Free Fall (52 page)

"I guess I do owe you a debt of gratitude," he said finally.

"Excuse me?"

"You created the environment that made all this possible. The release of the Vericomm tapes that you timed so perfectly the complete moral bankruptcy of the American government laid out in glorious digital audio. You made our job so much easier. In a sense, I'm going to ride the wave of voter resentment you created, right into the White House."

Beamon had repositioned himself slightly so that he could keep Roland Peck in his peripheral vision. He could see that the angular, little man's nervous movements were becoming more and more urgent as his boss spoke. Perhaps David Hallorin had the same weakness as many of his peers he needed to show off how smart he was.

"Do you remember, Mr. Beamon, when the American Dream was that you could work hard and achieve anything no matter where you started in life? Now people dream of tripping over a crack in the sidewalk and suing the city that laid it. Or of winning the lottery."

Beamon nodded to show that he was listening but had no idea where this was going.

"You see, the American people are like children. When things are going well, they demand their independence. But when there's trouble on the horizon, they run back to their mothers and expect everything to be made all better."

"And in this analogy, you're the mother?" Beamon said, and then cursed himself for opening his mouth. Fortunately, Hallorin's ego seemed to have grown so large that it had taken over the commonsense center of his brain. The sarcasm was lost on him.

"In a sense, I am. I'm willing to tell them what to do, how to solve their problems in a way that's simple enough for them to understand.

They don't have to think for themselves at all. It's fortunate for America that the file did exist, don't you think? Robert Taylor has been this country's cross to bear for thirty years. I'm the only man that can lead us out of the hole he's dug."

Hallorin seemed to believe the legend he'd created for himself, to have convinced himself that it wasn't all a lie carefully manufactured for him by his staff.

"For the longest time I couldn't figure out why you weren't attacking Taylor in your campaign," Beamon said, looking directly into the eyes of the man who had engineered an explosion that had killed seven people.

A man who was paving his way to the White House with the bodies of children.

"The file was the key, Mr. Beamon. Certainly there have always been people aware of its existence, but the concept myth of assured mutual annihilation kept it buried. It's truly amazing, when you think about it that our government is manned with such cowards that no one used it before me."

More like dumb luck, it seemed to Beamon. And that was something that had been bothering him. If someone had found it before Hallorin, what would keep them from taking what they wanted and burning the rest?

"So how can we coexist, Mr. Beamon? I assume you've thought about this."

Beamon shrugged.

"We just forget the whole thing. I don't pursue it, and you forget about Darby Moore and me."

Hallorin let out a short laugh.

"That seems a bit one-sided to me. It's my understanding that you don't have anything to pursue."

That was true. There was the explosion that had put Hallorin back in the running, but how could he even come close to proving anything about that? The evidence he had was as un producible as it was circumstantial "Who are you working for, Mr. Beamon?" Roland Peck cut in.

"For the longest time, I thought it was you," Beamon said honestly, then continued with a little white lie.

"Now I don't know."

No one spoke for a long time, probably a good two minutes.

"You haven't asked for enough, Mark," Hallorin said finally, his tone taking on a pedantic air.

"Do you know why the FBI's using you as a scapegoat?"

"Because they don't like me?"

Hallorin smiled.

"Because they can. Politicians are schoolyard bullies stupid and cowardly. Once you understand that, and the fact that they are solely out for personal gain, they're surprisingly easy to predict and manipulate."

"I'm not sure what you're driving at."

"How anxious do you think the FBI would be to put you through this if the president of the United States and the Senate majority leader were to write letters and express their displeasure at the action?"

Beamon thought about that for a moment.

"Not very, I suppose."

"In fact, your job and your reputation would be returned to you very quickly, don't you think?"

"And how could I ever repay you for your kindness?"

"Much easier than you imagine, I think. I only ask three things. First, that when your name is cleared and you are reinstated to the FBI, you resign."

Beamon nodded.

"What else."

"That you accept the job Roland offered you."

Beamon felt his eyebrows rise at the repeated offer of a million-dollar-a-year job. After a moment of consideration, though, he realized that taking a job at such an exorbitant salary would certainly give the impression of collusion, should he ever decide to make any of this public. It also kept him in a place that he could be watched.

Hallorin once again proved that he was not a stupid man.

"We respect efficiency, Mark," Peck cut in.

"You've proven your abilities and we like to hire the best."

Beamon bent forward in a hint of a bow, acknowledging the compliment.

"You said three things. By my count, that's two."

"Darby Moore." Peck again.

"What about her?" Beamon asked, though he already knew. He turned to fully face Peck, suspecting that Hallorin wouldn't speak on this subject himself.

"Her motivations are too murky, Mark. Too unidentifiable. She's completely unpredictable, uncontrollable ..."

Beamon nodded silently. It was true, she was all those things. But he'd kind of grown attached to her. It would take more than the promise of a seven-figure salary and a get-out-of-jail-free card to condemn her to death. He'd accept nothing less than a spot on the PGA tour.

"So what do you think of our offer?" Hallorin said.

He turned back to face the senator.

"Can I think about it?"

Confusion flashed briefly across Hallorin's face, as Beamon knew it would. How could a man like him understand? In Hallorin's mind, he'd just offered everything that mattered: money, power, and reputation.

How could he fathom that Beamon would throw all that away for a young woman who Hallorin undoubtedly couldn't differentiate from a bum staked out on a sewer grate? And with a little bit of misdirection, Beamon could use that confusion to buy a little more time. Not that he knew what he was going to do with it.

"Mr. Beamon," Peck said, obviously as perplexed as his boss.

"We have the file. I believe that taking a high-powered, high-paid job is your best option. Particularly in light of the fact that you have no other options."

Beamon pretended that he didn't hear, keeping himself focused on Hallorin.

"Don't get me wrong, Senator. I recognize the position I'm in and I'm inclined to take your offer. I just want to make sure that I make a deal that works for me."

Hallorin's smile was nearly imperceptible. They were back on ground that he'd traveled David Hallorin understood negotiating.

"You want to raise the price, Mark? You don't have anything to sell."

Hallorin was right. Beamon had been hopelessly outmaneuvered.

When he'd finally stepped back to take in the big picture, it had been too late.

How had any of this happened? How had Hallorin and Peck out smarted Tom Sherman so easily? Not the shadow of the man that Beamon had left hiding in the wilds of Manassas, but the young Tom Sherman who had damn near taken over the Bureau before he was thirty five The more he thought about it the more it nagged at him. Sherman said he'd never considered the possibility of a third-party candidate coming to power, but that didn't really make sense. Why was Hallorin the only man who could effectively use the information the file contained?

"Fine," Hallorin said.

"Take a couple of days to consider your position.

Speak to Roland when you've come to a decision."

Mark Beamon stalked up the steps to Tom Sherman's Manassas house and threw the front door open. None of the lights were on, but he knew Sherman was there. Hiding from his past. Where the hell else would he be?

Beamon moved purposefully through the semidarkness, but the house was empty. He slid open the glass door that led onto the back deck and found Sherman wrapped in a blanket, gazing out over his land. He didn't turn around when Beamon took a position behind him.

"Beautiful sunset," Sherman said simply.

"Lovely," Beamon said, moving forward to face his friend.

"I talked to Hallorin."

"I knew you would."

Despite the red glow coming from the mountains, Sherman's face seemed pale and drawn.

"He didn't strike me as a stupid man, but I'm not sure he's actually the brains of that outfit. He's got this little leprechaun working for him--"

"Peck," Sherman said.

"Roland Peck."

"That's right. Peck. I figure it was him."

"Him?"

"The one who's been running circles around you. Who found the file you worked so hard to hide and figured out a way to use it."

Sherman didn't respond.

"What was it, Tom, about ten years ago that we flew over to Saudi Arabia on that terrorism case? You remember that?"

Sherman nodded, but still seemed far away.

"You took a fucking umbrella," Beamon said, letting his voice grow to a dull shout.

"You never, never, get caught short! You have a contingency plan for everything!"

"I was barely thirty when Hoover died," Sherman protested.

"How could I anticipate the rise of a man like David Hallorin? Tell me.

How?"

"Fuck David Hallorin! What if the Democrats had found the file?

They'd have burned everything that had to do with their people and used it against the GOP. What would you have done then?"

"I hid the file so that couldn't happen."

"But it did happen! And you'd have planned for that, wouldn't you?"

"Hoover was dead ..." Sherman's voice was starting to shake a little.

"I was all alone on this senior management was running hard and fast. I had to make a decision quickly "

"Come on, Tommy! The Democrats have the file! What do you do?

What do you do?"

Sherman finally looked up at him. His eyes were dead without the reflection of the sunset.

"Do you know what it's like, Mark? Of course you don't.

You've never compromised, have you? You've been satisfied with your little personal victories on your little cases. You've never felt any responsibility or even given a second thought to anything beyond what's right in front of your face. I was responsible for the entire Bureau the policies, the people, projecting where the next threat to America was coming from. I spent the last thirty years as one of the men who led this country. I believed in what I was doing. I believed in all of it."

He started walking toward the door that led into the house.

"I have a lot more years behind me than I do ahead of me, Mark. And that's what I've done with them."

"You're full of shit, Tommy. Answer my goddamn question."

He didn't stop, so Beamon grabbed him by the arm.

"The Democrats have the file. What do you do?"

Sherman didn't pull away, but he also didn't respond.

"It's something Hallorin said today," Beamon said.

"He talked about the file and the assured mutual destruction of the people in it. The uneasy peace brought about by equal firepower. That's the way you set it up, isn't it, Tom?"

Sherman's face was still a blank.

"The explosion," Beamon said, trying to break through to him.

"Hallorin tried to save that girl, right? Did you know he set the whole thing up? That's the man you're going to put in the White House."

Sherman reached out and opened the door in front of him, but didn't immediately step through.

"David Hallorin's evil, isn't he, Mark? So much worse than all the rest of them. If he falls, America will be saved.

Isn't that right?" He finally met Beamon's eye.

"I've always envied your childlike view of the world, Mark. You must sleep well at night."

"What the hell happened to you, Tommy?"

Sherman started into the house, indicating that Beamon should follow.

They ended up in the back bedroom, where Sherman pushed his bed across the wood floor and knelt. There was an audible click as he opened a hidden trapdoor, beneath which was a formidable-looking safe.