matters, it only made them worse. Because the object of that love, of
that respect, knew that he deserved none of it.
He looked over at the stack of cassette tapes. His insurance policy. Now
they would constitute his legacy, his own bizarre epitaph. And some good
would come out of it. Thank God for that.
His lips curled into a barely perceptible smile. The Secret Service.
Well, the secrets were going to fly now. He briefly thought of Alan
Richmond and his eyes glistened. Here’s hoping for life without parole
and you live to be a hundred, asshole.
His finger tightened on the trigger.
Another snowball hit the window. Their voices drifted up to him. The
tears started again as he thought of what he was leaving behind.
“Goddammit.” The word floated from his mouth, carrying with it more
guilt, more anguish than he could ever hope to bear.
I’m sorry. Don’t hate me. Please God don’t hate me.
At the sound of the explosion, the playing stopped as three pairs of
eyes turned as one toward the house. In another minute they were inside.
It only took one more minute for the screams to be heard. The quiet
neighborhood was no more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR WAS UNEXPECTED. PRESIDENT ALAN Richmond was in a
tense conference with his Cabinet. The press had lately been lambasting
the administration’s domestic policies and he wanted to know why. Not
that the actual policies themselves were of much interest to him. He was
more concerned about the perception they conveyed. in the grand scheme
of things perceptions were all that mattered.
That was Politics 101.
“Who the hell are they?” The President looked angrily at the secretary.
“Whoever they are, they’re not on the list for today.” He looked around
the table. Hell, his Chief of Staff had not even bothered to show up for
work today. Maybe she had done the smart thing and taken a bottle of
pills. That would hurt him short-term, but he would work out an
impressive spin on her suicide. Besides she had been right about one
thing: he was so far ahead in the polls who cared?
The secretary timidly crept into the room. Her growing astonishment was
evident. “It’s a large group of men, Mr. President. Mr. Bayliss from the
FBI, several policemen, and a gentleman from ‘Virginia, he wouldn’t give
his name.”
“The police? Tell them to leave and submit a request to see me. And
tell Bayliss to call me tonight. He’d be cooling his heels in some
Bureau outpost in the middle of nowhere if I hadn’t pushed through his
nomination as Director. I will not tolerate this disrespect”‘
“They’re most insistent, Sir.
The President flushed red and stood up. “Tell them to get the hell out.
I’m busy, you idiot.”
The woman quickly retreated. Before she could reach the door, however,
it had opened. Four Secret Service agents entered, Johnson and Varney
among them, followed by a contingent of D.C. police, including Police
Chief Nathan i Brimmer, and FBI Director Donald Bayliss, a short,
thickly built man in a double-breasted suit with a face whiter than the
building he was now in.
Bringing up the rear, Seth Frank quietly closed the door.
In his other hand he carried a plain brown briefcase. Rich- i i mond
stared at each of them, his eyes finally coming to rest on the homicide
detective.
“Detective … Frank, right? In case you weren’t aware you are
interrupting a confidential Cabinet meeting. I’m going to have to ask
you to leave.” He looked across at the four agents, raised his eyebrows
and cocked his head toward the door. The men stared back; they didn’t
budge.
Frank stepped forward. He quietly slipped a paper out of his coat,
unfolded it and handed it to the President. Richmond looked down at it
while his Cabinet watched in utter bewilderment. Richmond finally looked
back at the detective.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“That is a copy of an arrest warrant naming you on capital murder
charges for crimes committed in the Commonwealth of Virginia. Chief
Brimmer here has a similar arrest warrant for murder one accessory