Crime Zero (25 page)

As if to reinforce the urgency of the situation, a tall African-American in dress uniform appeared beside Burbank. General Linus Cleaver was the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "Mr. President, can I have a word, please?"

No sooner had Burbank turned away than he turned back again to lean toward Weiss. Speaking to his successor, he kept his smile fixed and his voice low, but Naylor heard him. "I'm sorry to break up the party, but something's just come up involving Iraq. I've arranged a briefing in the conference room. I think you should be there. We need to keep a united front during the handover. I suggest we meet in the Oval Office in ten minutes."

Naylor watched Weiss clench her jaw. "Thanks, Bob, I'll be there."

Burbank smiled once more before walking back toward the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. With him Alice recognized Secretary of State Jack Manon and Defense Secretary Dick Foley.

"You OK, Pamela?" asked Alice.

"Yup. But it looks like I'm not going to get much of a honeymoon period. I'll see you guys later."

"Good luck," said Naylor, watching her say good-bye to her family, then walk toward the door in the direction of the Oval Office. As Weiss neared the door, Naylor saw a compact sandy-haired man in a dark suit appear from the throng and shadow her. Naylor knew it was Toshack, the Secret Service agent assigned to organize her protection. She didn't like him. He never showed her fear, only politeness. And since he was Secret Service, she had no authority over him.

Then, just as Weiss reached the door, a rake-thin man with curly hair suddenly stepped out in front of her and extended his hand. Toshack tensed but held back. Everyone here had been vetted and searched. Weiss shook the man's hand, but she kept on walking, clearly not intending to stop. He smiled at her and appeared to be congratulating her.

"Who is that?" Alice Prince asked Naylor.

Squinting her eyes, Naylor stared for a while, then gave a small nod. "I think it's a journalist. You know? He does all those pieces for Vanity Fair. Interviewed Pamela about three years ago, when she was being launched as a major contender for the White House. It was a big piece in all the magazines at the time. Did her a lot of good. Hank . . . er, Butcher, I think."

Suddenly Weiss stopped in her tracks, her face no longer smiling. Butcher was saying something, and Weiss was listening intently. Then Pamela darted a quick look in Naylor and Prince's direction before shaking her head at the journalist and pointing to her watch. After exchanging a few more words, the journalist pulled an envelope out of his jacket and handed it to her. Then they shook hands, and Butcher left. Weiss quickly looked in the envelope, then called Toshack over. She said something to him before leaving the room.

"I wonder what's going on," Alice said to Naylor. "She doesn't look too pleased."

To Naylor's surprise, Toshack approached them. The agent was courteous but unsmiling as he addressed them. "Excuse me, Dr. Prince, Director Naylor, but Governor Weiss requests that you meet her tonight to discuss an urgent matter relating to Project Conscience. Eight o'clock at your offices, Director Naylor?"

"Fine," said Naylor with a tight smile. Next to her Alice was fingering her pendant nervously.

"She also has a question for you," said the agent, his face impassive.

"Oh, yes?" said Naylor. "And what's that?"

"Who is Dr. Kathy Kerr?"

Chapter 22.

The Mandrake Hotel, Washington, D.C. Thursday, November 6, 1:17 P.M.

Hank Butcher felt pretty pleased with himself as he walked to his rental car in the underground garage beneath the new Mandrake Hotel, where he had stayed last night. The evidence Decker had given him about irregularities on Project Conscience had been enough to challenge the President-elect, and she had appeared suitably shocked. With more evidence to come, he was sure there was a huge story here.

His story.

This could dwarf Watergate and the Lewinsky affairs of the last century. Moreover, if he handled it well, he could be credited with blowing the first ever female presidency wide open--before she was even inaugurated.

He blew onto his hands. The temperature had dropped dramatically since election day. Washington was in the grip of a cold snap, and snow was forecast. After getting into his car, Butcher opened his briefcase and checked his airline ticket. His American Airlines flight from Reagan National to San Francisco left in one and a half hours.

He pulled out his cell phone and pressed a preset button. Decker's phone was turned off, so he left a voice mail. "Luke, hi, it's Hank. I've spoken to Weiss. She put on a pretty good show of looking shocked. I'd even go so far as to say she knows nothing about this. Let me know when you've got the rest of the stuff. I should be back home tonight."

Just then a figure entered the deserted underground lot. A tall woman in a thick winter coat. Although he recognized the face, he couldn't believe it. She was so rarely alone. Her entourage usually accompanied her. She stopped and checked her watch as if annoyed that whoever was supposed to be picking her up hadn't arrived. She must have had a clandestine meeting at the Mandrake. It wouldn't be the first time deals had been struck in the discreet hotel. She had probably arranged to be picked up down here so as to avoid prying eyes.

Butcher had thought of approaching her at the White House reception earlier but wanted to get a response from the President-elect first. Also, Decker had warned him to leave her alone until they knew more. But this was a heaven-sent opportunity. He opened his door.

"Director Naylor?"

Turning to face him, she looked startled and wary. "Yes?"

"The name's Hank Butcher. I saw you at the White House reception. Can I ask you a few questions?"

She gave him a withering glare. "You can do what you like. But I doubt I shall answer them. I'm in a hurry." She checked her watch again and turned away from him toward the exit sign.

He left his car. "C'mon, Director. It'll take only a few moments. I need to ask you about Project Conscience. I was going to ask you at the White House, but I wanted to get a comment from Pamela Weiss first."

"I'm sorry, but like I said, I'm in a hurry. I have to get to National." She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket with her gloved hand.

"No, don't call for your car. I'm going to the airport too. Let me give you a lift there. We can talk on the way, OK?"

"I don't think so."

Butcher gave her a sly smile. "What if I told you I know all about the cover-ups on Project Conscience? And that I'm going to get all the evidence I need to blow it right open. Do you still refuse to talk to me?"

Naylor's eyes narrowed, and he saw shock on her face. "What if I told you that you've been misinformed by people who wish to sabotage the most significant initiative against crime since DNA fingerprinting?"

Butcher opened the passenger door of his car. "I'd say you might be right. But I'd need to know more about your side of the story. The President-elect was too busy to give me an immediate response; perhaps you might like to instead."

Naylor hesitated for a moment and then let out a defeated sigh. "OK," she said eventually. "Let me tell my agents where I'll be." She put the cell phone to her thin lips and left a curt message. "But, Mr. Butcher," she said after she hung up, "what I'm going to tell you is off the record. And I'm telling you only so you understand this initiative mustn't be sabotaged."

"Fine, whatever you say," he said as she got into the car.

By the time they reached the Potomac it had begun to snow. As Butcher asked his questions, he ignored the large flakes falling from the sky. "So tell me about Dr. Kerr. She's made some serious allegations."

"Look, Dr. Kerr's brilliant, and the origin of Conscience undeniably comes from her work. But over the last six or so years she has been acting more and more unstable. Her work hasn't been a success, and most of the recent step changes on the project have come from Alice Prince, not her. Kathy's been feeling very insecure about her role in a project that she still regards as hers.

"Alice Prince offered to share the credit, but Kathy wanted a ridiculous financial reward and full credit or she would trash it. Naturally we can't allow a project as important as this to be held for ransom by one person--however much she's contributed. So we accepted her resignation, and now it appears she's trying to discredit the whole process."

Ahead, the sprawl of the airport rose through the thickening blizzard. Butcher peered through the windshield. "She claims you had her put away. Put in some mental asylum."

Naylor laughed at that. "What proof do you have for all this nonsense? I thought you were supposed to be a responsible journalist."

"It isn't just Kathy Kerr who claims you put her in an asylum. I've got another witness."

"Oh, yes? Who?"

"I'm not telling you that," he said. "Not yet anyway."

"Look, Mr. Butcher, there's no way anyone can corroborate a story that didn't happen unless he's lying. I asked for proof, not hearsay."

"I'm expecting more proof anytime now," he said. "Dr. Kerr says she's got records going back ten years or so."

They were heading for the main terminal building and the rental car dropoff points. He turned to ask her where she wanted to be dropped off when Director Naylor calmly reached into her jacket and in one fluid motion pulled out a gun and pressed it into his crotch. "Mr. Butcher, please take the turn for the long-term car lot. If you do not do exactly as I say, I will pull the trigger." The pistol was pushed hard into his balls, but for a good second or two he didn't react. His brain simply couldn't believe that this was happening.

Butcher exhaled suddenly, and Director Naylor watched in satisfaction as his grin faded and his face paled.

It hadn't been easy to make her prey think he was the predator. But she had no choice. She couldn't get one of her minions to handle Butcher because she needed to know what he knew. And she needed to do it quickly and discreetly.

Immediately after Toshack had asked about Kathy Kerr, Naylor had been on the phone to Jackson. Kerr had been delivered to Dr. Peters as agreed. Naylor hadn't been able to contact Peters, but he wouldn't have released Kathy. He had too much at stake. She had to find out who had got her out and why. Just the thought of Kerr's shooting off her self-righteous mouth to Weiss made her squirm. This had to be stamped out fast.

It had taken Director Naylor just two phone calls to discover where Hank Butcher was staying in Washington. She learned that he had checked out of the recently opened Mandrake Hotel this morning and had a reserved American Airlines seat to San Francisco from Reagan National Airport at four forty-six this afternoon. But his rental car was still parked under the hotel.

After a brief talk with Prince to sort out what they were going to tell Weiss tonight, she had taken a taxi to the Mandrake, then waited. Once Butcher spotted her, the rest had been easy.

Now she could interview him.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice at least an octave higher than before. "You can't possibly hope to get away with this. I'm a journalist, for chrissakes."

"Be quiet and drive to the long-term parking lot."

It was now so white outside she couldn't see more than a few yards ahead. Butcher kept pleading with her as he drove through the automatic barriers and followed her instructions to the middle of the vast lot, parking eventually in a space surrounded by hundreds of increasingly snow-blanketed cars. His face had a greenish cast and was covered in a film of sweat when he switched off the ignition and turned to her. She could tell from his eyes that he was close to panic. Good.

"Hand me the keys."

He took the keys from the ignition and gave them to her. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Who got Kerr out of the Sanctuary?"

"I can't tell you that. I promised him I wouldn't. I've got to protect my sources."

She pushed her gun further into his groin until he grimaced in pain. "I'd think about protecting more than your sources right now, if I were you. Trust me, Mr. Butcher, unless you tell me what I need to know, I will shoot you and feel justified in doing so. We are embarked upon something that is vital to the future success of our species, something far too important to allow a couple of individuals to hijack it."

Butcher looked really scared now. "But if I tell you, how do I know you won't kill me anyway?"

"God, you journalists always ask questions. You don't know. But I assure you that if you don't tell me, you'll beg me to kill you."

She stared into his eyes and cocked the gun.