The Sentinel (46 page)

Jordan turned to Eleanor, and then looked coldly back at Garrison.

Eleanor glanced at her wristwatch.

"Did you see that?" Garrison shouted. "She just checked her watch. The bomb must be set to go off in here. It's right here in this room!"

Eleanor's eyes were wide. "He's insane."

The red phone rang. Squires picked up the receiver.

"Agent Squires...yes. Okay." His jaw dropped and he dropped the receiver. "That was Agent Kallenstien. Martha Breckinridge just told her Flanagan was the one who tried to kill her."

Squires dropped the phone and faced Wintergreen with his hand on his gun.

Eleanor moved toward the door.

"Stop her," Jordan said.

She reached for the door handle. Squires grabbed her arm.

"We're all going to stay right here until the intermission is over," Jordan said.

Eleanor blinked rapidly, her eyes on Wintergreen.

"Do something!"
she shrieked hysterically.

Wintergreen reached for his gun. Garrison kicked it out of his hand.

"Evacuate the building!" Squires shouted into his microphone.

Eleanor pulled the door open and ran. Wintergreen ran after her.

Squires shoved the President into the adjoining room. Garrison and the other agents followed.

A sudden, blinding flash of light and a detonation crack flattened them on the shuddering cement floor. Shredded chucks of plaster and wood blew outward from the holding room with such force that across the street at the Watergate apartment units, windows and mirrors cracked. In the next second, spent debris and glass could be heard falling. Shouts came from inside the auditorium. Fire alarms sounded.

As fire and smoke billowed from the holding room door, Squires asked the President if he was okay. He said he was. Squires helped the President to his feet.

"Stay close to us," Squires said. "We're getting the hell out of here."

The President turned to Squires. "Remove his handcuffs."

Squires complied. Automatic sprinklers began spraying from above. The other agents shoved debris away from the door.

"Find her, Garrison," Jordan said. "No one is to know."

"I understand."

Squires and the other agents rushed out of the room and down the hall with the President. Garrison began looking through a demolished hallway and main lobby that was filling with smoke as frightened playgoers were running from the theater.

Garrison pushed his way through the crowd following the rubble-strewn hallway. He figured Eleanor and Wintergreen must have run toward the stairwell leading to the garage where the spare limousine was parked.

To his right, next to the wall adjoining the holding room, he saw a hand sticking out from under a shredded door. The explosive charge emanating from inside the holding room had blown out a wall and door. Eleanor and Wintergreen had been killed by it, their bodies lying askew among the debris. They'd made the wrong turn. It had just been bad luck. Garrison shoved the debris away, freeing her. But she didn't move. He knelt by her. She was ashen, her lips colorless. As people screamed and ran past, Garrison touched her cheek and her eyes opened.

"Pete?"

"Help is coming."

"I hate him...."

"Don't talk," he whispered gently.

She coughed, sputtering blood. She met his eyes, and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

Her eyes remained frozen open.

****

CHAPTER 36

GARRISON WENT TO the White House and briefed the President, who was visibly shaken. He remained in the Oval Office with him as the White House Chief of Staff and the Attorney General arrived. The President told Garrison to remain close by. He did so, leaving the Oval office for a few minutes to go downstairs to the Secret Service command post where he went to his locker and changed into a fresh suit.

During the rest of the night, the White House was a flurry of activity. As the news of the bombing spread worldwide, military drivers sped around D.C. transporting Cabinet members and other close confidants of the President to the White House. When they arrived, Garrison led them to the Oval office, where the President held a short meeting, soliciting advice on how to proceed. The announcement of the deaths of both the First Lady and Director Wintergreen was made by Presidential Press Secretary Elmore Banks at three A.M., causing all the television anchorpersons in the country to rush to their respective broadcast stations.

At five A.M., the White House stewards brought breakfast to the President's advisors. The President asked Garrison to join him in the State Dining Room. Garrison followed him inside, and the President asked Garrison exactly what he'd said to Joe Kretchvane about the conspiracy. Garrison recounted his conversation in detail.

The President picked up the phone.

"This is the President. Get Joe Kretchvane on the line." He set the receiver down. "You will apologize to Kretchvane and tell him that you were working undercover against Flanagan. Tell him you were following my orders. Then put me on the phone."

The phone rang.

Garrison spoke with Kretchvane, gave him the story as the President had requested, then handed the phone over.

The President and Kretchvane spoke for a half hour. Then the President returned to the Oval Office.

An hour later, Garrison led the President down a shiny corridor to the White House Press Briefing Room. Opening the door a few inches, he peeked inside. Every seat was filled and people were sitting on the floor, standing along the walls. At a podium back-dropped by a deep blue curtain with a White House emblem in the middle, Press Secretary Elmore Banks, a balding well-fed man who'd been with the President since the first campaign, shuffled through some papers preparing to speak.

"If everyone will be quiet, please," Banks said. The murmuring in the room diminished. "A preliminary joint FBI and U.S. Secret Service investigation of the bomb incident at the Kennedy Center has been completed. It has been established that the explosive used was military-grade C-4, the same type of explosive material used to bomb the Ronald Reagan Federal Building. We believe that the target of the bomb was President Jordan. When the bomb detonated, the First Lady and the President were in what is referred to as a 'holding room,' where the President was making some official telephone calls during the intermission. The explosion killed both the First Lady and U.S. Secret Service Director Larry Wintergreen. So far, no suspects have been developed, but the modus operandi is believed to be similar to certain terrorist groups that are known to the government. There will be no public statements made by the task forces that are investigating, and a blue-ribbon commission has been appointed by the President to assemble all the data and make required policy from the incident. National Security Advisor Helen Pierpont will chair that commission. The investigation itself will be conducted by agents of the United States Secret Service."

"Are you saying this is the work of the Aryan Disciples?" asked reporter Carolyn Ude from the
Los Angeles Times.

"There are a number of similarities between this bombing and previous Aryan Disciples bombings, and it has been determined that one low-level Secret Service official, Gilbert L. Flanagan, may have been involved in planting the bomb. We are quite certain that he was the only Secret Service employee involved. But, as I said, an investigation is under way. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to comment further at this point."

"Joe Kretchvane is reporting that a reliable government source told him that Flanagan was the only government insider involved and that he may have been co-opted by the Aryan Disciples. Is that true?"

"I don't want to either confirm or deny such information at this stage."

"Wouldn't there have to be Secret Service involvement for a bomb to have been planted in an area secured earlier by the Secret Service?"

"That would be a safe assumption. The preliminary investigation indicates that Secret Service agents found the device shortly before the detonation occurred. Director Wintergreen lost his life trying to get the First Lady to safety. I'm not going to go any further right now because I don't want to taint the investigation."

Photographers jockeyed for position in the front row, shoving and pushing each other as Banks blinked at a barrage of camera flashes. Then he glanced toward Garrison and gave a nod. "At this time, the President will make a brief prepared statement. Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States."

Banks moved back a few feet.

Moving past Garrison amid the sound of a hundred camera clicks, the President walked to the podium. A hush came over the crowd. The President took out a note card and placed it in front of him.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. The flag of our nation stands at half-staff and I bear the greatest personal loss of my life. I wish to remind all of you, my fellow citizens, that the United States of America - our democracy, our institutions, and our Constitution - are bigger than any crisis the country has ever been forced to endure. No matter what happens to those who hold political office, our nation's principles as a shrine to freedom remain intact. We are, truly, a nation of laws, not men. Let the word go out to our enemies: No amount of violence, not even a hundred such cowardly acts, can cause us to fear you. In her death, Eleanor Hollingsworth Jordan, a great American and a loving wife, and a fighter for freedom, has vanquished you."

The President cleared his throat, and then took a sip of water. Garrison thought his eyes looked watery. "We also mourn the loss of Director Lawrence Wintergreen of the U.S. Secret Service, a man who gave his all to fulfill his sworn duty....

After the press conference, Garrison and the President walked to the Oval Office. The President stopped at the open door. He looked tired and chastened and there was a deep melancholy in his eyes.

"Pete, I'm appointing you as the new agent in charge of White House Detail."

"Thank you. Mr. President."

"No matter what happens, I'll expect Eleanor's role in all this to remain between you and me. Forever."

"Of course. But there is one thing-"

"Yes?"

"To do a good job, I'll need my own people."

"Such as?"

"Agent Martha Breckinridge would make an excellent addition to the White House Detail."

"Consider her promoted."

Inside the Oval Office, a telephone rang. The President ignored it for a moment as he studied Garrison, meeting his gaze directly before walking to the desk and picking up the receiver. Garrison closed the door quietly.

He walked downstairs to the command post. A shift change was in progress. Agents checking weapons, going over rosters and security surveys, signing in and signing out equipment. There was a hush as they noticed him. The agents moved to him and shook hands one by one. Moving on through the office, winding his way through the maze of desks and chalkboards, Garrison accepted more greetings.

Later, Garrison departed the White House in an unmarked car. The sky was a bright azure backdrop to a band of clouds, bright white and fleecy, illumined from within. For the first time in weeks, the humidity had dissipated and there was a steady, cool breeze. Passing by the guard booth at the Northeast Gate, he looked back. He'd viewed the scene a hundred times: the ancient elm trees bent over to the sidewalk from the White House lawn, a circle of red tulips surrounding the fountain. Along Pennsylvania Avenue, tourists were busily posing for and taking photographs.

Garrison told himself that, for all its intrigue and venality, Washington, D.C., was still a place of hope. He knew that during the War of 1812, the British had burned the White House down to the ground. But things had returned to normal. He walked by Blair House, where, in 1950, White House Detail agents had been in a gunfight with terrorists who tried to assassinate President Harry Truman. But old Harry never missed a beat. Maybe that's what it was about D.C. that made it different - its permanence. Through riots, demonstrations, assassinations, war, and corruption, Abe Lincoln still pondered, the Marines still kept Old Glory at the top of the pole, and the tourists continued to file past the Vietnam Veterans' Memorial, holding their children by the hand.