Although the door closed behind him, Murdock’s shouts could be heard all the way down the hall.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Alan Thornton reached up and straightened Shari’s collar. They were standing in the presidential hallway leading to the Oval Office. With them stood Attorney General Dean Hamilton, FBI Director Larry Johnston, and a force of the president’s own security detail.
“You’ve done an outstanding job so far,” Thornton told her. “You really have. Whether or not we get the pope back safely, at least it couldn’t be said that Shari Cohen didn’t do her best.” He smiled at her.
“And thank you, Alan, for following through. I’m ashamed to say that I thought you were a part of it.”
After their last discussion, Thornton had waded through heavy political water to find the truth about the Force Elite, and whether the group had been dispatched by executive command without knowledge of select administrators. But he found nothing. Tension was so high on Capitol Hill most officials refused to say anything for fear the ‘accusing finger’ would tie them to the cause. Political careers were on the chopping block. But when the FBI produced the tape of Yahweh’s call to Pappandopolous, it was as good as a written admission from the perpetrator himself. Political futures would be eliminated later under certain conditions.
“This is your game,” Thornton told her. “And the right to do this belongs to you.” He handed her a manila envelope containing a digital recorder, transcripts and records. The evidence was literally in hand. “You ready to do his?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Good girl.”
Thornton took the initiative and knocked on the door leading into the Oval Office. Once inside he stood directly on the Presidential Seal with Shari and the entourage alongside. Vice President Bohlmer sat in a high back chair looking over documents and President Burroughs was looking out the window, his hands deep within his pockets.
“Mr. President,” said the attorney general.
The president gradually turned around, the movement a statement in itself as to what he was feeling at the moment. There was no surprise on his face, no features that betrayed his thoughts. When he finally stepped forward he stared directly at Shari. “Special Agent Cohen,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Mr. President,” her tone lacked any note of sincerity. “You know why I’m here?”
“I’ve been informed.”
“Then you know we’re running out of time.”
“We’ve been running out of time since this began.” He made his way back to the window, his disposition more melancholy than angry. “Let’s get this over with.”
Shari opened the manila envelope and laid the contents on the president’s desk. “What I have here, sir,” she said, picking up the digital recorder, “is a conversation between two parties plotting the assassination of an official of this office. An official captured in the compromising position of putting this government in jeopardy, should the truth about the pope’s kidnapping be known to the world community.”
“Do what you have to do,” he said dourly.
She pressed the ‘ON’ button of the recorder.
Yeah.
Have you heard?
Heard what?
Omega Team has been eliminated and Judas is in the hands of hostiles, alive.
Silence.
You and Paxton are the last line of defense. Either you, or Paxton, or both, I don’t care which, take him out before he has the opportunity to flip on us. Both of you have clearance, so clean up the mess.
Where is he?
He’s in the Southeast Washington Hospital, room two-twenty-four. There’ll be guards there, of course, but you have clearance. Just be subtle about it.
Is the whole Force Elite gone?
Except for those pulling duty in the north.
The voice was clear and distinct, even to those listening from across the room.
Shari shut off the recorder. “We were also able to obtain warrants for telephone records. Ma Bell gave us a printout of the phone numbers, and the time the call was placed based on the legal tapping. The time corresponds exactly to the addresses of the parties involved.” She pulled out another document. “And this, Mr. President,” she said, holding up a sheet with spike-line etchings, “is a printout confirming the voice of the speaker based on tone patterns. In other words… we know who the lead conspirator is.”
The president rounded the desk and reached for the printout. “Well, Ms. Cohen, it seems that you’ve covered all your bases after all. I must say that’s impressive.” He took the printout and examined it. The recognized name and the voice probability of over ninety-nine percent were printed at the page’s bottom. He handed the printout back to her. “Is this indisputable?”
“In a court of law, I believe so, sir. Absolutely.”
The president sat on the edge of his desk. “Go ahead,” he told her, “finish this off.”
Shari thanked him and stood with confidence before the vice president. “Mr. Vice President, I have one question and one question only. And the question is: Are you Yahweh?”
Vice President Bohlmer didn’t answer. His eyes darted about, his mind searching for a practical response. But he could only remain silent.
“Mr. Vice President. I’ll ask you again: Are… you… Yahweh?”
The vice president’s shoulders fell in defeat.
“I take that as a yes,” Shari said.
“Take it however you want,” said Bohlmer. “I don’t think it matters much anymore.”
The president lifted himself off the edge of the desk. “Why, Jonas? Why place this entire administration under the strain of impropriety in the eyes of the world community? The United States is supposed to set an example of credibility and trust, not backdoor thuggery!”
The vice president turned to the president, the shame of getting caught evident on his face. “I’ll tell you why I did it,” he began. “I did it because your administration had grown weak. I did it because we need to take a step forward and renegotiate our standing as a lead nation rather than being held hostage by accords with countries tied to terrorist regimes. Whoever has the oil holds the scepter of rule. And we can shift that balance of power by changing the geopolitical landscape. Within ten years, Jim, this economy would flourish without the dependency of the Middle East. And history would record the people of this administration as the chief principals who implemented change.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about reevaluating how we think about the accords that hold this nation hostage to foreign fuels. We need to change the current situation, Jim. We need to regain our foothold that’s been slipping in the world community for some time now.”
The president could only stare incredulously. “You mean to tell me you were willing to start a war and kill millions of people by using the pope as a catalyst?” He leaned back, his face flushing. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, fossil fuel may not be readily available after our separation from the Arab states? That fossil fuel may skyrocket in price before it has a chance to stabilize? And by that time economies may be ruined, including our own? Did you ever think about those contingencies?”
“We considered all of those scenarios,” he returned. “As far as we were concerned, the rewards outweighed the risks.”