The Cassandra Conspiracy (45 page)

CHAPTER 55

At NSA, Lauren Woods watched the courier leave her office before she broke the seal on the envelope. Its front and back, top and bottom were all stamped with the designation, TOP SECRET CUTTER, as was each page of the contents.

She removed the sheets of paper from the envelope and carefully began to read the entire clear
-text of the intercepts the Cutter team had been working on. Most of the material was routine. There was nothing contained in the intercepts that aroused her interest. That was until she got to the last page. Carefully she read its contents.

Classification:  Top Secret Cutter (TSSI)

1029
-9C1974/NJK

Date of intercept:  26 October

  Time of intercept:  1934 Hours

  Location of intercept:  Landlines emanating from residence of Charles Wingate II

Type of Transmission:  Digitally encoded, modem link

  Decrypted by:  NJK

  Decrypted on:  1 November

  Clear
-text Messages follows:

  Recipient:  Grant

  Sender:  CW

Confirm transfer of funds to designated overseas account. Request you expedite mission. Target will be available at previously iden
tified site for news conference. Imperative that schedule be met as originally set forth.

A news conference: o
f course. President Varrick had scheduled a conference up at Camp David for sometime today. My God, the intercept referred to the President. Somebody was going to try to kill him!  She had to get the decrypted message to the Secret Service as fast as possible.

Lauren glanced at the digital clock on her desk. It was already past noon. Maybe it wasn’t too late. She’d have to go through the DDO’s office. No big deal, it would only take another few seconds. She picked up the secure phone, and punched in Goldberg’s extension.

Gene Goldberg’s secretary answered the call, and informed Lauren that the DDO was out of the office, and wouldn’t be back for two days. The DDO had left specific instructions that his secretary shouldn’t page him unless quote, ‘the building was burning down’.

Frustrated, Lauren dropped the handset back in the cradle. The information she had in her hands was by definition classified at the CRITICOM level. It had to be in the
President's hands within ten minutes. She’d lose crucial time if she waited for Goldberg’s office to run him down. On the other hand, she knew the DDO wouldn’t be happy if she released their analysis without his approval. Her boss would have to run interference with Goldberg. There was no time to lose.

Lauren twirled the large Sargent and Greenleaf combination lock on her classified file cabinet. Her hands trembled as she desperately tried to hit each number in the combination right on the mark. If she missed a single digit, she’d have to s
tart all over again. The spring-loaded detents, there to prevent the skilled manipulation of the dial, threatened to cause to her lose her place.

Left three times, she stopped at the first number. She wiped the sweat from her hands before grasping the serrated dial again. Right two times to the second,
and then left one turn to the third number. She turned the dial right to zero, praying she hit all the numbers correctly, and the dial would go to the unlock detent. She heard the familiar click when the dial reached zero. She turned it past zero until she was up against the detent. Grabbing the chrome metal handle, Lauren pulled the top drawer out.

Quickly she removed a list of telephone numbers also stamped TOP SECRET CUTTER. She selected one of the numbers, and dialed it on her phone. At Camp Three, the name the Park Service used for Camp David, a small portable cellular p
hone rang, bleeping only twice before it was answered.

“Thiesse here.”

“This is Lauren Woods at Cartwheel,” Lauren said identifying herself with NSA’s call sign. “We’ve got the information you wanted. If this weren’t an emergency, I wouldn’t give you this information on an open line, but under the circumstances... .”

“Please go ahead, Ms. Woods,” Thiesse interrupted, “I’ll assume responsibility for any security problems that might result.”

“The clear-text message implies strongly that someone’s going to try to assassinate President Varrick during his news conference.”

“Someone already has tried, but they weren’t successful.”

“Thank God,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. She had pushed her people as hard as she dared. It wasn’t their fault it took so long to break the cipher. “Do you still want me to handle this on a priority?  If so, where do you want the decrypted intercepts sent?”

“I presume this information should remain classified at the same level as the project?” Thiesse asked the NSA manager.

“We’re dealing with CRITIC information. We can have it secure-faxed to the White House, or messengered to you personally.”

Thiesse hated to try to extract the substance of classified information by talking around the subject. On the other hand, he didn’t want to waste any time in getting his hands on the clear
-text intercepts. “If we go secure, can you read me the clear-text messages?”

“Sir, if the STU
-III is set up for Top Secret transmission, there’s no problem.”

“What’s your secure line?  I’ll call you right back.”

Lauren gave him the number, then hung up her phone. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead, and sat at her desk tapping her pencil while she waited for the return call.

She needed to calm down. The
President was safe, and maybe their efforts at decrypting the messages would help the Secret Service arrest the perpetrators. Although she knew everything was all right at Camp David, her heart was still beating double time.

A few minutes later, the secure telephone on her credenza rang. Lauren answered the call. At the command center, Allen Thiesse immediately identified himself, and told her that he was going classified. She inserted her key, turned it, and watched the digital display illuminate the words TOP SECRET.

Satisfied that their communications line was secure, she read him the clear-text messages taken from the encrypted intercepts. When she finished, Thiesse asked her to have the hard copies couriered over to his attention at W-16 in the White House. He thanked her for her assistance, and broke the connection.

Before she did anything else, she’d brief Gene Goldberg upon his return to the building. Since Allen Thiesse knew the contents of the intercepts, their ultimate transmission to the White House was no longer time sensitive.

Lauren replaced the handset in the STU-III unit and took another look at the decoded intercepts. She shook her head, and placed them back in the envelope. Then she secured the Cutter documents in the office safe. Lauren prepared a brief memo indicating the date, time, and summary of her call to the head of PPD. She took a stamp from her top desk drawer, and marked the top, bottom, front and back of her memo with the designation TOP SECRET CUTTER.

Getting up from her desk, Lauren headed out the door of the SCIF and over to Gene Goldberg’s office. She hoped that he wouldn’t think the building had burned down and no one had bothered to call him.

.   .   .   .   .   .

Thiesse left the command center and again crossed the road to Aspen. He knocked on the door, and waited until the
President beckoned him in. Thiesse found Daniel Varrick sitting on the couch watching CNN. Although the television was on, the President had the volume turned down to barely a whisper.

The news network was still airing footage of the chaos that had taken place at the news conference. Even during the early stages of Operation Desert Storm, CNN’s video was rock stable. Not
so this afternoon. As the soundmen picked up the bullet’s report, the cameraman swung his video-cam, trying to cover everything that was going on. As the picture danced, it looked more like cinema verité than electronic news reporting.

“Mr.
President, I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news.”

The
President rose from the couch and walked over to the picture window. As he reached the window, he turned to Thiesse. “Go on.”

“Mr. Wingate is dead, sir. I believe he was killed by the same person who tried to kill you.”

Daniel Varrick’s face became drawn, blanched deathly white. His shoulders slumped. Silence, like a pall, fell over the room.

After staring out the window for a few seconds, the
President turned to Thiesse, meeting his gaze. “Thanks for coming over. Please, sit down. I’d like some company.” 

Daniel Varrick might hold the highest elected office in the free world, but right now, Allen saw a man emotionally crippled by the death of his oldest and dearest friend. The rest of what Thiesse had come over to tell him would only make it worse. Thiesse sat in one of the chairs.

The President went over to the rustic looking sideboard. He slid open the door and reached for a bottle of whiskey. Varrick took two glasses from the cabinet. Turning to Thiesse, he asked, “Will you have a drink with me?”

On duty or not, Allen Thiesse wasn’t going to refuse the
President at a time like this. He nodded. “Ice please, Mr. President.”

Daniel Varrick added ice to both glasses and from a shaking hand, poured the two drinks. He handed Thiesse the glass.

“You know, Allen, I’ve always adhered to Jack Kennedy’s philosophy that if someone wants to trade his life for mine, there’s nothing anyone can do about it. I really believe that to be the case, even though I know that you and your people do everything in your power to ensure my safety.”  The President paused for a minute and took a sip from his glass.

“Whoever took the shot at me missed. He could have come back another day for a second try, but instead
he kills Charlie Wingate. Why bother going after Charlie? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Thiesse didn’t rush his response, allowing the question to hang in the air for a few minutes. Finally he swallowed hard, and began to explain to the
President what had really happened.

“I’m not sure why, but it appears that Mr. Wingate was involved in the conspiracy.” 

“Impossible!,” Daniel Varrick snapped, “Charles Wingate and I have been friends for years–since before I even went into politics.”

“About a week ago, our Protective Intelligence Division got a visit from a Baltimore lawyer, Steven Payton. Payton claimed that he had information about an imminent attempt on your life. At the time this happened, Payton was up in Pine Lakes not far from Mr. Wingate’s estate.

He told our people that Charles Wingate was behind the plan, and of course they didn’t believe him. But Payton knew that Mr. Wingate was a close personal friend of yours. That gave us some cause for concern, since we felt that if he had made this whole thing up, he would have found a more plausible conspirator,” Thiesse explained.

“The Service is used to all types of people coming up with all kinds of plots they allegedly overhear, and generally we don’t take them seriously. In fact, Intelligence Division didn’t take Payton seriously, even though his friend, Janet Phillips, vouched for him. Since he hadn’t broken any laws and hadn’t directly threatened your safety, they had to let him go,” Thiesse said, pausing to see if the
President had any questions. Daniel Varrick sat there, quietly waiting for Thiesse to continue.

“When Payton and the Phillips woman disappeared, we alerted local law enforcement to keep a watch out for them. Right before your news conference, they turned up in Thurmont. When the two deputies assigned to keep track of them were killed, we thought Payton had done it. But now we feel that it was someone connected with Mr. Wingate.”

“Why the change?” The President’s words came from between clenched teeth.

“First of all, Payton was shocked when we told him about the deputies’ deaths. Second, Payton had a shotgun when he was apprehended–nothing else. The deputies were s
hot with a small caliber pistol-probably a semiautomatic with a silencer, since no one at the motel heard a sound.

Finally, one person couldn’t have taken out both deputies. There had to be two shooters, and that means two guns. It was a professional hit all the way.”

“That may clear Payton as far as you’re concerned, but it doesn’t tie in Charlie,” Daniel Varrick retorted.

“Please bear with me a little longer,” Thiesse replied.

“After the attempt on your life, our agents found both Payton and Janet Phillips at the fire tower, the place we’re sure the sniper used. They still claimed that they were only trying to stop the assassination, but frankly we didn’t believe them. Both of them are here at Camp David being held under tight security in Buckeye and Elm,” Thiesse said, nodding in the direction of the two guest cabins.

“We ran a check on the shotgun we found at the scene. Our check of Payton shows only purchase of the shotgun we found in the room with him at the time of his apprehension. ATF has no records of Payton’s buying any other weapon, and the sniper definitely used a special, high
-powered rifle. “

“Allen,” the
President said, “Is that the basis for your theory that Charlie was involved in the attempt on my life? Because if it is... ”