"Yes, of course," answered Tyrell, thinking quickly, desperately trying to find logic within the illogical. "Incidentally, thanks for recruiting him-"
"Geoffrey Cooke did that, rest his soul, not I."
"Yes, I know, but as I say, I just got your message here at the house, there was nothing from you at my office."
"d.a.m.n it, Captain, I certainly wasnt going to leave my name or who I was. Your new director at the Agency and I agreed to keep this whole thing so b.l.o.o.d.y secret, it was to be restricted to the three of us; you were included because youre Hawthornes control. What the h.e.l.l happened? Didnt your DCI contact you? His secretary, a d.a.m.ned arrogant b.i.t.c.h if I may say so, told me her chap got word from the unit and was on top of things, but how could he be without reaching you?"
"There was a Syrian-Israeli problem," said Tyrell lamely. "Its all over the radio and television now."
"Utter nonsense!" interrupted the chairman of MI-6, Special Branch. "Theyre simply posturing, both of them. As far as Im concerned, they can blow each other to smithereens. What were facing makes their G.o.dd.a.m.ned theatrics insignificant."
"Wait a minute, Howell," said Tyrell quietly, his face growing pale with the panic he had known was on his own personal horizon. "You mentioned a unit ... are you referring to the coordinated telephone surveillance operation between you fellows and the Agency?"
"This is preposterous! Do you mean you dont know?"
"Know what, John?" Hawthornes breath was suspended.
"Its tonight! Bajaratt claims sh.e.l.l strike tonight! Your time!"
"Oh, my G.o.d ..." said Tyrell, barely audible, exhaling slowly, his face white. "And you say the Agency unit relayed this to the director?"
"Of course."
"Youre sure?"
"My dear man, I spoke with that b.i.t.c.h secretary myself. She said your DCI was in meetings all over Washington, and specifically, when I called the last time, with the Presidents Cabinet at the White House."
"The Cabinet?... What the h.e.l.l for?"
"Its your country, old chap, not mine. Of course, if it were our Prime Minister, hed be under the protection of Scotland Yard-which he is-not meeting with his Cabinet at 10 Downing Street; too many of those fellows might just care to blow him away."
"Its a possibility here too."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Forget it.... Youre telling me that the director of the Central Intelligence Agency was aware of this information, and by extension, since he was in meetings, he had spread the word to all those in Washington who should know?"
"Look, old boy, hes new and he obviously panicked, dont be too harsh on him. Perhaps I should have been more circ.u.mspect. I took the word of our people who said he was an experienced hand, a splendid fellow."
"Theyre probably right, but theres a small omission."
"Whats that?"
"I dont think he ever got the information."
"What?"
"You dont have to alter this number, Sir John. Ill burn it and get back to you on normal channels."
"For the love of G.o.d, will you please tell me whats going on over there!"
"I dont have time. Ill talk to you later." Tyrell instantly hung up the blue telephone, picked up the red one, and pressed the O b.u.t.ton; it was answered quickly. "This is Commander Hawthorne-"
"Yes, Commander, we spoke before," said the operator. "I trust you reached the senior officer of the watch at naval intelligence?"
"Yes, I did, thank you. Now I need Secretary of State Palisser, preferably on this line, if you can manage a secure patch."
"We can, and well find him, sir."
"Ill stay on. Its an emergency." As he waited, Tyrell tried to formulate the words he could use to deliver the incredible news to the secretary of state, a revelation Palisser might well find impossible to believe. The coordinated telephone surveillance between London and Washington had not been a failure, it had worked! Bajaratt had been intercepted, her words recorded: She would strike sometime tonight! The insanity was that no one knew about it!... That was incorrect, mused Hawthorne, someone knew, and that someone had short-circuited the information. Where the h.e.l.l was Palisser?
"Commander ...?"
"Im right here. Wheres the secretary?"
"Were having a little difficulty tracing him, sir. We have your red line code, so when we locate him we can patch him directly through to you if you wish."
"I dont wish, Ill stay on."
"Very well, sir."
Again the line was silent, the further delay aggravating the hollow pain that refused to leave his chest. It was past six oclock, thought Hawthorne, turning his wrist to look at his watch-well past, it was nearing six-thirty. Daylight savings or no, the night had begun. G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Palisser, where are you?
"Commander-"
"Yes?"
"Im not sure how to put this, sir, but we simply cant locate the secretary of state."
"Youve got to be joking!" shouted Tyrell, unconsciously echoing Sir John Howell.
"We reached Mrs. Palisser in St. Michaels, Maryland, and she said the secretary called her, saying that he was stopping at the Israeli emba.s.sy and would join her within an hour or so."
"And?"
"We spoke to the amba.s.sadors first attache-the amba.s.sador is temporarily in Jerusalem-and he said Secretary Palisser was there for roughly twenty-five minutes. They discussed, as he phrased it, "State Department business, and then Secretary Palisser left."
"What business?"
"We could hardly ask that question, sir."
"Since when does the American secretary of state lapdog over to the Israeli emba.s.sy rather than the other way around?"
"I cant answer that, sir."
"Maybe I can.... Connect me to the Israeli attache, and make sure you tell him this is an emergency call. If hes not on the premises, find him."
"Yes, sir."
Thirty-nine seconds later a deep voice came on the line. "This is Asher Ardis of the emba.s.sy of Israel. Im told this is an emergency call from a ranking officer of U.S. Naval Intelligence. This is so?"
"My names Hawthorne, and Ive been working closely with Secretary of State Bruce Palisser."
"A lovely man. How may I be of service to you?"
"Are you aware of an operation called Little Girl Blood? Were on red line, so you can talk."
"I could talk, Mr. Hawthorne, but I know nothing of such an operation. May I a.s.sume it is coordinated with my government?"
"It is, Mr. Ardis. With the Mossad. Did Palisser talk to you about two Mossad agents who were flying over to deliver him a package? Its very important, sir."
"A package means so many things, doesnt it, Mr. Hawthorne? It could be a slip of paper, or blueprints, or a case of our outstanding fruit, no?"
"I dont have time for Twenty Questions, Mr. Ardis."
"Neither do I, but I am curious. We extended the courtesy of putting your secretary of state in a private room with a secure telephone to Israel so he could reach Colonel Abrams, who is naturally with the Mossad. Youll grant it was a most unusual request and an equally unusual courtesy, do you not?"
"Im not a diplomat, I wouldnt know."
"The Mossad frequently operates outside normal channels, which is often irritating, but we try to understand its penchant for living up to its image of the clandestine octopus, a mollusk with far-reaching secret tentacles-"
"Youre not its biggest fan, I gather," Tyrell interrupted.
"I give you Jonathan Pollard, currently in your prison system for an indeterminate number of years. Need you ask more?"
"Again, Im not concerned with your interdepartmental rivalries, sir, Im interested only in Secretary Palissers visit to your emba.s.sy. Did he reach Colonel Abrams, and if he did, what did he say? And since Im on a red line, you can a.s.sume Im ent.i.tled to privileged information-were working together, for G.o.ds sake! If you want confirmation, press whatever your code numbers are and get it!"
"Youre very excitable, Mr. Hawthorne."
"Im sick of your bulls.h.i.t"
"That makes sense to me. An intelligent mans outrage reveals truth."
"I dont need a f.u.c.king Talmudic parable! What happened when Palisser reached Abrams?"
"In fact, he didnt. The elusive Mossad colonel was unavailable, but when he returns to his office, he has an emergency message to reach your secretary of state, for which we have six telephone numbers, half secure, half not. Does that answer your question?"
In disgust, Tyrell slammed down the phone and walked back into the Stevenses living room. Phyllis greeted him just beyond the French doors. "A Lieutenant Poole called on the regular line, I took it in the kitchen-"
"Cathy? A Major Neilsen? Was it about her?"
"No, it concerned General Michael Meyers, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He phoned you. He wants to meet with you right away. He said its urgent."
"Ill bet it is. Hes looking for ducks in his own personal shooting gallery."
6:47 P.M.
The limousine with the license plate DOS1 sped along Route 50, heading south on the eastern sh.o.r.e of Maryland toward the village of St. Michaels. In the back seat, the secretary of state kept pressing the burtons on his secure mobile telephone with increasing irritation. Finally, in exasperation, he lowered the gla.s.s part.i.tion and spoke to his driver.
"Nicholas, what the h.e.l.l is wrong with this phone? I cant get anything on it!"
"I dont know, Mr. Secretary," replied the chauffeur provided by the Secret Service. "Ive been having trouble with my base radio too. I havent been able to raise dispatch."
"Wait a minute. Youre not Nicholas. Where is he?"
"He had to be replaced, sir."
"Replaced? What for? Where did he go? He was in that seat when we reached the Israeli emba.s.sy."
"Perhaps a family emergency. I was called to replace him, thats all I know, sir."
"Thats also highly irregular. My office should have informed me, thats absolutely standard."
"Your office didnt know where you were, sir."
"They have this number."
"The phone isnt working, Mr. Secretary."
"Hold it, mister! If my office didnt know where I was, how did you know?"
"We have our ways, sir. Were behind-the-lines oriented."
"Answer me!"
"Im only required to give my name, rank, and serial number. Thats what we do with the enemy."
"What did you say?"
"You set up the general last night, set him up so high the White House put him under surveillance. Thats a disgraceful thing to do to a great man like General Meyers."
"Your name, soldier?"
" "Johnny will do, sir." The driver suddenly swerved to the left, entering a barely discernible dirt road. He instantly accelerated, racing over the rough, b.u.mpy surface to a small clearing where the first object that struck the eye was a Cobra helicopter. "You can get out now, Mr. Secretary."
The shaken Palisser fumbled for the handle; the door swung open and he lurched outside into the harsh, leveled gra.s.s. Ten feet away stood the uniformed chairman of the Joint Chiefs, his right sleeve creased and folded neatly into his shoulder.
"You were a pretty fair soldier in World War Two, Bruce, but you forgot the lessons of combat incursion," said the general. "When you walk into hostile territory, make d.a.m.n sure which of the occupied can be trusted. You missed one in the White House. If he had interrupted the Security meeting to bring you your messages, he would have been shot."
"Good Lord," Palisser spoke quietly. "Youre everything Hawthorne said you were. Youre not only willing to stand by and permit the President to be a.s.sa.s.sinated, youre actually helping the a.s.sa.s.sin."