(1976) The R Document (12 page)

‘But I don’t understand,’ said Collins, desperately. ‘The R Document.’ He felt lost, reaching, but getting hold of nothing. ‘What could it possibly be?’

Father Dubinski was rising to his feet. ‘Perhaps you had better find out, find out as soon as possible.’ He handed Collins the slip of paper. ‘Now you know all I know, and all Noah Baxter meant to tell you in his last agony. The rest is in your hands.’ He sucked in his breath. ‘There is danger here. I will .pray for your success and your safety. God be with you.’

He had awakened early the following morning, and showered and dressed, and left their nine-room house in McLean, Virginia, to drive the seven, miles to work without having told his wife about his adventure at Holy Trinity Church the night before.

During dinner that night, and throughout the evening, he had intended to relate the entire episode with Father Dubinski to Karen. But some instinct of care and protection toward his loved one had kept him from revealing the meeting. He knew that it would upset and worry her, because it had upset and worried him.

Instead, he had told her about the President’s call that made the trip to California definite. His only assignments were to deliver an address to the American Bar Association, appear on a television show, and, if possible, lobby informally with some state legislators. Otherwise, he would be free, and they might have a few days in the California sunshine. He had asked Karen to come along. She had resisted, pleading her pregnancy and general state of exhaustion. She had insisted that he could better use his spare time seeing his son, Josh, and looking up some old friends. After that, he had not pressed her further. He knew that he could use any free time seeing not only young Josh but also that man Paul Hilliard wanted him to see, State Assemblyman Olin Keefe, the man who claimed the FBI was doctoring California

crime statistics. Since Collins’ encounter with the priest earlier in the evening, he had begun to entertain his first concerns about the FBI.

When he had gone to bed last night, Karen was still awake. Embracing her to say good night, he knew that she wanted to make love. He had been so obsessed with the mystery of The R Document that love was the last thing on his mind. Nevertheless, because he wanted to be considerate, and especially because he would be away from her a number of days, he had gone along. After several minutes of fore-play, he had forgotten all about business and was as ready as she to make love. Despite his care not to put pressure on her stomach - he constantly feared that she would have a miscarriage - their coupling had been long and frenzied. It had been natural and mutually giving, in a way that he had never enjoyed with Josh’s mother - why did he think of his first wife, Helen, as nothing more than Josh’s mother? - and afterward, he and Karen had gone to sleep almost instantly.

But when he had awakened this morning, it was no longer Karen that was on his mind but The R Document.

Driving to the Department of Justice, he reviewed the urgency of Colonel Baxter’s request that he learn about it and expose it. Learn about and expose what? Some kind of trick that Baxter had seen. But how to find it? Where even to begin? He tried to think about the problem in a logical and orderly fashion. To learn more, the place to begin was with anything or anyone connected in some way with the late Colonel Noah Baxter.

First of all, there were Baxter’s private files. These the Colonel had kept separate from his papers as Attorney General, which were preserved in the regular files in Marion’s office. Collins would have to examine the regular files as well as Colonel Baxter’s own personal files.

He speculated on the task. It sounded so simple, but where did one look? What did one look under? Did one check out R for The R Document? Or I for 35th and A for Amendment? Or S for Secret? Or D for Danger? He didn’t hold much hope for the files. The tone of Baxter’s message made it clear that any further information would not be readily accessible or found in an obvious place.

So much for Baxter’s possessions. This left only those persons close to the Colonel: family, associates, friends -anyone who might have heard him mention, at some time or other, a paper called The R Document. Whom to see first? Director Vernon T. Tynan seemed the best bet. Baxter’s last words had not mentioned him or warned against him in any way. In his final message, Baxter surely had meant for Collins to start with someone close at hand. Had Baxter wanted him to start with Tynan or to avoid Tynan?

Warily, Collins weighed Tynan as a prospect. There were two significant points of caution. Why had the Colonel not sent for Tynan instead of Collins to hear his warning? Because he hadn’t trusted Tynan? There was no evidence of that. Still, Collins wondered, could Tynan be trusted? The second point of caution came up before him like a red flag. Returning from the cemetery, Collins had made some innocent remarks about Baxter’s last confession. Immediately, Tynan had sent an emissary to Father Dubinski to find out by hook or by crook, by blackmail if necessary, what had been in that confession. Had Tynan sought some information he did not have? Or want to know if Baxter had leaked security information they had shared? In either event, there was a likelihood Tynan might know the meaning of The R Document. And might be prepared to explain it to a colleague and Department superior. He was the person to see. But the red flag still fluttered in front of Collins. Proceed with care.

At once, his priority shifted to someone less questionable, more dependable, someone who might be equally knowledgeable about the Colonel’s secrets. This was Colonel Baxter’s widow, Hannah. The red flag was gone. She was accessible. She would be friendly. Collins had a nice relationship with Hannah, who had always regarded him maternally. How good a prospect was she? After all, she had been married to the Colonel almost forty years. There could be nothing serious the Colonel was engaged in that she would not know about. On the other hand, if this had been their relationship, why hadn’t the dying Colonel confided in her instead of sending for Collins to hear his warning? Baxter had used her only as a conduit to reach Collins. Still, there

could be an explanation. The Colonel might have been the kind of person who believed men’s work was a business between men, especially when it involved a former Attorney General and his successor.

By the time he had entered his office, Chris Collins was thoroughly uncertain which step to take first.

At his desk, ignoring the messages lined up on the blotter, he continued to mull over the matter. When Marion arrived with his cup of strong tea, he had made up his mind where to start. He would begin with a source less complicated than human beings.

‘Marion, Colonel Baxter’s files,’ he said. “Where are they?’

‘Well, he kept two sets of files -‘

‘I know.’

‘The bulk of the files, the main ones, are in my office. Then he kept more personal files - his private correspondence, memorandums - in a fireproof cabinet in his sitting room off my office.’

‘Is it there now?’

‘Oh, no. About a month after he went to the hospital, that file was moved to his home in Georgetown.’

‘So that’s where it is now?’

‘Yes. If there’s something you want to look up, I could go over there.’

‘No, not necessary. I can do it myself.’

‘Do you want me to call Mrs Baxter?’

Instantly, he knew the person he would interview first on The R Document.

‘Yes, call her and ask her if she’s up to seeing me for a few minutes this afternoon.’ As Marion started to leave, he added casually. ‘By the way, Marion, I’ve been looking for a memorandum called The R Document. Does that ring a bell?’

She tried to remember. ‘I’m afraid not. It’s nothing I’ve ever filed.’

‘It was a memorandum related to the 35th Amendment. Do you want to take a look in our regular files?’

‘Right away.’

Drinking his tea, Collins disposed of the morning’s messages in rapid succession. On the phone he discussed a Government brief with the Solicitor General, then phoned back his Executive Assistant on a personnel matter. He met briefly with the Director of Public Information, who was supervising preparation of his speech in Los Angeles to the American Bar Association. He conferred at greater length with Ed Schrader, the Deputy Attorney General, on a corporate income-tax-evasion case; riot arrests in Kansas City and Denver; the latest findings on the HIL, or Humans for Internal Liberty, conspirators.

By noon he had heard from his secretary on two important matters. First, she had searched the general files. There was no reference, she said, to anything named The R Document. Somehow, he was not surprised. Second, she reported that she had finally contacted Mrs Hannah Baxter, and Mrs Baxter would be glad to see him at two o’clock.

After lunching in his private dining room with three United States Attorneys brought in from the field, and answering four more telephone calls, Collins was ready to begin his private investigation of The R Document.

Pagano drove him, and Hogan accompanied him, to Georgetown, and they arrived at the familiar white brick three-storied, early-ninteenth-century house on the tree-shaded street at five minutes to two o’clock. Leaving his chauffeur and bodyguard behind, Collins went up the magnificent ironwork stairway, rang the bell, and. was admitted by the cheerful black maid.

‘I’ll fetch Mrs Baxter,’ said the maid. ‘Would you like to wait in the patio? It’s such a lovely day.’

Collins agreed that would be fine, followed her to the sliding glass doors, and then went out on the flagstone patio by himself. He watched his reflection in the swimming pool, turned back to settle into a padded wrought-iron chair next to a ceramic-topped table, and lit a cigarette.

‘Hi, Mr Collins,’ he heard a young voice call out.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Rick Baxter, Hannah Baxter’s grandson, on his knees on the flagstone, fiddling with a portable cassette recorder.

‘Hello, Rick. How come you’re not in school today?’

‘The driver was sick. So Grandma let me stay home.’

‘Are your parents still in Africa?’

‘Yup. They couldn’t come home in time for Grandpa’s funeral, so they’re staying there for another month.’

‘You seem to be having trouble with that contraption. Anything wrong?’

‘I can’t make it work,’ said Rick. ‘I’m trying to fix it for tonight so I can tape the TV special that’s going to be on -The History of Comics in America - but I can’t - ’

‘Let me see it, Rick. I’m not a mechanic, but maybe I can help.’

Rick brought his machine over to Collins. He was a brown-haired boy with alert wide-set eyes and the obligatory braces on his teeth. He was, Collins remembered, bright and mature for a twelve-year-old.

Collins took the tape recorder, checked all the buttons to be sure they were set right, and then opened up the machine. In a moment he saw what was wrong, made a simple adjustment, and tried the machine. It worked.

‘Thanks!’ exclaimed Rick. ‘Now I can take down the show tonight. You should see my collection. I tape the best TV and radio shows and interviews. I have the best collection in school. It’s my favorite hobby.’

‘It’ll be very valuable one day,’ said Collins. The Age of the Tape, thought Collins. He wondered if any of these kids, even smart ones like Rick, could write anymore. And it would be worse after the 35th Amendment was passed, he realized. The wiretap, the bug, the electronic eavesdroppers would have public approval.

‘Hi, Grandma,’ he heard Rick say.

Immediately, Collins was on his feet, wheeling about in time to greet Hannah Baxter. When she came to him, he embraced her and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. She was a small, plump woman, aging now but with a shiny, warm face, all the features generous.

‘I’m sorry,’ Collins said to her, ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Thanks, Christopher. I’m just glad it’s over with. I couldn’t stand his suffering or seeing him lying there like a vegetable - not any longer - a man of his vitality. I miss him. You don’t know how much I miss Noah. But that’s life. We all have to face it.’ She half-turned. ‘Rick, you go inside and leave us. And no television shows or recording them

until tonight. You open your schoolbooks. I don’t want you falling behind or your father will be upset with me.’

After the boy left, Hannah Baxter sat down at the ceramic-topped table, and Collins took his place again.

Hannah spoke nostalgically about Noah Baxter a little longer, about when he had been well and about their good times together, but at last her voice trailed off. She sighed. ‘Don’t let me go on,’ she said. ‘How are you doing with your work?’

‘Not easy. I can appreciate what Noah went through.’

‘He used to say it was like having an office in quicksand. No matter what you did, you sank down further. Still, if anyone can handle it, you can, Christopher. I know that Noah always had great faith in you.’

‘Is that why he sent for me the last night, Hannah?’

‘Of course.’

‘What did he say to you?’

‘I was at his side when he came out of the coma. He was desperately weak, and not too articulate. He recognized me, whispered something endearing, then he asked me to do him, a favor. “Bring Chris Collins here,” he said. “Must see him. Urgent matter. Important. Must talk to him.” It wasn’t as clear as that, but it was what he was trying to say. So I sent for you. I’m sorry you couldn’t get there in time.’

‘Hannah, why didn’t he tell you what he wanted to tell me?’

The thought had never occurred to her. ‘Why, he wouldn’t do that. It was business, I’m sure. He rarely discussed business with me. He always saw the person his business was intended for. In this case, he had something to tell you. It’s too bad he didn’t get the chance.’

Collins wanted to say that the Colonel had got the chance, via Father Dubinski, but since she did not know this, Collins instinctively decided not to involve her.

‘I wish I could have talked to him,’ Collins said. ‘He could have straightened me out about a lot of things. About the job, I mean. For instance, there are some files I can’t find. We’ve looked through the ones in the office. My secretary says one file cabinet, Noah’s personal one, was sent to the house here after he became ill.’