Kate deleted the email and sat at her desk, staring at the Helen Frankenthaler painting hanging on the wall opposite, soaking it in. Finally, she pressed the intercom button.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Please ask Morton Koppel, Hugh English, and Creighton Adams to come and see me right away. It’s urgent.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
THE THREE MEN were in her office in five minutes.
“Something up?” Adams asked.
“Yes, Creighton,” she said. “We talked about this before, but now we have to talk about it again, and very seriously. It’s about Ed Rawls.”
Hugh English tossed a pencil onto the conference table in disgust, while Koppel and Adams sat quietly, waiting.
“Hugh, what do we hear from Stockholm?” she asked.
English shrugged. “All right, there were four bugs in the apartment.”
Koppel spoke up. “What apartment?”
“Let me bring you up to date,” Kate said. “After dinner, when he was here, Majorov, who was KGB station head in Stockholm at the time of Rawls’s arrest, told me that Ed was not involved in the killings of Lewis and Barbara Moore, that he didn’t set them up. The Soviets learned of their activities from a bug in the Moores’ apartment—or rather, as Hugh tells us, four bugs. I asked Hugh to have the apartment torn apart, and they were found.”
“This still doesn’t make Ed Rawls anything other than a traitor,” English said petulantly.
“It makes him less than a man who would betray two people who worked for him in Stockholm, costing them their lives. Can we agree on that?”
English shrugged.
“Hugh, does this new information mitigate at all your determination not to see Rawls let out of prison?”
“No,” English said, “it doesn’t. I want him to rot there until he dies.”
Neither of the other two men looked at English.
“Mort, Creighton, are you still of a mind to see Rawls out of prison?”
“I have no objection,” Adams said.
“Neither do I, given his age and health problems,” Koppel said.
“All right. Hugh, I have other information for your consideration.”
“Sure, I’ll listen,” English replied, making an attempt to sound reasonable.
“I’ve had several communications from Ed regarding the identity of the man who killed Wallace and Vandervelt and Brennan, and tried to kill Calhoun. He told me that he knew the identity of the murderer.”
“Well, now we all know, don’t we?” English said. “Anybody with a television set knows.”
“The problem is, we don’t know how to find
him,”
Kate said. “Given the skills that he acquired at this Agency over the years, he could remain free for the rest of his life, killing at will, and he might never be caught. Rawls says he knows where Theodore Fay can be found.”
English sat up. “How the hell could he know that?” he demanded.
“I don’t know. Certainly, it’s possible that the two worked together on some assignment in the past, and it’s possible that Fay told Ed something that might be of use in finding him.”
“So Rawls is trying to trade this information for a presidential pardon?” English asked.
“Yes, he is. Does this at all change your views on letting him out?”
English said nothing, but seemed to be grinding his teeth.
“Hugh, we’re talking about two rogue Agency people—one who betrayed us and has served a long time in prison, and another who has betrayed us and is at large, killing prominent Americans.”
“Does the president know about this?” English asked.
“No. I learned about it only a few minutes ago, in an email from Rawls.”
“He has your email address?”
“I don’t know how he got it, but I’ve had the same address for a long time. It wouldn’t be all that hard to figure out.”
“What do you want me to do, Kate?” English asked.
“I want to go to the president and recommend a commutation of Ed’s sentence, if that’s possible, or a pardon, if it is not, based on Ed’s information leading to the arrest of Fay.”
English looked at Adams. “Creighton, you worked with Fay, didn’t you?”
“Several times, over the years,” Adams replied.
“Do you think he could be this murderer?”
“Yes, I do,” Adams replied. “And if he isn’t, we’ll know after he’s found, and no harm done.”
“Except his reputation and ours are smeared all over the media.”
“That’s already done. Nothing we can do about it. What about you, Hugh? You knew Teddy, could he be the killer?”
English’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, I suppose he could. All right, Kate, you’ve got me in a box. I’ll sign off on a commutation or a pardon or whatever. But I don’t like it.”
“You’re not in a box, Hugh, at least not one of my construction. You can dissent from this recommendation, and I’ll go to the president with Creighton’s and Mort’s backing and tell him of your objections.”
English raised his hands in submission. “No, no, I’ll go along quietly.”
“Fine,” Kate said. “I’ll compose a memo to the president and my secretary will bring it around for your signatures.”
“Why don’t you just call him?” English asked. “You’ve got the number.”
“I want this done properly and on the record,” Kate said. “And I want the president to have it in writing from us for his own protection.”
“I didn’t know this was about covering your husband’s ass, Kate,” English said.
“I would do the same for any president,” Kate said, “and Hugh, if you ever speak that way to me again I’ll fire you in the same instant.”
“I apologize,” English said, unapologetically.
The three men left, and Kate sat down at her computer to compose the letter. She had not wanted to do this, but she was the one in a box.
47
TED DROVE AT A MODERATE pace past Justice Graydon’s house near Rock Creek Park, ignoring the security van parked across the street. The black SUV was parked in his driveway, and Ted noted the license plate number. That was easy; now the hard part. He headed for Baltimore.
THE PARTS MANAGER stared at the number on the sheet of paper Ted had handed him. “Gee, I don’t think we’ve got this in stock; we wouldn’t ordinarily keep one, unless we had ordered it as a replacement for somebody’s wrecked car.”
“The manufacturer’s customer hotline says you’ve got it,” Ted said.
The manager went to a computer terminal and typed in the part number. “That’s what it says here, too. Let me go check.”
Ted sat down and picked up an old magazine. He had to be patient; he didn’t want to create any clear memories of him in the parts manager’s mind.
Ten minutes later, the man returned, holding up a plastic envelope. “Got it,” he said. “How do you want to pay?”
“I’ll give you cash,” Ted said, relieved. He paid for the computer chip, then drove back to his hangar at Manassas Regional Airport. He put the chip under a strong magnifier and compared what he saw to the design he had downloaded from the manufacturer’s computer. Shortly, he had what he was looking for—the location of the microchips that controlled the SUV’s automatic stability program and antilock brakes. This feature had finally filtered down from the high-end sedans to SUVs, and what it did was automatically apply the brakes to individual wheels in critical situations such as a skid, helping the car correct its path. He also removed the chip’s restriction on acceleration and top speed, which had been designed for fuel economy.
Ted spent most of the rest of the day adapting a chip reader, connecting it to his computer, and testing it. Finally, with the chip displayed on his large computer screen, he reprogrammed the stability program to do the exact reverse of what it had been designed to do. It was now, effectively, an instability program.
Now he had to get the chip into Thomas Graydon’s car, which, with the security detail watching him, was not going to be easy. He read through his clippings file on Justice Graydon again and found something he thought might be useful: Graydon kept a cabin in a fairly steep and remote area of the Maryland mountains, not all that far from Camp David.
Ted picked up the phone and got the number for the Supreme Court, then dialed it and asked for Justice Graydon.
“Justice Graydon’s chambers,” a young woman’s voice said.
“This is Tim Johnson in the Attorney General’s office,” he said. “The general has a friend of the family, a recent graduate of Yale Law School, who would like to interview for a clerk’s position. She’s coming to Washington for the day later this week, and the general wondered if Justice Graydon could possibly see her on Friday afternoon?”
“I’m afraid Justice Graydon won’t be in on Friday afternoon,” the young woman said. “He goes to his country place most weekends. Could she possibly come in on Friday morning?”
“I’m afraid not,” Ted said. “Let me call you back to arrange this when I know more about her schedule. Thanks very much.” He hung up.
BY NOON ON FRIDAY, Ted was in the Mercedes, parked not far from the garage exit at the Supreme Court building. It was nearly three o’clock before the black SUV Emerged, followed by the gray security van. Ted started the engine and followed, keeping one or two cars between himself and the security van. The Friday afternoon exit from Washington was building, and the traffic was helpful to him in keeping the two vehicles in sight.
Graydon returned to his home to pick up some luggage and his wife, and with a security agent at the wheel, the car drove away from the house a little after four. A light rain was beginning to fall, and Ted switched on his wipers and lights.
He followed the entourage to the beltway, then to the interstate north, and forty-five minutes out of Washington, he watched as the SUV and the security van pulled off the highway into a rest stop with a restaurant and a service station. The SUV had to park some distance from the restaurant, because of the lack of free parking spaces, and Justice Graydon, his wife, and his bodyguard all got out and walked a hundred yards to the restaurant. The security van followed and parked at the curb outside. It was facing away from the parking lot, which suited Ted’s purposes.
He parked the Mercedes near the SUV, got out, and looked around. He waited until a couple nearby had left their car and the area, then he quickly walked to the SUV, took a slim-jim tool from under his jacket, and unlocked the door. He popped the hood, and, after another quick look around, raised the hood and, with a small screwdriver, removed the cover from the central computer box, extracted the central processing chip, and replaced it with his modified version. Seconds later, he was back in the Mercedes and on his way back to the hangar, where he had much work to do.
WHEN THEY RETURNED to the SUV, the agent pointed the remote control at the car and pressed the unlock button. The horn beeped, and the parking lights flashed. It did not occur to him that the car might already be unlocked.
TEDDY WAS BACK in the hangar by early evening, and he began packing things into the RV and the Mercedes. With only a short break for dinner, he worked until past midnight, cleaning up after himself. Finally, he maneuvered the Mercedes behind the RV and hooked up the towbar. He fell into bed after 1 a.m. A good night’s sleep and he would be on his way.
48
WILL READ THE LETTER from his wife once more, then he pressed a button on his intercom. “See if you can get Mrs. Lee,” he said. “She’s probably on her way home by now.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” the secretary said.
Shortly, Kate came on the line. “Hi, I’ve just left Langley.”
“I got your fax,” “Will said. ”Are these people really on board for this?“
“Koppel and Adams are. Hugh English was reluctant, but with the new information that came in, he folded.”
“What new information?”
“Our acquaintance in Atlanta says he can be helpful in locating Mr. Fay.”
“Can anyone hear you?” Will asked.
“No, I’m in the backseat, and the partition is up.”
“How the hell can he be helpful with that?”
“He has been in touch with me, saying he knew who the killer was, and he wanted a pardon in return for the information. Then, when we finally got Fay’s name and description, he emailed me this morning and said he knows where to find him. What we’re recommending is the promise of a pardon if his information is good.”
“I hate tradeoffs like this,” Will said.
“I know you do, but what choice do we have? If someone else is killed because we didn’t act on this, the consequences could be very bad for you.”
“Not to mention the victim and his family.”
“Exactly. Oh, Rawls wants the FBI reward, too.”
“I suppose, if his information is good, he’d be entitled to it.”
“Yes. I suggest you announce the pardon at Christmastime, when you do the annual list of pardons. Never mind that he’d already be free by then. I think you can justify the delay in announcing.”
“All right, I’ll have an answer for you by the time you get home.”
“See you soon.” She hung up.
Will read the recommendation again. He didn’t like this at all. Rawls had been Kate’s mentor at the CIA, and this was going to look too cozy, as if she were doing a favor for an old friend. He went into his small study and locked the letter from Kate and her colleagues in his personal safe, then he called his secretary in and dictated a letter.
“Get ahold of Deputy Director Kinney at the FBI and ask him to come to the White House immediately. Tell him he’s going to have to fly to Atlanta tonight and to make the travel arrangements.”
He read over the letter, then he signed it and sealed it in a While House envelope.
BOB KINNEY WAS SITTING at a table in a Georgetown restaurant, gazing into Nancy Kimble’s eyes. “God, I’m glad you’re back,” he said.
“So am I.”
They clinked glasses, and as they did, his cell phone rang.
“Dammit, I forgot to turn it off,” he said, glancing at the instrument. He flipped it open. “Kinney.” He listened for a moment. “Atlanta? Why?” His shoulders sagged. “I’ll be there inside half an hour.” He closed the phone.
“What is it?”