Harrington was eating breakfast when Chapman called. “The plan was executed at dawn. Basham and his top men were arrested. They’re on their way to Green River now.”
“There was no resistance?” he asked.
“None. The raid was carried off so well the Halos hardly had time to react. In addition to the arrests, Nicholas’s team planted and then seized a small arsenal of automatic weapons and explosives.”
“All to be employed in this Great War, I assume.”
“Sure. Yet the Halos seemed as surprised as anyone to discover the arsenal’s existence.”
“Are you and Thomas prepared for the next step?” he asked.
“We’re meeting with Longbridge within the hour. Assuming all goes well, we’ll alert the media and then proceed directly to Justice. Stay tuned, sir.”
“Oh, I will, Larry. Rest assured of it.”
After breakfast, he tuned into the third day’s coverage of the confirmation hearings. His interest peaked as Adamley began a morning assault on Lamp’s credentials. To the packed chamber’s delight, Lamp skillfully dodged the vicious hooks and jabs. Undaunted, Adamley next quizzed him on his Law Review article endorsing restrictions on morally offensive behavior. “You’re saying, Mr. Lamp, the government has the power to legislate morality?”
“Doesn’t most legislation to a degree, Senator?”
“Then you condone it?”
“No sir, two hundred years of American jurisprudence condones it.”
Applause rippled through the chamber as a persistent Adamley marched on. “Mr. Lamp, isn’t the morality you would legislate based upon Judeo-Christian doctrine?”
Smiling, Lamp leaned into the mike. “I dare say, Senator, our Constitution and the society which spawned it, are both deeply rooted in Judeo-Christian doctrine. The framers were devout believers in God, to whom I’m sure they credited the faculties necessary to conceive what is without question, the greatest legal achievement of the modern world.”
Amidst thundering applause, Adamley read a passage from Lamp’s article. “Are these not your dangerous words, sir, which threaten the freedom of every American?”
“I’m not nearly that eloquent,” Lamp smiled. “But if you check the footnotes,” he said as he nodded at the article in Adamley’s hand, “you’ll see I’ve credited the Honorable Francis Banbury with these ‘dangerous’ words. Banbury is perhaps the greatest constitutional jurist of our time - from Massachusetts, Senator, your home state.”
The chamber exploded with laughter. Watching on TV, Harrington beamed; this was much too easy.
GNN’s coverage was soon interrupted by a special news bulletin, the broadcast shifting to the crowded Justice Briefing Room, where Chapman and Streeter stood at the podium. As the noise died, Streeter began. “Early this morning, Federal agents acting upon a magistrate’s warrant raided the Flavin County, Tennessee camp of a religious sect led by one Jerome Warren Basham. The sect, known as the Holy Army of the Last Order, has been the subject of an extensive Federal investigation, based upon its subversive activities, which we believe pose a threat to national security.
“As well, we learned yesterday that Basham’s sect, whose central mission is the overthrow of the United States government, aided and abetted fugitives Mayson Corelli and Tyler Waddill in their continued efforts to elude Federal authorities. Specifically, the Halos, as they’re called, supplied the fugitives with food, shelter, medical treatment and a car, which was found abandoned in southern Illinois.
“Discovering that the car, a Ford Pinto, was registered to Basham, we investigated further and obtained warrants for him and the other Halo conspirators.”
As he stopped, a solemn Chapman stepped up to the mike. “At six-thirty this morning, Bureau agents apprehended Basham and four other Halo suspects at their Flavin County camp. The five are now in custody, pending arraignment on the federal charges and will be afforded due process of law. We don’t anticipate any other arrests at this time.” His eyes lifted over the crowded briefing room. “We’ll now take a few questions.”
They quickly shot forward. “What, specifically, are the charges?” the AP woman asked.
Streeter replied, “In addition to aiding and abetting the fugitives, the charges include unlawful possession of firearms and explosives, which we believe have been stockpiled for armed rebellion against the United States government.”
Chapman added, “A primitive printing press was also confiscated, along with 10,000 copies of a pamphlet containing libelous charges against key figures in the Federal government. Based on this hate propaganda, other charges are being considered.”
“Can you describe this hate propaganda?” the GNN correspondent asked.
“Not at this time, Mr. Warren, I’m sorry. Next?”
“Where are the Halos being held?” the UPI man asked.
“A maximum security prison which shall remain confidential for reasons of national security and the prisoners’ safety,” Streeter replied. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”
Before they could get away, the Times reporter asked, “Have there been any developments in the fugitive operation since your tracking of Waddill to southern Illinois?”
He smiled. “I’m sorry, but we can’t answer that question at this time. Good day,” he said, following Chapman out.
“You handled the press conference brilliantly,” Harrington praised them in a call later. “I may have misjudged you two.”
“This latest report from Green River shouldn’t change your opinion,” Chapman said. “After some intense questioning, it appears the Halos haven’t been infected by the fugitives’ virus. This doesn’t alter our plan, but the next development certainly makes it easier to explain.
“Katrina Evans, a nurse for a Flavin County orthopedic surgeon, called after watching the press conference. The national security implications frightened her enough that she was ready to spill her guts.”
“She knows about the Halos?”
“Better than that. She works for one. A Dr. Wayne Stanley who, six years ago, battled the IRS over back taxes due from his medical practice. After losing in court, he paid the full amount, plus a small fortune in penalties, interest and legal fees. Suffice it to say, the doctor wasn’t a happy camper, which I guess made it easier for Basham to convince him of the evils of earthly government. Mrs. Evans says he’s been stockpiling medical supplies for the Great...”
Harrington shuddered with a sudden jolt. Sweat beaded his brow as the second, then third jolt arrived. He braced for the fourth, but it didn’t come. Instead, the chest pain faded quickly, as before.
“Sir, are you all right?”
“Yes... I’m fine.” His breath returned. “Now, what’s Stanley’s role in all this?”
Chapman explained. “Despite his eccentricities, Stanley appears to be an excellent surgeon. Do you remember the gorge with the limb damage? That tree apparently broke Corelli’s fall, no doubt saving her life, although she sustained a compound leg fracture, which Stanley repaired. She’ll need frequent medical evaluation, which should help us track her movements.”
“Does Evans know anything about the fugitives’ plans?”
“They didn’t tell her anything. Nor did she ask. Then Tuesday, when Corelli was well enough to travel, they left.” He explained how Stanley fit into their promising new plan.
Sonja’s casserole mellowed Harrington as he watched GNN’s recap of the day’s hearing. The sight of Adamley over his mike, lips snarling as Lamp outwitted him, merely deepened his glow.
Leopold soon called. “We’re settled in, sir. Aurora. Stevens Point. La Crosse. Ames and Mankato. Not exactly household names, but strategically positioned, at least.”
He laughed. “And which remote point do you occupy?”
“I’m at the Mankato Lodge. Actually, the accommodations aren’t bad. And with Nicholas’s men pouring into Minnesota, I can’t imagine one of us won’t be close when something breaks.”
Harrington revealed Stanley’s capture, and how this unexpected development would be exploited. “This crazy Halo doctor has apparently played right into our hands.”
“Praise the Lord, sir. The hearings also went well again today.”
“Yes, Arch, I’d say ol’ Liver Lips is clearly reeling.”
“Things are finally going our way, sir.”
“The Lord delivers all He promises, and soon that’ll include the fugitives.”
George St. Martin sorted the mail Thursday morning, as usual. Five months on Senator Adamley’s staff, and so far he’d been entrusted with nothing more critical than a letter opener. He was a glorified office grunt. Actually, not so glorified. He studied his tiny cube in the bowels of the Senate Office Building. Didn’t an Amherst honors graduate deserve better?
The long epistles from Adamley’s constituents soon piled up — as if the Senator had time to personally respond. He’d never known Massachusetts had so many kooks.
His irritation found another target as he moved on. Lloyd Tamrack specifically — Adamley’s aide who, at this very moment, was attending the Lamp confirmation across the street. Tamrack was sleazy, hardly someone to be entrusted with important Senate business.
Completing the batch, he then sorted it into three categories: Senate business, party matters, and fund raising. Personal mail was discreetly returned to the envelope, to be given to Adamley’s secretary.
As he shuffled the mail into the proper trays, one letter suddenly caught his eye. When had they last received mail from Tennessee? And where the hell was Truitville? Intrigued, he read the handwritten two-pager. The writer was articulate, the tone, confidential. By the end, he understood why.
Lamp, a rapist and murderer! And the two Longbridge justices already on the court? The anonymous writer was clearly insane. Or else an enemy attempting some sort of trick. There couldn’t be any truth to these accusations... could there?
He reread the letter. The charges were wild, but also earthshaking. And if it was not his place to determine the writer’s credibility, someone had to. Springing up, he hurried out.
He was waiting upstairs when Tamrack returned during a hearing recess. “What is it?” the aide asked, breezing into his office. “I have to get right back.”
“You need to see this,” St. Martin said, giving him the letter.
Tamrack’s expression didn’t change as he read it. “Thanks for bringing this to my attention. I’ll see it’s properly handled.”
He’d expected more of a reaction from the flamboyant aide. “I know this person might be crazy, but what if the charges are true? Isn’t this precisely the political dynamite needed to blow Lamp out of the water?”
Tamrack stuffed the letter in his jacket. “He’s probably some maniac making a little noise, but you never know.”
Puzzled, St. Martin now followed him out. Why wasn’t he more excited?
At the hall window seconds later, he watched Tamrack dash — not for the Capitol, but for the open parking lot across the street. Slipping into his red BMW, the aide placed a call, and then read the letter over the phone. Hanging up, he drove away.
The hearing’s afternoon coverage was interrupted by another special bulletin. Harrington watched the scene shift to the same Justice Briefing Room. As before, Chapman and Streeter stood solemn-faced at the podium.
As the noise faded, Streeter began. “Last night, Federal agents, acting upon information received, obtained a warrant for the arrest of Dr. Wayne Carter Stanley, a Flavin County physician, and also a well- known member of the Halo sect. The warrant charged Stanley with participation in the Halo conspiracy to aid fugitives Corelli and Waddill. Specifically, for receiving them at his Flavin County clinic, performing surgery on Corelli, who broke her leg in a fall, and harboring them until this past Tuesday, when they left in Basham’s Pinto.” Streeter turned to Chapman. “The Director will explain the tragedy reported within the last hour.”
A dramatically pained Chapman approached the mike. “Upon his arrest, Dr. Stanley was taken to our Green River facility where — it may now be revealed — the other Halos were being held. Upon arrival, he was processed under the same security procedures, and scheduled for a medical evaluation this morning.
“Before that, however, under circumstances now being investigated, he managed to slip cyanide tablets to his companions, which were quickly ingested, despite the presence of security guards and sophisticated monitors. When this became apparent, medical personnel administered emergency lifesaving procedures, which proved too late to be of any value. Regrettably,” he gazed into the cameras, “all six Halos have been pronounced dead from self-induced cyanide poisoning.”
A question quickly rose above the rumble. “How was Stanley able to smuggle cyanide into the Green River compound?”
Streeter returned to the mike. “The tablets were concealed inside his hearing aid, which was examined upon arrival but, because there was no probable cause, it was not disassembled.”
The GNN correspondent asked, “Did you have reason to suspect a mass suicide might be attempted?”
“Suicide is always a consideration,” Chapman replied. “But we can only take the steps necessary to prevent them as was done here.”
“What’s the President’s reaction?” the UPI man asked.
“Precisely as you’d imagine. As a religious man, he receives any tragedy with deep sadness. He has expressed sympathy for the men’s families and requested a full report as soon as possible.” Masking a victorious grin, Chapman studied the somber crowd. They’d bought it. The crisis was over. Or would be the moment the fugitives were captured. “Good day, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Something’s going on, sir.”
Longbridge gazed at Travis Culpepper across the desk. “How do you mean?”
“The Halos rescued the fugitives from that Tennessee mountain. Days later they’re arrested, carted off to a remote Federal compound and within hours, dead from cyanide poisoning. That’s a bit fantastic, don’t you agree?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Longbridge shrugged.
“Sir, the Halos either knew or were suspected of knowing something.”
“Like what?”
“Whatever’s made the fugitives the focus of this manhunt.”
Restlessly, Longbridge rose to the window. “You’re talking in riddles, Travis. Give me something tangible.”
“All right, let’s start with Green River. It’s been closed since December, except for use as a chopper maintenance station. A victim of budget cuts.”
“Travis, don’t you have enough to do at State without checking up on FBI chopper bases?”
Joining Longbridge at the window, he studied the dense fog that had settled over D.C. The season’s first snow was expected by morning. “Sir, three weeks ago Green River was inexplicably reopened to house Federal prisoners. Oddly enough, that’s also when this fugitive operation began.”
“The point?” Longbridge frowned. “I assume you have one.”
“The point, sir, is that Green River is isolated, staffed by Chapman’s agents and until recently, too expensive to maintain. Now within hours of arrival, these Halos we’ve been told, have committed suicide. Surely you find these circumstances a little suspicious.”
Longbridge offered his own challenge. “If not suicide, how would you explain their deaths? Forced cyanide ingestion ordered by Chapman and Streeter? Travis, you’re not seriously asking me to believe these men to whom I’ve entrusted enforcement of our nation’s laws, plotted the murder of a half-dozen men to prevent exposure of some secret, the existence and nature of which you haven’t the first clue?”
“I’m not asking you to believe anything, sir; just to investigate these clearly suspicious developments.” Quietly he started out. He’d stated his concerns. Longbridge needed time to ponder them and hopefully emerge with a fresh perspective. “Oh,” he turned at the door. “There’s something else you should consider.”
“What’s that?”
“Where the fugitives will be taken when captured; if it’s Green River, the odds are that they’ll meet the same fate as their Halo rescuers. Thank you for your time, sir.”
“Adamley’s office received a very sensitive letter,” Leopold reported from Mankato that evening. “Fortunately, it got into the hands of his aide, Tamrack, who’s on our payroll.”
Harrington, in robe and slippers, dropped on the bed. “Who’s the letter from?”
“The writer remained anonymous, but we can assume it’s Waddill. It was mailed from Truitville on Tuesday.” He sighed, “The letter confirms they know the story, sir.”
Harrington shuddered with a sudden chest pain. A second bolt quickly followed. Clutching the bedpost, he braced for the next, but it didn’t come.
“Sir, are you still there?” Leopold asked.
“Arch, I’ve been having chest pains,” he confessed. “It’s the stress of this crisis. I plan to see a doctor this week. But I’m sure I’m fine.” And he believed that. Hadn’t there been fewer bolts this time? “This aide, Tamrack. You’re sure he didn’t make copies of the letter to blackmail us with?”
“He’s too smart for that, sir. He knows that if we pay well, we also pay just once.”
“Then what should we anticipate? If Waddill wrote one letter, won’t he write a second and third, until someone finally listens?”
“Possibly. But without proof, no one will. Empty charges can’t hurt us, sir. Evidence like that chest, however, can bury us. We know that. They know that. The key is finding them before they find it.”
“Then we’d better do that, Arch. Now.”