Читать книгу Deja Vu - Fern Michaels - Страница 12

Martine Connor gulped at the last of her cold coffee, draining the cup. She glanced out the window to see that it was what she would have called a glorious day in her other life. Life in the White House was different. Living here she had no time to enjoy glorious days. When she did find a few minutes during the day that she could call her own, she was too wired to do more than sit down and close her eyes. Never mind spending the time looking out a window to see if it was a glorious day or not. Vaguely, she remembered someone saying something about rain later in the day. Well, since it was coming up on four o’clock, and the sky still appeared to be cloudless, that had to mean it wouldn’t rain till later or the weatherman was wrong, which was often the case.

When the knock sounded on the door, the president’s new best friend, Cleo, bolted upright and waited for her brand-new owner to give her a command.

Cleo, a retired K-9 dog, had adapted to her new owner and her surroundings within hours. The bonding was almost instantaneous. She nudged the president’s leg gently, the signal indicating that they should move toward the door. The president’s hand dropped to the shepherd’s head. “Okay, girl, time to sally forth. Your handler told me you were top dog when it came to judging people. I’m relying on you to do just that when we get into the room.” The huge dog looked upward as though she were listening and assessing her new owner’s words. “I’m counting on you, Cleo. I’ll be making decisions based on what you do.”

And if this ever gets out, they’ll lock me up and throw away the key. It’s kind of like making decisions based on fortune-tellers and the stars the way the press said Nancy Reagan did.

As they walked down the hallway, the president kept up a low-voiced running “dialogue” with the dog at her side. Twice, the dog slowed and looked up at her and again seemed to be assessing her words.

The president smiled and continued smiling when she recalled the conversation she’d had with Cleo’s handler. “I can’t explain it, Madam President,” he’d said when he got over his stage fright at speaking with the president of the United States, “but Cleo can anticipate, she seems to know what I’m thinking before I do. A half dozen times she stopped me from doing something I thought was right at the time. During her time of duty, she was always number one in the field trials. She never screwed up … ah … sorry, she never fouled up once. I just want you to know, Madam President, I did everything I could think of to keep that dog, but I’m going overseas, and they said no. She did her tour and deserves to be retired. That dog will give up her life for you if it ever comes to that, and I sure hope it doesn’t. Ah, could I ask a favor, Madam President?” And of course she’d said yes.

“Don’t let her forget me. When I get back, can I come see her?” Again, she’d responded affirmatively, with a lump in her throat.

The president stopped outside the door of the meeting room. She bent over and whispered to the big dog, “Make Gus proud of you now, Cleo.” The big dog raised her head, and President Connor was 100 percent certain that the shepherd smiled at her. “Good girl! Remember now, these guys are not exactly the enemy, but I sure as hell don’t like them.”

Cleo used her snout to edge the president backward. “I get it,” she whispered, “you always go first. Okay, I won’t make that mistake again.”

President Connor almost laughed out loud when she saw her guests freeze in place when Cleo marched into the room. Whatever they were expecting, Cleo definitely was not it.

“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce Cleo to all of you.” As the president made the introduction, she had to wonder if Cleo would remember the long heart-to-heart talk they’d had earlier about the individuals she was introducing. “We’re not going to bother with protocol today since this is just a little informal gathering. Cleo, this is Director Span of the CIA. Director Yantzy of the FBI, and Secretary Frank of the Department of Homeland Security. This last gentleman is the former director of the FBI, Elias Cummings.”

Her gaze guileless, the president watched as Cleo’s tail dropped between her legs, and her ears flattened against her head as she walked in front of the standing men. She didn’t do anything obvious like sniff their shoes, but she did look up at them as she walked along. When she came to Elias she did sniff, her tail wagged, and her ears went to full attention. She offered a paw, which Elias took.

“You remember me, don’t you?” Elias said, stooping down. Cleo barked again. “I personally pinned a medal on this little lady when she came back from her first tour of duty in Iraq. She did a second tour if I’m not mistaken. The Post did a long article on her and her fellow K-9s. Sergeant Sullivan …”

“Is on his way to Afghanistan. They retired Cleo, and she’s mine now,” the president said.

Elias ruffled the dog’s ears and grinned.

The president motioned for the dog to walk with her to the head of the table that had been set up. “Take a seat, gentlemen. This won’t take long. Anyone for coffee or a soft drink?” A steward in a pristine white chef’s coat stood ready to serve. “Coffee for everyone,” the president said as she withdrew a chew bone from her pocket and handed it to Cleo.

“I want to thank all of you for coming on such short notice. I know how busy you are even though it’s summer. I never did believe the myth that nothing goes on in the summer in Washington.”

A smattering of small talk ensued until the server quietly closed the door behind him, at which point the president barked an order in a voice none of them had ever heard. “I want a yes-or-no answer to this question. I don’t want excuses because there is no excuse I will tolerate. Let’s be clear on that right now. Director Span, have you made any progress in tracking down Mr. Jellicoe?”

“No, Madam President.”

“Mr. Yantzy?”

“No, Madam President.”

“Mr. Frank?”

“No, Madam President.”

“It’s been a while, gentlemen. I’m finding it very difficult to understand why the three of you and your agencies have been so unsuccessful. It can’t be for lack of manpower. I give you everything you ask for. Especially you, Director Span. Sometimes I wondered who was running the CIA, you or Mr. Jellicoe. Which means he knows all your secrets. And all the secrets of the Agency. Do not try to tell me he doesn’t know them. The whole world knows he knows. And I want a full briefing on our agents that were killed. He’s popping them off, one by one, to show you he can. This is on your doorstep, Director Span. I mean a full briefing. As for you, Director Yantzy, this might be a good time for you to say whatever you have to say.”

“Madam President, I can truthfully say Mr. Jellicoe knows nothing of the inner workings at the Bureau. I never liked the man, and I make no bones about it. I’ve said on more than one occasion that the CIA was too loose where he was concerned. It was my belief then and it still is my belief that Hank Jellicoe told the CIA what to do, not the other way around. I’ll go to my grave saying and believing that.”

“Hold on here, Yantzy!” Span bellowed. “You clods over there at the Bureau don’t know your asses from your elbows. You’re the goddamn laughingstock of this town.”

“That will be enough of that, Director Span! I will not tolerate anything but civility in this room. Children squabble; grown men discuss issues and negotiate. Director Frank, do you have anything to add?”

“Only that I agree with Director Yantzy. I have tried repeatedly to get information from the CIA, and none has been forthcoming. They do not share anything with the Bureau and Homeland Security. Our hands are tied, Madam President. I have our best agents on Jellicoe, as does Director Yantzy. The man has gone to ground. I for one have asked repeatedly for intel on those six brave agents. Nothing has been forthcoming. I agree with Director Yantzy’s assessment of Jellicoe and the CIA. The whole damn world knows he was at the helm and Span was his yes-man.”

“You burned Jellicoe, Span,” Yantzy said. “Did you really think he’d take that lying down? The guy is an expert at black ops, covert ops, and all other kinds of ops. Once you burned him and left him out in the cold, he went to ground just the way Frank said. Now he’s going to burn other agents, and I’m not taking the fall for you and your ego.”

“Once again, I agree with Director Yantzy,” Frank said.

“I think we all know what happened, gentlemen. You have left me no other choice; so listen closely to what I am about to tell you. I am giving you thirty days. T-h-i-r-t-y days to track down and capture Mr. Jellicoe. If on the thirty-first day that has not happened, I will expect your resignations on my desk at first light. Now, I suggest you all go somewhere and have a talk and agree to agree and start from there. That means whatever agency asks the other for something, it is to be given what it needs. All three of you can call here twenty-four seven to apprise me of failure or success on any agency’s part. Thirty days, not one second longer.”

Elias Cummings looked around at his colleagues, wondering what the hell he was doing sitting there. The three directors looked like they were wondering the same thing but wisely refrained from asking.

The president solved the problem by saying, “Mr. Cummings, I’m sure you are puzzled as to why I invited you to this meeting. Suffice it to say, I had a reason. Mitch Riley, your predecessor, who belonged to the previous administration, if I recall correctly, kept dossiers on just about everyone in the world, including Henry Jellicoe. My memory is telling me that Mr. Riley’s wife turned those files over when the special agents arrested him. Do you happen to know who has those files at this point in time, Mr. Cummings?”

Nellie is going to love this. Elias cleared his throat, aware of the eyes on him. Was that a smile tugging at the corners of the president’s mouth? It sure looked like a smile to him. “Actually, Madam President, I know who had them at the time. I can’t be certain of their whereabouts at this moment in time, however.”

“Do you recall seeing those files, reading them?”

“Yes, Madam President. However, I was not allowed to copy them. I have to admit I was impressed with the thoroughness of each and every one of those dossiers. I do remember a file on Mr. Jellicoe and it was thick, twice the size of the other dossiers. I remember thinking at the time that Riley put J. Edgar to shame with the thoroughness of the material he obtained. It was downright scary as I recall.”

Director Yantzy stood up and bellowed, “What the hell do you mean you weren’t allowed to copy those files? They are FBI property! I should have them. What? What? You let some creep bamboozle you? That creep let you look at them, then walked off with them, and you didn’t arrest that person! I don’t believe I’m hearing what I’m hearing.”

Elias shrugged. “You weren’t there at the time, Director Yantzy. I had no other choice.”

“Everyone has choices, even a director of the FBI. Who the hell has those files? I want a name, and I damn well want it now. If you don’t give it up, I’ll damn well arrest you myself, right here and now, for obstructing justice.”

“Stop blustering, Director Yantzy. You are not going to arrest anyone. If you try, then I will have to give Mr. Cummings immunity. Stop grandstanding. Mr. Cummings, tell us who had those files.”

“The vigilantes.”

Cleo barked at the loud declaration. The president smiled.

A chorus of “Oh, shit!” echoed around the room.

Span stood up and bellowed that he was going to haul in each and every one of the vigilantes and sweat them till they gave up the files.

“Those files belong to the FBI, and you are not going to sweat anyone on our behalf,” Yantzy bellowed in return, his face brick red. He also reminded Span that the CIA had no jurisdiction within the United States and that any attempt on its part to engage in the sort of illegal behavior he had just spoken of would lead to the arrest of any member of the CIA involved, up to and including the director.

“No one is going to arrest or sweat anyone. The vigilantes now have full immunity, along with their pardons, from all of their … ah … ventures. I personally guaranteed that in writing before setting up this meeting. My name and seal are on every single piece of paper granting them that immunity. Having said that, you are free to contact Lizzie Fox, who represented the vigilantes. If you want to go a few rounds with her, feel free. I want to warn all of you right now, if I hear so much as a squeak that any of you or your agents or anyone representing your agents or your respective agencies goes after those women, I will personally see to it that you will begin to serve your golden years in a federal penitentiary.

“I think we’re finished here, gentlemen. Remember, thirty days. Oh, one other thing.” Suddenly, the president had the full attention of everyone in the room, even Cleo. “You are not to harass, call, write, or in any way bother Mr. Cummings. He has told us all he knows. I am giving him full immunity as of ten minutes ago.”

The president stood up, and motioned to Cleo, who looked up at her and tilted her head like she was trying to tell her something. Because she didn’t know what to do, the president nodded as Cleo trotted around the table to where Elias Cummings was seated. She offered up her paw and barked.

Elias leaned over, took the big dog’s paw in his hand, and shook it. He whispered, “You take good care of that lady, you hear?”

“Woof.”

The moment the shepherd was at her side, the president turned, and said, “Thank you for coming, gentlemen. Someone will be here shortly to escort you out of the building.”

The moment the door closed behind the president the language turned ripe and foul. All eyes were on Elias Cummings, who simply stared at the three angry men. “This room is bugged, you all know that, right?” Elias laughed at the instant silence that suddenly surrounded him.

Just as the door opened, Elias decided he wanted to have the last word. “You three remind me of the Three Stooges. Not only do you look like them, you act like them.”

“Oh, yeah, and who the hell do you think you are?” Span hissed.

“I’m the guy that dog liked.” Elias laughed, a great booming sound that echoed around the room. “I wish you could see how stupid the three of you look right now. You don’t get it, do you? Well, when you have nothing to do, think on it, maybe something will come to you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Cummings?” Span snarled as they made their way out of the room.

“You’re supposed to be the best of the best in this damn wacky city. Figure it out.”

“Crazy old coot!” Yantzy growled.

“Yeah, but this crazy old coot has full immunity and you Three Stooges only have thirty days!”

“Son of a bitch!” Frank bellowed just as a Secret Service agent clamped his hand over his upper arm.

“A problem, sir?”

“Not at all. I’m just a bit wired. Coming here to this prestigious address makes me go haywire. No problem at all.”

The moment Elias settled himself in his car, he whipped out his cell phone, powered up, and called Bert. “I know you’re all tailing me. Meeting is over. Meet me at the Dog and Duck and bring the boys. I have a story to tell you that will curl your hair. By the way, I’m buying. We could even do dinner if you’re all up to it.” He powered down, shoved the gearshift into first, and sailed out of the lot. He was laughing so hard he could hardly catch his breath. Damn, maybe this retirement gig wasn’t going to be so bad after all.