Ted Allbeury - The Twentieth Day of January

“And you, Mr. MacKay?”

“I should wait for the election results but I should go ahead with the investigation whether Powell wins or loses.”

Harper half-smiled. “You force me to cheat. I will ask a question. Nolan, why does it depend on Powell winning?”

“The influence that Dempsey could wield on a President could have devastating results. But only on a President.”

Harper nodded. “And you, Mr. MacKay?”

“To me what matters is that if Dempsey is being used to influence Powell it’s because the Soviets intended that. Whether Powell knows or not is of vital importance, too. But most important of all is, have the Soviets tried to do this?”

Harper shook his head and said softly, “I go ahead with everything you’ve said except that. The most important thing at the moment is, if it has happened, can we prove it?” He closed his eyes as if to exclude everything except what he was saying. “I want you to imagine what happens if the worst turns out to be true. From tomorrow night we should have until the twentieth of January to establish hard evidence. Evidence that high officials would find credible, and sufficient to impeach a President-Elect; or, if not that, so destroy his credibility that his position would be hopeless. And who do I tell, gentlemen? The incumbent President who represents the opposing Party? The Chief Justice who has no power to act? This would have to be for Congress if it went that far; and you can imagine the damage it would do to this country—to the world, perhaps. The trauma of Watergate would seem like light relief compared with this.” He turned to them both.

“Nolan, wait until tomorrow night after the result is declared. If something went wrong I could be accused, perhaps rightly, of influencing the election. Then, whatever the result, you go ahead. Let me know what resources you need and I will arrange them. And Mr. MacKay, would you object if I asked my friend Magnusson if you could be attached to Langley for a period?”

“No, sir.”

“I think you should cover anything that concerns Europe. That should be your official position, anyway.”

He stood up. “You must keep this between the three of us. Nolan. And I should like you to read again the Fourth Amendment. You, too, Mr. MacKay.”

MacKay slept until midday, shaved and bathed, and leisurely breakfasted watching TV.

He read through the Fourth Amendment in a copy of the Constitution that Nolan had found for him. And, because he was British, he turned back to the first page where it said, “We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice…” And he read on and on through all the Articles and Amendments. He felt a great warmth for those men two centuries ago who had argued and fought to ensure that the abuses and privileges of Europe’s monarchs and despots could never happen in their new country. Even two hundred years later it was still of its time. The old-fashioned words still applied. It was often abused, and frequently difficult to practise, but it was there. A bench mark, a rock in a sea of troubles. He thought of Morton Harper and Nolan. They hadn’t dodged the issue, and when Harper had said that they should read again the Fourth Amendment he had meant it. Not as a cover for himself but as a reminder of the other side of the coin.

Magnusson telephoned and gave him the OK and, despite being on an insecure line, told him to watch his step. He was treading on very thin ice, Magnusson said, and the bouquets could easily turn into brickbats.

In the late afternoon Nolan telephoned to say he would be along about eleven. His mother was going to have three weeks with them in Washington and he was meeting her at the airport, at nine.

MacKay had met Nolan’s wife. She was an admiral’s daughter who had met Nolan when he was a Navy flier in the Korean war. A pretty girl with a sense of humour and well used to the vagaries of service life that kept men at long stretches from their families. The five-year-old daughter was some consolation. Nolan was a frequent visitor to London, generally on his way to Berlin, and there was clearance between CIA and SIS for an exchange of a wide range of intelligence between SF14 and Nolan’s Russian section. MacKay envied Nolan his vast resources and the American valued the British organization’s uncanny, instinctive analysis of the KGB operations that covered them both.

It was well after eleven when Nolan arrived, and they sat watching the network election programme. Powell’s lead had been cut but there was little doubt that he was going to win. The blue-coloured Powell States were beginning to dominate the election map, and the commentators were slowly coming down off the fence.

Just before two o’clock Grover conceded, and the cameras moved over to Hartford where Powell and his helpers stood in a milling mass in front of the State Capitol. On his right was his wife, and on his left was Dempsey. Nolan identified a few of the other local worthies for him. Then, as the microphones were thrust towards him, Powell spoke. He was sweating under the TV lights.

“I want to say thank you to all those who have worked so long and so hard to get me elected. I shall be leaving shortly for Washington but I shall be back here in a few days’ time and then we’ll really celebrate. God bless.”

Nolan reached forward and switched off the set, then opened his black leather briefcase and tossed a thick brown envelope on to the bed.

“There’s money, open air-tickets and CIA documents in your name. You might need them. You can draw on CIA funds at any of our embassies or consulates.”

“I thought maybe Amsterdam first to see if I can find Kleppe’s old girlfriend?”

“OK. Wherever you go, will you liaise with the local US embassy or consulate so that I can contact you quickly? We’ll use the diamond business as our cover on this. And we’ve given it a codename. Operation 66. We’ve got sixty-six days before the inauguration.”

“When are you starting?”

“Tonight. I’m putting in for surveillance teams, signals units and researchers. I’ll have them by tomorrow.”

“Who are you checking first?”

“Dempsey, but I’ll have enough people for Kleppe if you come up with anything.”

“How does Harper feel about me being involved in this?”

Nolan frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, a Britisher helping to investigate an American citizen, the President-Elect.”

“When Harper spoke to your guy the deal was that you were liaising with us and that, apart from the question of routine, you would not inform your own people about what we are investigating or what we uncover.” Nolan looked at MacKay. “We trust you, and we trust Magnusson.”

Powell sat in silence in the white MG as Dempsey drove him to the airport, and as the car swung into the VIP parking area and stopped, Dempsey turned to look at Powell’s face. It was drawn and tired.

“I’ve fixed a temporary suite for you at the Sheraton and Rod’s arranging office accommodation on the same floor, as from tomorrow.”

Powell turned to look at him.

“Can you fix for Jenny to come over from New York?”

“You mean now, tonight?”

“Yes.”

“That’d be crazy, man. Just asking for trouble. You’ll have the press and security and the whole circus round your neck. Let the dust settle, for God’s sake.”

When Powell didn’t speak Dempsey went on, “Remember, it’s taken weeks to get Laura to co-operate. We need all that; at least until the inauguration. Why rock the boat? An out-of-town girl will be noticed. Look, I’ll be across in Washington tomorrow. I can fix you the prettiest gals in town. At my place. No problems. If anything leaks they’re mine then, not yours. OK?”