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‘Harold said it was from a highly reliable source. The police were withholding the information until they could verify it, but they’re expecting it to be released some time tomorrow. He also said the Bureau was involved.’

The President looked up.

‘The Bureau? Why would they be involved?’

‘I don’t know, Sir.’

‘Ted hasn’t said anything to me.’

‘I don’t know, Sir.’

Martha seemed on the verge of tears. Wade stood and circled his desk once or twice. Watching him, Ellen noticed that his expression gradually became less grave. She could have sworn that, for just a second, he actually smiled to himself.

‘OK, then, here we go,’ the President said eventually. ‘Of course, it’s all very sad. We feel very sorry for Lucia Benoni, whoever she may have been, blah, blah, blah. But, at the same time, and obviously we shouldn’t say this directly, but at the same time, we also feel some relief that this story is now going to go away. Perhaps we might even hint at the possible role of the press in this young woman’s tragic situation, evils of irresponsible reporting, et cetera, et cetera. I leave that up to you.’

Ellen could hardly catch her breath. She looked at Martha, who was staring vacantly at the President.

‘Why do I have the feeling it’s not quite that simple?’ Ellen asked.

‘I have no idea,’ Wade replied. ‘It seems simple enough to me. I take it the
Post
isn’t actually accusing me of killing her. Not that it would surprise me if they did. But in this case, I believe I probably have an alibi.’

Martha looked up.

‘Mr. President, there’s something else.’

Wade raised his arms inquiringly.

‘The
Post
says the police found an S-pass in her purse.’

Ellen swore sharply under her breath. She turned her head away in a sudden fury, and jumped to her feet, ready to storm from the room. But as she did so, Steffie Walinsky entered the office, closely followed by Ted Lazenby. Steffie immediately noted the tension in the air, and regretted not having used the intercom before interrupting.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. President. Do you need the Director to wait for a moment?’

‘No,’ Steve Wade replied, almost savagely. ‘He’s right on time. Come on in, Mr. Director.’

Lazenby realized at once that the President had already been told most of the news he had come to impart. As soon as Steffie had retreated to the safety of her office, the President turned on him violently.

‘Why wasn’t I told?’

‘We are still in the process of verifying the facts, Mr. President. Please understand, this is not really our case. It’s basically a D.C. Police matter. Chief Bryson called us in when they found… I take it you know about…?’

‘The S-pass, yes,’ the President shouted. ‘Yes, I know about it as of about thirty seconds ago. Apparently, I’m the last fucking person in America to find out. Can you explain why the
Washington
fucking
Post
had this information before I did?’

Lazenby’s jaw dropped.

‘The
Post
knows about this?’ he asked, genuinely shocked.

‘They called a little while ago to see if we had any comment,’ Martha replied quietly.

‘Well, they didn’t get it from us,’ Lazenby said emphatically. ‘We’ve kept it under wraps. The only person at the Bureau who knows all the facts is my personal assistant, Agent Kelly Smith. I guarantee you there’s been no leak from the Bureau.’

Steve Wade exploded.

‘I don’t give a flying fuck where the leak came from. The fact is it happened. You’ve known about this all along. Why wasn’t I consulted?’

Ted Lazenby stared at the President for some moments. Shocked as he was, he knew instinctively that the time had come to assert himself.

‘Consulted? With all due respect, Mr. President, this is a criminal investigation. I don’t know why I would consult with the White House about it. I came here today to inform you of certain facts as a matter of courtesy. But that’s as far as I can go. This is not a consultation. I’m sure you understand that.’

The President suddenly picked up an ornamental paper-weight and slammed it down violently on the top of the desk. Ted Lazenby took a deep breath.

‘I don’t expect you to like this, Mr. President, but there is one further fact that I should bring to your attention. There may be nothing in it. We’re checking it out right now.’

The Director felt every eye in the room fasten on him.

‘The Benoni woman lived in New York. The D.C. Police had NYPD check out her apartment, and among other things, they found an address book.’

‘So?’

‘In this address book, there are two things of interest. The first was the name of Hamid Marfrela.’

‘Who?’

Ellen Trevathan gave a deep sigh.

‘He is the Lebanese diplomat suspected of being involved with those fascists in Oregon. Director Lazenby told us about him just a few days ago. Am I right, Mr. Director?’

‘As always, Madam Vice President.’

Steve Wade was thunderstruck. He collapsed heavily into a chair.

‘Well, what does that mean?’

‘We don’t know as yet, Mr. President. It may mean nothing at all. As I said, we’re looking into it now.’

‘What was the second thing?’ Ellen asked.

‘Mr. President, the other thing they found in Lucia Benoni’s address book was the number of your private telephone line here at the White House.’

T
HE
VAN
WAS
large, black, and nondescript. It had no windows. The radio and telephonic aerials were discreetly hidden away at the rear. The only occupant of the van, barely visible through the smoky windshield, was the driver, a casually-dressed man in his early thirties. Finding no empty parking space close enough to the building, the driver double-parked right in front of it without a second thought. His instructions were to get as close as he could. He would have preferred to be less conspicuous, but the rest of the team had to be able to leave the van without attracting attention. The van carried plates which would discourage the police from asking him to move, and the driver had a plan available to deal with any member of the public who might challenge him before a parking space opened up. He put the transmission in park, and turned towards the back of the vehicle, where the other occupants were sitting in silence, too close together for comfort.

‘OK, folks, here we are,
chez
Hamid,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It looks pretty quiet out there. I’m not seeing anything to worry about. But I’ll keep her running until you either come on back out or tell me you don’t need it.’

‘Thanks, Ed,’ Kelly said, getting to her feet. ‘OK, jackets on gentlemen, and remember, we’re going to do this by the book. Let’s not forget our suspect is armed and dangerous. Remember the drill, and be careful.’

One of the five male agents who had been sitting with her inserted a new magazine into his Glock and tested the action.

‘Piece of cake.’

Kelly turned to help Jeff Morris into the black jacket she had brought for him. It had the initials FBI emblazoned on it in gold letters, back and front. All seven team members had donned bullet-proof vests before setting out from Headquarters, and an impressive array of weapons lay at their feet on the floor of the van.

‘Put this on. We’re making you an honorary FBI special agent for the day.’

‘Great,’ Jeff said. ‘A man needs a hobby.’

Kelly swung a fake punch to his jaw.

‘Wise guy. Everyone ready?’

The agents nodded. Kelly opened the back door of the van, and briefly surveyed the scene on the street. As Ed had said, it seemed quiet. But the last thing she wanted on this mission was to draw attention to it, so she took one more long look around. Once she was satisfied, Kelly led the way at a brisk pace to the door of the apartment building in which, at least according to Lucia Benoni, Hamid Marfrela resided. Three of the agents carried sub-machine guns. They would lead the way into the apartment and take the lead in dealing with any resistance. Kelly, Jeff, and the other two agents carried automatic pistols. The entrance to the building was locked. There was an intercom on the wall by the door, which listed the occupants of the building. Silently, Kelly indicated the name ‘Marfrela’ to the lead agents. As Lucia’s address book had indicated, it seemed he did indeed live in apartment 315. One of the agents produced a small metal tool, and within a few seconds, the team entered the building unnoticed. In the van, Ed appeared to be happily engrossed in a sports magazine, without a care in the world.

Speaking in a whisper, Kelly indicated that she and two of the agents with sub-machine guns would take the elevator to the third floor. She directed Jeff to accompany the remaining agents on the staircase.

‘This is just to minimize the risk of escape,’ she said. ‘No one goes in until we’re all in place.’

The elevator was antiquated and slow, providing no advantage over the stairs, with the result that the two teams converged on apartment 315 at the same time. They stood outside, keyed up and ready to go. Kelly looked up and down the corridor. All was still. She nodded to one of the lead agents. He rapped hard on the door several times.

‘FBI. We have a search warrant. Open up.’

The procedure was repeated once more. There was no reaction from within the apartment.

The lead agent looked inquiringly at Kelly. She nodded.

‘Go.’

Within seconds, the agent had fixed a small explosive charge to the lock, and activated it. Jeff Morris had never witnessed the procedure before, and Kelly had to pull him back and make him face away from the door. The explosion, though minor, removed the lock instantly and completely. The lead agents pushed open the door and entered the apartment, their weapons trained ahead of them, ready for any resistance. There was none. Kelly and Jeff followed right behind them. Abruptly, the leaders stopped just inside the door, and Kelly heard one of them curse under his breath.

‘What is it?’ she asked quietly.

The agent stood aside, lowering his weapon to allow her to see for herself.

Sprawled on the floor, its back leaning against a sofa, was the lifeless body of a man. The body had several bullet wounds, and there was a lot of blood.

‘Is that our friend?’ Jeff asked, in a whisper.

Kelly took the photograph supplied by the State Department from inside her jacket and held it up.

‘That’s him,’ she replied quietly. ‘Check out the rest of the apartment. Assume the killer may still be here. Try not to contaminate the scene, but don’t take any risks.’

Silently, the agents moved through the apartment, checking every room and closet for possible hiding places. It did not take long. The apartment was not a large one.

‘Nothing,’ an agent said to Kelly as they returned.

‘Any other way out of the place?’

‘No. Whoever did this came in through the same door we did, and left the same way.’

‘All right. Harry, go down and alert Ed. Have him stay parked right outside the front door, and help him secure the entrance. No one leaves or gets in without showing ID and accounting for themselves. Any questions, you come up and get me.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘I’ll get our forensic people organized,’ Jeff said, taking out his mobile phone.

‘Good,’ Kelly said.

‘So, what do we do now, Kelly?’ an agent asked.

‘We have a search warrant,’ Kelly replied, ‘and we are going to execute it as soon as we can. The problem now is that we can do nothing until the forensic guys get through with the place. I guess the good news is that there’s no rush. We’re not going to be interrupted.’

‘What’s the bad news?’

‘The bad news is that I have to call the Director and tell him what’s happening.’

‘I bet it will make his day.’

‘No kidding.’

‘Anything I can do?’

Kelly considered.

‘Sure. I noticed a coffee shop
just down the street. We’re going to be here for a while. We may as well make ourselves comfortable. Get whatever everybody wants, on me. Mine’s a lattè with an extra shot of espresso.’

‘Can I leave the machine gun here? I don’t want to alarm people unnecessarily.’

‘Good thinking, Ben. I’ll look after it for you.’

Kelly took out her mobile phone and called FBI Headquarters, asking to be patched through to the Director on a secure line. Ted Lazenby had only just returned from the White House, feeling bruised and battered, after a long and angry confrontation with the President, during which he had expressed himself strongly about what he saw as an attempt to interfere with an ongoing criminal investigation. It had even occurred to him to hand in his resignation and take an early retirement to his family home in Wisconsin. It was a possibility he had not yet completely rejected. His mood was not improved by Kelly’s news.

‘This is unbelievable,’ he said, the shock obvious in his voice. ‘Do you have any leads yet?’

‘No, Sir. The D.C. forensic people are on their way. I don’t want to contaminate the scene by getting too close but, from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like a professional hit. There are a number of wounds, but they’re all over the place. I can’t make a search till the forensic guys are through. I’m probably going to be here all day.’

‘Do you need back-up?’

‘Yes, Sir, lots of it. I’d appreciate it if you would call Chief Bryson and have him take over security at the main entrance here. It’s his jurisdiction. We need enough manpower to start interviewing all the other occupants of the building, and at the same time, keep the press at a safe distance. They’ll probably start showing up any minute now.’

‘You got it.’

‘I guess you’ll be informing the Lebanese Embassy?’

‘And the State Department. It’s required in a case involving an accredited diplomat.’

Kelly hesitated.

‘Is there any way you could hold off on that for a while?’

‘Why, Kelly?’

‘To give me time to look around. Once their people get here and start throwing their weight around, it’s going to be a real circus.’

Lazenby sighed deeply.

‘Oh, God, why not? I’m in deep enough as it is.’