But he didn’t have an answer.
The door to the suite opened and Bill and Bianca stepped past the agent on duty and came back in.
“Ah, the little dears,” said Bianca.
“Already tucked in?” Phil asked.
“Fast asleep,” said Bill, stifling a big yawn, “which is what I’m gonna be in about twenty minutes.”
Tim came back into the room.
“Here are the peanut bars. I’ll just leave them in your bedroom.”
Tim crossed and went into Bill’s bedroom as Phil hauled himself out of his chair. He went over to Bill and gave him a big bear hug.
“You done good, kid,” he said with as fatherly laugh.
“Good night, Phil,” said Bill.
Phil gave Bianca a peck on the cheek.
“And to the Second Lady of the land, I wish a hearty good night.”
“Thanks, Phil. You’ve been wonderful.”
Phil headed for the door.
Bill kissed Bianca as Tim crossed the sitting room heading for his bedroom.
“Good night, everybody,” he said pleasantly.
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Tim left the room and closed his door behind him.
Bianca patted Bill on the cheek and went out after Phil, who’d left the door open. Bill watched as the agent closed the door, and heard Bianca out in the hallway.
“Phil! Give me a minute, will you?” as she moved down the hall to catch up with him.
Before the agent closed the door, Dumaine motioned to him to come in.
“Agent Rodriguez?”
“Yes, sir?”
“See that I’m not disturbed tonight, okay?”
“No problem, sir.”
“I’m beat.”
“Yes, sir,” the Agent Rodriguez said, closing the door.
Dumaine wondered just how discreet these agents were—in the long haul. How much did they know? Really know? Dumaine waited a minute or so and then went over and tapped on Tim’s door.
“Yes?”
Dumaine opened the door. Tim was standing there in his boxer shorts. The only light on in the room was a light on a table in the far corner. The shadows moved seductively across Tim’s muscled body as he moved toward the door.
“Hi,” was all Dumaine could say.
“Something I can help you with, sir?” Tim asked as he moved toward the open door, feeling his crotch and smiling.
He met Dumaine at the doorway and they hugged, then kissed.
A loud sigh escaped from Bill’s lungs. It felt to him like he’d been holding it in all day.
“Is there always going to be a door between us, Tim?’
“For the time being, there’s got to be,” said the Body Man. “Neither one of us planned on this happening.”
“Yeah, but we have to deal with it.”
“I just thank God you’re not the President. How much worse it would be.”
“It’s the same fish bowl, only a little smaller.”
“Phil brought up a few things.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Come in here and tell me about it. I could use a rub-down.”
“Let me bring this,” said Tim, grabbing up a big terry cloth robe.
Dumaine gave him a look.
“I don’t want you in that. I want you out of that,” said Dumaine.
Tim nodded toward the door.
“In case some emergency forces Agent Rodriguez to jump in the fish bowl, I’m gonna have my pecker in my pants.”
Dumaine smiled.
“Or least under that robe.”
* * *
CHAPTER 41
While all America slept, while the Republicans slept off the nightmare of defeat at the same time the Democrats luxuriated in a gentle, satisfying repose, it was daytime on the other side of the world, and the gears of politics and life cranked on.
Colonel Reza Shahzad, chief of the VASAK Unit of MISIRI, stepped out of an IKCO Samand sedan that had just stopped in front of VASAK headquarters in Emami Street. Two officers met him.
They fell in behind him and the three of them moved swiftly past security personnel, all of whom recognized Colonel Shahzad and his aides, and went into the lobby.
It would be hard not to recognize Reza Shahzad in any crowd, with his Icelandic mother’s features so prominent in him, his muscular frame, his handsome good looks.
The little group moved rapidly through the lobby to the other side of the vast room, where they took some stairs down to the basement level below. They marched halfway down a narrow hallway and entered a conference room decked out with a lot of electronic surveillance equipment and other gear.
“Well,” said Shahzad as he dropped nosily into a chair around a small conference table and looked at the four men already waiting for him. While Shahzad addressed not only the four men already in the room and the two that had followed him, he looked specifically at Seyed Gilani, his old schoolmate. “It looks like we have our work cut out for us, doesn’t it, Seyed?” he said with a disarming smile.
Gilani sighed, then smiled and broke the momentary silence.
“You were right. We should have taken the man out earlier in the process.”
“You say, ‘earlier in the process’? Well, yes, we should have taken the vermin out ‘earlier in the process,’ but of course it’s too late for that now.” With an edge, he added, “Now, it is much ‘later’ in the process.”
“I do not know why you are so angry, Reza Shahzad,” said Major Saleem Malek. “It still seems like a very contained situation.”
“I agree,” said Kamran Hasan, a captain. “This man is to be the Vice President, not the President.”
“He will not determine policy,” said Seyed Gilani.
“No,” Shahzad slammed his fist on the table, causing a plastic bottle of Evian water to topple to the floor and some papers to jump. “But he will influence policy.”
Seyed Gilani shrugged. “Every senator on the Foreign Relations Committee has influence, Reza.”
“I know,” Shahzad acknowledged, somewhat reluctantly.
“What did General Akbary say when you met with him?” asked Saleem Malek.
“He agreed with all of you—” Shahzad said, gesturing to the whole room. “He said it was good we did not go in and take this Dumaine out. That it would have been difficult to cover our tracks. If he thought we could get away with it without being discovered, he would have approved a plan to attack. But, of course, I disagree. I think we could have covered our tracks, taken him out and have done with our ‘little problem.’”
“And now our ‘little problem’ is going to be Vice President of the United States,” said Seyed Gilani. “At least Dumaine did not win the nomination and then become President.”
“Yes, thank Allah for that,” said Malek.
“So what did General Akbary tell you we should do about Dumaine?”
Shahzad shrugged.
“Continue to ‘monitor’ the situation. The VASAK Unit is responsible for the President, the Vice President, the Speaker of the House and the Secretary of State.”
“Well, we have been doing that,” said Malek as he shuffled some papers on the table in front of him. “Our operatives in Massachusetts, led by section chief Mahmoud Yazdi, tell us the Secret Service has already begun the process of constructing a tough security system around Dumaine’s estate they call Hawk’s Landing in Wellfleet. This process will go on for some time as the Secret Service has to plan ahead for at least four years.”
“There will be no getting in there when they have finished, you can be sure of that,” said Shahzad.
“And this just came in,” said Gilani. “Intel reports the Dumaine family, along with some of Dumaine’s senior advisors, are taking a little vacation—a one-week holiday—to wind down after the travails of the campaign.”
“Oh?” said Shahzad, perking up. “Where?”
“St. Barts, in the Car
ibbean.”
“It’s nice there,” mused Shahzad. “The food. The women.”
“You’ve been there, then?”
“Yes, the women,” Shahzad remembered with a smile. “About ten years ago, I was sent on some business for the Ministry.”
“It sounds very exotic, this French paradise,” said Gilani.
“It is, Seyed. Very exotic.” Silence filled the room. “Did you send this information to the General’s office?”
“Yes, it went out about the time you were meeting with him.”
“Hmm,” said Shahzad. “The security is very shabby there, even with the Secret Service unit that will go with Dumaine. It would be a perfect place to take out the son of a bitch. Even General Akbary is clear-eyed enough to see that.”
Seyed Gilani shook his head.
“No,” he said quietly. “Leave it alone, Reza. Do not fight with General Akbary or you’ll be looking at a demotion for insubordination; or worse, a firing squad for treason.”
“I know, I know. We watch him. Watch him, watch him, watch him!” said Shahzad, getting to his feet and anxiously pacing the room. “I want to kill this man with my bare hands, but all I can do is watch him!”
Just then the phone rang and Kamran Hasan picked it up.
“Yes?” He listened for a moment, then looked up at Shahzad. “I see.”
“What?” said Shahzad.
“General Akbary wants you to report to him immediately,” he said, hanging up.
“I was just there.”
“After you left, they reviewed the information we sent over about Dumaine traveling to St. Barts.”
“Ahh,” said Shahzad, his eyebrows rising. “Maybe now we can stop watching—and act! I will go now.”
Hasan held up a hand.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“He is not at his office. He is with the Supreme Leader. You are to meet him there.”
* * *
CHAPTER 42
Phil Thuris was in his campaign office in Washington packing up to move into his new office at Transition Headquarters in K Street. There he would play a prominent role sorting out assignments in the new Administration, working closely with Mowbray campaign manager Henry Westmoreland.
The intercom buzzed.
“Yeah,” he answered it hurriedly.
“It’s Mrs. Dumaine, Mr. Thuris.”
“Yes, I’ve been expecting her.”
A secretary opened the door for Bianca and she came in. The door closed quickly behind her. She came over to Phil and kissed him.
“Things are moving fast,” she said, the anxiety clearly evident in the strain in her voice.
“Fast, yes.”
“What are we going to do?”
He looked at her sharply. He knew she meant “about Tim” without her having to say it.
“I’ve been working on it, Bianca, and I know what a hurry you’re in, but we have to do this right, we have to take our time.”
“That’s what I’m concerned about. Time. Do we have time?”
“Plenty of it. The Secret Service is still setting up their security plans. It’ll take them half the Transition period to do the job. They’re up in Massachusetts surveying Hawk’s Landing, preparing their security recommendations for Washington, that kind of crap. And they won’t be watching Tim Harcourt. He’s insignificant.”
“But he’s always with Bill,” said Bianca. “The Secret Service is watching Bill. Tim Harcourt is right there. How do we get him away from Bill?”
“We have between now and the Inaugural,” said Phil, “the way I figure it.”
“It can’t wait that long. That’s cutting it too close. Who do you know who can handle things like this?”
“I know people. I know just the right people.”
“You do? You know people like that?”
He allowed himself a little sneer.
“I’m in politics—of course I know people like that.”
“The only question left is—”
He cut her off.
“When.” He paused slightly. “And how.”
* * *
CHAPTER 43
When Colonel Shahzad was ushered into the Supreme Leader’s official reception room, he thought the aide was a bit more obsequious than usual. When the high double wooden doors with gilt edges closed behind him, he saw why: the Supreme Leader was there with his entire inner circle of advisors, including General Ghorbanali Akbary, the dreaded chief of MISIRI, and Shahzad’s direct superior.
The sight of all these powerful men threw a change of attitude into Shahzad as quickly as it had the aide in the antechamber. People of Shahzad’s status didn’t come into contact with the Supreme Leader very often. Usually, he only saw the Supreme Leader in large gatherings when speeches were made.
Shahzad bowed from the neck.
“Come forward,” said the Supreme Leader, scratching his bushy salt-and-pepper beard.
The Supreme Leader regarded him with a serious expression. A hard expression. This was not a man given to an easy manner. How many had died at his hand to further the cause of the Revolution? How many had Shahzad himself dispatched?
Servants were pouring tea.
“Colonel Shahzad,” said the Supreme Leader, nodding for Shahzad to sit down. Shahzad folded his knees under him as he lowered himself gracefully to a thick red and purple Persian carpet that was a century old and probably priceless. Everyone else in the room was ranged around the carpet, with only the Supreme Leader at ease in a chair.
“Tea?” asked the Supreme Leader.
“If you please.”
“After you left,” began General Akbary, “we received this report from VASAK relaying the information that Senator Dumaine will be going to St. Barts for a one-week holiday.”
Shahzad nodded.
“I just discovered it myself when I returned to my unit,” he said, taking the hot tea from the servant.
“We were here meeting with the Supreme Leader on another matter,” said the General, “and we believe the stars may have aligned to such a degree that you can eliminate this termite who otherwise would be Vice President.”
The Supreme Leader cleared his throat. The others stopped talking and turned their heads to face him. Shahzad, who was about to take his first sip of tea, thought better of it and replaced the cup in the saucer, focusing on the Supreme Leader.
“You have been vociferous in your recommendations that this Dumaine be removed, Colonel Shahzad,” said the Supreme Leader. He noted the surprise in Shahzad’s eyes. The Supreme Leader smiled. “I do read the reports that come to me, Colonel. It’s not all about Allah, not day and night.” He paused, tilting his head, choosing his words. “Although it is all about Allah, in the end.”
Shahzad hazarded a smile in return.
“I know now I was wrong when we did not permit your unit to move against this evil man when he was still campaigning for the nomination. He was extremely vulnerable then. And, at the time, I thought he would not get close to achieving the nomination. Had he won it, he would be the President-elect and not Mowbray. I was wrong about the nomination process in America, but I will not be wrong again.” He paused. No one spoke. “I am concerned that Dumaine will still have Mowbray’s ear when they determine policy. My question is this: can you assassinate Dumaine in the Caribbean and make it look like someone else did it: al-Qaeda, or the North Koreans—anybody but us?”
“Yes, Supreme Leader, we can do that.”
“Can you guarantee it?”
“I can guarantee it—with my life!”
The Supreme Leader smiled again, that cryptic smile of an old man holding something back.
“I do not want you to die in this operation, Colonel Shahzad.”
“Thank you, Supreme Leader.”
“No, it’s not that. If they find your dead body, they will know who did it.”
A sobering pause settled over the room.
General Akbary interrupted.
“Very good, General,” said Shahzad, rising and bowing from the neck to the Supreme Leader. “We will move immediately and be in place on St. Barts before the Secret Service gets there with the target.”
* * *
CHAPTER 44
Besides moving into new quarters in Washington, the Dumaine team also had to make room for additional staff at Hawk’s Landing, their estate on Mill Hill Island south of Wellfleet.
The Dumaines had two guest lodges—each with several bedrooms—out behind the main house, and these lodges had long ago during the campaign been converted into offices for senior staff when the candidate needed them close at hand on visits home.
The Running Mate (A Jack Houston St. Clair Thriller) Page 16
