Service director Tracy arrived, and he and Lortch retreated to the far corner to talk.
165
The President stepped even closer to the TVS and turned up the volume, drowning out the noise of the conversation behind him. Roach arrived a short while later, and
Stansfield almost twenty minutes after the call had gone out. After several minutes of
Stevens not acknowledging the arrival of the three directors, Garret walked up beside him and said, “Jim, everyone is here.” Stevens walked to the head of the table and stood between the rest of the room and the TVS. Looking down the long table, he said, “Sit!”
Everyone took a chair and Stevens began squeezing the back of his high leather chair.
With a look of utter frustration Stevens asked, “Can anyone tell me how in the hell a
United States Senator gets killed in broad daylight less than a mile from the White
House?” No one answered the question. The silence added to the frustration Stevens felt, and a rage started to press its way forward from the back of his head. In a crisp, stern voice Stevens said, “I’ve got some things to say, and I don’t want to hear anyone speak until I’m done.” Pausing for a moment, he put his hands on his hips and closed his eyes .
“I want this killing to stop, and I want it to stop right now. I don’t care what it takes. I
don’t care what laws have to be bent or broken. I want these bastards caught.” Stevens opened his eyes and looked at Director Roach. “Does the FBI have any suspects?” Roach shifted in his chair uncomfortably.
“Mr. President, this investigation is not even two weeks old.”
“Are you any closer to catching these people than you were a week and a half ago?”
Roach looked back at Stevens but didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough. “I didn’t think so.”
Stevens closed his eyes again, the frustration evident on his face.
Without looking up he snapped, “I’m done screwing around. We have to catch these bastards, and we have to do it quickly. I want the CIA and the National Security Agency to get involved. I want surveillance and wiretaps set up on anyone who we think could be remotely involved in this. The FBI can continue to run its investigation through the proper legal channels, but I want the NSA and the CIA to start bugging every phone between here and Seattle.” Garret’s eyes opened wide at the mention of wiretaps. He threw his hand up to catch the President’s attention. “Jim, I think we need to talk to the
Justice Department before we start running around-” “Shut up, Stu. I’m not done.” The unprecedented rebuke immediately silenced Garret. He sank back into his chair and
Stevens continued. “We are in the middle of a crisis, and I’m not going to sit around and wait for the FBI to do this by the book. We don’t have the time. The CIA and the NSA
are better equipped to get quick results and do it without raising too much attention. I
want phones bugged, and I want them bugged now. I want every militia group in the country shaken down for information. If we still think these assassins are former commandos, I want every former commando questioned by the end of the week, and the ones that look suspicious—bug their phones and set up surveillance. I want results, damn it!” Garret tried again to dissuade his boss. “Jim, there are some serious legal issues that need to be addressed before we run off half-cocked.”
166
“I don’t want to hear about it, Stu. Don’t tell me there aren’t ways to do it. I’ll sign an executive order, I’ll sign a national security directive, I’ll declare martial law if I have to, but I want these bastards caught, and I want it done quickly!” Stevens tossed the remote control onto the table. “Figure out the logistics and make it work. I want the CIA and the
NSA involved, and I don’t want any leaks to the press. Am I understood?” All heads in the room nodded yes, and Stevens moved for the door, saying, “Stu and Mike, when you’re done down here, come up to my office.” A Secret Service agent opened the door and the President shouted over his shoulder on the way out, “I want everyone back here at seven A.M. tomorrow, and I want some results.”
Darkness was falling on the city. Michael stared out the window at the bright fall leaves hanging from the old oak tree in front of his house.
He breathed deeply and ran his fingers through Liz’s thick, black hair, while rubbing his stiff neck with his other hand. Michael sat on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. Liz had both arms wrapped around his waist, and her head rested on his chest. Her feet were tucked up behind her on the couch, and she listened to Michael’s heartbeat. The rhythm of it brought her in and out of a light sleep.
Liz had been in a meeting with her editor when the news of Olson’s assassination broke.
Knowing that Michael was eating lunch with the Senator, she rushed to find out if he was all right. Michael’s secretary informed her that he was unhurt and on his way home.
Liz left the office immediately and took a cab to Michael’s house. When she arrived, she found Michael and Tim sitting at the dining room table talking. Seamus was being held in the hospital overnight for observation. The explosion had knocked him to the ground and given him a minor concussion. After Liz’s arrival Tim left so Michael and Liz could be alone. For the last two hours they had sat on the couch and said little. They just held each other.
Michael’s eyes were wide open, and the look on his face was one of deep thought. Liz stirred slightly and Michael brought his other hand down to rub her back. Scarlatti moaned and rolled over. She looked up at Michael with her deep brown eyes and asked, “What time is it?”
“It’s ten after five.”
She reached up and gently touched the bandage on his forehead. “How does your head feel?”
“Fine.” Scarlatti closed her eyes and lifted her head off Michael’s chest. O’Rourke bent down and kissed her
