the house now, dear; let him be his own man.’”
“How old is your son?”
“He died in a car accident two years ago,” said Mrs. Ball.
Her lower lip quivered. “The chief never really was the same person after that. It was a terrible blow. I—” The tears welled up and she couldn’t finish. She pointed to a filing cabinet, then left the room.
Lia found the folder and began taking pictures of the statements.
“Flights to Atlanta and D.C.,” said Rockman. “Ask her about that. What he did.”
Lia finished with the credit cards. The wall was covered with citations and plaques. There were a few photos as well — the chief and his wife with various local officials.
“As you can see, the chief is very well liked,” said Mrs.
Ball. Her eyes were red, but she’d restored her composure.
“What’s that?” Lia asked, pointing at a framed medal.
“That’s the Navy Cross. The chief won that during the war. For bravery.”
“He does seems like the hero type.”
“You should have seen him when he was younger,” said Mrs. Ball, smiling broadly. “He looked just like a Hollywood star. All the girls wanted him.”
“But you got him.”
“Wasn’t easy.”
Lia started to follow her out of the room. “Why did the chief go to Atlanta?”
“I don’t know. When was it?”
“A few weeks back.”
“Was it the case he was working on? That must be it.”
“Ask her if he knew someone named Gordon,” said Rubens.
Lia did, but Mrs. Ball had never heard the name.
“Lia, Ball never won the Navy Cross,” said Rubens.
“That’s a pretty rare medal. Can you tell if it’s authentic?” How can I do that? Lia wondered. Before she could ask, Rockman practically shouted.
“Ball didn’t get the medal,” said Rockman, “but Tolong did. Six months before he died.”
“Lia, please ask Mrs. Ball if she’s ever heard of a Sergeant Tolong,” said Rubens calmly. “And then see if she would agree to let us monitor her credit card and cell phone accounts to help us find him.”
116
The difficulty with a campaign strategy, especially a successful one, was knowing when to end it. You wanted to cut it off just as it peaked, though that could be difficult to determine.
Not in this case. The news media reverberated with the Vietnamese connection to the attempted assassination. The administration’s denials were fanning the frenzy. With everyone screaming, it was surely time to move on.
“I have a problem with my mother’s aunt that I have to take care of,” Jimmy Fingers told McSweeney as the senator waited to go on the radio with a local Rush Limbaugh wannabe. “I’m going to have to fly to Ohio to night.”
“You have a mother?” said McSweeney.
“She denies it. I’ll be back in time for tomorrow night’s receptions.”
Jimmy Fingers started for the door.
“Jimmy?”
He turned around. McSweeney had a worried look on his face.
“Good luck with your aunt.”
“Thanks, Senator.”
“And listen — take as much time as you need. Don’t rush back. It’ll be OK.”
McSweeney’s expression gave his true feelings away — he was worried that he’d be lost without his aide. Jimmy Fingers didn’t know which he liked McSweeney more for: needing him, or lying and telling him to go ahead and do what he had to do.
“I’ll be back. Maybe even by the morning.”
117
“The connections are entirely circumstantial,” Rubens told the President. “Captain McSweeney was in charge of assign-ing the men who escorted the courier. He assigned Tolong and Malinowski. The courier disappears with the money.
Malinowski dies. The CIA begins to investigate. Tolong volunteers to go on a patrol. He’s allowed to go, apparently because McSweeney OK’d it. During the patrol, he and a man named Gordon are separated from the rest of the men. He is killed, according to Gordon. Gordon buries him, and comes back with one of his dog tags. McSweeney sends out a mission to recover the body. The body is not recovered. Twenty-some years later, the body is recovered.” Rubens glanced across his office, looking at Ambassador Jackson. The former diplomat nodded grimly, a folder of his notes on his lap.
“Then there is Chris Ball,” continued Rubens. “He’s a Marine from Georgia who is about to go home. He doesn’t have much family; both of his parents are dead. His only close relation is a half sister who lives just outside Athens, Georgia. We tracked her down, and she tells us that, aside from a few postcards, he never bothered to talk to her after the war. Ball completely disappeared, in fact, until 1978, when he became a part-time patrolman in upstate New York.”
“And you think Ball is Tolong,” said the President. He was using his speakerphone, pacing around as they talked.
“We’ve done a computer rendering that shows how both men would have aged,” said Rubens. “Chief Ball and Tolong match precisely. The young Ball and the chief do not come close.”
“A computer program hardly seems definitive.”
“If we could exhume the remains of Tolong’s body, we might have definitive proof,” said Rubens. “We’re working on tracking down some of Tolong’s relatives.”
“We should have a call back in a few hours,” said Jackson.
Rubens repeated the information for the President.
“There’s no smoking gun in the records,” Rubens added. “But if we were to prove Ball was Tolong, perhaps he would tell us what happened.”
“If you can find him,” said the President.
“We are working on that, along with the FBI.”
“Why would he try to kill McSweeney?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure why Ball would want to kill McSweeney,” said Rubens. “If it’s related to the money, though, perhaps there was a double cross somewhere. He was in Washington when Gordon killed himself. And the investigator there thinks it’s possible it wasn’t suicide.” Rubens saw Jackson wince.
“I may be overstating the case on that,” Rubens added.
“He has agreed to revisit it, however.”
“As much as I don’t like Senator McSweeney, I have a hard time seeing him as a thief,” said the President. “Go ahead and exhume the body. Let me know what comes of the DNA tests. By the way, Billy.”
“Sir?”
“I’m going to be out in California myself the day after tomorrow. Senator McSweeney and I will be sharing a podium.
