The Sentinel (13 page)

Breckinridge's father had been an oil-rig worker who spent many months away from home each year. She had been a Daddy's girl, and had written him every day when he was away from home on the job.

The display screen flashed the message NOT IN FILE.

"Goddamn it."

"Let's try the number using the dialing codes around Washington, D.C.," Kallenstien said.

"Good idea."

Breckinridge dialed the first number. It was not in service. She dialed the second number. A woman answered in the Spanish language.

"You speak Spanish?"

Kallenstien said she did, and Breckinridge handed her the receiver. Kallenstien held a short conversation in Spanish, then dropped the receiver onto the cradle.

"That was the sister of a retired postal worker. She doesn't know anything about her phone number being on a threat letter. She's been in the country for two years and she cleans houses for a living. She doesn't know anyone in the Aryan Disciples. She sounds legit."

Breckinridge and Kallenstien used computers to verify that the person to whom the telephone was registered had no criminal record, and to query telephone company security representatives in other telephone dialing codes across the country to obtain the registered users of the telephone number in question. Of the eighty numbers they came up with, more than half were no longer in service. Of those remaining, many were registered to phone booths and business addresses. As for the few that were registered to private persons, only a few of the persons had criminal records. One was a child molester, and the other was a man who had a juvenile record for car theft. Finally, Breckinridge stood and walked to the water cooler. Kallenstien followed. They sipped water for a minute or so.

"So the phone number is like a dead lead."

"Something else will come up," Kallenstien said. "Anyone could have written down a number on some piece of paper that was later used for the threat letter.

Don't let it get you down."

"The lady the number registers to. Would you interview her in person? Maybe there will be something."

"Sure."

"We don't have much else to go on."

"Martha, you look like you could use a drink."

Breckinridge nodded agreement. It had been a long day.

As they were leaving the office, Kallenstien mentioned the subject of the lie-detector tests that were being given to every agent on the White House Detail. Breckinridge didn't let on that she knew their real purpose.

"The operator said it was a routine security investigation, but I don't buy it," said Rachel. "The questions didn't jibe. I think they are trying to camouflage an internal investigation. There is no other reason for putting everyone on the box like that."

"Rach, you're a very observant person."

"Sounds like you may know something I don't."

"All I can tell you at this point is that it is a high-power investigation."

"You little tease."

"I've been ordered not to talk about what I know. But ... thanks for the help on this Aryan Disciples case.

"The ADs?" Kallenstien asked.

Breckinridge nodded.

"If it's an internal investigation, that could mean that someone in the Service may be suspected of having some connection with the ADs."

Breckinridge nodded.

"Wow."

****

CHAPTER 10

IN WHITE HOUSE Room 5711, sitting in a chair next to a polygraph machine, Garrison had sensors attached to his index fingers and chest.

The polygraph operator, Army Intelligence Lieutenant Mary Nicklanovich, was monitoring the polygraph stylus as it rolled ink onto moving paper. Prior to beginning the test, she'd introduced herself to him and had told him the test was required of all special agents because of newly formulated government security regulations. Garrison hadn't believed her.

"Are you acting as an agent of a foreign power?"

"No."

"Have you lied on your daily report during the last thirty days?"

"No."

"Have you done anything to endanger the President of the United States?"

Nicklanovich was the polygrapher used in the most sensitive White House internal investigations. She was a trim, athletic woman with a pixie haircut and broad. Slavic features. Her uniform fit her perfectly.

"No."

Garrison stared at a framed color photograph on the facing wall of President Ford playing with his dog on the South Lawn. He was concerned that some of his answers might be affected by his interlude with Eleanor. What if his concern showed up as possible deception? He'd left his post in the Rehoboth Beach security room to be with her.

"Have you knowingly withheld information during this interview?"

"No.

Nicklanovich made a red mark on the chart.

"Have you violated Secret Service protection protocol during the last thirty days?"

"No."

"Are you planning to do anything that might tend to harm any Secret Service protectee?"

"No."

"Have you done anything that could harm Presidential security?"

"No," Garrison said after hesitating for a moment.

Nicklanovich frowned and used a red pen to make a note on the chart, an indication to Garrison that his answer may also have been marked red on the chart.

"Have you done anything that could harm Presidential security?"

"No."

After repeating the series of questions and noting his answers twice more, Nicklanovich turned off the machine. She stood and leaned down to unfasten the chest strap and the finger sensors, then sat back in her chair.

"How are you feeling today, Agent Garrison?"

"Fine. Why?"

"You had a problem with:
Have you done anything to harm Presidential security?
Why do you think that is?"

"I have no earthly idea."

"You showed deception every time I asked it." She shrugged, and then used a knuckle to push her eyeglasses back on her nose. "That's strange."

"I didn't sleep well. Maybe that could be playing into it."

"Maybe," she said studying him.

"So that's it?"

"Unless you have some explanation-"

"I'll let you know if anything occurs to me."

"Look, I don't know what the hell they are looking for with these questions. They haven't told me. But I can tell you that this is a major investigation and if you don't clear up whatever is on your mind - whatever is bothering you - you're going to stand out like a sore thumb in the investigation. Having said that, would you like to take the test again?"

"No."

"It's your decision. But don't blame me if you end up on the suspect list."

She stared at him as he got up and left the room.

Garrison knew a polygraph did nothing more than test one's physiological reactions to various stimuli. He also knew that most law-enforcement professionals considered such tests unreliable. Polygraphs were, by their very nature, inexact. Like most other Secret Service agents, he believed them to be pseudo-scientific nonsense. Lie-detector test results could not be used as evidence against the accused in any legal proceeding. Nevertheless, it was clear that he would be singled out for further questioning. The problem was, his concern about his affair with Eleanor had caused him to show deception, and he would probably never be able to answer security questions without showing deception. And he could never explain the truth. A hundred things went through his mind at the same time. He knew that he had just become a suspect. His daily reports, his shift schedules, and his expense accounts would be scrutinized. Such Secret Service paperwork, with its strict accounting of hours, was designed to fix blame and was a powerful tool to use against agents during internal investigations.

In the command post, Garrison found a classified E-mail message from Breckinridge on his computer. In it she mentioned that she'd come up with what looked like a telephone number on the Aryan Disciples threat letter received shortly after Meriweather's death, but that a preliminary investigation indicated that the phone number wasn't a local one and that more investigation was required. He appreciated her keeping him informed.

"How do you like the Frau detail, Pete?"

Garrison turned. "Long time no see, Roland."

Roland Prefontaine was Garrison's predecessor on the First Lady Detail. He was a natty dresser and his hair and mustache were neatly trimmed. His olive complexion seemed to match his necktie.

"So far, it's a walk," said Garrison.

"Bored?"

"I'm getting used to it."

"They put me in the Foreign Dignitary Protection Division. I just spent two weeks protecting the President of Guinea while he was traveling to power plants in Texas."

Garrison nodded. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Go."

"Why did you leave her detail?"