“That sounds like a good idea, but I’m not so sure the President and his people have gotten the hint. And now our friend Senator Olson is trying to screw things up.” Coleman shook his head. “I don’t think these guys are done killing. At least not until the President and the others come around.”
“So you think there will be more assassinations?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Michael rolled his eyes.
“Hypothetically.”
“Hypothetically speaking. who knows?” Both men stared each other down for a while, both refusing to blink. Finally Coleman looked at his watch and said, “I’m running late. I should really get going.
Let’s get together for lunch next week.” Michael reached out and grabbed Coleman’s arm. “Scott, I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing. If Fitzgerald had compromised the security of me and my men during the Gulf and gotten even one of my men killed, I would have come home and gutted him like a pig. I’m not going to pass judgment on you, but I think it’s time to let the politicians finish what’s been started.”
“Like they did in Iraq.” Coleman shook his head. “I think these boys are going all the way to Baghdad. No half- assed jobs this time. You politicians, present company excluded, have a history of screwing things up when the clear objective is within reach.”
Michael couldn’t argue with the historical comparison. “Let it rest” was the only answer he could muster. Coleman nodded and turned toward his apartment. As he reached the first step, he turned to Michael and said, “There is one thing you can do. Do you still keep in touch with Senator Olson?”
“Yes.”
“It might be a good idea to tell him now is not a good time to get into bed with the
President.” Michael felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. “Keep Erik out of this, Scott.”
“I’m sure Erik will be fine. I’m just saying hypothetically it would be a good idea to warn him.” Coleman gave Michael a half salute and entered the building.
McMahon walked down the executive hallway at a quicker than normal pace.
The day had been one of nonstop commotion. The media was everywhere, sticking a microphone or a camera in McMahon’s face at every turn. The events surrounding the
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President’s unusual flight to Camp David were coming together like a jigsaw puzzle, and a crucial piece of the puzzle had just been discovered. McMahon hadn’t had the chance to check his voice mail until just minutes before. The message left by the assassins had sat untouched for over five hours. McMahon nodded to Director Roach’s secretary and continued through the door, closing it behind him.
Roach was on the phone and looked up at McMahon. McMahon towered over the edge of Roach’s desk, waving his finger in a circular motion, signaling his boss to wrap up the conversation, that there was something more important to talk about. Roach nodded and told the person on the other end that he needed to go. Hanging up the phone, Roach asked, “What’s up?”
“We got a message from our friends and it’s been sitting under my nose all day.”
“What do you mean ‘friends’?” Roach asked with a quizzical look on his face. “The assassins.” McMahon walked around the edge of Roach’s desk and punched his voice mail number into the phone.
When it was ready to go, he pushed the speaker button. “Listen to this.”
The computerized voice played from the small speaker. Roach sat transfixed, listening intently as light was shed on the afternoon’s events. When the message was over, Roach asked McMahon to play it again.
After it was played for the second time, McMahon saved it and looked to his boss for a reaction.
“Who in the hell are these guys?” Roach asked with a deeply puzzled look.
“They’re not terrorists, Brian. Let’s come to an agreement on that right now, and they’re not some fringe white-supremacist group. If they were, they would have blown the President out of the sky.
Terrorists don’t give a shit about killing Secret Service agents or Marines. These guys are exactly who Kennedy said they were from day one.
They’re former commandos.”
“I think you’re right, and besides, terrorists wouldn’t send this to us, they’d send it to the media. The more exposure, the better Can we be sure this is from the group responsible for the previous attacks?”
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure. The message was left about fifteen minutes after
Marine One took off from the White House, and the computerized voice sounds the same as the one that was left with ABC after Basset’s assassination. I’m having our lab analyze the sound signature right now.”
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“How long will it take them to verify?”
“They told me within the hour. When are you going to tell the President?”
“I’m flying out to Camp David in about thirty minutes to brief him.
I’ll wait and do it in person.” Roach stared off at nothing for a moment while he thought about the tape. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to keep you busy around here.
Besides, I know how much you hate these briefings.”
“Are you crazy? I wouldn’t miss seeing the expression on Garret’s face when he hears that these guys are onto him.”
