Sweet land stories - E. L. Doctorow [56]
Just tidying up some loose ends, Molloy said. He had waited twenty minutes to be received. The Stevens library was paneled in walnut. Settings of big leather chairs, polished refectory tables with the major papers and magazines laid out in neat rows. The french windows opened onto a deep stone terrace with potted trees and balusters wound with white flattened flowers.
But the books in the scantily stocked shelves—the Durants’ Story of Philosophy, the collected works of Winston Churchill, Richard Nixon memoirs, Henry Kissinger memoirs, and ancient best-sellers in Book-of-the-Month-Club editions—were not up to scratch.
I didn’t know the Bureau was involved, Stevens said. Nobody told me that. Molloy was about to reply when a man young man in pinstripes and carrying a briefcase came into the room. As fast as I could, he said, mopping his brow.
I thought I’d better have counsel present, Glenn Stevens said, and sat down in a leather armchair.
OUR CONCERN IS we were told the Bureau had been called off.
That’s true, Molloy said. The incident is not only closed, it never happened.
You have to understand that Mr. Stevens would never embarrass the President, whom he admires as no other man. Or do anything to bring disrepute to the great office he holds.
I do understand.
Mr. Stevens was one of the President’s earliest supporters. But more than that, the two men are old friends. The President regards Mr. Stevens almost as a brother.
I can understand that too, Molloy said.
And he has shown the tact and grace and compassion so typical of him in assuring Mr. Stevens that nothing of consequence has happened and that their relationship is unchanged.
Molloy nodded.
So why are you here? the lawyer said.
This is a family matter, Stevens chimed in. And while it may be extremely painful for me personally, it is only that, and if the President understands, why can’t the damn FBI?
Mr. Stevens, Molloy said, we do understand that this is a family matter. It has been judged as such and sealed. Nobody is building a case here. But you must understand a serious breach of security occurred that calls into question not only the Bureau’s methods but the Secret Service’s as well. We have to see that such a thing never occurs again, because next time it may not be a family matter. We would not be fulfilling our mission were we to be as casual about the President’s safety as the President.
So what do you want?
I would like to interview Miss Christina Stevens.
Absolutely not, Mr. Stevens! the lawyer said.
Sir, we’re not interested in her motives, the whys or wherefores. Molloy flashed an ingratiating smile and continued: But she pulled something off that I, as a professional, have to admire. I just want to know how she did it, how this young woman all by herself managed to leave egg on the faces of the best in the business. I know it’s been difficult for you, but considering it purely as a feat, it was quite something, wouldn’t you say?
She betrayed my trust, Stevens said hoarsely.
Mr. Stevens means his daughter is not well, the lawyer said.
Look, sir, sure she did. But there will be an internal investigation of our procedures. And I’m sure you appreciate how it is with company men—we have to cover our ass.
OUT ON THE gravel driveway at the bottom of the steps the lawyer gave Molloy his card. Anything else, from now on, you deal with me direct. No more unscheduled visits, Agent Molloy, agreed?
Where is this place?
Do you know Houston?
Not very well.
When you get there, give them a call and they’ll lead you in. It’s no mystery, you know.
What is?
How she did it. One look at Chrissie Stevens and you’ll understand.
The lawyer was smiling as he drove off.
MOLLOY STAYED that night at the Houston Marriott, eating room service and watching CNN. He liked the bureau chief here but