Ted Allbeury - The Twentieth Day of January

“What’s happening, Pete?”

“He’s talking, but the drug’s had side-effects, and I’ve got to leave him for a couple of days.”

“What’s he said?”

“That he’s an Armenian. An officer in the KGB. Dempsey is a Communist and works for him. They get their orders from Moscow and the UN and they used the networks to make Powell Governor and President.”

“Will he sign a statement?”

“I haven’t asked him. I’d guess he will eventually.”

“Is it on tape?”

“Yes. But his speech is distorted and sometimes he nodded rather than spoke.”

“We can’t wait two days, you know.”

“Why don’t I pick up Dempsey?”

“Who do we get to sign the warrant?”

“Nobody. I just pick him up.”

“For God’s sake. We can’t just go on lifting people. He’s been nominated as Powell’s Chief of Staff.”

“We’ve got so much now. I don’t feel it matters.”

“Pete, when we’ve got a cast-iron case, signed statements, the lot, we’re still left with the problem of what to do. When Dempsey disappears Powell’s going to raise hell all round. And who is going to interrogate Powell? There’s going to be a point when it will be ripped out of our hands into the politician’s hands. We’ve got to see it gets into the right hands. If you picked up Dempsey then you’d have to work fast before it leaks out.”

Nolan noticed the “if ” and took it as quasi approval.

“Let me pick up Dempsey and give me two days. What day is it today?”

“My God, what a question. It’s Tuesday, the nineteenth of December.”

“OK. Give me until Friday.”

There was a long silence and a sigh.

“OK.” And the phone was hung up.

Nolan phoned Langfeld and gave him careful instructions. He checked the paperwork and then slept. When he awoke at five o’clock there was a chit on his desk reporting that Dempsey had been picked up at 4.30pm. His ETA at Flushing Airport was 23.15.

They had taken Dempsey down to the basement. He was in the first interrogation room and, unlike Kleppe, when Nolan walked in Dempsey was eating from a tray. He looked up at Nolan and then got back to his eating. Nolan sat down and waited. Dempsey looked just like the photographs. His face unlined and youthful. They had taken his tie, and the plaid shirt was open at the neck. Finally he threw down the knife and fork with a clatter, reached for the linen napkin, and wiped his mouth as he leaned back in his chair and looked at Nolan.

Nolan had spent time carefully working out the order of his questions.

All that Nolan knew about Dempsey indicated that he was not a trained operator, but he was intelligent enough to have marshalled the nationwide resources that the Soviets had made available. He had that perpetually youthful air that successful actors have. Eyes that were blue and amused, and an alertness that was cloaked by a deceptive casualness.

“Have you had enough to eat, Mr. Dempsey?”

Dempsey nodded, smiling. “Give the cook my compliments. I’ll recommend him to my friends.”

“Is there anything else you want.”

“Just to get the hell out of here.”

“Do you know why you’re here?”

The lazy eyes smiled. “No. But I guess you’ll enjoy telling me.”

Nolan waited for a few seconds.

“Would you like to talk about Kleppe?”

“Not particularly.”

“How about we talk of Siwecki?”

“You talk. I’ll listen.” Dempsey’s eyes were suddenly hard and alert.

“You know he was murdered together with his wife?”

“I read it in the papers.”

“Did you regret the murder?”

Dempsey shrugged. “I didn’t consider it in those terms.”

“The sentence for an accessory to murder is quite severe, Mr. Dempsey.”

Dempsey made no reply.

“There is evidence that you were an accessory to those murders, Mr. Dempsey.”

“So charge me, Nolan. Stop bullshitting.”

“Are you a member of the Communist party, Mr. Dempsey?”

Dempsey grinned. “What do you want me to do, plead the Fifth?” Dempsey’s face went pale with anger as he leaned forward. “Let me quote you the Fifth, Nolan. ‘Nor shall any person be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.’ When does due process start, Mr. Nolan?”

“Not at the moment. But if you prefer the formality I’ll start with holding you on a homicide charge.”

“What homicide?”

“The murder of Mr. and Mrs. Siwecki, Miss Angelo, and a CIA officer in New York named Steiner.”

“How did I murder them?”

“You were a prime accessory, you fixed it in conjunction with Kleppe.”

“For what motive?”

“To prevent them giving evidence against you.”

“Evidence of what?”

“Bribery, collusion, inciting a strike, illegal payments, blackmail. There’s more, as you know, if you want it.”

“You know what position I hold in the new administration?”

“I know you were going to be Chief of Staff to Powell.”

“I still am.”

“No, Mr. Dempsey. It’s all over now.”

“Powell will have your guts, my friend.”

“Tell me about Halenka Tcharkova.”

Nolan saw Dempsey’s breathing stop for a moment, and then go faster. For the first time his eyes held a doubt.

“I’ve never heard of her.”

“She will be in great danger now.”

“Why?”

“Because Kleppe and you have failed. They don’t like failures, Mr. Dempsey. They aren’t going to like the international exposure they get from this little effort.”

Dempsey looked away, and Nolan pressed on.

“You knew that Kleppe was a KGB officer?”

“I don’t give a shit what he is, or was.”

“And the girl in Moscow? What about her?”

“She’s an established artist. They wouldn’t dare touch her.”

“You don’t believe that, Dempsey, do you?”

For a long time Dempsey was silent, and when he spoke Nolan heard the mixture of anger and fear in his voice.

“Isn’t it time you read me your Miranda card, Nolan?”

“I’m not a policeman.”

“It applies to the FBI just as much.”

“I’m not FBI.”

Dempsey folded his hands on the table, the knuckles white as frost-bite.

“I demand to see my lawyer. I answer no more questions until he arrives.”

“Who is your lawyer?”

“Oakes in Hartford.”

“He couldn’t act for you.”

“Why in hell not?”

“He has already signed a statement himself that incriminates you.”

“Of what?”

“Fixing the strike at Haig’s Electronics, paying twenty thousand dollars to Siwecki’s local, paying five thousand to Siwecki himself, and conspiring to illegally influence an election.”

“If you’ve got evidence why don’t you charge me? Why this crap?”

“Because those are the least serious of the charges.”

“Look, Nolan, you may have forced some lying statement out of Oakes, but you won’t do that with me.”

“Is Kleppe’s statement a lying statement, too?”

“You’ve kidnapped him as well as me?”

Nolan didn’t reply. He wanted to give Dempsey time to absorb what he had been told. Finally he stood up and pressed the bleeper. As he stood at the open door he said, “Let me know when you want to talk.”

Dempsey didn’t look up.

It was six o’clock when they roused Nolan from a deep sleep. Dempsey wanted to talk to him. He washed and shaved slowly, and dressed carefully before he went down to the basement.

Dempsey was stretched out on the concrete bed, on top of the sleeping bag. His face was pale and drawn, and the youthful look had gone.

Nolan dragged over a chair and sat alongside the bed. The blue eyes were paler as they looked at his face anxiously.