'Word from the Baaka Valley is that two or more hit teams have been dispatched over here, conceivably to assassinate Vice President Bollinger. Your crank may have been the point, wittingly or unwittingly, but nevertheless, the point.'
'The “point”? What are you talking about? I can't even understand your language except that it sounds preposterous.'
'Not at all,' said Khalehla calmly. 'Terrorists operate on the principle of maximum exposure. They will frequently announce an objective, a target, well in advance of execution. They do this in many ways, many variations.'
'Why would terrorists want to kill Orson—Vice President Bollinger?'
'Why did you think the threats against him should be taken seriously?'
'Because they were there. I could do no less.'
'And you were right,' agreed the intelligence officer, watching the widow crushing out her cigarette and reaching for another, which she promptly lit. 'But to answer your question, should the Vice President be assassinated, there's not only a void on a political ticket assured of re-election, but considerable destabilization.'
'For what purpose?'
'Maximum exposure. It would be a spectacular kill, wouldn't it? Even more so, as the record would show that the FBI had been alerted and then withdrawn, outsmarted by superior strategy.'
'Strategy?' exclaimed Ardis Vanvlanderen. 'What strategy?'
'A psychotic crank who wasn't a crank at all but a strategic diversion. Pivot attention on a harmless crank, then close the ' book while the real killers move into place.'
'That's crazy!'
'It's been repeated over and over again. In the Arabic mind, everything progresses geometrically in stages. One step leads to another, the first not necessarily related to the third, but the connection is there if you look for it. Looking back to classic cases, this diversion fits the bill.'
'It wasn't a “diversion”! There were the phone calls and the numbers were traced to different cities, the pasted-up letters with the filthy language!'
'Classic,' repeated Khalehla softly, writing.
'What are you doing?'
'Reopening the book… and noting your conviction. May I ask you a question?'
'Certainly,' replied the widow, her voice controlled but tight.
'Among Vice President Bollinger's many supporters—many friends, I should say—here in California, can you think of any who might not be either?'
'What?'
'It's no secret that the Vice President moves in wealthy circles. Is there anyone with whom he's had differences, or more than one, a particular group, perhaps? Over policy or procurements or government allocations.'
'Good God, what are you saying?'
'We've reached the bottom line, Mrs. Vanvlanderen, the reason I'm here. Are there people in California who would rather have another candidate on the ticket? Frankly, another Vice President?'
'I can't believe I'm hearing this! How dare you?'
'I'm not the one who's daring, Mrs. Vanvlanderen. Someone else is. International communications, no matter how obscured, can ultimately be traced. Perhaps not at first to a specific individual or individuals, but to a sector, a location… There's a third party, or parties, involved in this terrible thing, and they're here in southern California. Our people in the Baaka have zeroed in on initial cablegrams routed through Beirut from Zurich, Switzerland, original dateline… San Diego.'
'San Diego…? Zurich?'
'Money. A convergence of interests. One party wants a spectacular kill with maximum exposure, while the other wants the spectacular target removed but must stay as far away from the kill as possible. Both objectives take a great deal of money. Follow the
