9Q4

Oliver smiled. "I have a pretty full schedule today, but for you "This will take only a few minutes. I ran into Peter Tager. He told me about your meeting with the Arabs." Oliver grinned. "Isn't that wonderful? It looks like we're finally going to have peace in the Middle East." He slammed a fist on the desk. "After all these decades! That's what my administration is going to be remembered for, Todd." Senator Davis asked quietly, "Have you thought this through, Oliver?" Oliver frowned. "What? What do you mean?" "Peace is a simple word, but it has a lot of ramifications. Peace doesn't have any financial benefits. When there's a war, countries buy billions of dollars' worth of armaments that are made here in the United States. In peacetime, they don't need any. Because Iran can't sell its oil, oil prices are up, and the United States gets the benefit of that." Oliver was listening to him unbelievingly. "Todd this is the opportunity of a lifetime!" "Don't be naive, Oliver. If we had really wanted to make peace between Israel and the Arab countries, we could have done it long ago. Israel is a tiny country. Any one of the last half-dozen presidents could have forced them to make a deal with the Arabs, but they preferred to keep things as they were. Don't misunderstand me Jews are fine people. I work with some of them in the Senate." "I don't believe that you can " "Believe what you like, Oliver. A peace treaty now would not be in the best interest of this country. I don't want you to go ahead with it."

"I have to go ahead with it."

"Don't tell me what you have to do, Oliver." Senator Davis leaned forward. "I'll tell you. Don't forget who put you in that chair."

Oliver said quietly, "Todd, you may not respect me, but you must respect this office. Regardless of who put me here, I'm the president."

Senator Davis got to his feet. "The president? You're a fucking blow-up toy! You're my dummy, Oliver. You take orders, you don't give them."

Oliver looked at him for a long moment. "How many oil fields do you and your friends own, Todd?"

"That's none of your goddam business. If you go through with this, you're finished. Do you hear me? I'm giving you twenty-four hours to come to your senses."

At dinner that evening, Jan said, "Father asked me to talk to you, Oliver. He's very upset." He looked across the table at his wife and thought, I'm going to have to fight you, too. "He told me what was happening." "Did he?" "Yes." She leaned across the table. "And I think what you're going to do is wonderful."

It took a moment for Oliver to understand. "But your father's against it."

"I know. And he's wrong. If they're willing to make peace you have to help."

Oliver sat there listening to Jan's words, studying her. He thought about how well she had handled herself as the First Lady. She had become involved in important charities and had been an advocate for a half-dozen major causes. She was lovely and intelligent and caring and it was as though Oliver were seeing her for the first time. Why have I been running around? Oliver thought. I have everything I need right here.

"Will it be a long meeting tonight?"

"No," Oliver said slowly. "I'm going to cancel it. I'm staying home."

That evening, Oliver made love to Jan for the first time in weeks, and it was wonderful. And in the morning, he thought, I'm going to have Peter get rid of the apartment.

The note was on his desk the next morning. I want you to know that I am a real fan of yours, and I would not do anything to harm you. I was in the garage of the Monroe Arms on the iph, and I was very surprised to see you there. The next day when I read about the murder of that young girl, I knew why you went back to wipe your fingerprints off the elevator but tons. I'm sure that all the newspapers would be interested in my story and would pay me a lot of money. But like I said, I'm a fan of yours. I certainly would not want to do anything to hurt you. I could use some financial help, and if you are interested, this will be just between us. I will get in touch with you in a few days while you think about it.

Sincerely, A friend "Jesus," Sime Lombardo said softly. "This is incredible. How was it delivered?"

"It was mailed," Peter Tager told him. "Addressed to the president, "Personal." "

Sime Lombardo said, "It could be some nut who's just trying to "

"We can't take a chance, Sime. I don't believe for a minute that it's true, but if even a whisper of this gets out, it would destroy the president. We must protect him."

"How do we do that?"

"First, we have to find out who sent this."

Peter Tager was at the Federal Bureau of Investigation headquarters at loth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, talking to Special Agent Clay Jacobs. "You said it was urgent, Peter?" "Yes." Peter Tager opened a briefcase and took out a single sheet of paper. He slid it across the desk. Clay Jacobs picked it up and read it aloud:

" "I want you to know that I'm a real fan of yours.... I will get in touch with you in a few days while you think about it." "

Everything in between had been whited out.

Jacobs looked up. "What is this?"

"It involves the highest security," Peter Tager said. "The president asked me to try to find out who sent it. He would like you to check it for fingerprints."

Clay Jacobs studied the paper again, frowning. "This is highly unusual, Peter."

"Why?"

"It just smells wrong."

"All the president wants is for you to give him the name of the individual who wrote it."

"Assuming his fingerprints are on it."

Peter Tager nodded. "Assuming his fingerprints are on it."

"Wait here." Jacobs rose and left the office.

Peter Tager sat there looking out the window, thinking about the letter and its possible terrible consequences.

Exactly seven minutes later, Clay Jacobs returned.

"You're in luck," he said.

Peter Tager's heart began to race. "You found something?"

"Yes." Jacobs handed Tager a slip of paper. "The man you're looking for was involved in a traffic accident about a year ago. His name is Carl Gorman. He works as a clerk at the Monroe Arms." He stood there a moment, studying Tager. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me about this?" "No," Peter Tager said sincerely. "There isn't."

"Frank Lonergan is on line three, Miss Stewart. He says it's urgent."

"I'll take it." Leslie picked up the telephone and pressed a button "Frank?"

"Are you alone?"

"Yes."

She heard him take a deep breath. "Okay. Here we go." He spoke for the next ten minutes without interruption.

Leslie Stewart hurried into Matt Baker's office. "We have to talk, Matt." She sat down across from his desk. "What if I told you that Oliver Russell is involved in the murder of Chloe Houston?" "For openers, I'd say you are paranoid and that you've gone over the edge.

"Frank Lonergan just phoned in. He talked to Governor Houston, who doesn't believe that Paul Yerby killed her daughter. He talked to Paul Yerby's parents. They don't believe it either." "I wouldn't expect them to," Matt Baker said. "If that's the only " "That's just the beginning. Frank went down to the morgue and spoke to the coroner. She told him that the kid's belt was so tight that they had to cut it away from his throat." He was listening more intently now. "And ?" "Frank went down to pick up Yerby's belongings. His belt was there. Intact.

Matt Baker drew a deep breath. "You're telling me that he was murdered in prison and that there was a cover-up?" "I'm not telling you anything. I'm just reporting the facts. Oliver Russell tried to get me to use Ecstasy once. When he was running for governor, a woman who was a legal secretary died from Ecstasy. While he was governor, his secretary was found in a park in an Ecstasy-induced coma. Lonergan learned that Oliver called the hospital and suggested they take her off life-support systems." Leslie leaned forward. "There was a telephone call from the Imperial Suite to the White House the night Chloe Houston was murdered. Frank checked the hotel telephone records. The page for the fifteenth was missing. The president's appointments secretary told Lonergan that the president had a meeting with General Whitman that night. There was no meeting. Frank spoke to Governor Houston, and she said that Chloe was on a tour of the White House and that she had arranged for her daughter to meet the president." There was a long silence. "Where's Frank Lonergan now?" Matt Baker asked. "He's tracking down Carl Gorman, the hotel clerk who booked the Imperial Suite."

Jeremy Robinson was saying, "I'm sorry. We don't give out personal information about our employees." Frank Lonergan said, "All I'm asking for is his home address so I can " "It wouldn't do you any good. Mr Gorman is on vacation." Lonergan sighed. "That's too bad. I was hoping he could fill in a few blank spots." "Blank spots?" "Yes We're doing a big story on the death of Governor Houston's daughter in your hotel. Well, I'll just have to piece it together without Gorman.

He took out a pad and a pen. "How long has this hotel been here? I want to know all about its background, its clientele, its " Jeremy Robinson frowned. "Wait a minute! Surely that's not necessary. I mean she could have died anywhere." Frank Lonergan said sympathetically, "I know, but it happened here. Your hotel is going to become as famous as Watergate." "Mr. ?" "Lonergan." "Mr. Lonergan, I would appreciate it if you could I mean this kind of publicity is very bad. Isn't there some way ?" Lonergan was thoughtful for a moment. "Well, if I spoke to Mr. Gorman, I suppose I could find a different angle." "I would really appreciate that. Let me get you his address."

Frank Lonergan was becoming nervous. As the outline of events began to take shape, it became clear that there was a murder conspiracy and a cover-up at the highest level. Before he went to see the hotel clerk, he decided to stop at his apartment house. His wife, Rita, was in the kitchen preparing dinner. She was a petite redhead with sparkling green eyes and a fair complexion. She turned in surprise as her husband walked in. "Frank, what are you doing home in the middle of the day?" "Just thought I'd drop in and say hello." She looked at his face. "No. There's something going on. What is it?" He hesitated "How long has it been since you've seen your mother?" "I saw her last week. Why?" "Why don't you go visit her again, honey?" "Is anything wrong?" He grinned. "Wrong?" He walked over to the mantel. "You'd better start dusting this off. We're going to put a Pulitzer Prize here and a Peabody Award here." "What are you talking about?" "I'm on to something that's going to blow everybody away and I mean people in high places. It's the most exciting story I've ever been involved in."

"Why do you want me to go see my mother?"

He shrugged. "There's just an outside chance that this could get to be a little dangerous. There are some people who don't want this story to get out. I'd feel better if you were away for a few days, just until this breaks."

"But if you're in danger "

"I'm not in any danger."

"You're sure nothing's going to happen to you?"

"Positive. Pack a few things, and I'll call you tonight."

"All right," Rita said reluctantly.

Lonergan looked at his watch. "I'll drive you to the train station."

One hour later, Lonergan stopped in front of a modest brick house in the Wheaton area. He got out of the car, walked to the front door, and rang the bell. There was no answer. He rang again and waited. The door suddenly swung open and a heavyset middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, regarding him suspiciously. "Yes?" "I'm with the Internal Revenue Service," Lonergan said. He flashed a piece of identification "I want to see Carl Gorman." "My brother's not here." "Do you know where he is?" "No." Too fast. Lonergan nodded. "That's a shame Well, you might as well start packing up his things. I'll have the department send over the vans." Lonergan started back down the driveway toward his car. "Wait a minute! What vans? What are you talking about?" Lonergan stopped and turned. "Didn't your brother tell you?" "Tell me what?" Lonergan took a few steps back toward the house. "He's in trouble." She looked at him anxiously. "What kind of trouble?" "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss it." He shook his head. "He seems like a nice guy, too." "He is," she said fervently "Carl is a wonderful person." Lonergan nodded. "That was my feeling when we were questioning him down at the bureau." She was panicky "Questioning him about what?" "Cheating on his income tax. It's too bad. I wanted to tell him about a loophole that could have helped him out, but " He shrugged. "If he's not here..." He turned to go again "Wait! He's he's at a fishing lodge. I I'm not supposed to tell anybody." He shrugged. "That's okay with me." "No ... but this is different. It's the Sunshine Fishing Lodge on the lake in Richmond, Virginia." "Fine. I'll contact him there." "That would be wonderful You're sure he'll be all right?" "Absolutely," Lonergan said. "I'll see that he's taken care of."

Lonergan took 1-95, heading south. Richmond was a little over a hundred miles away. On a vacation, years ago, Lonergan had fished the lake, and he had been lucky.

He hoped he would be as lucky this time.

It was drizzling, but Carl Gorman did not mind. That's when the fish were supposed to bite. He was fishing for striped bass, using large minnows on slip bobbers, far out behind the row-boat. The waves lapped against the small boat in the middle of the lake, and the bait drifted behind the boat, untouched. The fish were in no hurry. It did not matter. Neither was he. He had never been happier. He was going to be rich beyond his wildest dreams. It had been sheer luck. You have to be at the right place at the right time. He had returned to the Monroe Arms to pick up a jacket he had forgotten and was about to leave the garage when the private elevator door opened. When he saw who got out, he had sat in his car, stunned. He had watched the man return, wipe off his fingerprints, then drive away. It was not until he read about the murder the following day that he had put it all together. In a way, he felt sorry for the man. I really am a fan of his. The trouble is, when you're that famous, you can never hide. Wherever you go, the world knows you. He'll pay me to be quiet. He has no choice I'll start with a hundred thousand. Once he pays that, he'll have to keep paying.

Maybe I'll buy a chateau in France or a chalet in Switzerland.

He felt a tug at the end of his line and snapped the rod toward him. He could feel the fish trying to get away. You're not going anywhere I've got you hooked.

In the distance, he heard a large speedboat approaching. They shouldn't allow power boats on the lake. They'll scare all the fish away. The speedboat was bearing down on him.

"Don't get too close," Carl shouted.

The speedboat seemed to be heading right toward him.

"Hey! Be careful. Watch where you're going. For God's sake "

The speedboat plowed into the rowboat, cutting it in half, the water sucking Gorman under.

Damn drunken fool! He was gasping for air. He managed to get his head above water. The speedboat had circled and was heading straight for him again. And the last thing Carl Gorman felt before the boat smashed into his skull was the tug of the fish on his line.

When Frank Lonergan arrived, the area was crowded with police cars, a fire engine, and an ambulance. The ambulance was just pulling away Frank Lonergan got out of his car and said to a bystander, "What's all the excitement?" "Some poor guy was in an accident on the lake There's not much left of him." And Lonergan knew.

At midnight, Frank Lonergan was working at his computer, alone in his apartment, writing the story that was going to destroy the President of the United States. It was a story that would earn him a Pulitzer Prize. There was no doubt about it in his mind. This was going to make him more famous than Woodward and Bernstein. It was the story of the century. He was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He got up and walked over to the front door. "Who is it?" "A package from Leslie Stewart." She's found some new information. He opened the door. There was a glint of metal, and an unbearable pain tore his chest apart. Then nothing.

Twenty.

Frank Lonergan's living room looked as if it had been struck by a miniature hurricane. All the drawers and cabinets had been pulled open and their contents had been scattered over the floor. Nick Reese watched Frank Lonergan's body being removed. He turned to Detective Steve Brown. "Any sign of the murder weapon?" "No." "Have you talked to the neighbors?" "Yeah. The apartment building is a zoo, full of monkeys. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Nada. Mrs Lonergan is on her way back here. She heard the news on the radio There have been a couple other robberies here in the last six months, and "

"I'm not so sure this was a robbery."

"What do you mean?"

"Lonergan was down at headquarters the other day to check on Paul Yerby's things. I'd like to know what story Lonergan was working on No papers in the drawers?"

"Nope."

"No notes?"

"Nothing."

"So either he was very neat, or someone took the trouble to clean everything out." Reese walked over to the work table. There was a cable dangling off the table, connected to nothing. Reese held it up "What's this?"

Detective Brown walked over. "It's a power cable for a computer. There must have been one here. That means there could be backups somewhere."

"They may have taken the computer, but Lonergan might have saved copies of his files. Let's check it out."

They found the backup disk in a briefcase in Lonergan's automobile Reese handed it to Brown. "I want you to take this down to headquarters. There's probably a password to get into it. Have Chris Colby look at it. He's an expert." The front door of the apartment opened and Rita Lonergan walked in. She looked pale and distraught She stopped when she saw the men. "Mrs. Lonergan?"

"Who are ?"

"Detective Nick Reese, Homicide. This is Detective Brown."

Rita Lonergan looked around. "Where is ?"

"We had your husband's body taken away, Mrs. Lonergan. I'm terribly sorry. I know it's a bad time, but I'd like to ask you a few questions."

She looked at him, and her eyes suddenly filled with fear. The last reaction Reese had expected. What was she afraid of?

"Your husband was working on a story, wasn't he?"

His voice echoed in her mind. "I'm on to something that's going to blow everybody away and I mean people in high places. It's the most exciting story I've ever been involved in."

"Mrs. Lonergan?"

"I I don't know anything,"

"You don't know what assignment he was working on?"

"No. Frank never discussed his work with me."

She was obviously lying.

"You have no idea who might have killed him?"

She looked around at the open drawers and cabinets. "It it must have been a burglar."

Detective Reese and Detective Brown looked at each other.

"If you don't mind, I'd I'd like to be alone. This has been a terrible shock."

"Of course. Is there anything we can do for you?"

"No. Just... just leave."

"We'll be back," Nick Reese promised.

When Detective Reese returned to police headquarters, he telephoned Matt Baker. "I'm investigating the Frank Lonergan murder," Reese said "Can you tell me what he was working on?"

"Yes. Frank was investigating the Chloe Houston killing."

"I see. Did he file a story?"

"No. We were waiting for it, when " He stopped.

"Right. Thank you, Mr. Baker."

"If you get any information, will you let me know?"

"You'll be the first," Reese assured him.

The following morning, Dana Evans went into Tom Hawkins's office. "I want to do a story on Frank's death. I'd like to go see his widow."

"Good idea. I'll arrange for a camera crew."

Late that afternoon, Dana and her camera crew pulled up in front of Frank Lonergan's apartment building. With the crew following her, Dana approached Lonergan's apartment door and rang the bell. This was the kind of interview Dana dreaded. It was bad enough to show on television the victims of horrible crimes, but to intrude on the grief of the stricken families seemed even worse to her.

The door opened and Rita Lonergan stood there. "What do you ?" "I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Lonergan. I'm Dana Evans, with WTE. We'd like to get your reaction to " Rita Lonergan froze for a moment, and then screamed, "You murderers!" She turned and ran inside the apartment. Dana looked at the cameraman, shocked. "Wait here." She went inside and found Rita Lonergan in the bedroom. "Mrs. Lonergan "Get out! You killed my husband!" Dana was puzzled. "What are you talking about?" "Your people gave him an assignment so dangerous that he made me leave town because he... he was afraid for my life." Dana looked at her, appalled. "What what story was he working on?" "Frank wouldn't tell me." She was fighting hysteria. "He said it was too too dangerous. It was something big. He talked about the Pulitzer Prize and the " She started to cry. Dana went over to her and put her arms around her. "I'm so sorry. Did he say anything else?" "No. He said I should get out, and he drove me to the train station. He was on his way to see some some hotel clerk." "Where?" "At the Monroe Arms."

"I don't know why you're here, Miss Evans," Jeremy Robinson protested "Lonergan promised me that if I cooperated, there would be no bad publicity about the hotel."

"Mr. Robinson, Mr. Lonergan is dead. All I want is some information."

Jeremy Robinson shook his head. "I don't know anything."

"What did you tell Mr. Lonergan?"

Robinson sighed. "He asked for the address of Carl Gorman, my hotel clerk. I gave it to him."

"Did Mr. Lonergan go to see him?"

"I have no idea."

"I'd like to have that address."

Jeremy looked at her a moment and sighed again. "Very well. He lives with his sister."

A few minutes later, Dana had the address in her hands. Robinson watched her leave the hotel, and then he picked up the phone and dialed the White House.

He wondered why they were so interested in the case.

Chris Colby, the department's computer expert, walked into Detective Reese's office holding a floppy disk. He was almost trembling with excitement. "What did you get?" Detective Reese asked. Chris Colby took a deep breath. "This is going to blow your mind. Here's a printout of what's on this disk."

Detective Reese started to read it and an incredulous expression came over his face. "Mother of God," he said. "I've got to show this to Captain Miller."

When Captain Otto Miller finished reading the printout, he looked up at Detective Reese. "I I've never seen anything like this."

"There's never been anything like this," Detective Reese said. "What the hell do we do with it?"

Captain Miller said slowly, "I think we have to turn it over to the U. S. attorney general."

They were gathered in the office of Attorney General Barbara Gatlin With her in the room were Scott Brandon, director of the FBI; Dean Bergstrom, the Washington chief of police; James Frisch, director of Central Intelligence, and Edgar Graves, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Barbara Gatlin said, "I asked you gentlemen here because I need your advice. Frankly, I don't know how to proceed. We have a situation that's unique. Frank Lonergan was a reporter for the Washington Tribune. When he was killed, he was in the middle of an investigation into the murder of Chloe Houston. I'm going to read you a transcript of what the police found on a disk in Lonergan's car." She looked at the printout in her hand and started to read aloud:

" "I have reason to believe that the President of the United States has committed at least one murder and is involved in four more " "What?

Scott Brandon exclaimed. "Let me go on." She started to read again " "I obtained the following information from various sources. Leslie Stewart, the owner and publisher of the Washington Tribune, is willing to swear that at one time, Oliver Russell tried to persuade her to take an illegal drug called liquid Ecstasy. " "When Oliver Russell was running for governor of Kentucky, Lisa Burnette, a legal secretary who worked in the state capitol building, threatened to sue him for sexual harassment. Russell told a colleague that he would have a talk with her. The next day, Lisa Burnette's body was found in the Kentucky River. She had died of an overdose of liquid Ecstasy.

"Then-Governor Oliver Russell's secretary, Miriam Friedland, was found unconscious on a park bench late at night. She was in a coma induced by liquid Ecstasy. The police were waiting for her to come out of it so that they could find out who had given it to her. Oliver Russell telephoned the hospital and suggested they take her off life support Miriam Fried-land passed away without coming out of the coma. " "Chloe Houston was killed by an overdose of liquid Ecstasy. I learned that on the night of her death, there was a phone call from the hotel suite to the White House. When I looked at the hotel telephone records to check it, the page for that day was missing.

" "I was told that the president was at a meeting that night, but I discovered that the meeting had been canceled. No one knows the president's whereabouts that night. " "Paul Yerby was detained as a suspect in Chloe Houston's murder. Captain Otto Miller told the White House where Yerby was being held. The following morning Yerby was found hanging in his cell. He was supposed to have hanged himself with his belt, but when I looked through his effects at the police station, his belt was there, intact. " "Through a friend at the FBI, I learned that a blackmail letter had been sent to the White House. President Russell asked the FBI to check it for fingerprints. Most of the letter had been whited out, but with the aid of an infra scope the FBI was able to decipher it. " "The fingerprints on the letter were identified as belonging to Carl Gorman, a clerk at the Monroe Arms Hotel, probably the only one who might have known the identity of the person who booked the suite where the girl was killed. He was away at a fishing camp, but his name had been revealed to the White House. When I arrived at the camp, Gorman had been killed in what appeared to be an accident.

"There are too many connections for these killings to be a coincidence I am going ahead with the investigation, but frankly, I'm frightened At least I have this on the record, in case anything should happen to me. More later." " "My God," James Frisch exclaimed. "This is .. horrible." "I can't believe it." Attorney General Gatlin said, "Lonergan believed it, and he was probably killed to stop this information from getting out."

"What do we do now?" Chief Justice Graves asked. "How do you ask the President of the United States if he's killed half a dozen people?"

"That's a good question. Impeach him? Arrest him? Throw him in jail?"

"Before we do anything," Attorney General Gatlin said, "I think we have to present this transcript to the president himself and give him an opportunity to comment."

There were murmurs of agreement.

"In the meantime, I'll have a warrant for his arrest drawn up. Just in case it's necessary."

One of the men in the room was thinking, I've got to inform Peter Tager.

Peter Tager put the telephone down and sat there for a long time, thinking about what he had just been told. He rose and walked down the corridor to Deborah Kanner's office. "I have to see the president.

"He's in a meeting. If you can " "I have to see him now, Deborah. It's urgent." She saw the look on his face. "Just a moment." She picked up the telephone and pressed a button. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. President. Mr. Tager is here, and he said he must see you." She listened a moment. "Thank you." She replaced the receiver and turned to Tager. "Five minutes."

Five minutes later, Peter Tager was alone in the Oval Office with President Russell.

"What's so important, Peter?"

Tager took a deep breath. "The Attorney General and the FBI think you're involved in six murders."

Oliver smiled. "This is some kind of joke...."

"Is it? They're on their way here now. They believe you killed Chloe Houston and "

Oliver had gone pale. "What?"

"I know it's crazy. From what I was told, all the evidence is circumstantial. I'm sure you can explain where you were the night the girl died."

Oliver was silent.

Peter Tager was waiting. "Oliver, you can explain, can't you?"

Oliver swallowed. "No. I can't."

"You have to!"

Oliver said heavily, "Peter, I need to be alone."

Peter Tager went to see Senator Davis in the Capitol. "What is it that's so urgent, Peter?" "It's it's about the president." "Yes?

"The attorney general and the FBI think that Oliver is a murderer."

Senator Davis sat there staring at Tager. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"They're convinced Oliver's committed several murders. I got a tip from a friend at the FBI."

Tager told Senator Davis about the evidence.

When Tager was through, Senator Davis said slowly, "That dumb son of a bitch! Do you know what this means?"

"Yes, sir. It means that Oliver "

"Fuck Oliver. I've spent years putting him where I want him. I don't care what happens to him. I'm in control now, Peter. I have the power. I'm not going to let Oliver's stupidity take it away from me I'm not going to let anyone take it away from me!"

"I don't see what you can "

"You said the evidence was all circumstantial?"

"That's right. I was told they have no hard proof. But he has no alibi."

"Where is the president now?"

"In the Oval Office."

"I've got some good news for him," Senator Todd Davis said.

Senator Davis was facing Oliver in the Oval Office. "I've been hearing some very disturbing things, Oliver. It's insane, of course. I don't know how anyone could possibly think you " "I don't, either. I haven't done anything wrong, Todd."

"I'm sure you haven't. But if word got out that you were even suspected of horrible crimes like these well, you can see how this would affect the office, can't you?" "Of course, but " "You're too important to let anything like this happen to you. This office controls the world, Oliver. You don't want to give this up." "Todd I'm not guilty of anything." "But they think you are. I'm told you have no alibi for the evening of Chloe Houston's murder?" There was a momentary silence. "No." Senator Davis smiled. "What happened to your memory, son? You were with me that evening. We spent the whole evening together." Oliver was looking at him, confused. "What?

"That's right. I'm your alibi. No one's going to question my word. No one. I'm going to save you, Oliver." There was a long silence Oliver said, "What do you want in return, Todd?" Senator Davis nodded "We'll start with the Middle Eastern peace conference. You'll call that off. After that, we'll talk. I have great plans for us. We're not going to let anything spoil them." Oliver said, "I'm going ahead with the peace conference." Senator Davis's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?" "I've decided to go ahead with it. You see, what's important is not how long a president stays in this office, Todd, but what he does when he's in it."

Senator Davis's face was turning red. "Do you know what you're doing?

"Yes." The senator leaned across the desk. "I don't think you do They're on their way here to accuse you of murder, Oliver. Where are you going to make your goddam deals from the penitentiary? You've just thrown your whole life away, you stupid " A voice came over the intercom. "Mr. President, there are some people here to see you Attorney General Gatlin, Mr. Brandon from the FBI, Chief Justice Graves, and " "Send them in." Senator Davis said savagely, "It looks like I should stick to judging horseflesh. I made a big mistake with you, Oliver. But you just made the biggest mistake of your life. I'm going to destroy you." The door opened and Attorney General Gatlin entered, followed by Brandon, Justice Graves, and Bergstrom. Justice Graves said, "Senator Davis ..." Todd Davis nodded curtly and strode out of the room. Barbara Gatlin closed the door behind him. She walked up to the desk. "Mr. President, this is highly embarrassing, but I hope you will understand. We have to ask you some questions.

Oliver faced them. "I've been told why you're here. Of course, I had nothing to do with any of those deaths." "I'm sure we're all relieved to hear that, Mr. President," Scott Brandon said, "and I assure you that none of us really believes that you could be involved. But an accusation has been made, and we have no choice but to pursue it."

"I understand."

"Mr. President, have you ever taken the drug Ecstasy?"

"No."

The group looked at one another.

"Mr. President, if you could tell us where you were on October fifteenth, the evening of Chloe Houston's death ..."

There was a silence.

"Mr. President?"

"I'm sorry. I can't."

"But surely you can remember where you were, or what you were doing on that evening?"

Silence.

"Mr. President?"

"I I can't think right now. I'd like you to come back later."

"How much later?" Bergstrom asked.

"Eight o'clock."

Oliver watched them leave. He got up and slowly walked into the small sitting room where Jan was working at a desk. She looked up as Oliver entered.

He took a deep breath and said, "Jan, I I have a confession to make."

Senator Davis was in an icy rage. How could I have been so stupid? I picked the wrong man. He's trying to destroy everything I've worked for. I'll teach him what happens to people who try to double-cross me. The Senator sat at his desk for a long time, deciding what he was going to do. Then he picked up a telephone and dialed.

"Miss Stewart, you told me to call you when I had something more for you."

"Yes, Senator?"

"Let me tell you what I want. From now on, I'll expect the full support of the Tribune campaign contributions, glowing editorials, the works."

"And what do I get in exchange for all this?" Leslie asked.

"The President of the United States. The attorney general has just sworn out a warrant for his arrest for a series of murders."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Keep talking."

Leslie Stewart was speaking so fast that Matt Baker could not understand a word. "For God's sake, calm down," he said. "What are you trying to say?" "The president! We've got him, Matt! I just talked to Senator Todd Davis. The chief justice of the Supreme Court, the chief of police, the director of the FBI, and the U. S. attorney general are in the president's office now with a warrant for his arrest on charges of murder. There's a pile of evidence against him, Matt, and he has no alibi. It's the story of the goddam century!"

"You can't print it." She looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?" "Leslie, a story like this is too big to just I mean the facts have to be checked and rechecked " "And rechecked again until it becomes a headline in The Washington Post? No, thank you. I'm not going to lose this one." "You can't accuse the President of the United States of murder without " Leslie smiled. "I'm not going to, Matt. All we have to do is print the fact that there is a warrant for his arrest That's enough to destroy him." "Senator Davis " " is turning in his own son-in-law. He believes the president is guilty. He told me so.

"That's not enough. We'll verify it first, and " "With whom Katharine Graham? Are you out of your mind? We run this right now, or we lose it." "I can't let you do this, not without verifying everything that "Who do you think you're talking to? This is my paper, and I'll do anything I like with it." Matt Baker rose. "This is irresponsible. I won't let any of my people write this story." "They don't have to I'll write it myself." "Leslie, if you do this, I'm leaving. For good." "No, you're not, Matt. You and I are going to share a Pulitzer Prize." She watched him turn and walk out of the office "You'll be back."

Leslie pressed down the intercom button. "Have Zoltaire come in here."

She looked at him and said, "I want to know my horoscope for the next twenty-four hours." "Yes, Miss Stewart. I'll be happy to do that.

From his pocket, Zoltaire took a small ephemeris, the astrological bible, and opened it. He studied the positions of the stars and the planets for a moment, and his eyes widened. "What is it?" Zoltaire looked up. "I something very important seems to be happening." He pointed to the ephemeris. "Look. Transiting Mars is going over your ninth house Pluto for three days, setting off a square to your " "Never mind that," Leslie said impatiently. "Cut to the chase." He blinked "The chase? Ah, yes." He looked at the book again. "There is some kind of major event happening. You are in the middle of it. You're going to be even more famous than you are now, Miss Stewart. The whole world is going to know your name." Leslie was filled with a feeling of intense euphoria. The whole world was going to know her name. She was at the awards ceremonies and the speaker was saying, "And now, the recipient of this year's Pulitzer Prize for the most important story in newspaper history. I give you Miss Leslie Stewart." There was a standing ovation, and the roar was deafening.

"Miss Stewart..."

Leslie shook away the dream.

"Will there be anything else?"

No," Leslie said. "Thank you, Zoltaire. That's enough."

At seven o'clock that evening, Leslie was looking at a proof of the story she had written. The headline read: MURDER WARRANT

SERVED ON PRESIDENT RUSSELL. PRESIDENT ALSO TO BE QUESTIONED IN

INVESTIGATION OF SIX DEATHS.

Leslie skimmed her story under it and turned to Lyle Bannister, her managing editor. "Run it," she said. "Put it out as an extra. I want it to hit the streets in an hour, and WTE can broadcast the story at the same time."

Lyle Bannister hesitated. "You don't think Matt Baker should take a look at ?"

"This isn't his paper, it's mine. Run it. Now."

"Yes, ma'am." He reached for the telephone on Leslie's desk and dialed a number. "We're going with it."

At seven-thirty that evening, Barbara Gatlin and the others in the group were preparing to return to the White House. Barbara Gatlin said heavily, "I hope to God it isn't going to be necessary to use it, but just to be prepared, I'm bringing the warrant for the president's arrest."

Thirty minutes later, Oliver's secretary said, "Attorney General Gatlin and the others are here." "Send them in." Oliver watched, pale-faced, as they walked into the Oval Office. Jan was at his side, holding his hand tightly. Barbara Gatlin said, "Are you prepared to answer our questions now, Mr. President?" Oliver nodded. "I am." "Mr President, did Chloe Houston have an appointment to see you on October fifteenth?" "She did." "And did you see her?" "No. I had to cancel." The call had come in just before three o'clock. "Darling, it's me. I'm lonely for you. I'm at the lodge in Maryland. I'm sitting by the pool, naked." "We'll have to do something about that.

"When can you get away?" "I'll be there in an hour." Oliver turned to face the group. "If what I'm about to tell you should ever leave this office, it would do irreparable damage to the presidency and to our relations with another country.

I'm doing this with the greatest reluctance, but you leave me no choice." As the group watched in wonder, Oliver walked over to a side door leading to a den and opened it. Sylva Picone stepped into the room. "This is Sylva Picone, the wife of the Italian ambassador. On the fifteenth, Mrs. Picone and I were together at her lodge in Maryland from four o'clock in the afternoon until two o'clock in the morning. I know absolutely nothing about the murder of Chloe Houston, or any of the other deaths."

Twenty-One.

Dana walked into Tom Hawkins's office. "Tom, I'm on to something interesting. Before Frank Lonergan was murdered, he went to the home of Carl Gorman, a clerk who worked at the Monroe Arms. Gorman was killed in a supposed boating accident. He lived with his sister. I'd like to take a crew over there to do a taped segment for the ten-o'clock news tonight." "You don't think it was a boating accident?" "No. Too many coincidences." Tom Hawkins was thoughtful for a moment. "Okay. I'll set it up." "Thanks. Here's the address I'll meet the camera crew there. I'm going home to change."

When Dana walked into her apartment, she had a sudden feeling that something was wrong. It was a sense she had developed in Sarajevo, a warning of danger. Somebody had been here. She walked through the apartment slowly, warily checking the closets. Nothing was amiss. It's my imagination, Dana told herself. But she did not believe it.

When Dana arrived at the house that Carl Gorman's sister lived in, the electronic news-gathering vehicle had arrived and was parked down the street. The ENG was an enormous van with a large antenna on the roof and sophisticated electronic equipment inside. Waiting for Dana were Andrew Wright, the sound man and Vernon Mills, the cameraman. "Where are we doing the interview?" Mills asked. "I want to do it inside the house. I'll call you when we're ready." "Right." Dana went up to the front door and knocked. Marianne Gorman opened the door. "Yes?" "I'm " "Oh! I know who you are. I've seen you on television." "Right, Dana said. "Could we talk for a minute?" Marianne Gorman hesitated "Yes. Come in." Dana followed her into the living room.

Marianne Gorman offered Dana a chair. "It's about my brother, isn't it? He was murdered. I know it." "Who killed him?" Marianne Gorman looked away. "I don't know." "Did Frank Longergan come here to see you?" The woman's eyes narrowed. "He tricked me. I told him where he could find my brother and " Her eyes filled with tears. "Now Carl is dead." "What did Lonergan want to talk to your brother about?" "He said he was from the IRS." Dana sat there watching her. "Would you mind if I did a brief television interview with you? You can just say a few words about your brother's murder and how you feel about the crime in this city." Marianne Gorman nodded. "I guess that will be all right." "Thank you." Dana went to the front door, opened it, and waved to Vernon Mills. He picked up his camera equipment and started toward the house, followed by Andrew Wright. "I've never done this kind of thing before," Marianne said. "There's nothing to be nervous about. It will only take a few minutes." Vernon entered the living room with the camera. "Where do you want to shoot this?" "We'll do it here, in the living room." She nodded toward a corner. "You can put the camera there." Vernon placed the camera, then walked back to Dana He pinned a lavaliere microphone on each woman's jacket. "You can turn it on whenever you're ready." He set it down on a table Marianne Gorman said, "No! Wait a minute! I'm sorry. I I can't do this." "Why?" Dana asked. "It's ... it's dangerous. Could could I talk to you alone?" "Yes." Dana looked at Vernon and Wright. "Leave the camera where it is. I'll call you." Vernon nodded, "We'll be in the van." Dana turned to Marianne Gorman. "Why is it dangerous for you to be on television?" Marianne said reluctantly, "I don't want them to see me." "You don't want who to see you?" Marianne swallowed. "Carl did something he... he shouldn't have done. He was killed because of it. And the men who killed him will try to kill me." She was trembling. "What did Carl do?" "Oh, my God," Marianne moaned. "I begged him not to." "Not to what?" Dana persisted. "He he wrote a blackmail letter." Dana looked at her in surprise. "A blackmail letter?" "Yes. Believe me, Carl was a good man. It's just that he liked he had expensive tastes, and on his salary, he couldn't afford to live the way he wanted to. I couldn't stop him. He was murdered because of that letter. I know it. They found him, and now they know where I am. I'm going to be killed." She was sobbing. "I I don't know what to do."

"Tell me about the letter." Marianne Gorman took a deep breath. "My brother was going away on a vacation. He had forgotten a jacket that he wanted to take with him, and he went back to the hotel. He got his jacket and was back in his car in the garage when the private elevator door to the Imperial Suite opened. Carl told me he saw a man get out He was surprised to see him there. He was even more surprised when the man walked back to the elevator and wiped off his fingerprints. Carl couldn't figure out what was going on. Then the the next day, he read about that poor girl's murder, and he knew that this man had killed her." She hesitated. "That's when he sent the letter to the White House." Dana said slowly, "The White House?" "Yes." "Who did he send the letter to?" "The man he saw in the garage. You know the one with the eye patch. Peter Tager."

Twenty-Two.

Through the walls of the office, he could hear the sound of traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue, outside the White House, and he became aware again of his surroundings. He reviewed everything that was happening, and he was satisfied that he was safe. Oliver Russell was going to be arrested for murders he hadn't committed, and Melvin Wicks, the vice president, would become president. Senator Davis would have no problem controlling Vice President Wicks. And there's nothing to link me to any of the deaths, Tager thought. There was a prayer meeting that evening, and Peter Tager was looking forward to it. The group enjoyed hearing him talk about religion and power.

Peter Tager had become interested in girls when he was fourteen. God had given him an extraordinarily strong libido, and Peter had thought that the loss of his eye would make him unattractive to the opposite sex. Instead, girls found his eye patch intriguing. In addition, God had given Peter the gift of persuasion, and he was able to charm diffident young girls into the backseats of cars, into barns, and into beds. Unfortunately, he had gotten one of them pregnant and had been forced to marry her. She bore him two children. His family could have become an onerous burden, tying him down. But it turned out to be a marvelous cover for his extracurricular activities. He had seriously thought of going into the ministry, but then he had met Senator Todd Davis, and his life had changed. He had found a new and bigger forum Politics.

In the beginning, there had been no problems with his secret relationships. Then a friend had given him a drug called Ecstasy, and Peter had shared it with Lisa Burnette, a fellow church member in Frankfort. Something had gone wrong, and she had died. They found her body in the Kentucky River. The next unfortunate incident had occurred when Miriam Friedland, Oliver Russell's secretary, had had a bad reaction and lapsed into a coma. Not my fault, Peter Tager thought. It had not harmed him. Miriam had obviously been on too many other drugs Then, of course, there was poor Chloe Houston. He had run into her in a corridor of the White House where she was looking for a rest room She had recognized him instantly and was impressed. "You're Peter Tager! I see you on television all the time." "Well, I'm delighted Can I help you with something?" "I was looking for a ladies' room.

She was young and very pretty. "There are no public rest rooms in the White House, miss." "Oh, dear." He said conspiratorially, "I think I can help you out. Come with me." He had led her upstairs to a private bathroom and waited outside for her. When she came out, he asked, "Are you just visiting Washington?" "Yes." "Why don't you let me show you the real Washington? Would you like that?" He could feel that she was attracted to him. "I I certainly would if it isn't too much trouble.

"For someone as pretty as you? No trouble at all. We'll start with dinner tonight." She smiled. "That sounds exciting." "I promise you it will be. Now, you mustn't tell anyone we're meeting. It's our secret." "I won't. I promise." "I have a high-level meeting with the Russian government at the Monroe Arms Hotel tonight." He could see that she was impressed. "We can have dinner at the Imperial Suite there, afterward. Why don't you meet me there about seven o'clock?" She looked at him and nodded excitedly. "All right." He had explained to her what she had to do to get inside the suite. "There won't be any problem. Just call me to let me know you're there." And she had.

In the beginning, Chloe Houston had been reluctant. When Peter took her in his arms, she said, "Don't. I I'm a virgin." That made him all the more excited. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do," he assured her. "We'll just sit and talk." "Are you disappointed?" He squeezed her hand. "Not at all, my dear." He took out a bottle of liquid Ecstasy and poured some into two glasses. "What is that?" Chloe asked. "It's an energy booster. Cheers." He raised his glass in a toast and watched as she finished the liquid in her glass. "It's good," Chloe said. They had spent the next half hour talking, and Peter had waited as the drug began to work. Finally, he moved next to Chloe and put his arms around her, and this time there was no resistance. "Get undressed," he said. "Yes."

Peter's eyes followed her into the bathroom, and he began to undress Chloe came out a few minutes later, naked, and he became excited at the sight of her young, nubile body. She was beautiful. Chloe got into bed beside him, and they made love. She was inexperienced, but the fact that she was a virgin gave Peter the extra excitement that he needed. In the middle of a sentence, Chloe had sat up in bed, suddenly dizzy. "Are you all right, my dear?" "I I'm fine. I just feel a little " She held on to the side of the bed for a moment. "I'll be right back." She got up. And as Peter watched, Chloe stumbled, fell, and smashed her head against the sharp corner of the iron table "Chloe!" He leaped out of bed and hurried to her side. "Chloe!" He could feel no pulse. Oh, God, he thought. How could you do this to me? It wasn't my fault. She slipped. He looked around. They mustn't trace me to this suite. He had quickly gotten dressed, gone into the bathroom, moistened a towel, and begun polishing the surfaces of every place he might have touched. He picked up Chloe's purse, looked around to make sure there were no signs that he had been there, and took the elevator down to the garage. The last thing he had done was to wipe his fingerprints off the elevator buttons. When Paul Yerby had surfaced as a threat, Tager had used his connections to dispose of him There was no way anyone could connect Tager to Chloe's death.

And then the blackmail letter had come. Carl Gorman, the hotel clerk, had seen him. Peter had sent Sime to get rid of Gorman, telling him that it was to protect the president. That should have been the end of the problem. But Frank Lonergan had started asking questions, and it had been necessary to dispose of him, too. Now there was another nosy reporter to deal with. So there were only two threats left: Marianne Gorman and Dana Evans. And Sime was on his way to kill them both.

Twenty-Three.

Marianne Gorman repeated, "You know the one with the eye patch. Peter Tager." Dana was stunned. "Are you sure?" "Well, it's hard not to recognize someone who looks like that, isn't it?" "I need to use your phone." Dana hurried over to the telephone and dialed Matt Baker's number. His secretary answered. "Mr. Baker's office." "It's Dana I have to talk to him. It's urgent." "Hold on, please." A moment later, Matt Baker was on the line. "Dana is anything wrong?"

She took a deep breath. "Matt, I just found out who was with Chloe Houston when she died." "We know who it was. It was " "Peter Tager.

"What?" It was a shout. "I'm with the sister of Carl Gorman, the hotel clerk who was murdered. Carl Gorman saw Tager wiping his fingerprints off the elevator in the hotel garage the night Chloe Houston died. Gorman sent Tager a blackmail letter, and I think Tager had him murdered. I have a camera crew here. Do you want me to go on the air with this?" "Don't do anything right now!" Matt ordered "I'll handle it. Call me back in ten minutes." He slammed down the receiver and headed for the White Tower. Leslie was in her office "Leslie, you can't print " She turned and held up the mock-up of the headline: MURDER WARRANT SERVED ON PRESIDENT RUSSELL. "Look at this, Matt." Her voice was filled with exaltation. "Leslie I have news for you. There's " "This is all the news I need." She nodded smugly. "I told you you'd come back. You couldn't stay away, could you? This was just too big to walk away from, wasn't it, Matt? You need me. You'll always need me." He stood there, looking at her, wondering: What happened to turn her into this kind of woman? It's still not too late to save her. "Leslie "

"Don't be embarrassed because you made a mistake," Leslie said complacently. "What did you want to say?" Matt Baker looked at her for a long time. "I wanted to say goodbye, Leslie." She watched him turn and walk out the door.

Twenty-Three.

Wlat's going to happen to me?" Marianne Gorman asked. "Don't worry, Dana told her. "You'll be protected." She made a quick decision "Marianne, we're going to do a live interview, and I'll turn the tape of it over to the FBI. As soon as we finish the interview, I'll get you away from here." Outside, there was the sound of a car screaming to a stop. Marianne hurried over to the window. "Oh, my God!" Dana moved to her side. "What is it?" Sime Lombardo was getting out of the car. He looked at the house, then headed toward the door. Marianne stammered, "That's the the other man who was here asking about Carl, the day Carl was killed. I'm sure he had something to do with his murder."

Dana picked up the phone and hastily dialed a number.

"Mr. Hawkins's office."

"Nadine, I have to talk to him right away."

"He's not in. He should be back in about "

"Let me talk to Nate Erickson."

Nate Erickson, Hawkins's assistant, came on the phone. "Dana?"

"Nate I need help fast. I have a breaking news story. I want you to put me on live, immediately."

"I can't do that," Erickson protested. "Tom would have to authorize it."

"There's no time for that," Dana exploded.

Outside the window, Dana saw Sime Lombardo moving toward the front door.

In the news van, Vernon Mills looked at his watch. "Are we going to do this interview or not? I have a date."

Inside the house, Dana was saying, "It's a matter of life and death, Nate. You've got to put me on live. For God's sake, do it now!" She slammed the receiver down, stepped over to the television set, and turned it on Channel Six. A soap opera was in progress. An older man was talking to a young woman.

"You never really understood me, did you, Kristen?" "The truth is that I understand you too well. That's why I want a divorce, George." "Is there someone else?" Dana hurried into the bedroom and turned on the set there. Sime Lombardo was at the front door. He knocked. "Don't open it," Dana warned Marianne. Dana checked to make sure that her microphone was live. The knocking at the door became louder. "Let's get out of here," Marianne whispered. "The back " At that moment, the front door splintered open and Sime charged into the room. He closed the door behind him and looked at the two women. "Ladies. I see that I have both of you." Desperately, Dana glanced toward the television set. "If there is someone else, it's your fault, George." "Perhaps I am at fault, Kristen." Sime Lombardo took a .22 caliber semiautomatic pistol out of his pocket and started screwing a silencer onto the barrel. "No!" Dana said. "You can't " Sime raised the gun. "Shut up. Into the bedroom go on." Marianne mumbled, "Oh, my God!" "Listen ..." Dana said. "We can " "I told you to shut up. Now move." Dana looked at the television set.

"I've always believed in second chances, Kristen. I don't want to lose what we had what we could have again." The same voices echoed from the television set in the bedroom. Sime commanded, "I told you two to move! Let's get this over with." As the two panicky women took a tentative step toward the bedroom, the red light on the camera in the corner suddenly turned on. The images of Kristen and George faded from the screen and an announcer's voice said, "We interrupt this program to take you now live to a breaking story in the Whea-ton area." As the soap opera faded, the Gorman living room suddenly appeared on the screen. Dana and Marianne were in the foreground, Sime in the background. Sime stopped, confused, as he saw himself on the television set. "What what the hell is this?" In the van, the technicians watched the new image flash on the screen. "My God, Vernon Mills said. "We're live!" Dana glanced at the screen and breathed a silent prayer. She turned to face the camera. "This is Dana Evans coming to you live from the home of Carl Gorman, who was murdered a few days ago. We're interviewing a man who has some information about his murder." She turned to face him. "So would you like to tell us exactly what happened?" Lombardo stood there, paralyzed, watching himself on the screen, licking his lips. "Hey!

From the television set, he heard himself say, "Hey!" and he saw his image move, as he swung toward Dana. "What what the hell are you doing? What kind of trick is this?"

"It's not a trick. We're on the air, live. There are two million people watching us."

Lombardo saw his image on the screen and hastily put the gun back into his pocket.

Dana glanced at Marianne Gorman, then looked Sime Lombardo square in the eye. "Peter Tager is behind the murder of Carl Gorman, isn't he?"

In the Daly Building, Nick Reese was in his office when an assistant rushed in. "Quick! Take a look at this! They're at Gorman's house.

He turned the television set to Channel Six, and the picture flashed on the screen.

"Did Peter Tager tell you to kill Carl Gorman?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Turn that damned television set off before I "

"Before you what? Are you going to kill us in front of two million people?"

"Jesus!" Nick Reese shouted. "Get some patrol cars out there, fast!"

In the Blue Room in the White House, Oliver and Jan were watching station WTE, stunned. "Peter?" Oliver said slowly. "I can't believe it!"

Peter Tager's secretary hurried into his office. "Mr. Tager, I think you had better turn on Channel Six." She gave him a nervous look and hurried out again. Peter Tager looked after her, puzzled. He picked up the remote and pressed a button, and the television set came to life.

Dana was saying, "... and was Peter Tager also responsible for the death of Chloe Houston?"

"I don't know anything about that. You'll have to ask Tager."

Peter Tager looked at the television set unbelievingly. This can't be happening! God wouldn't do this to me! He sprang to his feet and hurried toward the door. I'm not going to let them get me. I'll hide! And then he stopped. Where? Where can I hide? He walked slowly back to his desk and sank into a chair. Waiting.

In her office, Leslie Stewart was watching the interview, in shock Peter Tager? No! No! No! No! Leslie snatched up the phone and pressed a number. "Lyle, stop that story! It must not go out! Do you hear me? It " Over the phone she heard him say, "Miss Stewart, the papers hit the streets half an hour ago. You said..." Slowly, Leslie replaced the receiver. She looked at the headline of the Washington Tribune: MURDER WARRANT SERVED

ON PRESIDENT RUSSELL.

Then she looked up at the framed front page on the wall:

DEWEY DEFEATS TRUMAN.

"You're going to be even more famous than you are now, Miss Stewart The whole world is going to know your name."

Tomorrow she would be the laughingstock of the world.

At the Gorman home, Sime Lombardo took one last, frantic look at himself on the television screen and said, "I'm getting out of here.

He hurried to the front door and opened it. Half a dozen squad cars were screaming to a stop outside.

Twenty-Four.

Jeff Connors was at Dulles International Airport with Dana, waiting for Kemal's plane to arrive. "He's been through hell," Dana explained nervously. "He he's not like other little boys. I mean don't be surprised if he doesn't show any emotion." She desperately wanted Jeff to like Kemal. Jeff sensed her anxiety. "Don't worry, darling. I'm sure he's a wonderful boy." "Here it comes!" They looked up and watched the small speck in the sky grow larger and larger until it became a shining 747. Dana squeezed Jeffs hand tightly. "He's here."

The passengers were deplaning. Dana watched anxiously as they exited one by one. "Where's ?"

And there he was. He was dressed in the outfit that Dana had bought him in Sarajevo, and his face was freshly washed. He came down the ramp slowly, and when he saw Dana, he stopped. The two of them stood there, motionless, staring at each other. And then they were running toward each other, and Dana was holding him, and his good arm was squeezing her tightly, and they were both crying.

When Dana found her voice, she said, "Welcome to America, Kemal."

He nodded. He could not speak.

"Kemal, I want you to meet my friend. This is Jeff Connors."

Jeff leaned down. "Hello, Kemal. I've been hearing a lot about you."

Kemal clung to Dana fiercely.

"You'll be coming to live with me," Dana said. "Would you like that?"

Kemal nodded. He would not let go of her.

Dana looked at her watch. "We have to leave. I'm covering a speech at the White House."

It was a perfect day. The sky was a deep, clear blue, and a cooling breeze was blowing in from the Potomac River. They stood in the Rose Garden, with three dozen other television and newspaper reporters Dana's camera was focused on the president, who stood on a podium with Jan at his side. President Oliver Russell was saying, "I have an important announcement to make. At this moment, there is a meeting of the heads of state of the United Arab Emirates, Libya, Iran, and Syria, to discuss a lasting peace treaty with Israel. I received word this morning that the meeting is going extremely well and that the treaty should be signed within the next day or two. It is of the utmost importance that the Congress of the United States solidly support us in helping this vital effort." Oliver turned to the man standing next to him. "Senator Todd Davis." Senator Davis stepped up to the microphone, wearing his trademark white suit and white, broad-brimmed leghorn hat, beaming at the crowd. "This is truly a historic moment in the history of our great country. For many years, as you know, I have been striving to bring about peace between Israel and the Arab countries. It has been a long and difficult task, but now, at last, with the help and guidance of our wonderful president, I am happy to say that our efforts are finally coming to fruition." He turned to Oliver. "We should all congratulate our great president on the magnificent part he has played in helping us to bring this about....

Dana was thinking, One war is coming to an end. Perhaps this is a beginning. Maybe one day we'll have a world where adults learn to settle their probkms with love instead of hate, a world where children can grow up without ever hearing the obscene sounds of bombs and machine-gunfire, without fear of their limbs being torn apart by faceless strangers. She turned to look at Kemal, who was excitedly whispering to Jeff. Dana smiled. Jeff had proposed to her. Kemal would have a father. They were going to be a family. How did I get so lucky? Dana wondered. The speeches were winding down. The cameraman swung the camera away from the podium and moved into a close-up of Dana. She looked into the lens. "This is Dana Evans, reporting for WTE, Washington, D. C."

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