‘As you seem to be so well informed,’ the President said as he sat down, ‘perhaps you could brief me in more detail on what actually happened in Bogota.’
Helen Dexter ignored his sarcastic tone, and picked up a file from her lap. The white cover bearing a CIA logo had printed across it the words ‘FOR THE PRESIDENT’S EYES ONLY‘. Lawrence wondered just how many files she had stashed away across the river marked ‘FOR THE DIRECTOR’S EYES ONLY‘.
She flicked the file open. ‘It has been confirmed by several sources that the assassination was carried out by a lone gunman,’ she read.
‘Name one of these sources,’ snapped the President.
‘Our Cultural Attaché in Bogota,’ replied the Director.
Lawrence raised an eyebrow. Half the Cultural Attachés in American embassies around the world had been placed there by the CIA simply to report back directly to Helen Dexter at Langley without any consultation with the local Ambassador, let alone the State Department. Most of them would have thought the Nutcracker Suite was a dish to be found on the menu of an exclusive restaurant.
The President sighed. ‘And who does he think was responsible for the assassination?’
Dexter flicked over a few pages of the file, extracted a photograph and pushed it across the Oval Office desk. The President looked down at a picture of a well-dressed, prosperous-looking middle-aged man.
‘And who’s this?’
‘Carlos Velez. He runs the second-largest drug cartel in Colombia. Guzman, of course, controlled the biggest.’
‘And has Velez been charged?’
‘Unfortunately he was killed only a few hours after the police had obtained a warrant to arrest him.’
‘How convenient.’
The Director didn’t blush. Not possible in her case, thought Lawrence: after all, blushing requires blood.
‘And did this lone assassin have a name? Or did he also die only moments after a court order was...’
‘No, sir, he’s still very much alive,’ the Director replied firmly. ‘His name is Dirk van Rensberg.’
‘What’s known about him?’ asked Lawrence.
‘He’s South African. Until recently he lived in Durban.’
‘Until recently?’
‘Yes. He went underground immediately after the assassination.’
‘That would be quite easy to do, if you were never above ground in the first place,’ said the President. He waited for the Director to react, but she remained impassive. Eventually he said, ‘Do the Colombian authorities go along with your account of what happened, or is our Cultural Attaché your only source of information?’
‘No, Mr President. We picked up the bulk of our intelligence from Bogota’s Chief of Police. In fact, he already has in custody one of van Rensberg’s accomplices, who was employed as a waiter at the El Belvedere hotel, the building from which the shot was fired. He was arrested in the corridor only moments after he had helped the assassin to escape in the freight elevator.’
‘And do we know anything of van Rensberg’s movements following the assassination?’
‘He seems to have taken a flight to Lima in the name of Alistair Douglas, and then continued on to Buenos Aires, using the same passport. We lost track of him after that.’
‘And I doubt if you’ll ever find him again.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be that pessimistic, Mr President,’ said Dexter, ignoring Lawrence’s tone. ‘Hired assassins tend to be loners who often disappear for several months following a job of this importance. Then they reappear once they feel the heat is off.’
‘Well,’ said the President, ‘let me assure you that in this case I intend to keep the heat on. When we next meet, I may well have a report of my own for you to consider.’
‘I shall look forward to reading it,’ said Dexter, sounding like the school bully who had no fear of the headmaster.
The President pressed a button under his desk. A moment later there was a tap on the door and Andy Lloyd entered the room.
‘Mr President, you have a meeting with Senator Bedell in a few minutes,’ he said, ignoring Dexter’s presence.
‘Then I’ll leave you, Mr President,’ said Dexter, rising from her place. She put the file on the President’s desk, picked up her handbag and left the room without another word.
The President didn’t speak until the Director of the CIA had closed the door behind her. Then he turned to his Chief of Staff. ‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ he muttered as he dropped the file into the out tray. Lloyd made a mental note to retrieve it as soon as his boss had left the room. ‘I guess the best we can hope for is that we’ve put the fear of God in her, and that she won’t consider carrying out another operation like that while I’m in the White House.’
‘Remembering the way she treated you when you were a Senator, Mr President, I wouldn’t put a lot of money on that.’
As I can hardly employ an assassin to remove her, what do you suggest I do?’
‘In my opinion she has left you with two choices, Mr President. You can either sack her and face the inevitable Senate inquiry, or accept defeat, go along with her version of what took place in Bogota, and hope you can get the better of her next time.’
‘There could be a third choice,’ the President said quietly.
Lloyd listened intently, making no attempt to interrupt his boss. It quickly became clear that the President had given considerable thought to how he might remove Helen Dexter from her post as Director of the CIA.
Connor collected his thoughts as he glanced up at the baggage arrivals screen. The console was beginning to spew out the luggage from his flight, and some passengers were already stepping forward to pick up the first bags.
It still saddened him that he had not been present at his daughter’s birth. While he had doubts about the wisdom of the United States’s policy in Vietnam, Connor shared his family’s patriotism. He volunteered for military service, and completed officers’ candidate school while he waited for Maggie to graduate. They ended up only having time for a wedding and a four-day honeymoon before Second Lieutenant Fitzgerald left for Vietnam in July 1972.
Those two years in Vietnam were now a distant memory. Being promoted to first lieutenant, captured by the Vietcong, escaping while saving another man’s life — it all seemed so long ago that he was almost able to convince himself that it had never actually happened. Five months after he returned home, the President awarded him the nation’s highest military decoration, the Medal of Honor, but after eighteen months as a prisoner of war in Vietnam he was just happy to be alive and reunited with the woman he loved. And the moment he saw Tara, he fell in love for a second time.
Within a week of returning to the States, Connor began to look for a job. He had already been interviewed for a position at the CIA’s Chicago field office when Captain Jackson, his old company commander, turned up unannounced and invited him to be part of a special unit that was being set up in Washington. Connor was warned that should he agree to join Jackson’s elite team, there would be aspects of the job he could never discuss with anyone, including his wife. When he learned what was expected of him, he told Jackson that he would need a little time to think about it before he came to a decision. He discussed the problem with Father Graham, the family priest, who simply advised him: ‘Never do anything you consider dishonourable, even if it’s in the name of your country.’