“I have known Freddie Wallace since I came to the senate to work for Senator Ben Carr, more years ago than I like to think about. The very first thing I remember about him was that he knew my name the second time I saw him. I was flattered, because I didn’t know at the time that Freddie had a prodigious memory, that he never forgot a favor or a slight, or the name of anyone who might be useful to him at some later date.
“Freddie and I spent the entire length of our acquaintance on opposite sides of nearly every political question that came our way, and yet he found time, even when I was a lowly senate aide, to share with me his extraordinary command of senate procedures. I confess I learned more about parliamentary obstruction than progress from Freddie, but that has its place in the senate, too.” He paused for a chuckle from the audience.
“In spite of our political differences, Freddie became my friend, in his way, and when I was elected to the senate he became a fount of good, if sometimes dangerous advice. I had to be very careful about taking Freddie’s advice, and careful if I didn’t, too, since Freddie was likely to take umbrage. Freddie’s umbrage was to be avoided.
“There are many in Washington, perhaps more than a few in this audience, who will not miss Freddie, but I am not among them. I will miss his personal warmth and his wit, and especially, his advice, which often pointed the way to a good decision, in either the positive or negative sense.
“Kate and I send out our hearts to Betty Ann, and our condolences, too.” Will returned to his seat and sat down.
AS THEY made to depart the building after the service, Will made one more move to console the widow. Betty Ann grabbed him fiercely by the elbow and drew his ear to her lips.
“I have his files,” she hissed, “and I’m going to use them.” She released him and turned to the next mourner.
“What did she say?” Kate asked.
“I’ll tell you later.” Will looked up to see James Heller in his path and offered his hand. “How’s the investigation going, Jim?” he asked quietly.
“Just great,” Heller replied. “I’ve put the Bureau’s very best man, Robert Kinney, deputy director for Criminal Investigations, in complete charge of the case.”
Will thought he had heard the name, but he wasn’t sure. “Good,” he said. “Tell Kinney to keep me posted.” He didn’t believe for a moment that Heller would do that; the director would preserve his own channel to the president, and he wouldn’t want a subordinate horning in.
“Yes, sir, I will,” Heller replied, then went on his way.
Back in the limo, Kate spoke up. “So, what did Betty Ann have to say?”
Will pressed the button that rolled up the partition between the front and rear seats. “She said she has Freddie’s files, and she’s going to use them.”
Kate laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Nor would I.”
“You think those files are as dangerous as rumor has it?”
“I think they’re dangerous to those Freddie didn’t like and maybe to a few he did like.”
“Like you?”
“I’m fortunate in having fewer secrets than a lot of people, and most of them have to do with what you and I do together in bed.”
Kate laughed. “You think Freddie knew about that?”
“I hope to God not,” Will replied. “One or both of us could end up in jail.”
11
AS THE MEMORIAL SERVICE for Freddie Wallace proceeded, Ted drove the RV across one of the Potomac bridges into Virginia. He found the office building in downtown Arlington, then drove around the area for a couple of minutes before he found a legal parking spot two blocks from the building. He slipped into the rear of the RV, pulling a curtain behind him to prevent being seen through the windshield, and got into a necktie and jacket.
He checked the device once more-every connection, every component, especially the squat switch-and found it in good order. He removed his aeronautical charts and books from their container-a salesman’s catalogue case- carefully slipped the device inside, and snapped it shut. Then he left the RV and walked briskly back toward the building, scanning the street for police cars, security guards, or anyone else who might take note of him.
He reached the office building and walked down the drive past the automated gate and into the parking garage. He kept up his pace as he searched for the car-a black Mercedes S600, with a vanity plate reading right. He found it closer to the elevators than he would have liked, but of course, Van Vandervelt would have a prime parking spot. Right Radio took up two floors of the building, spewing venom from a dozen shock jocks twenty-four hours a day, and Van Vandervelt was their star- the most popular right-wing talk-show host in the country.
Ted heard a car coming, and he devoted half a minute to inspecting the building directory beside the elevator until the car had left the garage. When all was quiet again, he walked quickly to the driver’s side of the Mercedes and checked the door lock. The button was up, the car unlocked, but Ted knew that, in the Mercedes, the alarm would go off at a predetermined interval after the door had opened, unless the key was inserted into the ignition lock. He reckoned he had at least a minute. He set down the catalogue case, unsnapped it, and had one more look around the garage. Still quiet.
He opened the car door and dropped to one knee. Carefully, he slid the device, which was no more than two inches thick at any point, under the seat and pushed it well out of sight of the driver. Then he pulled off the tape that held down the squat switch, closed the door, picked up the catalogue case, and walked quickly toward the exit. He was nearly out of the garage before the car alarm went off, but it was unlikely that anyone would report it, since people had grown so accustomed to car alarms going off randomly in big cities.
The device consisted of twelve ounces of his own homemade plastic explosive and nearly a quart of gasoline in a flat, plastic bottle, along with the requisite electronics, all mounted on a quarter-inch steel plate that would have the effect of directing the force of the explosion upward.
Ted reached the sidewalk and turned back toward the parked RV. From half a block away, he could see a policeman trying to look through a curtained window into the vehicle. He continued straight past the RV, while reaching into his pocket for the little remote control that he always carried with him when leaving the vehicle. It was good for up to a mile, and the entry of the code into its keypad would set off an explosion that would reduce the big RV to ashes in a matter of minutes. He turned left at the next corner and, without looking back, walked out of sight of the RV.
He was not particularly concerned that the policeman was interested in the interior of his rolling home; people were always trying to look inside, to see how it was furnished. He went into a little news shop, bought a Washington Post and sat down on a bench outside to read it. After ten minutes he folded the newspaper, tucked it under an arm, picked up the catalogue case, and walked back the way he had come.
The cop was nowhere in sight, and Ted got into the RV, started the engine, and drove away, switching on the radio, which was already tuned to Right Radio.
“Well, my friends,” Van Vandervelt was saying, “thus ends another two hours of deep-frying liberals in their own juices, of telling the truth for all America to hear. I thank you for having the good taste and judgment to tune in today, and I look forward to having you back tomorrow, when I will puncture the myths surrounding Social Security and tell you how Franklin D. Roosevelt nearly wrecked the country when it was recovering on its own from the Great Depression. See you then. Isn’t it great to be RIGHT?”