event of an assassination attempt, Landry knew he would be required to shield the President with his own body-to "draw fire" and probably get killed.
The speech went well, Landry recognizing it as the same one he always gave to veterans' groups. The working phrase was "I stand with you; I salute you," repeated for emotional effect. The President was a relatively dull speaker, but since he'd served in the Marine Corps like Landry, Landry considered his remarks unfeigned and heartfelt-in contrast to the patriotic speeches of former Secretary of Defense Richard Cheney and former Vice President Dan Quayle, who were Vietnam-era draft dodgers.
After the speech, as the President was walking in a hallway from the convention meeting room toward the exit, Capizzi roughly frisked a hotel bellman who he said had a bulge under his coat. This caused a stir among the White House press pool reporters tagging along: Problem of the Day.
Returning to W-16, Landry was besieged by reporters wanting to know more about the incident. He told them Capizzi's action had been justified in that he saw what he believed might have been a weapon, even though he suspected Capizzi was really showing off for Chief of Staff David Morgan and a couple of other high-ranking White House staffers who were standing nearby. Capizzi was frequently good for causing the Problem of the Day.
But Landry chose to complain neither to Sullivan nor to the Director about Capizzi, realizing if he did Capizzi would probably file a complaint with the Secret Service Inspection Division. This would result in an investigation directed by Chief Inspector Elmer Cogswell, an Alabama hillbilly. Cogswell, who secretly hated blacks, had been passed over for promotion many times and was desperate to gain exposure in the Secret Service pecking order. Using his team of hand-picked incompetents, he would conduct endless interviews and reinterviews and then finally sign off on a lengthy, overwrought inspection report, finding fault not only with Capizzi but with Landry himself and everyone else assigned to the White House Detail-hoping to force Landry's removal as Agent-in-Charge and thus put Cogswell in line for the job.
Therefore, thought Landry, it was better to tolerate Capizzi's showboating.
Landry picked up the receiver and dialed Powers's number. Busy again. He'd been trying to reach Powers for days and had left numerous messages since Powers resigned, but had received no answer. It was totally out of character for Powers not to return his calls.
Leaving the White House that evening on his way home, Landry stopped by the dry cleaners on G Street and picked up some white shirts. On the way out the door he almost bumped into Ed Sneed, a tall army major in uniform-one tailored to fit his V-shaped weightlifter physique.
"Say, Ken, where've you been hiding?"
"On the day shift, my man."
"I'm still working nights. Been doing it for so many years I'm used to it. By the way, I just heard about Powers quitting. I don't believe that crap about finding a better job at Highland. There had to have been something else."
Landry shrugged. "Who knows?"
"At first I thought it had something to do with Operation Fencing Master."
Landry nodded and smiled wryly. The first thing he'd learned in the Secret Service was never to let on when you didn't know what someone was talking about. "Hard to say."
"After all that went down I thought somebody was going to be rolled up for sure."
"You off duty?" Landry said.
Sneed nodded. "Till tomorrow at sixteen hundred hours."
"Feel like a drink?"
"You talked me into it."
At Blackie's, Landry phoned Doris and told her he wouldn't be home for dinner. He spent the rest of the evening in conversation with Sneed. Sneed was drinking bourbon on the rocks, and as the evening wore on he became less and less inhibited.
As they talked and drank, Landry would leave his glass half full as it was replaced by Tiffany the bartender, to avoid becoming inebriated. Conversely, Sneed would jiggle ice and down what was left in his glass whenever Tiffany got around to refilling drinks. By 11 P.M. Sneed was drunk and complaining bitterly about why he hadn't been promoted to lieutenant colonel-though of course not mentioning that he'd passed up more than one opportunity at a regular field command leading to promotion in order to stay in his comfortable White House job.
At midnight Sneed checked his watch, the first time he'd done so all evening.
Fearing that Sneed would leave and he would have wasted the entire evening, Landry decided to wait no longer. "Operation Fencing Master," Landry said. "How did you know about it?"
"Shit fire. There ain't no secrets in this man's army," Sneed said, lifting his glass.
Landry considered a follow-up question but held back. If he said the wrong thing, Sneed would realize he was probing for information.
Sneed finished his drink and set the glass down. "I knew it was something big. They don't roll out every examiner at Fort McClellan and send them to DC just for the fuck of it. "
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