Point Of Impact

agents of RamDyne.

“You ought to see this damned guy in a fight, Hap,” he heard himself saying in awe. “This is the best gunfighter this country ever produced. He doesn’t miss, he doesn’t panic, he doesn’t quit thinking and he never gives up. He’s fantastic.”

He got to the embarrassing part, too.

“Look, I may as well be up-front with you guys. I did represent myself as a federal officer when I was officially on suspension. I did it over the phone at least two or three dozen times and in person at least three times. So are you going to bust me? Hell, I broke the New Orleans thing for you, gave you the biggest scoop you’ll ever have.”

They laughed and wrote it all down, asking gentle questions, coming back the next day with other questions.

But they wouldn’t tell him anything else, either.

“So where’s Bob? What’s become of him?”

“Nick, I think they have him in a safe house too, going through the same kind of debriefing. Truth is, I don’t really know. Would you mind if we got back to you, Nick?”

“No, sure, no problem.”

This went on for two weeks.

Then, suddenly, Hap and Mickey were gone. Instead, along came two hard-eyed guys from what Nick assumed was the crack counterintelligence squad called Cointelpro, expert interrogators. They were very, very smart, much smarter than Hap and Mickey. And, naturally, distant; not hostile so much as remote, utterly professional. They were like sharks; they ate him alive and seemed to know the material as well as he did. They pored through it – and him – for minor inconsistencies, for small glitches, as if they wanted the lint of the operation and not the truth.

But he cooperated, again offering eagerness as his only defense, holding nothing back, telling everything, everything.

“Now the bills he used to finance the operation – ”

“It wasn’t an operation. We just made it up as we went along. Anyway, he’d evidently cached quite a bit of cash from that lawsuit plus some guns in the mountains and when he got back to them before we ran into him at the health complex, he must have dug it up. He always had cash, he always paid cash.”

“You can’t trace cash, not old, small bills. He had plenty of old small bills.”

“Cash isn’t a crime. At least it didn’t used to be. What have you got him on? A few minor car theft charges for which there’s really no proof, and no prosecutor would bring to court. The rest was self-defense. He never shot a man who wasn’t trying to kill him or someone else. He was green light all the way.”

“New Orleans.”

“New Orleans! I told you, it was a professional setup! They used a different rifle to shoot a bullet that had been already fired out of his rifle. They had a great shot, Lon Scott, in the steeple. It’s possible, you know it’s possible.”

“Okay, Memphis, this isn’t the time to argue. Now could we go back to – ”

Then, finally, there were the scientific gentlemen. Nick took three polygraph tests, and volunteered to undergo both hypnosis and sodium pentothal treatment. He was probed, drugged, pricked, psyched, drained and squeezed. He got through it all with only moderate testiness: old Nick, everybody’s helper, friend to all men, duty hound, stalwart and chum.

One day, late in the process, he was told he had a visitor. Blinking, he went outside to the porch, there to discover the nervous Sally Ellion awaiting him.

“Hi! God, Sally, hi, how are you, Jesus, you’re looking great!”

And Sally was looking great.

“Hi, Nick. How are you?” She still had that soft Southern accent, as if the Mississippi itself poured through her words.

“Oh, I’m okay, you know. I’m fine. I’m sorry I haven’t called you. They’ve got me pretty busy and I don’t think they’re going to spring me soon.”

“You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

“Nah. Nah, I’m fine. I want to work with the guys and get this all straightened out. It’ll be fine, you’ll see. I’m hoping that when this is over, we can go out to dinner again. That was great fun. How are you?”

She looked terrific to him.

“I’m okay. Nick, they came to me and wanted – ”

“I know, I know. Just tell them the truth. You didn’t do anything wrong. Remember, you didn’t know I’d been suspended when you gave me that file. You’re okay, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried about myself, Nick. I’m worried about you. He said you might have broken some laws. He was very upset about what might happen to you.”

“Um. Howard?”

“Yes. Mr. Utey.”

“Yeah, I smell him all over this thing. Don’t worry. Howard’s an old pal. He’ll look out for me. What’s going on in the outside world?”

“Oh, the television and papers have made a big thing about Bob Lee Swagger. I think the government wants to settle it quickly. Get it off the front page.”

“What have they done with Bob?”

“He’s in a holding facility in – ”

“A prison?”

“Yes. He’s got a lawyer. But there’s so much publicity that I think they’re going to do something soon.”

This shook Nick greatly.

“He shouldn’t be in a prison. He’s a hero. He did great things for – ”

But he saw a hurt look on her face and realized he’d begun to sound deranged.

“Well, anyway. Sally, I hope this hasn’t been hard on you.”

“No. It was a little scary at first, all the questions. But I think I’m out of it.”

“Great. I’ve tried to make them see it’s all my fault. I’m to blame, that’s all. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“I’m sure they will. Nick, are you sure you’re going to call me when all this is over? I’d like to see you.”

“Sure, of course.”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to call you.”

“I’ll call you. I swear. You know, old AB Nick. I want to hear more about the time when you ditched that quarterback. Tom, Terry -?”

“Ted.” She laughed. “God, what a horrible guy. I can’t believe I was engaged to him.”

The memory brought a smile to her face, a little one; then it was time for her to go.

They pretty much left Nick alone for a week after Sally’s visit, with only two incurious bodyguards who let him go for walks. They let him watch TV and he caught up on the events of the last month and the controversy surrounding Bob Lee Swagger, amazed to see what a huge national story it had become, with all the networks camped outside the Louisiana State Reformatory where Bob was being kept in isolation, with visits only from his lawyer, a doughty-looking, sly old boy – operative word old – named Sam Vincent. Meanwhile a grand jury investigated the matter and all the Louisiana state prosecutors were lined up, waiting their turn.

“Looks like a carnival,” Nick said, and nobody answered.

Then finally, inevitably, Howard arrived, with a sharp young man along, who had Ambitious Federal Prosecutor written all over his feral little features. And an older man, twinkly, with an almost academic air about him, as he sucked on a pipe.

“Nick, Nick, Nick,” said Howard, expansive and embracing. “Nick, I want you to meet Phil Kelso, who works on a lot of cases with us. Phil’s a damned fine prosecutor, Nick. The best.”

“Um,” said Nick.

“And this is Hugh Meachum, of the State Department. Nick, he’s here to advise us on national security implications of the situation. The Salvadorans are very interested in the way this turns out.”