again-he will be outfitted in civilian clothing and taken to the Magoffin Home-”
“What the hell is that?” the President interrupted.
“It’s the former home of the Magoffin family, Mr. President. Now a museum. It’s a large adobe structure-”
“A well-known El Paso landmark, in other words?” President Clendennen interrupted again.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why didn’t you just say that? I don’t need the Chamber of Commerce bullshit.”
“Yes, sir. Photographs of Abrego shaking hands with SAC Johnson will be taken-”
“What the hell is that all about?”
“SAC Johnson will be identified-under another name-as an officer of the Magoffin Home Foundation, and Abrego-also under another name-as a contributor to the Magoffin Home Foundation. SAC Johnson has arranged for the photo to be published in tomorrow morning’s
“Okay,” the President said, “so who told that sonofabitch Roscoe J. Danton that we’re moving Abrego to Texas?”
“Mr. President, I have no idea.”
“Neither does the attorney general,” President Clendennen said, looking at Crenshaw. “So I have the director of the FBI and the attorney general telling me that they have absolutely no idea of the identity of the treasonous sonofabitch whose meddling is interfering with the foreign policy of the President of the United States. Would either of you find it hard to understand why I find that unacceptable?”
Crenshaw cleared his throat, then said, “Mr. President, I have begun an investigation-”
“Somehow that doesn’t reassure me,” the President snapped. “So tell me what you have on this sonofabitch Danton.”
“Excuse me?”
TEN
Apartment 606 The Watergate Apartments 2639 I Street, N.W. Washington, D.C. 1735 18 April 2007
“How the hell did you get in here?” Roscoe J. Danton demanded of Edgar Delchamps and David W. Yung when they walked into his kitchen. Danton and John David Parker were sitting at the kitchen table sharing a pizza.
“The door was open,” Delchamps said. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I locked that door very carefully,” Danton said.
“How they hanging, Porky?” Delchamps said, ignoring the challenge.
“What the hell do you want?” Danton demanded.
“Charley wants to talk to you,” Two-Gun Yung said.
“Then why doesn’t he call?”
“He said it would be better if Edgar and I were here when you had your little chat,” Yung said. “So we could clear up any misunderstandings that might come up.”
“Can I have a slice of that?” Delchamps asked as he reached for the pizza.
Yung took his CaseyBerry from his pocket, punched a number, and then handed the instrument to Danton.
“Leave it on speakerphone,” he ordered.
Danton held up the cell phone.
“Danton,” he said.
“My favorite journalist,” came Castillo’s voice from the speakerphone. “How are things in our nation’s capital?”
“What’s going on, Charley?”
“In the very near future-in the next couple of minutes, probably-you will get a telephone call from the White House. Unless they’ve already called?”
“The White House has not called. I expect them to.”
“Well, when they do, they’re going to ask you not to go on
“That’s
“Forgive me. As I was saying, they are going to ask you not to go on Mr. McClarren’s widely viewed program tonight with the story of the attorney general ordering the movement of Felix Abrego from Florence ADMAX to the La Tuna facility. Or they are going to threaten you with all the terrible things they will do to you if you do.”
“How the hell do you know about that?”
“The question, Roscoe, is, who told you about it?”
“A confidential source,” Danton said, again responding in a Pavlovian reflex.
“First, Roscoe, we’ll deal with what you say when the White House calls. Handle it any way you want-enjoy yourself and make them grovel, whatever-but in the end you will agree that you will not go on
“The hell I won’t. Nobody tells me what to write or what to say on the tube.”
“Wrong. I can, and in this case I have to. Edgar, is Porky there?”
“Sitting right across from Roscoe,” Delchamps replied.
“Roscoe, if I told you that your going on
“I can’t believe you’re serious,” Danton replied.
“Two-Gun, you have the CIA’s Whiz Bang Super Duper air pistol?” Castillo asked.
Yung went into his attache case and came out with what looked like a Glock semiautomatic pistol, except that the slide was perhaps twice as large.
“Got it,” Yung said.
“You’re not actually going to threaten me with that gun,” Danton said.
“Two-Gun, shoot Porky,” Castillo ordered.
Yung raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger.
There was a
John David Parker suddenly screamed: “Ouch! Shit!”
He looked down at his shirtfront. A plastic thumb-size dart had penetrated the shirt pocket and then his skin. The dart’s feathers hung limply on his chest.
“Sorry, Porky,” Castillo said. “Don’t worry. You’ll wake up in about fifteen minutes. I had to make the point to Roscoe that I am about as serious as I ever get, and I just don’t have the time to get into an esoteric philosophical argument about journalistic ethics with him.”
John David Parker, now with a dazed look on his face, suddenly slumped forward, his upper torso landing on the kitchen table with a
Two-Gun Yung bent over Porky and removed a slice of pizza from under Parker’s forehead.
“We’re not playing games here, Roscoe,” Castillo said evenly. “Am I getting through to you on that?”
“Jesus Christ, Castillo!”
“Do you understand what you’re to do when either the attorney general, or Clendennen’s press agent, or maybe Clendennen himself calls?”
“Yeah, I understand.”
“Good. Now, back to my original question: Who told you about Abrego getting moved by the attorney general? It’s important that I know.”
“And if I refuse to reveal my source?”
“Then I will be very disappointed in you, and you will wake up in the basement of Lorimer Manor, where
