21
THE MOON WAS SHOWING ONLY A SLIVER OF white as it sat suspended above the tall pines. The four-door Crown Victoria approached the main gate of Camp David, and the two occupants in the backseat ducked down. The electric gate slid open, and the sedan accelerated past a mob of reporters kept at bay by a squad of Marines with M16s cradled across their chests.
The pack of reporters and cameramen pushed
each other to try and get a glimpse of who was in the car. The
sedan continued down the road and around the first turn, where it
slowed. Two identical Crown Victorias pulled off the shoulder and
took up positions in front of and behind the car carrying the
national security adviser and the president’s chief of
staff.
Saturday’s budget summit at Camp David had
been a mixed success. Garret had come up with some accounting
gimmicks that would make the budget deficit look smaller than it
really was. This would enable the political leadership to say they
had cut some spending, without actually making the tough choices.
Their hope was that it would pacify the assassins and give the FBI
some time to catch the killers.
Mike Nance’s doubts regarding the
stability of the new coalition were already proving true. Senator
Olson had balked on the deal, telling the president he would have
no part in misleading the American people. Olson argued that real
cuts had to be made, or he was out. The silver-haired senator from
Minnesota told the president he would stay quiet for one week, and
if Garret was still playing his accounting games, he would expose
the new budget cuts for what they were—a
sham.
Nance and Garret spent most of the
fifty-minute drive talking in hushed whispers. The Maryland country
roads they traveled on were dark, and traffic was light. When they
reached Arthur’s estate, the lead and trailing sedans pulled off to
the side, and the one carrying Nance and Garret approached the
large wrought-iron gate. Two powerful floodlights illuminated the
entrance to the estate. A large man dressed in a tactical jumpsuit
and carrying an Uzi stepped out of the guardhouse and approached
the sedan. A flashlight was taped to the underside of the machine
gun’s barrel, and the guard turned it on. He pointed it toward the
back window and shone the light on Nance and Garret. After
identifying both men, he told the driver to pop the trunk. Walking
to the rear of the car, he checked the trunk and then walked back
to the guardhouse.
Arthur was sitting behind the desk in his
study watching the scene at the front gate. Embedded in the wall to
the left of his desk were four security monitors and two large
color TVs. Arthur watched the guard go back into the small booth,
and a moment later the gate opened. The gate closed as soon as the
car passed through. Looking at another monitor, Arthur watched the
car snake its way up the drive and stop in front of the house,
where it was met by two more guards, one of whom had a German
shepherd at his side. Garret and Nance stepped out of the car and
stood still while the dog sniffed them and a handheld metal
detector was waved over their bodies. Finally, the door was opened
from the inside, and a third guard led them down the hall to
Arthur’s study.
Arthur pressed a button on the underside
of his desk, and an old framed map of the world slid down and
covered the monitors. Rising from behind the desk, he walked over
to the fireplace and placed one hand on the mantel. Even though
Arthur was over seventy, he still had a rigid and upright frame.
His silver hair was neatly combed straight back and stopped an inch
above the white collar of his dress shirt. His fingernails were
well manicured, and his expensive, worsted-wool suit hung perfectly
from his slender frame.
The door opened and Nance and Garret
entered. Arthur kept his arm on the mantel and waited
for his
guests to approach. Mike Nance stopped about ten feet away and in a
formal tone said, “Stu Garret, I would like to introduce you to
Arthur.”
Garret stepped forward and extended his
damp, clammy hand. “It’s great to finally meet you. I’ve been
looking forward to this for a while.”
Arthur nodded his head slightly. “The
pleasure is all mine.” Then, motioning toward several chairs, he
said, “Please, let’s sit. Would either of you like
anything?”
Nance eased his way over to Arthur’s side.
“Before we get started, I would like to go over a couple of things
with you in private.”
Arthur grasped the point and turned to his
other guest. “Mr. Garret, do you like to smoke
cigars?”
Garret was caught off guard for a moment.
“Ah . . . ah . . . yes, I do.”
Walking over to the coffee table, Arthur
picked up a cherrywood humidor and lifted the lid. Garret grabbed
one of the cigars and smelled it. Arthur handed him a cigar
guillotine, and Garret snipped off the end. “I’ll show you to the
door.” Arthur led Garret across the room toward a pair of French
doors. “The view of the Chesapeake is beautiful from the veranda. I
think you will enjoy it.” Arthur opened one of the doors. “We’ll be
out to join you in a minute.” Closing the door behind his guest,
Arthur turned and walked back to Nance. “What is the
problem?”
“It seems that our involvement in the
blackmailing of Congressman Moore is known by someone outside the
original group.”
“And who would that
be?”
“Jack Warch, he’s the special agent
in—”
“I know who he is. How did he find
out?”
Nance glanced toward the veranda and then
told Arthur about the confrontation between Garret and Warch. When
he was done, Arthur asked, “And how do you think Mr. Warch found
out?”
“I think that Mr. Garret wasn’t as careful
as he should have been.”
“I would
concur.”
Arthur was not an animated person, but
Nance had expected him to display some type of reaction. Instead he
got nothing. “What do you want to do about Warch?” asked
Nance.
Arthur paused for a minute and pondered
the question. “For now, nothing. I read his personality profile
about four years ago; he’s not the type to go to the press.
Besides, the Secret Service is not in the business of embarrassing
the president. In the meantime, tell Mr. Garret to back off, and
I’ll prepare a contingency plan to deal with Mr. Warch if he
presses the point.”
“I’ve already told Garret to back off, and
he’s obliged.”
“Have you told him anything about my
proposition?”
“No, I only said that you wanted to talk
to us. As far as he knows, I’m in the
dark.”
“Good.”
“Are you still going to tell
him?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’ve
always told me not to trust amateurs.”
“I’ve always told you to trust no one.”
Turning and
walking across the room, Arthur looked up at the stacks of books
that covered an entire wall of the study and sighed. Nance
obediently followed him, saying nothing, just walking quietly two
steps behind his mentor.
“Mr. Garret has his faults, but he is a
highly driven-man who will do anything to succeed. He was
loose-lipped about the Congressman Moore thing because he didn’t
see the risks inherent in not keeping his mouth shut. Thanks to Mr.
Warch, he has learned his lesson. Besides, with someone like Mr.
Garret, his ability to keep a secret is directly related to the
seriousness of the issue. The more he stands to lose, the more apt
he will be to stay quiet. If we up the ante, Mr. Garret will stay
quiet.”
“I see your line of logic, but are you
sure we need him?”
“Yes, there are some concessions I’m going
to want for helping him.”
Nance nodded his head. “As you
wish.”
“Let’s join our friend.” Before going
outside, Arthur picked up the humidor and offered a cigar to Nance
and then took one for himself. The two then walked toward the
French doors and out into the dark fall
night.
Garret was standing at the edge of the
veranda nervously waiting to be called back inside. He knew Nance
was telling Arthur about the problem with Warch, and he was worried
about how Arthur would react. He had heard some scary stories
regarding the former black-operations director for the
CIA.
Arthur Higgins had directed some of the
Agency’s most secret operations for almost thirty
years before being forced
out. The official reason given for his departure was his age and
the fall of the Iron Curtain. But the whispers in the intelligence
community were that he couldn’t be controlled—that he had decided
one too many times to run his own operation, independent of
executive and congressional approval.
Garret turned when he heard the dress
shoes of Nance and Arthur on the brick
patio.
“How do you like the view?” asked
Arthur.
During the five minutes that Garret had
been outside, he hadn’t even noticed the great dark expanse of the
Chesapeake that was before him. He glanced over his shoulder to
look at it and said, “It sure is a lot bigger than I
thought.”
Arthur smiled inwardly, knowing that
Garret was not the type to appreciate the majesty of nature. He was
such a simple, uncomplicated man. Not dumb, just one-dimensional
and focused. He was easy to predict, which suited Arthur’s needs
perfectly. Arthur looked at Garret with his calm and confident face
and in his smooth voice said, “Mr. Garret, I think I may be able to
help you.”