11
“Whatever women do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good. Luckily, this is not difficult.â€
Charlotte Whitton (1896-1975)
Hawthorne’s visit to the sixth floor of the Justice Department proved to be a short one. Judge Simmons, one of the pool judges from the seven federal district courts that receive petitions for electronic surveillance, was on call that evening and was well known for granting requests sparingly. However, even on the most circumstantial evidence he had grudgingly acceded to Hawthorne’s request. He would be vilified by the law enforcement community if Miller turned out to be the man behind the assassination and he had refused the application.
Hawthorne immediately called Richard Timms, Excalibur’s liaison with technical services and told him the good news. Within half an hour an eager Timms had hooked into all of Miller’s telephones, both at his house in Spring Valley and at the hotel suite at the Hay-Adams. It turned out that Miller did not possess a cell phone, having thrown it away on the day he had read that they emitted harmful microwave radiation.
Before going to the Hay-Adams to plant a few bugs in the Presidential Suite, Timms personally delivered some laser-bugging equipment to Kinney and Payne before they set off to the professor’s residence, promising them more goodies when they could actually break into Miller’s home the next day.
Whilst Timms was busying himself, Hawthorne recovered his Grand Cherokee jeep from the underground car park of the Hoover Building. As soon as he had driven up the steep concrete incline that led out onto Ninth he called his elated wife to say that he would be home in time to tuck the children into bed. Because of the training course, they had not seen him for ten days, even though he rang every evening.
Hawthorne was a content man. Unlike most agents, he was no workaholic. He had seen so many colleagues put their personal lives on such a back burner that they no longer felt its heat. For him, work was merely a way of affording the rest of his life. He derived pleasure from his profession and from doing it well, but he did not let it take over his life.
He saw life as a puzzle piece, the four sides comprising work, family, friends and self. A tranquil person was one who had found a snug fit in the jigsaw of humanity. Why do so many people try to squeeze themselves into the wrong space? He never understood. The number of couples whose curved edges did not line up and yet stubbornly tried to force the two ill-fitting sides together amazed him. That’s the trouble with people – we’re human.
As soon as he finished the call, his pager beeped calling him to the White House. Reluctantly, he retrieved the cell phone from his pocket and pressed redial. After having just told their children that their father was coming home early, his wife was less than impressed.
*
Benditoz, McConnell and Baker checked in at the Grand Hyatt, immediately impressed by the twelve-story atrium and the deep blue lagoon in the lobby. It is the hotel mainly used by U.S. Marshals when visiting Washington. The hotel has class written all over it apart from a white piano on a circular illuminated float in the middle of the water like a cheesy nightclub in Vegas.
Within half an hour the three agents had unpacked, showered and changed. They decided to eschew nearby Chinatown, opting instead for the Via Pacifica restaurant on the lower floor of the hotel.
The small intimate restaurant is a contradiction in itself. Despite its name, it serves a mixture of Asian and Italian food, and with a terracotta-tiled floor and pastel designs on its walls it can easily be mistaken for a mock Greek tavern. It is the classic example of trying to please as many international visitors as possible, and ending up pleasing no one. However, a simple glance at the plates on the small square tables reveal that the food is excellent.
Against the discrete noise from the constant waterfall, they were treated to orchestral versions of classic pop anthems. They quickly tuned out.
‘So Heather,’ said McConnell glancing up from his menu, ‘you never said why you joined the FBI.’
When Baker had arrived at the table to an already waiting Benditoz and McConnell, it was the first time that McConnell had truly looked at her as this curious species called woman instead of simply a colleague.
Baker looked stunning. She could turn a simple dress into a work of art, and with a few deft touches of make-up, she looked as if she had spent hours in front of the mirror. McConnell knew he would not stand a chance, especially against the handsome, single gentleman that had immediately caught Baker’s eye as he took a table two down from them.
McConnell envied the relationship that Payne had with his wife. In fact it had taken the conversation earlier with Payne for McConnell to finally realize the true nature of love. Poets and philosophers had wrestled with the problem since the dawn of time, and yet this FBI agent knew the answer. It was ridiculously simple. Love was when the other person’s happiness was more important than your own. Period. It did not matter whether it was a love for a parent, a partner, an offspring, a sister, a pet or even a country. The definition stood its ground.
Whilst McConnell had been under the cool shower in his hotel room it had occurred to him that his life had been quite empty compared to Payne’s. In fact he realized that he had never truly been in love. It was a depressing thought. On many occasions he thought he had been, but hindsight had shown him that the feelings had only been one of yearning, to reach out.
The relationship he had had with his live-in partner had quickly collapsed under the pressure of the incessant, anonymous threatening calls in the middle of the night after turning in Burns. Deborah had come from a family where social standing was everything. For her boyfriend to be considered a pariah had been too much for her. It had been another reason for McConnell to leave Sacramento. Since then he had gone from one short fling to another, looking for Miss Right, only to meet misfortune. Oh well, life’s a bitch and then you marry one.
‘I’m sorry?’ said Baker.
‘What made you decide to join the FBI?’ repeated McConnell. Baker put her menu down on the table.
‘Tough neighborhood. We lived on the outskirts of Chicago, and you won’t see many tourists there. Where I come from, BMW means “Break My Windowsâ€.’ She took out a Marlboro and was about to light it when she saw a waiter shaking his head politely in her direction. She put the cigarette back in its packet, frowning.
‘When I was a schoolgirl,’ she explained, ‘I had to give over my lunch money for protection just so I could walk home in peace. I’d been warned off telling anybody about it, especially my parents or the principal, so I had to steal from my mother in order to get lunch. I hated it and hated the people who forced me to do it. But more importantly I hated myself. I don’t think my mother knows to this day. I guess I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since.’
‘Well, you’ve done pretty well,’ remarked Benditoz, already having made his choice from the menu. ‘I mean, ASAC in Chicago, one of the youngest in the history of the FBI. Hell of an achievement.’
‘Yeah, makes you wonder though, doesn’t it, if it’s just PR,’ said Baker gloomily. ‘There’s only one percent of the FBI that is black and female, and yet I’m one of the youngest ASACs in the country. Sometimes I swear that if I were a disabled, black lesbian, one-parent family, I’d have Douglas’s job by now,’ she smiled resignedly. McConnell and Benditoz almost choked with laughter as they both attempted to drink from the Pinot Noir they had ordered.
‘No, I’m serious,’ said Baker sternly. ‘You men never see it, but I do. I go to the yearly ASACs conference, and I always get the feeling that I’m just being tolerated there, a sort of poster-girl for the FBI. Perhaps I’m being oversensitive on the subject, but I get treated every day the same way Thorney treats me. It’s disgusting.’ Baker started to eye the good-looking diner nearby.
‘Ah, come on Heather,’ said Benditoz defensively, ‘I’ve known Sam on and off for five years now and I’ve never met a more professional agent in my life. He takes care of those under him. Sure he’s eccentric at times, but he certainly isn’t a racist or a misogynist. Anyway, he explained why you were only doing reading today. You wouldn’t be on the team if anyone thought you weren’t up to it.’
‘You say’ she replied. ‘Then how come I’m the only black agent on the team, then?’
‘I’m no expert,’ McConnell chipped in, ‘but from what I’ve seen so far is that you’ve got more balls than both of us put together. You call it as you see it, and that’s admirable. Sometimes I feel like you, only being on the team to appease the local PD rather than for my experience, but I haven't got the guts to say anything.’
‘Get serious,’ added Benditoz. You’ve both held your own in that team, and if you can do that, then you deserve to be on it. I can’t believe that the Director or Sam even bothered to check our race or sex when choosing the best agents for the job. I think the stakes are too high for that bullshit. Come on you guys, let’s eat.’
‘You see what I mean?’ said Baker with flared nostrils. She stood up abruptly, scraping her chair on the floor behind her. Heads turned towards her. ‘Guys, you instinctively said guys! All women in the FBI are known as “breast-fedsâ€. I’m sick of it. It’s so ingrained you don’t even realize when you are doing it yourselves!’
‘It’s only a fig-’ defended Benditoz.
‘I’m need some fresh air,’ she said in a controlled voice and left the restaurant leaving two very non-plussed men in her wake.
*
Hawthorne was allowed through White House security without being subjected to a body search this time. It was early evening and the sun was still impossibly high as a sun-glassed Secret Service agent showed him around the side of the building to the South Entrance, the door to the White House usually reserved for ambassadors and visiting dignitaries. It was obvious that someone was putting on a show for him. With trained eyes he spotted the usual four Secret Service agents dressed head to toe in black patrolling the surrounding bushes, ready for combat.
A bush moved slightly to the left of Hawthorne’s escort, and the agent froze momentarily. A gray squirrel suddenly appeared and, once it had realized that he was not going to get any food from them, scurried away.
‘Tough job,’ observed Hawthorne as they continued onwards.
‘It’s the damned tourists’ fault,’ replied the agent. ‘Most mornings, parts of the White House are open to the public and the queue can be up to half way ’round the perimeter. Hold on.’ He raised his left wrist to his mouth. ‘Six, clear.’ He turned his attention back to Hawthorne as he dropped his arm. ‘If they’d stop feeding the squirrels, they wouldn’t be so damn tame.’
The agent paused and looked over the South Lawn. ‘I reckon there’s about three hundred of ’em on the grounds.’ Hawthorne did not want to tell the agent that his daughter had been one of those responsible for his plight.
He ushered Hawthorne deferentially into the Diplomatic Reception Room, an elegant oval-shaped room furnished chiefly in light, burnished yellow. The entire wall is covered in French nineteenth century wallpaper that depicted five scenes of American life that Europeans most admired at the time. Hawthorne immediately recognized Boston Harbor on his right. The agent gestured for Hawthorne to sit down.
Several minutes later, the President’s Chief of Staff, walked into the room with a winning smile and Hawthorne recognized him immediately. He stood up and they shook hands.
‘It’s good to meet you, Agent Hawthorne,’ greeted Jacobs.
‘You too,’ replied Hawthorne, feeling the power emanating from Jacobs’s handshake. He refused to be fazed in the slightest. Did Jacobs not know that emphasis of power and control was on the course at Quantico and not just reserved for politicians? ‘So this is where the heads of state come in,’ he said conversationally, looking around the room.
‘And honored guests of course. What no one realizes of course is that the door straight ahead leads to a bowling alley. Listen, I heard about the shake-down the Secret Service gave you this morning. My apologies for the rudeness, but they were all on edge.’
‘No offence taken,’ replied Hawthorne diplomatically.
‘Shall we?’ gestured Jacobs, extending his thin arm in invitation to a door at the far end of the oval room on the left.
As Hawthorne and Jacobs made their way to another ornate room, Hawthorne had made the mistake of thinking that Jacobs had made the standard power play of always keeping the guest waiting. In truth, Jacobs had been reading a more concrete set of results from Brinkov’s poll and was in a good mood. The President was trailing Harlow by only four points, plus or minus two.
They reclined on deep red armchairs and Hawthorne took another chance to look around. This room had not been on the standard tour that he had taken either.
‘The Map Room,’ explained Jacobs noticing Hawthorne eyeing the surroundings, ‘even though there are only two maps in here. Just behind you is an engraving of Maryland and Virginia that dates back to before the War of Independence and above the fireplace is a tactical war map of the German position in May ’45. Needless to say we’ve never shown this room to the German Chancellor.’
Hawthorne took in both. ‘I’ve heard the name before, but I always thought the Map Room was some high-tech strategy room with a map of the world on it with flashing blue and red lights.’
‘No,’ laughed Jacobs. ‘That’s for the brass hats over the Potomac. This is just a meeting room now, though I think it was used as a war room in the forties.’
‘So, what can I do for you?’ asked Hawthorne, anxious to get home to Annie and their children.
‘I was wondering how far you have got in your investigation.’
Hawthorne had fully presupposed the purpose of the meeting and had already put on his mental boxing gloves. ‘Where is your authorization?’ he asked blandly.
‘I speak for the President in this matter,’ replied Jacobs, blinking in surprise by the rebuff.
‘That doesn’t count. The White House, and by that I mean either the Office of Personnel Security or the White House Counsel’s Office, has a standard form to fill in when requesting information from FBI files. That has to go to the FBI Office of the General Counsel for review who may or may not grant the request.’ Hawthorne had done his homework.
Jacobs looked affronted but tried not to show it. He crossed his legs, resting his hands on his upper knee and leant forward. ‘Look, it was one of the President’s best friends who was murdered last night. Just informally, between us, how close are you to catching him?’ he said with soft emphasis.
Hawthorne copied the stance. ‘You know, even if you do fill in the request form, I’m not going to tell you. The only answer I am prepared to give you has two words, and one of them is “fuckâ€.’ Needle him.
‘I could have you replaced like that!’ said Jacobs, losing his cool and snapping his fingers. ‘I’ll make sure the only thing you’re allowed to run is a bath!’
‘You won’t,’ replied Hawthorne calmly. ‘I would simply go to the press and state that you were impeding the investigation. You see, there’s something I realized late this afternoon. We were looking at possible motives, and then I thought to myself, who has actually gained most from Aitken’s assassination?’
‘Who?’ Sweet innocence.
‘You and the President, of course. You’ve got a fighting chance of winning this election now, haven’t you?’ Hawthorne’s voice was controlled, but then his face broke into a grin.
Jacobs was silent for a moment. ‘You think the President is capable of ordering the execution of one of his confidantes, one of his friends, just to remain in office for another four years?’ asked Jacobs. The calmness that had returned to his voice was mixed with amusement.
‘No,’ replied Hawthorne slowly, ‘but I’m sure the thought would cross the mind of his Chief of Staff. To be blunt, you’re so high up the list of suspects I’m surprised your nose isn’t bleeding.’ Study the man.
Jacobs did not look surprised. ‘If you’re so knowledgeable about politics, that you would also know that the President can only win if you manage to catch this butcher, otherwise he will start to slip in the polls before the election. True?’
‘True,’ Hawthorne easily conceded.
‘Well what do you think would happen if you were to find out it was me? What do you think would happen to the President’s chances then?’
‘As slim as a gnat’s d-ck. But what if by some miracle you managed to win the election without our catching you?’ hypothesized Hawthorne.
‘And live in fear that you would manage to pin it on me later? I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Anyway, if you caught me at any point in the next four years the President would be forced to resign in any case. I’m sorry Sam, but there is a major fallacy in your reasoning.’
‘Maybe,’ Hawthorne said grudgingly after a while. ‘But still, until an indictment is made you’ll get jack from me. This is going to go by the book in every aspect. Even if it turns future history upside-down by solving this case, it won’t change my judgement nor the performance of the team. And don’t worry, I vote in the booth, not at my desk.’ Hawthorne sat back in the luxurious padding of the armchair.
‘Lives are always affected by a murder,’ he continued calmly, ‘often more than the person who was killed. This just happens to effect around six billion of them, that’s all.’
Jacobs knew Hawthorne was not going to be more forthcoming and it needled him. He had to know, but was stuck with Hawthorne as head of the investigation. Did Hawthorne realize he was effectively the most powerful man in the world at the moment? A king-maker. That’s my job, dammit. He decided to let it rest. He did not have a choice.
‘You do realize that Harlow will try to screw with you, don’t you?’ warned Jacobs.
‘I’m sure he will.’
*
McConnell and Benditoz were so engrossed in discussing Baker’s attitude problem that they completely failed to notice the handsome diner stand up, throwing two tens next to his plate, even though he had not touched his food, and discretely follow Baker out of the Via Pacifica restaurant.
*
As Hawthorne stepped out into the evening sun he could not have been better pleased with his performance. Of course Jacobs would realize he would be a suspect himself, and it was important for Hawthorne to be up front about it. If Jacobs were behind the assassination, it was even more important that he felt safe, having persuaded Hawthorne of the paradox in his reasoning. There’s one thing we didn’t mention. You could set up a patsy.