The Lie (37 page)

He had just made and acted upon what had to be one of the key decisions of his life and he felt good about it. The secret
was to keep your eyes on the prize and freeze whatever might get in the way. His own prize would still sit him at the head
of the table, right beside the brand new president of the United States.

Five thousand miles away, Anna hung up her own receiver, switched off the audiotape on which her entire conversation with
Ken Harris had just been recorded, and looked at the two men who had been listening to every word.

“Well, do you still have doubts?” she asked.

Paulie Walters and Tommy Cortlandt sat without answering.

“I still can’t understand his motive,” Cortlandt said. “What does he get out of Jimmy Dunster’s death?”

“How about getting his oldest and closest friend into the Oval Office?” said Paulie.

“Who is that?” asked Anna.

“The vice president.”

The CIA director turned to look at Paulie. “I’d completely forgotten about their being that close.”

“But why should it matter so much
why
the man wants the president dead?” said Anna. “Isn’t it enough that he’s trying to kill him?”

“No it’s not enough,” said Cortlandt. “Because if Ken Harris
is
trying to murder the president to get Fleming into the Oval Office, then Fleming himself has to be part of it.” He paused.
“Even if he
was
the one who warned me about your coming.”

N
ICKO
V
ORELLI’S
S
CHEDULE
had Kate Dinneson flying via Air France to Paris soon after the Del Guardo Building blew up.

After she landed and cleared customs at Charles de Gaulle Airport, she was able to stop at a terminal newsstand, buy a late
edition, and read a headline that said “Mainz Keeps Word in Rome Bombing.” She saved the story itself to read later.

A car had been left for her at a designated parking space in an airport garage. Its keys were taped behind the rear bumper
and a bag in the trunk contained everything she would need to work with that night.

She took a moment to make sure it was all in order. Then she left the airport and drove directly to an undistinguished commercial
hotel on the outskirts of Paris.

Kate was in her room by 8:00
P.M.
, feeling tired and dirty. She had not eaten since barely nibbling a light snack on the plane, but the thought of food repelled
her.

And now?
she thought.

Now she was in France to send out eight more of Nicko’s faxes under the byline of Alfred Mainz. She took out a copy of the
directive she would soon be sending to seven newspapers and a wire service in widely spaced cities, and read it through once
more.

This is the second open letter from Professor Alfred Mainz.

The Del Guardo Building in Rome is down. I can only hope that this joyless act of destruction established my believability.

Here are my requests:

To begin with, a cash payment of one hundred million American dollars in used, unmarked currency of twenty-, fifty-, and hundred-dollar
denominations, to be contributed jointly by the seven nations represented at the Wannsee Human Rights Conference.

The time, place, and manner of the delivery will be communicated to President Dunster shortly after this notice is made public.
From that moment on, a clock will be ticking. If delivery of the money is not made within twenty-four hours, a second building
will be blown in another of the seven nations involved at Wannsee.

This time there will be no advance warning.

The money will be used solely to support the practical needs and infrastructure of what shall hereafter be referred to as
the Wannsee Project.

After the money transfer, arrangements will be made for a second human rights conference at Wannsee. This will be a summit
meeting of heads of state, but with all my previously announced goals for central and western Africa and other trouble spots
still in effect.

I pray for President Dunster’s continued recovery from his grievous wounds, as well as for the survival of his courageous
wife.

It is in honor of Mrs. Dunster, and in appreciation of the president’s own efforts to validate what I myself was seeking at
Wannsee, that I have chosen him as my trusted intermediary for whatever negotiations lie ahead.

I am putting the future of the Wannsee Project squarely in his hands. Considering the heart and spirit he brought with him
to Wannsee, who could do better?

May God and good luck be with us all.

Professor Alfred Mainz.

The Wannsee Project
, thought Kate Dinneson.

Nicko had christened it with a name and it had a fine
ring. Who could deny the nobility of its goals? But the potential for disaster suddenly seemed so open-ended, that all she
was able to feel was a growing sense of dread.

Kate left the hotel at 1:00
A.M.
and drove about five miles to the headquarters building of the Sevrès Insurance Company on the western end of the Rue de
Montaigne.

She parked a short distance away and let herself into the building through the service entrance with her accustomed skill
and dispatch.

Using the same procedures as in Naples, Kate faxed Nicko’s second message to the same seven newspapers and one wire service
that had received his first.

Driving away from the site when she was finished, Kate felt immeasurably better for having done a bit of physical busywork.

Just stay with the step-by-step details and don’t think too much
, she told herself.

Yet driving through the dark, deserted streets in the outskirts of Paris, she wondered who she was and what she was doing
there.

T
HE
W
ASHINGTON
B
UREAU
of the International News Service received Kate’s latest fax at exactly 7:46
P.M.
local time, and sent the alleged Professor Mainz’s message out to its affiliates and subscribers about twenty minutes later.

CIA Director Tommy Cortlandt was awakened to the news by a call at 3:15
A.M.
Berlin time, and passed the report on almost immediately to Paulie and Anna. They were all spending the night together in
Anna’s apartment, with Anna herself handcuffed to her own bed, and Paulie and Cortlandt sharing an oversize convertible couch.

Cortlandt made a quick call to Holy Cross General for the latest on the president’s condition. When he learned that Jimmy
Dunster was much improved and trying to order everyone to take him to see his wife, the three of them left at once for the
hospital.

The president was awake when they arrived half an hour later. His eyes brightened when he saw Paulie and Cortlandt. Anna’s
presence, of course, puzzled him.

“What are you planning to do?” he asked. “Give her another shot at me?”

The doctor checked his chart and monitors, issued his visitors a warning not to tire him, and left the room.

Jimmy Dunster held out a pale, veined hand and Paulie took it, aware of the fragility of the bones. Yet the president
did seem a lot more alert. When he spoke, his speech was no longer hesitant.

“All right, tell me what’s going on,” he said, “and why the hell I can’t at least get to look at Maggie. Comatose or not,
I want to see her.”

Tommy Cortlandt stepped closer with Anna. “Mr. President, this is Anna,” he told Dunster. “She has some things to say that
we’d like you to hear. I promise we’ll talk about your wife later, sir.”

In her quiet, controlled voice and her near perfect English, Anna told the president of the United States everything she had
previously told Paulie Walters and the CIA director. She spoke without emotion, and Jimmy Dunster listened the same way, except
for the single moment when she said that Deputy Director Ken Harris had not only hired her to shoot Dunster in his hospital
bed, but had probably been behind the explosion at Wannsee as well. Then a tear suddenly appeared in a corner of Jimmy Dunster’s
eye and ran the length of his face, dropping straight and fast.

The president looked at Paulie and Cortlandt. “You two can attest to everything she’s said?”

They nodded.

“And you have this entire conversation with Harris recorded?”

“From beginning to end, sir,” said Cortlandt.

“What else do we need?”

“Some proof that the vice president was involved in, or at least aware of, these attempts on your life,” said Paulie.

“How do we get proof?”

“Anna thinks she can do it,” Paulie answered.

“
Anna
thinks?” His head propped on fat pillows, Jimmy Dunster considered the woman who had come here to shoot him not too many
hours before. “Can you also walk on water, Anna?”

“Just in extreme emergencies, Mr. President.” She smiled. “And then I must admit it’s only a simulation.”

Jimmy Dunster closed his eyes. “See that the lady has whatever help she needs. But for God’s sake, keep her on a short leash.”

He opened his eyes and focused them on Tommy Cortlandt. “You didn’t walk in here at four in the morning just for this. Let
me hear the rest of it. Is it our dear professor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course. What’s the bad news?”

A CIA duty officer had provided Cortlandt with the full wire-service report over the phone, and the director had taken careful
notes. He read these now to the president, point by point.

Jimmy Dunster lay completely still, listening.

When Cortlandt finished reading, the president turned his head and looked at him.

“Imagine,” he said. “The man has actually put it all in
my
hands.”

“Are you going to do it, Mr. President?” Paulie asked.

In a movement so small that Paulie could not even be sure he saw it, Jimmy Dunster nodded.

Naturally
, Paulie thought.

“Now take me to my wife,” demanded the president.

They put him on a wheeled stretcher and went in a small convoy of tubes, mobile IVs, security agents, doctors, and nurses.
When they reached the intensive care unit where Maggie Dunster lay swathed in bandages, Jimmy Dunster said, “Just leave me
alone with her for five minutes.”

Everyone stood silently in the corridor until the five minutes were over.

K
ATE
D
INNESON HAD A QUICK BREAKFAST
in her hotel room. Then she picked up her car and drove into the heart of Paris through a pale wash of morning sun.

On the seat beside her, the front page of the morning’s paper carried a heavy black headline that read “Mainz Sets Terms.”

One more example of Nicko’s creative brilliance, Kate thought.

She parked a few blocks off the Champs Elysées. Then she walked to a group of public phones in a shopping arcade to make her
calls.

Her first call was to the American consulate in Berlin, where she was able to reach an assistant to the consul general.

“Please listen carefully,” she said in English. “I’m calling as a representative of Professor Alfred Mainz to deliver a message
to CIA Director Thomas Cortlandt.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Please tell Director Cortlandt that I’ll be calling President Dunster at Holy Cross General Hospital in exactly fifteen minutes.
Tell him to alert the main switchboard to expect my call and to put me right through to the president.” She paused. “Any questions
about that?”

“No, madam.”

“Then I thank you for your cooperation,” Kate said, and hung up.

Fifteen minutes later, she made her next call from five blocks away.

“Holy Cross General Hospital,” said an operator.

“President Dunster is expecting my call,” said Kate. “Please connect me.”

It seemed to take a long time. Actually, it was no more than twelve seconds.

“This is Jimmy Dunster,” said a hoarse voice.

Kate was holding a page of scrawled notes and the paper was shaking in her hands.

“For the record, Mr. President,” said Kate Dinneson, “my name is Beatrice and I’m only a messenger for Professor Mainz. I
have no part in the Project.”

The line was silent.

“In this same vein,” said Kate, “any effort to trace this call or any future calls, or to interfere with the safe transfer
of the cash payment we’re about to discuss, will automatically result in the blowing of the next building.”

“I understand.”

“Then I’11 get right to it, Mr. President. The monies in question are to be placed in three suitcases and left in the trunk
of a gray Citroen sedan that will be parked in the garage at the corner of the Boulevard de la Chapelle and the Rue de Flandre
in Paris. The car will be in space 26, on aisle B, of the third floor. The door will be unlocked, and the trunk key will be
under the driver’s seat.”

“Excuse me, Beatrice,” said Jimmy Dunster. “I’ll need a moment to repeat all that for someone to write down.”

“Take your time, Mr. President.”

Waiting, Kate studied her detailed instructions. At least the paper had stopped shaking.

“All right,” said the president. “But I’m worried about the professor’s twenty-four-hour time limit. There are seven heads
of state who have to consult on every decision. What I’d like is some extra time as a safeguard.”

“How much time are you talking about, sir?”

“An additional twenty-four hours.”

“You have it,” said Kate.

“You can make that decision on your own?”

“Professor Mainz anticipated your request. Forty-eight hours from noon today, Berlin time, was his outside limit.”

“How do I reach you if there’s a problem?”

Kate read off the telephone number of an answering service in Paris. “If you call and ask for Beatrice, they’ll beep me and
I’ll get right back to you.”

“I’ll have a conference call set up with the other heads of state and reach you as fast as I can,” said Dunster.

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Kate hesitated. “I’m so sorry about you, your wife, and your troubles.”