Paramour (43 page)

Powers looked in the mirror. His entire body was covered with mud.

There was the sound of footsteps in the hallway ... more than one person. The footsteps came into the study. A door closed and there was the sound of rustling papers, as if the President may have set them down on the desk.

Powers took a deep breath and let it out. He turned the handle slowly and opened the door.

The President, a tall sixty-three-year-old man with a full head of gray hair and the ruddy features of an outdoorsman, was sitting at the desk with his feet up. He was reading a blue Top Secret briefing book. As was his habit when reading, he ran a finger quickly down the middle of the page and then, with a snapping sound, flipped the page. Once, at the presidential vacation residence in Key West, Florida, Powers had watched him plow through a full box of books and briefing papers in less than three hours.

The window facing the President was within binocular view of the Secret Service command post. The security floodlights gave the trees and shrubbery outside the look of a movie-set forest.

Powers, his heart beating wildly, stepped into the room. Staying out of view of the window, and with the thick carpeting muffling his footsteps, he tiptoed to the right side of the desk close to the President.

****

TWENTY-NINE

"Mr. President?"

The President started and turned. His eyes widened with fear and he reached for a small red dictionary on the desk, a disguised alarm button that, if activated, would transmit a danger signal through the Secret Service radio net. Upon hearing the sound, response team agents, per the
Secret Service Manual of Protective Operations
would, within seconds, burst into the room with guns at the ready. Powers figured he would probably be shot by the first agent through the door.

Powers grabbed the President's hand firmly.

"Please don't activate the crash alarm, Mr. President. I'm not here to harm you. I know you've been told that I'm crazy, that I've made threats against you, but those are lies. I know I look strange in this wet suit, but there was no other way I could get to talk to you. As God is my witness, I'm here to inform you of a matter affecting the national security. "

The President, who the press agreed owed his political success to an uncanny ability to read people, studied Powers eye to eye. He didn't try to move his hand.

Powers took his hand slowly away and, holding his own hands away from his sides, stepped back slowly.

"You can see I'm not armed, sir. All I'm asking is that you listen to me for a few minutes. Then, if you still think I'm crazy, you can sound the alarm."

After a while, the President moved his hand away from the dictionary. He rose slowly from his chair and took off his half-frame reading glasses.

"Sir, I'd like you to step to the window and close the drapes," Powers said.

"Why do you want me to do that?"

"The agents on the outside posts use binoculars and can see you clearly through the window. If they see you talking with someone in here and there's no visitor signed in on the log, they'll come to investigate."

"Are you armed, Jack?"

Powers unzipped his wet suit, raised his arms, and turned around slowly.

The President walked the few steps to the window and tugged a cord. The drapes closed.

"Sit down, Jack."

Powers, his temples throbbing, sat down lightly on the edge of a sofa.

The President sat down on a sofa opposite him. "How did you get in here, through the sewer?" the President said.

"I've done the security advance here, Mr. President. It still wasn't easy. I mean, it shouldn't reflect badly on the Secret Service-"

"I was sorry to hear you'd resigned. The government is infested with so much dead wood it's a shame to see a hard worker like yourself leave the federal service," the President said, studying Powers.

"I thought you asked that I resign."

"Why would I do that?"

"I guess I'd better start at the beginning-"

"Jack, I'm in the middle of preparing for the first election debate. If I lose, I'm out of business. I'm going to let you have three minutes to tell me about this matter of national security. Starting now."

"It all started when Peter Sullivan called me in and asked me to follow Marilyn Kasindorf."

The President, whom
Time
magazine referred to as the "velvet hammer" because of his ability to wield Machiavellian power while maintaining a smile, did not avert his eyes at the mention of Marilyn's name, nor did he blink.

In careful detail, Powers recounted the surveillance in Washington and in Kassel and the apparent defection. He explained the circumstances causing his resignation and Landry's telling him about finding the listening device in Marilyn's desk. Step by step he detailed the events arousing his suspicion that Landry's murder wasn't a street robbery gone bad but an assassination. He related how he'd located Susan and what she'd told him, his call to Sullivan, the events at the Rustic Inn, and his escape from St. Elizabeth's. As he spoke, the President, his mouth a straight line, nodded and made notes. Finally, Powers was finished. The President set his pen down.

"You're telling me the defection of Marilyn Kasindorf was staged?"

"I'm not sure. But I know the person I followed to Germany wasn't her."

"How do you know this?"

The President fidgeted as Powers reached into his back pocket, took out Susan's written statement, and handed it to him. The President unfolded it, put on his eyeglasses, and read for what must have been half a minute or more. He removed his eyeglasses and stared at Powers.

"Susan Brewster was activated from the Inter-Agency Source Index. She resembles Kasindorf and posed as her," Powers said.

"What is your theory on all this, Jack?" the President said, giving himself time to think.

"I'm not sure. But I think someone is out to finish you politically. "

The President leaned back on the sofa. "Why should the defection of Marilyn Kasindorf ruin me politically?"

"If everything came out-"

"What do you mean?"

Powers throat felt dry. He swallowed. "Her ... connection with you, Mr. President."

"Your three minutes are just about up, Jack. What the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't know exactly how to say this, sir-"

"Just say it."

"The affair you and she were having."

"And what exactly have you heard about this so-called affair?"

"I was told you were secretly meeting with her here at Camp David. That she was your . . . girlfriend. "

"If I was having such an affair with her it would mean I'd been compromised by a spy. And the concern would be that this fact would come out and ruin me politically?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"You say your assignment to follow Kasindorf came from the Chief of Staff."

"Through Pete Sullivan. He briefed me and asked me to follow her."

"I see."

The telephone rang.

Powers's stomach muscles tightened. It rang again. On the third ring, the President, without taking his eyes off Powers, leaned to the coffee table and picked up the receiver.

Powers stepped forward. "Sir-"

"It's okay, Jack. Relax."

"I'm busy now," the President said after a moment. "Reschedule the meeting." He set the receiver back on the cradle.

The President glanced at the statement again and came to his feet. At the liquor cabinet, he picked up a bottle of Jack Daniel's and filled two cocktail glasses. He sauntered across the room to Powers. "You look like you can use this," he said, holding out a drink.

"Thanks."

The President sipped his drink, then set the glass down on the table. "Jack, I've never had an affair with Marilyn Kasindorf. And I didn't authorize anyone to initiate a surveillance on her."

Powers felt a chill, as if all his pores had suddenly opened.

His skin felt clammy. "It's none of my business anyway, sir, even if-"

The President met him eve to eye. "Jack, you've just broken into my house dressed like the creature from the black lagoon, but I believe you. And I expect you to believe me,"

"Yes, sir."

The President went to his desk. He sat down and picked up a fountain pen and a yellow legal tablet. "Pull a chair over here to the desk," the President said.

Powers complied.

"Jack, the election debate is tomorrow afternoon. That means every minute between now and then is important. There is no time for anything but frankness and honesty. Right now, I want you to start from the beginning and, again, tell me everything-leaving out no detail."

During this telling, Powers spared nothing, giving dates and times as best as he could remember. The President, like a prosecutor interviewing a witness, nodded, interrupted him with brief questions, and took copious notes. Finally, Powers had completed his story.

The President set his pen down and left his desk. "After the Lebanon crisis, I detected the Syrians were anticipating my moves," he said softly. "During secret negotiations they would hold to positions in areas where I'd planned to give way . . . and give up too quickly on positions I'd planned to hold firm. It was always very subtle. But there was no doubt in my mind they had a pipeline, There was a group of pro-Western Syrian army officers, a second front, who had begun providing my predecessor valuable intelligence information during the heat of Operation Desert Journey. One by one they were killed by the Syrian Intelligence Service. We established that the leak wasn't in the CIA; the info was getting out of the White House itself. So I had Patterson limit access at CIA, and he assigned Marilyn Kasindorf as liaison to me. Even other CIA employees didn't know she was my briefer. Things worked fine for a while like that, and I thought the White House leak had been plugged. Then more Syrian officers began to disappear." The President picked up his drink and sipped. "The woman who posed as Marilyn Kasindorf-who is she?"

"Susan Brewster, an airlines flight attendant recruited by the Agency a few years ago to service dead drops. A CIA helpmate. "

"How was she activated?" the President said.

"She received her assignments by a telephone cutout."

The President rubbed his eyes for a moment and leaned forward in his chair. "What do you think of all this?"

Powers didn't respond. He couldn't bring himself to say what he thought.

"If what Sullivan told you was true, the White House Chief of Staff, who sits in on every strategy session I have and has access to ninety percent of our Top Secret information, may be an agent of a foreign power," the President said. "Any suggestions as to how to proceed?"

"I'm just an ex post-stander, Mr. President. This is a little out of my league."

The President rubbed his chin, then ran his hands through his hair. "I need a moment to think. If you'd like to change and clean up, you'll find clothes in there," he said, motioning to the bedroom.

By the gesture Powers knew that the President believed him. As well as needing a few minutes to think about his next move, he'd want Powers, his key witness, to be dressed in something other than a frogman costume for the investigation that was about to begin.