The Sentinel (36 page)

"I know this must all sound incredible to you, Maxwell. But it's true, so help me."

"You're asking me to protect Agent Breckinridge and to delay reporting a crime. I can't do either without risking my ass.

Frustrated, Garrison turned away from him and let out his breath angrily.

A uniformed officer joined them and asked to speak with Maxwell privately. They walked a few feet down the hall and held a short conversation. The officer turned and headed back down the hall. Maxell rejoined Garrison.

"I need your help, Maxwell."

"Why don't you have Secret Service agents protect her?"

"I can't at this point. This is an internal investigation involving one or more agents who may be working for a terrorist organization."

The way Maxwell squinted at him, as if he was in deep thought, led Garrison to believe that Maxwell was considering what he had asked. Garrison asked himself what he would do in the same circumstances, and became depressed.

The door opened. A tall, middle-aged woman in a hospital scrub gown and cap walked in the room. She had black hair streaked with gray. Garrison recognized her by her eyes. She was the doctor who had been treating Breckinridge.

"Ms. Breckinridge is stabilized," she said to Maxwell. "She's suffering from chest and head injuries, but I believe she will recover."

Relieved, Garrison audibly let out his breath.

"Thanks, Doctor," Maxwell said.

"Have you located any relatives?"

Maxwell turned to Garrison. Their eyes met and Garrison waited for him to speak.

"This is Mr. Breckinridge, her husband."

She nodded. "There are some hospital forms-"

"I'll take care of them," Garrison said.

"Doctor, I've established that someone was trying to kill her," Maxwell said. "I'm going to have Mrs. Breckinridge's name changed in the hospital records."

The doctor stared at Garrison. "Who would do that to her?"

"She works for a high-level government agency, Doctor," Maxwell said. "I've agreed not to say more about the situation at this time."

"I see."

"May I speak with her?" Garrison asked.

"She's not fully out of the anesthesia yet, but you can go in for a few minutes."

"Thanks, Doctor."

"I take it you're going to post a guard on her room?" the doctor asked Maxwell.

"As we speak."

"I need a cup of coffee," she said leaving the room.

Maxwell turned to Garrison.

"My story is that you and I have never met," Maxwell said. "I will stall things as long as I can. At that point I'm going to have to trace the registration and officially notify the Secret Service."

"Fair enough. In the meantime, make sure she is protected."

"Anyone coming here to look for her will never be able to find her. If they do, they'll have to face me and my men." Garrison thanked him and they shook hands. Maxwell left.

In the intensive care unit, Garrison stepped behind a draped curtain and a nurse said: "Please don't stay longer than a minute or two."

Breckinridge was frighteningly pale from loss of blood. Garrison put his hand on hers.

"Martha, can you hear me?"

Breckinridge's eyes slitted open. They were nearly swollen shut. The right side of her face was black and blue. She stirred slightly, wincing with pain. He winced along with her. She pursed her lips, struggling to speak. Her mouth opened slightly.

"Pete?" she whispered.

Garrison leaned close.

"Everything's going to be okay."

"I saw...I..."

"The driver of the car who ran you off the road?"

"Yes."

"It was Flanagan."

Garrison's stomach felt as if someone had slugged him. The anger started as a slow burn within his heart, moving up, gaining intensity, until his face was flushed and his hands trembled. He clenched his fists to stop them, then released them when he realized he was squeezing her. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths.

"Hang on, Martha," he said touching her forehead. "It's not going to be easy, but don't give up. We need you. I ... need you..."

Her head nodded almost imperceptibly in agreement. Her breathing became deep and heavy.

Garrison straightened. The blips on the electronic monitor next to the bed seemed to be measuring his life too - every heartbeat.

****

CHAPTER 27

AT THE FEDERAL station metro stop, Garrison got off the train car and walked to Lafayette Park hoping that there were no Secret Service agents around. He was across the street from the White House. He was wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses he'd purchased in a drugstore. The only people in the park were two transients squatting on the grass sharing a bottle of wine. They eyed him as he walked past.

At the curb visible from the White House's Bedroom Three, Garrison feigned tying his shoe, and quickly used a piece of red chalk to draw three circles on the curb. Garrison got up and headed back toward the Metro. One of the transients, a tall man with a tom T-shirt, moved toward him.

"You got any change you can spare?"

"I was just gonna ask you the same thing."

"Very funny, motherfucker."

Garrison kept walking.

At the Watergate, Garrison took the elevator to Condominium 1303. He paced the living room, checking the window often, and wondered when Eleanor would spot his chalk signal.

The phone rang. He cautiously picked up the receiver. "Hello ... is Mr. Hollingsworth there?" Eleanor said.

"He's at work."

"Thank you."

Garrison set the receiver down on the cradle.

A few minutes later, he stared through the window down at the street as a lead car pulled to the curb followed by the First Lady's limousine. Walter Sebastian got out of the limousine and opened the rear door for Eleanor. She got out and he led her toward the entrance. A minute later, Garrison heard footsteps and conversation in the hallway. Someone knocked on the door. He crossed the room, used the peephole. She was alone. He opened the door and she came in.

"I'm on my way to a dinner in Georgetown," Eleanor said with a look of anxiety and fear on her face. "I was relieved when I saw the chalk marks. I've been worried about you."

"Did you talk with him?'

"He's convinced that you are guilty."

"That's what they want him to think."

"I can't help that."

She sat on the sofa.

"Eleanor, talk to me."

"They have evidence that you planted the bomb."

"I told you it's a lie-"

"And that you killed a Secret Service informant and another man."

He could see it in her eyes. She had doubts about him. It was understandable. He had to look at this situation from her point of view. He moved to the sofa and sat next to her.

"Someone else planted the bomb. The first man ... It was self-defense. He was an ex-convict, a hired killer. And I didn't kill the informant. So help me."

"Agents chased you from the scene of the murder."

"You're talking about Flanagan. He is in on it."

"They can't all be lying."

"Hightower was part of a conspiracy to assassinate the President and frame me. I went to the motel to interview him and found him dead-"

She furrowed her brow. "If you know about this Hightower person being involved, then you should have some idea who is behind this conspiracy. Who is it, for God's sake? What is this all about?"

"Gil Flanagan, who is Wintergreen's adjutant, showed up at Hightower's motel just after I arrived. I don't think it was a coincidence. I think he killed Hightower and he wanted to finish me there - to make it look like I killed Hightower and he found me with a smoking gun. The conspirators still need a fall guy."

"Pete, are you - are you telling me the complete truth?"

For a moment, he felt angry that she would question him. Then the anger was replaced by a sense of frustration as great as he'd felt in his entire life.

"You don't believe me?"

"The target is the President of the United States. Not to mention that he is my husband. If I am wrong, I could be killing him."

Garrison got up and walked to the window. "Everyone else in the White House believes I'm guilty. Why shouldn't you?"

"Put yourself in my place, for God's sake."

"Eleanor, as God is my witness, I am not involved in this. I'm a victim. Someone in the Secret Service is trying to kill the President, but it isn't me. You have to believe me. I need your help to save the President from them. They're not going to stop."

"I have a bad feeling about all this."

"Please believe me."

Everything that had happened so far was fully out of his personal control. Garrison wasn't sure about anything and he was worried. He felt like a bystander at some terrible, claustrophobic barroom brawl, waiting to be inevitably drawn in. She stood and walked to him.

"I'm sorry. I know in my heart that it's not you. It's just that ... so much has been happening. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff has me completely confused."

"Eleanor, I need to speak with him."

"The President?"

"In person. Alone. With none of his advisors present. I know it sounds crazy, but there is no other way-"

"You're asking him to meet with someone he believes is trying to kill him? Think about what you are saying."

"It has to be alone because I don't know who is involved in all this. It could be anyone. I want to tell him what I know man-to-man. If I can convince him, he can take it from there. He'll know what to do. This can't wait. Every hour we delay puts him in greater danger. Don't you see?"

"His advisors will never go along with such a thing-"

"He's gone against them in the past-"

"They blame you. Pete. They all think you are guilty. Don't you understand what I'm saying?"

"Unless I can convince him that it's not me - that the investigation is on the wrong track - he is a sitting duck. That's what the conspirators want: for him to sit in the Oval Office thinking it's me until they can pull off a surefire assassination. And have no doubt they can get it done. For an assassin, there is nothing like working from the inside, knowing the ropes. This isn't some hallucinating screwball trying to kill him. There is someone on the inside. Someone with access to his every move."

"Helen Pierpont spent years helping her CIA pals with their dirty tricks. God knows she could be taking orders from a foreign power. For all we know, she might have seduced my husband for the sole purpose of finding out secrets."