The Icarus Agenda

'On the contrary, my dear,' interrupted Payton. 'That's exactly what you're going to do. We're going to turn this damned circumstantial liability into an asset. When a person like Mrs. Vanvlanderen accepts a position involving close ties with the potential successor to the President of the United States, personal considerations become secondary… You'll apologize profusely, of course, but then stay with the scenario as we've outlined it.'

'When you think about it,' said Khalehla, 'given the circumstances, the timing couldn't be better. I'm the last person she'll expect. It'll shake her up.'

'I'm glad you agree. Remember, you may show compassion, but the cold business of national security comes first.'

'What about Shapoff? Are we a team?'

'Only if you need him. We've lent him to naval intelligence, consultant status, and I'm glad he's there, but I'd rather you start solo. Work out contact arrangements.'

'I gather he hasn't been briefed.'

'No, only to give you whatever assistance you may ask for.'

'I understand.'

'Adrienne,' said the director of Special Projects, drawing out the name. 'There's something else you should also know.

We may be a step closer to our blond-haired European and, equally important, what he's all about.'

'Who is he? What did you find out?'

'We don't know who he is, but I'd say he's working for people who want to see Evan in the White House… or at least closer to it.'

'My God! He'd never consider it in a thousand years! Who are these people?'

'Very rich and very resourceful, I'd guess.' Payton briefly told her about the impending nationwide campaign to launch Kendrick into the vice presidency. 'Jennings said his people are convinced it could fly—“fast and high” were his words. And in my opinion he wouldn't have the slightest objection.'

'Right down to the President's own reaction,' said Khalehla, her voice quiet, floating into the pay phone. 'Every step, every move that was made was thought out and analysed. All but one.'

'What do you mean?'

'Evan's response, MJ. He'd never take it.'

'Perhaps that's the shoe that hasn't dropped.'

'It would have to be an iron boot the size of the Sphinx's foot… Then there are two groups, one pushing our hero congressman on to the national ticket, the other doing its damnedest to keep him off.'

'I came to the same conclusion and told the President as much. Go to work, officer Rashad. Call me when you're settled in your hotel. I may have news from our doctors by then.'

'I don't suppose I could get in touch with my grandparents, could I? They live near here, you know.'

'Am I speaking with a twelve-year old? Absolutely not!'

'Understood.'

It was three o'clock in the winter afternoon, Eastern Standard time, and the limousines were parked in the drive at the estate in Cynwid Hollow. The chauffeurs smoked cigarettes, talking quietly among themselves. Inside, the conference had begun.

'This will be a brief meeting,' said Milos Varak, addressing the members of Inver Brass, the glare of the lamps illuminating their faces in the large, dimly lit study. 'But the information was so vital, I appealed to Dr Winters. I felt it was imperative that you be apprised.'

'That's obvious,' said Eric Sundstrom testily. 'I've left an entire laboratory not knowing what to do next.'

'You dragged me out of court, Milos,' added Margaret Lowell. 'I assume you're right, as you usually are.'

'I flew back from Nassau,' said Gideon Logan, laughing softly, 'but then I wasn't doing anything but fishing until that damned ship's phone jingled. Also, I wasn't catching anything.'

'I wish I could say I was even that productive, but I can't,' offered Jacob Mandel. 'I was at a basketball game when the beeper went off. I nearly didn't hear it, in fact.'

'I think we should proceed,' said Samuel Winters, an edge to his voice, part impatience and part something else, conceivably anger. 'The information is devastating.'

Margaret Lowell glanced over at the white-haired historian. 'Of course we will, Sam. We're just catching our breath.'

'I may have spoken of fishing,' said Gideon Logan, 'but my mind wasn't on fishing, Samuel.'

The spokesman of Inver Brass nodded, his tentative smile unsuccessful. 'Forgive me if I appear irritable. The truth is that I'm frightened, and so will you be.'

'Then there's nothing in my laboratories as important to me right now,' said Sundstrom gently, as if rightfully rebuked. 'Please, go ahead, Milos.'

Watch every face, every pair of eyes. Study the muscles of their jaws and around their lids and their hairlines. Look for involuntary swallows and pronounced veins on their necks. One of these four nearest me here knows the truth. One is the traitor.

'Palestinian terrorists have struck Congressman Kendrick's houses both in Virginia and Colorado. There was a considerable loss of life.'

A kind of controlled pandemonium broke out in that extraordinary room inside the estate on Chesapeake Bay. Its occupants fell back into chairs or sat forward over the table in shock; throated cries came from stretched lips, eyes wide in horror or narrowed in disbelief, and the questions rapidly assaulted Varak like the sharp reports of repeated rifle fire.

'Was Kendrick killed?’

'When did it happen?'

'I've heard nothing about it!'

'Was anyone taken alive?' This last question, the questioner instantly examined by Milos Varak, was Gideon Logan, his dark face set in fury—or was it frenzy… or fear?

‘I’ll answer everything I can,' said the Czech co-ordinator of Inver Brass, 'but I must tell you that I'm not fully informed. The word is that Kendrick survived and is in protective custody. The attacks took place late yesterday afternoon or possibly in the early evening—’

'Possibly?' shouted Margaret Lowell. 'Yesterday? Why don't you know— why don't we all know, why doesn't the country know?'

'There's a total blackout, apparently requested by the intelligence services and granted by the President.'

'Obviously designed to unbalance the Arabs,' said Mandel. 'They kill for publicity, and if they don't get it they go crazier than they already are. Crazy people stand out—’

'And if they're alive they have to get out of the country,' added Sundstrom. 'Can they get out, Varak?'

'It would depend on the sophistication of their arrangements, sir. On who made it possible for them to get in.'

'Were any of the Palestinians taken alive?' persisted Gideon Logan.

'I can only speculate,' answered the Czech, his eyes neutral but beneath that neutrality searching intensely. 'I was fortunate to learn what I did before the blackout was made total; the loss of life was not broken down at that point.'

'What are your speculations?' asked Sundstrom.

'At best, there is only a 10 to 15 per cent chance that any of the assailants was captured—alive. The figure is based on Mideast statistics. It's customary for terrorist teams to carry cyanide capsules sewn into their lapels, concealed razor blades and syringes taped to various parts of their bodies, anything that facilitates taking their own lives rather than reveal information through torture or drugs. Remember, except for the inability to kill their enemies, death is no sacrifice for these people. Instead, it's a rite of passage to an afterlife of joy, not overabundant for them here.'

'Then it's possible that one or two or more might have been captured alive,' pressed Logan, making a statement.

'It's possible, depending upon how many were involved. It's a priority, if it can be accomplished.'

'Why is it so important, Gideon?' asked Samuel Winters.

'Because we're all aware of the extraordinary measures taken to protect Kendrick,' replied the black entrepreneur, studying Varak's face, 'and I think it's imperative to know how these unschooled fanatics penetrated such security. Any word on that, Milos?'

'Yes, sir. Mine, and hardly official, but it's only a matter of days before the federal units make the connection I made.'