“Mr. DeWitt, to
be
more specific, I’ll quote from a certified copy of a statement released by New Scotland Yard on March twenty-sixth of 1973.” He waited for the copies to be delivered, then began in a strong voice.
“Professor Rupert Everttson, late of Barnsdahl College in Wilfordshire, has been taken into custody on charges of serving as an intermediary for the KGB.”
A rumble went through the room.
“It is alleged by the Crown Prosecution Service that Professor Everttson acted as a recruitment officer for the KGB at Barnsdahl and later as a ‘post office’ for those he recruited to send their stolen secrets on to their KGB masters.
“Also taken into custody was Professor Everttson’s lover, a Haitian national, James Fergét. Mr. Fergét is actively cooperating in identifying those recruited by Professor Everttson.”
DeWitt was red with anger. “Senator! Are you suggesting …
But Roberts held up a restraining hand. “All I’m doing is seeking the truth, Mr. DeWitt.
The chairman pounded his gavel five times before order was restored. “Mr. Attorney General, you may finish your answer.”
DeWitt hardly knew where to start. His greatest nightmare had been to be discovered as an agent for the Chinese. He’d lost count of the nights he’d wake up screaming in terror at the thought/nightmare. But this, to be tarred by the brush of something he’d never been involved in…
He glanced at a note from Michael. It said, simply and unmistakably:
Moral outrage!!!!!
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman.” He took a deep breath, then turned to face Roberts eye-to-eye. “Senator, this country has spent too much time in the past debating half-truths and innuendos. Joseph McCarthy and Ken Starr both used that despicable tactic—the whispered half-truth, the sourceless leak, the
knowledgeable source
—to destroy the lives and reputations of some good men and women.
“If you have an allegation to make, sir, make it aloud and specifically, man to man. But before you do, let me state this clearly and for the record.”
He seemed to gather himself. Like a volcano growing quiet before the final eruption.
“My record, my life, my very being, reject your smarmy implications. That I have to say this aloud saddens me deeply, that the monument of my life is not evidence enough to the contrary, I find deeply disheartening. But let me say it now, for the record and for all time. I have
never been
—now or at any time in my past—an agent for the Soviets. And I am filled with repugnance at the insinuation in your line of questioning!”
Scatterings of applause filled the chamber as all eyes turned to Roberts.
The senator nodded, not in awe or respect for the brilliantly displayed moral outrage in front of him, but in admiration that the question list had anticipated that
exact
response—almost to the words.
He waited until he was sure he had the complete attention of the crowd, the nominee, and the committee before he handed another document for delivery. Then he read the next question, certain now that the file contents
must
be accurate.
“I am reading from an uncertified copy of a statement from Mr. James Fergét given freely to New Scotland Yard investigators in 1974. Quote:
I do not know their names, his name, but I am certain in my belief that there was at least one American recruited by Rupert in his time at Barnsdahl.
Unquote.”
Roberts paused.
“Mr. DeWitt, please don’t misunderstand me. I make no allegations against your sterling record. Your time as attorney general has demonstrated a deep concern for maintaining the national security of the nation. It is specifically because of that, that I ask the question.”
Roberts smiled like a friend. “Help us out, sir, you were there, knew the other Americans at Barnsdahl and in Professor Everttson’s classes. Help us solve a decades-old mystery.”
He folded his hands calmly in front of him. “Who is…” He checked his notes. “What did they call him? Oh yes … who is Apple Blossom?”
“Senator Roberts,” DeWitt said slowly after the excitement around him had died down. “My apologies if I seemed to overreact just now. The burdens of assisting the president in our time of crisis, I fear, has frayed my nerves more than I was aware.”
He took a long, calming drink of water. “This news about Professor Everttson comes as a shock and a complete surprise. Of course I’ll do whatever I can to assist you.”
“Mr. DeWitt,” said Roberts, smiling back, “if any of
my comments were misinterpreted, I apologize as well. But the synchronicity of this revelation—”
“This twenty-five-year-old revelation,” the chairman interrupted.
Roberts nodded. “This twenty-five-year-old revelation
does
seem to have a startling synchronicity with our business here. Perhaps, since we are engaged in so momentous an event in our history, you would be willing to help us—within the confines of this committee’s hearings—to clear up what I am sure is merely a dastardly attempt to besmirch a great American.”
“I will, Senator.”
Roberts continued reading. “Mr. Chairman, I request that the committee recess until Monday morning to allow staff to examine the documents and allegations contained in this report. To better assist the vice president designate in helping us unearth the truth to this…”
The sheet said to pause, and had been right so far, so he paused.
“This Apple Blossom.”
On Grimes’s farm, Canvas flicked off the set the moment the committee unanimously voted to recess for the weekend. He didn’t need the talking heads critique that would follow, probably for hours and days to come. He didn’t need to hear the White House spin, DeWitt’s protestations, or the dissection by the politicians.
He had his own analysis to make. And quickly too.
“Too pretty,” he mumbled as he turned to Steingarth, who had watched the hearings with him. “Too bloody neat.” He glanced at the hurried notes he’d made, then looked up at Steingarth. “You
don’t
have any connection with this Everttson, do you?”
“None at all,” the old man said hurriedly. “If he was a Soviet asset-in-place, we would have no knowledge of it. And if he was in the history department, the point is only reinforced. Our people were solely in psychology and ethics venues.”
Canvas nodded. “Right.” He shook his head. “There is a poetry there, though.”
He actually smiled. “The Americans react to nothing quite so violently as the good old Soviet Boogeyman. Accuse, but offer an out—he’s not the spy, but might know who the spy is. Provide evidence that is irrefutable and eminently checkable—except for the key piece, the Apple Blossom comment from an
uncertified
transcript.” He nodded in appreciation. “Pure poetry.”
“But who could be behind it?” Steingarth asked with obvious concern.
“Who do you think?” The German looked blank. “Xenos.”
“But he’s dead. You killed him yourself.”
“God bless resurrections,” Canvas mumbled as he walked into the next room, where three aides were working frantically. “What do you have?” he asked one.
The man looked upset. “Everttson and Fergét were who they said and busted when and why they said. Everttson killed himself within three months, the Haitian the next year. Two of the interrogators died in the last five years from natural causes, the third is senile and in a home near Baysingstoke.”
“So nothing can be verifiably proved or disproved. Sweet.”
His aide continued after looking over some papers that were handed to him. “Scotland Yard
will
confirm the generic facts of the case, but refuse to give any details to the press.” The man thought about it. “My guess, they’ll make a Senate investigator fly to London for a face-to-face; to go through the files. Could take days, maybe weeks, you know what Central Registry’s like on old files.”
Canvas nodded. “What about cross-checking Apple Blossom?”
The assistant looked positively ill. “Pei used it sixteen times in nine different debriefings. Always vague, general.” He hesitated, then spoke in a barely heard whisper of almost physical pain. “Always an American educated in Europe, in the sixties, a sleeper asset designed to take over a senior role in the U.S. government.”
“Shit.”
“There’s no way the investigators will miss the cross-reference.”
Canvas sighed, then moved to the window. He looked out at the woods around him, the calm, pastural setting. Vaguely watched some squirrels lightly leap from branch to branch on a nearby tree.
“Why can’t you just die like other people, Jerry?” he whispered.
He sighed again, ran his fingers through his close-cropped hair, then turned back to the waiting men.
“We go on the offensive right away. Before they get a chance to throw another chain saw at us, right? Have De-Witt issue a statement saying as how he is
honored
and all that crap to help ferret out this Russki spy. But for God’s sake, he is
not
to use the phrase ‘Apple Blossom in any circumstances. Get Grimes and whoever else we have in the media to dredge up a lot of old footage of Joe McCarthy and the like. Phrases like ’rush to judgment and’ guilty by suspicion and the lot.
“Walker?”
“Yes, Guv?”
“Let’s have someone in Congress, several someones, talk about expediting the nomination so that the committee can concentrate on the hunt for the
real
spy. Patriotic duty to get DeWitt in office and all. Time enough for a quarter-century-old scandal later.”
“On it.”
Canvas walked a few paces away from the group with the man. “Anything from Krusiec?”
The man shook his head. “Not since she called in an emergency. Nothing.”
“Nothing,” Canvas repeated sadly, then clapped the man on the back. “Get on it. The man raced off as his boss nodded for Steingarth to follow him into the next room.”
“We have a problem, you and I.”
“I’ve noticed,” the German said morosely.
Canvas shook his head. “Forget DeWitt. Our problem is a bigger one.”
The older man looked intensely curious but didn’t say a word. Just waited.
“Xenos is out there somewhere,” Canvas said in a low tone. “If he’s alive, then it’s only prudent to assume that Alvarez and the rest are alive as well.”
“I see your point.”
“You see half of it.” He led them out the door for a walk among the privacy of the trees. “As long as we have her kids, Alvarez stays in line. But how long can we hold them? And if we lose positive control on Alvarez, the party’s over.”
“You want to kill the children now?” Steingarth sounded neither shocked nor eager, merely inquiring.
“Can’t do that and keep control. But if he comes, we can’t hold them either.” Canvas sounded distracted. “And he’ll come.” Again, he thought about Barbara Krusiec’s panicked call.
“But surely he could not find them here? Or get through your perimeter and defenses.”
Canvas shook his head, laughed bitterly, then started walking again. “Time is what we’re about now. Xenos doesn’t move full tilt on DeWitt until the tykes are safe, right? So if we can buy enough time to confirm your boy, we still have a chance. Once he’s in the White House, the rest takes care of itself.” He paused. “So we go defensive on this and play for time.”
Steingarth looked skeptical. “And your suggestion is?”
The Englishman knelt by a motion detector and checked its wiring. “Three things. One, you pressure the president to vocally and politically support DeWitt. Twist a few arms to get the confirmation back on track, with a thorough investigation of this other nonsense to be an administration priority as soon as the China crisis is over.”
Steingarth agreed. “I see the president for dinner. He’s tired and has convinced himself that a vice president must
be in place before he acts in Taiwan. It presents some difficulties, but it can be accomplished.”
“Good.” Canvas was quiet for a moment. “I’ll get connections in CI-5 in London to lose a few files. Slow the process down. When the committee sees the thing might drag on forever because of lost documents and extinct witnesses, they’ll be less likely to want to press the matter. I’ll also see what I can find on this Roberts fellow as well.”
“My files are open to you, of course,” Steingarth offered. “And your third step?”
As he rubbed at one of his tattoos—a struggling fish impaled on a stick—Canvas spoke distractedly. “I want the kids positively and finally out of Xenos’s reach. Somewhere in China—rice field or prison cell I don’t rightly care—but somewhere he can’t get to them.”
Steingarth considered for a moment. “A diplomatic flight leaves at 0830 Sunday.” He coughed nervously, a violent act as if expelling a cancerous growth from deep in his bowels. “I keep track of them, in case of a, uh, necessary tactical, uh…” His voice trailed off. “If you can get them to the plane, I will see to the rest.”
Canvas looked uncomfortable. “Nothing before then?”
The German shrugged. “In the best of times the State Department and FAA carefully control the Chinese comings and goings. With the climate we have helped to create, these are far from the best of times.”
“Sunday,” Canvas repeated absently. “Seventy-two hours.” Finally he nodded. “Make the arrangements,” he said with finality. “Call me on the secure line after you talk to the president.”
Steingarth quickly left.
Canvas spent another ten minutes wandering in the woods, checking sensors and defenses, allowing his mind to drift and wander.
He played every scenario he could conceive of over and over in his mind. Thought of every contingency, every countermeasure, every move he might make to tilt this already lopsided table more in his direction. Knowing there would be no sleep, no rest or moments of distraction
in the coming seventy-two hours, until the children were on their way to China and the threat was neutralized.
He took several brain-clearing deep breaths, looked out at the twelve-foot-high cinder block wall off in the distance, looked through it, beyond it, at all the threats and reasons for soul-numbing fear beyond, and slowly shook his head.
“Oh, Jerry,” he sighed as he started back to his command post. “Where are you?”