Two Songs This Archangel Sings

'Well, looky here,' Garth said dryly as he stopped by a window that looked out over a small auxiliary parking lot adjacent to the administrative wing.

'I'm comfortable. Describe it to me.'

'One long, black limousine with smoked windows, one uniformed chauffeur, two trim, mean-looking guys with walkie-talkies.'

'Sounds like Secret Service.'

'Could be. The door to the limousine is open, and the help look like they're just hanging out. I wonder where our esteemed visitor is.'

'Probably talking to McGarvey, finding out what we said to him and precisely what happened.'

'What's our strategy with this guy, brother?' Garth asked quietly.

'A good question; I'm not sure of the answer. We're still a long way from home, and I'm pretty sure we still have miles to go before we sleep. The administration has finally gotten a whiff of what Orville Madison really smells like, but that doesn't mean we're going to be awarded any medals. On the contrary; there are going to be a lot of people rushing to cover their own asses, while at the same time they do everything in their power to protect Kevin Shannon. This guy's here to assess how much damage we could inflict if we wanted to, and to try to gauge our attitudes. I think we'll just have to wait and hear what he has to say, and play it by ear.'

'Agreed.'

Fifteen minutes later the female trooper opened the door and ushered in a youngish-looking man in his mid or late thirties. He was lean, with a full head of razor-cut brown hair and large brown eyes. Elegantly dressed in a three-piece black pinstripe suit, he wore highly polished Gucci shoes that matched his black leather attache case. He looked decidedly uncomfortable as the trooper closed the door behind him, leaving him alone with us.

I immediately recognized the man as Burton Andrews, a baby-faced troubleshooter whose star had rapidly risen because of his ability to bash state committees into line during the campaign and bash delegates into line during the convention. He had a reputation for single-minded loyalty to Kevin Shannon, and now carried the title of Personal Aide to the President. There was no doubt in my mind that the aide had been dispatched to a trooper substation near Albany to try to bash us into line, regardless of what we had to say, or what we might think.

Andrews kept switching his attache case from one hand to the other as he glanced back and forth between Garth and me. I suspected he was waiting for me to get up and offer him the swivel chair; he would have a very long wait. Garth had settled down into the second most comfortable chair in the office, and it was obvious that he wasn't moving either. Andrews, a man used to power and its accoutrements, as well as the deference of others, was going to have to sit in a metal folding chair, which he did after a few more moments of case and foot shuffling. He placed both feet flat on the floor, rested the attache case on his knees, and folded his hands on top of the case.

The presidential aide coughed nervously, cleared his throat. 'My name is Burton Andrews. I've… uh, I've heard a great deal about the two of you.'

Garth and I looked at each other, then back at Andrews. We said nothing, but Andrews must have seen something in our faces, because his own face reddened. 'Forgive me, gentlemen,' he continued. 'I know that we have a great deal to discuss, and that you're certainly not in the mood for chitchat. It's just that it's very difficult knowing how or where to begin.'

'Begin by cutting out the bullshit,' Garth said in a voice that was a low rumble from his chest. 'The first thing we want to know is what your boss has done about that fucking madman Orville Madison. He damn well better be locked up someplace.'

Andrews' face grew even redder, and he began to fumble nervously with the handle of his attache case. 'Gentlemen, obviously all of us in the adminstration are aware that we have a serious crisis on our hands. I wouldn't be here otherwise, would I?'

'Crisis?' Garth said in a voice that I knew was deceptively mild, like the eye of a hurricane.'What fucking crisis? We're not talking about any crisis. Are we talking about a crisis, Mongo?'

'No, Garth, we're not talking about any crisis.'

'Andrews, what have you done about Madison? That's what we're talking about. Try to pay attention.'

'I don't think I care for your tone of voice, Lieutenant,' Andrews said to my brother, his own tone slightly petulant.

'You're not listening, Andrews,' I said, waggling my feet at the aide. Slouched in the swivel chair, I could just see over the desk into Andrews' face. I felt shielded from all the power Andrews had brought with him into the room, and I liked it that way; I made no effort to sit up straighter. 'Garth's point, which I believe he has been most patient in trying to make, is that we don't care pigshit about the administration's political problems as a result of this business, which is what you mean when you talk about a crisis. A lot of innocent people are dead, and Orville Madison's men, acting under his direct orders, killed them. Since Orville Madison is the president's responsibility, we would like to know what Kevin Shannon is doing about it. In short, we would like to know where Orville Madison is at this moment.'

'I'm not your enemy, Dr. Frederickson,' Andrews said in the same slightly petulant tone.

'We never said you were, Andrews. But you're certainly not our friend, either. You're the president's man, and I think you'd do just about anything to protect him-which leads me to point out that you haven't answered the question. Madison's trying very hard to kill us, you know.'

'This is a very complicated matter, Dr. Frederickson.'

'Answer the question, or you won't get what you came here for.'

'What did I come here for?'

'To find out exactly how much we know about a number of things, and what we intend to do with the information. Now, can you guarantee our safety?'

'Yes,' Andrews replied curtly. 'I might point out that neither of you would be alive at this moment if it weren't for the president.'

'That's who called McGarvey?'

'I called; the president authorized the call.'

'How did he find out where we were and what was going on?'

'I think we may be getting ahead of ourselves,' Andrews said in a low, strained voice, averting his gaze. 'I'm not certain we yet know exactly what's been going on.'

'Bullshit,' Garth said evenly.

I asked, 'How did you find out we were here?'

'We… received word.'

'From whom?'

'We just received word.'

'You've spoken to Captain McGarvey. You know what's happened here, and you must certainly understand that Orville Madison's men intended to kill us.'

'I understand that the two of you have made a lot of allegations and may be prepared to make more.'

'Allegations,' Garth murmured, looking up at the ceiling. 'Great word.'

'I can prove those were Orville Madison's men who came to get us,' I said to the presidential aide as I swung my feet to the floor, sat up in the chair, and leaned forward on the desk. 'I can prove Madison's involvement in thirteen murders, and I can demonstrate his reasons for ordering them to be carried out.'

'Can you, really?' Burton Andrews' eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

'Beyond a reasonable doubt, yes-to reasonable men who care about the truth and want to see justice done, regardless of the consequences. I'm not sure you fit into that category, which is why I see no reason for trying to prove it to you; a Senate hearing would be a more proper forum. You have no legal status, Andrews. You're just a high-powered errand boy sent here to assess what measures have to be taken to assure optimum damage control. Maybe we'll help you contain that damage, maybe we won't. We don't like your attitude. We've been through a gauntlet of death and destruction set up by Shannon's secretary of state, and we've watched a lot of good people- men, women, and children-die because of that maniac. Then, a couple of hours after Madison almost kills us, you show up and want to play games. You'd be well advised to play straight with us. Otherwise, Garth and I take a hike-maybe to the newspapers.'

'We should have you negotiating with the Russians, Frederickson,' Andrews said wryly.