Put a Lid on It (22 page)
“I had to
wait
for the elevator,” Jeffords pointed out.
“After you got done staring at
me
for half an hour,” Meehan told him. “Anyway, they got something, but they don't know what it is. They know I already met with you two, so there's some more of that famous security of yours. They said they were following up on a rumor that you guys were planning an October Surprise for the Other Side, and you got me out of a federal penitentiary, which is two wrong for two, but still, it means they know there's
something
out there. They're in the ballpark. They're not in the game yet, but they are in the ballpark.”
“I know those two,” Benjamin said, not sounding happy about it. “They may have the wrong end of the stick at this point, but they do have hold of the stick, and they know they have it, and they're not likely to give up.”
Jeffords said, “Bruce, by this afternoon it won't matter. And I really don't believe they'll get the entire situation doped out before then.”
“And they're not trailing us right now,” Meehan said, with another look at his outside mirror.
Benjamin accepted that, but Jeffords said, “What?” and twisted around to look out back.
Benjamin said, gently, “Pat, he says they're
not
behind us.”
“Well, I hope not,” Jeffords said, facing front again, shooting his cuffs.
One final red light turned green, and Meehan steered the limo onto the West Side Highway. He'd driven trucks bigger than this, but never anything exactly
like
this; a car, but far too long. It was like driving a tunnel. The outside mirrors, left and right, showed him the world, but the inside mirror showed him the tunnel. Looking in it, he said, “Can I ask my question now?”
“Of course,” Benjamin said.
“Those reporters aren't gonna work things out today,” Meehan said, “but sooner or later they'll figure it out, and they'll figure out what my job was. Which means I gotta know, after all, what I'm doing here.”
They were both surprised back there. Benjamin said, “But you
do
know, Francis, you've known all along.”
“I'm going to get the package,” Meehan said, “and I'm gonna turn it over to you.”
“That's right,” Benjamin said.
“The package,” Meehan said, “is a videotaped confession and some documents, you told me that down in North Carolina.”
“Exactly,” Benjamin said.
“Everything's been fine up till now,” Meehan said, “but now there's press in it, that means publicity—”
“We certainly hope not,” Benjamin said.
“I don't trust hope,” Meehan told him. “So maybe I'll do this thing for you, and maybe I won't—”
“We have a deal!” Jeffords cried.
“Sue me,” Meehan suggested. “I'm in a different position now from when you got me out of the MCC—”
“We,” Benjamin pointed out, “are the reason for that different position.”
“I know that,” Meehan said. “You're great guys, I wouldn't be drivin this limo without you. But does this confession and these documents mean even
more
trouble, so after I go get them and give them to you am I gonna find myself stuck in whatever's
worse
then the MCC?”
“Of course not, Francis,” Benjamin said.
“I'm glad to hear you say that,” Meehan said, “but I'd like to hear more.”
“For God's sake, Francis,” Jeffords cried, “don't you
trust
us?”
Meehan let that sentence bounce around the tunnel back there awhile, and then he said, “Mr. Benjamin, you're closer to him than I am, would
you
answer that?”
“I believe the question was rhetorical,” Benjamin said.
“Declarative,” Jeffords suggested.
“Perhaps even idiotic,” Benjamin said. “But I do take your point, Francis, and I believe you're right. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but it has.”
“You're gonna tell me what's in the package,” Meehan said.
Benjamin's sigh could be heard way up here at the front of the tunnel. “I'm afraid I am,” he said.
“
I
F YOU DON'T
mind,” Benjamin began, “I'd like to pave the way, give you a little background here.”
“Sure.”
“What we're talking about is the Middle East.” Benjamin paused, leaned forward a little, and said, “You have heard of the Middle East.”
“Sure,” Meehan said, doubtfully. Most of the traffic was southbound, coming into the city, so Meehan had the northbound lanes mostly to himself.
“Well, what we have in the Middle East,” Benjamin went on, “is a group of little countries that really ought to be one big bloc, but they aren't. One religion, one language, one common enemy, but it isn't enough. They don't like one another, they don't trust one another, they're like a dysfunctional family.”
“They
are
a dysfunctional family,” Jeffords said.
“That, too,” Benjamin said. “Also, some of them are rich, with oil, and some of them are poor.”
“With sand,” Jeffords said.
“So, geopolitically,” Benjamin said, “what we do is, we deal with them as best we can.”
Meehan said, “Because you want their oil, I know that much.”
“Naturally,” Benjamin said. “If they didn't have oil, they could go lose themselves, like the Guatemalans. But they
do
have oil—”
“Some of them,” Jeffords said.
“And some of the ones that do,” Benjamin continued, “are sometimes in alliances with some of the ones that don't, and sometimes not.”
Steering around a slow-moving sightseer, Meehan said, “Is this gonna go on long?”
“The point is,” Benjamin said, speaking more rapidly, “for stability in the region, and sometimes for a friendly vote at the UN, sometimes we help one of them here, sometimes we help another one there. Now to the specifics.”
“Okay,” Meehan said. The limo had an E-Z Pass box on the windshield, up behind the mirror, so he only had to pause at the tollbooths.
“In this region,” Benjamin said, as the tollbooths slid by, “there are two countries, neighbors, who don't get along very well. I'd rather not mention any names here.”
“Fine with me,” Meehan said.
“But neither of them is Egypt or Israel,” Jeffords said, “so it's nothing to do with those guys.”
“Though they'd love to know about this, God knows,” Benjamin said.
“And we'd hate it,” Jeffords said.
“Yes. In any event, of these other two countries, the one with the oil is usually not a friend of ours—”
“Uppity pricks,” Jeffords said.
“And the one without the oil,” Benjamin went on, “usually
is
a friend of ours.”
“Needy pricks,” Jeffords said.
“But there came a time, not long ago,” Benjamin said, “when we needed a favor from the unfriendly one. What we offered they didn't want, and it was a moment, the other country at that time was being just a little too neutral, getting up our nose, so POTUS finally said, the hell with it, show them the SLAR.”
Meehan said, “Wait a minute. I remember POTUS. What's the other one, secretary of labor?”
“No, no,” Benjamin said. “SLAR is Side Looking Aerial Reconnaissance, it's airborne radar, it bounces at a slant off the earth, it shows amazing details.”
Jeffords said, “You can find sunken vessels, lost mines, underground streams.”
“Pretty good,” Meehan said.
“Well, what we had,” Benjamin said, “from the SLAR, that neither of those countries knew about, was another little lake of oil. It was deeper than the other deposits around there, neither of them had discovered it yet, and we'd known about it for three or four years, keeping it as a hole card, use it when it's useful.”
Meehan said, “A lake of oil. Where?”
Benjamin said, “Under both countries.”
Jeffords said, “Whichever one finds out about it, sucks it all up.”
Meehan said, “So your president said, give it to the rich guys?”
“At that moment,” Benjamin said, “we needed the rich guys.”
Jeffords said, “And the poor guys were being just a little too neutral, if they're going to be that poor.”
Benjamin said, “And we'd run out of other beads to give those people.”
“Okay,” Meehan said, “so POTUS said, give 'em the SLAR, and they did. Then what?”
“Unfortunately,” Benjamin said, “what they got showed them a little more than we wanted to show them.”
“Unavoidable,” Jeffords said.
“That, too,” Benjamin agreed. “We simply couldn't show them what they needed to see to get at that little lake unless we showed them some other details as well.”
“Hidden recon posts,” Jeffords said. “Ours, and other people's.”
“Refugee camps.”
“Training bases.”
Meehan said, “So what happened?”
“Bloodshed,” Jeffords said.
Benjamin said, “Well, that's what happens in that part of the world anyway, but unfortunately—”
“Unavoidably,” Jeffords said.
“That, too,” Benjamin said. “But there we are, you see. The thing has POTUS's fingerprints all over it.”
Meehan said, “So what?”
Benjamin wasn't comfortable about this part; he was squirming a bit, down at his end of the tunnel. “Well, you know,” he said, “without meaning to, without let's say thinking it through, in the heat of the moment—”
“Pressure of the office,” Jeffords said.
“That, too,” Benjamin agreed. “The point is, POTUS went a bit over the line.”
Meehan said, “What line?”
Benjamin said, “Well, unk-um, uh, into what I'm afraid we'd have to call a felony.”
He
really
didn't want to get to the point. Meehan said, “
What
felony?”
“Well, espionage.”
“What?”
Jeffords said, “The legal definition of espionage is the turning over of secret government information to unauthorized foreign governments or their representatives.”
“The oil was authorized,” Benjamin said. “The rest wasn't, and couldn't be, because of the damage that would inevitably follow, and that in fact did follow.”
Meehan said, “I never heard of such a thing.”
“Oh, it's happened before,” Benjamin said. “Presidents do tend to forget that, even for presidents, there are lines that shouldn't be crossed.”
“Nixon, for instance,” Jeffords said.
“Very good point,” Benjamin said. “Very similar situation. Richard Nixon, when president, gave the Shah of Iran top-secret military intelligence from our AWACS planes. Foreigner, not cleared. Same thing. Our intelligence people back in Washington had a fit when they found out.”
Meehan said, “What did Nixon say about it?”
Jeffords said, “I don't think anybody ever had the nerve to mention it to him.”
Meehan said, “Okay, so what makes this one different?”
“The bloodshed,” Jeffords said, “including some of ours.”
“Thank God it didn't rise to the level of treason,” Benjamin said, “since we weren't actually at war with those people at that moment.”
“They were on the terrorist nation list,” Jeffords pointed out, and Benjamin sighed.
Meehan said, “We're still not getting to this package I'm supposed to pick up.”
“Very soon now,” Benjamin promised. “At the time all this happened, there were perhaps four people in the administration who knew about it. Unfortunately, and not unavoidably, one of the four happened to be a fellow with an overdeveloped conscience.”
Jeffords said, “I believe his son was one of those taken out in the airfield raid.”
Benjamin said, “Very well, that's mitigating. And probably what gave him the heart attack. Which, unfortunately—”
“And avoidably,” Jeffords said, “if we'd only known.”
“Well, unfortunately, in any case,” Benjamin said, “the heart attack was not immediately fatal.”
“He talked,” Meehan said.
“Deathbed confession,” Benjamin said. “Videotaped by his lawyer, with his wife and his priest present.”
“All three of whom,” Jeffords added, “are sworn to silence by their relationship with him.”
Benjamin said, “And he'd made photocopies of certain documents to back up his story.”
“Which he turned over to the wife, before he departed this vale.”
Meehan said, “And that's the package. How'd it wind up with Burnstone?”
“The widow had it,” Benjamin said, “but I'm afraid she remarried eight months later.”
“The marriage didn't last,” Jeffords said.
“Well,” Benjamin said, “it was rather on the rebound.”
Jeffords said, “It lasted long enough for lover boy to learn about the evidence and steal it when the marriage went sour.”
Benjamin said, “And sell it to the Other Side.”
Jeffords said, “He offered it to us first, goddamit.”
Benjamin said, “But he offered it to people who didn't know a thing about it and assumed it was a fraud, and turned him down.”
Jeffords said, “By the time the word got to the right people, it was too late. Lover boy had made his deal and moved to Virgin Gorda, British West Indies.”
“We managed to find him there,” Benjamin said, with some satisfaction, “and persuade him to tell us who he sold it to, and then learn where it was being kept.”
“Huh,” Meehan said. They were well out of the city now, sailing northward through greenery. “Whoever has that package,” Meehan said, “has the president's balls right in his hand.”
Sharply, Jeffords said, “Don't you get any ideas, Francis.”
“Not me,” Meehan said.
T
HEY DROPPED BENJAMIN
at the railroad station at Katonah—“Luck, chaps,” was his final sally—and then continued on up interstate 684, Jeffords staying in back because it looked better that way, in a limo, Meehan giving him a quick rundown on the caper, so he'd know the players and the game. Jeffords listened, and then he fell asleep.
It was pleasant driving this tunnel by himself, through the morning, most of the traffic still coming the other way, little to distract him even after he switched to the state highway, route 22, two lanes, running northward through the Harlem Valley. It gave him time to think about what they were going to do today and how they might do it, and the changes they were going to have to make because of the limo in the job being this particular limo, with links back to Jeffords.
