Shall We Tell the President? Read online

  Matson masturbated. He always did when he was nervous and had time to kill.

  Florentyna Kane did not wake until 7:35. She rolled over, trying to recall the dream she had just had, but none of it would come back to her, so she let her mind wander. Today, she would be going to the Capitol to plead her case for the Gun Control bill before a special session of the Senate and then on to have lunch with all the key supporters and opponents of the bill. Since the bill had been approved in committee, as she had been confident it would be, she had concentrated on her strategy for the final day of floor battle; at least the odds now seemed to be with her. She smiled at Edward, although he had his back to her. It had been a busy session, and she was looking forward to going to Camp David and spending more time with her family. Better get moving, more than half of America is already up, she thought, and I am still lying in bed … Still, that waking half of America had not had to dine the previous evening with the four-hundred-pound King of Tonga, who wasn’t going to leave the White House until he was virtually thrown out. The President wasn’t absolutely certain she could pinpoint Tonga on the map. The Pacific was after all a large ocean. She had left her Secretary of State, Abe Chayes, to do the talking; he at least knew exactly where Tonga was.

  She stopped thinking about the overweight king and put her feet on the floor—or to be more exact, on the Presidential Seal. The damned thing was on everything except the toilet paper. She knew that when she appeared for breakfast in the dining-room across the hall, she would find the third edition of the New York Times, the third edition of the Washington Post, the first editions of the Los Angeles Times and the Boston Globe, all ready for her to read, with the pieces referring to her marked in red, plus a prepared digest of yesterday’s news. How did they get it all completed before she was even dressed? Florentyna went to the bathroom and turned on the shower; the water pressure was just right. She began to consider what she could say finally to convince the waverers in the Senate that the Gun Control bill must become law. Her train of thought was interrupted by her efforts to reach the middle of her back with the soap. Presidents still do that for themselves, she thought.

  Mark was due to be with the Director in twenty minutes. He checked his mail—just an envelope from American Express, which he left on the kitchen table unopened.

  A yawning O’Malley was sitting in the Ford sedan a hundred yards away. He was relieved to be able to report that Mark had left the apartment building and was talking to the black garage attendant. Neither O’Malley nor Thompson had admitted to anybody that they had lost Mark for several hours the previous evening.

  Mark walked around the side of the building and disappeared from the view of the man in the blue Ford. It didn’t worry him. O’Malley had checked the location of the Mercedes an hour earlier; there was only one way out.

  Mark noticed a red Fiat as he came around the corner of the building. Looks like Elizabeth’s, he thought to himself, except for the damage to a bumper. He stared at it again and was taken by surprise to see Elizabeth sitting in it. He opened the door. If he were to be Ragani and she were Mata Hari, he was now past caring. He climbed in beside her. Neither of them spoke until they both spoke at once and laughed nervously. She tried again. Mark sat in silence.

  “I’ve come to say I’m sorry about being so touchy last night. I should have at least given you a chance to explain. I really don’t want you to sleep with any other senator’s daughter,” she said, trying to force a smile.

  “I’m the one who should be sorry, Liz. Trust me, as they say in Hollywood. Whatever happens, let’s meet this evening and then I’ll try to explain everything. Don’t ask me anything before then and promise that whatever happens you will see me tonight. If after that you never want to see me again I promise I’ll leave quietly.”

  Elizabeth nodded her agreement. “But not as abruptly as you left once before, I hope.”

  Mark put his arm around her and kissed her quickly. “No more nasty cracks about that night. I’ve spent every night since looking forward to a second chance.”

  They both laughed. He started to get out.

  “Why don’t I drive you to work, Mark? It’s on my way to the hospital and we won’t have to bother with two cars this evening.”

  Mark hesitated. “Why not?”

  As she drove around the corner, Simon waved them down. “Apartment Seven’s car won’t be back until late this morning, Mark. I’ll have to park the Mercedes on the street for now but don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on it.” Simon looked at Elizabeth and grinned. “You won’t be needing my sister after all, man.”

  Elizabeth pulled out and joined the traffic on 6th Street. A hundred yards away, O’Malley was chewing gum.

  “Where shall we have dinner tonight?”

  “Let’s go back to that French restaurant and try the whole evening again. This time we’ll complete the final act of the play.”

  I hope it begins, “This was the noblest Roman of them all. All the conspirators, save only he …” Mark thought.

  “This time it’s my treat,” said Elizabeth.

  Mark accepted, remembering his unopened bill from American Express. The lights turned red at the corner of G Street. They stopped and waited. Mark started scratching his leg again, it really felt quite painful.

  The cab was still circling the Capitol but Halt was coming to the end of his briefing for H. Stuart Knight.

  “We believe that the attempt will be made when the President gets out of her car at the Capitol. We’ll take care of the Capitol itself if you can manage to get her into the building unharmed. I’ll have my men cover the buildings and roofs of buildings and every elevated vantage point from which it would be possible to shoot.”

  “It would make our job a lot easier if the President didn’t insist on walking up the steps. Ever since Carter took his little stroll up Pennsylvania Avenue in ’77 …” His voice trailed off in exasperation. “By the way, Halt, why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”

  “There’s a strange quirk to it, Stuart. I still can’t give you all the details, but don’t worry, they’re not relevant to the task of protecting the President.”

  “Okay. I’ll buy that. But are you sure my men can’t help at your end?”

  “No, I’m happy as long as I know you’re keeping a close watch on the President. It will give me the freedom I need to catch the bastards red-handed. They mustn’t be allowed to get suspicious. I want to catch the killer while he still has the weapon in his hand.”

  “Shall I tell the President?” asked Knight.

  “No, just inform her that it’s a new security measure you are putting into practice from time to time.”

  “She’s had so many of those she’s bound to believe it,” said Knight.

  “Stick to the same route and timetable and I’ll leave the finer points to you, Stuart. And I don’t want any leaks. I’ll see you after the President’s lunch. We can bring each other up-to-date then. By the way, what’s today’s code name for the President?”

  “Julius.”

  “Good God, I don’t believe it.”

  “You are telling me everything I need to know, aren’t you, Halt?”

  “No, of course I’m not, Stuart. You know me, Machiavelli’s younger brother.”

  The Director tapped Elliott on the shoulder and the cab slipped back into the seventh place in line. The two passengers got out and walked in opposite directions, Knight to catch the Metro to the White House, the Director a cab to the Bureau. Neither looked back.

  Lucky Stuart Knight, thought the Director, he’s gone through the last seven days without the information I have. Now the meeting was over, the Director’s confidence in his own stratagem was renewed, and he was resolved that only he and Andrews would ever know the full story—unless they had conclusive proof on which to secure the Senator’s conviction. He had to catch the conspirators alive, get them to testify against the Senator. The Director checked his watch with the clock on the Old Post Office Tower