Murder at the Pentagon (39 page)

Wishengrad’s female colleague on the committee said, “May I say, Ms. Falk—no, I think I’ll call you Major Falk—may I say that you are an exemplary young woman. The air force, and this country, have lost a valuable person, and I rue the circumstances that led to your resignation. But rest assured that the service you do here today, while condemned by those involved in this outrageous episode in our history, deserves our everlasting gratitude.”

It was eleven in the morning. Wishengrad called a twenty-minute recess.

When the committee returned, and the next witness was seated at the witness table, Wishengrad smiled down at Margit. “I’m pleased you chose to remain, Major Falk,” he said. He looked at the new witness, who sat next to her. “You, sir, are obviously cut from the same cloth. You have had an esteemed career in our military service. You have served this country admirably and unselfishly. Yet, because you place principle at the top of your priority list, you sit before this committee to testify against some of the same men you so faithfully served. I commend you for this action.”

Colonel James Bellis, in full uniform, sat hunched over the table, elbows pressed into it, face leaden. Margit glanced at him. You’re a good man, she thought. You and my father would have gotten along.

Wishengrad adjourned that day’s portion of the hearing at six, with Bellis scheduled to return the following day. The colonel had told everything he knew about the plan hatched by Bruce Massingill—and carried out by a small core of believers within the Pentagon—to provide nuclear weapons to
the Arab dictator for the purpose of creating panic within the United States and forcing the hand of Congress to substantially increase the military budget. His testimony was detailed and compelling. He’d been present at many key meetings, and had kept his own personal and confidential diary, which he had shared with the committee prior to his appearance. Because those involved with the plan had been meticulously careful not to leave tracks, tangible evidence to support his and Margit’s allegations was slow in coming. But come it did, in dribs and drabs, one piece leading to another, each bit of testimony sending committee investigators down new paths of inquiry. And the nation sat glued to its collective TV set as the hearings were broadcast in all their shocking and tawdry truth.

Members of Consulnet who’d been subpoenaed had refused to appear, and there was no way to enforce the subpoenas. All of them, with the exception of Potamos, were foreign citizens. Potamos, learning of the probe into Consulnet’s activities, had packed up and moved to Greece. But Foxboro had told Margit—“Your ears only”—that the British member of the arms-dealing consortium, Sanford Sheffield, was weakening under intense pressure from his own government, and was close to testifying.

Wishengrad’s final comment to Bellis and Margit as he closed the session was, “I find something uplifting about the two of you choosing to remain together throughout these proceedings. There is a feeling of solidarity that gives credence—at least to this senator—to your testimony. I wish you a pleasant evening, and look forward to continuing in the morning.”

The sharp rap of his gavel signaled the day was over.

Mac and Annabel had their choice of two favored tables at Mac’s favorite D.C. steak house, the Georgetown branch of Morton’s of Chicago. There was the table in “Rosty’s Rotunda,” where Dan Rostenkowski, Democratic chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee, often camped; or “The Box,” a table below a large portrait of former House
Democratic whip Tip O’Neill. They chose the Box. Mac knew, and was fond of, the retired Boston pol.

Annabel enjoyed Morton’s, too, which made it easier for Smith. She was generally quick to turn down his suggestion to dine at other temples of beef, but not Morton’s. The lighter side of the menu appealed to her, and there was the unfailingly warm greeting they received as semiregulars.

“Will Margit call tonight?” Annabel asked after shrimp cocktails had been served. It had been the first day of the Wishengrad committee’s hearings.

“I don’t know. If I were her, I’d go straight home to bed,” Mac answered.

“She’s a remarkable person,” Annabel said. “To give up her career because of what she believes in—such idealism ought to have been taught to every yuppie her age who came out of college looking to make money in investment banking.”

“And in the law,” Smith added. “There are few of her class. And she seems happy. The fact that Bellis decided to stand up with her made a big impression on her. What did you think of Bill Monroney?”

“My jury’s still out on him. Obviously crazy about her. What’s your verdict?”

“It’s Margit’s verdict to come to, not ours. I trust her judgment. She was taught by the best.” He sat back and smiled wryly.

That day’s edition of
The Washington Post
was on the banquette next to Smith. He glanced down at the front-page headline:
TROOPS IN BORDER SKIRMISHES—THREE AMERICANS DIE
.

The fourth in a series of articles by Louise Harrison also occupied page 1. It was accompanied by a photograph of Margit and Colonel Bellis as they left the Russell Senate Office Building the previous day after having met with Wishengrad’s staff. The first three articles laid out every detail of the Cobol-Joycelen story as recounted to her by Margit. Now, it had shifted to the story of Consulnet and the Massingill conspiracy, with Colonel James Bellis quoted extensively.

“Watergate. Iran-contra. October surprises. Now this.” Annabel sighed. “At least it’s coming out in the open.”

“I think Beardsley acted too soon sending troops to the Mideast,” Smith said.

“Maybe Margit’s and Bellis’s testimony will help bring them back.”

“Not a chance. Beardsley needs a war the way Bush did. We’re not exactly reveling in an age of prosperity here. Besides, it’s good for the yellow-ribbon manufacturers.”

Annabel smiled. Her husband was at his cynical best.

She asked, “What do you think will happen to Margit when this is over?”

“I’d say she’ll do just fine. That start-up helicopter service knew a good thing when it saw her. Three days a week as its legal counsel, and two days captaining one of its choppers. She’ll never be totally happy out of the military. She bleeds blue, only it isn’t for the Dodgers. But she’ll be okay. She had no future there. I think the toughest thing she had to do was face Cobol’s mother. I knew when Margit told Mrs. Cobol the truth that we’d hear from her again. If she’d decided to fade away and not pursue what happened through Wishengrad and his committee, she would have lied to Mrs. Cobol, told her she was unsuccessful in clearing her son but that she still believed in his innocence. She never intended to let it drop. Not from Day One.”

Their steaks were served Pittsburgh style—black-and-blue.

She took a bite. “Excellent,” she said.

He did the same. “Excellent,” he said.

“Mac,” Annabel said.

“What?”

“Has this episode with Margit changed you?”

“In what way?”

“Has it caused you to—to want to get back into the arena? Take on bigger challenges than teaching law?”

“No,” Smith said, enjoying another piece of steak.

“I’m glad,” Annabel said.

Their eyes met, and knowing smiles came to their lips.

Annabel’s smile turned into a cynical laugh. “You lie,” she said.

Smith shook his head. “I’m not looking for action or challenge anymore, Annabel. I happen to be contented with the bland, peaceful, uneventful life I currently lead. You provide all the spice I need.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“I like that. I didn’t know you considered me spicy.”

“All I’ll ever need.”

“Good.”

Their waiter passed the table. “Anything I can get you?” he asked.

“Some horseradish, please,” Smith said. “Make it the hot stuff.”

MURDER IN THE SUPREME COURT

MURDER IN THE SMITHSONIAN

MURDER ON EMBASSY ROW

MURDER AT THE FBI

MURDER IN GEORGETOWN

MURDER IN THE CIA

MURDER AT THE KENNEDY CENTER

MURDER AT THE NATIONAL CATHEDRAL

MURDER AT THE PENTAGON

MURDER ON THE POTOMAC

MURDER AT THE NATIONAL GALLERY

MURDER IN THE HOUSE

MURDER AT THE WATERGATE

It is home to the powerful, the glamorous, and the politically connected. It has a gorgeous view and a notorious history. Now the Watergate, a vast complex of hotel rooms, apartments, health spas, and fine restaurants, is famous for something else: two shocking murders whose victims have ties to Mexico. As the case reaches from the Watergate into the White House, law professor Mac Smith and his wife, Annabel, set out to uncover the truth. Because the ultimate dirty trick is threatening a political career and a nation’s future. And the killer is already plotting his next lethal move.… 

“Truman’s inside knowledge adds to the crisp plot, and her portrait of capital people … is superb. Who can you trust? In D.C. politics, there’s no way to know.”
—
Atlanta Journal-Constitution

He died beneath the Statue of Freedom, clutching a 9-mm pistol in his hand. But as dawn rose, the politician would die again—in a hail of rumor and character assassination.

Now one man suspects the shattering truth: that the congressman’s suicide was a carefully planned murder. In the heart of the free world, a furious struggle begins: to reclaim a man’s innocence, expose a woman’s lie, and stop a chilling conspiracy of murder that reaches halfway around the world.… 

“This is the 13th in her Capital Crimes series, and it’s as rich as the others in behind-the-scenes Washington detail.”
—
People