Shall We Tell the President? Read online

  “If anybody calls me, Mrs. McGregor, put them through to Special Agent Elliott in my office. He will know where to contact me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A few moments later, the Director and Mark were on the street walking up Pennsylvania Avenue towards the Capitol. Mark put on his dark glasses and pulled his collar up. They passed several agents on the way. None of them acknowledged the Director. On the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and 9th Street, they passed the Chairman, who was lighting a cigarette and checking his watch: 9:30. He moved to the edge of the sidewalk, leaving a pile of cigarette butts behind him. The Director glanced at the cigarette butts: litter bug, ought to be fined a hundred dollars. They hurried on.

  “Come in, Tony. Come in, Tony.”

  “Tony, boss. The Buick’s ready. I’ve just heard it announced on the car radio that pretty boy Andrews bought it.”

  The Chairman smiled.

  “Come in, Xan.”

  “Ready, await your signal.”

  “Come in, Matson.”

  “Everything’s set, boss. There’s a hell of a lot of agents around.”

  “Don’t sweat, there’s always a lot of Secret Service men around when the President is traveling. Don’t call again unless there’s a real problem. All three keep your lines open. When I next call, I will only activate the vibrators on the side of your watches. Then you have three minutes forty-five seconds, because Kane will be passing me. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  The Chairman broke the circuit and lit another cigarette: 9:40.

  The Director spotted Matthew Rogers in a special squad car and went quickly over to him. “Everything under control, Matt?”

  “Yes, sir. If anybody tries anything, no one will be able to move for half a mile.”

  “Good; what time do you have?”

  “Nine-forty-five.”

  “Right, you control it from here. I’m going to the Capitol.”

  Halt and Mark left the Assistant Director and walked on.

  “Elliott calling the Director.”

  “Come in, Elliott.”

  “They have spotted Matson at the junction of Maryland Avenue and 1st Street, other side of the Garfield statue, southwest corner of the Capitol grounds, near the west front renovation site.”

  “Good. Observe and post fifty men around the area, don’t move in yet, brief Mr. Rogers and tell him to keep his men out of Matson’s field of vision.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What the hell is he doing on that side of the Capitol?” said Mark softly. “You couldn’t shoot anyone on the Capitol steps from the northwest side unless you were in a chopper.”

  “I agree, it beats me,” said the Director.

  They reached the police cordon surrounding the Capitol. The Director showed his credentials to get himself and Andrews through. The young Capitol policeman double-checked them; he couldn’t believe it; he was looking at the real live object. Yes, it was the Director of the FBI. H.A.L. Tyson himself.

  “Sorry, sir. Please come through.”

  “Elliott to the Director.”

  “Yes, Elliott?”

  “Head of the Secret Service for you, sir.”

  “Stuart.”

  “The advance car is leaving the front gate now. Julius will leave in five minutes.”

  “Thank you, Stuart. Keep your end up and surprise me.”

  “Don’t worry, Halt. We will.”

  Five minutes later, the Presidential car left the South Entrance and turned left onto E Street. The advance car passed the Chairman on the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and 9th. He smiled, lit another cigarette and waited. Five minutes later, a large Lincoln, flags flying on both front fenders, the Presidential Seal on the doors, passed by the Chairman. Through the misty gray windows, he could see three figures in the back. A limousine known as the “gun car” and occupied by Secret Service agents and the President’s personal physician, followed the President’s car. The Chairman pressed a button on his watch. The vibrator began to tickle his wrist. After ten seconds, he stopped it, walked one block north and hailed a taxi.

  “National Airport,” he said to the cab driver, fingering the ticket in his inside pocket.

  The vibrator on Matson’s watch was touching his skin. After ten seconds, it stopped. Matson walked to the side of the construction site, bent down and tied his shoelace.

  Xan started to take off the tape. He was glad to be moving; he had been bent double all night. First he screwed the barrel into the sight finder.

  “Assistant Director to Director. Matson is approaching the construction site. Now he has stopped to tie his shoe. No one on the construction site but I’m asking a helicopter to check it out. There’s a huge crane in the middle of the site which looks deserted.”

  “Good. Stay put until the last minute. I’ll give you the timing the moment the President’s car arrives. You must catch them red-handed. Alert all agents on the roof of the Capitol.”

  The Director turned to Mark, more relaxed. “I think it’s going to be all right.”

  Mark’s eyes were on the steps of the Capitol. “Have you noticed, sir, both Senator Dexter and Senator Harrison are in the welcoming party for the President?”

  “Yes,” said the Director. “The car is due to arrive in two minutes; we’ll catch the others even if we can’t figure out which Senator it is. We’ll make them talk in due course. Wait a minute—that’s odd.”

  The Director’s finger was running down a couple of closely typed sheets he held in his hand.

  “Yes, that’s what I thought. The President’s detailed schedule shows that Dexter will be there for the special address to Congress but isn’t attending the luncheon with the President. Very strange: I’m sure all the key leaders of the opposition were invited to lunch. Why won’t Dexter be present?”

  “Nothing strange about that, sir. He always has lunch with his daughter on Thursdays. Good God! ‘I always have lunch with my father on Thursdays.’”

  “Yes, Mark, I heard you the first time.”

  “No, sir, ‘I always have lunch with my father on Thursdays.’”

  “Mark, the car will be here in one minute.”

  “It’s Harrison, sir. It’s Harrison. I’m a fool—Thursday, 24 February, in Georgetown. I always thought of it as 24 February, not as Thursday. Dexter was having lunch with Elizabeth. ‘I always have lunch with my father on Thursdays.’ That’s why he was seen in Georgetown that day, must be. They never miss it.”

  “Are you sure? Can you be certain? There’s a hell of a lot riding on it.”

  “It’s Harrison, sir. It can’t be Dexter. I should have realized it on the first day. Christ, I’m stupid.”

  “Right, Mark. Up those steps quickly, watch Harrison’s every move and be prepared to arrest him whatever the consequences.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Rogers.”

  The Assistant Director came in. “Sir?”

  “The car is pulling up. Arrest Matson immediately; check the roof of the Capitol.” The Director stared up into the sky. “Oh my God, it’s not a helicopter, it’s that damn crane. It has to be the crane.”

  Xan nestled the butt of the yellow rifle into his shoulder and watched the President’s car. He had attached a feather to a piece of thread on the end of the gun barrel, a trick he had picked up when training for the Olympics—no wind. The hours of waiting were coming to an end. Senator Harrison was standing there on the Capitol steps. Through the thirty-power Redfield scope he could even see the beads of sweat standing out on the man’s forehead.

  The President’s car drew up on the north side of the Capitol. All was going according to plan. Xan leveled the telescopic sight on the car door and waited for Kane. Two Secret Service men climbed out, scanned the crowd, and waited for the third. Nothing happened. Xan put the sight on the Senator, who looked anxious and bemused. Back at the car, still no Kane. Where the hell was she, what was goi