Blair House June 30
Addis felt hot. His shirt was moist. He had been sweating in his sleep. He shifted his position on the pillows. Lancette stirred on the couch.
“Julia,” he said.
She muttered a few words.
“Good morning.”
She rolled over and mumbled again. She was far away.
His beeper sounded. Startled, she bolted upright. He reached for the pager and read the message.
“‘Call DCI Wenner,’” he said.
“That’s what it says?” Lancette asked. She was now fully awake.
“Yeah. And the number.”
He saw his reflection in the television screen. His hair was sticking out. He tried to turn away from her casually and pat it into place.
“What does he want?” she asked.
“I guess we should find out.”
Addis picked up the phone and dialed the number.
“It’s Addis,” he said.
Lancette imagined the other half of the conversation.
“Blair House,” he said.
She looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. Seven-thirty.
“She’s with me.”
Addis handed her the receiver.
“Sir,” she said into the phone.
She listened, said “Yes, sir,” and then hung up.
“Said he was sending someone for me.”
There was a rap on the door. “Come in,” Addis said, and O’Connor entered.
“There’s news,” O’Connor said.
Addis stared at her.
“About the assassination,” she added. “They called Margaret and said there’s going to be an announcement.”
“And they didn’t tell her what it is?” Addis said.
“No, the bastards.”
O’Connor examined Lancette. She’s searching for signs, Addis thought. Whether we did or did not. Lancette tucked in her blouse. She pulled at her hair.
“She said you should come watch with us,” O’Connor said.
“She knows we’re here?” Addis asked.
“Yep,” O’Connor said.
Lancette was trying to smooth the wrinkles out of her clothes.
“You look fine,” O’Connor said.
O’Connor led them to the second-floor office. Margaret Mason Hanover was behind the desk, in her bathrobe. Dan Carey was sitting in a chair next to her, wearing a well-pressed Italian suit. Flip Whalen was on the couch. Addis was surprised to see him in Washington. But this was a big day for Margaret; tonight she would openly declare her intention to challenge Mumfries. On the television was the press briefing room at FBI headquarters; the sound was off.
“Good morning, Nick,” Margaret said.
He introduced Lancette. Margaret nodded toward the television. “They called me ten minutes ago and said to turn on the television. That’s all they said. I don’t hear from Brew, Ken, or Mike or anyone else.”
“Margaret,” Carey said. “It’s going to get worse. They chose the wrong side. I have new—”
“Yes, yes,” she interrupted. “New numbers. Show them to Nick. I don’t need to see new numbers today.”
She waved Addis and Lancette toward chairs. “I trust the accommodations were satisfactory.”
Addis rubbed his tongue across the inside of his mouth. It was dry.
“Fine, thank you,” he said.
“Would you mind telling me why you needed a place to hide out?”
“It’s something of a long story,” he said.
Margaret waited for him to continue. Whalen was smirking at him. Addis went into the same story he had told O’Connor the night before. When he mentioned Dunne’s name, Margaret cut him off.
“M. T., call the hospital to check on him. See when would be the best time for me to come by. It’s so sad. Poor Alma.”
Her eyes returned to Addis. He finished the explanation.
“So when Ms. Lancette heard Clarence had been shot in Bennington Gardens,” Margaret said, “she thought that maybe it had something to do with the fellow in the car and she was frightened?”
“Yes,” Addis said.
“And Nick offered to provide you a safe spot for the night?” she asked Lancette.
“Yes,” Lancette said.
“But not in his house?”
This is where it falls apart, Addis thought.
“After we heard about Clarence,” Lancette said, “I wanted to be somewhere that was—”
“More secure than your average D.C. residence?” Margaret asked.
Lancette nodded.
Not bad, Addis thought. Still thin, though.
“So, Nick brought me here.”
“And you work at the—”
Margaret held up her hand. The live shot from the FBI showed Jake Grayton at the podium. He was reading from a piece of paper. O’Connor increased the volume on the television. Addis noticed Lem Jordan standing by the door to the office.
“ … to tell you of a breakthrough we’ve had in the assassination investigation,” Grayton was saying. “Very early this morning—shortly after two—federal agents, following a confidential tip, raided an apartment in downtown Washington, D.C., in the hope of apprehending an individual, tentatively identified as James Edwin Dawkins, who is believed to have been an accomplice of the assassin of President Hanover. The agents announced themselves at the door and as they entered, they were fired upon. The agents returned the fire. In the ensuing exchange, the suspect received a lethal wound. Another individual, identified as Ernest Ivan Lopez, the owner of a local bar and in whose name the apartment was leased, was also wounded fatally. None of the agents involved in the raid were injured. A subsequent search of the premises found written material espousing the cause of white supremacy and material on how to conduct acts of terrorism. Included in this material was a guide to manufacturing the sort of weapon used in the assassination of President Hanover. A preliminary examination of the body of Dawkins found a tattoo similar to the one on the body of the assassin. An investigation into the background of Mr. Dawkins is being conducted. Our initial information indicates he served in the U.S. Marine Corps several years ago. It is unclear what he has done since his service. Material located in the apartment suggests that he knew the assassin, whom we are now identifying as Matthew Levon Morrison, and that both men shared an interest in white supremacism and harbored a deep hatred of the U.S. government. The relationship of Lopez to Dawkins or Morrison is unclear. We are continuing the investigation. We will not be taking questions at this point.”
So there’s the conspiracy, Addis thought. All arranged. He glanced at
Lancette. She was twirling her hair. She caught him looking at her. Very slowly, she shook her head and mouthed the word “no.”
“Now, let me go over procedure a little,” Grayton said. He put down the written statement. “After the raid last night, we contacted the White House. I spoke to Hamilton Kelly, a senior aide to President Mumfries. I am told that Mr. Kelly woke the President and informed him of the event. Starting at six o’clock this morning, we began notifying members of the commission. We still have a lot of work to do. The site of the raid has been sealed. To give our forensic experts a little peace in which to work, we are not releasing the location of the apartment. But I am certain that members of the press will be there within minutes. We are continuing to investigate the individuals involved. We will try to determine if any other accomplices remain at large. All the information we have to date indicates there is no outstanding threat to any government official. We hope to have more details for public release later in the day. And if we do, we may be able to have a more extensive press conference and give you the chance to ask questions. But there is a lot for us to do right now.”
Grayton cleared his throat.
“On a different matter, let me briefly say regarding the shooting of Clarence Dunne last night, the prayers of everyone here go out to him and his family. We understand there has not been much change in his condition. We are hoping for the best. And to the members of the press, thank you for your patience and understanding.”
Grayton stepped away from the podium. Reporters shouted questions at him.
“Who fired the first shot in the apartment?”
“Where are the bodies right now?”
“What’s the significance of the tattoo?”
“Did either one have the word HAPPY carved into their skin?”
“What was Mrs. Hanover’s reaction when you told her? Will this affect the announcement she is expected to make tonight?”
“Will President Mumfries be making any statement?”
“Which federal agents conducted the raid? Mr. Grayton, was it the SWAT team you established last year?”
Grayton did not stop to respond. He left the room. An anchor recapped the statement. O’Connor hit the mute button on the television.
“That’s it?” Margaret asked.
“Seems to be,” Whalen said.
“Should I call Brew and request more information?” O’Connor asked.
Margaret Hanover shook her head.
“Believe me, I want to know what caused this,” she said, “and why these, these”—she could not find the words—“these fuckers killed my husband. I have to know. But I’m not asking them for any favors today.
We’ll hear from them. Think of how it will look if they don’t keep me informed.”
Her eyes were moist. She stood up and tightened the belt of her robe.
“Time to get dressed. Dan, do we have to put out a statement?”
Carey had been scribbling on a yellow legal pad.
“Nothing elaborate,” he said. “You’re following developments and you expect you will be kept posted. You are glad none of the agents involved in the raid were injured. That’s all. And that your schedule today remains the same.”
“Fine.”
She paused alongside Addis.
“Sorry we didn’t have a chance to talk more, Nick. I’m still hoping you change your mind, maybe come with us to the show tonight.”
“Good luck,” he said.
As she left the room, an armed guard appeared at the door. He spoke to Margaret, and she turned toward Lancette.
“Dear, you have a visitor. Sent by your employer. Please give the director my regards. I’m sure you’ll be quite safe now.”
Addis wondered why Margaret had not pressed them further. Was she too preoccupied with her own plans?
A man in a dark suit came into the room. His jacket was unbuttoned and an empty holster was visible. CIA security, Lancette thought. You could always tell. Then she realized that she had seen him before.
“Ms. Lancette?” he asked.
The accident outside headquarters—this was the same guy. He showed no sign of recognition.
“The director would like to see you, Ms. Lancette. I’m supposed to bring you to his office.”
“Let me get my things,” she said.
“Right away,” he added.
“Nick,” she said, “show me where you put my purse.”
“Sure,” Addis replied. He said good-bye to O’Connor and Whalen.
“It was good seeing you back home,” Whalen said. “Hope we’re done with all that.”
Are you playing with me, Flip? Which “all that” do you mean? Donny Lee Mondreau? Blue Ridge?
The CIA man followed Addis and Lancette to the study. “I’ll be right out,” Lancette said to the security officer. She closed the door before he could respond.
“That was a crock of shit,” she whispered to Addis. “The white supremacy stuff.”
“How do you know?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you or Clarence. I got involved in all
this because one of our in-house shrinks told me he thought he once treated this guy—I guess it’s Dawkins—for alcoholism. Had the same tattoo as the assassin. So there’s an Agency connection. When the shrink tried to put paper into the system reporting that, the memo was kicked back. He was then conveniently detailed overseas. To Africa. And I kind of met Dawkins. At that bar. I have to tell you, he did not come across as one of these fuck-’em-all white racist kooks. He seemed pissed at the guy who killed Hanover, not a brother-in-arms. And I just don’t think this guy Lopez is your typical Aryan. I mean, he runs a gay bar. There’s a fair amount of bullshit flying around.”
“That’s a news flash,” Addis said. “Did you see that memo?”
The security official knocked.
“We should be going, Ms. Lancette,” he said from behind the door. “And Director Wenner said I shouldn’t leave your side.”
She shouted that she would be right there.
“No,” she said to Addis. “But—”
The security man opened the door.
“Ms. Lancette,” he said.
Lancette looked at Addis.
Damn, I can feel your eyes all the way, deep in my chest.
She took a step in his direction. A kiss, he thought. On the cheek. Perhaps a squeeze of a hand.
Then she turned toward the man in the doorway.
“Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Addis,” she said. “I’m sure I was overreacting. But it was nice of you to help.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Give my regards to the director.”
He wondered how many hours would pass before he’d see her.
As Addis was about to leave Blair House, Lem Jordan stopped him.
“J-J-Jack heard you w-w-w-ere here.”
“I’ll go say hello,” Addis said. “Are you ready for the show tonight?”
“Su-supose so. D-d-on’t you think she should do it?”
“I’m not so sure, Lem. It’s like she’s holding on too much. Like she’s holding on to an anchor, and you don’t know if she’s going to get it out of the water so she can move ahead or if the anchor is going to pull her in.”
“You c-c-can always cut an anchor.”
“I guess so.”
“Once I went on this b-boat with my d-d-dad in the G-G-ulf. Before he went to Arkadelphia to b-b-be with this woman who had a k-k-kennel. And we had this dog. Guess he g-g-ot it from her. A m-m-mutt. We had him on the b-boat that he b-b-borrowed from a guy he knew. And we g-got
lost out in the G-Gulf. So he d-d-decided to just stop and figure things out. Look at the m-m-maps. He t-t-told me to throw the anchor over. I didn’t have to really throw it. It was hooked up to a line. You just p-p-pulled a lever and then pushed it off. So I pulled the lever and went to the side to p-p-push it off. And that damn d-d-og ran across the line and his leg got c-c-c-caught. I didn’t see it, and the an-ch-chor dropped and the dog got p-p-pulled through the hole and right into the water. I heard a crunch as he went by me. Saw him get sucked down. There was b-b-blood on the side of the boat. I yelled to my dad. He came over. He c-c-cussed me out. Said I gotta learn how to clean up m-m-messes I make. He p-p-pulled up the anchor. The dog was still in the line. His leg was g-g-going the wrong way. His head was knocked in. His eyes were open. My dad told me to b-b-bring him in.”
Jordan was looking past Addis, at an empty vase.
“I did and put him on the d-d-deck. He wasn’t really moving. But he was breathing. So my dad gave me this stick and told me to finish what I had started. To be God-sure he was d-d-dead. And then I had to p-p-put him in a bag and bring him b-b-back with us, show everybody the m-m-mess I made and give him a proper burial. So I did. Had to show him to my brother and sisters and my mother. And he made me bury him in this lot down our street. He said,’N-n-ow everyday when you walk by, you can remember what happens when you screw up.’ But in the m-m-middle of the night, I got up and dug him up, put all the dirt back, and carried him to this park a mile away. I buried him there. Under a tree. I didn’t want to be walking by him every day … . So that’s how I know about anchor lines.”
Addis was wondering what to say. Before he could reply, Jordan changed the subject.
“And, you know, she’d do more than M-m-mumfries any-w-w-way.”
Jordan stopped himself.
“Y-you should go see J-Jack,” he said and walked off.
Addis found Jack’s room. The boy was in his wheelchair, sitting by a table. On the television, a man was talking about an affair he had with his wife’s sister.
“I know what she’s going to do,” Jack said.
“Are you okay with that?” Addis asked.
“Guess so. She’s mad about Dad not being here. And she doesn’t like him much.”
“Mumfries?”
“Yeah.” Using the remote, Jack aimlessly changed channels. “She was looking at him on television, when he was talking about meeting with these teachers—”
“The historians?” Addis interrupted.
“Yeah, them. And she started crying again. Said he reminded her of my grandfather.”
Jack pushed his wheelchair next to a table and picked up a baseball magazine.
“See what I’ve been trying to do?”
Reading, Addis thought. The brain damage that Jack had suffered in the car crash had inhibited his ability to read.
“That’s good.”
“Lem gave me this”—he held out the magazine—”but he didn’t bring me anything from New Orleans.”
“He probably was busy with his mother.”
“He always brings me back something.”
“Maybe he forgot. There’s a lot for him to do.”
“Are you coming tonight?”
Addis knew what he meant: the television studio. She was bringing Jack? Perhaps this was Carey’s idea.
“I don’t think so.”
Jack flipped a few pages of the magazine.
“You still going to come around?” he asked, his face in the magazine.
“Yes, I will.”
“Why?” Jack asked.
“To see you,” Addis said.
Jack almost smiled.