Don Pendleton: Blood Testament

Behind his massive desk, the chief executive was scowling like a man beset with sudden pain. "I've got no stomach for this double talk and innuendo," he declared at last.

"I called you in because our information indicates that you are Mr. X."

Brognola felt as if someone had sucker-punched him, hard, below the heart. For just a moment he was stunned. The Oval Office seemed to shrink around him. His stomach did a sluggish barrel roll, and throbbing pain erupted in his temples, keeping perfect time with his accelerated pulse.

"There must be some mistake." It sounded lame, the desperate defense of an embezzler or adulterer confronted with his secret sin.

"As Chatsworth said, we have the tape, the stills. Your phone logs have been triple-checked."

A momentary sense of outrage kindled in his chest, extinguished instantly as Hal digested the apparent situation. It did not surprise him that his phone calls had been monitored, his movements filmed. He had been fingered as a mole, and SOP surveillance had been instituted automatically. He had helped to set the system up himself in the wake of the disastrous raid on Stony Man, and he could not complain if it had worked efficiently.

Except it hadn't worked. There was no proof of his complicity. There couldn't be.

The President had settled back into his chair, regarding Hal with mingled sadness and a sort of morbid curiosity.

"I thought we'd better talk it over one-on-one."

Brognola's mind was racing, searching for connections, links between this latest bombshell and the disappearance of his family. Discounting any possibility of mere coincidence, he sought some common thread between the two events.

"I can't respond to any charges without looking at the so-called evidence."

"You'll have that opportunity, of course."

"And the informant?"

"Will remain anonymous," the President replied. "For what it's worth, we don't know who the hell he is. There have been two communications, written, both unsigned. Both posted here in Washington."

"That's pretty thin."

"The letters won't be used as evidence. They put the wheels in motion, nothing more. Whatever Justice has collected came through channels, SOP."

"I see." Brognola was astounded by the sudden calm that settled over him, as if he were a mere observer to a drama that concerned some other life, some other idiot's career. "Is Justice moving for indictment?"

Frowning back at him, the President appeared confused. "I wanted to consult with you before it got that far. I'm interested in hearing your impressions, your response."

"I've been set up," Brognola told him flatly. "It has all the earmarks of a classic frame."

"It crossed my mind," the President conceded. "But the film, the phone logs..."

"Can be doctored, manufactured or explained," Brognola said. "I want a polygraph as soon as possible."

"You have that right, of course, although the end results are inadmissible."

"I'm not concerned about admissibility. I know this thing is bogus. It's important to me now that you believe I'm innocent."

The President seemed touched. "I understand," he said. "But there are statutory guidelines to be followed. I cannot involve myself before judicial findings have been made." There was a momentary hesitation as he pondered something privately. "If we could single out a motive..."

Trapped, Brognola was confronted by a pair of odious alternatives. He could inform the President of his family's abduction, thereby risking interference that might jeopardize their lives, or he could stonewall, risking summary suspension or incarceration, which would render him incapable of helping them in any case.

And finally it was no choice at all.

He told the President his story from the top, omitting nothing, ending with the order that he be available by noon. It was five minutes past eleven when he finished, settling back to wait for the President's reaction.

"Jesus Christ."

Brognola swallowed hard. "Whoever has my family..."

"Might want to frame you. Yes, I get the picture." For an instant Hal imagined that he heard a tremor in the famous voice. "What does the Bureau say about all this?"

"I haven't spoken to them yet."

"Of course, I understand. But in the interest of your family's safety, you should try..."

"My family's safety may depend upon the Bureau staying out of it," he told the President emphatically. "The last thing I need right now is fifty college boys in three-piece suits obscuring the evidence."

"There must be someone. Able Team or Phoenix Force?"

Brognola shook his head. "I had another source of aid in mind."

The man behind the desk mulled that one over for a moment, furrows of concern etched deep across his forehead, eyebrows creeping in on each other till they met above his nose.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm deadly serious," Brognola said. "In my opinion no one else could pull it off."

"Could he ?"

The question had been nagging Hal almost continuously since the call at 4:00 a.m. He knew the answer now, or part of it, at any rate. He had no choice except to try.

"I think so, yes."

The President was clearly worried now. "I can't approve this."

"Sir, I haven't asked you to approve of anything."

"The man's an outlaw, dammit."

"He's my friend."

"A pardon is impossible."

"He wouldn't take it if you offered."

"Mmm."

"I'm speaking off the record now — or on the record if you like, it doesn't matter. From the looks of things I'm finished anyway."

"See here, Hal..."

"My family is all that matters to me now. Whatever happens with the job and Chatsworth's 'evidence,' I have to see my wife and children safe at home. My resignation can be on your desk this afternoon."

"Hold on a second. Don't go flying off the handle."

"I don't have a second, sir. My time is running out. I need to make that contact now."

"As I recall, your man is marked as hit on sight."

It was a startling admission from the chief executive, committed as he was on paper to defend the Bill of Rights.

"That is my understanding, yes, sir."

"Makes it sticky, eh?"

"It's where he lives."

"You understand that I can offer no assistance if you should pursue this course of action."

"I'm not asking for assistance, sir. I just don't want an army on my heels the next few days."

"All right, the Bureau's out. I still think Able Team could help."

Brognola shook his head again.

"They're in Miami and heavily involved. A disengagement now could be disastrous. Anyway, they couldn't make the trip in time."

"And Phoenix Force?"

"In Bogota. They couldn't pull out at the moment if they wanted to."

"I see."

"One man," Brognola said again. "One special man is all I need."

"Goddammit."

"Yes, sir."

"This could blow up in our faces, Hal."

"In my face, sir. As far as I'm concerned, we never had this conversation."

"Mmm. As for this other business..."

"I assume I'm on suspension, sir."

The President was bristling. "Dammit, I'll decide who's on suspension. You have time off coming?"

"I'm on holiday through Monday."

"Fair enough. If anybody asks, you're still on holiday. Through Monday."

There was no mistaking the significance of that. He had two days to see his family safely home, wrap up his problems on the side, before he had to deal with Chatsworth's "evidence" directly.

"Thank you, sir."

"For what? We never had this conversation."

"Right."

"There's one more thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"I want a meeting with your friend."

Brognola felt the short hairs rising at the back of his neck. "I don't know if that's possible."

"Hell, anything is possible," the chief executive replied. "I leave it in your hands."