A politician striving for a clear conscience, Emma said, is like Sir Percival searching for the Grail.
Aside from that medieval insight, Emma, what do you think?
Joe, sweetie, were in Washington, D.C. Here live the fine people who brought you the Bay of Pigs, Watergate, Iran-Contra, and invisible weapons of mass destruction. Do I think it feasible that a government agency particularly one headed by a weasel like Patrick Donnelly could be involved in an attempt to kill a president? The answer is yes. Do I think it likely? The answer is no.
Emma took a sip of her wine. And the reason Banks wants you to investigate Mattis is because he looks hinky on this video?
I guess. Banks says hes a big believer in listenin to his gut, and his guts tellin him theres something wrong with Mattis. By the way, the agent in the video, the one who dropped his sunglasses? That was Billy Ray Mattis.
Is that why Banks is suspicious of him? Emma said.
I dont know, but Mattis was also the agent who stood directly in front of the President after the shooting started. That last bullet the sniper fired, the one that killed that other agent, went right between his legs. Missed his johnson by an inch.
Small target, Emma muttered. Who took the video, by the way?
A local station out of Gainsville. The President thought it would be a treat for them to get an exclusive of him and Montgomery flying off in the helicopter. They were given about four hours notice.
A member of the cleaning crew stopped at their table, a dignified-looking Hispanic. He asked Emma politely if shed be leaving soon so his crew could finish cleaning up. Emma just stared at the poor guy until he backed away, bowing, making apologies in two languages.
And theres something else thats bothering Banks, DeMarco said.
Oh? Emma said.
Yeah. Patrick Donnelly. He says Donnellys response to the warning note was out of character. I dont know how long Donnelly has been director of the Secret Service but
A long time, Emma said.
but according to Banks he doesnt have a reputation as a guy who goes out on a limb and he certainly doesnt go out on a limb for his agents. Banks said he was surprised that Donnelly didnt try to get the Chattooga River trip canceled just to cover his ass. At a minimum, he should have switched out the agents assigned to the inside ring, but he didnt do that either.
I agree, Emma said. So why didnt he?
Banks doesnt know, but its just one more thing thats making him nervous.
Ill tell you another thing that would make me nervous if I was Banks, Emma said.
Whats that?
Why didnt the person who wrote that letter send it to Donnelly, the guy directly in charge of the Secret Service, instead of Banks?
I hadnt thought of that, DeMarco said.
Emma was silent for a moment before saying, So why doesnt Banks just call up the FBI, tell em about the warning letter, and let them investigate?
He says hes not willing to unleash a media hurricane about Secret Service involvement in the assassination attempt based solely on his gut feeling. And hes particularly not willing to do that now that theyve got Edwardss suicide note.
So he wants you looking into this instead of the Bureau?
Yeah. At least I wont leak the story to the Post. Well, maybe not.
I guess youre better than nothing, Emma muttered.
Thanks for that vote of confidence, Ms Emma, but frankly I agree with you and thats what I told Mahoney. But once I told him Donnelly was acting weird on this thing, he insisted I get involved.
Whats Mahoney have against Donnelly?
I dont know. And theres one other thing: Banks doesnt think Donnelly really had that note analyzed.
He thinks Donnelly lied to him? Emma said.
Yeah. Banks doesnt think there was enough time to check the letter out, not if they analyzed for DNA and questioned people and stuff like that. And when I told Mahoney that, his big ears really perked up.
From what Ive heard about Donnelly, Emma said, I suppose anythings possible. She ran a hand through her short hair as she thought over everything DeMarco had told her. Tell me something, Joseph, she said. That note said the inside ring had been compromised, whatever the hell that means. Exactly how could any of those four agents guarding the President that morning have compromised his security?
Good question, Emma, and I dont know. They certainly protected him when the shooting started, and the dates and location of the trip were hardly state secrets. And if the FBI had found some major hole in the Services security procedures, that would have been all over the news by now. So far no one is blaming the Secret Service for misconduct, dereliction of duty, or anything else. Not yet, anyway.
Well, Emma said, gathering up her purse, this is all very interesting, Joe, but as I said earlier, I have a lovely friend waiting for me. Is there anything else you wanted?
Yeah. How bout asking your buddies to do a records check on Mattis? See if he knew Harold Edwards. Check out his finances, his history, that sorta thing.
Hes a Secret Service agent, sweetie. I doubt the databases will be revealing.
We gotta look.
We?
DeMarco shook his head in despair. Why in the hell would Mahoney want me fooling around with something like this, Emma? I mean, Jesus. If he wants to cause Donnelly a problem all he has to do is leak this shit to the Post.
Honey, I think the Speaker is playing a zillion-to-one long shot. I dont think he believes theres a snowballs chance in hell that Mattis or anyone else in the Secret Service was involved in the assassination attempt. But he hopes they were. And if they were, he can destroy Patrick Donnelly not just annoy him with some unflattering press.
That damn Mahoney, DeMarco said.
Come on, Joe, quit whinin and lets get crackin. You have to take me someplace where they sell fresh strawberries.
7
DeMarco passed under the Capitols Grand Rotunda without an upward glance. To reach the stairway leading to his office he had to excuse his way through a cluster of tourists, their sunburned necks straining skyward as they gazed reverently at the painted ceiling above them. The tourists irritated him. He was in a bad mood already because of this nonsense with Banks, but it bugged him, every day when he went to work, these rubberneckers in their baggy shorts blocking the way.
He descended two flights of stairs. Marble floors changed to linoleum. Art on the ceiling was replaced by water stains on acoustic tile. The working folk dwelled on DeMarcos floor. Here clattered the machines of the congressional printing office and directly across from his office was the emergency diesel generator room. The diesels would periodically roar to life when they tested them, scaring the bejesus out of DeMarco every time they did. And just down the hall from him were shops occupied by the Capitols maintenance personnel. Considering what DeMarco did some days, being located near the janitors seemed appropriate.
The faded gilt lettering on the frosted glass of DeMarcos office door read COUNSEL PRO TEM FOR LIAISON AFFAIRS, J. DEMARCO. The title was Mahoneys invention and completely meaningless. DeMarco entered his office, took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and checked the thermostat to make sure it was set on low. Adjusting the thermostat was something he did from force of habit, for his psychological well-being; he knew from experience that twisting the little knurled knob had absolutely no effect on the temperature in the room. He could call his neighbors, the janitors, to complain but knew he would rank low on their priority list. Who was he kidding? A guy with an office in the subbasement didnt make the list.
In his office squatted an ancient wooden desk from the Carter era and two mismatched chairs, one behind his desk and one in front of it for his rare visitor. A metal file cabinet stood against one wall, the cabinet empty except for phone books and an emergency bottle of Hennessy. DeMarco didnt believe in keeping written, subpoenable records. On his desk was an imitation Tiffany lamp a redundant appliance as strips of harsh, fluorescent lights provided all the illumination needed and on the black-and-white tile floor was a small Oriental rug, the predominant colors being maroon and green. On the wall opposite his desk were two Degas prints of dancing ballerinas. His ex-wife had given him the faux-Tiffany lamp, the rug, and the ballerinas a futile effort on her part to warm the place up. Only an arsonist, DeMarco had concluded long ago, could give his office any warmth.
DeMarco took to the chair behind his desk. He put his feet up, laced his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. What to do about Billy Ray? He doubted the agent was guilty of anything. It was just as Emma had said: Mahoney was playing a long shot and using DeMarcos career for chips. He was hoping DeMarco would get lucky and find out Billy Mattis was dirty, in which case Donnellys failure to properly investigate the warning letter could be used to nail his slippery hide to the wall. DeMarco didnt know why the Speaker disliked Patrick Donnelly but it was obvious he did. The bear wanted to gobble him up.
So since the bear wanted his snack, DeMarco was stuck. He couldnt disobey a direct order from Mahoney yet he could do nothing that would come to the attention of the Secret Service or the FBI. If they discovered he was mucking about in their business theyd stomp him to death with their wing-tipped shoes and when the stomping began the Speaker would pretend hed never heard the name Joe DeMarco. So he would investigate Billy Ray as ordered, but carefully. Invisibly. Discreetly. And investigating Billy meant making a gigantic leap of logic: he had to assume Mattis was guilty. To think otherwise left him nothing to do.
DeMarcos investigation began with the warning note. He took the index card Banks had given him and reread the words. The signature was interesting: An agent in the wrong place. It sounded as if the author was being coerced or had knowledge he didnt wish to have. It was a reluctant signature. So if the note was legitimate and if the Secret Service was somehow involved in the assassination attempt, maybe Billy Mattis was the one who sent the note. He knew the assassination was going to take place, didnt want any part of it, but could do nothing to stop it.
A second possibility was that the note referred to Mattis and he had intentionally dropped his sunglasses to give the shooter a clear shot at the President. A third and more likely possibility was that the note was a prank and Mattis was innocent. Possibilities and could bes and ifs. He was skipping down a yellow brick road of nonsense in a political land of Oz.
Banks had also given DeMarco a copy of Mattiss personnel file, so he put aside the index card to shine the bright light of his intellect on that thin document. He would learn all there was to know about his quarry; he would study the jackals past.
According to the file, the jackal was as American as grits and moonshine. He was born in Uptonville, Georgia, wherever the hell that was, and had lived there until he enlisted in the army at age eighteen. He spent fourteen uneventful months in South Korea and after the service joined the Army Reserve and spent a couple of years at a community college. Following college, the Secret Service hired him and hed been with the agency for six years.
There were two noteworthy incidents in Billy Rays file. Billys Army Reserve unit had been activated for eight months in the get-Saddam war and he had performed some unspecified act of heroism worthy of a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. The second incident had occurred two years earlier and closer to home.
While Billy was standing on a street corner in Gary, Indiana, waiting for the Presidents motorcade to pass, a bank robber decided the Presidents visit would provide perfect cover for a robbery. It never occurred to the robber, who had the IQ of a rabbit, that the Presidents route was saturated with both uniformed and undercover cops. As the robber exited the bank, alarms sounded. A nearby cop turned toward the noise, drew his weapon, and the robber shot at the cop. The crowd scattered, screaming civilians running in every direction like chickens from a hawk, and at that moment the Presidents limousine turned the corner. Billy, the closest agent to the robber, was afraid to fire his weapon for fear he would hit the civilians, yet at the same time he had to make sure the robber didnt shoot bullets in the Presidents direction. Billy charged the robber. His body armor deflected the robbers first shot; he caught the second with his left bicep before he tackled the robber and disarmed him.
Billy Mattis may not have been the brightest guy on the block but he was a brave man. He had been scarred twice in the service of his country. He was a Secret Service agent and a decorated veteran. He had willingly put himself in harms way at Chattooga River. Could there possibly be an individual less likely to attempt to kill a president?
One thing DeMarco did notice while reviewing Mattiss personnel file was that until two and a half months ago Mattis had never had any of the glamour jobs. He was often a perimeter guard at the White House or Camp David, and frequently one of the anonymous agents standing on the street whenever the President graced Middle America with his presence, but he had never been a personal bodyguard to the President or the Presidents family. DeMarco couldnt tell from the file if Billy had been assigned to the praetorian guard on May 15th because of his previous heroism or if he just had enough seniority in the Service to automatically get the detail. He needed someone with the inside skinny on the Secret Service to tell him more about Billys promotion. The fact that hed recently been assigned to the Presidents security detail struck DeMarco as intriguing well, intriguing if you liked conspiracy theories.
DeMarco put Billys file and the index card in the top drawer of his desk and locked the drawer. Leaving his office, he walked down the hall to the maintenance shop. He knocked, waited patiently until he heard a deep voice say Yo, and opened the door. Three black men dressed in dark-blue coveralls were seated at a table playing pinochle. A fourth man, also black, also wearing coveralls, was working on an air-conditioning unit on the shop bench. When the cardplayers saw DeMarco he was greeted by the now expected chorus: Its the I-talian stallion. The wop who dont stop. The guinea wit da skinny.
Jesus, DeMarco said, do we have to go through this every damn time?