Removal Page 7

‘Following up, Mr. President, my network was told that Miss Benoni was the escort of a German diplomat at a function some months ago.’

  ‘If that’s the case, then that’s the case,’ Steve Wade replied testily. ‘I don’t personally supervise everything that goes on at the White House. And I repeat, I have no recollection of ever meeting this woman. Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

  A female reporter for Elle stood up.

  ‘Mr. President, have you talked with the First Lady about this story? How does she feel about it?’

  Steve Wade was already halfway to the door.

  ‘How do you think she feels about it?’ he replied angrily. ‘She wishes you people would leave us alone. And so do I.’

  Martha Graylor was seething as she made her way to the podium to resume what should have been a routine press conference. As soon as she was in place, almost every hand in the room was raised, and a chorus of voices erupted. She cut the first questioner off at the knees.

  ‘Don’t even go there,’ she said. ‘I have nothing to add to what the President has just said. And now, we’re going to talk about the situation in the Middle East.’

  * * *

  As she left the President at the Oval Office, Linda Samuels was fighting off a desire to throw up. Listening to his lies disgusted her. She had even had the uncomfortable feeling that some of the reporters were looking at her, as if they thought she might have something to tell them. Surely that was just her imagination? She walked slowly back to the Presidential Detail office, poured herself a cup of coffee, flopped into a chair, and closed her eyes. Gary Mills opened the door.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Linda. There was a call for you. Sounded urgent.’

  He handed Linda a note.

  ‘Thanks, Gary.’

  ‘The Boss has quite a way with the press, doesn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  Gary grinned maliciously and left the office.

  Linda recognized the number instantly. It was Kelly Smith’s direct line at the Hoover Building. She dialed it absent-mindedly.

  ‘Kelly?’

  ‘Oh. Hi Linda, thanks for calling back so quickly.’

  ‘Sure. What’s up?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Linda, I need you to take a look at a piece of evidence for me, and see if you can identify it.’

  ‘Evidence? What kind of evidence?’

  ‘I can’t go into it over the phone.’

  ‘What makes you think I can help?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Linda. I wish I could tell you more.’

  ‘This is on one of your cases?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I didn’t know I had any information on an FBI case.’

  ‘You may not. But I need you to try.’

  ‘OK,’ Linda said slowly. ‘Can’t you at least give me a clue?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, Linda. It’s something I have to keep the lid on for now. Also, I’m afraid it won’t wait. When can you get away?’

  ‘Today?’ Linda asked in astonishment.

  ‘Today or this evening.’

  ‘I guess I could leave about six. Will that do?’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at your place at seven. Thanks, Linda.’

  Kelly hung up.

  ‘You’re welcome, I’m sure,’ Linda said into the dial tone. Her queasiness was getting worse, and she gulped the hot coffee, hoping it might somehow calm her down and make her feel better.

  Then, just when she had concluded that her day could not get any worse, Bob called.

  10

  ‘HE ACTUALLY HAD the nerve to tell me I should wish him and his new bimbo well, let bygones be bygones. Jesus, where do men get that kind of crap? I mean, we’re not even divorced yet, for Christ’s sake.’

  Linda was sprawling dejectedly in the passenger seat of Kelly’s car, as they made their way through the tail end of the evening rush hour to the Headquarters of the Washington D.C. Police Department. Kelly had made an appointment with Lieutenant Jeff Morris and, feeling pretty sure that the situation was about to take a turn for the worse, she was in no mood for casual conversation. Linda had done most of the talking during the drive.

  ‘It’s almost as though we were never married at all,’ she continued. ‘Four years of my life just erased. He takes a fancy to some new woman and turns me off like a faucet. Why is this happening to me, Kelly? Am I a bad person? Do I have that kind of effect on people?’

  Kelly made an effort.

  ‘No, of course not. He’s just behaving like your typical asshole. I thought he was talking about getting back together?’

  ‘He was. He’ll call and say ‘let’s talk’, we’ll have a drink, and I could swear he’s ready to move back in. Then he’ll call again, say he’s not sure, could we think about it for a while. Then it’s all off again. He’s driving me nuts, Kelly. Every time he calls, I believe him. Even today, I thought it was just possible that he might… oh, what the hell.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like he’s too attached to the bimbo,’ Kelly offered. ‘Maybe he’s not sure what he wants. If it’s any comfort, I bet he will probably dump her before long.’

  ‘I don’t care. Oh God, yes I do. That’s the trouble.’

  Kelly reached out, took her friend’s hand and squeezed hard.

  ‘You deserve better. Just hang in there, Linda. The right guy is out there just waiting for you to find him.’

  ‘He may have some time to wait. Bob may be able to change partners just like that, but I can’t. I’m not available.’

  ‘Well, if I were you,’ Kelly said, ‘I would work on becoming available.’

  ‘I’ll get started on it right now,’ Linda replied.

  They exchanged smiles. Linda turned to look out of the side window of the car, contemplating the people they passed in the street, and suddenly the thought of Bob passed, and she regained her bearings.

  ‘This isn’t the way to your office. We crossed Pennsylvania Avenue a couple of blocks back.’

  ‘We’re not going to my office,’ Kelly said.

  ‘Great. I knew the evidence thing was just a practical joke. You’re taking me out for a wonderful dinner in some fancy restaurant to meet a rich, handsome doctor.’

  Kelly laughed. ‘I wish,’ she said.

  ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘We’re here,’ Kelly announced, pulling up at a parking meter.

  ‘This is the D.C. Police building.’

  ‘Yes. This is where the evidence is.’

  They climbed out of the car. Mechanically, her mind elsewhere, Kelly fed the meter, even though at that hour parking in the street was free.

  ‘I thought you said it was one of your cases,’ Linda said in the elevator.

  ‘It is, in a manner of speaking. It’s under the jurisdiction of the D.C. Police, but they’ve asked the Bureau to help out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  They left the elevator on the third floor, where Jeff Morris had instructed them to meet him. He was waiting, and seemed tired and preoccupied. As she made the introductions, Kelly speculated that Chief Bryson was probably giving him little time to rest. This was a case nobody relished. Headaches all round. Morris led them to a small conference room.

  ‘If you’ll wait here,’ he said, ‘I’ll go to the evidence room and get the exhibit. Help yourselves to coffee. Oh, and Kelly, if you have a moment afterwards, I did get some information about Middle and Near East Holdings, Incorporated.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ Kelly said.

  She poured coffee for Linda and herself.

  ‘Linda, I have to ask you to promise that you will keep what you’re about to see to yourself for a day or two.’

  ‘Can I do that?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t think it will embarrass you. It’s only for a couple of days, anyway.’

  ‘Now I’m really intrigued,’ Linda said, sipping her coffee.

  Jeff returned a minute or two later with the White
House pass in its plastic evidence bag. The bag now had several identifying labels attached to it, signed by Morris and other officers who had handled it in connection with the various forensic tests which had been carried out on the pass. Kelly noted with appreciation that the D.C. Police Department was going strictly by the book. There was a label to account for every time the pass had been removed from, or returned to, the evidence room. Every minute of the exhibit’s time was going to be strictly accounted for. When they had finished showing it to Linda, another label would be attached to the bag. Yet, even though all the handling was necessary and unavoidable, the thought that the pass was being exposed so much worried her. Every exposure was a potential leak, and a leak was the last thing they needed. She removed the pass from the bag and handed it to Linda.

  ‘Do you know what this is?’

  ‘Yes, it’s…’.

  As she took in the photograph and the name on the pass, Linda stopped abruptly. She turned pale, and sat down heavily in a chair.

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘In a moment, Linda. I promise I’ll tell you. But I need an answer first. Do you know what it is?’

  ‘It’s a special White House pass.’

  ‘What do you mean ‘special’?’ Jeff Morris asked.

  Linda’s breathing was audible.

  ‘Can I have some water?’

  ‘Of course.’

  A jug of iced water and some plastic cups had been left next to the coffee. Jeff poured a cup and Linda drank it slowly.

  ‘No one gets into the White House without some kind of pass. There’s a garden variety pass which is issued to employees and frequent business visitors, press people, congressional aides and what have you. Then you have occasional visitors, people who show up from time to time, but not that often. Mostly, they get a day pass. I don’t mean the public, obviously, people taking the tour. I mean people who have some business in the White House and need to get into the non-public areas. But for certain people, who are thought to be important for one reason or another, they can issue one of these. We call them S-passes. It’s a kind of VIP thing.’

  ‘When you say ‘they’ can issue them, who do you mean by ‘they’?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘The White House staff would actually issue them.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Jeff said, ‘but not on their own initiative, right?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, then…?’

  Linda grimaced.

  ‘Something like this would be issued only at the specific request of someone at Cabinet or Department Head level.’

  ‘Does the Secret Service run any security checks before one of these S-passes is issued?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Always. We do it quietly, because we don’t want to offend whoever has requested it. It doesn’t happen very often. We try to discourage it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For security reasons. Because the holder of the pass can pretty much walk in any time, and we have no paperwork beforehand. That kind of thing makes the Detail nervous.’

  ‘Have you ever seen this particular pass before?’ Kelly asked.

  Linda looked at Kelly, then at Jeff Morris.

  ‘Look, I…, I don’t know…’

  Kelly moved closer to Linda.

  ‘Linda, anything you say here will be treated as confidential. But you may as well know that it’s all going to be out in the open before very long. You asked where we got this. Jeff found it in Lucia Benoni’s purse, not far from her body.’

  Linda looked up in horror. Her voice was almost inaudible.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She was murdered. Execution style. Bullet in the back of the head. Probably by some guy she was sleeping with.’

  Linda looked from Kelly Smith to Jeff Morris and back again in disbelief.

  ‘This was the case that was in the papers, the woman whose identity hasn’t been confirmed?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kelly said. ‘But I’m afraid the reports are not quite accurate. We do know her identity, and eventually it’s all going to be out there. All we did was buy a little time. My Director felt it was important that we find out what Lucia Benoni was doing with an S-pass before we go public with it. We thought it might even be a forgery.’

  Linda stared at the pass for some time.

  ‘No. It’s not a forgery.’

  ‘Do you need to scan it to be sure?’

  Linda shook her head.

  ‘You’ve seen it before?’

  ‘Many times.’

  ‘From which I take it she was a fairly regular visitor to the White House?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would there be any record of her visits?’ Morris asked.

  ‘Every one. Date, time, and place.’

  Kelly bit her lip and turned away slightly.

  ‘Linda, this is the woman you were telling me about the other night, isn’t it? The one who was with him in Chicago?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, this pass would have been issued…’

  ‘At the request of the President, yes.’

  Abruptly, Linda Samuels stood and looked Kelly straight in the face. ‘Kelly, how could your people do this?’

  Kelly was taken aback by her vehemence.

  ‘Do what, Linda? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Set the President up like this.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘God damn it, Kelly, you know what I mean.’

  ‘No, Linda,’ Kelly replied with complete sincerity. ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘You’ve known about this ever since the Benoni woman’s body was found, and you let the President go into that news conference this morning and deny knowing her? And now the whole world will know he issued her an S-pass. For God’s sake.’

  Linda was almost shouting. Kelly put her arms on her shoulders and pushed her gently back into the chair.

  ‘Linda, the Bureau has no control over what the President says at press conferences.’

  ‘But if he had known she was dead…’

  ‘Then what? He would have told the truth? Look, Linda, for whatever reason, the President chose to lie about knowing her. What difference does it make whether she’s dead or alive? You just said there were records of her visits anyway. How long do you think it’s going to take the press to find that out? They’ll probably know before we tell them.’

  Linda slumped in her seat, her head between her hands.

  ‘Anyway,’ Kelly added, ‘Don’t tell me you’re suddenly starting to sympathize with him?’

  ‘It’s not a matter of sympathy,’ Linda said quietly. ‘It’s a question of duty. My job is to protect the President.’

  ‘From bullets, yes,’ Kelly said. ‘But from the consequences of his own actions? I don’t think so, Linda.’

  Linda stood and began to walk towards the door.

  ‘I’ll talk to you later,’ she said.

  With a glance at Jeff Morris, Kelly followed Linda out of the conference room and along the corridor, and waited with her for an elevator.

  ‘I was going to take you home.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’ll take a cab. Lieutenant Morris said he had more information for you. I’m done in. I need to get out of here.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be two minutes.’

  Linda made no reply. Kelly pulled her unwillingly into a hug.

  ‘You mad at me?’

  ‘No. Yes. I don’t know. I feel as though I’ve been hit over the head with a sledge hammer. I need time to think.’

  ‘Well, call me.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  As the elevator doors were closing, Linda stopped them with her hands.

  ‘He’s cute.’

  ‘Who is?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Lieutenant Morris.’

  Kelly smiled.

  ‘You interested?’

  ‘Me? No.’

  The door closed and the elevator carried Linda down to the foyer.r />
  11

  KELLY WALKED SLOWLY back to the conference room. Jeff Morris was not there and, having helped herself to a cup of lukewarm coffee, she sat down and absent-mindedly contemplated the bare walls. The tiredness of a long day began to overtake her. A few minutes later, Jeff returned carrying some papers. Kelly stood.

  ‘So, is that the information on the infamous Middle and Near East Holdings?’

  He looked at her inquiringly.

  ‘Is Linda OK?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘She seemed pretty upset.’

  ‘She takes her job very seriously.’

  ‘My boss, right or wrong?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘How about you?’

  Kelly forced herself to drain the last of her coffee, and tossed the empty plastic cup into the waste paper basket.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Me? Oh, I’m fine,’ she replied, a little too quickly. ‘So, that’s the info on Middle and Near East?’

  Jeff looked at her closely for a moment or two.

  ‘You want to get out of here?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You look like you’ve had a hard day. Me too. I’ve been here since seven-thirty this morning, and all I had to eat was a sandwich from the café downstairs. If I don’t eat something soon, I’m going to pass out. There’s a little Italian place around the corner. It’s not bad. We go there all the time. What do you think?’

  Even the idea made Kelly feel better. She decided at once.

  ‘Sure. Why not? If you think the sandwiches here are bad, you should try the grilled cheese à la FBI some time.’

  They sat at a table for two near a window, and idly scanned the menu while the waiter poured glasses of Chianti from a carafe. The restaurant was full of Italian kitsch, the walls adorned with amateur murals depicting bucolic scenes from the Old Country. The accents of the waiters were authentic. It was a slow evening, with only a handful of other diners. Kelly found the quiet atmosphere and the subdued lighting calming and reassuring.

  ‘The fettucini carbonara is to die for,’ Jeff said from behind his menu.

  ‘The heart attack special?’ Kelly smiled. ‘I don’t think so. You go ahead. I think I’ll go with the primavera.’

  They placed the orders, and the waiter disappeared into the kitchen. Jeff seemed in no hurry to get to the subject of the Middle and Near East Holdings Company. He seemed content to sip his wine in silence for a while. To her surprise, Kelly found the silence quite comfortable.