Murder in Foggy Bottom - Margaret Truman [91]
He responded by pulling a red director’s chair up in front of the TV set. Joe Harris, FBI special agent in charge of the Jasper ranch siege, had just begun a press conference, one of two scheduled that day.
“The situation here continues to be without resolution,” Harris said into the bouquet of microphones. “We have been in constant contact with Mr. Jasper, and we continue to urge him and his people to leave the ranch peaceably. As of this time, he has refused to comply with that order. His posture at this juncture is one of defiance. I’m afraid that’s all I have to report at this time.”
“You’ve got the wrong guy, buddy!” Potamos said to the screen.
A reporter asked whether it was true that the timetable for an assault on the ranch had been pushed up, and that the assault was imminent.
“I have no comment about that at this time,” Harris said, the powerful TV lights catching the perspiration on his shaved head and creating what looked like a halo above it.
“Joe, Gil Gardello’s been calling while you were gone,” Roseann said. “He’s called at least four times.”
“You didn’t tell him where I was?”
“No. You told me not to. Aren’t you going to tell me what happened with Craig Thomas?”
“Yeah, sure, I am, but I have to make a call first. A couple of calls, okay, babe?” He pecked her on the cheek as he went into the kitchen and took the receiver from a wall phone.
She followed. “It wasn’t that group in Washington who shot down the planes?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nope. The FBI’s about to blast the wrong people.”
“Shouldn’t you be calling the FBI, the attorney general, the president?”
“I—Gil, it’s Joe.”
Potamos held the phone away from his ear, then brought it back to his mouth. “Hey, Gil, back off a little, huh? I really don’t need abuse from you. Especially now.”
“Joe, where the hell have you been?”
“Vermont. I was a little early for the changing of the leaves, but—”
“You’re fired, Joe.”
“Ah, come on, Gil, here I am sitting on the story of the century and—”
It had gone from year to decade to century, Roseann thought as she sat at the kitchen table listening. “What story?” Gardello asked.
Potamos laughed. “You know that party going on out in the boondocks of Washington, the Jasper ranch?”
“Of course I do. I’m looking at it on TV right now.”
“What would you say, Gil, if I told you I had proof that those crazies at the Jasper ranch didn’t have a damn thing to do with shooting down those commuter planes?”
“Where did you get that ?”
“From the horse with the mouth. You remember that Canadian trade rep from their embassy who got whacked in the park, the story you told me to drop?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I stayed with it. The guy who was stabbed in the park, Jeremy Wilcox, wasn’t about to win the Canadian good citizenship award. He made some extra pocket change greasing the skids for arms dealers to sell to groups in this country, Canada, too. Paperwork went through him and he made sure there weren’t any hitches. Been doing it for a couple of years before certain associates he thought were his friends— Russian guys with funny noses—decided not to be friends anymore.”
“Where did you get this, Joe?”
“Oh, suddenly there’s interest. I’d better not say any more. I’m fired, remember?”
Gardello ignored him. “Where did you get it, Joe?”
“A fella named Craig Thomas. He put the make on my girlfriend, Roseann and—”
“Joe!” Roseann said, coming up out of her chair. He quieted her with a smile and a wave of his hand.
“This guy Thomas—”
“Hold on a second, Joe,” Gardello said, his attention going back to the small television set hanging from the wall. “There’s something breaking out in Washington.”
Potamos stretched the phone cord so that he could look into the living room. A reporter was standing on a low rise, from which he had an overview of the federal forces outside the ranch.
“We get a sense here that something is about to happen. Behind me, armored vehicles that have been stationary for most of the day have now started to move into positions closer to the ranch.”
The sound of helicopters