The Icarus Agenda (77 page)

“I guess I had a different picture of you.”

“That’s why I’m ‘Gingerbread’ … stupid goddamned name. Make your call.”

Rashad peeled off at the next pay telephone. Anxious and not familiar with the latest phone procedures, she pushed the Operator button and, while feigning a bewildered French accent, placed a collect call to a number she had long since committed to memory.

“Yes?” said Mitchell Payton at the other end of the line.

“MJ, it’s me. What’s happened?”

“Andrew Vanvlanderen died early this morning.”

“
Killed?
”

“No, it was a stroke; we’ve established that. There was a fair amount of alcohol in his blood and he was a mess—unshaven, eyes bloodshot, reeking of body sweat and worse—but it was a stroke.”

“Damn … 
damn
!”

“There was also an interesting set of circumstances—always circumstances, nothing clean. He’d been sitting in front of a television set for hours on end and obviously smashed it with a marble ashtray.”

“Touchy, touchy,” said the agent from Cairo. “What does his wife say?”

“Between excessive tears and pleas for seclusion, the stoic widow claims he was depressed over heavy losses in the market and other investments. Which, of course, she insists she knows nothing about, which of course she does. That marriage had to be consummated above a financial statement under the mattress.”

“Did you check on her information?”

“Naturally. His portfolio could support several small nations. Two of his horses even won the daily double at Santa Anita last week and, along with a few others, are galloping toward millions in stud fees.”

“So she was lying.”

“She was lying,” agreed Payton.

“But not necessarily about the depression.”

“Let’s try substituting another word. Rage, perhaps. Manic rage coupled with hysterical fear.”

“Something didn’t happen?” suggested Khalehla.

“Something was not made public as
having
happened. Perhaps it did, perhaps it didn’t … perhaps it was botched. Perhaps, and this could be the trigger,
perhaps
several of the killers were taken alive, as, indeed, one was in Mesa Verde.”

“And captured people can be made to talk volumes without knowing it.”

“Precisely. All that’s needed is one source who can describe one location, a method of travel, a drop. We have such a source, such a person. There are too many complications to hide everything. Whoever’s behind these killings has to realize that, at least suspect it. That may have been on Andrew Vanvlanderen’s mind.”

“How are things going with the prisoner?”

“He’s under now, or, as the doctors say, he’s being taken up. He’s a maniac. He’s tried everything from self-asphyxiation to swallowing his tongue. As a result, they had to inject tranquilizers before they could give him the serums, slowing things a bit. The doctors tell me that we should have the first reports within an hour or so.”

“What do
I
do now, MJ? I can’t very well barge in on the grieving widow—”

“On the contrary, my dear,” interrupted Payton. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do. We’re going to turn this damned circumstantial liability into an asset. When a person like Mrs. Vanvlanderen accepts a position involving close ties with the potential successor to the President of the United States, personal considerations become secondary.… You’ll apologize profusely, of course, but then stay with the scenario as we’ve outlined it.”

“When you think about it,” said Khalehla, “given the circumstances, the timing couldn’t be better. I’m the last person she’ll expect. It’ll shake her up.”

“I’m glad you agree. Remember, you may show compassion, but the cold business of national security comes first.”

“What about Shapoff? Are we a team?”

“Only if you need him. We’ve lent him to naval intelligence, consultant status, and I’m glad he’s there, but I’d rather you start solo. Work out contact arrangements.”

“I gather he hasn’t been briefed.”

“No, only to give you whatever assistance you may ask for.”

“I understand.”

“Adrienne,” said the director of Special Projects, drawing out the name. “There’s something else you should also know. We may be a step closer to our blond-haired European and, equally important, what he’s all about.”

“Who is he? What did you find out?”

“We don’t know
who
he is, but I’d say he’s working for people who want to see Evan in the White House … or at least closer to it.”

“My God! He’d never consider it in a thousand
years
! Who
are
these people?”

“Very rich and very resourceful, I’d guess.” Payton briefly told her about the impending nationwide campaign to launch Kendrick into the vice presidency. “Jennings said his people are convinced it could fly—‘fast and high’ were his words. And in my opinion he wouldn’t have the slightest objection.”

“Right down to the President’s own reaction,” said Khalehla, her voice quiet, floating into the pay phone. “Every step, every move that was made was thought out and analyzed. All but one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Evan’s response, MJ. He’d never take it.”

“Perhaps that’s the shoe that hasn’t dropped.”

“It would have to be an iron boot the size of the Sphinx’s foot.… Then there
are
two groups, one pushing our hero congressman onto the national ticket, the other doing its damnedest to keep him off.”

“I came to the same conclusion and told the President as much. Go to work, Officer Rashad. Call me when you’re settled in your hotel. I may have news from our doctors by then.”

“I don’t suppose I could get in touch with my grandparents, could I? They live near here, you know.”

“Am I speaking with a
twelve
-year-old? Absolutely
not
!”

“Understood.”

It was three o’clock in the winter afternoon, Eastern standard time, and the limousines were parked in the drive at the estate in Cynwid Hollow. The chauffeurs smoked cigarettes, talking quietly among themselves. Inside, the conference had begun.

“This will be a brief meeting,” said Milos Varak, addressing the members of Inver Brass sitting in their chairs, the glare of the lamps illuminating their faces in the large, dimly lit study. “But the information was so vital, I appealed to Dr. Winters. I felt it was imperative that you be apprised.”

“That’s obvious,” said Eric Sundstrom testily. “I’ve left an entire laboratory not knowing what to do next.”

“You dragged me out of court, Milos,” added Margaret Lowell. “I assume you’re right, as you usually are.”

“I flew back from Nassau,” said Gideon Logan, laughing softly, “but then I wasn’t doing anything but fishing until that damned ship’s phone jingled. Also, I wasn’t catching anything.”

“I wish I could say I was even that productive, but I can’t,” offered Jacob Mandel. “I was at a Knicks’ game when the beeper went off. I nearly didn’t hear it, in fact.”

“I think we should proceed,” said Samuel Winters, an edge to his voice, part impatience and part something else, conceivably anger. “The information is devastating.”

Margaret Lowell glanced over at the white-haired historian. “Of course we will, Sam. We’re just catching our breath.”

“I may have spoken of fishing,” said Gideon Logan, “but my mind wasn’t on fishing, Samuel.”

The spokesman of Inver Brass nodded, his tentative smile unsuccessful. “Forgive me if I appear irritable. The truth is that I’m frightened, and so will you be.”

“Then there’s nothing in my laboratories as important to me as right now,” said Sundstrom gently, as if rightly rebuked. “Please, go ahead, Milos.”

Watch every face, every pair of eyes. Study the muscles of their jaws and around their lids and their hairlines. Look for involuntary swallows and pronounced veins on their necks. One of these four nearest me here knows the truth. One is the traitor
.

“Palestinian terrorists have struck Congressman Kendrick’s houses both in Virginia and Colorado. There was a considerable loss of life.”

A kind of controlled pandemonium broke out in that extraordinary room inside the estate on Chesapeake Bay. Its occupants fell back into chairs or sat forward over the table in shock; throated cries came from stretched lips, eyes wide in horror or narrowed in disbelief, and the questions rapidly assaulted Varak like the sharp reports of repeated rifle fire.

“Was Kendrick
killed
?”

“When did it
happen
?”

“I’ve heard nothing
about it
!”

“Was anyone taken
alive
?” This last question, the questioner instantly examined by Milos Varak, was Gideon Logan, his dark face set in fury—or was it frenzy … or fear?

“I’ll answer everything I can,” said the Czech coordinator of Inver Brass, “but I must tell you that I’m not fully informed. The word is that Kendrick survived and is in protective custody. The attacks took place late yesterday afternoon or possibly in the early evening—”

“
Possibly?
” shouted Margaret Lowell. “
Yesterday?
Why don’t you
know
—why don’t we
all
know, why doesn’t the
country
know?”

“There’s a total blackout, apparently requested by the intelligence services and granted by the President.”

“Obviously designed to go after the Arabs,” said Mandel. “They kill for publicity, and if they don’t get it they go crazier than they already are. Crazy people stand out—”

“And if they’re alive they have to get
out
of the country,” added Sundstrom. “Can they get out, Varak?”

“It would depend on the sophistication of their arrangements, sir. On who made it possible for them to get in.”

“Were any of the Palestinians
taken
alive?” persisted Gideon Logan.

“I can only speculate,” answered the Czech, his eyes neutral but beneath that neutrality searching intensely. “I was fortunate to learn what I did before the blackout was made total; the loss of life was not broken down at that point.”

“What are your speculations?” asked Sundstrom.

“At best, there is only a ten to fifteen percent chance that any of the assailants was captured—alive. The figure is based on Mideast statistics. It’s customary for terrorist teams to carry cyanide capsules sewn into their lapels, concealed razor blades and syringes taped to various parts of their bodies, anything that facilitates taking their own lives rather than revealing information through torture or drugs. Remember, except for the inability to kill their enemies, death is no sacrifice for these people. Instead, it’s a rite of passage to an afterlife of joy, not in overabundance for them here.”

“Then it’s possible that one or two or more might have been captured alive,” pressed Logan, making a statement.

“It’s possible, depending upon how many were involved. It’s a priority, if it can be accomplished.”

“Why is it so important, Gideon?” asked Samuel Winters.

“Because we’re all aware of the extraordinary measures taken to protect Kendrick,” replied the black entrepreneur, studying Varak’s face, “and I think it’s imperative to know how these unschooled fanatics penetrated such security. Any word on that, Milos?”

“Yes, sir. Mine, and hardly official, but it’s only a matter of days before the federal units make the connection I made.”

“What the
hell
is it?” cried Margaret Lowell, her voice loud and sharp.

“I assume you re all aware of Andrew Vanvlanderen—”

“No,” broke in Lowell.

“What about him?” asked Gideon Logan.

“Should we be?” chimed in Mandel.

“He died,” said Eric Sundstrom, sitting back in his chair.

“
What?
” The word shot out three times in succession.

“It happened early this morning in California, too late for the Eastern papers,” explained Winters. “The cause of death was listed as a heart attack. I heard it on the radio.”

“So did I,” added Sundstrom.

“I haven’t listened to a radio.” Margaret Lowell.

“I was on a boat and then a plane.” Gideon Logan.

“I was at a basketball game.” Jacob Mandel, guiltily.

“It’s not the biggest news story of the day,” continued Sundstrom, sitting forward. “The late editions of the
Post
had it on page four or five, I think, and Vanvlanderen was at least known in this town. Outside of here and Palm Springs, not too many people have ever heard his name.”

“What’s the connection to the Palestinians?” asked Logan, his dark eyes riveted on Varak.

“The alleged heart attack is open to question, sir.”

Each face around the table was like granite—hard, immobile. Slowly, each looked at the others, the enormity of the implication rolling over them like an immense powerful wave.

“That’s an extraordinary statement, Mr. Varak,” said Winters quietly. “Would you explain, as you did to me, please?”

“The men around Vice President Bollinger, by and large the heaviest contributors to the party with interests to protect, are fighting among themselves. I’ve learned that there are different factions. One wants to replace the Vice President with a specific candidate, another wants to retain him, and still another insists on waiting until the political landscape is clearer.”

“
So?
” intoned Jacob Mandel, removing his silver-rimmed glasses.

“The one person obviously
unacceptable
to everyone is Evan Kendrick.”

“
And
, Milos?” said Margaret Lowell.

“Everything we do entails a degree of risk, Counselor,” replied Varak. “I’ve never tried to minimize that despite the fact that I’ve guaranteed your anonymity. Nevertheless, to initiate the campaign for Congressman Kendrick, we had to create a political committee through which to funnel materials and considerable funds with yourselves nowhere in evidence. It took several weeks, and it’s possible that the news reached San Diego.… It’s not difficult to imagine the reactions of Bollinger’s people, especially the faction most disposed toward him. Kendrick
is a legitimate American hero, a viable candidate who could be swept onto the ticket in a wave of popularity just as we have proposed he should be. Those people might panic and look for quick, final solutions.… Among them would have to be the Vanvlanderens; and Mrs. Vanvlanderen, the Vice President’s chief of staff, has extensive ties in Europe and the Middle East.”