House Justice (48 page)

Mahoney just shook his head; he couldn’t believe the way he’d let LaFountaine bluff him. He was trying to figure out what to say next when LaFountaine said, “So, yeah, I lied to you, John. More importantly, I fucked up, me and a guy named Carson who was responsible for Mahata’s escape. And I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life. But you know something? If I had to do it again, I’d still do it, because it was so important for us to get somebody in a position over there where we could get real-time, firsthand dope on what those crazy bastards are doing. The thing with those rockets going to Lebanon that you heard about at the White House the other day? Well, that’s nothing compared to some of the shit they’re planning.”

LaFountaine was silent for a moment. “A beautiful, brave young woman died because my people and I didn’t do our job right. Those are the stakes in this game. At the same time, three people who had no loyalty to this country are dead, and that doesn’t bother me a bit. So what are you going to do, Mahoney? Tell the president? Tell your buddies on the Hill? Tell the press?”

Mahoney thought about that for a moment, then said, “No, I’ll keep all this to myself. You, in turn, will get your hooks out of Glenda Petty and destroy the tapes of her screwing this Iranian spy. I don’t like Glenda but I won’t let you use her in that way any longer.”

“Deal,” LaFountaine said.

“That’s not all, Jake. You crossed the line with Glenda. And you crossed a lot of other lines, too. You gotta go.”

LaFountaine didn’t say anything for a long time, and Mahoney had no idea what he was thinking. Mahoney imagined he might be thinking that he could get away with everything he’d done—but that if they forced Glenda Petty to testify against him, his ass would be cooked.

“All right,” he finally said. “I don’t need to spend the next year sitting in hearings. That wouldn’t be good for the Company.” Then it was his turn to jerk his blunt chin toward the statue. “Unlike John
Paul, I know when it’s time to quit.” He smiled then, a bitter smile but nonetheless a smile. “I was thinking about getting out when the president’s first term was done anyway. Harvard said they’d like to have me and I was thinking that maybe I’d teach a course called Ethics in Government.”

Mahoney didn’t laugh at LaFountaine’s lame joke. He looked at the monument again and said, “I wonder if it was…I don’t know,
cleaner
back in his day or if they pulled the same kind of stuff we do.”

“It was no different,” LaFountaine said. “You know they had some bastards just like us back then, guys that did things they didn’t ever want included in the history books. But if those guys hadn’t done those things, this country wouldn’t be what it is today.”

Mahoney wasn’t so sure about that.

Angela got off the phone and turned to face DeMarco. “There’s a team coming out here from Langley. For real, this time. They’ll be here this afternoon and they’ll take over for us.”

“What’s going to happen to Kharazi?”

“I can’t tell you. But I can tell you that Mahoney knows what we’re doing and he can live with it.”

DeMarco felt like saying there were a lot of things John Mahoney could live with that he couldn’t, but he didn’t see the point. Mahoney would tell him later about whatever agreement he had reached with LaFountaine.

“And what about us?” he said.

She looked at him for a long time before she answered. “I don’t know. I’m going to divorce Brad; that’s long overdue. Then I’m going to sit down and think about you and me. I like you. I like being with you. But I’m not sure you’re going to be able to accept what I do. LaFountaine’s going to give me the job he promised, and I’m going to stay at Langley, but later on, if they offer me an overseas posting, I’m going to take it. Can you live with that?”

DeMarco didn’t say anything for a moment, then he smiled.

“Why don’t we cross that bridge when we come to it.”

It is a fact that three journalists, including Judith Miller of the
New York Times
, were jailed for contempt in the Valerie Plame leak case, just as Sandra Whitmore was jailed for contempt in
House Justice
. However, I don’t actually know if press shield laws have been revised since 2003 to provide additional legal protection for journalists attempting to protect the identity of their sources. A recent article I read indicated that the laws are pretty much the same as they were in 2003.

The idea for Marty Taylor’s company came from a short article I saw on the Internet about a big defense contractor who makes missiles and missile-guidance systems entering into a research agreement with a small company that makes computer-gaming peripherals like wireless mouses (or is that
mice
?).

There is no Glendon Hills Golf Course in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The golf course described in
House Justice
is a combination of a place where I play—badly—in Washington and a golf course I played on in Myrtle Beach.

While a .500 S&W Magnum will penetrate some bulletproof glass, I’m sure it will not penetrate all bulletproof glass. I just liked the idea of Mikhail having a great big handgun, and when I saw a picture of the .500 S&W and read that some suicidal fools actually buy these pistols for hunting bear, I said:
That’s the one
.

There was an article in the
Washington Post
in 2005 saying there were over thirty-four thousand registered lobbyists in D.C. I have no idea if the article is accurate or if there are that many lobbyists there today. I do know that whatever the number is, it’s a whopping big number.

I also know many Iranians today are struggling to improve democracy and human rights in that country and they do not support terrorism and would never condone torturing people, spies, or otherwise, as I have depicted in
House Justice
.

Lastly, history books be damned, I’m sure John Paul Jones never said, “
I have not yet begun to fight
.” I’m convinced it was something akin to “kiss my ass” as Jake LaFountaine says in the book.

Mike Lawson

A Joe DeMarco Thriller

M
IKE
L
AWSON

House Divided

“Okay, Calvin, I’ll see your three Marlboros,” Clarence Goodman finally said, and tentatively put three Salems down in the center of the card table like they were hundred-dollar chips.

George Aguilera, smiling like he’d already won, immediately added a small can of smoked oysters to a pot which consisted mostly of cigarettes but also a John Grisham paperback and a five-year-old
Playboy
. “I’ll call your three and raise you three,” Aguilera said.

“Wait a damn minute,” Calvin Loring said. “I thought we agreed yesterday that the oysters were worth five cigarettes, not six.”

The debate ensued—and Dillon closed his eyes.

In the minimum security section of the Allenwood Federal Correctional Complex at White Deer, Pennsylvania, cigarettes were the gold standard and other commodities for bartering and wagering were based on their value. The value of a cigarette, however, changed periodically, owing to availability of supply and other more esoteric factors. Dillon was thinking about writing an essay on the subject, explaining how the prison economy in black market goods and services was eerily parallel to that of the outside world—there was inflation, price-fixing, insider trading, and market fluctuations due to
disasters—although the disasters themselves were unique to prisons, such as lockdowns or retribution from the guards.