The Oberon! Of course. “What’s the schedule for the Oberon?” he asked.
“Depart New York JFK at ten o’clock a.m., arrive Charles DeGaulle seven-thirty that evening.”
“Every day?”
“Seven days a week, sir.”
“And return?”
“Leave DeGaulle at ten a.m. and arrive JFK at seven-forty-five a.m. same day as departure. Isn’t that amazing?”
Warfield hung up after asking Tammy to repeat the Oberon schedule to be sure he heard it right. It was amazing, all right, and it meant Quinn could have completed his speech on the morning of 22 April, flown the Oberon to Paris to avoid leaving a trail flying on a government plane, met with Seth and returned to New York in time for a noon speech on the twenty-third. Again, not proof, but it was possible.
He called Paula and asked her to get the passenger lists for the Oberon on 22 and 23 April. That night he called Randy Coffman and they met at the Waffle House again. This time they sat in Warfield’s car instead of going inside.
“What’s up now, Colonel?”
“Ever know Quinn’s aliases?”
Coffman chuckled. “Mad dog!” he said.
“Mad dog?”
“That’s how I remembered the aliases. Melvin A. Davis and Donald O. Goodwin. He had credentials for both. Driver’s licenses, credit cards, passports, Social Security numbers, home addresses. You know, the works. Using aliases isn’t necessarily unusual, of course.”
Next morning, Paula brought in the Oberon passenger lists. “I should get a medal for this one.” She turned to leave and looked back. “Watch out for Veronica, Cameo.”
Hurricane Veronica had strengthened overnight but was almost stationary seventy miles from land due east of Washington. Forecasters now believed she would begin to track to the north and west today, and had issued warnings for the coastal areas of Maryland, Delaware and New Jersey. The D.C. area was already soaked and torrential rain was expected to continue. The National Weather Service and Homeland Security were hyping the potential danger to not only coastal areas but far inland as well. It was possible that Veronica would prove to be the biggest and most devastating storm in U.S. records.
Warfield blew Paula a kiss and slashed open the envelope. There were two Davises on the twenty-second, but no Melvin. He flipped to the Gs and there his eyes froze. Goodwin Donald O! He thrashed through the names for 23 April and found the name there too. Warfield felt blood rushing to his head. Donald O. Goodwin flew the Oberon to Paris on 22 April and was back in New York at seven-forty-five on the morning of the twenty-third. Anyone taking those flights could have made the speeches Quinn made in New York on those two days.
Warfield drew a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. Ten minutes later he called Quinn’s office and left a message with his assistant that he would be in his office at the White House until six that afternoon if Quinn wanted to talk about his trip to Paris last year on 22 April. Warfield knew it was about to get ugly.
CHAPTER 18
Quinn stood in Warfield’s White House office doorway at five-fifty that afternoon. The director had a habit of fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt until they peeked out beyond the end of his coat sleeves. He leaned against the door frame and looked down at Warfield seated behind his desk. “Had some other business here, Warfield, and remembered you invited me to drop by your office. What’s on your mind?”
Warfield knew how the man must have felt about being there. The two were not in the same galaxy in terms of political power or prestige, nor had they ever been close enough in personal terms to set rank aside, yet Warfield had called the meeting. Quinn could have demanded an alternate setting or ignored Warfield’s message altogether. By stopping at the doorway he at least remained on neutral ground, and he made a point of saying he was there because he had other business at the White House — not because of Warfield’s call. Warfield knew better. The Paris reference had done its job.
“There are a couple of things I wanted to mention to you in private,” Warfield said.
“Let’s hear ’em.”
Warfield had decided to get Quinn’s reaction to the Swope news first.
“It’s about Helen Swope.”
“Swope? What about Helen Swope?”
“I got a call from Joe Morgan, the U.S. attorney. Said Swope’s got a lawyer and plans to retract her testimony. Morgan thinks she may have been the target of tampering at Ana’s trial.” Warfield was careful to present this to Quinn neutrally.
“Tampering!” Quinn maintained a blank expression.
“Could mean a new trial for her. God only knows what else will come out of it. Morgan’s meeting with Swope and her attorney tomorrow. If Swope is believable, Morgan plans to take it to Ana and Judge Hartrampf.”
Quinn became pensive. After a period of silence, he said, “You also said something about Paris?”
Warfield nodded. “Yeah, the trip Donald O. Goodwin took to Paris last year. Twenty-second of April to be exact.”
Quinn’s cognition was subtle but Warfield caught it. After a couple of seconds, Quinn cocked his head again and said, “I travel a lot, Warfield. Sometimes to Paris, even. I lose track of places and dates but what the hell difference does it make to you, anyway? I don’t answer to you or to anyone else. Snooping around on my travels part of your assignment? I don’t get you, Warfield.”
Warfield was calm. “Nothing like that, Austin. Came up in my mole hunt. Twenty-second April was the date of the Seth meeting.”
“Screw you, Warfield, I was in New York when that…” Quinn stopped mid-sentence.
Warfield had him!
Quinn reddened, then turned his eyes down the hallway. After a few seconds, he stepped inside the room and closed the door. “Know why I came here, Warfield? I came here to put a stop to this. You can bet hell will go out of business before I ever explain one second of my time to you. Who do you think you are, you son of a bitch, looking over the shoulder of the director of central intelligence. Without Cross, you’re a serial number buried in the hollows of an outdated army database somewhere, a farm boy come to town, a career army bootlick. I wonder how much brass you sucked up to on the way up — all the way up to colonel, too, huh Warfield? Couldn’t quite climb that hill to general, could you? I advised you to get off this project of yours when we were in the car, but now it’s you or me and I’ll tell Cross that. Got any doubt about how that’s going to turn out?”
Warfield didn’t say anything. He maintained eye contact with Quinn, and waited.
Quinn finally spoke, having spent some of his emotion. With hoarse voice, he said, “I know it looks bad, Warfield, but it’s certainly not that way. Who else knows about it?”
“No one at this moment. But that will change tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Like I said, Morgan wants to meet with Swope, her lawyer, and me. Then he’ll see Ana.”
“And you’ll say what?”
“Put yourself in my shoes. What would you say?”
Quinn withdrew again. After a moment he leaned closer to Warfield, presented a strained smile and addressed him with newfound warmth. “Look, Cam, this Paris trip is nothing like you’re suggesting, but if it gets out it’ll be a problem — not only for me but for Cross, the administration. You and I go back too far for this to come between us. Those things I said a minute ago, I lost control, that was just my frustration boiling over. Don’t hold that against me. We could work something out before you see Morgan tomorrow, just between us.”