George Chesbro - Two Songs This Archangel Sings

"Captain," I said, uncrossing my legs and leaning forward in my chair, "let's cut through this. I was hired by the Senate committee because of my reputation for discretion, but enough is enough. I'm going to give you a telephone number known by perhaps only a dozen people in the world. It's a private, direct line to the office of a man by the name of Lippitt."

"Never heard of him."

"You're not supposed to have heard of him, any more than you were supposed to have heard of Orville Madison before he was nominated as secretary of state. Lippitt is the Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency, and he'll tell you that most of what you've read in that report you received is bullshit. You might also mention the trouble we're in, and tell him we'd appreciate a personal visit from him as soon as possible."

"Will this Lippitt tell me where the two of you were for that year?"

"I doubt it strongly."

"But he knows?"

"He'll assure you that we weren't in Russia," I replied, and gave him Lippitt's number. "After you call him, place a call to Senator Kathleen Wyndham. She's-"

"I know who Senator Wyndham is, Frederickson."

"Good. She's the head of the Senate committee investigating the nominees, which makes her my boss. You make sure you talk to her, not anybody else; tell her everything that's happened here."

"You have a number for a direct line to her?" McGarvey sounded impressed.

"I had it, but I lost the slip of paper somewhere up in the mountains. Make sure you tell her that I've been digging very deeply into Orville Madison's background and have found some very disturbing things." I paused, took a deep breath. "Tell her I said there's an Archangel looking over her shoulder."

The trooper frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It's just a code, so that she'll know the message comes from me. Tell the senator that I'd like to see her personally just as soon as possible. Tell her there's a great deal at stake, and that it's a matter of life and death-literally. Would you like me to make the calls myself?"

McGarvey shook his head, as I'd known he would. "Do you really believe that a United States senator is going to drop everything she's doing in order to hop aboard a plane and fly here to see you?"

"If you say everything I've asked you to say, and if you tell her there's an Archangel looking over her shoulder, I certainly hope so."

"Who do you think sent those men after you up in those mountains, Frederickson?"

"Captain, earlier I said that I wanted us to arrive at some unpleasant truths together. We've arrived. After everything I've just told you, you know damn well who tried to kill us up in the mountains; it's the same man who tried to kill me earlier and ended up burning five people to death; it's the same man who blew up an entire family in Seattle simply because they knew the truth about him. It also happens to be the same man who's demanding that you turn Garth and me over to his people, so that they can kill us. We're talking about Orville Madison himself."

"You're full of shit, Frederickson," McGarvey said; but the blood had drained from his face.

"Am I? I'm sorry to put you between a rock and a hard place, Captain, but the decisions you make in the next few hours will determine whether Garth and I live or die. The request to pick us up and turn us over came from the C.I.A., didn't it?"

"Frederickson, I-"

"Don't bother denying it, McGarvey, because I know it's true. Now, it's the F.B.I, that's responsible for counterintelligence, not the C.I.A., and the F.B.I, gets very touchy about incursions into its territory. You know that too. Orville Madison was head of the dirtiest department in the agency, and he'll remain with the C.I.A. pending his confirmation. What he's been doing isn't exactly standard operating procedure, and so he's had to use a string of operatives who are absolutely loyal to him personally. He's running out of those kinds of operatives; if he weren't, he never would have involved the New York State Police. He never counted on you having the guts to hold us and ask a few questions for yourself."

McGarvey, still very pale, was silent for a long time. "Do you realize what you're saying?" he asked at last.

"That President Shannon's nominee for secretary of state is a coldblooded, psychotic killer who'll do anything to cover up certain things in his past? Of course I realize what I'm saying."

"Why didn't you tell me all this at the beginning?"

"Would you have believed me, before I had a chance to point out certain things you could think over?"

"What makes you think I believe you now?"

"Madison is counting on you not believing Garth and me. I'm counting on you continuing to do the right thing; if you do, I think there's a good chance we can nail this guy. Oh, and by the way: it was Madison who had Po killed. For that job, he used a kind of super-assassin he'd hired from outside the C.I.A."

"That's crazy, Frederickson."

"It's the truth."

"What kind of hard evidence do you have to back up any of this?"

"Let's get Mr. Lippitt or Senator Wyndham here. Or you can set up a conference call where we can all talk and listen."

"You're holding something back on me, Frederickson," McGarvey said in a low, slightly menacing voice. "That isn't a very good idea."

"Captain, why don't you go make those calls?"

Waiting; trying to remember all the lies I had told so that I could repeat them if I had to, hoping I'd done the right thing in offering up a decidedly bent version of the truth. Garth, whose cell I now shared, wasn't so sure.

"If you were going to talk to him at all, why didn't you just tell him all of it, straight?"

I winced at the loudness of Garth's voice. Putting my finger to my lips, I walked around the cell, checking the walls, ceiling, and under the cots for anything that might be a listening device. I didn't find any-which didn't mean there weren't any there. I motioned him toward the sink, where I turned on the faucet. "Where would you have had me start?" I asked in a low voice. "With a newly elected president coming to town? A bullet hole in a window? A painting and ten thousand dollars in a hidden compartment? How about a white-eyed ninja who seems to be able to appear and disappear at will? Come on. If I'd started trying to explain how and why Veil is the center of gravity in this particular universe, I'd have had to talk about all the killing he's done up to this point, and then get into the whole Archangel business."

Garth shrugged. "So?"

"So the way I handled it seemed like a good idea at the time," I replied, making no effort to hide my irritation and impatience. "My version played a whole hell of a lot better than the truth would have. Besides, Veil's the only ally we have at the moment, and he doesn't need a horde of state troopers and F.B.I, agents looking for him in addition to Henry Kitten and Madison's people. Veil's discredited, remember? Bringing him into it would only have made a bad situation worse."

"Ally? You've always had a weird way of looking at the world. He's responsible for this shit."

"Funny, I thought Orville Madison was responsible."

"Kendry's responsible for you being in the situation you're in."

"What, are you visiting this cell as a tourist?"

"I don't give a shit about myself, and you know it. Besides, I ended up here working in an official capacity."

"We've been through this before, Garth, and there's no sense in playing it all through again. I took his money, didn't I?"

"To put it in the bank for him. He sandbagged you. The trap he set may have been subtle, but it was still a trap."

"Asking a friend for help isn't setting a trap."

"He knew what would happen."

"Drop it, Garth. What's done is done."