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His call was answered on the second ring.
Ralph had spoken with a federal agent only twice in his life—the day before yesterday, when one had appeared at his mother’s wake, asking to speak with him alone, and now. Both times, his mouth had gone dry and his palms had grown wet.
“You told me to call if that reporter showed up. Well, she just left my house.”
“You spoke with her?”
“Yes, sir. I wanted to slam the door in her face, but I did as you told me and tried to act casual.”
“What did she want?”
“To apologize.” He recounted their conversation, then answered all the man’s questions with the crisp precision of a new recruit. “Mostly she asked leading questions about my mother’s medical history and the treatment Mrs. Merritt received from Dr. Allan.”
After a tense silence, the government man said, “You did well, Mr. Gaston. President Merritt will appreciate your assistance.”
Ralph swallowed a lump of pride. His orders had come directly from the Commander in Chief. He’d been told that Barrie Travis’s desire to malign the administration was fueled by an unnatural jealousy of the First Lady.
Barrie Travis was intensely antagonistic toward the White House, ergo she was an enemy of the nation. It was still undetermined how far her subversive tendencies would go, but after the incident in Shinlin they were operating on the side of caution. That’s why the President had asked to be notified immediately if she called on the Gaston family seeking information, which she then might use to further her destructive purposes.
“I’ll pass this information along to the President immediately,” Gaston was told. “You executed your duty well.”
“Thank you, sir. Glad to be of service. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Please notify me if she comes around again.”
“I don’t think she will,” Gaston said. “She’s been fired from the TV station. She wasn’t here today as a reporter, just as a person.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
* * *
Spence replaced the telephone and turned to the President. “That was Gaston. He still thinks he’s talking to an FBI agent. Guess who just paid him a courtesy call?”
“Dammit!”
When was this problem going to disappear? He had more important things to think about. He was on his way now to attend a meeting with the Joint Chiefs. Some disturbing Intelligence reports had been coming out of Libya. In a few weeks he’d receive the reconciliation bill on next year’s budget. The cuts worked out by both houses of Congress would evoke the ire of special interest groups, and it would fall to him to pacify them. At the crux of every decision, of course, was how it might affect the outcome of next year’s election.
These administrative matters required his concentration, but of necessity they were taking a back seat to this persistent problem. “She’s worse than a stubborn dose of the clap,” he grumbled. “She won’t go away.”
“She can. And so can Gray. We can pop them.”
“Too risky, Spence. They’ve made too much news lately.”
“But mostly with Clete. He’s gone on record lambasting them. If they met with a violent end, the senator would be the first to fall under suspicion.”
Merritt chewed on that. It was an appealing idea. One stone, two birds. Three, counting Clete. Spence’s surveillance team was keeping them informed of every move made by Gray and Barrie Travis and that old man they were shacked up with. Wiping them out in one fell swoop was tempting. It would be expedient and neat. It was an enticing proposal, but… Too dicey.
“No, Spence.”
“I’ve got people who could handle it. It would be so far removed from the White House that—”
Merritt held up his hand. “Bill Yancey is too much of a wild card,” he said of the attorney general. “I can’t chance it. Besides,” he added, “your idea is self-serving. You want a shot at Bondurant.”
“True. But it would also solve your problem.”
“I want to solve the problem, but we’ve got to play it smart. They can’t do too much harm as long as they don’t get to Vanessa.”
