“Not at the moment. Go on.”
Trust notwithstanding, he felt uncomfortable discussing this if it could later be used against him. But with time short, he pressed on. “We obtained several pieces of paper from the Armed Resistance Militia compound the other day. They contained phone numbers, one of which was traced to an encrypted army mobile phone. That phone is being used by Quentin Larchmont.” Uzi paused to let that fact sink in.
Whitehall’s face suddenly bunched into a mask of wrinkles. “What in hell does that mean?”
“This information is only thirty minutes old, sir, so I can’t answer that. But let’s just say that there’s no reason why anyone affiliated with ARM should have a coded mobile phone number for Quentin Larchmont. One might also ask what use Mr. Larchmont has for such a device.”
Whitehall’s eyes seemed to study Uzi’s face as he digested this thought. The grandfather clock against the far wall over the president’s right shoulder ticked softly in the background. Finally, Whitehall leaned back on the couch. “Frankly, son, you’re going to have to give me more than—”
Uzi’s phone began ringing. The president looked at Uzi’s pocket with disdain.
“I’m sorry, sir. This is important.” He pulled the cell and answered it.
“Hey, man,” Tim Meadows said, excitement boosting his voice. “I got the logs for that certain group we’ve been tracking, the one that sounds like an appendage—”
“Got it, Tim. I’m meeting with the president right now, so if you could make this quick—”
“The president? Right, okay. The logs. Well, they’ve got a bunch of calls to the Executive Office Building. Daily, it looks like, going on for several weeks before they suddenly stop.”
“Who were they calling?”
“I can’t tell, at least not yet. But there’s more. Some of the calls from that phone went to another encrypted mobile. And that one apparently belongs to someone named Lewiston Grant.”
Oh, man. Uzi rubbed at his temple. “Are you sure?” His eyes flicked over to the president, who was listening intently to Uzi’s end of the conversation. “It was listed under that name?”
“Gee whiz, Uzi, I didn’t look it up in the phone book under ‘Grant,’ if that’s what you mean. I had to dig. I traced a pretty convoluted strand that led me to this guy. I’m about as sure as I can be on short notice. It takes time to hack — I mean, to obtain this information.”
“Great work. Really, really good. Call me when you’ve got more.” Uzi hung up and apologized to the president. “Again, sir, I don’t know yet how this all fits together. But we’ve got encrypted phone calls from the militia to the Executive Office Building. And we’ve got a large caliber Russian round from their compound that matches one that killed one of our informants.”
Whitehall straightened up. “Are these militia people in custody?”
“No, sir.” Uzi looked down at the plush carpet. “Remember that discussion we had on the green when you were putting—”
“Let’s take a walk, son.” Whitehall rose from the couch and turned for the French door.
Uzi pushed off the sofa and followed.
“Benedict to Horsepower,” the Secret Service agent said into his cuff mike as he pulled open the door. Horsepower referred to the presidential detail’s command post beneath the Oval Office. The agent continued talking into his sleeve. “Authorized break on the Oval Colonnade door. Big Bear on the move.”
Whitehall and Uzi stepped out onto the Colonnade’s long, covered fieldstone walkway, stone columns to their immediate right and the Rose Garden beyond. When they’d cleared the range of the recording devices in the Oval, Whitehall nodded for Uzi to continue.
“On the lawn,” Uzi said. “Remember sir, when you told me to ‘just get the job done’?”
Whitehall kept his gaze on the ground as he walked. “Go on.”
“The evidence gathered at the ARM compound was not obtained… legally. The attorney general ordered us to give the militia some breathing room, to back off our investigation of them. But Director Knox made it known in private that he wanted us to disregard that order.”
Whitehall stopped walking and inserted his hands into his pockets. “So what you’re saying is that none of this can be used against them.”
“That’s right, sir. But I believe Quentin Larchmont is involved with ARM and there could be a larger conspiracy involving other members of the incoming administration. And possibly yours.” Uzi braced himself for the president’s wrath. But none came.
“Has Assistant Director Yates been fully briefed on all this?”
“No, sir. I wasn’t sure who could be trusted, so I’ve kept this info close to the vest.”
“And the peace talks. What can you tell me relative to the Palestinians?”
I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that. “It’s not looking good, sir. Al-Humat’s mixed up in all this. Looks like they’ve had a sleeper cell operating here for years. But I’ll need more time to get you a definitive answer.” He hoped Whitehall would give him some room on this, that somehow the credibility he had just earned with his exposure of ARM vouched for the quality of his work and his ability to follow the president’s orders.
The commander in chief was silent, his gaze off somewhere in the vicinity of the Rose Garden. Abruptly, he turned and headed back into the Oval Office. Uzi followed.
“Benedict to Horsepower,” the Secret Service agent said into his sleeve. “Authorized break, Oval Colonnade door. Big Bear returning.”
Whitehall walked to his desk and lifted the phone. He punched a number and said, “Get me Director Knox.”
Uzi stepped forward. “Sir, with all due respect, I wouldn’t recommend that. Director Knox might be part of—”
Whitehall cupped the phone. His entire body tensed. “What are you saying?”
“Until we’re clear on the players, we should be careful about who we bring into this.”
The president’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any reason to believe the director of the FBI is a co-conspirator?”
Careful, Uzi. “No evidence, sir, but I do have ‘reason to believe’ there might be a connection. Potentially even the attorney general.” Uzi realized he was sticking out his neck extremely far, but given the gravity of the information he now possessed, and the time he had left, he felt he could remain silent no longer.
Whitehall shook his head but kept his hand firmly over the receiver. “I refuse to accept that. Either way, I have to bring in the FBI. It’s not an option.”
The two men locked stares, neither willing to give ground. “Yes,” Whitehall said, quickly removing his hand from the mouthpiece. “Douglas. Good to hear your voice. I’ve got something I need you to look into.”
Uzi closed his eyes and bowed his head as the president laid out the information Uzi had provided. When he finished, the president listened for a moment, then said, “For now, Douglas, let’s not discuss how I obtained that information. I would like you to move on it, however.” Whitehall rocked slightly on his heels, his left hand tucked behind his back. He nodded a few times. “I understand that, Douglas…. Yes, I realize that…. That’s for you to figure out. But please do let Director Zallwick and Secretary Braun know they might have an internal security problem. Keep me posted.”
Whitehall hung up the phone. “Agent Uziel, I can tell you’re not pleased with my decision. But I’m not some covert operative in the middle of Afghanistan. I have procedures to follow.”
The comment was like a kick in the rear. Uzi cringed internally. He suddenly realized just how far he had strayed from “procedure.” Whose orders was he now following — and were their motives genuine, or was he being used?