subject me to the preposterous, outrageous accusations of this person.
They-they were in my home last night. This Buchanan person, and this
man!” Thornhill pointed a finger angrily at Lee. “This man held a gun
to my head. They threatened me with this same insane story. They
claimed to have evidence of this nonsense, but when I called their
bluff, they ran off. I demand that you place them under immediate
arrest. I intend to press full charges. And now, if you’ll excuse me,
I have legitimate business elsewhere.”
Thornhill tried to get past Lee, but the PI stood up and blocked his
way.
Thornhill looked at Ward. “Unless you do something right this instant,
Mr. Chairman, I will be forced to call the police on my portable
phone. I doubt if it would look very good on the evening news.”
“I have proof of all that I’ve said,” Buchanan said.
“What,” Thornhill cried out, “the silly tape you threatened me with
last night? If you have it, produce it. But whatever’s on it is
obviously forged.”
Buchanan opened a briefcase, which rested on the table in front of him.
Instead of an audiocassette, he took out a videocassette and handed it
to an aide of Ward’s.
Everyone in the room watched as another aide wheeled a television, with
a VCR attached, out into a corner of the room where everyone could see
the screen. The aide took the tape and inserted it in the VCR, hit the
remote, and stepped back. Everyone in the room watched breathlessly as
the screen came to life.
On the TV Lee and Buchanan were just leaving Thornhill’s study. Then
Thornhill was at his desk, reaching for his phone, hesitating, then
after a moment extracting from a desk drawer a different phone. He
spoke into it anxiously. His conversation of the night before was
played out before the entire room. His blackmail scheme, the killing
of the FBI agent, his ordering the murders of Buchanan and Lee Adams.
The look of triumph on his face as he put down the phone was in
monumental contrast to the look the man wore now.
As the screen went to black, Thornhill continued to stare at the TV,
his mouth slightly open, his lips moving but no words coming out. His
briefcase, with all its important papers, fell to the floor,
forgotten.
Ward tapped his pen against the microphone, his eyes squarely on
Thornhill. There was some satisfaction in the senator’s features, but
it could not overcome the horror there as well. Ward appeared sickened
by what he had just watched.
“I suppose that since you’ve admitted that these men were in your home
last night, then you won’t claim this piece of evidence is a forgery,
Mr. Thornhill?” Ward said.
Danny Buchanan sat quietly at the table, his eyes downcast. His face
showed relief, tinged with sadness; and there was about his bearing a
weariness. He too had clearly had enough.
Lee watched Thornhill intently. The other task he had performed at the
Thornhill residence last night had been a relatively simple one. The
underlying technology was PLC, the same as that used by Thornhill to
bug Ken Newman’s home. It was a wireless system with a 2.4-gigahertz
transmitter, covert camera and antenna installed in a device that
looked just like the smoke alarm in Thornhill’s study and actually
performed the functions of a smoke detector while it simultaneously
conducted surveillance. It was powered by the home’s regular
electrical current and produced clear, crisp video and audio of
everything in its range. Thornhill had stopped his incriminating
conversation from leaving his house, but it had never occurred to him
that there was a miniature Trojan horse of sorts inside his house.
“I will be available to testify at the trial,” said Danny Buchanan. He
rose, turned and started to walk up the aisle.
Lee put a hand on Thornhill’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said politely.
Thornhill gripped Lee’s arm.
“How did you do it?” Thornhill said.
Lee slowly pulled away from his grip and joined Buchanan. The two men
quietly walked out together.
CHAPTER 57
ONE MONTH TO THE DAY AFTER Buchanan’s TESTIMONY to Ward’s committee,
Robert Thornhill bounded down the steps of the federal courthouse in