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After several seconds, lights began turning on within the house, and eventually an exterior overhead light came on, pi
“Who the hell is it?” came a gruff voice from inside.
“It’s Harvath, Bill. Open up.”
From inside, Scot heard a chain slide back, followed by several dead bolts. Finally, the door opened and there stood a sleepy William Shaw. He had a face of unshaved whiskers, bed head, and one hand in the pocket of his terry cloth robe, probably curled around his SIG-Sauer semiautomatic.
“Harvath, this had better be very, very good. You are just bound and determined to get on every single person’s shit list, aren’t you?”
“Bill, this is important. Can I come in?”
“Be my guest. Maybe I can cook up a little breakfast while you’re here,” said Shaw sarcastically as he closed the door behind them and relocked his dead bolts.
“Nice place,” said Scot, and he meant it. The entry hall gave way to a room dominated by oxblood leather couches with brass buttons and a big-screen TV. Two walls were lined with books, and there were recessed surround-sound speakers in the ceiling. The fireplace was trimmed with an ornate mantelpiece covered with pictures of the Shaw family in silver frames. In the middle of the floor was a very large and very ornate oriental rug.
“Mrs. Shaw had good taste in everything but husbands,” he said, joining Harvath at the edge of the den. Scot knew that Shaw’s wife had recently divorced him and that it had been very difficult. Scot decided to change the subject and get to the point right away.
“Bill, I think I may have some new information on the president’s kidnapping.”
“You? How the hell would you have any? You’re not even supposed to be active. I don’t know why Jameson didn’t grab your creds and suspend you last night. The kidnapping of the president is no longer the purview of the Secret Service anyway. End of story.”
“Can we sit down? I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
Shaw let out an exasperated sigh and waved Harvath toward one of the couches. They took seats opposite each other, and as Shaw was rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes, Scot began his story. “I have reason to believe the kidnappers had some very high placed help.”
“No shit, Sherlock. We’ve suspected all along that there was some sort of leak.”
“I’m not talking about the leak, Bill. I’m talking about guys with enough power and influence to help facilitate the introduction between the kidnappers and the source of the leak.”
“You know, Harvath,” said Shaw, glancing at his watch, “I have to be up for work in a few hours. I am going to be able to fall right back asleep without hearing any fairy tales, so why don’t you take yours and-”
“Bill, this is serious. I have reason to suspect that Senator Snyder and maybe Senator Rolander were involved somehow in the president’s kidnapping.”
Shaw moved forward on the couch. “Snyder and maybe Rolander? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Tonight I had a meeting with a man who claims to have been Snyder’s lover-”
“Lover?”
“Let me finish and it will all become clear. I had the same reaction at first. Do you remember that aide on the Hill who was killed in a drive-by about a year ago?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“Well, the man I met with tonight, a Mr. André Martin, was involved with the aide. The aide worked for Senator Snyder and, according to Martin, was having an affair with him.”
“The aide and the senator?”
“Yes. Apparently Martin got sick of the aide cheating on him and left him. The aide tried to break things off with the senator while still trying to hold on to his job and might even have tried to blackmail Snyder. Shortly thereafter the aide was killed in the drive-by.”
“C’mon, Harvath. Not only is that hearsay, but it’s so thin you can see through it. It sounds more like a Jackie Collins novel.”
“I thought the same thing until-”
“Until what?”
“Until Martin told me that he worked his way in close to the senator and started having an affair with him himself.”
“We’re talking about Senator David Snyder? Confirmed bachelor and renowned ladies’ man?”
“We’ve all got our secrets, Bill. Anyway, this Martin begins an affair with the senator, convinced he was responsible for the aide’s death and determined to expose him. He watches, and more important, he listens. He listens to everything, but never lets on that he’s listening. He feigns he’s a heavy drinker, a sound sleeper, anything plausible that might put the senator more at ease and create an environment in which he’ll slip up. Then, he does. Recently, Martin overheard some stuff the senator thinks he shouldn’t…”
“Overheard stuff? What did he hear?”
“Well, he not only heard things relating to the president’s kidnapping, but he also followed Snyder to Senator Rolander’s house after Snyder had received some suspicious phone calls in the middle of the night. By the way, remember that FBI agent I had the problem with in Park City?”
“The guy you creamed? What was his name?”
“Zuschnitt.”
“Yeah, you decked him, so?”
“Well, from what Martin told me, he’s been calling in regular reports from Park City to Snyder, and it seems the two of them were behind framing me as the leak to CNN.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. From what Martin says, he heard it all loud and clear when he was listening on another extension. There’s no way we can prove it right now, but if I could get my hands on that Zuschnitt again, I think I could encourage him to talk.”
Shaw’s fingers dug into the leather arm of the couch. “What about the president?”
Harvath continued to fill his boss in on everything Martin had told him and then shared something he had not told anyone about.
“Do you remember how I went over to that Mormon farm where that couple was murdered?”
“Do I remember? Of course I do. What about it?”
“I found a piece of evidence there I didn’t tell anybody about.”
“Evidence?” Shaw’s face was white. “What kind of evidence?”
“Well, when I entered the house, I smelled cigarette smoke. The local law enforcement guys said they hadn’t been smoking in the house, and as the couple were apparently devout Mormons, I knew they weren’t smokers. It wasn’t a huge leap of logic to figure out that the farm had been used as some sort of a base camp for the kidnapping.”
“Why did you think that?”
“The old couple was done by a professional. Shots to the head-”
“The man was, but according to the report, not the woman,” said Shaw.
“Yeah, I know. I think he did the man first and the woman tried to run or something. I think he lost it and, if you’ll forgive the Cagneyism, filled her full of lead. The president was most likely brought to the farm via snowmobile from the scene of the kidnapping and then transferred into whatever vehicle or vehicles they used from there. Nothing was amiss or stolen in the house, so that’s why I think it was just used as a base.”
“So, cigarette smoke is your evidence?”
“No. While the killer was waiting for the rest of the kidnappers to get back from doing the job, he was smoking and probably watching TV in the family room. I think he was eating chocolate too.”
“Chocolate? Jesus, Harvath. First you tell me Senator Snyder goes both ways, then he likes to tie up and torture people who may or may not have been listening in on his phone calls and tailing him, and then your coup de grâce is that one of the kidnappers may have been eating candy at a scene that has yet to be determined was co
“The chocolate was Swiss.”
“So? There’s lots of Swiss chocolate in the U.S., and around the world, for that matter. I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but after yodeling and watches, it’s probably one of the biggest things the Swiss are known for!”