George Chesbro - Two Songs This Archangel Sings

"Yes," Andrews replied curtly. "I might point out that neither of you would be alive at this moment if it weren't for the president."

"That's who called McGarvey?"

"I called; the president authorized the call."

"How did he find out where we were and what was going on?"

"I think we may be getting ahead of ourselves," Andrews said in a low, strained voice, averting his gaze. "I'm not certain we yet know exactly what's been going on."

"Bullshit," Garth said evenly.

I asked, "How did you find out we were here?"

"We… received word."

"From whom?"

"We just received word."

"You've spoken to Captain McGarvey. You know what's happened here, and you must certainly understand that Orville Madison's men intended to kill us."

"I understand that the two of you have made a lot of allegations and may be prepared to make more."

"Allegations," Garth murmured, looking up at the ceiling. "Great word."

"I can prove those were Orville Madison's men who came to get us," I said to the presidential aide as I swung my feet to the floor, sat up in the chair, and leaned forward on the desk. "I can prove Madison's involvement in thirteen murders, and I can demonstrate his reasons for ordering them to be carried out."

"Can you, really?" Burton Andrews' eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

"Beyond a reasonable doubt, yes-to reasonable men who care about the truth and want to see justice done, regardless of the consequences. I'm not sure you fit into that category, which is why I see no reason for trying to prove it to you; a Senate hearing would be a more proper forum. You have no legal status, Andrews. You're just a high-powered errand boy sent here to assess what measures have to be taken to assure optimum damage control. Maybe we'll help you contain that damage, maybe we won't. We don't like your attitude. We've been through a gauntlet of death and destruction set up by Shannon's secretary of state, and we've watched a lot of good people-men, women, and children-die because of that maniac. Then, a couple of hours after Madison almost kills us, you show up and want to play games. You'd be well advised to play straight with us. Otherwise, Garth and I take a hike-maybe to the newspapers."

"We should have you negotiating with the Russians, Frederickson," Andrews said wryly.

"Fuck you. What do you want from us?"

"You'd go to the newspapers with your so-called proof?"

"There's nothing 'so-called' about it. Is that what we're doing? Negotiating?"

"See what I mean? You'd be a tough man to bargain with-if we were bargaining. Tell me what your proof is. Show it to me."

"First admit that the president knows that Orville Madison is a murderer, and then tell me what's being done about it. Is Madison under arrest?"

Andrews' answer was to snap open the case in his lap. A vein pulsed in his temple as he took out a sheet of paper, which he did not offer to show to either Garth or me. "Dr. Frederickson," the baby-faced man said stiffly, "you filed a petition under the Freedom of Information Act for certain documents concerning any and all operations in the Viet Nam war under the general code name Archangel. You also requested the 'true and original'-your words-service records of one Veil Kendry. Is that correct?"

"If you know that, am I to assume that the materials I requested are waiting for me at home in my mailbox?"

"I would doubt it very much, Frederickson. First of all, it often takes months-sometimes years-to process petitions like yours. In addition, as you may or may not know, the information you request is highly classified. Your petition will eventually be denied."

"Then why bring it up?"

"Because even a request for such information could make some people question your motives."

"My motives were to shake up certain people and get their attention; it seems to have worked. In any case, I don't need any of your documents; Garth and I already know all we need to know about Archangel."

"Do you, really?"

"Yes. Do you know about Archangel, Andrews?"

"How did you get mixed up with this man, Veil Kendry?"

"Am I mixed up with him?"

"You asked for his service records."

"He's a friend of mine."

"What do you know-or think you know-about Kendry?"

"Let me tell you something about Veil Kendry, Andrews," I said softly. "He is, or was, Archangel, and there are two songs this Archangel sings. One song is of gentle, almost aching beauty; the other is of savagery, violence, and death." I paused, then-curious as to what his reaction might be-raised my right hand and waggled my thumb at him. "You know what I mean?"

He knew what I meant. The presidential aide's face went pale, and he quickly looked away. For a moment I thought he was going to be sick, but he contented himself with taking a series of deep breaths. It meant that, while the first five thumbs had almost certainly gone to Orville Madison, the last batch, from the commandos in the mountains, had gone directly to the Oval Office along with a detailed report on everything that had happened since the night of the president's speech at the Waldorf, and perhaps with a list of certain demands. It explained the president's quick action in having Andrews call the trooper substation. Veil had saved our lives once again, this time through the mails.

"If your boss got the thumbs," I continued, "it means he also got a report on what Madison has been up to. What does the president think of his secretary of state now?*

"Please," Andrews said, a pained expression on his face. "He's not going to remain as secretary of state, Frederickson. Certainly, I don't have to tell you that."

"Well, that's the first piece of good news we've had since you walked in here; but it's not that good. What else is going to happen to him? Sending him off to Martha's Vineyard with a fat pension isn't quite going to do the trick. The party's over, and it's time for you to stop playing hide and seek. We've got the goods on Madison, and you know it. Are we going to work together, or not?"

Andrews' pained expression hadn't changed; if anything, it had grown more pained. "Frederickson, surely you're sophisticated enough to know that we-"

"We?"

"The administration. We have to keep our options open. This mess could cause a great deal of trouble for a lot of innocent people."

"You mean it could cause a great deal of trouble for Kevin Shannon."

"Of course it could. But I also include the citizens of the United States of America, and our allies. This matter must be handled with discretion. Kevin Shannon is the president of our country, which makes him a symbol as well as a man."

"Not to us. Shannon's just a man with a big job. If he can't handle it, he shouldn't have run. Or he should resign."

"Have Madison killed," Garth said matter-of-factly. "Blow the son-of-a-bitch away."

They were the first words my brother had spoken in some time; he'd been staring out the window during most of my conversation with Andrews, and I hadn't even been sure he was listening. Now his words hung in the air like dark, soaring birds of prey. I thought it was a rather good suggestion, providing a full and satisfying measure of poetic justice, and I waited to see what Andrews' reaction would be.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Lieutenant," the aide said after a long pause. "Making casual statements like that could get you a long term in a federal prison."

"First of all, you heard me wrong if you thought I was being casual," Garth said in the same flat tone. "Second, you have too many conflicting loyalties and interests for me to give a shit what you do, pal. You don't want this story to come out because it would embarrass your boss, which means you don't want a trial. But I guarantee you that Mongo and I aren't about to let Madison have a pass on this. So, you have him killed. Madison has made a whole career of that type of thing, so there's no reason why the favor shouldn't be returned. If you don't want to bite that bullet, hand him over to me; I'll do the job for you."