Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [99]
“Did she tell you why she wanted it done?”
“No, sir, and I didn’t ask. I mention this only to let you know that I already know something about him.”
“I suppose she forgot to mention it to me. It doesn’t matter. It gives you a head start. You have the results?”
Millius hesitated. He’d made a photocopy of the dossier on Brixton and taken it with him. He said, “I have access to it, sir. What do you want me to do?”
Jamison didn’t hesitate. “I want this Brixton shut up.”
“Could you be more specific, sir?”
“Do I have to be?”
Millius’s silence confirmed to the president that further specific instructions weren’t necessary.
“I’ll only say this, Lance. If Brixton is allowed to continue delving into the first lady’s life—into my life by extension—it could have a terrible impact on my administration.”
“I’ll have to be away from the office for a while, Mr. President. Will you speak with Mrs. Jamison and—?”
“There’s no need for that. I don’t see this dragging out for very long. She’s off to Savannah. She’ll be there for a few days. Get this thing done before she comes back.”
Jamison stood and looked as though he had something else to say. Millius waited. The president came around the Treaty Table, slapped Millius on his shoulder, and was gone.
• • •
The first lady’s chief of staff followed the route he’d used when he’d arrived to avoid Jeanine’s offices, got in his car, and drove away from the White House grounds. He crossed the Potomac over the Key Bridge, pulled off the road, opened the trunk, and removed the Brixton file he’d claimed to have taken home with him. He got back into the Lexus, pulled a cell phone from the glove compartment, chose a stored number, and pushed the speed-dial button.
“Hello.”
“It’s Lance.”
“How are you?”
“I’m fine. I have a message for you.”
“Good.”
“Can we meet?”
“I think so. When?”
“Now.”
“Where are you?”
“In Virginia, right off the Key Bridge.”
“The Island in a half hour. The parking lot.”
Millius ended the call.
Millius next called the Hotel Rouge.
“Mr. Brixton please. He’s a registered guest.”
The desk clerk rang the room. “I’m sorry but Mr. Brixton doesn’t seem to be in at the moment.”
Good, he thought. He’s still registered there.
He waited a few minutes before driving away and heading for the Theodore Roosevelt Island and Memorial, a ninety-one-acre marshland and wildlife sanctuary in the Potomac between the Key and Theodore Roosevelt Bridges, a fitting tribute to the ecologically minded twenty-sixth president of the United States. He entered the island from the northbound lanes of the George Washington Parkway, pulled into the parking lot, and walked to the eighteen-foot tall bronze statue of Roosevelt, where the man he was meeting stood. They shook hands and strolled casually to an area void of tourists.
“What do you have?” asked the man, who was dressed in a gray suit, white shirt, and tie.
Millius handed him the envelope containing the Brixton report. The man tucked it under his arm and they continued their walk, stopping again in a grove of trees.
“This is from the top?” the man asked.
“Yes. It has to be done quickly.”
The man smiled. “I believe they call it ‘stat’ in emergency rooms.”
“I suppose.”
“The reason?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Where?”
“Here in Washington. He’s staying at the Hotel Rouge, on Sixteenth. There are photos of him in the envelope.”
“I’m not sure how fast they can act.”
“Whatever it takes. The funds are there.”
“Sounds important.”
“It is. Anything else you need from me?”
“Not at the moment. If there is I’ll contact you.”
“Good. You leave first. I’ll follow later.”
Millius watched him saunter away and breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been sure that he could put it into motion that quickly. In past cases it had involved a lot of strategic planning that meant days, sometimes weeks of delays. Business must be slow, he thought as he returned to the Roosevelt statue and read from the four granite tablets surrounding it, each containing Roosevelt’s thoughts on nature