They all laughed except the Senator.
“How long does it take you to assemble it?” continued the Senator, probing for a flaw, something he always did when questioning so-called experts in Senate committees.
“Two minutes to put rifle together and thirty seconds to get into perfect firing position; two more minutes to dismantle gun and retape it. It’s a 5.6 by 61 millimeter Vomhofe Super Express rifle, and I’m using a.77 grain bullet with a muzzle speed of 3,480 feet per second, which is 2,000 foot-pounds of muzzle energy which, in layman’s language, Senator, means if there is no wind, I will aim one and one half inches above Kane’s forehead at two hundred yards.”
“Are you satisfied?” the Chairman asked the Senator.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he said, and sank into a brooding silence, still wiping his brow. Then he thought of something else and was about to start his questioning again, when the door flew open and Matson rushed in.
“Sorry, boss. I’ve been following something up.”
“It’d better be good,” snapped the Chairman.
“It could be bad, boss, very bad,” said Matson between breaths.
They all looked anxiously at him.
“Okay, let’s have it.”
“His name is Mark Andrews,” said Matson, as he fell into the unoccupied seat.
“And who is he?” asked the Chairman.
“The FBI man who went to the hospital with Calvert.”
“Could we start at the beginning?” the Chairman asked calmly.
Matson took a deep breath. “You know I’ve always been bothered about Stames going to the hospital with Calvert — it never made sense, a man of his seniority.”
“Yes, yes,” said the Chairman impatiently.
“Well, Stames didn’t go. His wife told me. I went by to visit her to offer my condolences, and she told me everything Stames had done that evening, right down to eating half his moussaka. The FBI told her not to say anything to anyone but she thinks that I’m still with the Bureau, and she doesn’t remember, or maybe she never knew, that Stames and I were not exactly friends. I’ve checked up on Andrews and I’ve been following him for the last forty-eight hours. He’s listed in the Washington Field Office as on leave for two weeks, but he’s been spending his leave in a very strange way. I’ve seen him at FBI Headquarters, going around with a female doctor from Woodrow Wilson, and nosing around at the Capitol.”
The Senator flinched.
“The good doctor was on duty the night that I got rid of the Greek and the black bastard.”
“So if they know everything,” said the Chairman quickly, “why are we still here?”
“Well, that’s the strange part. I arranged to have a drink with an old buddy from the Secret Service; he’s on duty detail tomorrow with Kane and nothing has been changed. It is painfully obvious that the Secret Service has no idea what we have planned for tomorrow, so either the FBI know one hell of a lot or nothing, but if they do know everything, they’re not letting the Secret Service in on it.”
“Did you learn anything from your contacts in the FBI?” asked the Chairman.
“Nothing. Nobody knows anything, even when they’re blind drunk.”
“How much do you think Andrews knows?” continued the Chairman.
“I think he’s fallen for our friend the doctor and knows very little. He’s running around in the dark,” Matson replied. “It’s possible he’s picked up something from the Greek waiter. If so, he’s working on his own, and that’s not FBI policy.”
“I don’t follow,” said the Chairman.
“Bureau policy is to work in pairs or threes, so why aren’t there dozens of men on it? Even if there were only six or seven, I would have heard about it and so would at least one of my contacts in the FBI,” said Matson. “I think they may believe there is going to be an attempt on the President, but I don’t think they have a clue when — or where.”
“Did anyone mention the date in front of the Greek?” asked the Senator nervously.
“I can’t remember, but there’s only one way of finding out if they know anything,” said the Chairman.
“What’s that, boss?” asked Matson.
The Chairman paused, lit another cigarette, and said dispassionately, “Kill Andrews.”
There was silence for a few moments. Matson was the first to recover.
“Why, boss?”
“Simple logic. If he is connected with an FBI investigation, then they would immediately change tomorrow’s schedule. They would never risk allowing Kane to leave the White House if they believed such a threat existed. Just think of the consequences involved; if the FBI knew of an assassination attempt on the President and they haven’t made an arrest to date and they didn’t bother to inform the Secret Service...”
“That’s right,” said Matson. “They would have to come up with some excuse and cancel at the last minute.”
“Exactly, so if Kane comes out of those gates, we will still go ahead because they know nothing. If she doesn’t, we’re going to take a long holiday, because they know far too much for our health.”
The Chairman turned to the Senator, who was now sweating profusely.
“Now, you just make sure that you’re on the steps of the Capitol to stall her if necessary and we’ll take care of the rest,” he said harshly. “If we don’t get her tomorrow, we have wasted one hell of a lot of time and money, and we sure aren’t going to get another chance as good as this.”
The Senator groaned. “I think you’re insane, but I won’t waste time arguing. I have to get back to the Senate before somebody notices that I’m missing.”
“Settle down, Senator. We have it all under control; now we can’t lose either way.”
“Maybe you can’t, but at the end of the day I might end up the fall guy.”
The Senator left without another word. The Chairman waited in silence for the door to close.
“Now we’ve got that little funk out of the way, let’s get down to business. Let’s hear all about Mark Andrews and what he’s been up to.”
Matson gave a detailed description of Mark’s movements during the past forty-eight hours. The Chairman took in every detail without writing down a word.
“Right, the time has come to blow away Mr. Andrews, and then we’ll sit back and monitor the FBI’s reaction. Now listen carefully, Matson. This is the way it will be done: you will return to the Senate immediately and...”
Matson listened intently, taking notes and nodding from time to time.
“Any questions?” the Chairman asked when he had finished.
“None, boss.”
“If they let the bitch out of the White House after that, they know nothing. One more thing before we finish. If anything does go wrong tomorrow, we all take care of ourselves. Understood? No one talks; compensation will be made at a later date, in the usual way.”
They all nodded.
“And one final point: if there should be a foul-up, there’s one man who certainly won’t take care of us, so we must be prepared to take care of him. I propose we do it in the following way. Xan, when Kane...”
They all listened in silence; no one disagreed.
“Now I think it’s time for lunch. No need to let that bitch in the White House spoil our eating habits. Sorry you’ll be missing it, Matson; just make sure it’s Andrews’ last lunch.”
Matson smiled. “It will give me a good appetite,” he said, and left.
The Chairman picked up the phone. “We’re ready for lunch now, thank you.” He lit another cigarette.
Wednesday afternoon