The 4 Phase Man Part 43

"My name come up?"

Michael sighed. "Not yet, but it's early."

The vice president designate nodded simply.

Oddly the destruction and death of the night before-first learned of at three in the morning by a panicked call from Michael-seemed to have quieted and strengthened the man. As if the combined blows of the Senate suspicions and the attack on the command center had loosed him from some bonds he'd been struggling against.

He poured himself some more coffee. "Since the children aren't there, we have to a.s.sume they were rescued and that the reports of the congresswoman's demise are less than thorough." He got up and started pacing, calmly. "What we need to do is act, get out ahead of all this before more silly accusations start flying."

Michael appeared less certain. "I think we should wait until we hear from Steingarth or Canvas."

"Don't think," Michael, DeWitt said without rancor. "You're no good at it." He opened a window and breathed in the dew-scented air. "We didn't get this close just because of foreign investment. He lightly tossed a pad over to his aide." Take this down.

"For immediate release," he began after five minutes of an intense silence. "Attorney General Jefferson DeWitt is saddened by the death of national treasure and personal friend Anthony Grimes. But not completely surprised by it."

"In recent weeks," it has come to the attorney general's attention that Mr. Grimes was involved with an extremist cult called"-he paused, trying out different names-"the Heisenberg Effect. An organization linked to missing and feared mentally unbalanced Congresswoman Valerie Alvarez."

Michael looked up. "Linked by who?"

DeWitt shrugged. "Us. Continuing...

"As recently as several days ago, Attorney General DeWitt visited Mr. Grimes at his home to attempt to convince him to abandon this cult which had suicidal and murderous tendencies, along with reactionary political beliefs. The cult-which had been exerting more and more influence on Mr. Grimes in recent months-was suspected by the attorney general of attempting to engage in espionage against Western governments, not unlike the Aum Shoko Ritai in j.a.pan.

"In retrospect," it appears that Mr. Grimes-who was educated in England-may well be this Apple Blossom whom the Senate Judiciary Committee has asked the attorney general to a.s.sist in identifying.

"Attorney General DeWitt prays that he is wrong, but fears he is not."

Michael looked up from the statement. "I thought he was your friend."

DeWitt shrugged. "No such thing as a dead friend."

His aide studied him, then started out of the room. "I'll try to reach Steingarth again before issuing it."

"f.u.c.k the n.a.z.i. Canvas too. We don't need them anymore."

Michael nodded reluctantly. "I'd still like to try." "As long as it gets out before the ten o'clock talk shows." DeWitt started toward his bedroom to dress for the day. "What's on the schedule ... besides damage control?" He chuckled.

"Filling in for the president at the Army-Navy game in Philadelphia this afternoon. Situation briefing at the White House and dinner with the national security staff at 7:30."

"Fine. Get the statement out, then contact as many of the others in the chain as you can. We've got to get them going on this cult idea." He pulled off his robe, admiring himself in a mirror. "Time they see who's really in charge."

Michael never looked back as he headed into his nearby office.

It took only a few minutes-and two more unanswered calls to Steingarth (and Canvas's cell phone)-and the statement was ready to be electronically sent out to the nation's media.

To an extent, he admired DeWitt's self-confidence. The natural arrogance that served as an understructure of strength to support him in the worst times. It was a large part of what made DeWitt the Chinese's first choice in the Apple Blossom plan.

But before he entered the sequence that would spread the gospel according to DeWitt out among what the attorney general truly believed were the naive, the ignorant, and the just plain stupid that made up 90 percent of the American people, Michael read a fax that was being received on his private, secured machine.

It appeared to be a revised schedule for Justice Department staffers in the A.G.'s office. A jumble of names, t.i.tles, times, and hours. But ten minutes of unwrapping the code-which only he and his personal controller knew-left him with quite a different message.

Adieu O soldier

You of the rude campaign (which we shared)

The rapid march, the life of the camp,

The hot contention of opposing fronts, the long maneuver,

Red hot battles with their slaughter, the stimulus, the strong, terrific game.

Spell of all brave and manly hearts, the trains of time through you

And like you all fill'd,

With war and war's expression.

Adieu, dear comrade.

Your mission is fulfill'd.

Michael swiveled away from his keyboard, picked up the secure line and dialed a number that only he knew.

"Two, eight, one, three."

"Apple Blossom," he said softly.

"Countersign?"

Michael looked around to make sure he wasn't being overheard. "Blossom."

"One moment, please."

Thirty seconds later a new voice came on the line. "Blossom, it's been far too long."

"I have a problem," Michael said in a near whisper.

"How well I know, son."

"You seen the papers?" he asked softly.

"And the television," the voice responded with a concern and warmth that already made Michael feel a little better.

"He thinks it's a good thing."

"How so?"

Another furtive glance to be sure he was alone. "He's giving orders, bizarre stuff, wants to involve the entire chain in them."

A brief but noticeable silence on the other end of the line. "Well, we can't have that, can we?"

"No, sir."

A heavy sigh could be heard. "Michael, what's your a.s.sessment of the damage done him by the Roberts allegations?"

Michael thought about it. "Survivable, so long as we play like its meaningless. Don't legitimize it or give it any more power than it already has."

"Yes," the voice said in a happy tone.

Michael could picture the satisfied smile on the man's face. The look his real father had never shown him-except in those times when the belt would fly across the young boy's back and shoulders. "What should I do?"

"For now? Whatever the lunatic says. Do nothing that would personally endanger your position ... or yourself, of course."

"Right."

"Apple's instability has been the topic of recent conversations. The cause of growing concerns. His, well, boldness of late is a thing that must be corrected. Perhaps he is not the one we need, after all." A long pause. "Do you understand me, son?"

"I do." It was said stiffly, reluctantly.

Soldierly.

"We'll need to consider the new circ.u.mstances," the voice was continuing. "Explore other possibilities."

"You'll stay in touch?" Michael's voice was plaintive, pained, longing.

"I'm only a phone call away, you know that." Another brief pause. "Help me out, Michael. I've been trying to remember something from U.S. history."

"Anything," the possible future White House chief of staff said happily. He remembered their discussions of obscure historical events as among the happiest times in his training and life.

"Who was the virtually unknown congressman that exposed Alger Hiss as a communist spy?"

"Richard Nixon."

"Ah! Right you are." Another, more strategic pause. "And he ended up president," did he not?

"He did," Michael said in a suddenly hushed tone.

"Ah." The voice sounded deeply satisfied. "You always have such a current grasp on history. The briefest pauses." And what makes it. Good-bye, Michael. We'll speak again soon, I'm sure. The line went dead.

As Michael's mind burst to life.

Twenty minutes later-the press release issued and with two hours to himself-he arrived at the offices of Attorney General Designate Rod Buckley.

A large box of tapes, videos, and doc.u.ments in hand.

The Executive Office Building gate of the White House complex was always the least used on the weekends. Tourists and VIPs used the two gates nearest the impressive South Portico; weekend staff (mostly based in the Executive Mansion) used the west gate. So White House Police Officer Jack Kreiger was mildly surprised when a well-dressed woman walked up to the guard's booth.

"May I help you, ma'am?" he said professionally as he sized her up. Deeply tanned, a bruise under her left ear, a large briefcase that almost matched the off-the-rack-but expensive-business suit.

"I'm Congresswoman Valerie Alvarez of New York," she said as she placed her briefcase on the counter for inspection. "And I want to see the president ... now."

It was still late at night in the VIP lounge at Hu-tian Airport in Beijing. Chronically understaffed, the third and smallest jetport serving the largest city in China, it was filled primarily with traveling military, rich Hong Kong traders, and New Territory settlers seeking to bring family in or out of the People's Republic.

And, tonight, one other.

Herb sat patiently reading a spy novel-laughing at the absurdities it called fact-waiting for a response to his earlier request. He knew the risks he was taking-politically, personally-but he also realized that Xenos was right.

Only a face-to-face meeting would have the required impact.