Ted Allbeury - The Twentieth Day of January

Bethel snorted. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Nolan. The President-Elect announces to the country that because his wife doesn’t like him being in politics he’s decided to throw his hand in. Jesus.”

“Not exactly that, sir. But maybe the Physician to the President does a routine medical check and finds a serious heart condition and after deep reflection the President-Elect steps down for the sake of continuity and the country.”

Bethel sniffed loudly. “And a few months later some press photographer takes a photograph of Powell playing tennis, or jogging or some damn thing.”

“Powell’s own interest would be to play along with the scenario. He’s gone along with Dempsey’s film script, he’d go along with this.”

“What does he do after he resigns?” Elliot looked only mildly interested.

“He lives comfortably and quietly on his presidential pension. A hero and democrat to one and all.”

Bethel looked across at Elliot and said, “What d’ye think?”

Elliot leaned back in his chair, thinking. It was several minutes before he spoke.

“The only alternative is to confront him. And Nolan’s right. Powell’s basically a weak man. He could panic and do something crazy if we put him with his back against the wall. If we leave a door open with the same pressures he might choose to accept the role and go quietly. If Mrs. Powell refused to do this, or tried and failed, then we’d have to meet him head on and let the chips fall where they will.”

Bethel shrugged. “So who tackles the Powell woman who loathes politicians?”

Nolan took a deep breath. “I had in mind that MacKay might do it.”

Bethel frowned. “MacKay? Who in hell’s MacKay?”

Nolan flushed and nodded towards MacKay.

Bethel sighed heavily. “My apologies, MacKay. My mind’s getting bogged down with names.” He shook his head, looking at MacKay. “With all due respect, Mr. MacKay, I don’t see you fitting into this role.”

Nolan interrupted. “I haven’t discussed this idea with Mr. MacKay but he’s the one person who has no axe to grind. He isn’t even an American. And he’s the man who exposed Dempsey. She’ll like that. Any politician starts off with two strikes against him. And it could leave us so that, with Mr. Powell included, only seven people will know what has been done.”

Elliot looked at Harper. “How secure is Mr. MacKay, Morton?”

“Totally, so far as I am concerned.”

Bethel looked at MacKay.

“No reflection on you, mister, but how secure are you?”

“In what way, sir?”

“From what Harper originally told us we may not have spotted this mess if it hadn’t been for you. We’re in your debt but, by God, you know too much. How do we know you won’t talk?”

“What interest would I have in talking, Mr. Speaker?”

“Now, Mr. MacKay. You know as well as I do that you could make several millions out of this story.”

“I am officially seconded to the CIA from SIS. I have signed the Official Secrets Act form. Talking would get me in the Tower of London.”

Bethel looked at Harper.

“Is that the case, Morton?”

“Yes. Anyway, I think Mr. MacKay could have made his millions without even coming over here. The media would have paid for the original tip-off.”

There was a brief silence and MacKay spoke softly to get their attention. He looked at Harper.

“May I make a suggestion, sir?”

Harper shrugged. “By all means. Go ahead.”

“Mr. Nolan will be arranging a deal to get Miss Tcharkova out. They’ve got a man of ours named Kowalski. I’d like him back as part of the deal, and that links me into the operation in an official capacity.”

Bethel was not impressed.

“OK. I won’t pursue the point. By all means write your man into the deal.” He looked at Elliot. “I’ve no objection to Mr. MacKay talking to Mrs. Powell but I’d like a contingency plan in case it doesn’t work.”

Harper nodded. “We’ll plan it carefully, Mr. Speaker.”

Elliot stood up. “How many people outside this room know what’s been going on, Morton?”

Harper raised questioning eyebrows at Nolan.

“Nobody outside this room knows that it goes beyond Kleppe and Dempsey.”

Elliot put his hand on Bethel’s shoulder and winced as he stood up straight. He turned slowly to look at Nolan and MacKay.

“What makes you two think you can do a deal with Moscow? Why are you so sure?”

Nolan looked at Harper who nodded permission.

“There’s three levels where we deal with the Russians. The public one of the media and public statements. The diplomatic one where professionals sort out what the statements really mean, and then there’s an everyday working level where everybody faces the actual facts of life. The Soviets set great store by the first level. The statements, the treaties and the rest of it. Provided that doesn’t get exposed, they work on our level on a routine basis. There’s no problem.”

“But they have spent millions of dollars and years of effort to do this thing. They have now failed and you suggest that they send over a girl and her baby, and a British spy, and we all call it quits. Why should they agree?”

“Because they have failed. They don’t want us to expose what they tried to do and they don’t want us to expose that they failed.”

The old man looked down at the carpet absorbing the words, then he looked sideways at Harper.

“It’s a funny world you and your people live in, Harper. What we have all been concerned with seems earth-shattering to me, but to you people it’s like a couple of insurance companies settling a car accident on a knock for knock deal. Ah well. Keep at it.”

And he walked slowly and uncertainly to the door. He stood there for a moment, his mouth opened to speak. Then he changed his mind, waved his hand and walked out with Bethel.

Harper looked a little frosty, and as the door closed behind them he turned on Nolan.

“You were hinting before the meeting that you thought there was an alternative solution. Nolan. Why didn’t you tell us what it was? Why play the Lone-Ranger bit?”

“I thought you would not want me to mention my alternative in front of the others.”

Harper shifted in his seat. “It didn’t seem to inhibit you, all the same.”

“What was suggested wasn’t the alternative I was thinking of.”

Harper’s eyebrows went up. “And what, pray, was the other solution?”

“That Powell should be killed.”

Harper’s hand was squeezing a fold of his double chin. It stopped, and his eyes closed.

“How right you were, Mr. Nolan. You were well advised to keep silent on that score.”

Nolan turned to MacKay.

“When do you want to go down to speak to Mrs. Powell?”

“Not tonight. I want to sort out what I shall say.”

Harper nodded. “It’s all going to hang on the assessment of the lady; that she still gives a damn for him. If we are wrong on that, then she probably won’t co-operate.”

“Can we arrange special transport and accommodation for her journey to Washington? I don’t want anyone to see her and speculate.”

“Of course. I suggest you go with him, Nolan. Take the big Piper and put her up at a hotel or the house on Virginia Avenue. There are staff and facilities already there. Anything else you want, MacKay?”

“Just one thing, sir. If Powell is persuaded to resign on medical grounds that means he can’t be seen to immediately start earning a living. What financial provision can we offer them?”

Harper leaned forward and shoved a pad across to MacKay.

“Write this down. First of all he would receive the usual presidential pension which will provide him and his family with a very high standard of living. He is likely to earn substantial sums from writing, teaching and lecturing when he has recovered from his medical problems.”