Stuart Woods - Iron Orchid

“Who here knows something about the opera?” Lance asked. Nobody moved. “Oh, come on. Somebody must know something about the opera. You’re not all philistines, are you?”

Holly slowly raised her hand. “I sometimes listen to the Saturday afternoon broadcasts from the Metropolitan Opera,” she said. “I like the opera; I just don’t know a lot about it.”

An FBI agent in a suit across the table from hex raised his hand. “I sometimes listen to those broadcasts, too, and I’ll watch PBS if an opera is televised. I’ve been to the opera a couple of times. That’s about it for me.”

“Okay,” Lance said, “you two are partners; you’re the Opera Patrol. Teddy likes the theater, too, but there are too many theaters in New York for us to cover. The opera is pretty much contained in the New York City Opera company and the Metropolitan Opera company. Get on it.”

After the meeting broke up, the FBI agent approached Holly. “I’m Tyler Morrow,” he said, extending his hand. “How do you do?”

“Hi, Tyler,” she said, looking him up and down, at the sharply pressed blue suit and the shiny shoes. She judged him to be in his late twenties. “I’m Holly Barker. You’re going to fit right in at the opera.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “I hope you will, too.”

He didn’t crack a smile, but Holly thought she had just been speared.

AT EIGHT O’CLOCK on Monday morning, prior to his daily intelligence briefing, President Will Lee convened a meeting of the congressional leadership of both parties in the Oval Office, along with the director of Central Intelligence and the director of the FBI. When they had all been served coffee and pastries he welcomed them.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Will said. “I’ve asked you here this morning to impart to you some news that you will not like, as I do not. You will recall that recently, at a White House press conference, I announced that the aircraft flown by Theodore Fay during his escape from Maine had exploded and that Mr. Fay was presumed dead. Not long after that announcement an examination of the wreckage of that aircraft revealed that Fay had probably parachuted from the airplane on the coast of Maine. Later, it was discovered that someone had broken into a nearby beach cottage and stolen some items, and still later, a parachute was discovered buried in the garden of that cottage. So it now seems clear that Mr. Fay is alive.”

“Why haven’t we heard about this on the news?” the speaker of the House asked.

“That’s why we’re here today,” the president said. “The directors of the FBI and the CIA have asked that we not announce that Fay is still alive.”

“Why not?” the speaker asked.

“Bob, you want to explain that?” the president asked Kinney.

“Mr. Speaker, we feel that, because of the lack of photographs of Fay, along with his ability to disguise himself, it is unlikely in the extreme that an ordinary citizen could identify him, and we do not want to be flooded with false sightings by the public.”

“I concur in that opinion,” Kate Lee interjected.

“So why are we here?” the speaker asked.

“Mr. Speaker,” Will said, “I didn’t want you to think that I was withholding information from you.”

The majority leader of the Senate raised his hand. “Question for Director Kinney,” he said. “Does this mean that we can expect Fay to resume killing people in Washington?”

“I am not ready to draw that conclusion,” Kinney replied.

“Do we have to wait until one of us is murdered before you draw that conclusion?” the majority leader asked.

“It appears that Mr. Fay has taken up residence somewhere in the New York City area,” Kinney said. “We believe he was responsible for the bombing of the Iranian townhouse in New York yesterday.”

“I hope you’re right,” the majority leader said.

Will spoke up again. “Another reason for this meeting is to offer you all additional security, should you feel you need it. I’m prepared to go back to the security level we maintained before Fay was thought dead, if that’s what you want.”

“The previous security level didn’t help the previous speaker much,” the speaker of the house said.

“What would you like me to do, Mr. Speaker? Call out the National Guard?”

The group emitted a low chuckle.

“It occurred to me,” the president said, “that some or all of you might feel that the appearance of additional security might be noticed and difficult to explain.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult to explain if you announced that Fay was still alive,” the speaker said.

“You’ve already heard the disadvantages of that,” Will replied. “However, if it’s the sense of this meeting that it is preferable to announce Fay’s resurrection, I’ll do so this morning. You can all come with me to the White House press room right now, and we’ll do it together. I’m sure the FBI will find a way to handle the resulting phone traffic.”

Nobody said anything for a long moment.

“No,” the speaker said, finally. “Perhaps it’s better to follow the director’s advice. Of course, Mr. Director, you’ve got confirmation hearings coming up, and it might reflect badly on you if that turns out to be the wrong advice.”

“I can only advise you to do what I think is best, Mr. Speaker,” Kinney said, “and not concern myself with the hearings.”

“Let the chips fall where they may?” the speaker asked, grinning.

“Yes, sir,” Kinney replied. “I expect I can find another job, if I have to.”

“Any questions, gentlemen?”

“You going to keep us posted, Mr. President?”

“I’m not going to issue bulletins, at least not until Fay is caught, but feel free to call either Bob Kinney or Kate Lee for an update, whenever you like. If that’s all, gentlemen?”

A lot of handshaking took place, and the group filed out, leaving Will alone with Kate and Kinney.

“Anything else, before we bring the others in for the security briefing?” he asked.

“Mr. President, there’s something I should mention,” Kinney said.

“Go ahead, Bob.”

“I was very surprised to learn that the CIA had in their computers templates of FBI I.D. cards and letterheads, allowing them to create convincing but bogus FBI agents and correspondence at will.”

Kate spoke up. “Bob, surely you can imagine that sometimes our field officers need to impersonate FBI personnel in order to further their work.”

“Quite frankly, Kate,” Kinney replied, “I can’t imagine that that would ever be necessary. However, should the need ever arise I think it would be best if you made a request for I.D.s directly to me, instead of printing your own.”

“Kate?” Will asked, when she hesitated.

“I would much prefer to keep things as they are,” Kate replied.

“Well, in that case, I’m sure you won’t mind furnishing us with templates of CIA I.D.s and letterheads, so that my agents can impersonate Agency personnel at will.”

Will was amused but tried not to show it. “Is that unreasonable, Kate?”

“All right, Bob, I’ll have the templates removed from our databases and destroyed, and I’ll come to you, if we need the I.D.s.”

“Thank you, Kate,” Kinney said, beaming.

HOLLY SAT AT HER LAPTOP at the desk in her room while Tyler Morrow looked over her shoulder.

“This is nuts,” Holly said.

“What do you mean, nuts?”

“There’s no way we can begin to cover opera in New York. You’ve got the Metropolitan and the New York City Operas, both at Lincoln Center, both running five days a week. What’s more, the same opera often plays more than one night during a week. Look at this: Carmen on Thursday night and Saturday night. Even if we knew that Teddy loved Carmen, which performance would we cover? And Carmen is on the following week, too. And we don’t know that Teddy loves Carmen. We can’t go to two operas five nights a week, either.”