“Are the Extraditables behind this?”
No one knew.
“By God, we’d better find out and damn fast.”
“We’re squeezing our sources now. We’ll hear something soon.”
“Squeeze harder. We’ve got to find out who is behind this attempted murder and get these people arrested. Right now the public is holding its breath. We can’t get on with the business of government when ninety percent of the stuff in the newspapers and on the air is about assassins and victims. So the people who did this have got to be found. Find them.”
Afterward Dorfman had a private conference with Dan Quayle, a man whom he would have despised if he had ever taken the time to think about him, which he hadn’t. Dorfman occupied the center of the universe and everyone else merely orbited his star. Still, while he had never had any patience with people who lacked his intellectual gifts, lazy rich people who floated effortlessly along enjoying life’s bounties had always brought forth the darkest side of his aggressive personality. Just now he had to steel himself to treat Quayle with what he thought was deference.
“This Extraditables claim,” he muttered, “is political dynamite. No doubt this very minute someone is advocating an invasion of Colombia. The least misstep and we could have Colombians publicly assaulted in our streets. Remember the hostage mess in Iran ten or eleven years ago?”
Quayle remembered.
“And yet, if we don’t take measured, positive steps to handle this mess, people will say that you’re incompetent. Anything you do will be too much for some people, too little for others.”
“I’ve been in politics for a while,” Quayle said, a little annoyed at Dorfman. He disliked being patronized and that was all he ever got from Dorfman. He had spent the last two years assiduously avoiding the man.
Dorfman continued, trying to sound reasonable. “My role for the President has been to play the bad cop, the hard ass, the guy who says no. I suggest that until the President recovers enough to resume his duties, you continue to use me the same way. Let me play the heavy. When something positive comes along, you take the credit.”
“That might have worked for George Bush, but it won’t work for me,” Dan Quayle said. “Not over the long haul. People think I’m incompetent, a featherweight.” Dorfman tried to interrupt but Quayle kept going. “I’m not going to let you be de facto President while I sit on my thumb. That won’t work.”
“I know that, sir. I’m merely making a suggestion. You’re the man in charge.”
Quayle’s innocent blue eyes zeroed in and didn’t blink. “Governor, I’m going to lay it right on the line with you. Everyone knows that you wanted to be the vice-presidential candidate in ’88 but Bush picked me instead. Everyone knows that you want the spot in ’92. And everyone, including me, suspects that you’ve been lobbying the President to dump me from the ticket.”
“I haven’t,” Dorfman said, his face reddening.
Dan Quayle continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Right now I don’t think it would be a good idea to replace Bush’s team, at least until we get some idea of when the President might be capable of resuming his duties. But,” Quayle added matter-of-factly, “this team had better get some results.”
At four p.m. that afternoon Thanos Liarakos had a short visit with his client, Chano Aldana, in a cell. The guard was outside and the two were alone. Liarakos had long suspected these visitation cells were bugged but this afternoon he never gave possible listeners a thought.
“Your colleagues in Colombia are taking credit for the attempted assassination of George Bush.”
Aldana merely grunted. Something like amusement played across his fleshy features.
“Well, did they do it? Or did you hire it done?”
“What’s it to you, Mr. American lawyer?”
“I’m your defense counsel. I want to know if you’re responsible for the attempt on the President’s life.”
Aldana snorted. Then his lips curled in a sneer. “You’ve got two daughters, right? What are their names — let me think — oh yes! Susanna and Lisa. Now listen very, very carefully, Mr. Thanos Liarakos, rich American lawyer with the clean white hands. You tell these people that if they don’t send me back to Colombia, many more Americans will die. You silly people have been living in a dream world. I’m going to show you the hard, naked truth. And if you double-cross me, if you don’t do exactly what I tell you, you won’t have two pretty little daughters anymore.” Aldana snapped his fingers. “Do you understand me, Mr. Thanos Liarakos?”
“Guard! Guard! I’m ready to leave.” Liarakos pounded on the door. He wiped his palms on his trousers.
“You had better pay attention, Mr. Liarakos,” Aldana hissed. “If you think I can’t reach you or your daughters, that will be your last mistake. I got to George Bush. I can get to anyone on this planet. Do you understand?”
The door opened then and Liarakos went through, but not without looking back over his shoulder at the round, sneering face of Chano Aldana.
As he walked down the corridor he wiped his hands on his trousers again, then swabbed his face with his sleeve. He saw the sign on the door that said MEN and ducked in. Suddenly he had an overpowering urge to urinate.
The prosecutor, William Bader, and Thanos Liarakos twisted uncomfortably in their chairs across the desk from Attorney General Gideon Cohen. Liarakos had gone directly from the cell to the prosecutor’s office, and the two of them had come here, to the Department of Justice. Liarakos had just finished his tale.
“What does he expect the American government to do?” Cohen asked, his eyebrows high in disbelief.
“Send him back to Colombia,” Liarakos said curtly. “I told you that.”
“No.”
The attorney general leaned back in his chair and stared at Liarakos. Liarakos stared back.
“I want protection for my daughters,” Liarakos said at last.
“Send them to their grandparents.”
“Don’t give me that crap! These people can reach anywhere! I believe the son of a bitch. I want protection!”
“Two FBI agents.”
“Around the clock. In school and in the head. Every minute of every day.”
“For a while, okay.” Cohen nodded. “But we’re going to hold Aldana incommunicado. You are the only human who talks to him.”
Liarakos snorted. “You wish. The jailers will see him. We have to feed him. They’ll tell him what’s happening. He’ll threaten and bribe them. How are you going to stop that?”
“Quantico,” Bader suggested. “Let’s let the Marines hold him in their brig down there. Move all the other prisoners out.”
“Any objection, counselor?” Cohen asked.
“Do it.” Liarakos stood.
“Not so fast,” Cohen said, straightening in his chair. “I want you to talk to the FBI. He claims he’s responsible for four murders and the attempted assassination of the President. He’s threatened other people. You’re going to repeat this word for word in a sworn deposition.”
“No, I’m not. Attorney-client privilege.”
“Waived,” Cohen shot back.
“Like hell! I do a deposition like that and you’ll have to find another lawyer to defend the cocksucker and Judge Snyder will have a pound of my ass. I’ve told you what my client wanted me to say. That’s it. You tell the FBI and the White House and anybody else you care to. This hot potato is all yours. I’m done. And I’m leaving.” Liarakos walked out.
Cohen was on the phone to the FBI before the door closed behind the defense lawyer.