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“Do you have any mouthwash?”
“Well, yes, I believe so. Do you want it?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want it. Bring it to me. Do you have any gum?”
“Gum?”
“Chewing gum.”
“Yes, sir. Do you want it too?”
“Just bring me the mouthwash and gum, and some aspirin if you have it.” He walked to his desk and sat down, holding his head in his hands and rubbing his temples. He heard her banging drawers, and then she was before him with the goods.
“Thanks. I’m sorry I snapped.” He pointed at the brief in a chair by the door. “Send that brief to Eric East, he’s on the fourth floor. Write a note from me. Tell him to look it over when he has a minute.”
She left with the brief.
Fletcher Coal opened the door to the Oval Office, and spoke gravely to K. O. Lewis and Eric East. The President was in Puerto Rico viewing hurricane damage, and Director Voyles now refused to meet with Coal alone. He sent his underlings.
Coal waved them to a sofa, and he sat across the coffee table. His coat was buttoned and his tie was perfect. He never relaxed. East had heard tales about his habits. He worked twenty hours a day, seven days a week, drank nothing but water, and ate most meals from a vending machine in the basement. He could read like a computer, and spent hours each day reviewing memos, reports, correspondence, and mountains of pending legislation. He had perfect recall. For a week now they had brought daily reports of their investigation to this office, and handed them to Coal, who devoured the material and memorized it for the next meeting. If they misstated something, he would terrorize them. He was hated, but it was impossible not to respect him. He was smarter than them, and he worked harder. And he knew it.
He was smug in the emptiness of the Oval Office. His boss was away performing for the cameras, but the real power had stayed behind to run the country.
K. O. Lewis placed a four-inch stack of the latest on the table.
“Anything new?” Coal asked.
“Maybe. The French authorities were routinely reviewing footage taken by the security cameras at the Paris airport, and they thought they recognized a face. They checked it against two other cameras in the concourse, different angles, then reported to Interpol. The face is disguised, but Interpol believes it is Khamel, the terrorist. I’m sure you’ve heard of—”
“I have.”
“They’ve studied the footage at length, and are almost certain he exited a plane that arrived nonstop from Dulles last Wednesday, about ten hours after Jensen was found.”
“The Concorde?”
“No, United. Based on the time and the locations of the cameras, they have ways of determining the gates and flights.”
“And Interpol contacted the CIA?”
“Yes. They talked to Gminski around one this afternoon.”
Coal’s face registered nothing. “How certain are they?”
“Eighty percent. He’s a master of disguise, and it would be a bit unusual for him to travel in such a ma
“He hasn’t been willingly photographed in years, has he?”
“Not that we know of. And rumor has it he goes under the knife and gets a new face every two or three years.”
Coal pondered this for a second. “Okay. What if it’s Khamel, and what if he was involved in the killings? What does it mean?”
“It means we’ll never find him. There are at least nine countries, including Israel, actively stalking him right now. It means he was paid a bunch of money by someone to use his talents here. We’ve said all along the killer or killers were professionals who were gone before the bodies were cold.”
“So it means little.”
“You could say that.”
“Fine. What else do you have?”
Lewis glanced at Eric East. “Well, we have the usual daily summary.”
“They’ve been rather dry as of late.”
“Yes, they have. We have three hundred and eighty agents working twelve hours a day. Yesterday they interviewed one hundred and sixty people in thirty states. We have—” Coal held up his hand. “Save it. I’ll read the summary. It seems safe to say there is nothing new.”
“Maybe a small new wrinkle.” Lewis looked at Eric East, who was holding a copy of the brief.
“What is it?” Coal asked.
East shifted uncomfortably. The brief had been passed upward all day until Voyles read it and liked it. He viewed it as a long shot, unworthy of serious attention, but the brief mentioned the President, and he loved the idea of making Coal and his boss sweat. He instructed Lewis and East to deliver the brief to Coal, and to treat it as an important theory the Bureau was taking seriously. For the first time in a week, Voyles had smiled when he talked of the idiots in the Oval Office reading this little brief and ru
“It’s a theory that has surfaced in the last twenty-four hours, and Director Voyles is quite intrigued by it. He’s afraid it could be damaging to the President.”
Coal was stone-faced, never flinching. “How’s that?”
East placed the brief on the table. “It’s all here in this report.”
Coal glanced at it, then studied East. “Fine. I’ll read it later. Is that all?”
Lewis stood and buttoned his jacket. “Yes, we’ll be going.”
Coal followed them to the door.
There was no fanfare when Air Force One landed at Andrews a few minutes after ten. The Queen was off raising money, and no friends or family greeted the President as he bounced off the plane and darted into his limousine. Coal was waiting. The President sunk low in the seat. “I didn’t expect you,” he said.
“I’m sorry. We need to talk.” The limo sped away toward the White House.
“It’s late and I’m tired.”
“How was the hurricane?”
“Impressive. It blew away a million shacks and cardboard huts, and now we’ll rush down with a couple of billion and build new homes and power plants. They need a good hurricane every five years.”
“I’ve got the disaster declaration ready.”
“Okay. What’s so important?”
Coal handed over a copy of what was now known as the pelican brief.
“I don’t want to read,” said the President. “Just tell me about it.”
“Voyles and his motley crew have stumbled across a suspect that no one has mentioned until now. A most obscure, unlikely suspect. An eager-beaver law student at Tulane wrote this damned thing, and it somehow made its way to Voyles, who read it and decided it had merit. Keep in mind, they are desperate for suspects. The theory is so farfetched it’s incredible, and on its face it doesn’t worry me. But Voyles worries me. He’s decided he must pursue with enthusiasm, and the press is watching every move he makes. There could be leaks.”
“We can’t control his investigation.”
“We can manipulate it. Gminski is waiting at the White House, and—”
“Gminski!”
“Relax, Chief. I personally handed him a copy of this three hours ago, and swore him to secrecy. He may be incompetent, but he can keep a secret. I trust him much more than Voyles.”
“I don’t trust either one of them.”
Coal liked to hear this. He wanted the President to trust no one but him. “I think you should ask the CIA to immediately investigate this. I would like to know everything before Voyles starts digging. Neither will find anything, but if we know more than Voyles, you can convince him to back off. It makes sense, Chief.”
The President was frustrated. “It’s domestic. CIA has no business snooping around. It’s probably illegal.”
“It is illegal, technically. But Gminski will do it for you, and he can do it quickly, secretly, and more thoroughly than the FBI.”