"Are you quite finished?" The edge to Whitehurst's voice indicated he had heard about enough.
"Yes."
"Well, it is customary for the blackmailer to hand over the incriminating photographs when his demands have been met. I will expect your evidence to be delivered to my office."
"The key phrase there, Mr. Whitehurst, is 'when the demands have been met.' This is a long-term proposition. I'll be happy to send you a copy, but the originals remain with the attorney."
There was a long pause, indicative that Bernard Whitehurst was attempting to find an escape valve that would release him from this dilemma. Obviously, he failed. "All right, Hill. You win this round. Put Adam Stern back on the line."
"Yes, sir. But first, I have one other request. Tell Nate Highsmith he'll have my resignation on his desk in the morning."
78
On their way down in the elevator, Roddy Rodman shook his head, appearing still in a state of shock. "Why didn't you just turn Stern over to the cops?" he asked. "Out of circulation, he couldn't have bothered your family."
"You'd think not," Burke said. "But a guy like that has very long arms. I wouldn't trust him in jail or anywhere else. Anyway, that wouldn't have helped you or Dutch, or Yuri's family. You all deserve a break in this."
When they reached the lobby, he headed for the telephone alcove. "I have one more call to make before we leave here."
Belatedly he had thought of someone else atop the power structure who was in a position to get things done. It was Tilman Suskind, the President's Chief of Staff. He was a quick-witted, acid-tongued Missourian Burke had met during the wrap-up of the Hangover operation. That had been two years ago, back when the administration was new and the White House staff had not yet become completely blase about strolling the historic corridors of power. Tilman was a straight-shooter then, and he hadn't changed since. Burke knew he was not a member of the FAR.
"Thanks for talking to me," Burke said. "I know there must be a hundred people after your ear right now."
"The ear I can handle. It's the ones after my ass I can do without."
"Well, I've got some information about what happened tonight that the President needs to know."
"You talking about this nerve agent and panic gas business with the Shining Path idiots?"
"Yeah."
"The District wants us to call out the National Guard. The media are demanding we put the Army out in the streets. The congressional leaders are demanding FBI protection. They want us to seal Washington off to prevent another attack. Talk about your panic."
"I don't think there will be any more attacks. This isn't at all what it appears to be."
"Oh? Then what the hell is it?"
"A ruse. An effort to immobilize us while a bunch of hardliners stage a coup to take over the Commonwealth of Independent States."
"The hell you say. If that's so, why hasn't Kingsley Marshall warned us about it? What's wrong with his high-powered brain trust out at Langley, or are you people fronting for him on this?"
"I haven't had a chance to talk to the Director," Burke said. That was true. He didn't add that he hadn't made the attempt. "I suppose he's out in Colorado with the Foreign Affairs Roundtable. Can I talk to the President?"
"Somebody had better tell him what's going on. The NSC doesn't appear to know any more than what they've heard on the news. The FBI got their information from the Metropolitan Police. Will Highsmith be with you?"
"No. He's also in Colorado."
"Damn near everybody is in Colorado. I just talked to Dr. Wharton and told him to get his ass back here. The President just flew in from Camp David. The Secret Service wanted him to stay there, where it would be safer. He insisted he should be at the White House. Can you be here in twenty minutes?"
"Sure. I'd like to bring Colonel Rodman with me. He's retired Air Force. He's been working with me on this."
"Okay, Hill. Twenty minutes."
The President sat behind the big oak desk in the Oval Office, a frown tugging at the corners of eyes the color of brown sugar. But there was no sweetness in them tonight. A tall, husky man with rapidly graying hair, he had won the election on the strength of a pledge to return the government to the people. Once he got in office, however, he had found that no simple task. All the advisers said he needed experienced people to get things done in Washington. Those experienced people all had backgrounds in the establishment. He soon found himself a captive of the same circle of "wise men" who had been in control for years. Midway through his term, he had about decided upon a course that, if successful, could ease out some of the old insiders and bring in new people he trusted, people who truly thought the way he did. Independently.
When he received the first fragmentary reports of what had happened in the capital tonight, he feared that it might weaken his hand. What kind of government was he running if a band of Peruvian terrorists could come in and cause so much turmoil? He was anxious to know the real story, which Tilman Suskind had promised he would get from Burke Hill. The President's head was cocked slightly to the left as he faced his visitors. It was a habit he had acquired over the years when receiving unwelcome news. What he had just heard certainly fell into that category.
"You're telling me these terrorists, armed with nerve gas and neurotoxins, were part of an effort to disrupt our government, to preclude our intervention on behalf of the CIS?"
"Yes, sir," Burke said with a nod. "There were five Peruvians, led by a former KGB major. He was part of the conspiracy in the former Soviet republics. Two of them spread the neurotoxin. The others were armed with three mortars and chemical shells. They managed to fire one round into the symphony audience before we could stop them."
"Before you could stop them? How?"
Burke told him about the Air Force helicopter with tear gas grenades and his and Roddy's encounter with the people in the dump truck.
The President leaned forward on his desk. "How come Dr. Wharton's people haven't mentioned anything about this?"
"They didn't know. The police were not involved. And I can't explain what happened when it was over." He told about the "cleanup crew" that had appeared out of nowhere and disappeared just as quickly with all the evidence, including the body of Major Nikolai Romashchuk.
"That sounds too much like a CIA operation," the President said, even more deeply troubled.
Burke shook his head. "I don't think so. Their leader may have been former CIA or Special Forces. But I'm inclined to believe they were a renegade group, maybe hired by the ex-Soviets who were behind the plot."
"How did you find out about the CIS-Soviet connection?"
"I'll let Colonel Rodman explain. He was more involved in that part of it."
Roddy told him briefly about Yuri Shumakov and how he had tracked Major Romashchuk to Mexico. He also described Yuri's dying phone call.
"That's a shame," said the President, shaking his head sadly. "Did he say where he was calling from?"
"Uh, no, sir," Roddy said. "When I talked to him a little while before that, he was planning to call Belarus and warn his people."
"I had better get Brad Pickens to work on this and find out who the hell these people were."
"I'm not so sure that would be a good idea, Mr. President," Burke said.
"Why not?"
"They just may have done us a favor. Tilman Suskind told me there are already demands to bring in the Army and mobilize the National Guard to seal the capital tight."