Shall We Tell the President? Read online

  “Good evening, Director.”

  “Good evening, Andrews. You’ve interrupted a very important dinner. I hope you know what you are doing.”

  The Director was cold and abrupt, clearly displeased at being summoned to a meeting by an unknown junior agent.

  Mark went through the whole story from the first meeting with Stames through to his decision to go over everybody’s head. The Director’s face remained impassive throughout the long recital. It was still impassive when Mark had finished. Mark’s only thought was: I’ve done the wrong thing. He should have gone on trying to reach Stames and Calvert. They were probably home by now. He waited, a little sweat appearing on his forehead. Perhaps this was his last day in the FBI. The Director’s first words took him by surprise.

  “You did exactly the right thing, Andrews. I’d have made the same decision in your place. It must have taken guts to bring the whole thing to me.” He looked hard at Mark. “You’re absolutely certain only Stames, Calvert, you, and I know all the details of what happened this evening? No one from the Secret Service, and no one from the Metropolitan Police Department?”

  “That’s correct, sir, just the four of us.”

  “And the three of you already have an appointment with me at 10:30 tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Take this down.”

  Mark took out a pad from his inside coat pocket.

  “You have the Attorney General’s number here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And my number at home is 721-4069. Learn them and then destroy them. Now I’ll tell you exactly what you do next. Go back to the Washington Field Office. Check on Stames and Calvert again. Call the morgue, call the hospitals, call the highway police. If nothing turns up, I’ll see you in my office at 8:30 tomorrow morning, not 10:30. That’s your first job. Second, get me the names of the Homicide officers working on this detail with the Metropolitan Police. Now tell me if I have this right—you told them nothing about the reason you went to see Casefikis?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Good.”

  The Attorney General put her head around the door.

  “Everything under control, Halt?”

  “Fine, thanks, Marian. I don’t think you’ve met Special Agent Andrews of the Washington Field Office.”

  “No. Nice to meet you, Mr. Andrews.”

  “Good evening, ma’am.”

  “Will you be long, Halt?”

  “No, I’ll be back as soon as I’ve finished briefing Andrews.”

  “Anything special?”

  “No, nothing to worry about.”

  The Director had obviously decided nobody was going to be told the story until he got to the bottom of it himself.

  “Where was I?”

  “You told me to return to the Washington Field Office, sir, and check on Stames and Calvert.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then to call the morgue, the hospitals, and the highway police.”

  “Right.”

  “And you told me to check on the Homicide officers, get their names.”

  “Right. Take down the following: check the names of all hospital employees and visitors, as well as any other persons who can be identified as having been in the vicinity of Room 4308 between the time the two occupants were known to be alive and the time you found them dead. Check the names of the two dead men through NCIC and Bureau indexes for any background information we may have. Get fingerprints of all persons on duty and all visitors and all others who can be identified as having been near Room 4308, as well as fingerprints of the two dead men. We will need all these prints both for elimination purposes and possible suspect identification. If you don’t find Stames and Calvert, as I said, see me at 8:30 in my office tomorrow morning. If anything else arises tonight, you call me here or at home. Don’t hesitate. If it’s after 11:30, I’ll be home. If you call me on the phone, use a code name—now let me think—Julius—let’s hope it’s not prophetic, and give me your number. Make sure you use a pay phone and I’ll call you back immediately. Don’t bother me before 7:15 in the morning, unless it’s really important. Have you understood all that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Right. I think I’ll get back to dinner.”

  Mark stood up, ready to leave. The Director put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, young man. These things happen from time to time and you made the right decision. You showed a lot of self-possession in a lousy situation. Now get on with the job.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mark was relieved that someone else knew what he was going through; someone else with far bigger shoulders was there to share it.

  On his way back to the FBI office, he picked up the car microphone. “WFO 180 in service. Any word from Mr. Stames?”

  “Nothing yet, WFO 180, but I’ll keep trying.”

  Aspirin was still there when he arrived, unaware that Mark had just been talking with the Director of the FBI. Aspirin had met all four directors at cocktail parties, though none of them would have remembered his name.

  “Emergency over, son?”

  “Yes,” Mark said, lying. “Have we heard from Stames or Calvert?” He tried not to sound anxious.

  “No, must have dropped in somewhere on the way home. Never you worry. The little sheep will find their way back without you to hold their tails.”

  Mark did worry. He went to his office and picked up the phone. Polly had still heard nothing. Just a buzz that continued on Channel One. He called Norma Stames, still no news. Mrs. Stames asked if there might be anything to worry about.

  “Nothing at all.” Another lie. Was he sounding too unconcerned? “We just can’t find out which bar he’s ended up in.”

  She laughed, but she knew Nick never frequented bars.

  Mark tried Calvert; still no reply from the bachelor apartment. He knew in his bones something was wrong. He just didn’t know what. At least the Director was there, and the Director knew everything now. He glanced at his watch: 11:15. Where had the night gone? And where was it going? 11:15. What was he supposed to have done tonight? Hell. He had persuaded a beautiful girl to have dinner with him. Yet again, he picked up the telephone. At least she would be safely at home, where she ought to be.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Elizabeth, it’s Mark Andrews. I’m really sorry about not making it tonight. Something happened that got way out of my control.”

  The tension in his voice was apparent.

  “Don’t worry,” she said lightly. “You warned me you were unreliable.”

  “I hope you’ll let me take a raincheck. Hopefully, in the morning, I can sort things out. I’ll probably see you then.”

  “In the morning?” she said. “If you’re thinking of the hospital, I’m off duty tomorrow.”

  Mark hesitated, thinking quickly of what he could prudently say. “Well, that may be best. I am afraid it’s not good news. Casefikis and the other man in his room were brutally murdered tonight. The Met is following it up, but we have nothing to go on.”

  “Murdered? Both of them? Why? Who? Casefikis wasn’t killed without reason, was he?” The words came out in a torrent. “What’s going on, for heaven’s sake? No, don’t answer that. You wouldn’t tell me the truth in any case.”

  “I wouldn’t waste my time lying to you, Elizabeth. Look, I’ve had it for tonight, and I owe you a big steak for messing up your evening. Can I call you some time soon?”

  “I’d like that. Murder isn’t food for the appetite, though. I hope you catch the men responsible. We see the results of a great deal of violence at Woodrow Wilson, but it isn’t usually inflicted within our walls.”

  “I know. I’m sorry it involves you. Good night, Elizabeth. Sleep well.”

  “And you, Mark. If you can.”

  Mark put the phone down, and immediately the burden of the day’s events returned. What now? There was nothing practicable he could do before 8:30, except keep in touch