Devil's Eye (4 page)

“
It was.” General Bradley glanced back toward the White House as Caine wended their limousine between security barriers surrounding the Executive Mansion. The limousine entourage separated. Caine exited onto 15th Street and headed south toward the Tidal Basin.

“
I didn’t tell you that she was last seen leaving back there.”

“
The White House?”

“
The White House. Jeannie was last seen leaving a State Dinner given last week in honor of Prince Faisal of Saudi Arabia. With Victor Sherwyck.”

“
Victor Sherwyck? That great philanthropist and confidant of Presidents?” Caine emphasized, mimicking the signature phrase associated with him in news accounts. “Do we arrest him?”

The General looked at Caine with mock sternness. He tolerated that kind of ironic humor from his aide. Their relationship was a bond of friendship. Actually, General Bradley seemed even fatherly with Colonel Caine after his own son, Jeremy, a Marine captain, had perished in a machine
‐
gun attack by tribal gunmen in Africa during a U.S. led humanitarian mission in the early 2000’s.

“
I don’t have to say that the President is pushing us on this one. He wants Jeannie back. We can’t let any terrorists know that we’re still vulnerable; that they can get away with anything after nineeleven—especially so close to the heartbeat of this government.”

Caine nodded in agreement. He accelerated and sped the limousine in the general direction of the Pentagon on the opposite side of the Potomac as fast as Washington traffic would allow.

“
What about Sherwyck, sir?” Caine ventured.

“
No one’s talked with him. It’s an official investigation only since this morning. A very discreet one.”

“
How do we approach one of the President’s best friends about a kidnapping—especially when he’s been the last one to see her before she vanished? High level infidelity seems common nowadays…but high level foul play?”

“
Chris. We’re talking about terrorists here,” General Bradley said emphatically. “No one’s even suggesting anything about Sherwyck. They were guests at a White House State Dinner for chrissake!”

“
The last person to see her is Victor Sherwyck and the next thing we hear is that terrorists are holding her,” Caine declared.

“
Something happened in
‐
between,” General Bradley retorted. “Talk to him. By all means. He should be very helpful. He’s a bachelor, nothing to hide.”

“
He’s an elusive snob.”

“
I know, Chris. That’s why you’ll have to do it in a social setting, among peers, non
‐
directional. He can’t think this is an interrogation.”

Caine said nothing as he deftly switched lanes. General Bradley knew he agreed.

“
In fact, there’s a reception at the Smithsonian tonight. He’s supposed to be there. You’re probably invited yourself—being the southern aristocrat that you are. If not we’ll arrange an invitation.”

“
Yes, sir,” Caine remembered. He had planned on skipping that one.

“
I know you’ll be able to engage him in some cocktail talk. Ease information from him without—” General Bradley paused emphatically and then continued slowly, deliberately, “—without injuring his sensibilities. And for God’s sake Chris, don’t accuse him of anything! Sherwyck’s been a close adviser to the last three Presidents. He’s practically a national institution.”

“
Yes, sir.” Colonel Caine gazed out his window at the Jefferson Memorial as they skirted the Tidal Basin toward the Potomac.

“
Poor Jeannie,” he thought. He remembered the few times, he himself, had spent with her; an uninhibited, beautiful young woman who thought the world was inhabited by people in tuxedos and evening gowns. It was Jeannie who was most vulnerable, he thought, and now Caine felt somehow better that he had never tried to seduce her.

As he drove his General across the George Mason Bridge a charcoal mockingbird sallied from the treetops lining the Tidal Basin and bounded along above them. When the car crossed the bridge, the bird veered off. It flew to the Lincoln Memorial then darted back along the Reflecting Pool toward the Washington Monument and the Mall beyond, finally alighting on a ledge of the old red Castle of the Smithsonian Institution.

Chapter 2

“
Damn it!” said the President as he entered the Oval Office and hurried to his desk. He was followed close behind by a small group of aides and advisers. He sat down heavily in his ornate leather chair.

“
The conspiracy theorists are going to have a field day with this one. McConnell’s been at my throat for most of my term. Legislative blackmail! She’s a flaming ideologue! Now, I’ll bet you half this country is going to think I had something to do with Jeannie’s disappearance!”

The advisers arranged around his desk looked at him impassively. “All right. Half the
kooks
in this country,” the President stated, as if in explanation.

“
We understand, Mr. President,” soothed George Brandon, his chief of staff. “It’s just that it’s sometimes hard to separate personal matters from affairs of state—especially in this age of the internet and tabloid newspapers. Everybody’s an expert and anything goes.”

“
I know, George, I know,” the President said with frustration. “Twenty or thirty years ago, this kind of reaction wouldn’t have entered my mind—or yours. I’m afraid as a society, we’ve slipped down a few more notches. What is it in the last half century that we’ve lowered the threshold on everything we used to believe in?”

“
Jeannie’s disappearance could well be linked with affairs of state,” added Paul McCallister, a senior adviser. “Unless we come by other information to the contrary, we have to presume that some terrorist group or network has raised the stakes on us. They’re no longer going for numbers. They’re going for well
‐
known names in the heart of our system.”

The President looked thoughtfully at McCallister then at each of the others. “Maybe so, gentlemen. Maybe so.” He pondered a moment, knowing the last to see her was his close friend, Victor Sherwyck. “I know what we heard at the meeting, but do you think we might be overreacting? Maybe she is taking some extra time with someone—if you know what I mean.”

“
It’s a terrorist operation,” said Stanford Howard, the national security adviser. “The CIA’s source has always been a good one. Warlock doesn’t pop up often, but he’s always been on the money.”

“
Who is this Warlock, anyway?” the President asked.

“
It’s an unusual setup, Mr. President,” the national security adviser replied. Stanford Howard quickly looked at each of the men around him to assure himself that all had the level of security clearance to hear what he was about to say.

“
Would you excuse us, please?” Howard said facing two of the aides.

The two dutifully left the room.

When the door to the Oval Office closed, Howard spoke. “Warlock presented himself to Senator Everret Dunne. Dunne was a junior member of the Foreign Relations Committee. He approached Dunne in Moscow during an exchange visit. Said he found religion. He’s been feeding us information through Senator Dunne ever since.”

“
Found religion?”

“
Yes, sir. Apparently he was turned by some life
‐
changing experience with his cohorts in the secret police.”

“
He doesn’t ask for anything in return?”

“
No, Mr. President. He claims it’s his duty to his fellow
‐
man. For a stable world.”

“
Yeah, right!” the President mocked. “So, who the hell is he?”

The national security adviser glanced at each of the men present and spoke somberly. Senator Dunne says his name is Nicholai Kuznetsov. He was high level KGB.”

“
Senator Dunne says this, Senator Dunne says that,” the President mimicked. “Is this for real? What does the CIA say? Is this old KGB? Warmed
‐
over KGB, the Russian Organization for State Security? Russian mafia? What?”

“
That’s just it, Mr. President,” Stanford Howard said hesitatingly. “The one condition Warlock gave was that no one else know anything about him—only Senator Dunne. Dunne is the conduit,” the national security adviser explained. “Dunne passes the information to CIA through Bob Coulson, head of counterintelligence at Langley. And Warlock has been genuine each of the times he’s given us information.”

“
Why isn’t the CIA handling him?” the President asked. “This is very unusual.”

“
Yes, sir,” Stanford Howard answered sheepishly. “Warlock insisted it be outside the CIA.” The national security adviser paused, then continued cautiously—“He says we’re infiltrated. He’d be exposed. So he deals with us only through Senator Dunne.”

“
Infiltrated?” the President asked sternly. “Again?”

“
I’m certain, we’re not, Mr. President,” Howard assured. “Not anymore. We’ve taken extraordinary measures since the last time. But it’s a common fear of any informant.”

“
More like paranoia,” adviser McCallister added for emphasis.

There was an embarrassed silence. The President did not seem persuaded by the assurances.

“
Why Senator Dunne?” the President asked with a skeptical look still on his face.

“
It just worked out, I guess,” the national security adviser replied. “The contact through Senator Dunne seemed to have been secure all these years, so Warlock trusted it. Now Dunne is Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Warlock couldn’t have dreamed of a more high
‐
placed sounding board.”

“
Or patsy,” the President felt obligated to say. “How does Langley take all this?”

“
They tolerate it, sir. As long as information is genuine. And it has been up to now.”

“
So, that’s why we know terrorists grabbed Jeannie?”

“
That’s what we have to believe, Mr. President,” Stanford Howard affirmed. “That’s the only reliable information we have.”

“
That’s the
only
information we have,” the President corrected. “Did Everret give this guy his code name?”

“
No, sir. Senator Dunne says Nicholai Kuznetsov coined it himself. Kuznetsov directed that that’s how he should be identified. Warlock.”

“
And Dunne’s met him?” the President reiterated.

“
Yes,” said the national security adviser. “He says the guy approached him in Moscow a long time ago, during an official visit. Now Senator Dunne is a valuable go
‐
between for hard intelligence. We have to take it any way we can get it.”

“
Very well, gentlemen,” the President declared. “It’s an unusual step. Unusual, but I agree. As long as we get good intelligence—“ the President let the sentence trail away.

Before the President could ask the obvious, Paul McCallister offered, “I saw the Senator two days ago. He told me Warlock sought him out in Moscow just as he was about to return from his fact
‐
finding trip on our latest missile placement talks.”

“
That’s when he told him about Jeannie?”

“
As much as he knew, Mr. President.”

“
Shall we bring in Michelle McConnell?”

“
No. As far as everyone knows this is a local police matter. I’ll phone her and express my concern over her daughter. We can’t let on that this is a matter of state. Not unless at some point we’ll have to. I’ll just tell her for now that we’re closely monitoring the situation— unofficially.”

“
Yes, sir,” several advisers replied in unison.

“
Where’s Victor Sherwyck?” the President asked abruptly.

“
He’s in town somewhere, sir,” the chief of staff replied. “He’s due at a reception at the Smithsonian this evening.”

“
Oh, yes, of course. Catch up with him. Put him on the schedule for a meeting—maybe lunch.”

“
Yes, sir,” Brandon said perfunctorily.

“
I want this whole thing wrapped fast,” the President directed, knowing he had no real control over the outcome.