Deep Six

“How many people do you reckon you saved?” This from Joe Stark of the United Press.

“I lost count,” answered Moran, serenely pitching out the lies. “Our small vessel became dangerously overloaded with burned and half-drowned victims. So, rather than become the straw that might capsize it, so to speak, I remained in the water so one more pitiful creature could cheat death. Luckily for me, I was picked up by the Navy, which, I must add, performed magnificently.”

“Were you aware that Congresswoman Loren Smith was traveling on the Leonid Andreyev?” asked Marion Tournier of the Associated Press Radio Network.

“Not at the time,” replied Moran, changing back to his solemn demeanor again. “Regretfully, I’ve only just been informed that she’s reported as missing.”

Curtis Mayo signaled his cameramen and edged closer to Moran. “Congressman, what is your feeling regarding the President’s unprecedented closing of Congress?”

“Deeply mortified that such an arrogant deed could take place in our government. It’s obvious the President has taken leave of his senses. With one terrible blow, he has swept our nation from a democracy into a fascist state. I fully intend to see that he is removed from office — the sooner, the better.”

“How do you propose to do it?” Mayo pushed him. “Every time the members of the House convene to launch impeachment proceedings, the President sends in troops to disband them.”

“The story will be different this time,” Moran said confidently. “Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, members of Congress will hold a joint session in Lisner Auditorium at George Washington University. And in order to meet without interference or disruption by the President’s unauthorized and immoral use of the military, we intend to confront force with force. I have conferred with my House and Senate colleagues from the neighboring states of Maryland and Virginia who have prevailed upon their governors to protect our constitutional right to assemble by providing troops from their National Guard units.”

“Will they have orders to shoot?” asked Mayo, smelling newsworthy blood.

“If attacked,” Moran replied coldly, “the answer is an absolute yes.”

“And so Civil War Two erupts,” said Oates wearily as he switched off the TV set and turned to face Emmett, Mercier and Brogan.

“Moran is as daft as the President,” Emmett said, shaking his head in disgust.

“I pity the American public for being forced to accept such miserable leadership material,” Mercier grumbled.

“How do you read the upcoming confrontation at Lisner Auditorium?” Oates asked Emmett.

“The special forces of Army and Marines patrolling Capitol Hill are highly trained professionals. They can be counted on to stand firm and not attempt anything stupid. The National Guard is the real danger. All it takes is one weekend warrior to panic and fire off a round. Then we’ll witness another Kent State bloodbath, except much worse. This time the Guard will have their fire returned by deadly marksmen.”

“The situation won’t be helped if a few congressmen fall in the crossfire,” added Mercier.

“The President has to be isolated. The timetable must be moved up,” said Oates.

Mercier looked unsold. “That means cutting back Dr. Edgely’s evaluation of the President’s brain signals.”

“Preventing wholesale slaughter must take priority over a plan to mislead the Russians,” said Oates.

Brogan gazed at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I think we might steal our chicken and pluck it too.”

Oates smiled. “I hear the gears meshing in your head, Martin. What wild Machiavellian scheme has the CIA got up its sleeve now?”

“A way to give Edgely an advantage,” answered Brogan with a foxlike grin. “A little something borrowed from The Twilight Zone.”

61

A limousine was waiting at Andrews Air Force Base when Pitt slowly eased his way down the boarding stairs from a Navy passenger jet. Admiral Sandecker was sitting in the car, hidden by the tinted windows.

He opened the door and helped Pitt inside. “How was the flight?”

“Mercifully, it was smooth.”

“Do you have any luggage?”

“I’m wearing it,” said Pitt. He winced and clenched his teeth as he slipped into the seat beside the admiral.

“You in much pain?”

“A little stiff. They don’t tape cracked ribs like they did in the old days. Just let them heal on their own.”

“Sorry I insisted on your return in such haste, but things in Washington are boiling up a storm, and Doug Oates is hoping you possess information that might clear up a few entanglements.”

“I understand,” Pitt said. “Has there been any news of Loren?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid.”

“She’s alive,” said Pitt, staring out the window.

“I don’t doubt it,” Sandecker concurred. “Probably an oversight her name isn’t on the survivor list. Maybe she requested anonymity to avoid the press.”

“Loren had no reason to hide.”

“She’ll turn up,” Sandecker said. “Now, suppose you tell me how you managed to be present at the worst maritime tragedy in fifty years.”

Pitt marveled at how the admiral could twist a conversation in another direction with the abruptness of leaping from a sauna into the snow.

“In the brief time we had together on the Leonid Andreyev,” Pitt began, “Loren told me she was strolling on the deck on the first night of the cruise when the lights around the exterior of the ship went out, followed by the landing of a helicopter. Three passengers were taken off, two of them roughly handled. Loren thought she recognized one of them in the dim light as Alan Moran. Not certain whether her eyes were playing tricks, she called her aide Sally Lindema

“So they made her a prisoner along with her congressional pals, who were on a one-way trip to Moscow.”

“Except that Loren was more risk than asset. She was to be conveniently lost overboard.”

“And after Lindema

“Al Giordino and I drew up a plan and flew south, catching up with the ship in San Salvador and boarding there.”

“Over two hundred people died on the Leonid Andreyev. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Yes,” Pitt said meditatively. “It was a near thing.”

He went quiet, his mind’s eye seeing only a face the face of the steward who stood in the lifeboat leering down at him with the look of a man who enjoyed his work: a murderer without a shred of remorse.

“In case you’re interested,” said Sandecker, breaking the spell, “we’re going direct to a meeting with Secretary Oates at the State Department.”

“Make a detour by the Washington Post,” Pitt said abruptly.

Sandecker gave him a negative look. “We can’t spare the time to buy a newspaper.”

“If Oates wants to hear what I’ve got, he’ll damn well have to wait.”

Sandecker made a sour expression and gave in. “Ten minutes is all you get. I’ll call Oates and say your plane was delayed.”

Pitt had met the Secretary of State previously, during the North American Treaty affair. The neatly trimmed hair was slate-colored, and the brown eyes moved with practiced ease as they read Pitt. Oates wore a five-hundred-dollar gray tailored suit and highly polished black custom shoes. There was a no-nonsense aggressiveness about him, and he moved well, almost like a track and field athlete.