Robert Randisi - Bullets & Lies

He opened the door and entered. There was nothing in the room but a desk, two chairs, and a man sitting behind the desk. The man was in his forties, with black hair that came to a widow’s peak, and sparse eyebrows over intense blue eyes. He had a definite air of authority about him, even though he wore a simple blue suit with no insignia.

“Tal.”

“Donny.”

The man smiled. “I haven’t been called that in years. Everybody around here calls me Donald, or Mr. White, or sir.”

“I’ll call you whatever you like.”

Donald White stood up and smiled. “From an old friend, Donny is just fine.”

Roper approached the desk, and the two men shook hands warmly. They had worked together during the war under Pinkerton, both learning at the feet of the great detective. They were equals then, until Roper left to start his own agency. They had seen each other only sporadically since. In the meantime, White had worked his way up the government ladder and was currently the head of what was now called the Secret Service.

“Have a seat,” White said. “I can’t offer you anything because you’re not really here.”

“I understand.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Donny, I have a client who is a Medal of Honor winner.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What?” Roper asked.

“You heard about what the government is planning to do.” It wasn’t a question.

“So it’s true?”

“That the government has decided to rescind a large number of medals that were given out during and after the war? Yes.”

“Jesus, Donny—”

“I don’t know if you heard how many of the medals were presented erroneously, capriciously—”

“I heard about two hundred that were presented to men simply for re-upping.”

“Perfect example,” White said.

“That’s fine,” Roper said. “I can understand it in that instance, but what about some of the others?”

“I can’t really discuss this, Tal,” White said. “In fact, I’m not even involved officially.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Roper said, “but you were the person I thought I could get in to see the quickest.”

White spread his hands and said, “Obviously you were right.”

Roper studied his friend. Working in the government behind a desk had added some pounds to the man, but he still appeared to be in good shape. And he still seemed to have a mind of his own, rather than having become a government puppet, like a lot of the men Roper had known in the past.

“All right,” Roper said, “let’s talk about a specific case.”

“Your client.”

“Howard Westover.”

White frowned. “I don’t know the name.”

“I have to admit I don’t know exactly why he received his medal,” Roper said. “It wasn’t a question I wanted to ask his wife, under the circumstances.”

“What are the circumstances?”

Roper told Donald White about Westover’s condition, how he was wounded in the war and had continued to deteriorate over the years, to the point where he was now in a wheelchair.

“That’s unfortunate,” White commented. “What do you want me to do, Tal?”

“For now I’d just like you to look into the circumstances of Westover’s medal. Let me know how and why he was awarded it, and whether or not he’s in danger of losing it.”

White sat back in his chair and regarded his friend for a few moments. “I suppose I can do that. You’re at the Georgetown?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll look into it and get back to you tomorrow,” the man promised.

“Should I come back here?”

“No,” White said, “I’ll come to you.”

“At my hotel?”

“Tomorrow night I’ll pick you up for supper,” White said. “I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant. Six o’clock.”

“Right out in the open?”

“Why not?” White spread his arms. “Just two old friends having dinner.”

“Well, that’s fine with me,” Roper said, standing, “as long as the government is paying.”

White smiled. “Naturally.”

12

When Roper came out of White’s office, the soldier was still standing there, as expected.

“Done, sir?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“This way.”

The soldier showed him back to the main door.

“Thank you,” Roper said.

“No problem, sir.”

Outside, Roper walked to the corner, where he was able to wave down a passing cab. He told the young driver to take him to the Georgetown Hotel. After five minutes he sat forward, took his cut-down Colt from his holster, and pressed it to the back of the man’s neck.

“This isn’t the way to the Georgetown.”

“No, sir.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Somebody wants to see you, Mr. Roper.”

“And who might that be?”

“Colonel Adam Sanderson.”

“Sanderson,” Roper said, sitting back.

“Yes, sir. He ordered me to pick you up and take you to him.”

“You one of his men?”

“Yes, sir. Corporal Tom Prince.”

“He tell you who I am?”

“Yes, sir, and what you look like.”

“When did you get these orders?”

“About fifteen minutes ago, sir.”

Roper put his gun away. The last time he had seen Sanderson, the man was a captain.

“How many birds has he got?”

“Two, sir,” Prince said. “Word is the third one is on the way.”

“He must be…what? Sixty?”

“The colonel is in excellent health, sir.”

“I’m sure he is,” Roper said.

“We’re almost there, sir,” Prince said. “Do you want me to turn back?”

“Do I have that option?”

“Oh, yes, sir. The colonel told me you’d tumble to what I was doin’ right away. He said if you wanted me to turn back, I was to do so. It was up to you.”

“Did he also tell you I might kill you?”

“Uh, yes, sir,” Prince said.

“And still you agreed to pick me up?”

“I didn’t agree, sir,” Price said. “I wasn’t given a choice. I was ordered.”

Roper thought a moment. He hadn’t been in Dupont Circle long, but someone had gotten the word to Sanderson and he’d acted quickly.

“No, that’s okay, soldier. Keep going.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. And thank you for not shooting me.”

“You’re welcome, soldier,” Roper said. “You’re very welcome.”

The man was standing on the banks of the Potomac, staring out at the water. He was in full uniform. If his back had not been to Roper, the detective would have seen his eagle insignias shining in the sun.

“There he is, sir,” Prince said, reining the horse in.

“I see him, soldier.” Roper looked around, didn’t see anybody else. “He’s covered, isn’t he?”

“No, sir,” Prince said.

“You sure?”

“The colonel told me it would be just you and him,” Prince said. “He even said I was to drive away and come back in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right.” Roper stepped down from the cab.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Your gun?”

Roper turned to look at Prince. The man was pointing a .45 at him.

“What are your orders, soldier?”

“To relieve you of your weapon, sir.”

“And if I don’t give it up?”

“You don’t get to see the colonel.”

“He’s the one who wants to see me.”

“These are not the colonel’s orders, sir.”

“Whose then?”

“His aide, Captain Morressy.”

Roper did not know that name, but it appeared the man was only trying to safeguard his commanding officer’s life.

“Yeah, okay.” He handed his weapon over. Prince holstered his own .45.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Sure, soldier. Thanks for not shooting me.”