Three Days of the Condor (15 page)

Maronick knew he was in trouble. He had hoped for another minute before the police arrived. By that time Condor would have been dead, and he could be far away. Now he saw two more blue forms a block away. They were tugging at their belts. Maronick swiftly calculated the odds, then turned, looking for a way out.

At this instant a rather bored congressional aide heading home from the Rayburn House Office Building drove up the side street just behind Maronick. The aide stopped his red Volkswagen beetle to check for traffic on the main artery. Like many motorists, he paid little attention to the areas he passed through. He barely realized what happened when Maronick jerked his door open, pulled him from the car, whipped the pistol across his face, and then sped away in the beetle.

Maronick's companion stood still through the whole episode. When he saw Maronick make his getaway, he too took flight. He ran up East Capitol Street. Less than fifty feet from the scene he climbed into his black Mercedes Benz and sped away. Malcolm raised his head in time to see the license plate of the car.

Malcolm looked down the street to the policemen. They huddled around the body of their comrade. One of them spoke into his belt radio, calling in the description of Maronick and the red Volkswagen and asking for reinforcements and an ambulance. It dawned on Malcolm that they hadn't seen him yet, or that if they had, they thought of him as only a passerby-witness to a police killing. He looked around him. The people huddled behind parked cars and along the clipped grass were too frightened to yell until he was out of sight. He quickly walked away in the direction the Volkswagen had come.

Just before he turned the corner he looked back at the crumpled form on the sidewalk. A policeman was bending over Wendy's still body. Malcolm swallowed and turned away. Three blocks later he caught a cab and headed downtown. As he sat in the back seat, his body shook slightly, but his mind burned.

The first step toward becoming a skilful defensive player, then, is to handle the defense in an aggressive spirit. If you do that, you can find subtle defensive resources that other players would not dream of. By seeking active counterplay, you will often upset clever attacking lines. Better yet, you will upset your opponent.

—Fred Reinfeld, The Complete Chess Course

Chapter 8

Late Monday

"All hell has broken loose, sir." Powell's voice reflected the futility he felt.

"What do you mean?" On the other end of the telephone line the old man strained to catch every word.

"The girl has been shot on Capitol Hill. Two witnesses tentatively identified that old photo of Maronick. They also identified the girl's companion who fled as Malcolm. As far as we can tell, Malcolm wasn't injured. Maronick got a cop, too."

"Killing two people in one day makes Maronick rather busy."

"I didn't say she was dead, sir."

After an almost imperceptible pause the tight voice said, "Maronick is not known for missing.

She is dead, isn't she?"

"No, sir, although Maronick didn't miss by much. Another fraction of an inch and he would have splattered her brain all over the sidewalk. As it is, she has a fairly serious head wound. She's in the Agency hospital now. They had to do a little surgery. This time I made the security arrangements. We don't want another Weatherby. She's unconscious. The doctors say that she'll probably stay that way for a few days, but they think she'll eventually be OK."

The old man's voice had an eager edge as he asked, "Was she able to tell anyone anything, anything at all?"

"No, sir," Powell replied disappointedly. "She's been unconscious since she was shot. I've got two of my men in her room. Besides double-checking everyone who comes in, they're waiting in case she wakes up.

"We've got another problem. The police are mad. They want to go after Maronick with everything they've got. A dead cop and a wounded girl on Capitol Hill mean more to them than our spy chase. I've been able to hold them back, but I don't think I can for long. If they start looking using the tie-ins they know, the Agency is bound to find out. What should I do?"

After a pause, the old man said, "Let them. Give them a slightly sanitized report of everything we know, enough to give them some leads on Maronick. Tell them to go after him with everything they can muster, and tell them they'll have lots of help. The only thing we must insist on is first questioning rights once they get him.

Insist on that, and tell them I can get authority to back up our claim. Tell them to find Malcolm too. Does it look like Maronick was waiting for them?"

"Not really. We found the boarding house used by Malcolm and the girl. I think Maronick was in the neighborhood and just happened to spot them. If it hadn't been for the police, he probably would have nailed Condor. There's one other thing. One witness swears Maronick wasn't alone. He didn't get a good look at the other man, but he says the guy was older than Maronick. The older man disappeared."

"Any confirmation from other witnesses?"

"None, but I tend to belive him. The other man is probably the main double we are after. The Hill is an excellent rendezvous. That could explain Maronick stumbling onto Malcolm and the girl."

"Yes. Well, send me everything you can on Maronick's friend. Can the witness make an ID sketch or a license-plate number? Anything?"

"No, nothing definite. Maybe we'll get lucky and the girl can help us with that if she wakes up soon."

"Yes," the old man said softly, "that would be lucky."

"Do you have any instructions?"

The old man was silent for a few moments, then said, "Put an ad— no, better make it two ads— in the
Post
. Our boy, wherever he is, will expect to hear from us. But he's probably not too organized, so put a simple, uncoded ad to run on the same page as the coded one. Tell him to get in touch with us. In the coded ad tell him the girl is alive, the original plan is off, and we're trying to find some way to bring him in safe. We'll have to take the chance that he either has or can get a copy of the code book. We can't say anything important in the uncoded ad because we don't know who else besides our boy might be reading the
Post."

"Our colleagues will guess something is up when they see the uncoded ad."

"That's an unpleasant fact, but we knew we would have to face them eventually. However, I think I can manage them."

"What do you think Malcolm will do?"

There was another short pause before the old man replied. "I'm not sure," he said. "A lot depends on what he knows. I'm sure he thinks the girl is dead. He would have responded differently to the situation if he thought she was alive. We may be able to use her somehow, as bait for either Malcolm or the opposition. But we'll have to wait and see on that."

"Anything else you want me to do?"

"A good deal, but nothing I can give you instructions for. Keep looking for Malcolm, Maronick, and company, anything which might explain this mess. And keep in touch with me, Kevin. After the meeting with our colleagues, I'll be at my son's house for dinner."

* * *

"I think it's disgusting!" The man from the FBI leaned across the table to glare at the old man. "You knew all along that the murder in Alexandria was connected with this case, yet you didn't tell us. What's worse, you kept the police from reporting it and handling it according to form. Disgusting! Why, by now we could have traced Malcolm and the girl down. They would both be safe. We would be hot after the others, provided, of course, that we didn't already have them. I've heard of petty pride, but his is national security! I can assure you, we at the Bureau would not behave in such a manner!"

The old man smiled. He had told them only about the link between Maronick and the murder in Alexandria. Imagine their anger if they realized how much more he knew! He glanced at the puzzled faces. Time to mend fences, or at least to rationalize. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, I can understand your anger. But of course you realize I had a reason for my actions.

"As you all know, I believe there is a leak in the Agency. A substantial leak, I might add. It was and is my opinion that this leak would thwart our efforts on this matter. After all, the end goal— whether we admit it or not— is to plug that very leak. Now, how was I to know that the leak was not in this very group? We are not immune from such dangers." He paused. The men around the table were too experinced to glance at each other, but the old man could feel the tension rising. He congratulated himself.

"Now then," he continued, "perhaps I was wrong to conceal so much from the group, but I think not. Not that I'm accusing anyone— or, by the way, that I have abandoned the possibility of the leak's being here. I still think my move prudent. I also believe it wouldn't have made much difference, despite what our friend from the FBI says. I think we would still be where we aree today. But that is not the question, at least not now. The question is, Where do we go from here and how?"

The Deputy Director looked around the room. No one seemed eager to respond to the old man's question. Of course, such a situation meant he should pick up the ball. The Deputy dreaded such moments. One always had to be so careful about stepping on toes and offending people. The Deputy felt far more at ease on his field missions when he only had to worry about the enemy. He cleared his throat and used a ploy he hoped the old man expected. "What are your suggestions, sir?"

The old man smiled. Good old Darnsworth. He played the game fairly well, but not very well. In a way he hated to do this to him. He looked away from his old friend and stared into space. "Quite frankly, Deputy, I'm at a loss for suggestions. I really couldn't say. Of course, I think we should keep on trying to do something."

Inwardly the Deputy winced. He had the ball again. He looked around the table at a group of men now suddenly not so competent and eagerlooking. They looked everywhere but at him, yet he knew they were watching his every move. The Deputy cleared his throat again. He resolved to end the agony as quickly as possible. "As I see it, then, no one has any new ideas. Consequently, I have decided that we will continue to operate in the manner we have been." (Whatever that means, he thought.) "If there is nothing further…" He paused only momentarily. "…I suggest we adjourn." The Deputy shuffled his papers, stuffed them into his briefcase, and quickly left the room.

As the others rose to leave, the Army Intelligence representative leaned over to the Navy captain and said, "I feel like the nearsighted virgin on his honeymoon who couldn't get hard: I can't see what to do and I can't do it either."

The Navy captain looked at his counterpart and said, "I never have that problem."

* * *

Malcolm changed taxis three times before he finally headed for northeast Washington. He left the cab on the fringes of the downtown area and walked around the neighborhood. During his ride around town he formed a plan, rough and vague, but a plan. His first step was to find all-important shelter from the hunters.

It took only twenty minutes. He saw her spot him and discreetly move in a path parallel to his. She crossed the street at the corner. As she stepped up to the sidewalk she "tripped" and fell against him, her body pressed close to his. Her arms ran quickly up and down his sides. He felt her body tense when her hands passed over the gun in his belt. She jerked away and a pair of extraordinarily bright brown eyes darted over his face.

"Cop?" From her voice she couldn't have been more than eighteen. Malcolm looked down at her stringy dyed blond hair and pale skin. She smelled from the perfume sampler at the corner drugstore.

"No." Malcolm looked at the frightened face. "Let's say I'm involved in a high-risk business." He could see the fear on her face, and he knew she would take a chance.

She leaned against him again, pushing her hips and her chest forward. "What are you doing around here?"

Malcolm smiled. "I want a lay. I'm willing to pay for it. Now, if I'm a cop, the bust is no good, cause I entrapped you. OK?"

She smiled. "Sure, tiger. I understand. What kind of party are we going to have?"

Malcolm looked down at her. Italian, he thought, or maybe Central European. "What do you charge?"

The girl looked at him, judging possibilities. It had been a slow day. "Twenty dollars for a straight lay?" She made it clear she was asking, not demanding.

Malcolm knew he had to get off the streets soon. He looked at the girl. "I'm in no hurry," he said. "I'll give you… seventy-five for the whole night. I'll throw in breakfast if we can use your place."

The girl tensed. It might take her a whole day and half the night o make that kind of money. She decided to gamble. Slowly she moved her hand into Malcolm's crotch, covering her action by leaning into him, pushing her breast against his arm. "Hey, honey, that sounds great, but…" She almost lost her nerve. "Could you make it a hundred? Please? I'll be extra-special good to you."

Malcolm looked down and nodded. "A hundred dollars. For the full night at your place." He reached in his pocket and handed her a fifty-dollar bill. "Half now, half afterwards. And don't think about any kind of setup."

The girl snatched the money from his hand. "No setup. Just me. And I'll be real good— real good. My place isn't far." She linked her arm in his to guide him down the street.

When they reached the next corner, she whispered, "Just a second, honey, I have to talk to that man." She released his arm before he could think and hurried to the blind pencil hawker on the corner. Malcolm backed against the wall. His hand shot inside his coat. The gun butt was sweaty.

Malcolm saw the girl slip the man the fifty dollars. He mumbled a few words. She walked quickly to a nearby phone booth, almost oblivious of a boy who jostled her and grinned as her breasts bounced. The sign said Out of Order, but she opened the door anyway. She looked through the book, or so Malcolm thought. He couldn't see too well, as her back was toward him. She shut the door and quickly returned.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, honey. Just a little business deal. You don't mind, do you?"