“And then what?”
“Send our two women to America. We will leave his elimination to them this time. No mistakes that way, Daniel,” Rasin told him. “No mistakes at all.”
Chapter 16
“Morning, Hank,” McCracken said to the figure on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. And when Belgrade started to rise, Blaine signaled him back down. “No need for formality among friends. Besides, don’t want the contents of those file folders under your leg to blow away now, do we?”
“Jesus H., MacNuts,” Belgrade responded in his lazy South Carolina drawl. “You better be right about how important this is.”
“How many terrorists have I brought in for you, old buddy? This wipes the slate clean.”
“All the same, if they hang my ass in a sling, I’d like to think it was worth it.”
“Sling ain’t been made big enough to cover your ass, Hank.”
McCracken had reached Washington Tuesday evening and found himself with no desire to do anything but take a long shower. After the shower he ordered up a meal from room service and then felt he was ready to get Hank Belgrade out of bed. The call to his old friend, who now liaised between the departments of State and Defense and handled the dirty linen of both, had not taken very long. Belgrade hadn’t put up an argument but Blaine could tell from his voice that he was baffled by the information requested.
When Blaine finally did drift off to sleep, he dreamed of Matthew, of the first time he had seen the boy charging down the sideline of the rugby pitch. The pride warmed him in the dream, overcoming the raw cold of that damp day. But then the dream turned sour and he stood on the sideline looking for Matthew and not being able to find him among the other boys. And then John Neville was by his side with his head twisted all around and blood leaking from the sides of his mouth and not seeming to know he was dead.
Leave me alone, Blaine wanted to tell the corpse in the dream. It wasn’t my fault!
And even then he wasn’t sure what he was referring to, or which of the characters in the dream he was addressing. At last he woke up to a sky still dark, sweating despite the low temperature of the air-conditioned room and tangled tightly in his bedsheet. He took another shower, a cold one this time, and sat by the window looking out on the stillness of the Washington night.
He slid off to sleep again in the chair, where he was warmed by the sun as it began to stream through the window. He was awakened finally by his eight A.M. wake-up call. He showered and had barely dried himself when room service arrived with the breakfast he had preordered the night before. A fresh set of clothes was the next order of business, and Saks was more than happy to oblige.
At ten A.M. sharp a taxi deposited him at the Vietnam memorial, and he was drawn to the black granite display. The men who had died with him weren’t even listed here because they had been part of something so secret that its existence, and thus their passing, remained unacknowledged. How meaningless their deaths seemed in view of that. Blaine passed the notes squeezed into the cracks and the flowers left at the foot of the wall. He stole one last glance backward at the dark stone as he made his way toward the Lincoln Memorial where Hank Belgrade was waiting.
“Okay, MacNuts,” Belgrade said, making sure the file folders were safely stowed beneath one of his plump thighs as Blaine sat down next to him, “I got the dope you asked for. But I ain’t about to budge this leg until I know what in hell accounts for your sudden interest in the long dead Indianapolis.”
“As they say, the reports of her death were somewhat exaggerated.”
“Son, you may have made me a hero plenty often in these parts, but I tend to be in a bitch of a mood when someone disturbs my beauty sleep with one riddle and then greets me in the morning with another.”
“Then I’ll come right to the point. The Indianapolis is enjoying a second life.”
Belgrade’s eyes widened. “You mean someone’s found her?”
“Absolutely.”
“You talk like someone who’s—”
“Seen her? You bet that unslung ass of your, Hank. Not up close and personal, but on a sharp screen to be sure.”
“Where’s all this leading?”
“Long story. Since I know you’re tired, I’ll stick to the most crucial elements. Does the name Yosef Rasin mean anything to you?”
“Sure. Israeli militant who’d like to see every Arab in the world blown to hell.”
“He got to the Indianapolis ahead of me and pulled something out of its hull.”
“That’s crazy! Do you know what you’re saying?”
“I know what I saw. Neat hole had been sliced right out of her side to allow divers to pass through. They didn’t go in to raid the storage lockers, that’s a safe bet.”
“So what did they go in for?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Sorry.”
“Then how about a weapon that can wipe out all the Arab nations while leaving Israel totally intact?”
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Belgrade asked, trying for a laugh that wouldn’t come.
“I’d hate to say deadly so under the circumstances.”
“If it was on board the Indianapolis, that means it was ours.”
“Yup.”
“Then what you’re saying is that she was carrying something else besides the atomic bombs.”
“That’s right.”
Belgrade looked genuinely scared by the prospects. “Okay. What exactly are you looking for?”
“If the Indianapolis was carrying something else, I wouldn’t expect the crew or even the captain to know. But someone had to do the loading, someone had to notice something.”
“She was loaded in San Francisco,” Belgrade said.
“But she stopped at Pearl Harbor en route to Tinian. The additional baggage could have been put on board there.”
Belgrade shook his head. “Nope. I’ve been over the logs. She stopped at Pearl only long enough to pick up the observers who were the original nuke groupies. We were about to make history, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“My guess is another kind of history was under consideration as well.”
“Our mystery superweapon, of course.”
“There you go.”
“Only the files, memos, and reports I just accessed make no mention of any, Blaine. It’s all here, just like you requested, but I can save you the bother of poring over it all by saying that even the most classified upper echelon memos say nothing about another weapon on board the Indianapolis.”
“Then they buried it, Hank. They were better at burying things in those days.”
“Not this good. They couldn’t have hidden the existence of the kind of weapon you’re talking about.”
“Unless they had their reasons.”
“And either way what you’re telling me is that this Rasin character has dug up what they tried to bury.”
“Like the fabled Phoenix, Hank. You and I know all about that bird from previous experience.”
“Let me give it to you in a nutshell, then,” Belgrade offered. “Of the original team of crew members who loaded the Indianapolis before she set out for Tinian, only one is still alive. Bos’n’s mate by the name of Bart Joyce who currently runs a restaurant up in Boston.”
“Anything else I should know about him?”
“Other than his address, that’s all I’ve got.”
McCracken looked at him closely. “Maybe on him it is. But I can tell from your reactions to what I’ve said that you dug out plenty more in your travels last night. Care to enlighten me?”