Capizzi led him to a reception counter. A hulking, blotchy-faced young man standing behind the counter handed them some forms, and Capizzi filled them out.
When he was finished, a Filipino attendant rose from a desk and examined the completed forms. He asked Capizzi a few questions in broken English and made some notes. Then he stapled the papers together. Coming from behind the counter, he led Powers to a heavy metal door.
"You're making a mistake, Capizzi," Powers said.
Capizzi and the policeman were walking out the door.
The attendant took Powers down a hallway to a small interview room. He sat him down on a bench jutting from the wall and picked up an open handcuff attached to a chain bolted to the floor. He affixed the cuff to the chain joining Powers's leg shackles. Then, without a word, he lumbered out of the room.
A few minutes later, a middle-aged man wearing a white nylon doctor's smock came into the room. His face was thin and he had an extremely sharp nose and graying goatee. He was holding an unlit stubby pipe. Obviously, he was the intake officer.
"I'm Dr. Porkolab," he said in broken English. "I understand you've been having some disturbing thoughts."
"I'm not mentally ill, Doctor."
"Do you know where you are?"
"I've committed scores of people here myself. I was a special agent of the United States Secret Service until three weeks ago--"
"Why do you think you've been brought here?" Porkolab interrupted.
"They said I made a threat against the President, but that's a lie. So help me God, it is a lie."
Porkolab nodded. "I see."
"There is absolutely nothing wrong with me. I am asking you to give me any test to determine I am sane. I shouldn't be here."
Porkolab licked the stem of the pipe. "Why do you think all this is happening to you?"
"I know this will sound illogical and unbelievable, but I have been sent here as part of a political plot. Someone wants to keep me from telling the President what I know."
Porkolab's teeth clacked on the pipe. "What is the valuable information you want to share with the President?"
"I can't tell you because the information is secret and you aren't cleared."
Porkolab shrugged. Powers could tell by his vacant expression that nothing he was saying was having any effect.
"I understand you struck Mr. Capizzi."
"Mr. Capizzi is an asshole and arrested me illegally."
"Do you still feel angry?"
"No," Powers said after a long pause, realizing nothing he could say was going to free him.
"Would you like some medicine to calm you down?"
"No. And if you try to shove pills down my throat like you do the rest of the lunatics in here I'll bite your fingers off. Now I'm asking you, man to man, to believe me and take off this straitjacket."
Pipe jutting, Porkolab met Powers eye to eye as if, by virtue of his training and experience in dealing with the insane, he could predict whether Powers would become violent when unrestrained. Then, with Powers still shackled to the bench, he stood up.
Powers came to his feet, turned, and allowed Porkolab to carefully unfasten the straps on the straitjacket-which was no real risk because, even if Powers was a lunatic and became violent, he was still shackled to the bench and all Porkolab had to do was step back out of arm's reach and stand there until he could summon the asylum's goon squad to choke Powers into unconsciousness.
"I'd like to speak with an attorney."
"I will relay your wishes to the Administrator."
"May I make a telephone call?"
"Maybe later."
"I insist on making a call at once."
Porkolab extended a key from a rollback chain attached to his waist and unlocked the door. He sucked his pipe loudly and walked out the door.
"Where are you going?" Powers shouted. "I want out of here!"
Powers spent the remaining hours of darkness in his bare-floored cell, sleeping intermittently, pacing, and sitting on the edge of the bunk considering the possibilities of escape. By morning, his options seemed clear. He could feign illness and try to overpower a guard, but even if it worked, his chances of making his way out of the institution were nil. Besides, he might end up killing the guard and, after all, the guard--or Porkolab, for that matter-was just doing his job. On the other hand, he had to warn the President ... and what if Susan left the room looking for him and was spotted by surveillants?
He decided to try to escape.
Powers started at the sound of a key entering the door lock. He came to his feet, his fingers tingling with anticipation, telling himself this was as good a time as any. He would tell whoever it was he was sick. At the infirmary, which he knew was closer to the building's only exit, he would make his move.
It was Porkolab. "There is an attorney here to speak with you."
Porkolab led him out of the cell and down a long hallway toward the reception area. He stopped, unlocked a door, and held it open. Powers entered a room containing a sofa and chair. Porkolab told him to take a seat on the sofa. He complied.
Porkolab moved to a door on the facing wall and unlocked it.
Susan walked in, wearing a stern expression that told him not to say a word. "I'd like to interview Mr. Powers in private, if I may."
"I should stay in the room while you conduct your interview. This is a rule," Porkolab said.
"I understand," she said curtly.
"I'm Susan Fisher," she said, offering her hand to Powers.
Powers shook hands and felt slightly weak at the knees.
"Please sit down," she said. "We can't really speak freely with this doctor here, but perhaps we can figure out the best way to have you released."
"Can you get me out of here?" he said, searching her eyes for signals.
"I'm afraid we can't do that, but we can notify your relatives if you so desire."
"I'd appreciate that."
Her thumb undid the fastener on her purse. She reached in and took out a pen and notebook. "May I have the name of the person you want notified?"
"Mr. Mattix. Mr. Otto Mattix," he said.
She swallowed. "Yes," she said. "And the address?"
"In DC. Four-two-three Flee Street."
"Is there any message I should give him?"
"Ask him for transportation when I'm released."
"My law firm can provide for that," she said, glancing down at her purse. She got to her feet. "That should be about it," she said. As if to replace the pen and pad, she opened the purse with one hand and allowed him to see the butt of the automatic inside.
Porkolab moved to the door and inserted his key in the lock. Catlike, Powers grabbed the gun and swung toward Porkolab. "Keep your mouth shut and I won't have to kill you," he said, touching the revolver to the back of Porkolab's head. "You're walking us out of here."
"You will never get out. The others will see."
"Then this nuthouse will be looking for a new shrink."
"Please don't kill me."
"Where's the car?" Powers said.
"In the parking lot beyond the front gate," Susan said.
"Lead us there," Powers said to Porkolab.
Porkolab opened the door carefully. There was no one in sight. He stepped out of the room. As he moved down the hallway, Powers was next to him with his hand holding the gun inside his jacket pocket. Susan feigned friendly chatter with him as they passed two nurses walking in their direction. Porkolab, his voice thick, greeted them and they kept walking.
At the end of the hallway they stopped by a glass window. A middle-aged man was seated behind the window in a small office. Porkolab motioned to him. The man leaned close to a speaking port in the glass and said something which, though unintelligible, Powers construed as being an objection to opening the door because Powers was an inmate.
"He's being released on a writ," Porkolab said.
"He's a White House case."
"Are you disputing my authority?" Porkolab sai
d.
The man picked up the phone receiver and dialed a number. "I have to get authorization," the man said sheepishly.
"Please don't hurt me," Porkolab whispered. "It's not my fault if he won't open the door."
Powers studied the edge of the glass window separating him from the man on the phone. It wasn't bulletproof.
Powers pulled the gun from his pocket and shoved the barrel through the glass. Eyes wide with fear, the guard raised his hands. Using his free hand, Powers reached inside and pulled the guard's gun from its holster.
"Open the gate!" Powers shouted.
The guard stood frozen.
Porkolab reached through the broken window and hit the switch. The tall metal gate, creaking loudly, began to recede.
Powers grabbed Susan by the arm and ran with her through the reception area and out the front door.
There was a blue Volkswagen in the lot. They jumped in and Powers was thrust back in the seat as Susan accelerated out of the parking lot and into the street.
"How did you find me?" Powers asked.
"I went to the Ramada and the desk clerk told me agents had been there to search your room. Then I just made some calls."
"Every agent and every cop in DC will be looking for us."
"What are we going to do?" she said.
"Talk to the President."
****
TWENTY-EIGHT
At the Decatur Hotel, Powers and Susan hurried across the lobby to the elevator to avoid contact with the desk clerk.
In their room, Powers opened the dresser drawer and took out a pencil and some hotel stationery. He asked Susan to write a one-page statement detailing her being sent to impersonate Marilyn Kasindorf.
"What are you going to do with this?"
"I'm going to need something to show the President."
Susan gave him a puzzled look but then began to write.
Sitting down on the bed with writing materials, Powers began sketching: first, a box representing Camp David; then, inside the box, a circle for the Camp David presidential residence itself. Outside and above the box he drew two curving lines representing the Cavetown River, an outlet of Maryland's Blue Ridge Lake touching the easternmost edge of the Camp David grounds: the river the President fished whenever he was in residence there.
Having participated in the last security inspection, Powers knew Camp David was as secure as any military facility in the world. Getting inside, into the President's quarters, would be a risky, perhaps suicidal task. He also knew it was his only chance to get to speak to the President in person. Sneaking into the White House was, for all intents and purposes, an impossibility. At least at Camp David he'd have a chance. The river would allow him an opportunity to get past the two security fences, and if he could make it to the inner perimeter he believed his insider's knowledge of the compound's maze of alarm systems and guard posts would give him a chance to get into the President's quarters.
Like any Secret Service agent who'd spent time at the Camp, Powers knew its entire layout by heart. From the hundreds of working shifts he'd spent standing outside and inside the presidential quarters there, he knew he could find his way around the place blindfolded.
The first line of security at Camp David was made up of a contingent of U.S. Marines, armed with M-16 rifles, posted at the outside perimeter. As with all other places the U.S. President lived, the inside or "close in" security was left to Secret Service agents of the White House Detail. Armed with submachine guns, they would be stationed both inside and outside the front and rear doors of the President's house.
Powers considered trying to trick some young Marine posted at the perimeter into believing he was, for instance, an agent coming on duty from DC. He might be able to convince him he'd inadvertently left his identification pin inside the camp during the last shift of duty. But by now he assumed Capizzi must have notified everyone that Powers was wanted and had probably even distributed his photograph to every post.
Recalling his knowledge of the construction blueprints of the ranch-style house where the President stayed at the Camp, Powers drew a heavy line from a point about two hundred yards along the riverside, representing the path of a storm drain leading from the northern edge of the conference facility construction site to the edge of the river.
As explained to Powers by members of the navy construction team, the drain had been installed after a heavy rain had flooded the northern edge of the compound. The mouth of the drain had been installed at a low point on the property at the rear of a storage shed-about fifty yards from the presidential quarters.
The Secret Service, using its theory of studying security systems from the point of view of an intruder, had considered the drain a security problem and neutralized it by having a Secret Service portable motion detection alarm installed inside the drain.
"What are you sketching?" Susan asked.
"Camp David."
"What are you going to do?"
"I have to get in there to tell the President about all this."
Susan sat down next to him. "It's too dangerous," she said, her voice cracking.
"I think I can get inside."
"You'll never make it," she cried.
"There's no other way."
"You can talk to someone else in the administration, the Attorney General or the Secretary of State-"
"Someone has put my name on the threat list. No one in the administration will talk to me. Look, Ken Landry is dead and someone is trying to destroy the President. The only way to get to the bottom of all this is to tell him."
"You were a Secret Service agent. You, better than anyone, should realize you can't get through presidential security. They'll kill you," she said angrily.
"I wrote the last security report for Camp David," Powers said quietly. "I know I can get inside."
Susan sat next to him on the bed. She put her head on his shoulder.
"I have to do it," Powers said. With his rough sketch of the area completed to refresh his memory, he had decided how he'd attempt to breach the security and gain entry. He made a list of equipment he would need for the operation. It read as follows:
1. SCUBA gear
2. BB gun
3. Bolt cutters
4. Screwdriver
5. Wire cutters
After some telephone calls to determine where to purchase
SCUBA gear, he and Susan spent the day shopping at sporting goods and hardware stores. Powers used his credit card to purchase the needed gear.
With the equipment he'd purchased in the trunk of his car, he drove to Fort McNair, a nearby DC army post. As Susan waited in the car, Powers entered the post recreation office carrying the SCUBA gear and informed the sergeant on duty that the post commander had made arrangements for him to test some SCUBA equipment in the post's swimming pool. At first, the sergeant questioned him, but when Powers bluffed and suggested he call the post commander, the sergeant considered it too much trouble and relented, as Powers had hoped.
In the dressing room, Powers changed into the black wet suit he'd purchased and carried the equipment into the pool area. He strapped the air tank onto the back plate and hooked up the valve, console, and harness straps.
With the backpack in place, he stepped into the shallow end of the pool and moved slowly toward the deep water. Having tested the regulator mouthpiece and the purge valve, he pulled the facemask into place and submerged. Underwater, he tightened his mask and adjusted his weight belt. Satisfied that the equipment was in working order, he climbed out of the pool and doffed the gear. He was ready.
Darkness fell as Powers drove north on Highway 279 out of DC. He was consumed by his thoughts-his plan. Neither he nor Susan had spoken much since leaving the hotel. Because of heavy traffic, it took nearly two hours to reach the Catoctin Mountains. By the time they arrived, darkness had fallen. On the wooded Highway 15 near Thurmont, Maryland, Powers pointed out Camp David as they cruised past. A security light illuminated two fully armed uniforme
d Marines standing at the front gate. The interior as well as an exterior security fence was well lighted, each lined on top with a curl of razor-sharp concertina wire.
Camp David was a U.S. Navy installation complete with military barracks used by a permanently assigned contingent of U.S. Marines and sailors and the White House Detail Secret Service agents when the President was in residence.
At Camp David, the President stayed in a rambling California ranch-style house in the middle of the compound. Out of sight of the military barracks, the building was situated toward the rear of the compound near guest cottages used for foreign leaders and other presidential guests. The guard booths and posts in and around the camp were situated so that if an intruder was able to shoot his way past any one sentinel, he would, as if entering a flytrap, be in the fire zone of two more.
A mile or so down the road, Powers swerved off the highway and followed a dirt road along the bank of the winding Cavetown River into the forest.
Though he'd been lucky enough to survive Vietnam and two presidential assassination attempts while in the Secret Service, he knew breaking into Camp David would be the most dangerous thing he'd ever done. The White House Detail agents posted in and around the Palace, as the President's house was called, believing he was a threat to the President, would shoot him on sight.
At a spot where the dirt road jogged right, Powers pulled over. He made a U-turn and pulled the car behind some trees at the edge of the river to park. When he turned off the headlights they were immersed in blackness. The only sound was the whiz-hum of cars careening past on the highway.
Powers opened his door and climbed out of the car. He opened the rear door and pulled the tank and the other SCUBA gear from the back seat. Susan got out and came to his side.
"Return to the Decatur," he said. "You should still be safe there. If something happens to me, get in touch with David Broder at the Washington Post. Tell him everything. Once you're on record with him you'll be safe. No matter what is going on in the White House, no one will risk coming under the spotlight by harming you. Tell Broder everything."
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