“I mean your assassins, Mr. President. Two men, sanctioned by the President of the United States, to commit murder on U.S. soil.”
The President raised an eyebrow and sat back in the chair. “I think you’re mistaken.”
“I’ve met them. They were my bodyguards when your press secretary went into the politics-and-murder business.”
The President set his jaw. Orville Flicker had been a good man and an excellent spin doctor when the President had been just a state governor, but the PR man lost his head when the team moved into the White House. Flicker began getting crazy ideas, and after the President fired him, he got even crazier.
Whiteslaw sneered. “No more games, Mr. President. I’m here to talk about the election.”
The President gave him a hard look. “What about it?”
“I want it.”
Mark Howard tried to sound polite when he picked up the red phone, but it couldn’t have been polite enough. “Who is this?” the President demanded.
“Mark Howard, sir.”
“Oh. Of course. You people know what’s going on around here? About Whiteslaw and all?”
“We haven’t yet located him, Mr. President.”
“You could have located him right here in the White House, son, about ten minutes ago. You mean you don’t have me video monitored these days? Don’t bother answering, Howard. I wouldn’t believe you either way.”
“I don’t follow—”
“Whiteslaw was just here, Howard. In the Oval Office. And you wouldn’t believe what that SOB’s got cooking.”
Smith came through the door, dark splotches under his eyes. The CURE director had been sleeping in an unused room of the hospital, unwilling to make the drive home in case something developed overnight. He had responded in amazingly quick time to the buzzer that was tied into the President’s red phone.
Smith took the phone and jabbed at the speaker button. “I’m here, Mr. President.”
“Whiteslaw was just here, Smith. He’s got the goods on your enforcement boys.”
Smith’s brow furrowed. “Have Remo and Chiun called in?”
Mark shook his head.
“That lowlife Whiteslaw has photos of the boys, taken today. Showed them to me on the Internet. Said he’ll distribute them around the world, along with all the other evidence he’s got on CURE. He’s threatening to expose the shebang. Says he’s got a whole package just ready to transmit to the media. We’ll look like idiots if we bring up the treason charges after he goes public like that.”
Smith’s gray complexion became deathly pale. “Photographs are only circumstantial evidence,” he pointed out. “Whiteslaw has nothing more except conjecture and assumption.”
“He’s got video, too. Smith. Real HDTV stuff. It’s short, but it gets the point across.”
“Video from where?” Smith demanded.
“I have no idea. Looks like some sort of old factory. Swear to God I thought I was looking at some sort of Jackie Chan versus
Mark Howard was already on it, bringing the most powerful CURE network software into play. In seconds he had opened the White House servers and culled the contents of every mail account that might conceivably reach the President. He found the video, snatched it up and erased every electronic copy he could locate. He overwrote the erased video hundreds of times, just in case.
“Got it,” he announced.
“You boys are fast on your feet,” the President said. “Listen, Smith, I know a movie could be made with special effects, and everything could be just flights of fancy, too. That’s how we’ll spin it for the press if we have to. But coming from a U.S. senator, and one who’s been the target of an assassination attempt recently, that packs a whole wallop of credibility with the public.”
“What are his demands, Mr. President?”
“Hold on to your hats, Smith. He wants me to drop out of the election. That’s not all. He’s going after his own party candidate, too. He’s going to the party leadership to show them what he’s got and let them know that the last President was in the know, too. You get it. Smith? He’s trying to extort himself right into the White House.”
“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, Mr. President.”
“Wait up, Smith, I’m not done. Before you go sending your boys after Whiteslaw, you better know about the other ace he had up his sleeve. The man’s in contact with the underground folks.”
“The albinos?”
“And their leader. Get this—the cavemen have a king. He sent me a letter of introduction. He wants to start diplomatic relations! And you know who it is? It’s that kooky German guy!”
“Fastbinder,” Smith said.
