“Well, that brings us to page two.”
Scot flipped to the next page as the director continued, “This is a photocopy of the front page of that same newspaper, which the FBI lab has verified has the president’s fingerprints on it. So far, they haven’t come up with any other prints.”
Harvath doubted if they ever would. These guys had been exceptional, right from the start.
“And finally,” said the director, “a little love note from the kidnappers themselves. It also is completely clean.”
When he saw the letterhead of the stationery, Scot’s jaw almost hit the floor of the limo. Knowing what he was going to say, the director raised his hand to stop him. “Yeah, the Best Western, Park City. The same hotel that housed half of the Secret Service. We’re checking into it. The FBI is tracking down the prepaid Airborne envelope, but I’m not holding out any high hopes for that one. I’ll give you a second so you can read the note.”
Harvath did.
Director Jameson. How small a man you must be feeling today with the shame of the country resting so heavily upon you and your men. After years of America’s meddling in the affairs of other countries, its deceit and treachery has now returned home, a grown beast, to avenge the many injustices you have wreaked far and wide. Today is a great day for Islam and one which history shall remember as marking the beginning of the end for the Great Satan.
When Scot was finished, he handed the packet back to the director. “You must have had the profilers and handwriting people already rip through this thing six million ways from Sunday. Any luck?”
“It’s all inconclusive. The Middle East analysts at the CIA have taken a look at it and say that the phrasing is not consistent with what they would expect from a Middle Easterner, even if he or she had been schooled in Britain or over here.”
“He or she?” asked Harvath.
“We can’t tell. The handwriting people seem to think there are some flourishes in the script that may suggest a woman wrote it, but then they butt up against the shrinks who think the syntax is tilted strongly in favor of a male author.
“We’re cross-referencing the handwriting and the word choices through the threat databases and comparing it to any and all recorded threats against the president and the U.S. over the last fifteen years. Because we believe Abu Nidal and his FRC might be involved, we’ve sent a copy to the Mossad for their help. Our reasoning is that the FRC was born in that part of the world and essentially remains a Palestinian organization at heart, so the Israelis might be able to shed some light on the authorship or the subtext of the message, if there is any. The problem is, though, that every move this group has made has been extremely well choreographed.”
“But maybe not choreographed well enough,” broke in the general.
Scot asked, “I don’t understand why you tie the FRC to all of this. It could be any Middle Eastern extremist group. Why not the PLO? I understand the body in Park City was ID’d as a long gun who worked occasionally for them.”
“You’re right, and based on the knowledge you have so far, I’d be inclined to agree with you,” said the director, “but I told you that we had received demands.”
The director pulled a microcassette recorder from his inside breast pocket. “This call came into the FBI and was received at approximately eleven-thirty eastern time today. I think you’ll recognize one of the voices. The other was encrypted to disguise it, and the NSA is still trying to tear it apart. What’s interesting is that the caller bypassed the switchboard and got right in on a direct line.”
At this point, nothing about the kidnappers was surprising Harvath.
Jameson pressed the play button, and after several seconds of static hiss, they heard the voice of Gary Lawlor. “Lawlor.”
“Is this Deputy Director Lawlor?” came the cyborg-sounding voice.
“That’s what I said. Who’s this?”
A rustling sound could be heard, which Harvath assumed was Lawlor pushing himself back from his desk so he could make sure he was hitting the correct button to begin the trace on the call.
“Who we are is not important, Mr. Lawlor. Who we have is what is important. Do you know who we have, Mr. Lawlor?”
“I’ve had a lot of crackpots call me today. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
He’s doing a good job, thought Scot. Keep him talking.
“No doubt, Agent Lawlor, you are tracing this call-”
“Now, why would I do that? Traces ain’t cheap, and if I traced every call that came into my-”
“Silence!” commanded the computerized voice. “We have business to discuss, and I will not have my time wasted with your pathetic FBI games.”
“It’s your dime, pal. You called me, remember? Why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me what this is all about. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“‘The chase,’ exactly. An appropriate term for what you have been burdened with. By now you have received the envelope we sent to the director of the Secret Service containing the picture of your president, the newspaper, and our letter.
“Before we do any serious bargaining for the return of your president, we would like a show of good faith from you.”
“Good faith from us?” came Lawlor’s voice. “What kind of good faith?”
“The United States has imprisoned two Islamic freedom fighters, Fawad Asa and Ali Amhed Raqim. They are to be released and flown-”
“Daffy and Goofy, the Disneyland bombers? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Agent Lawlor, my people do not appreciate the lack of respect you have shown these men by assigning these ridiculous nicknames-”
“Listen, buddy, we didn’t assign these guys anything but prison numbers. They earned those nicknames. They bomb Disneyland, and then one leaves his wallet while fleeing the scene and the other is actually dumb enough to join a class-action suit against Disneyland for the damages he suffered from the bombs he himself was a party to planting.”
“Agent Lawlor, I will not repeat myself. The men are to be released and placed on a plane to Tripoli in Libya. Secondly, the Egyptian government has frozen assets of the Abu Nidal Organization in cash and property worth over four million dollars U.S. These are to be released immediately. Once you have met these conditions, we will speak again.”
“This could take some time. I don’t have that kind of authority. Besides, how do I know that the president is alive?”
“You don’t. Good-bye.”
There was the sound of the kidnapper breaking the connection, and the director hit the stop button on the tape.
Scot looked at the two men sitting across from him. “So that’s it, then. Abu Nidal’s people have the president, and they are going to use him to blackmail us into helping them rebuild their organization?”
“Not according to the vice president,” said the director. “He’s running the show now. Once the demand came in, the president’s cabinet met and the wheels were set in motion to invoke the Twenty-fifth Amendment of the Constitution transferring all powers to Vice President Marshfield until a point at which the president will hopefully be able to reclaim them.”
“Marshfield didn’t waste any time, did he? Has he set up shop at the White House yet?” asked Scot.
“That was one of his first executive actions,” said the director.
“I bet Shaw’s having a hell of a time dealing with him.”
Though he was widely perceived by outsiders as a savvy political reformer, those who knew the real Adam Marshfield knew he was nothing more than a self-aggrandizing narcissist who had achieved his political success solely through manipulation of the media and public opinion. The only reason he had made it onto Jack Rutledge’s ticket was that he was well liked by the majority of the uninformed general public and his presence was considered to give the party its best shot at securing Rutledge’s bid for the White House.
“As of right now, Agent Harvath, as much as many don’t like him, Vice President Adam Marshfield is our acting president and commander in chief of the armed forces.”
