“It’s your call, bonehead. But keep in mind that the pope’s life is hanging in the balance and you’re running out of time.”
Johnston, humbled, turned a deep shade of red. “You know we have to keep the Oversight Committee out of this.”
“I know that. All I’m asking is that I don’t end up in potter’s field once I give you what you need to know. In other words, don’t make me suddenly disappear.”
“And why should I give you the benefit of the doubt?”
“Because I’m a coward at heart,” he said. “That’s why.”
Johnston turned to Shari. Although the communication between them was silent, it was also as vociferous as if the exchange of ideas couldn’t have been louder. He turned back to Murdock. “Life in a military installation under solitary conditions,” he offered.
The corner of his lip twisted into a smile. “A courtyard,” he said. “I want a courtyard.”
Johnston knew the term didn’t refer to an actual courtyard, but a barred window offering a view of the grounds. He rolled his eyes and fought for calm. “Granted.”
“I have your word?”
“You have our word,” said Shari.
“Shouldn’t we notarize this or something?”
“Don’t get cute, Murdock. You got what you want.”
Murdock chortled in lethargic glee before falling into a coughing jag, and then he began in earnest to talk about the cause. He explained his role, his taking the moniker of Judas, and the Soldiers of Islam and their executions. He explained his responsibility at the Governor’s Mansion, of how he had drawn his detail into complacency and aided in their deaths by allowing Omega Team to breach security. At times he was graphic, other times evasive, but a picture was drawn and light cast upon the kidnapping of the pope. Situations and events were beginning to fall into order, and all led to principals on Capitol Hill, especially Yahweh.
“Is the president involved in this?” Shari asked. “Is he Yahweh?”
A mirthful grin surfaced. “Perhaps,” he said. “But that would be giving up the prize, now wouldn’t it?”
“You made a deal.”
“And so did you.”
“What more do you want?” asked Johnston.
“I’ll give you two names in good faith — two names who are the last line of defense for the cause who will be pressed into duty to take me out. Yahweh will no doubt send them forward to kill me to keep his identity safe.” Murdock had to labor to roll his head so he could look directly at Shari and Johnston. “You know what has to be done since you know that the courts will play no role in this… it’s always been the political answer to everything.”
“You’re asking us to take out two people?” asked Shari.
“Are you surprised?”
Johnston said nothing.
“You know what has to be done to keep the truth buried,” added Murdock.
“We don’t do that,” Johnston said. “Get your head straight.” But Johnston knew Murdock was correct in suggesting that those with damaging secrets are doomed to a short life. Shari, on the other hand, hadn’t worked long enough for the FBI to know of the possible existence of black op groups working within government agencies who conducted such tasks. The Force Elite was one such group. Were there more?
“Save my life,” he said, “and I’ll give up Yahweh. He’s the only one who can give you the location of the pope, since he’s the only one who actually knows where the pope is. The ball is now in your court.”
Johnston placed a hand softly on Shari’s shoulder and ushered her toward the door. “Give me a moment alone with him,” he told her. “Let me see if I can reason with him about what we want and assure him of his safety. I’ll have him moved to an installation immediately.”
“Don’t push him into a shell,” she demanded.
“I won’t. Trust me.” Once she was in the hallway, he closed the door.
“What’s the matter?” Murdock asked in snide accusation. “You don’t want her to know the truth?”
“No, I don’t. She’s a good officer with a good heart, which is more than I can say for you.”
“Bravo. So what is it you want to say to me that you couldn’t say in front of Girl Wonder there?”
“You know what I want.”
“You want names.”
“Exactly. And you know why?”
“To keep the deep, dark secrets of the good ol’ US-of-A out of the hands of those who couldn’t bear to hear them,” he said.
“The names.”
Punch Murdock looked Johnston in the eyes and saw nothing but conviction. He gave him two names that, judging by his grimace, seemed to wound Johnston. “That’s right. Pappandopolous and Paxton are the eyes and ears within the agency who report any red flags to Yahweh or Obadiah.”
Johnston’s features hardened. “This better pan out.”
Murdock’s head rolled lazily back so he was staring at the ceiling again. “It will,” he said. “It most certainly will.” And then he closed his eyes.
“I got one last question.”
Murdock’s eyes labored to open. His lids fluttered briefly then stabilized. “Go ahead.”
“Those men on the president’s detail — you knew them, and you knew them well, so how could you set them up?”
A dreamy smile washed over Murdock’s face. “For two reasons,” he said. “One was for the money. It’s always been about the money.” He seemed to drift. “I picked out a small island off the coast of Belize. A beautiful place you can only dream about. Sandy beaches, a beautiful view of the sunset.” His gentle repose turned to forced calm, the muscles in the back of his jaw suddenly working. “And now it’s gone,” he said. “All of it. My dreams, my life… everything.”
“How much money are we talking about?”
“You said one question.”
“I was mistaken. How much money?”
Murdock ran a dry tongue over even drier lips. “Ten million,” he managed. “That was to be wired to my account in Belize.”
Johnston had to wonder. “Where was this money coming from?”
“From the oil companies,” he said. “It was to be an upfront fee for services provided.”
“And your purpose was to infiltrate the Governor’s mansion and set the stage while the Force Elite went through the back door that you left unlocked for them, theoretically speaking?”
“You’re not as dumb as you look. But you’re ugly.”
“So what’s the second reason?”
Murdock shook his head. “It’s the rule of thumb for this city,” he said. “You know that.”
“Actually, I don’t. So suppose you enlighten me.”
Murdock sighed as if being burdened. “We do illegal things,” he started, “because we don’t think we’ll ever get caught. Ask any politician. They’ll tell you the same thing.” He raised his hand to reveal the handcuff that bound him to the bed rail. “And is this necessary? Do you really expect a one-legged man doped to the gills to get up and walk out of here?”
“You know the procedure.”
The standoff was long and silent, each man trying to read the thoughts of the other, their poker faces unreadable.
“You gave me your word,” said Murdock. “Life with a courtyard view.”
“And I’ll keep it, providing that what you gave me pans out. But I want Yahweh.”
Murdock’s features softened, then fell into a dismal appearance. His eyes and mouth took on the appearance of the Greek Mask of Tragedy. “And you’ll get him.”
Johnston remained impassive. “Just so you know,” he told him. “This agreement continues only as long as the pope is alive. If he dies, then there’s no point in keeping the bargain. If the bargain goes away, so does the man who wields the secret
— unless you want to tell me now who Yahweh is.”
Murdock nodded. “I’m trying to prove my loyalty to you by providing you with two names in good faith.”