At that same moment, the president, Garret, Hopkinson, Speaker Basset, Senator Lloyd Hellerman, and a half dozen secretaries and aides were crowded around the large conference table in the Cabinet Room. They were scrambling to put together a media strategy that would help make the best of a dire situation. Most of the men in the room were aware of the nation’s overall distrust of politicians, but none of them had imagined how bad it had gotten. Hopkinson was starting to get polling information back, and it was shocking. A poll conducted by USA Today showed that almost 40 percent of those questioned believed the country would be better off without Fitzgerald, Koslowski, and Downs.
When Garret heard the news earlier, he had snickered, “Let’s see where those numbers are on Monday.” The reason he was so confident was because his phone had been ringing off the hook since the president’s speech. Americans loved a conspiracy. They would eat up the idea that the letter was sent to confuse the FBI, and that the murders were committed in connection with a dark plot. The seeds had been planted, and the notorious rumor mill of D.C. and the media would take care of the rest. Speaker Basset and Senator Hellerman had even taken the bait. They had both arrived early this morning and stopped by Garret’s office to ask him if anything further had been learned about the dubious authenticity of the letter. Garret told them that even he was being kept in the dark—that the agency that had provided them with the information was taking careful steps to research the lead. Garret assured them that as soon as he found anything out, they would be the first to know.
One of the secretaries came down to the end of the table where the president and Garret were sitting and reminded them, for the third time, that Director Roach was waiting in the Oval Office. The president looked at his watch. It was 12:20 P.M. “Stu, twenty minutes is long enough for them to wait.”
Garret nodded his head. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Garret told the others they would be back and to continue without them. He and the president left and stopped by Mike Nance’s office before heading on to the Oval Office.
The president entered his office first, followed by Garret and then Nance. Roach and McMahon rose to meet the commander in chief. The president walked over to both men and shook their hands. “Gentlemen, I apologize for being late, but things have been extremely hectic around here. Please be seated.” All five men sat down, and the president continued, “Well, has the FBI found anything out since yesterday?”
“We have the preliminary autopsy reports on all three bodies,” Roach said. “Agent McMahon has brought copies and is prepared to go over them with you, if you wish.”
Garret leaned back and crossed his legs. “That’s all right, just leave them here and we can look them over later.” Garret looked over at McMahon and stuck out his hand, expecting McMahon to personally deliver the documents.
McMahon glanced at him and then handed all three briefs to Mike Nance, who was sitting next to him on the couch. Nance kept one and passed the other two on to the president. The president kept one and gave Garret the last copy. Garret snatched it from his boss’s hand and placed it in his folder. Without looking at either Roach or McMahon, Garret asked, “What else do you have for us?”
Director Roach nodded to McMahon, and McMahon handed Nance three more briefs. Roach noted, “We have three witnesses that saw the man who we think killed Senator Downs in the park. If you turn to the third page, you’ll find a sketch of the perpetrator. As you can see, it’s pretty generic. None of the witnesses got a straight shot of the man, and he was wearing a baseball hat.”
“What are you planning to do with this sketch?” the president asked.
“Well, in light of Dr. Kennedy’s theory, I would like to start checking the personnel files of our Special Forces.”
The usually stoic Nance sat forward and cleared his throat. “I think that, for now, Dr. Kennedy’s theory should be kept very quiet. It is completely unsubstantiated, and the press would have a field day if they found out the FBI suspected United States military personnel. Besides, there are some national security issues involved with rifling through top secret personnel files.”
“You’re not actually taking her theory seriously, are you?” Garret asked.
“At this stage of the investigation, we are taking every lead seriously. I also understand the possible ramifications of Dr. Kennedy’s theory being leaked to the press.” Roach looked over at Nance. “And I also do not expect the military to hand over top secret files. I was thinking more along the lines of having them pull photos of retired Special Forces personnel only. We would promise them that Special Agent McMahon and the three witnesses would be the only ones to see them.”
Nance’s look of discomfort lessened but did not vanish.
“They wouldn’t have to provide us with anything other than photographs. The witnesses wouldn’t even need to know where the photos came from.”
“We might be able to arrange something along those lines, but I don’t think the brass will like it,” Nance responded.
“Hold on a minute,” interrupted Garret. “Before we go running off on wild-goose chases, I think we should have a little more evidence than a theory from some little bookworm.”
McMahon stared at Garret and would not look away. He’d promised Roach that he would keep his cool and his mouth shut during the meeting. McMahon kept thinking to himself, How does a guy like this get to be the chief of staff for the president of the United States?
Roach cleared his throat and took center stage. “Well, since you’ve broached the subject of leads, could you tell me what information you have that would lead you to believe the letter is a piece of disinformation?”
Before the president could answer, Nance spoke. “Right now, we are not at liberty to discuss that information. The lead is still being investigated.”
Instead of responding, Roach stared at the president and thought to himself, What are these guys up to?
Nance continued, “The information will be passed on to you as soon as it can be verified. The people who are looking into this want to be very careful that they don’t compromise any assets by moving too quickly.”
Roach thought to himself, You bet your ass you’ll pass it on to me, or you’ll find a subpoena sitting on your desk. The director shifted his gaze away from the president and back to Nance. “Who is investigating it?”
“I can’t say anything just yet. It’s a strange situation that I really can’t go into.”
Roach looked over at McMahon and they both thought the same thing. You can tell the entire nation on TV, but you can’t discuss it with the director of the FBI.
Garret sensed they weren’t buying Nance’s excuse, so he jumped into the fray. “Director Roach, you seem as if you doubt us. Don’t you think the fact that these men were murdered on the eve of the passage of the president’s budget is more than just a mere coincidence?”
“I think the timing of the murders is directly related to the president’s budget,” answered Roach, the concession catching Garret off-balance.
“So you do think there’s a good chance this letter is meant to mislead us?” Garret asked.
“I think anything is possible at this point. Agent McMahon is investigating several leads that involve the timing of the murders.”
Garret leaned forward and looked at McMahon. “What type of leads are you pursuing?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss them at this point. We are still in the early stages of running them down.”
Garret sat back and quietly cursed himself for being suckered into the trap.
“Special Agent McMahon, I understand that whatever leads you have may not be very solid right now, but I would still like to hear them,” the president said as he watched McMahon look to Roach.
“Come now, gentlemen. Whatever is said in this office will stay in this office,” the president continued.
McMahon almost laughed out loud but suppressed the desire. “Mr. President, if you’d please pardon my candor, you appeared on nat
ional television last night and told the entire country you had reason to believe that the letter is a piece of disinformation. Now, I can only assume that for you to say something like that, you must have some pretty solid facts regarding the authenticity of that letter . . . facts that you are not willing to pass on to us, the people who are in charge of investigating these murders. For now, we have agreed to respect your decision to not share that information. I would hope that you would also understand our position and give us some time to run these leads down before we pass our information on to you.”
Everyone was silent while the two sides thought about the hand McMahon had just played. Garret was furious. Who in the fuck did this no-name agent think he was, coming into the Oval Office and denying the president information?
Nance, on the other hand, admired the move. In light of the position he had just taken, they had no choice but to accept McMahon’s excuse.
The maneuver had been planned by Roach and McMahon before they left the Hoover Building, and now it was the director’s turn. “Mr. President, I realize things were very tense and confusing last night, but during your speech you said the Bureau told you there was a good chance the letter was a piece of disinformation.”
“I’ll take the blame for that,” Garret blurted out. “I was in charge of editing the speech and I missed it. Sorry.” Garret’s apology smacked of blatant insincerity.
Roach looked at Garret for a moment and then back to the president. “You also quoted me as saying that I guaranteed the perpetrators would be caught and brought to justice.”
Again, Garret fielded the question. “That was my fault also. I should have caught it. We meant it to sound more general, but it came out sounding like a direct quote. I apologize.”
Roach nodded his head in a feigned acknowledgment of Garret’s apology. He knew they would lie. He just wanted to see how they would do it. Roach looked away from Garret. It was time to get down to important matters. “Sir, my main concern right now is not the authenticity of the letter; it is the security of the remaining five hundred and thirty-two senators and congressmen. The letter clearly states that if these reforms are not acted on, this group will kill more politicians. They have even made a direct threat to you, sir. For now, we have to assume the letter is real and that they will strike again. We have to arrange for protection.” The president, Nance, and Garret nodded their heads in agreement. “I have spoken with Director Tracy of the Secret Service, and most of the chiefs of the metro-area police departments. We are meeting this afternoon to discuss additional security measures. The tab for this protection, sir, is going to be rather large. I am going to need you to authorize special funding.”
“Don’t worry about the money. Whatever it costs will be taken care of.” The president waved his hand in the air emphasizing that money was the least of their concerns. “How are you planning on handling the security?”
“Well, Director Tracy and I have agreed that initially we should concentrate on giving the best security to the senior-ranking members of both the House and the Senate. He and I are working on pulling agents out of the field so they can provide personal protection for the ranking members. The presidential security detail will not be weakened. If anything, Director Tracy is thinking about adding more agents. This afternoon, we will determine how many of the ranking members we can protect with just the agents from the FBI and Secret Service. When we run out of agents, we will have to start using local police officers for the protection of the less senior members. We are also looking at using federal marshals, Treasury agents, and various military units. Director Tracy has also recommended that we shut down Lafayette Park and the streets surrounding the Capitol and the House and Senate office buildings. The White House is very secure, but the same cannot be said of the Capitol and the House and Senate office buildings. To bolster the security in and around the Capitol we are considering moving in a light armored division from the Army.”
Garret scoffed and shook his head vigorously. “A light armored division? Are you talking just personnel or are you talking equipment also?”
“Equipment and personnel,” Roach responded in an even tone.
“You mean to tell me you’re going to surround the Capitol with tanks?”
“No, with Humvees, armored personnel carriers, and Bradley fighting vehicles.”
“Like I said, you’re going to surround the Capitol with tanks.”
“No, light armored divisions don’t have tanks. That would be an armored division.”
“I know the difference,” Garret said in a mocking tone. “But the average American doesn’t.” Garret looked to the president and said, “I think we’re going a little overboard here. We can’t have tanks driving down the streets of Washington, D.C. We’ll look like the fucking Chinese, for Christ’s sake.”
The president paused while he digested Garret’s comments. “I agree with Stu. For now let’s try to keep things as normal looking as possible. I don’t want the press and the American people to think we’re panicking. Besides, these killers would have to be suicidal to try something at the Capitol.”
Roach nodded his head in compliance and then went on. The meeting lasted for another ten minutes while Roach continued to give them a broad overview of the extra security measures. When he was done, the president walked them to the door and thanked them for coming.
Roach and McMahon did not say a word until they climbed into the limo. Once the doors closed, Roach immediately started to shake his head in disapproval. He did not swear but wanted to. Roach liked to stay on a nice, even keel, while McMahon was just the opposite.
“What a bunch of assholes.”
“I take it you didn’t believe a word of their story,” Roach said.
“Are you kidding me? He gets on national TV and announces to the country that he believes the letter is phony, but he won’t tell the director of the FBI or the agent running the investigation where he got the information. It’s a crock of shit.”
“Why would he make it up if it’s obviously a lie? If he has any information, he will have to come forward with it.”
“You’re damn right he will. If he doesn’t, we’ll hit him with a subpoena and an obstruction of justice charge. This is our baby, not the NSA’s or the CIA’s. This is domestic and it’s our jurisdiction,” McMahon said.
“Yeah, that’s what worries me. They know they have to hand over what they’ve got.” Roach paused and looked out the window. “So, what are they up to?”
“I have no idea. Politics is your department, but if they’re still proclaiming this letter is fake two days from now and they haven’t handed anything over to us, I’d get the Justice Department involved.”
11
AFTER LEAVING HIS MEETING AT THE WHITE House, McMahon drove out to the CIA’s headquarters in Langley, Virginia, and picked up Dr. Kennedy. McMahon had asked her the previous evening to accompany him for the interview with Gus Mitchell, the former Delta Force commando. For the early part of the drive down to the FBI Academy, the conversation centered on the investigation and Kennedy’s theory of who the killers were. As Kennedy continued to articulate her points, McMahon couldn’t help but wonder where this woman had come from. What had possessed her to join one of the most exclusive communities in government? It was obvious that with her brains, understated savvy, and the way she carried herself, she could have entered any profession and been extremely successful.
McMahon waited for a pause in the conversation. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how did you end up in the employment of the CIA?”
Kennedy looked out the window of the government-issue Ford and said, “My father used to work for the State Department. Throughout most of his career he was stationed in the Middle East. He married my mother, who was Jordanian, and I grew up in a bilingual household.” Kennedy looked over at McMahon. “There aren’t a lot of Americans who are fluent in Arabic and who understand the customs and history of the area.”
McMahon nodded his unde
rstanding. “You must have been a very highly sought after commodity.”
“I suppose you could say that.” McMahon checked his side mirror and changed lanes. “You said your father used to work for the State Department. Is he retired?”
“No, he passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Kennedy clutched her purse with both hands. “Thank you.” She looked at McMahon. “It was a long time ago, almost twenty years.” Her eyes squinted while she thought about how long it had been. “It doesn’t seem like it happened that long ago.”
“He must have been pretty young. How did he die? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Kennedy shook her head. “He was stationed at our embassy in Beirut and was killed by a car bomb.”
McMahon cringed. What a shitty way to go. “That must have been hard. You had to have been in your teens.”