Murder in Foggy Bottom - Margaret Truman [99]
“If it’s money you’re concerned about, don’t worry. That’s taken care of.”
“No, it’s not the money, Jim, it’s just that it didn’t change anything, did it? They’re still going ahead and blowing up that ranch. What’d they do, kill everybody there?”
“No confirmed casualty reports, Joe, but—”
“Jesus.”
“Joe,” Roseann said, “you can’t feel responsible for what happened. You did the best you could.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but—”
Bellis took another call, handed the phone to Potamos.
“Who is it?” Potamos asked.
“Your editor at the Post. Gardello, something like that.”
“Gil?”
“Joe, what are you doing?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing?”
“Now, at this very moment.”
“I’m catching my breath.”
“I want the story from you, Joe, all the space you want, all the help you need. And don’t throw back in my face that I fired you. You’re still on the payroll. Besides, like you said, you owe me for all the times I’ve covered for you.”
“Look, Gil, I’m in no mood to—”
The door opened and four men in dark suits were framed in the doorway.
“Can I help you?” Bellis asked.
“FBI. Mr. Potamos?” They entered the conference room.
Potamos looked up. “Yeah, I’m Joe Potamos.”
One of the agents showed his identification. “Please come with us, Mr. Potamos.”
“What for?” He spoke into the phone. “Gil, I gotta go.”
“Joe, listen to me—”
Potamos handed the phone to the lead agent. “It’s my editor at the Post. Tell him I can’t write the story because I’m otherwise occupied.”
The agent frowned, handed the phone back to Potamos, who hung up.
“Am I being arrested?” Potamos asked.
“No, sir, but we do want to talk with you.”
“About the mistake you guys just made?”
“Sir, just come with us.”
“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Roseann said.
“Who are you, ma’am?”
“Roseann Blackburn. I’m his—”
“She’s my fiancée,” Potamos said. “Where are we going?”
“Headquarters, Mr. Potamos. The Hoover Building.”
One of the other agents touched Potamos on the shoulder, his message clear.
“When will he be back?” Bellis asked. “He’s doing Larry King tonight and—”
“Go home,” Potamos told Roseann as he accompanied the agents to the door. “Take care of Jumper. I’ll call as soon as they’re done with me.”
Bellis picked up the phone and called down to the studio. “Get a crew out front and do it fast! The FBI’s taking Potamos out. Grab it!”
Part Four
Chapter 37
That Same Day
Washington, DC
Fifteen minutes after returning to State, Pauling was summoned by Colonel Barton to a conference room across from Secretary Rock’s office suite. Present were Mike McQuaid; the CIA’s Tom Hoctor; an undersecretary of state for Russian affairs, Stuart Zweibel; and assistant secretary for public affairs, Phil Wick. Conversation ceased when Pauling entered the room, the sudden silence unsettling. Barton pointed to a chair and Pauling took it. Everyone was in a suit, with the exception of Barton, who wore his full military uniform; Pauling still wore the jeans, navy-blue T-shirt, sneakers, and photojournalist’s vest he’d worn when meeting Misha Glinskaya.
“Max,” Barton said, “we’re all aware you’ve been through a tough couple of days. I want you to know how appreciative everyone is of your dedication to your assignment and the professional way in which you carried it out.”
Pauling grimaced and recrossed his legs. Platitudes from Barton were never either spontaneous or sincere, in Pauling’s experience, and he wondered when the “first say something good” portion of the meeting would shift to the hard stuff.
Barton continued. “As you know, Max, the events of the past few hours have created a sensitive situation for everyone involved. Do you know this reporter, Joseph Potamos?”
“No, sir,” Pauling said.
“But your report supports, in some ways, what he’s claiming.”
“Which might give it additional credence,” Pauling replied.
Barton’s reaction to Pauling’s quick analysis was an almost indiscernible pursing of his lips and a small movement of his shoulders, as though to subtly redistribute parts of his body.
McQuaid