Against All Enemies (10 page)

“Cassidy’s not around?” Ben Cassidy had been California’s state attorney general and when the President appointed him as the U.S. assistant attorney general in charge of special investigations, Beth had moved with him to Washington.

At first, her face was a blank. Then she gave him a lovely little half-smile that started with her lips and spread to her blue eyes. “I see them—occasionally. Margo always asks about you.” Margo was Cassidy’s wife who had been Sutherland’s consolation prize when Beth and Ben had been screwing like bunnies. “Margo needed you,” Beth said. “You helped her over some rough spots in their marriage.”

“Ah. Substitute penis therapy—a wonderful thing.”

“Hank, don’t be bitter.” She moved off the arm of his chair, her breasts brushing against his shoulder. He tried to tell himself that was an accident. But nothing Beth Page did was an accident.

“So what brings you to the lovely little town of Sacra-tomato?”

“I’m covering a rally at the Capitol tomorrow.”

“Freelancing again?” he asked. Beth had occasionally played at being a reporter. While she was very good at it, she found it boring.

“Just covering it for a friend.” She gave him her let’s-get-serious-look. “Meredith is going to make an appearance.”

Sutherland’s interest ratcheted up a few notches.
So now you’re interested in Meredith. It figures
. “Really?”

“No, Hank. It’s not what you think. This is just an assignment.”

He changed the subject. “Where are you staying?” There were few hotels in Sacramento that were up to Beth’s standard.

“Here.”

Sutherland laughed. “You’ll love sleeping on the couch.”

Again, the smile. “I don’t think you’ll mind where I sleep.” She grabbed a towel and disappeared out the front door, headed for the pool.

Damn
, he lamented to himself.
She’s right
.

7:00
A.M.
, Saturday, May 1,
Camp David, Md.

It was early and the road leading up to the President’s rustic retreat at Camp David was deserted. “This is beautiful country,” Art Rios said as he turned up the lane leading to the compound. He stopped at the sign warning all unauthorized vehicles to turn back. An extremely sharp soldier wearing camouflaged battle dress appeared and asked Rios for his identification. He glanced in the backseat. Without asking for Durant’s identification, he spoke into his radio, describing the occupants of the car. He stood back and waved them through.

The President was sitting on the deck outside his suite with four of his staff when Durant joined them. He sat down, thinking what it would be like never to be alone, to always have someone dancing attendance or a huge staff just out of eyesight. “Nelson,” the President said, “we have a problem. Have you seen the videotape?”

Durant assumed he was referring to the video of the two pilots in their cage at El Fasher being pummeled with rocks. “Yes, sir,” he replied.

“I want those two men out,” the President said. “My God, if that tape ever became public—” The implications were so horrendous that he couldn’t finish the thought.

Kyle Broderick took over. “We want to put all our options in play.”

“That could be very counterproductive,” Durant replied, wondering what idiots the President was listening to.

“Specifically,” Broderick said, “we want to mount a rescue mission if our other efforts to secure their release fail.”

Durant did not reply. He had pulled off three operations on his own to rescue his employees from Iran, Iraq, and Syria and knew the dangers involved. All three missions had been models of planning and training, yet when it came to execution, nothing had gone as planned and only brilliant improvisation had saved the day. The President leaned forward. “Nelson, I want you to do this for us.”

“With all due respect, Mr. President, this is what you have the CIA and special forces for.”

“I don’t think the CIA can do this one,” the senior policy adviser replied. “Not with their internal problems.” Head nods all around indicated everyone agreed with him. “As for special forces, well, they do not have a sterling record.”

Durant spoke in a quiet voice without emotion. “Of course not, not the way you hamstring them.”

The President quickly intervened. “Nelson, we are aware of the successes you’ve had in rescuing your employees out of the Middle East. We’re hoping you can do it again. If you agree, I will make available whatever resources you need.”

Durant arched an eyebrow. The President was in his political mode. “Do those resources include the CIA and FBI?”

Broderick shook his head. “Out of the question.”

“Under those conditions,” Durant replied, “no thank you.” He stood up to leave. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

The President held up his hand and smiled. “Not so fast, Nelson. We need to talk about this.”

“In private, Mr. President?”

The President nodded and his advisers withdrew, leaving them alone on the deck. The President walked to the rail and looked into the trees. “I wish I could spend more time here.”

Durant joined him and rested his elbows on the rail, his hands clasped in front of him. “It’s not your style, Jim. You’d get bored after a few days.”

“You’re probably right. Okay, Nelson, what’s the problem?”

“Those two pilots are high visibility and the Sudanese will be expecting a rescue mission.”

“Are you saying the risks are too high?”

“It can be done.”

“What will it take?”

Durant thought for a moment. “The operation needs to be small, focused, and under tight control. You can’t have that when every agency in the government is demanding a piece of the action. If I’m going to do it, I’ll need total authority. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is hands off while we put it together. That means nothing happens in the Sudan without going through me.”

The President shook his head. “You’re asking for too much. I can’t cut everyone out of the loop like that.”

“Well, like I said, good luck.”

“Are you going to be a hard-ass on this one, Nelson?”

Durant considered his answer. “Yes, sir, I am.”

“Okay, you got it. I’ll give you every hammer you need. Don’t break too many heads.”

“Only if they get in the way.”

7:30
A.M.
, Saturday, May 1,
Sacramento, Calif.

As usual, Sutherland needed coffee to penetrate the haze that enveloped him after a night with Beth. He was on his second cup when she walked out of the bedroom, naked and half-asleep. He handed her a steaming mug that she cupped with both hands as she sipped. He waited while the caffeine did its trick and watched her come alive. It was the one thing about her he still truly loved. Later, when the old Beth was firmly back in control, she became another person. She tossed her hair back and handed him the mug. “We’re late,” she said. “Give me ten minutes. We’ll walk over to the Capitol.”

“Why walk?”

“It’s nice out and parking is going to be a bear.”

Reluctantly, Sutherland admitted Beth had made the right decision as they walked to the Capitol. The traffic streaming into the downtown area was unusually heavy for a Saturday morning and the temperature was still in the low eighties. A gentle river breeze rustled the leaves as they crossed the Discovery Park bridge. The same breeze blew away the smoke that was coming from campfires at the homeless camp further up the bike trail along the American River.

“It’s going to be hot today,” he told her.

“That’s why they planned the rally for the morning.” She scanned the crowd as they walked up Capitol Mall toward the Capitol building. “How many do you think are already here?”

“Twenty or thirty thousand.” A group of purple-robed millenarians carrying signs announcing the end of the world pushed their way into H Street and stopped traffic. “What the hell,” Sutherland muttered. “That’s asking for trouble.” A car skidded to a stop, horn honking. The driver bounced out of the car and started pushing the millenarians out of the way. Within moments, people were shoving and yelling at one another. It radiated down H Street like a wave as more and more people joined in, adding to the chaos. Suddenly, a group of white-shirted young men surged out of the parking structure across the street from the Capitol building. They dispersed into the crowd and as quickly as it had started, the disturbance died away.

“Are those guys in the white shirts part of Meredith’s First Brigade?” Beth asked.

“I think so.” Sutherland looked around for other outbreaks but everything was under control. He followed Beth as she shouldered her way to a side door on the north side of the Capitol building. She identified herself and received a press badge. With a little wangling, it didn’t take much, she also got a badge for Sutherland. They walked through the building and the main rotunda before going outside onto the front steps. A roped-off area for the press was set up next to the temporary stage. Sutherland studied the sea of faces stretched out below him. All traffic had been diverted and people were pouring in from every direction. “It’s a lot more than thirty thousand,” he told Beth. “A lot more.”

Sutherland had attended political rallies before but nothing matched the size or fervor he saw in this crowd. It was like spontaneous combustion and threatened to consume anyone or anything in its path. The chant “JON-A-THON, JON-A-THON” swept over the crowd and grew in intensity. Finally, the crowd boomed as one voice and could be heard over a mile away. Then Meredith was there, standing on the stage as the sound washed over him.

Slowly, he raised his right arm to silence the crowd and as quickly as the chant had begun, it died away. Beth pulled a pair of small binoculars out of her bag and shoved them into Sutherland’s hand. “Scan the crowd.”

Sutherland did as she commanded. At the far end of the Mall, people were still arriving. Then he focused on the faces nearest him as he listened to Meredith. Most were ordinary people who could be found on any freeway at rush hour, fighting their way to work or home. They listened with rapt attention as Meredith spun his magic, capturing them with his words.

“We honor our fellow citizens from the inner city and we want them to join us. We gladly accept them with all their strengths and weaknesses, but we all must remember that minorities only exist at the goodwill of the majority. They must accept our culture and our standards of behavior if they are to march with us into the twenty-first century. And we will prevail because our cause is just, because of our renewed belief in God, because we are confident in ourselves and ready to meet any challenge.”

“This is new,” Beth said.

Sutherland agreed. “He’s playing the race card. It’s a trial balloon and he’ll drop it in a heartbeat if it doesn’t fly.” Through the binoculars, he saw a number of clenched fists and mouthed “Right on” responses from the discontented racists looking for scapegoats. Others nodded in solemnity while wondrous looks glowed in the faces of others.

“Are the people buying it?” Beth asked.

Sutherland paused. What was he actually seeing? Then it hit him. “They’re a multitude of true believers,” he told her. “Meredith is a religious experience.”

“Make that multitudes of true believers,” a familiar voice said behind him. Sutherland turned to see Marcy Bangor. She was looking at Beth.

“Hello, Marcy.”

She gave him a little smile. “Hello, yourself.”

Before Sutherland could introduce Marcy to Beth, Meredith’s voice became more compelling, more forceful. All of Sutherland’s instincts went into full alarm. Something new was coming and if he had been in a courtroom, he would be petitioning the judge for a recess to break the building momentum. But nothing could stop what was going to happen.

“But I am worried about our inner cities,” Meredith intoned.

Sutherland was focused on a young couple. They were obviously well-off professionals.
Meredith says he’s worried and they panic
, he thought.

“…Some of our brothers and sisters have turned to a new and far more destructive behavior than burning down their own neighborhoods.”

“Doesn’t he know a cry for help when he hears it?” Marcy asked, not expecting an answer.

“…And they are actively conspiring against our great nation!” Meredith shouted. The crowd roared back in approval. For a reason he could not understand, Sutherland felt the sharp edge of panic rip at him.

“…It is for us to save them from this self-destructive behavior,” Meredith said, spinning down from the emotional high he had created. Sutherland could hardly credit how relieved he felt. Meredith had even drawn him in. Not the way he intended, but just as surely. Then Meredith’s words were louder, building to a terrible finality. “…and if our leaders will not protect this great country against all enemies, then WE WILL!”

The ovation physically rocked Sutherland backward and he couldn’t move.

“Who is she?” Beth asked as they walked back to Sutherland’s apartment.

“Marcy?” he answered absentmindedly. Sweat was streaking down his back and he was glad he had brought an old Panama hat. “An acquaintance. A reporter from the
Sacramento Union
.”

Her hand touched his left elbow. “Is she—?” Beth deliberately dropped the rest of her question, fishing for whatever answer Sutherland might provide.

“Is she what?”

Beth sighed. The old tricks weren’t working. “Are you two—you know?”

“Do you want the clinical details?” She nodded and Sutherland gave her his best grin. “Piss off, Beth. It’s none of your business. Not anymore.”

Beth cut her loses and changed the subject. “Meredith’s remarks about protecting our country from, what did he say? ‘…against all enemies.’” She was still fishing.

“It scared me. He’s feeding the damned craziness—” He searched for the right words to describe what was going on. “It’s like society is experiencing some sort of meltdown.” They walked in silence, skirting a large group of people who were kneeling in prayer. The group was growing like an amoeba as more people, many carrying signs, joined in. “Look at that one,” Sutherland said, pointing to a large sign waving above the kneeling people.

JFK
WAS AT
R
OSWELL

When they reached the midspan of the Discovery Park bridge, Beth stopped and leaned over the rail, looking at the confluence of the American and Sacramento Rivers. It was get-very-serious-time. “Do you think what Meredith said has anything to do with the spy at Whiteman Air Force Base?”

Sutherland was not surprised she had made that connection. Probably half the media’s assignment editors had already reached the same conclusion. His answer was a noncommittal “Could be.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“Not much. The colonel I work for at the base asked if I wanted to prosecute it.”
Why did I tell her that? Dumb
.

She turned to look at him and for a brief moment, the old partnership was back. “Are you going to take it?”

She wants me to take it
, he thought. But their relationship had changed, and it was easy to fight the urge to please her. “No way. This is tailor-made for Meredith. You’ve seen the bastard in action and he’s going to ride the livin’ hell out of this case. This is going to be a threering circus. It’ll burn everyone it touches. Especially if the guy is acquitted. I got clobbered by Meredith in what should have been a slam dunk case, and I’m not about to go through it again.”

“I think you should.” Now it was his turn to stare at the river. Her hand was on his arm, gently squeezing, insisting. “Hank, you can keep it from turning into a circus. You can keep them honest.”

“Can I?”

“Yes, you can.” She paused. “This could be the break you’re looking for.”