Murder in Foggy Bottom - Margaret Truman [93]
“Thomas told you the missiles didn’t go to that group?” Roseann asked.
“Right again,” Potamos said, grabbing the phone. “The day after he had dinner with you, Thomas got hold of paperwork from Wilcox’s files. Until then, he knew what was going on, sort of, but only the general picture. Once he came across a paper trail that traced specific shipments of arms, he knew he could end up like Wilcox. No wonder he took off.”
“Who are you calling? The FBI?”
“Fat chance of getting through—or believed. I’m calling Jim Bellis at CNN.”
“Why CNN? You don’t work for them.”
“I know, and I hate to stiff Gardello, but there’s no time to do this through the paper. If Bellis will go on the air with it, it’ll be out there right away and carry weight.”
Bellis answered the call on his direct line.
“Jim, it’s Joe Potamos.”
“Hey, Joe, how are you?”
“Good, good. The FBI’s about to attack the wrong group out in Washington.”
“Say again?”
“Jim, that Jasper bunch out in Washington weren’t the ones who shot down the planes.”
“How do you know?”
“Look, there’s not a hell of a lot of time to lose. I’m heading over to you. I’ll call on the way from my cell phone, give you the details. But believe me, Jim, I know what I’m talking about.”
“You can prove it?”
“Yeah, I can prove it, at least enough to get them to call off whatever they’re planning to do in Washington.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Back to you in a few minutes.”
“I’ll come with you,” Roseann said.
“Good. Jumper been out?”
“An hour ago.”
“Great.” He rubbed behind the dog’s ears. “Steak bones for life, Jump, for all of us.”
Chapter 34
That Same Morning
Washington, DC
The Air Force 707 carrying Secretary of State Elizabeth Rock and her party landed with smooth precision at Andrews Air Force Base. The Secretary, Mike McQuaid, Tom Hoctor, and Max Pauling got into a long, black official limousine with the flag of the United States flying from both front bumpers and were whisked to Main State.
Rock had spent the trip on a telephone. The more she heard, the angrier her expression became; uncharacteristic four-letter words issued from this genteel female secretary of state, just loud enough to cause her passengers to look away, or glance at one another.
Pauling shared her anger. Rock’s attempts to reach President Ashmead from the plane had been unsuccessful the first few hours, although she had spoken with aides at the White House who promised to pass her information to the president. Eventually, Ashmead returned her calls.
“Mr. President, I assume you’ve been told what I told your aides,” she said.
“Yes, but I’m not clear on what it is you’re saying. You have this State Department employee with you who claims to have information about the missile attacks on the planes?”
“Yes, sir, that’s right. His name is Max Pauling. He’s been working undercover in Moscow tracing the source of the missiles.”
“We know they were Russian-made.”
“Yes, Mr. President, but the assumption that they ended up in the hands of the Jasper group is wrong, according to what Mr. Pauling has uncovered.”
“Uncovered? What’s his source?”
“The arms dealer who sold the missiles, Mr. President.”
There was silence on the other end. Ashmead, accompanied by National Security Advisor Tony Cammanati and Press Secretary Chris Targa, had placed the call from the Oval Office after being summoned from a diplomatic reception for the president and first lady of Guatemala. “An arms dealer?” he finally said, incredulity in his voice. “This Pauling believes what some arms dealer tells him? What, Russian? A Russian arms dealer? A criminal?”
The Secretary chose her words carefully. “Mr. President, I have every reason to believe that what Mr. Pauling has learned has an element of truth to it, at least enough so to call off the troops at the Jasper ranch until a further investigation can be conducted.”
Another silence. “Elizabeth, we have evidence from the FBI itself that the Jasper Project was behind those missile attacks. They had an undercover agent there for months.”
“All I’m urging, Mr. President, is that until