Removal (14 page)

Lazenby waved Kelly into a chair and used a small key to open the doors of a cabinet which formed the base of a book case behind his desk. The contents of the cabinet were more interesting than the volumes of the United States Code and the onyx book ends on the shelves above them. A bottle of single malt whisky, one of Lazenby’s few indulgences. Without asking, he poured two glasses and handed one to Kelly. He pulled up a chair for himself across from her.

‘This will get the blood circulating again.’

Kelly smiled.

‘Thanks, Director.’

‘How was it today – for you, I mean?’

‘It was fine. I didn’t have time to think about it.’

She sniffed her glass. ‘Thank you for trusting me with this. It means a lot.’

‘I had no doubts. All that mattered was how you felt. So, what does it look like down there? Anything we’re going to have to turn over?’

Kelly took a grateful sip of the whisky and felt it warming and relaxing her whole body. She began to realize how much the day had taken out of her. She was drained.

‘I don’t think so, though some of it may be a judgment call.’

‘Such as…?’

‘Well, there’s a clear paper trail from Marfrela to the Sons of the Flag compound in Oregon. If we make the assumption that the Embassy was somehow involved with that…’

‘That has to be a possibility.’

‘Yes, but I doubt they would want to admit it. They’re pretty much bound to take the line that whatever Marfrela was doing, he was doing on his own time.’

‘Agreed. Why don’t we just keep quiet and see whether they ask for it? If they do, we’ll consider turning it over.’

‘Right, Sir. Did you get my message that we found a handgun and ammunition?’

‘Yes. I don’t think we need to worry about that, at least as far as the Embassy is concerned. Hardly diplomatic material.’

‘It could be Embassy property.’

‘Whether it is or not, it’s staying with us until it’s been tested, and if there’s any chance at all that it’s the murder weapon in the Benoni case, it’s staying with us indefinitely.’

Kelly allowed herself to stretch out her legs and sink into her chair.

‘The truth is, Director, there’s not much down there that’s going to interest the Embassy. I’m not sure how much of it will interest us, really. We’ll see what the tests turn up, and I’ll run those phone numbers in Oregon by Phil Hammond. But I can’t help thinking we would have gotten a lot more from a few minutes of conversation with Hamid Marfrela.’

‘Yes. Very likely, whoever killed him had the same thought,’ Lazenby mused.

‘Yes, Sir. God, I just wish…’

‘No, no, you know what they say about hindsight.’

Lazenby watched his personal assistant try unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn.

‘Look, why don’t you get out of here for the weekend and get some rest?’ he suggested kindly. ‘It’s getting way too late.’

Kelly took a long drink of her whisky.

‘I appreciate it, Director, but I think I’d better stay until they finish cataloguing the evidence. You never know what might crawl out of the woodwork.’

‘No,’ Lazenby replied firmly. ‘It won’t do the Lebanese Embassy any harm to stew for a couple of days. I can easily put them off until some time next week. State will back me up. They’re not overjoyed that Marfrela was running around doing whatever he was doing without adult supervision, so the Ambassador’s not exactly flavor of the month with State right now. The Lebanese Ambassador is not worth killing yourself for, Kelly. Just make sure it’s all secure till Monday.’

‘Thank you, Director,’ Kelly smiled with relief. ‘I have to admit I’m looking forward to getting home tonight.’

She finished her whisky and replaced the glass on the table at the side of her chair.

‘And I hope you’re going to take your own advice.’

Lazenby stood slowly.

‘What?’

‘You should get out of here too.’

‘Oh, yes,’ he muttered non-committally. ‘I will. I have to make a stop on the way home, but I’m out of here.’

‘OK Sir. Good night.’

‘Good night, Kelly.’

After Kelly had left, the Director waited for a few seconds, then picked up his personal phone. He dialed a number, which was answered almost immediately.

‘Steve, I’m sorry it’s so late. Do you still want to…?’

‘Hell, yes. I’m waiting for you. Come on over.’

‘I’m on my way,’ Lazenby replied.

‘T
HE
BASTARDS
ARE
out to assassinate me,’ Steve Wade observed bitterly, handing Ted Lazenby a glass of whisky. The whisky was blended and undistinguished, so Lazenby had asked for water and a little ice, a form of pollution he would never have dreamed of inflicting on his own single malt.

‘That’s all it is. Assassination. Bastards.’

They were alone in a private den in the Residence on the second floor of the White House. Their friendship had begun years before in college, on the football field and in the fraternity house. The President still kept around ten friends from that time in his life, a kind of inner circle, who were close enough to be invited to spend time in this inner sanctum. Only three, including Lazenby, were now based in Washington, and of these only Lazenby had been offered a job within the Administration. Ever since Wade’s election to his first term, Lazenby had visited him privately for a drink and casual conversation at least once a month. He had wondered whether that would change after his appointment as Director of the FBI, but it seemed that Wade continued to value their time together as friends, and saw no conflict in their meeting as before. They had a tacit, but clear understanding that these informal occasions were privileged, and that no matters of business would be discussed. It was a rare opportunity for the President to relax in the company of a trusted friend.

Lazenby waited for the President to take a seat in his armchair before doing the same, and shook his head to decline the offer of a cigar.

‘Steve, I understand how it must look to you. You’re the President. You’re in the papers day-in, day-out, can’t avoid it, and God knows they’re always looking for a good story. But you don’t have to see it as assassination.’

‘I don’t know what the hell else to call it.’

‘You’re a public figure. They think they own you.’

‘So, that gives them the right to tell lies about me?’

‘No. Not in my book.’

‘Well, that’s my point.’

Slowly, Lazenby drank some whisky.

‘Is that what they’re doing?’ he asked.

Wade paused in the act of lighting a cigar and allowed the match to burn out.

‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I’m just asking.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

Wade struck another match, and there was silence while he lit his cigar and appreciatively blew out several smoke rings.

‘Are you saying you don’t believe me?’

‘No.’

‘That’s what it sounds like. Christ, that’s all I need.’

‘I’m not saying anything, Steve. I’m asking you a question. You don’t have to answer. But it’s the same question the press are asking you.’

‘Everyone’s after me.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘You should live my life for a day. I can’t get away from Lucia Benoni. If it’s not the press, it’s my wife or even my fucking Vice President, for Christ’s sake. Why can’t I get a break from it for five minutes? Would it kill you people to believe me and get on with your lives?’

‘I’m not ‘you people’,’ Lazenby replied quietly. ‘I’m your friend, and as your friend, I’m counseling you to face up to a few facts, to ask yourself why the press doesn’t believe you.’

Wade flicked a small deposit of ash from his cigar.

‘You mean the S-pass?’

‘Yes.’

‘A lot of people have S-passes, Ted. I can’t keep track of all that. We have staff here in the White House who issue them. I can’t understand what the big deal is. The Secret Service checks them all out. I don’t get to just hand them out to anyone I want. Hell, if I ask for an S-pass to be issued, there must be at least twenty people who know about it. I couldn’t keep it quiet if I wanted to. The President has no privacy, Ted. Jesus, living in the White House is like living in a fucking zoo. The whole world gets to peer into your cage.’

‘Fine,’ Lazenby said. ‘Tell them that.’

‘Do you really think that would make a difference? That Sullivan bitch has me in her sights, and she’s loaded for bear. She has me in bed with the Benoni woman, and nothing’s going to change that.’

‘Mary Sullivan’s not like that, Steve. Show her she’s barking up the wrong tree and she’ll back off faster than you can say ‘
Washington Post
’.’

‘The woman’s a leech.’

‘The woman’s a Pulitzer Prize-winner with a reputation for sticking to the facts. Look, if this had come from
The Enquirer
, that’s one thing. If it comes from the
Post
, that’s another thing. And if it comes from Mary Sullivan, that’s something else again.’

‘You’re saying they’ll believe her rather than me?’

‘I’m saying she has credibility. But if you tell the truth and she sees that you’re telling the truth, she will go away, and so will the rest of them. It will die a natural death.’

Wade nodded, exhaling cigar smoke.

‘The Benoni woman did have my phone number, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, she did,’ Lazenby smiled. ‘But then, so do I.’

‘Right, and as far as I know, they’re not on to the phone number yet. Or are they?’

‘Not as far as I know.’

There was a silence.

‘I’m not going to give in to them, Ted. Never. No matter what the bastards do.’

It was said with an intensity that took Lazenby aback. There was a look in the President’s eyes which seemed unfamiliar; distant, preoccupied, even frightened. Lazenby allowed himself a long draught of his whisky before replying.

‘I wouldn’t expect anything else,’ he said eventually.

Wade suddenly seemed to snap out of his reverie. He smiled and flicked more ash from his cigar before standing to refill both their glasses.

‘So, are you going to any of the games?’

The abrupt change of subject took Lazenby by surprise.

‘Harvard, for sure, and probably Dartmouth. I’m not sure about the others. Are you going to make one?’

‘I’d like to,’ Wade replied, handing Lazenby his glass. ‘It brings back the old days, and they seem to like it if I put in an appearance every now and then.’

‘I would say so,’ Lazenby said, raising his glass as a toast. ‘It can’t hurt with the alumni to have the President show up for a game.’

‘It could hurt with fifty percent of the alumni,’ the President laughed.

Lazenby shook his head.

‘Not in a million years. If you went to the same school as the President, you flaunt it, even if you didn’t vote for him, and even if you don’t agree with a word he says.’

‘Well, you may be right.’

‘I guarantee you that’s what the president of the University thinks. The athletic director, too.’

Wade suddenly threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

‘You remember when I went back there just after I got elected the first time?’

Lazenby joined in the laughter.

‘Oh, God, yes. The thing with the dog…’

‘Secret service dog. They were searching the athletic department offices for explosives, right? I was supposed to make a quick visit there before the game on my way up to the VIP box, say ‘Hi’ to the athletic director and the coaches. So they go in like they always do, sniffer dogs, the whole nine yards. And they take this one dog in there, very experienced dog, always been as good as gold. The dog takes one look at the head coach, gets bent out of shape for some reason, snarls at him, and takes a piece right out of his ass. This is an hour before the game. So now, the poor bastard has to find the team’s doctor, get himself a tetanus shot, then stand on the sidelines the whole game with bandages over the tooth marks in his ass.’

‘I remember,’ Lazenby said. ‘Whatever happened to the dog?’

‘They were going to retire him,’ Wade replied. ‘But the athletic director said the coach should have had his ass chewed out long ago, and the dog was only doing what he should have done himself.’

‘He got that right,’ Lazenby laughed. ‘We sucked that season.’

‘Yeah, that dog knew exactly what he was doing, didn’t he? Hell, if the Secret Service had retired him, I would have brought him to the White House and made him First Dog.’

Wade took a long drink of whisky.

‘Oh, those were the days, Ted. They loved me back then.’

‘They want to love you now, Steve,’ Lazenby replied, ‘if you would just let them.’

Wade was in the mood to talk. It was another hour, and many more reminiscences, before Lazenby, tired as he was, was able to take his leave. Wade stopped him at the door.

‘Ted, I want to ask you something.’

‘Sure.’

‘Look, I’m not admitting anything, but…’

‘Go ahead.’

Wade took a deep breath.

‘Ted, you are going to get the bastard who killed her, who killed Lucia, aren’t you? I’m relying on you. You are going to get him, aren’t you?’

‘It means that much to you?’

‘You have no idea how much.’

Lazenby thought for a few moments about a 357 Magnum, a magazine with bondage photographs, a name in an address book, and a body with six bullet holes in it from a good old-fashioned revolver. He put his hand gently on the President’s arm.

‘Yes, we are, Steve,’ he replied. ‘We’re going to get him. One way or the other. I promise you that.’

‘Thanks, Buddy,’ Wade said, with what appeared to be a sigh of relief. ‘Take care driving home.’

K
ELLY
WAS
GRATEFUL
for the respite of a leisurely weekend. Her week had been a long one, and the burst of energy she had gained from Ted Lazenby’s whisky had been used up driving across town from the Hoover Building to her apartment. On arriving home, she made herself a cheese sandwich, took a long bubble bath accompanied by two glasses of white wine, fell into bed, and immediately sank into a deep sleep. She did not set her alarm clock, and when she finally woke, it was a little after two o’clock on Saturday, the following afternoon. She put coffee on to brew, threw on a sweat-shirt and jeans, and walked barefoot down to the foyer of her building to retrieve her mail. She ate a belated breakfast, and began to ponder what to do with the rest of her day.