“Yes, sir,” Secretary Meyerson acknowledged the order, calmly but with satisfaction welling inside.
“Anything else, General?”
“No, sir.”
Secretary Coventry caught the visual cue that it was his turn. “Sir, there is nothing out of the ordinary from our embassies. We have, however, received a number of inquiries from governments concerning the timing of the services. Is there any time frame for putting the word out?”
“ASAP,” the president answered. “If that would be proper. Ellis?”
“I’ll have a statement drafted for you. Noon okay, Jim?”
“Fine. Nothing else, Mr. President.”
“Okay. Gordy?”
The FBI director passed a two-page brief to the other participants. The president had received the same report earlier. “This is a preliminary report from the Los Angeles field office. They’re handling the investigation. It’s still in its infancy, but we are getting some good information, though it’s just about all physical evidence from the lab at this point. We were fortunate, however, to have a senior agent on the scene as the assassination happened. He even got a piece of the action and caught some shrapnel. Anyway, he’s heading up the investigative team out there, which gives us a good start.” Jones noticed that each man was about done with the first page of the report, and moving on to the second. “You can see, I take it, that there are a couple of interesting questions raised by what’s come to light thus far.”
“To say the least,” Granger commented. “But some of this is damn thin.”
Herb Landau, the director of Central Intelligence, agreed with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, but for different reasons. Granger thought in his own terms; invariably, Landau knew from experience. His appraisal came from black-and- white logic, whereas the DCI’s doubts came from more of a personal, secret knowledge. Unconfirmed, yes, but the supposition had hit him immediately upon hearing of the assassination. The report, which he had seen even before the president had — thanks to the close relationship between the Bureau and the CIA — added credibility, if not confirmation, to his… guess?
Landau’s guess, if verbalized, would carry weight. He had been a fixture in the government mechanism for forty-seven of his seventy-seven years, though DCI was his first high- level post, one that the late president felt he been too long overlooked for. That was the nation’s loss. His crotchety exterior was as unlike his real self as appearance could be. “The general has a point, though I can’t speak for his thinking on it. I see the information as interesting. Maybe even a little worrisome. But how it can affect our impact on the probe I’m not sure.”
“It’s just preliminary, Herb.” Jones’s tone was agreeable. “But this is the way an investigation starts. A little conjecture has to be the lead after any hard evidence. That’s the natural investigative process.”
“M-16s. LAWs.” Granger scoffed noticeably. “Do you know how easy those are to get on the arms market?”
“Outside the United States, yes, very easy. But internally there’s a pretty tight grip on any missing stock,” the FBI director pointed out.
Bud jumped in. “Wait. That doesn’t fit. How does the Bureau keep track of a missing bunch of weapons. That’s contradictory. If these guys were able to utilize assault rifles and anti-armor weapons to kill the president, then something didn’t work. Somewhere they were able to get the stuff to do all this with.” Bud was a little heated. He had seen the effects. “Tell me — is it easier to smuggle those types of weapons in, or to get them right here? I’d really like to know.”
Jones felt the animosity to his line of reason, but he was a reasonable man and could easily understand the acting NSA’s motivation. “It’s all a matter of circumstance. Sure, there are some military weapons floating around out there, on our own streets, but holders of those stocks tend to try to sell them en masse. That keeps their distribution and storage problems to a minimum. Bringing them in from outside the States is just as easy sometimes, and much harder others. It’s all situational. What my real gist is that once a weapon shows up we have a good chance of identifying the source. That’s tracking. Once we track and pin that person or persons down, then we have a bust.” Jones still talked like a street agent at times. That was natural, considering his twenty-eight years in the FBI. That a street agent had risen to the post of director was highly uncommon in the days of political appointees. “Now, the other side of it: Why and how? It’s pretty clear that there’s a conspiracy of some sort. Two killers just don’t penetrate a security perimeter with the weapons they had unless there was some pretty decent assistance. The mere number of killers — two — indicates the lowest form of conspiracy.” Jones hinted some frustration. “Unfortunately this kind of thing doesn’t lend itself to a quick solution. Every hour past twenty-four it’s going to be tougher to zero in on any other players.”
It was quiet for a few seconds.
“Hell of a security perimeter,” Granger observed sarcastically.
“The Service is working overtime to figure it out,” Jones said. “And no excuses. Somebody screwed up royally.”
Royally. Bud thought that was an understatement. His emotions were running rampant inside, and finally it clicked in him. Sink or swim, Bud. This wasn’t the time for petty emotions to cloud his professionalism. “Somebody on the wrong side was good.”
Landau noted the change in Bud’s tone. He scanned his memory for specifics on the man. Early fifties. Retired Air Force, and a graduate of Colorado Springs. Left as a colonel, wasn’t it? There was more but the director’s once fine memory didn’t retain as well the past few years. His wife told him he was getting foggy. Other factors were affecting it, too, though he wouldn’t admit to that.
“Good may be an understatement,” Landau said. “To pull that off they had to have good intelligence on their target, or targets. Like the director said, they didn’t decide to do this overnight. There was a leak somewhere. Maybe innocent, I don’t know. But this meeting wasn’t even set until a month ago. That’s a short amount of time in the real world to pull off this sort of thing. Hell, I don’t even know if the location of the meeting was publicized much before last week.”
The implications of that were unspoken, but fully understood. Somewhere, someone had access to schedules and the like, and the transfer of that information had cost men their lives.
“Herb, what did you mean by targets?” the president asked. He poured a first cup of coffee before the answer.
“We’re only assuming that the president was the intended target.”
“Who else?” Jones posited. Then an alternative flashed. “The foreign secretary?”
“A possibility,” the DCI agreed, though only in words. It was possible, but not likely. Possibilities had to be explored, though. “We know the IRA has access to the firepower and their networks in this country aren’t bad. It’s mostly prevalent out here, in the East, but…”
Jones wondered if L.A. was looking at that angle. He’d mention it to them.
Landau continued, “And the money end of it” The balding CIA chief held his hand out and rubbed his thumb back and forth across his outstretched forefingers. “They needed money, and lots of it.” He sat back in the chair. His snow-rimmed, gaunt skull made him look sickly, though he had always been a wiry-framed man.