William Krueger - The Devil's bed

“I need the new code, Linda.” He spoke louder than was necessary.

“Just a minute, Bo.” She vanished again.

Diana Ishimaru accompanied her when she returned. Ishimaru opened the door.

“What the hell’s going on, Diana?” Bo said.

“In my office, Agent Thorsen.” She turned, and he followed.

Her office was not empty. Another man sat in a chair near her desk. He stood up as Ishimaru and Bo entered.

Ishimaru said, “Agent Thorsen, this is Assistant Director Bill Malone.”

Malone. Bo had never met him, but he knew him by reputation. He was reputed to possess, as a result of his long and varied career with the Secret Service, an excellent understanding of the exigencies of the job. Malone shook his hand, then indicated another chair.

“Have a seat, Agent Thorsen.”

“I’d like to know what’s going on,” Bo said.

“The assistant director asked you to sit down,” Ishimaru said.

Bo sat.

“I’ll cut to the chase, Agent Thorsen. Special Agent Chris Manning has made certain allegations concerning the appropriateness of your actions prior to and during the incident at Wildwood.”

“What allegations?”

“You’ll be receiving a full statement shortly. I’m here to convene an internal board of inquiry. I’ve directed S.A.I.C. Ishimaru to suspend you with pay pending a finding by that board.”

“What?”

“Take it easy, Bo,” Ishimaru said.

He gave her an angry look. “My ass is about to be nailed to the wall, Diana. Are you okay with all this?”

“This is standard procedure, Bo, and you know it.” Then she added, “In this, my hands are tied.”

“Bullshit. Is this why I’ve been denied access to Wildwood?”

Malone said, “Until the board of inquiry has reached a finding, we don’t want you to communicate with any of the principals involved.”

“Right. And it just happens to keep me conveniently away from the First Lady.”

“That’s another issue, Agent Thorsen,” Malone said. “One we need to discuss.”

“I’m through discussing,” Bo said. He stood up.

“Agent Thorsen,” Ishimaru said. “Sit down. We’re not finished.”

“I am.” Bo walked out the door.

He was halfway down the hall when Ishimaru caught up with him.

“Agent Thorsen, at the moment my patience is dangerously thin and your actions are very close to insubordination. We need to talk.”

“Talk about what? You know everything that happened at Wildwood. What more is there to say? From now on, Diana, if you want to talk to me, you go through my lawyer.”

“Bo-”

He didn’t stay to hear what else she had to say. If he’d remained a moment longer, he’d have put his fist through the wall.

Bo drove to his apartment in Tangletown, the whole way battling against rage. Losing control of himself now was the last thing he needed. When he mounted the stairs to his apartment and discovered his door was unlocked, his mood didn’t brighten any.

Fortunately, it was Otter he found inside.

“Used the key you hide in the garage,” Otter said. He saw Bo’s dark look and added without apology, “You told me anytime.”

“Yeah,” Bo said, relenting. “I did.”

Otter was at the kitchen table with some playing cards spread out before him.

“How was the trip?”

“It was fine.”

“You sure? You look like you just drank spoiled milk.”

“Bad day,” Bo said.

He went to the phone and dialed Wildwood, the direct number for the main house. The call was intercepted by Secret Service. When Bo identified himself, he was told politely that he couldn’t be connected.

“Shit,” he said as he hung up.

Otter looked up from his cards. “What’s the problem?”

“Everywhere I turn, somebody’s dropping a wall in front of me.” Bo sat down at the table. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you could use something to keep you busy during your convalescence. So I brought you a little gift.”

Otter got up and went to the living room. He lifted a plant in a terra-cotta pot and held it up for Bo to see.

“It’s a dieffenbachia,” Otter said. “A real one. I know you like the artificial things because they don’t require your attention, but they don’t give you anything either. Now this dieffenbachia, you take care of it, water it, talk to it, it’ll give you something in return, Spider-Man. It’ll grow for you.”

Otter put the plant back in the sunlight.

Bo went into the bedroom, set his overnight case down, and laid his garment bag on the bed. He walked to the closet, cleared his shoes from the floor, and pulled back a flap of carpet. There was a safe built into the floor underneath. Bo worked the combination, lifted the door, and pulled out his Sig Sauer. He took the holster from where it lay on the closet shelf, snugged the weapon into place, and clipped it to his belt. When Bo returned to the living room, Otter took a look at the weapon on his hip and whistled.

“Big gun, Spider-Man.”

“I’m beginning to think not big enough. Look, Otter, I’ve got to run.”

“That’s okay.”

“You sticking around for a while?”

“Just long enough to water your plant.”

“Lock up when you leave.”

It was late afternoon when Bo headed to the St. Croix Regional Medical Center for his second visit with Tom Jorgenson. He never made it to Jorgenson’s room. A Secret Service agent, one of the new ones, stopped him as soon as he stepped off the elevator.

“Sorry, Thorsen. You’re not allowed up here now. Orders.”

“Ishimaru?”

“These came from Assistant Director Malone himself.”

Bo was only yards from the room, but he knew he’d get no closer now. It was useless to argue. He went down to the lobby and used a pay phone.

“St. Croix Regional Medical Center.”

“Would you connect me with room four-twenty-two B, please?”

“Just one moment.”

More than a moment passed. Bo didn’t recognize the voice that came on the line.

“Yes?”

“I’m trying to reach Tom Jorgenson.”

“Your name?”

“How about yours first?”

“This is Special Agent Pederman, Secret Service.”

“My name’s Gaines,” Bo said, figuring it was a name Jorgenson would respond to. “Hamilton Gaines.”

“Just a moment, Mr. Gaines.” Bo waited another moment that wasn’t. “I’m sorry, you’re not on the list of authorized callers.”

Bo hung up without the courtesy of a good-bye.

He stood at the pay phone, trying to get a handle on the situation. Was this really about the incident at Wildwood? Or was the ubiquitous hand of NOMan behind the stone wall he’d encountered? His head ached, and he realized he hadn’t eaten all day and he was hungry. He decided he could think better with a little food in his stomach. He left the hospital and headed for St. Paul.

The sun was setting as Bo parked in the lot of O’Gara’s, a popular Irish bar on Snelling Avenue. The place was crowded, but he found an empty booth in the back and sat down. He had to wait a few minutes before a waitress spotted him, then he ordered a Leinie’s and a Reuben. The beer came, and he settled back. While he waited for his sandwich, he tried to put together in a coherent way the pieces of information that he had.

It was clear his worst suspicions about NOMan were correct. Tom Jorgenson had confirmed the dark turn the organization had taken, but Bo had no solid proof of its current nature, nor of a conspiracy to murder Robert Lee. The testimony of a man like Tom Jorgenson might be enough to generate a full, formal investigation, but who knew how deep the darkness of NOMan ran or how broad the shadow it cast?