Mike Lawson - House Divided

“How do I know that’s General Bradford speaking?” Levy said. “You may have-”

“John, when Martin Breed told Bradford he was going to expose him, what did Bradford do? It’s okay. You don’t have to answer that question. You’re probably worried that you’re being recorded right now. So I’ll just tell you what he did: He ordered you to kill Martin Breed, a man who had been loyal to Bradford his entire life. And tonight he tried to kill you because now he’s afraid you’ll talk. You know I’m telling you the truth. Just like Martin Breed, you’ve been completely loyal to Charles Bradford and, just like with Breed, when you became a liability he decided you had to die.”

“What do you want?” Levy said.

“I want you to tell the president about the assassinations Charles Bradford ordered. You’ll obviously be given immunity”-Dillon knew Levy didn’t care about immunity-“and Charles Bradford will be court-martialed. He may go to jail, but whether he does or not, his career will be finished. But what I want to do right now, John, is take you to a safe house. Bradford will try to kill you again.”

“And I suppose, if I testify against the general, you’d like me to keep the NSA’s role in all this secret?”

“I would very much appreciate that,” Dillon said. “No one really needs to know about the transmission we intercepted.”

Levy didn’t consider Dillon’s proposal for even an instant. He stood up. “I’m leaving now. And if you think you can stop me by threatening to kill me, you’re wrong. I’m not afraid to die.”

“I never thought you were,” Dillon said, his voice almost a whisper.

Dillon watched Levy leave the diner before saying, “Alice, offer to drive Mr. Levy back to his apartment. If he refuses and takes a cab, follow him.”

“Yes, sir,” Alice said.

“And, Alice.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Excellent job tonight.”

Earlier that day, as soon as Bradford called Colonel Gilmore at Fort Myer, Alice’s people began following Gilmore. She had watched Bradford meet Gilmore outside the chapel at Arlington National Cemetery. She’d brought a parabolic mike with her to record their conversation, but Bradford took the colonel inside the chapel to talk to him. And even though Dillon didn’t hear what Bradford said to Gilmore, he was positive that Bradford had told him to kill Levy.

Gilmore had waited at Levy’s apartment for him to come home, and while he waited, Alice waited, too, with the three agents who had been involved the night Hopper was killed. When Gilmore approached Levy with a drawn weapon, one of Alice’s men shot out the window next to Levy’s head, which not only startled Gilmore but also gave Levy the impression that Gilmore was the one who had taken the shot. Then Gilmore was killed before he could shoot Levy.

Now all Dillon could do was wait and see if Levy would do as he predicted after reading Levy’s file. If he didn’t, Dillon might soon find himself in the crosshairs of a sniper’s rifle aimed by one of the sentinels who guarded the Unknowns’ Tomb. Dillon didn’t know exactly what was going to happen next, but he did know one thing for sure: John Levy would never testify against Charles Bradford.

Levy parked his car and walked across the damp grass toward the tomb.

It was five A.M. and the only one there was a solitary sentinel. The young man was tall and slender and wore a black coat with light-blue epaulets and dark blue pants with a yellow stripe down the side. The short bayonet on his rifle had been polished until it shone like silver in the dawn light. And the sentinel marched just as John Levy had marched all those years ago. Exactly as Levy had marched. The twenty-one slow steps, the twenty-one-second pause before the turn, the click of the heels coming together, the choreographed movement of the rifle shifting to the shoulder farther from the grave.

The sentinel didn’t know Levy was watching-he thought he was all alone in the morning mist-and yet he performed the time-honored routine as if the whole world were watching. Levy was so proud of the young soldier-and wished so badly that he could be the one, right now, walking those measured steps on that hallowed ground.

Levy approached the tomb so the guard could see him and saluted. The guard didn’t respond, of course, but he must have been surprised to see Levy there at that time of day and must have wondered how he’d gotten into the cemetery. But he didn’t stop marching-nor would he, unless Levy attempted to desecrate the grave he protected. Then he’d kill Levy if he had to.

From his position, Levy could see the sentry, the magnificent tomb he guarded, and beyond that row after row of white headstones. There were small American flags near many of the headstones. The top of the Washington Monument was just visible in the distance.

He stood there, in that one spot, never moving, until the sun was above the horizon.

He witnessed a perfect sunrise.

His last sunrise.

“Imagine,” Dillon later said to Claire, “that you had devoted your entire life to God. Imagine that you joined a monastery and took vows of silence and chastity and poverty and prayed six times a day, every day, all your adult life, because your belief in God was so strong, your commitment to Him so great. And then one day, in walks an old man and gives you irrefutable proof that God doesn’t exist.”

Dillon sat with Claire and two of her technicians in the operations room. Through a speaker, he heard Alice.

He’s leaving the cemetery.

Fifteen minutes later:

He’s entering the Pentagon.

“Claire,” Dillon said, “tie into whatever frequency Pentagon security uses for their radios.” Claire nodded to one of the technicians.

Ten minutes later the silence in the operations room was shattered:

Red, red, red! I repeat, red! We need medics to the Chairman’s office, now! Now!

The man speaking was screaming. Two minutes of silence followed.

Where are those medics, goddammit? Where are they?

They’re on the E-ring. They’ll be there in another minute. An ambulance is waiting at the entrance.

Forsythe, take Henderson with you and accompany the general.

Roger that. Where are they taking him?

Arlington General.

Four minutes of silence.

Forsythe. Status.

A siren could be heard in the background.

We’re three minutes from the hospital, sir.

Two minutes later:

This is Gregory Hamilton.

Hamilton was the Secretary of Defense.

Captain, what the hell happened?

Sir, General Bradford was shot.

I know that! But who shot him?

John Levy, sir.

DeMarco had been awake for half an hour. He was sitting in the living room of the farm/safe house in Maryland, sipping coffee, watching the morning news. His unsociable bodyguards were in the kitchen, ignoring him as usual. He was wearing the pants, shirt, and shoes he’d worn to Bradford’s office. The suit coat that contained the listening devices had been taken from him-which didn’t surprise him-but they also took away the new belt they gave him and insisted he put on his own. This made him wonder if there had been something special about the new belt or if they wanted him to wear his old belt for some particular reason-because it was bugged or had a tracking device installed. His paranoia made him suspect the latter.

The news guy was going on about a tornado that had wiped out a trailer park in Kansas-which made DeMarco think about Dorothy and her red shoes and the Wizard of Oz-but then the newscaster was abruptly replaced in midsentence by Katie Couric, who was sitting behind her desk in the CBS newsroom with a serious expression on her face.