The Scorpio Illusion (81 page)

“Yes, sir. I suppose I shouldn’t say this, but it’s quite a coup for my boss. All those millions into our state—”

“When is this meeting?”

“Around eight o’clock; between eight and eight-fifteen, I believe. The White House is always a little flexible about these private, off-the-record things.”

“They’re meeting in the private quarters?”

“Oh, no, sir, the First Lady was very specific about that, especially since their grandchildren are around. It’s in the Oval Office—”

Hawthorne, his face the pallor of death, hung up the phone. “Bajaratt’s on her way to the White House!” he whispered. Then he yelled, “The kid’s
with
her! Christ, she snaked through every security fence they mounted!… That patrol outside, Phyll, are they good?”

“They’re not allowed to leave the premises, Tye.”

“And I don’t have time to set them loose. But I know the way, I passed 1600 to get to the highway, and I’ve got a State Department patrol car with a button that reads
siren.
”

“You’re going
alone
?”

“I don’t have a choice. I can’t reach Palisser, the CIA’s either out of the loop, or, worse, in collusion, the Pentagon’s off limits, the Secret Service won’t listen to me, and the police would put me into a straitjacket!”

“What can I do?”

“Reach every debt Henry had coming to him, every son of a bitch in naval intelligence, or any other spook department he ever worked with, and get me through the White House gate!”

“I’ve got several in mind, including an admiral Hank got off the hook for giving advice to a defense contractor. He plays poker with the chief of 1600 security.”

“Do
it, Phyll!”

The senator’s limousine stopped at the South Gate of the White House; his name was checked off on a list, and he was smartly saluted by the marine guard. In seconds, as prearranged, the driver sped right toward the main entrance rather than left toward the West Wing, where the Oval Office was located. Once at the curb, in front of the short flight of steps, Nesbitt ushered the countess and her nephew out, had short, polite words with the guards flanking the door, and brought them inside.

“This is my colleague from Michigan,” he said rapidly. “The other senator from our state.” Handshakes were exchanged, names lost in the obvious haste as a photographer emerged from a doorway, his camera at the ready. “As I mentioned to you, Countess, my colleague is from the President’s party and was extremely influential in arranging this meeting.”

“Yes, I recall,” said Bajaratt. “You wished a photograph with yourself, your colleague, and Dante Paolo, all together.”

“You too, of course, if you’d like.”

“No, signore, my nephew is your catalyst, not I. But please hurry.”

Four successive photographs were taken as another figure appeared walking swiftly down the corridor. “I
apologize
!” cried the man in a dark suit as he approached them. “The instructions were somehow off the track. You were to come to the
West
Wing entrance.”

“Off the track, my ass,” whispered the junior senator
from Michigan to his legislative associate. “Can you imagine the Chief of Staff allowing us in a picture?”

“Shh
!” mumbled Nesbitt. “Accept the mistake, Josh.”

“Sure.… Of course.”

“If the guard hadn’t radioed us, you’d be standing here for quite some time,” said the escort, making light of yet another White House error. “Come along now, I’ll bring you to the West Wing.”

Forty-six seconds later, the short journey traversed quickly through the hallways, the quartet reached the Oval Office and all were introduced—two reintroduced—to the President’s Chief of Staff. He was a slender man, not large, and with a pale face, perpetually creased, as if he expected a sudden assault from an area his eyes could not see. Yet, withal, his demeanor was pleasant, nonthreatening, and he spoke in the frank, weary voice of a man overworked.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, shaking hands with the Baj and Nicolo. “The President’s on his way down now, but I hope you will understand, Countess, the meeting will necessarily be brief.”

“We asked no more, signore. Only a photograph for my brother, the
barone di Ravello.
”

“Well, the President wanted you to know—he’ll probably tell you himself—he wishes that grave matters of state caused the brevity, but the truth is that his very large family, including eleven grandchildren, are visiting him this week, and the First Lady has a very definite schedule.”

“What mother, or especially a
grandmother
, doesn’t? We Italians are not famous for small families or the chaos that results.”

“That’s very kind of you. Come, sit down.”

“What a magnificent room, is it not, Dante Paolo?”

“Non ho capito.
”

“La stanza. Magnifica
!”

“Ah, si, zietta.
”

“It houses the power of the universe … we are so honored!”

“I don’t know about the universe, Countess, but certainly a large part of the world.… Senators, would you care to sit down?”

“Thanks, Fred, I don’t think so,” replied the younger senator. “We’re all sort of in a hurry, aren’t we?”

“Young man …? Mr. Baron …?”

“My nephew is too nervous to sit, signore.”

“Ah, bene
,” said Nicolo as if he had only vaguely understood his aunt’s words.

Suddenly, from the corridor outside the Oval Office came a booming voice, the figure speaking blocked by the two senators.
“Jesus
, if one more kid punches me in the stomach, or slathers my face, or puts me in a hammerlock, I’ll make commercials for birth control!”

President Donald Bartlett briefly, automatically, shook hands with the senators and walked into the room. He was a man in his late sixties, short of six feet, with straight gray hair and the lined, clean-cut features of an aging actor holding on to the enthusiasms of years past. In essence an accomplished politician capable of summoning the required energy and humor for a host of situations. He was a presence that would not be denied.

“The Countess Cabrini and her nephew, the baron of … the
baron
, Mr. President,” choked the Chief of Staff.

“Good Lord, I’m
terribly
sorry!” exclaimed Bartlett sincerely. “I thought I was early.…
Scusi, Confessa. Non l’ho vista! Mi perdoni.
”

“Parlare Italiano, Signor Presidente
?” asked the astonished Bajaratt, rising from her chair.

“Not all that well,” said the President, shaking her hand.
“Per favore, si sieda.
” The Baj sat down. “I had to learn some in the war. I was a supply officer in the invasion of Italy, and let me tell you, we had a lot of help from some of your great families. You know, people who weren’t too fond of Mussolini.”

“
Il Duce
, the pig!”

“Heard a lot of that, Countess. Before the landings we flew in drops of supplies at night in case things went screwy—
pazzo
—and our troops were cut off heading north. We called ’em distribution points. In fact, I mentioned to the judge here—the senator—that I think I met your brother in Ravello.”

“I believe it was our father, Mr. President. A man of honor who could not tolerate the
fascisti.
”

“You’re probably right.
Scuzzi di nuovo
. I’m getting so old that decades seem like years! Of course it was your father. You were a mere child, if you were around at all.”

“In many ways I am still a child, sir, a child who remembers many things.”

“Oh?”

“Non importa
. May I present my nephew, the
barone-cadetto di Ravello.
” Bajaratt again rose to her feet as Bartlett turned and shook hands with Nicolo, who was appropriately dignified as well as awed. “My brother, who is ready to make substantial commitments to American industry, asks only for a photograph with you and his son.”

“It’s no problem, Countess. However, I’ve got to tell you, this young fella may be the next baron, but from where I stand, he could be a wide receiver for the Washington Redskins.… Hey, boys, maybe I should stand on a box, this kid dwarfs me!”

“I did my homework, Mr. President,” said the White House photographer. “I suggest you both be seated in two chairs behind your desk. Shaking hands, naturally.”

As the photographer and the Chief of Staff arranged the chairs, Bajaratt slid her small pearl-beaded evening purse into the cushions of the chair, and as the flashes of the camera erupted, she pressed it farther, completely out of sight.

“That is
wonderful
, Mr. President! My brother will be so enthusiastic, so
grateful
!”

“I’ll be grateful if Ravello Industries sees fit to—shall we say—seek an industrial base or two in this country.”

“Be assured, sir. Why not discuss the specifics with your two senators? I’ve made my brother’s position clear, and it will not disappoint you, Mr. President.”

“I intend to, Countess,” said Bartlett, smiling and nodding pleasantly as he and Nicolo got out of their chairs. “At least as long as it takes to have a cool drink and stay away from those hooligans upstairs for a few peaceful minutes.”

“You are a
brigante
, signore!” said Bajaratt, laughing, accepting the President’s hand. “But I know you love your family.”

“I do indeed. Give my regards to your brother.”

“Ma guardi
,” said the Baj, looking at her diamond-encrusted wrist watch; it was shortly past eight o’clock. “My brother. I really should call him on our special telephone in less than a half hour.”

“My car will take you back to the hotel,” said Nesbitt.

“I’ll show you to the portico, Countess,” added the White House escort. “I’ve already arranged for the senator’s limousine to be there.”

“We’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. President. And the baron will be so disappointed if I don’t reach him.”

“Special phones, special times, special frequencies, even satellites now,” said the President. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to all that electronic stuff.”

“You beat the
fascisti, Tenente
Bartlett! You won on
human
terms, what greater triumph is there?”

“You know, Countess, I’ve been called a lot of things, good and bad, and it goes with the office. But that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about someone like me.”

“Ponder it, Mr. President. On this earth we must
all
win on human terms. Otherwise, there is nothing.… Come, Paolo, we must think of your father.”

Hawthorne drove the State Department car through the South Gate of the White House, having been cleared by red line highest authority, no identifications asked for, the car noted by instant radar the moment it turned into the drive. Phyllis Stevens had done her job, and then some. Tyrell swung right toward the West Wing entrance, screeching to a stop in front of the steps. He got out and raced up the marble stairs to a marine captain who stood in front of a four-man unit of White House security guards. “The Oval Office,” said Hawthorne, no equivocation in his order.

“I hope to
hell
you have credentials, Commander,” said the marine officer, his hand on his unlatched holster. “They
say
you do, but nothing like this has ever happened, and it’s my ass if you’re a freak!”

“Freaks don’t get through that gate, Captain. Let’s go.”

“Hold
it! Why the Oval?”

“I’m going to interrupt a meeting. Which way?”

“No
way!” shouted the marine, stepping back, slapping his .45 Colt out of his holster and nodding at his unit, all of whom did the same.

“What the hell are you
doing
?” yelled Hawthorne, furious, as five weapons were leveled at him. “You have your orders!”

“They’re voided when you deliver an outright lie.”

“What
?”

“There is no meeting!” said the marine officer menacingly. “We got that call fifteen minutes ago, and we checked it out—
I
personally checked it out.”

“What call?”

“The same one that cleared you with the emergency watch codes. I’ll be damned if I know how you did it, but this is as far as you go—”

“For Christ’s sake, what are you
talking
about?”

“ ‘Locate Zeus,’ the man-on-high says. ‘Get him out of his meeting and secure him in the cellars—’ ”

“So far you’ve got it right—”

“Wrong! There
is
no meeting! We high-tailed it down the hallway here to the O.O., and who do we find but the Chief of Staff. He told us—me to my face—that we should check our logs, that the President hadn’t scheduled
anything
for tonight; and if we wanted to take him anywhere, we’d have to go up to the private quarters and convince the First Lady, because the whole family was there, including a passel of grandchildren!”

“That’s not the information I have, Captain.”

“Well, you can add this to whatever you’ve got, Commander. Since we’re a roving patrol, the Chief of Staff made it clear that if the press had screwed around with us for a little snooping, tabloid style, we could kiss goodbye to the sweetest jobs we’d ever see in the Corps.”

“That’s
stupid
—”

“I put it a different way, but he got the point in respectful military terms. Now
you’re
going to get the point too, freak. You’re lockstepping it over to security—”

“Get
off
it, you idiot!” roared Tyrell. “I don’t know what games are being played around here, but I know what the
stakes
are! Now, I’m running as fast as I can down that hallway, Captain, and you can open fire if you want to, but all I’m trying to do is prevent someone from killing the
President
!”

“What
did you say?” The stunned marine officer was suddenly frozen in place, his words barely heard.

“The part you got right, Captain. Get him out of that meeting.”

“There is no meeting! The Chief of Staff said—”

“Maybe he doesn’t want you to know about it, maybe that’s why it isn’t on the schedule—maybe, since I’m cleared to get in here—you ought to find
out
!… Let’s
go
!”