Katie would still have ten toes!
That’s right, Tom. Your godchild, the little girl who calls you “Uncle Tom,” has been mutilated. Not because of something she did but because of something you did.
He stared at the presidential seal on the door and thought. Whatever happens to you is your own fault, Tom. This is not my doing… it’s yours. You set all this in motion. What goes around, comes around, and you can’t escape the consequences.
That was how he’d do it. Get angry. Stoke that rage to the point where he was capable of anything.
Setting his jaw, he knocked on the door, then stepped through. And stopped.
He’d been in the Oval Office before, and every time it was the same. Seeing Tom there behind that desk with the light filtering through the tall windows behind him, the royal blue rug with its huge presidential seal, the flags of the U.S., the presidency, and the armed services arrayed around him, never failed to awe John, move him.
Seeing him here, he could truly believe that Tommy Winston was president of the United States.
Tom glanced up, smiled, then frowned. “Hey, Johnny boy. You look like shit.” And it’s all your fault.
John stumbled through the virus explanation again but he could tell Tom was barely listening.
“Guess who’s crowding in here at noon,” Tom said, tapping a sheet of paper on his desk. He seemed excited, wound up, full of barely contained enthusiasm.
“Floyd Jessup and the Reverend Whitcolm to offer their support.”
He laughed. “No, but almost as good.” He tapped the paper again. “Almost the entire southern delegation—at least those from the tobacco states.”
“What are they afraid of—marijuana hurting cigarette sales?”
“You kidding? They want to grow it—although they insist on referring to it as’hemp.‘ No, they see the writing on the wall. With tobacco consumption falling steadily, they need a new crop, and’hemp’ fills the bill.” Do you see? Do you see? This is why Katie was stolen from me and mutilated! Because of your wrongheaded, egomaniacal plan!
“So they want to sell reefers instead of coffin nails. Great.”
“To tell you the truth,” Tom said, “I think they’d be just as happy if someone developed a flowerless hybrid that produced nothing smokable. We’ve been trying our damnedest to educate them on the commercial uses of cannabis hemp. Looks like they’ve finally come around to seeing that it’s in their interest to support a change in the laws. They’re just the first. It’s going to happen, John. The snowball is starting to roll.” I hope you’re proud and happy that Katie’s suffering because of you.
Tom kept rattling on as John inserted the stethoscope’s earpieces, muffling him. He inflated the cuff, watched the needle sweep up, then begin to bounce down. He listened to the blood forcing its way back into the artery beneath the diaphragm, and it seemed so loud, so vital, each whispery thump driving home the consequences of what he had to do and how it would effect that blood, cutting off its supply of platelets and red and white corpuscles, thinning it, wasting it, choking it to a trickle that could no longer supply the tissues it served.
He cut off the thought, cut off all thought. He couldn’t allow himself to think, to be himself, to feel anything but anger. For the next ten minutes he had to be an empty shell, an automaton following a hardwired program:
Take the blood pressure, lie about it, give him the pills, and then get the hell out.
Tom’s blood pressure now was 140/88. Better than Wednesday. High normal.
“Well, how’m I doing?” Tom said as John unwrapped the cuff.
“It’s higher.” A lie. See that? You’ve made me a liar.
“Higher? I’m surprised. I’m so much less stressed than last time. I thought for sure it would be better.”
“Let me try the other arm, just to double check.” John went through the motions, and got 138/88 on the “opposite side.
He shook his head. “Nope. Even higher over here.” Another lie.
“Damn,” Tom said. “I’m watching the salt. What else can I do?”
“I think maybe I should start you on a medication.”
“Aw, John, I’d rather not. You know that.” Don’t fight me on this.
“Yeah, but you’re going to that international conference next week and you know it’s going to be a pressure cooker. I don’t want your BP going through the roof while you’re over there.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know…” Do it! Take your medicine like a man!
“I’ll put you on a small dose of an ACE inhibitor, something so mild you won’t even know you’re taking anything.” Tom hesitated, then shrugged.
“All right. If you say so. I’ll trust your judgment. If I can’t trust you, who the hell can I trust?” Please don’t say that.
John didn’t trust himself to look at Tom. He covered by reaching into his jacket pocket.
“I was afraid it might come to this, so I came prepared.”
Tom laughed. “Like the Boy Scout you never were.”
“Yeah. Right.”
His fingers were so sweaty and shaky he had difficulty grasping the pill bottle. Finally he got it out and fumbled off the lid.
“Hold out your hand.”
“Here?” Tom said. “Now?” John somehow maneuvered a grin to his face. “I know you, Tom. I’ll write out a prescription and you’ll get it filled, and then you’ll put off taking it. ‘I’ll start next week.’ Am I right?”
“You know me too well.”
“Yes, I do. And I know next week never comes.” Somehow he managed to shake two capsules into Tom’s palm. Don’t think. Don’t feel anything but rage. “So here you go. I figure once I get you started, you’ll keep going. So I want to watch you take both of these right now.” John stepped over to a side table where a pitcher of water and glasses sat, and managed to half fill a tumbler.
He turned and handed it to Tom.
Tom took the glass and stared at him. “You sure you’re all right? You’re shaking like a moonshiner with DT’S.”
“The virus. I guess I’m not over it yet.” Fearing he might vomit, John turned away and stared out the windows at the south lawn. He couldn’t watch.
In half a minute it would be done. The gelatin capsules would be dissolving in Tom’s stomach acid, releasing their contents. The antibiotic within would begin making its way into his bloodstream, triggering the suicidal antibodies, releasing them to begin their kamikaze run on Tom’s bone marrow. And soon it would begin to die.
Soon— “No!” John spun and leaped toward Tom. “Stop! Don’t take those!” But Tom already had the glass to his lips. John knocked it from his hand and sent it flying across the room to smash on the floor. He clutched at Tom’s throat.
“Spit those out! For God’s sake, don’t swallow!” Tom’s eyes bulged in shock. He staggered back, knocking over the chair, but John stayed with him.
“Spit them out, dammit! Spit them out!” Tom wrenched free, turned, and spat on the floor. John saw both capsules on the carpet, then felt himself grabbed roughly from behind.
“Mr. President! Are you all right?” John recognized the voice: Bob Decker.
Tom leaned against his desk, rubbing his throat, and staring wide-eyed at John.
“I’m all right. But he isn’t. In God’s name, John, what’s wrong with you?” The Oval Office seemed to shrink around him. Decker was here… the Secret Service was involved now… and Snake said he’d kill Katie…
And suddenly he could pretend no longer. Three nights with no sleep, slowly dying inside as he tried to shoulder the entire burden on his own—he slumped in Decker’s grasp.
“Katie… they’ve got Katie!” Suddenly Tom was in front of him, gripping his shoulders.
“Katie? Who’s got Katie?”
John shook his head. “I don’t know. They took her Wednesday morning.”
“Kidnapped?” Tom said. “Oh, shit! Oh, Christ! Not Katie!” John felt Decker’s grip loosen. “If th
is is a kidnapping I’d better—”
“No!” John cried. “No, please! They’ll kill her.”
“Shut the door. Bob,” Tom said, “and let’s find out what this is all about.”
“But—”
“This is my godchild we’re talking about.” There was a sudden sharp edge on Tom’s voice. “Shut the goddamn door.”
“Yes, sir.”
2
“Her toe?” Tom slammed his fist on his desk.
His face had gone pasty white. “They sent you her toe?” John nodded.
He’d told them the whole story. A disjointed telling, but he didn’t think he’d missed anything important.
He glanced up from his seat at Decker, who stood to the side, hands behind his back, impassive, then back to Tom.
“Tom, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I don’t know what I was thinking… but I didn’t see that I had a choice…” I’ve doomed Katie. The thought kept hammering at him. Why couldn’t I have let Tom swallow those pills? What kind of a father am I? Snake will find out. And then he’ll…
“You didn’t have a choice,” Tom said, “but you still couldn’t go through with it. Even with poor Katie’s life at stake you couldn’t. Honestly, John, if positions were reversed, I’d have done the same.” He slammed his fist on the desk again. “The soulless bastards! I can’t believe this has happened.” He looked at Decker. “What do we do first. Bob?”
Decker rubbed his jaw, looking uncomfortable. “Well, the first thing I think we need to deal with is the crime that was committed a few moments ago.”
“What?”
“An attempt on the life of the President of the United States. That’s…”
Tom held up a hand. “Stop right there. As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not permitted to ignore an…”
“Ignore what? Did you see anyone do anything to me, or attempt to do anything to me?”
“I heard his own statement about giving you those pills.”
“And you now have my statement that he didn’t. And without corroboration from the alleged victim, you don’t have a case. So we will drop that subject and move on. What do we do now?”
Decker sighed. “All right, first thing is to call in the FBI. They’re the kidnap experts and we’ll need access to their crime lab. Next—”
“No!” John said, rising from his chair. “You can’t do that. Once I’m exposed, I’m of no use to them. And if I’m of no value, neither is Katie. They’ll kill her!”
“We can keep it all under wraps,” Decker said. “We’ll—”
“No!” John could hear his voice rising but he didn’t care. He had to make them see. “They’ll know! They’ve got someone inside. Maybe right here in the White House.” He turned to Tom. “If they can find out about your chloramphenicol reaction, they can sure as hell find out that I didn’t give you those pills and I’ve told you what’s going on! Please! There’s got to be another way!”
“He’s right. Bob,” Tom said. “They must have one hell of an information pipeline. And by the way, any ideas about this ‘they’ we’re talking about?”
“Well, we know it’s drugs,” Decker said. “They told Dr. Vanduyne flat out they don’t want you showing up at The Hague conference. It’s probably Colombians, or maybe Mexicans.” He rubbed his jaw. “And I think you’re right about that high-level leak. They picked up the little girl the morning after your speech.”
Tom nodded. “Which means they knew what I was going to say and had the plan in place, ready to go.” He swiveled in his chair and spoke toward the windows. “Who is the son of a bitch? I swear, if I ever find out…” He swung back. “We’ll find him eventually. Question is, what do we do now?”
Decker said, “Let me think.” John watched the Secret Service man wander around the Oval Office, staring at the floor, at his shiny brown wingtips, then at the ceiling. John wished he could come up with his own plan, but his mind was numb, dead, empty.
Finally Decker returned to Tom’s desk.
“All right. Here’s an idea. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best I can do on such short notice. Why don’t we try a two-tier approach? Only three people know for sure you didn’t take those pills. Let’s keep it that way. We three will make up that first tier.”
“Who’s on the second tier?” Tom said.
“A small task force”—he glanced quickly at John—“a tiny task force consisting of select members of the Secret Service, the FBI, and the DEA that will—”
“They’re going to find out!” John said, feeling close to panic. “As soon as they find out there’s a task force, Katie’s dead!”
“Not if I limit it strictly to people I’ve known for a long time, and not if the President himself puts them on special assignment and forbids them to discuss the details with anyone, even their superiors.”
“Consider that done,” Tom said.
John didn’t know what to say. Did Decker know people who were absolutely trustworthy? Was anyone absolutely trustworthy? Maybe it could work. Maybe. But if it didn’t…
“But there’s one big point you haven’t covered,” John told Tom. “They’re expecting you to get sick. If you don’t…”
“I think we can cover that,” Decker said. He turned to Tom. “But it will involve you admitting yourself to Bethesda Naval Hospital. Your office will say you’re in for a check-up but the people behind this will read that as a sign that you’re ill.”
Tom pressed his fingertips together and leaned back, musing. “Well, Bethesda’s got the presidential suite… I can conduct business from there for a few days… Not a good time for this… not a good time at all…” He glanced up and his eyes met John’s. “But that’s what we’ll do.”
John felt his throat constrict. “Thanks, Tom. You don’t know what this—”
“It’s Katie. And she’s been kidnapped and hurt because of our friendship. That makes me part of this. Don’t you worry. We’ll get her back.” John leaned back and closed his eyes. He wanted to believe that. He had to believe that.
3
Bob Decker saw Dr. Vanduyne out to the elevator, then headed back to the Oval Office.
He had to admit he was pumped up. That had been one goddamn close call in the Oval Office. A catastrophe had been averted, but the Service could take no credit for it. Yet if Vanduyne had let Razor swallow those pills, even though he was Razor’s best friend, the Service would have taken all the heat. A no-win situation all around.
But that was past. Razor was safe, the conspiracy had been exposed, now came the fun part: tracking down these sons of bitches.
Maybe not that much fun. The leak bothered the hell out of him. Directly beneath the Oval Office lay W-16, the Secret Service command post. Was the mole among the select one hundred agents on the White House detail who worked out of there? Decker hated to think so, but he had to consider the possibility. Had to be very careful who he brought in on this.
But the first step had been taken. He’d sent Vanduyne home to e-mail the kidnappers that he’d dosed the President with whatever it was that was supposed to kill him—Decker still didn’t understand that part—and then he was to return with hard copies of all the e-mail he’d received from the kidnappers… plus his daughter’s toe and whatever packaging had come with it. Who knew? Maybe they’d get lucky and find a fingerprint or something else to help narrow the search.
He stepped back through the door into the Oval Office.
Razor was standing at the windows, gazing out at the morning. He turned as Decker closed the door behind him.
“I want this settled quickly. Bob.” His eyes were blazing. “I want these bastards. I want them to resist arrest, and I want the shit kicked out of them. I want them hurt real bad, real bad before they’re brought in.” Decker had never seen Razor this angry; he realized it was the emotions speaking and figured the best course was simply to agree.
“Yes, sir.”
“But I can?
??t emphasize quickly enough. I want that little girl returned before The Hague conference.”
“We’ll do our best, but without a full mobilization—”
Razor nodded. “I understand. You’ve got one hand tied behind your back. But what’s your plan? Who are you bringing in?”
“Well, I figure I can limit the second tier to one each from FBI and DEA. Get them up to speed on everything except the fact that you didn’t swallow the pills.”
“Why DEA?”
“Because of the drug connection. We’ll need some backgrounding on the possible players behind this. I may want to tap into the CIA too—”
“Good God, why?”
“This anonymous remailer in the UK. If we can locate the guy who’s running it, we may be able to backtrack from his computer to this Snake character.”
“All right. But keep them in the dark as much as possible. What about the tier-two people? Got anybody in mind?”
“Yes, sir. Gerry Canney over at the Bureau. He helped break the Duncan Lathram case, if you remember.”
Razor allowed a chagrined smile. “How can I forget?”
“He just got moved up to a supervisory position. He’s as straight and sharp as they come. Knows how to keep his mouth shut too.”
“Perfect. Who from DEA?”
“I’ve got a few possibilities there. I was thinking of Dan Keane. He’s with the Washington office.”
“I know him. Good man.”
“Right. I’ve known him for years and can’t think of anybody who knows more about the drug trade and hates the dealers as much as Dan.”
“All right. Canney and Keane. Get them. I want to meet with them personally. I want to make it very clear that even though kidnapping is FBI business and drug dealers are DEA, you are in charge. I don’t want any interagency turf war here. I want them to hear it straight from me before I head for Bethesda.”
Decker had to admire Razor’s grasp of all the practical problems facing his mini task force. He remembered the infighting between Justice and Treasury back in 1994 when someone took a few pot shots at the White House.