Con- gress about the necessity to fund a new all-weather, carrier-based, stealth attack plane. No doubt this Captain Bligh will be ques- tioned closely by concerned congressmen about his inability to see beyond the end of his nose. So my question is this — just what the hell do you gentlemen suggest I tell the congressmen?”
The agents looked at each other, then the admiral.
“We need this airplane,” said the admiral. “Any suggestions?”
“This would be a great place for the truth,” Jake observed.
It was Camacho who spoke. “The truth is this is a national security matter. Any additional comment will jeopardize an ongo- ing investigation.”
“You expect me to go over to the Hill and say that?” Jake asked incredulously. “See this uniform? I’m a naval officer, not a spook. How about the directors of the FBI and CIA go over there and make a little statement behind closed doors, ahead of time?” Camacho considered it.
“They can swear on Bibles or cross their hearts, or whatever it is you spooks do on those rare occasions when you’re really going to come clean.”
“I suppose we could ask the Director,” Camacho said with a glance at Dreyfus.
“While you’re mulling that, how about explaining to me and the admiral just what is going on? I’d like to know enough to avoid stepping on my crank, and I don’t think that’s asking too much.”
“This matter should be resolved in the next few weeks,” Cama- cho murmured.
Grafton just stared. The admiral looked equally frosty.
“Judy was selling information to defense contractors. He—“
“We know that,” the admiral said testily. ‘Tell us something we don’t know.”
“He was recruited by a Soviet agent to copy the Athena file. Apparently he agreed to do so. He attempted it Friday afternoon, NSA called us and Henry, Henry beat us here.” He shrugged.
“How did Admiral Henry leam that there might be an attempt to copy the Athena file?” Dunedin wanted to know.
“I told him,” Camacho said.
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I can’t go into that- Obviously, I had authority to tell him.”
“Did Henry know that?”
“Know what?”
“Know that you had authority to tell him.”
“I don’t know what he knew. Or thought or suspected. Per- haps.”
Dunedin’s eyebrow was up. He looked skeptical.
“What do you want to hear. Admiral? That Henry thought he was getting unauthorized information from a confidential source? Okay, that’s what he thought. Henry was Mr. Naval Aviation- Honest, loyal, brilliant, he had an immense ego. Perhaps that’s why he was Assistant Chief of Naval Operations for Air. He had the habit of sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong, of wanting to know more than the law allowed. For example, we found this notebook in his desk drawer yesterday afternoon.” Camacho took a small spiral notebook from an inside coat pocket and tossed it on the desk.
Dunedin examined it for a moment, turning the pages slowly. He glanced up at Camacho several times, but each time his eyes quickly returned to the pages before him. Without comment, he slowly closed the book and passed it across the table to Captain Grafton.
“A, B, C… who are these people?”
“The letters stand for people that Henry wanted information about. Some of the information was supplied by psychotherapists, some by police agencies, some by people in government in sensitive positions who talked out of school. One of those letters apparently stands for Callie Grafton. I believe she was seeing a psychologist, wasn’t she. Captain?”
Jake Grafton began ripping pages from the notebook. A hand- ful at a time, he deposited them in the classified burn bag by Dunedin’s desk.
As he watched, Camacho continued. “Henry was very worried about X. He feared the unknown. So he did what he could to protect his trust. It’s hard to condemn him.”
‘These little pieces of the cloth that you let us see, they’re tanta- lizing.” The admiral leaned back in his chair and made a tent of his fingers.
That comment drew no response from the agents. Dreyfus ex- amined his fingernails as Camacho watched Grafton complete his job of destruction.
“Why did this Soviet agent approach Judy?” the admiral asked. “Why did he single him out?”
“I told him about the commander’s troubles,” Camacho replied.
“You told him?” The admiral’s eyes widened. “Good God! Who are you working for, anyway?”
“I’m on your side. Admiral.”
“Hallelujah! I hate to think of the mess we’d be in if you weren’t.”
“Why my wife?” Jake asked.
“You’d been given guardianship of the holy grail, Athena. You, a captain. Smoke Judy worked for you. Admiral Henry knew Judy was a bad apple, and he knew I knew.”
“It’s a wonder he slept nights.” Dunedin muttered.
“Are you saying he didn’t trust me?” Jake said doggedly.
“Tyler Henry didn’t trust anyone. He didn’t just cut the cards; he insisted on shuffling every time. But I don’t think it was you he was really worried about. It was me- He didn’t want you corrupted by me.”
“Say again?”
“He thought I might recruit you, so he was looking for clues in the only place he could.” Camacho stood. Dreyfus got to his feet a second later. “Gentlemen, that’s the crop. That’s all you get”
“Not so fast, Camacho,” the admiral said, pointing toward the chairs. “You can hike when I finish this interview. I have a few more questions to ask, and so you sit right there and I’ll do the asking.”
Camacho obeyed. Dreyfus remained erect. “You can wait out- side,” the admiral said.
“He can stay,” Camacho said. Dreyfus sat.
“Who approved this operation?”
“My superiors.”
“Who are?”
“The Assistant Director and the Director. And the committee.”
“What I want to know is this: who gave you the green tight to screw around with the U.S. Navy? As if we didn’t have enough troubles.”
“My superiors.”
“I want names, mister! I want to know the names of the idiots who authorized a covert operation that resulted in the death of a
vice admiral and jeopardized congressional approval of the A-12. I want some ass! The CNO is going to want blood. George Ludlow, Royce Caplinger, if they don’t know about this—“
“Ask them. Any more questions?”
“Ludlow? Caplinger? They knew?”
“The people who have to know, know. You said those names; I didn’t. Now if you will excuse me, I’ve said all I can say and I have work to do.” Dreyfus reached the door before Camacho got com- pletely out of his chair.
“The FBI Director better be there pouring oil on the water when I get to those hearings, Camacho,” Jake said.
“And if he isn’t?” Dreyfus asked with exaggerated politeness.
“Then you’d better be there with a warrant if you want me to keep quiet. I have this nasty little habit of answering questions by telling the truth.”
Camacho just nodded and strolled for the door, which Dreyfus opened and held. “Thank you both,” he told the naval officers, then stepped through.
When the door was shut behind them, Dunedin said, ‘Too bad we don’t know any truth to answer questions with.”
