Death of an Intern (18 page)

A
uniformed officer had just brought Max a small pizza and a large diet drink. The secured FBI line in the small communications room carried activities of the Graysons. Sparrow played tennis. The mole had made contact with Number One.

The Vice President had wrapped up an early round of golf at a country club in Potomac, Maryland, and was having lunch. The FBI had it on good authority Hawk would be going to the Alexandria townhouse. A stakeout was there.

Annika Nielssen was now up in her sparsely furnished third-floor apartment. She wouldn't be having any guests unless Mr. Brown assigned them. A window overlooked Beth's two-story unit across the street. Annika's window glass had been covered with a film to prevent outsiders from seeing in. A video camera was aimed at Beth's front door. She reported that Sparrow and One were nesting.

The Vice President stood saying goodbye to his three playing partners outside the clubhouse's main entrance facing onto the circular driveway and the putting green within the island it created. Everyone on the putting green paused from their flat-stick agony to watch the Vice President, who by training, turned to them with a big smile and waved before getting into his Secret Service SUV.

Once in, and communications established with the chase vehicles, the VP's large black SUV pulled slowly down the long driveway to River Road. In minutes, the motorcade was on the Beltway heading for Virginia.

Max was halfway through his last piece of pizza, when he heard that the Vice President was en route. “Let us see where he goes,” he muttered to no one.

His wait was short. Hawk was reported passing the CIA on George Washington Memorial Parkway and confirmed to Alexandria Police they were ten minutes out.

Immediately following that transmission, one came from the stakeout at the Alexandria townhouse. A compact car with a single female had passed the stakeout twice. They suspected the driver was looking for a parking place. The running dialog reported the car had since disappeared around a corner.

In Fairlington, Sparrow and One came out in swimsuits, carrying big beach bags, and walked behind the row of units the mole was in, heading for one of the medium-size swimming pools in the spread-out condominium development. The mole reported that she might just go for a swim as well.

A few moments later in Alexandria, the young woman from the prowling car appeared walking up to the “nest.”

“She's just ambling, not in any hurry,” said the voice on the secure line.

“The dove waiting for a Hawk,” another said, “is Number Five, who checked in with the babysitter and is now sitting on the stoop.”

Alma Norman, Max noted. A voice came on the line. “She's a looker.” Another voice followed. “Cut it.” There was silence. Max smiled and helped himself to a final bite of pizza.

“Hawk's swooping in.” A running report followed the Vice President's arrival. “Hawk's flown into the nest, as has Five.”

It appears she's done this before, Max thought.

Ten minutes later, stakeout reported the primary vehicle left the garage and another one replaced it. The doors were closed. A third SS vehicle sat at the curb.

J
erry and I had a lolling, love-making morning. It was nearly 11:00 when we had finally showered and gathered up things to take to
Scalawag
.

I teased Jerry as he ate from my new diet-conscious menu. “It's a start. You're going to have to adjust to some new foods, especially the snacks.”

“So, it had to take motherhood for you to finally take care of yourself.”

“Thank Mary. She's my new food consultant. I've stowed stuff on
Scalawag
.”

“I can't wait,” he said unconvincingly.

An hour later, we were readying
Scalawag
for a short cruise when Max called.

“Come sail, or rather motor, with us.”

“I probably could now.”

“Things not going well with your radio program?”

“Everything is going peachy, especially if you're a reporter.”

“Oh?”

“Hawk and Five are nesting.”

Five? Alma with the Vice President. “What's next?” I asked.

“You have to ask?” Pause. “Sit tight. Here's the rest. Sparrow and One are nesting as well. Friend made contact and a date to play tennis on Tuesday.”

“Since your friends are doing so well, come on over.”

“Maybe later. You go motor. I am going home for a nap. It will be Saturday night all too soon. I have a thick dossier on the ‘A' Man. Nearly thirty pages. It is illuminating reading. You are docking at home tonight, correct?”

“We'll be in before dark.”

“I'll swing by if the thugs cooperate. What's on the grill?”

“Let me put it this way. Jerry used to enjoy grocery shopping with me,” I teased.

“That bad, huh?”

“Not really. Salmon, wild rice, broccoli. Peaches for dessert.”

“No beef?”

“I'll put some in especially for you the next time I shop.”

“I gather we are all going on a diet.”

“It won't be that bad. Call when you know your schedule, just in case Mr. Fields becomes adventurous and we end up half way to the ocean.”

“Okay, we're cutting into my sleep time.”

Jerry rejoined me in the cockpit. “I was right!” I gloated.

“We're about ready; can it wait?”

“Sure.” We loosened the mooring lines, and Jerry slowly revved the diesel, inching Scalawag backwards into the channel. I walked the forward line down to allay any drifting and, on Jerry's signal, threw my line onto the dock as
Scalawag
came free of the pier. Jerry reversed engines to forward at trawl speed and steered down the channel to the Potomac. I went below for drinks and then joined him in the cockpit. I slid the tumblers into the built-in holders.

Jerry looked at the plastic cups. “I gather we are not drinking the same thing.”

“I've got my choices of juice. You have your usual. No sodas with caffeine for me the next couple of months.”

“Do I need to read this book?”

“Wouldn't hurt, but no. It's not that severe.”

“What's with Max?”

I brought him up-to-date from the accident on. Some of which he had heard, but I wanted him to have the continuity of how things fell into place. I also wanted him to have all the background and players straight. “That's where we were up to last night.”

Jerry looked at me questioningly. “What about your recorder?”

“Still missing.”

“Anything damning on it?”

“Only if a woman named Frankie Grayson had it.”

“All right, so tell me about last night.”

I told him and ended with, “The biggest revelation is that Janet had spent no nights with Kat. She had told Marsha the opposite.”

“Janet lied to Marsha?” Jerry asked, surprised.

“I hate to think that, but yes.” I finished my account of things, as Jerry steered us out into a good sailing area. I leaned back and took in the scenery. I knew he wanted time to digest all I had said. I got antsy, though, after a few minutes of silence.

“Beth, Janet, and Sarah in those solo shots with the VP are no longer working for him. Beth's relationship was with Frankie, not her brother. Sarah was fired and went back to Atlanta for an abortion. Janet was keeping her baby and is dead. Now Alma, recommended by Manchester, is in the townhouse with the Vice President.

Jerry looked at me and smiled. “You know who fathered Janet's baby? Right?”

“Sure, but I can't prove it.”

“And he's too protected to even try it. You'd need a federal subpoena and the President to pull that off.”

“I hear you. However, if we proved he got Sarah pregnant, my speculations would become facts in a flash. The Attorney General, Congress, somebody would have to take action. Look at what happened to Nixon once the tapes became known. I'm astounded at the Graysons' conduct, acting like nothing had ever happened.”

“That's all personal. Sure, some people would be upset with the Vice President, but at least he's not getting a blow job in the
Oval Office,
and he's not married.”

“But the pregnancies?”

“If Manchester has Sarah under his control, she'll never talk. Moreover, they could come up with a guy who would take the fall for either. Probably real cheap.”

“There's DNA.”

“You'd have to go on a search-and-destroy mission for that. And if you are wrong…”

“Sarah and Alma are good lookers, big boobs, and doing two jobs. The porno outfit is in Atlanta. Maybe they came from there. That would make it more salacious. John Kennedy and friends got away with swimming nude with women in the old White House indoor swimming pool with Secret Service agents guarding the doors. The only difference now is that they're doing it in Frankie's residence.”

That evening, Max was able to come by, and he didn't complain about dinner. The conversation was all about the Graysons. Max reported that the Vice President and his guest were still at the townhouse when he was parking in our marina's lot.

“The FBI has eliminated Beth Carr's mother and father as donors to her newfound wealth. They're working folks who have a small nest egg, but will be relying heavily on their retirement income and social security for their old age. Carr's annual salary wouldn't provide the disposable income necessary in five years for the down payment made on her condo and car. The money definitely came from an outside source.”

“It had to be Manchester. I'll read what you brought me tomorrow.”

Max grunted. “Hopefully you'll find something I missed. Tomorrow I'm fishing with my cousin, but I'll have my cell phone.”

“Let's hope tomorrow's forecast for a calm and sunny day happens,” I commented. “I'm afraid we're in for some rough seas ahead.”