Authors: Allan Topol
* * *
A half hour later, as Cunningham's car was passing through the gate to the White House, Joyner called him back. "He did it," she said, sounding upset. "The whole thing, just as you described it."
"Oh, shit."
"That pretty well sums it up."
"Was he defensive?"
"He's proud of it. Says we behaved like a bunch of pussies when they took our plane. Says all they understand is brute force."
"Jesus, what'd you say?"
"Blew sky-high. Chewed him out. Told him that I'm going to take disciplinary action against him. He told me I was a gutless weasel. We'll see about that."
Cunningham reminded himself that high-profile, unauthorized spy actions that failed were an embarrassment for all governments from time to time. That didn't lessen his fury and outrage. Cowboys like Donovan had to be reined in. With everything on high alert with China over the Taiwan arms deal, this was no time for provocation, which was undoubtedly why Donovan had launched it now: to provoke a Chinese military response that would lead to war.
"You want me to come into town and join you at your meeting with the President and Liu?" Joyner asked.
Cunningham looked at his watch. He would have liked Joyner there, but she'd never make it in from Langley in time. "We'll put you on the speakerphone if need be. Meantime, have somebody keep an eye on Donovan. We don't want him walking out with any of the Agency's confidential documents."
* * *
"This is the worst month of my life." President Brewster moaned as Cunningham finished his briefing in the Oval Office. Off to one side, Slater shook his head, showing his disbelief at Cunningham's report.
The President turned back to Cunningham. "What do I tell Liu?"
"That you deeply regret this unauthorized action. You apologize to his government. You tell him that Donovan will be sacked from his job and dismissed from the Agency."
"Will Margaret go along with that?"
"I think so. Let's get her on the speakerphone."
Waiting for Doris to place the call, Slater said, "You really think it's wise to sack Donovan like this?"
"We have to do it," Cunningham replied. "What's bothering you?"
"He knows where a lot of bodies are buried, so to speak. You put someone like that out of the tent and he could come back to haunt us."
They both looked at the President. "Donovan goes unless Margaret disagrees," Brewster said without hesitation.
The President didn't even finish asking Joyner about the proposed disciplinary action on Donovan before she blurted out, "He'll be out of this building for good by the end of the day."
* * *
The decision to fire Donovan, along with an official, albeit private apology, meant a great deal to Liu, Cunningham could tell when they met with the Chinese ambassador a few minutes later. It was something he could tell the leaders in Beijing he had extracted from Washington. Cunningham knew that Liu was itching to press his case with the President for a reversal of Winthrop's decision on the Taiwan arms package, but, following Cunningham's counsel he kept silent on the issue.
"We did as well as we could," Cunningham said to the President and Slater when Liu left.
"You think they'll respond with an attack on Taiwan?" Brewster asked.
"As usual with the Chinese, it's hard to know how they'll react." Cunningham added, "Our ships are in the area. We're ready to respond if that's what you decide to do."
Doris stuck her head in the door. "You said to remind you when it's time to leave for Paris."
Brewster sighed. "This trip couldn't come at a worse time. You think I should cancel?"
"Absolutely not," Slater said. "It sends the wrong signal to the Chinese and the rest of the world. We'll be in close contact with you from here on a secure line. If they attack, you can get back in a matter of hours."
Cunningham nodded in acquiescence.
"You know," Brewster said, "the more I think about what this guy Donovan did, the angrier I get. Firing him is not enough." The President was seething. "I want to throw the book at this... what did you call him?"
"Cowboy," Cunningham said.
"Yeah, cowboy."
"You really think that's wise?" Slater asked.
"You're damn right." Brewster hit the intercom. "Doris, get me Margaret Joyner again on the squawk box."
Once the CIA director was on the line, Brewster said, "I want you to call Ches Hawthorne. Tell him to have Sarah Van Buren or one of her people at DOJ find some laws that Donovan broke and charge him. That bastard's going to pay with a criminal conviction for what he did. You got that?"
"Done."
Slater was stunned. "You're willing to put the country through a public trial? Donovan could reveal plenty of our dirty little secrets."
"It'll never go that far. He'll plead."
"And if he doesn't?"
Brewster turned back toward the phone. "Also, Margaret, tell Ches I want to know how he's coming on the Winthrop investigation. Tell him to call me on Air Force One. I can't believe they haven't caught the people behind the Winthrop murder. The man was my best friend and a devoted public servant. This is a top priority for me. Tell him I said to use all the resources of this government."
* * *
Joyner summoned Chip Donovan, dressed in his usual black suit and black turtleneck shirt, to her office, where Sarah Van Buren was waiting. As soon as he heard the words "head of the criminal division" in the introduction, he knew what was coming. In stony silence he listened to Joyner. "You're being removed from your job for cause as of right now. You'll have ten minutes to clean out your office and to leave the building. You'll be watched the entire time. And that's not all. We're throwing the book at you." She turned to Van Buren. "Sarah, tell him what charges you're filing."
Before Van Buren could respond, Donovan said, "Why don't you people stop and think for a damn minute? China's hell-bent on their rise and our decline. Nations like that have to be stopped early with a show of force. What I did was right. Cunningham and Brewster are like Chamberlain was in the thirties. How far did appeasement get England?"
Joyner bristled. "You're not running the country."
"But what I planned was brilliant. Knocking out that missile battery would have been a powerful blow for Beijing. They'd think twice the next time before they behave like pirates and grab one of our planes out of the sky."
"Are you finished ranting?" Joyner said.
"No point trying to talk to people with blinders on who refuse to look at the facts."
Donovan didn't care about the dismissal from the agency. He was tired of working for a bunch of wimps. As for the ten minutes to clear out, that was a joke. He had hidden in a safe at home false passports and cash if he ever had to beat a hasty exit from the United States. He did not like the idea of being charged criminally, however.
He was scowling when Van Buren began talking about the laws he had violated and the charges that would be filed. She was in the middle of a sentence when he fired back, "You can charge me if you want to, but you'll lose your chance to find out who killed Robert Winthrop."
Startled, Van Buren said, "Run that by me again."
Donovan snarled. "You heard me. His Royal Highness, Brewster, wants to know who killed his great buddy who couldn't keep his pecker in his pants. Why don't you ask him if he wants to know badly enough that he's willing to let me walk?"
Joyner took off her glasses and fiddled with them, wondering what Donovan was talking about. "Tell us more."
He paused, letting the tension build. Then, like someone who was tossing a live grenade on the table in Joyner's office, he said, "I know who killed Robert Winthrop. You want to know? Then you have to play ball with me."
Mystified, Van Buren looked at Joyner, who was cringing inside, but trying not to show it. My God, Joyner was thinking. I hope to hell Winthrop's murder wasn't another clandestine CIA operation, like the attack on the Chinese missile base.
Van Buren asked, "What do you want?"
Donovan gave her an icy stare. She'd better realize that his terms were nonnegotiable. "I'll step down from my job at the Agency. You'll have to paper it over to make it look like a voluntary retirement, so I get my pension. Also, I want total immunity from any criminal charges in connection with the attack on the Chinese missile base and the Winthrop murder." He paused. "And finally, I can't be forced to testify in any proceeding about either event. That's it. Take it or leave it."
He looked like a poker player who had just bet the limit and laid down a straight flush. Contempt was mixed with arrogance in Donovan's steel gray eyes.
"You've got to be kidding," Van Buren said. "You don't have anything like the leverage you need to drive a deal like that."
Donovan pounded the table. "Oh, really? Try this for openers. I can tell you now that someone who works in the White House was very much involved in Winthrop's murder. You can take that back to His Royal Highness."
The women exchanged horrified looks. "You've got to give me more than that for what you're asking."
"Sorry, that's all you'll get from me until you sign on the dotted line."
"It's not enough."
Donovan pushed a hand through his thick gray hair.
"I hope Brewster never finds out that you two passed up a chance to learn who killed his bosom buddy."
Though she found Donovan despicable, Joyner, who less than an hour ago had heard the President refer to finding Winthrop's killer as a "top priority," took a softer line. "We'll let you wait in a conference room outside while we talk this over."
"Make sure you lock me in. You wouldn't want me stealing any documents."
"Don't worry," she snapped. "We'll have an armed guard at the door."
Once he was gone, Van Buren said to Joyner, "You think he knows anything about Winthrop's killer? Or is this just a game?"
"It's hard to know. I don't want to make that decision."
They called Ches Hawthorne at DOJ, who was flabbergasted. "This one gets made at the top. You two hold on while I get the President on another phone. He should be on Air Force One by now."
Minutes later, Hawthorne was back. "Brewster said, 'Hell, yes, take the deal, and keep me informed. Finding out who killed Winthrop means more to me than putting this cowboy in jail.' His words. My thought is, you get Donovan out of the CIA building. Set it up for a four-o'clock meeting with him somewhere in town. That'll give us time to draw up the papers. I'll get somebody drafting ASAP. When you tell him we'll give him what he wants, emphasize that if anything he tells us isn't true, the deal's off. That term goes into the immunity document."
"Will do," Van Buren replied.
"Oh, and one other thing. When you set the meeting with Donovan, I want Ben and Jennifer there. They've been working the Winthrop case. They'll be in the best position to decide whether that scumbag Donovan is telling the truth."
* * *
Gwen had regained consciousness over a period of several hours. She could move her toes. Her eyes fluttered. The room, which had been fuzzy and clouded, grew sharper, like a camera lens being focused. Along with her sight, her sense of smell and hearing returned. The odor, unmistakably a hospital, told her where she was even before she heard the announcements over the PA system that said, "Dr. Nielsen to surgery, stat. Dr. Goldberg to O.R., Dr...."
As she looked around, her recollection of what had happened returned. She touched her face and nose, felt the large bandage, and thought about that little monster with her yellow metal lunch pail. "I'll kill her," she growled. She remembered the detective and the car. She could feel her entire rib cage aching. She had cuts and bruises over much of her body. She reached down, touching the IV tubes and monitors hooked up to her arms, then leaned up a little from her prone position in bed. How long have I been unconscious? she wondered.
In the doorway she saw a guard in a blue police uniform sitting on a wooden chair. He had his back to Gwen, chatting with a nurse, who was holding blood samples in a metal tray.
For the next hour, Gwen kept her eyes closed, pretending to be unresponsive as nurses went in and out of her room. She was waiting for the right time to make her move.
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the corridor. She heard a nurse shout, "Code blue in room eight." Half a dozen medical personnel raced past Gwen's door.
They won't be looking at the monitors, Gwen thought. I've got to move fast, before they know I'm awake. One by one, she disconnected the tubes and apparatus. With great effort, biting down on her lip to block out the excruciating pain, Gwen lowered her feet out of the bed.
Spotting a couple of towels in a chest, she snatched one. Then, after twisting the towel around like a rope between her hands, she made her way across the floor on her toes, sneaking up on the guard.
No one was in the corridor. In a single swift motion, she looped the towel over his head and around the front of his neck. Mustering all of her strength, she pulled him back into the room, chair and all, and kicked the door shut. He struggled, thrashing his arms, going for his gun, which was buttoned in the holster at his waist, as she tightened the noose. With his air cut off, his face turned red and then blue as she continued pulling. She waited for him to stop moving, then held on for another minute, making sure he was dead. As she let go of the towel, his body fell off the chair and onto the floor.
Move fast, she told herself. A nurse could pop into the room any minute. She opened the door to the closet. Sure enough, her clothes and coat were hanging inside. Her personal things were in a brown shopping bag, including her cell phone. All that was missing was her gun. Fighting the pain, she stripped off her hospital gown and got dressed. She removed the guard's loaded gun and stuffed it into the pocket of her black leather jacket.
Peeking from the edge of the door, she made sure the corridor outside her room was still deserted. Then she slipped out. She decided not to risk the elevator. Walking almost normally, she headed toward the exit stairway at the end of the corridor.