First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [119]
He nodded. "Okay, let's get going." And he opened the thin dossier, reading it one more time and wondering at the paucity of genuine information on Ian Brady, the government's own crown jewel asset. But even in these few paragraphs, there was something for him, he was certain of it—trouble was, he was damned if he knew what it was.
HOWDY, COWBOY," Nina Miller said when he picked her up in the shadows of North Taft Street.
Paull shifted over. "I do look a sight, don't I?"
She tossed his Stetson onto the front seat. As she settled herself beside him, he said, "We've got a problem."
"Another one," she inquired, "or the same one?"
That made him laugh, despite his foul mood. "I think all our problems devolve back to one person."
"I only wish it was Hugh Garner," Nina said. "Him I can handle."
"He needs decommissioning, that's for certain," Paull acknowledged. "Any ideas on that score?"
"Jack told me he practically drowned Peter Link, one of the heads of the FASR. He would've done the same to Chris Armitage if Jack hadn't stepped in."
"Forget it. The president just ordered the arrest and interrogation of all FASR members."
"Then it's begun."
Paull nodded grimly. "Despite all our efforts."
"Jack's, too. He intervened, stood up to Garner to stop the torture by threatening to call the president-elect. It was no idle threat, and Hugh knew it, so he backed down. But now he hates Jack's guts."
"All useful bona fides," Paull said thoughtfully. "Is Jack one of us?"
Nina made a waffling gesture with one hand. "I don't yet know whether he has a side. He seems to be the most apolitical person I've ever met. Systems—any system—are abhorrent to him."
"So what is he, then?" Paull asked.
"Actually," Nina said, "from all the evidence, I'd say he's a humanist."
Paull seemed lost in contemplation.
The police car had taken the Curtis Memorial Parkway and was now on the Francis Scott Key Bridge, heading into Georgetown. The early morning fog had lifted, revealing a high sky filled with sunlight. There was only a light breeze. Paull, who hated overheated vehicles, had rolled down his window partway. He enjoyed the crisp air on his face and neck.
"The problem," Paull said, his eyes half-closed against the wind, "is that despite all my high-tech efforts at security, I've been undone by a very low-tech methodology: lip-reading."
"Someone on your yacht?"
He nodded. "The fucking captain, of all people."
"Wasn't he properly vetted?"
Paull shot her a pitying look. "We're talking someone inside the White House, very high up. All the vetting in the world is useless against being turned by someone of that stature."
The car took M Street, then turned north on Rock Creek Parkway.
"Surely you don't believe that the president recruited him directly?"
"I do not," Paull said. The car pulled to the side of the road within Rock Creek Park. "Walk with me. The driver will pick us up at the food shack two miles on."
They climbed out of the car and began to walk. The police car was soon gone. Paull had left his ridiculous Stetson in the front seat. The sun was but a sheen behind the tissue of white clouds. Nina pulled the collar of her peacoat up around her neck; Paull jammed his hands in his pockets as they set off together, surrounded by trees and brush.
"I've been thinking hard about your question," Paull said. "No, the president is too wily to initiate anything against me on his own. I'm not even certain that he's aware of the death of those two men who were following Jack to protect him. Therefore, he has to have a middle man."
"You mean a hatchet man."
"Call him what you will, Nina, we have a very potent enemy in the Administration."
"It's imperative we know his identity, don't you think?"
Paull nodded. "I most certainly do. Because the president is involved, even if it's on a nontactical level, our man has to be either the Secretary of State or the National Security