Shall We Tell the President? by Jeffrey Archer Read Free Book Online

that a senator could be involved to anybody—and that includes Grant Nanna. It’s possible tomorrow, after we have seen the Director, that we will do no more than make a full report and hand the whole thing over to the Secret Service. Don’t forget the clear division of responsibility—the Secret Service guards the President, we cover federal crime. If a senator is involved, it’s us; if the President’s involved, it’s them. We’ll let the Director decide the finer points—I’m not getting involved in Capitol Hill, that’s the Director’s baby, and with only seven days to play with, we don’t have time to sit and discuss the academic niceties.”
    Stames picked up the red phone which put him straight through to the Director’s office.
    â€œNick Stames, WFO.”
    â€œGood evening,” said a low, quiet voice. Mrs. McGregor, a dedicated servant of the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, was still on duty. It was said that even Hoover had been slightly frightened of her.

    â€œMrs. McGregor, I’d like to make a provisional appointment for myself and Special Agents Calvert and Andrews to see the Director for fifteen minutes, if that’s possible. Anytime between 9:00 A.M. and 11:00 A.M. tomorrow. It’s likely that after further investigation tonight and early tomorrow, I won’t need to bother him.”
    Mrs. McGregor consulted the Director’s desk diary. “The Director is going to a meeting of police chiefs at eleven but he is expected in the office at 8:30 and he has nothing marked in his diary before eleven. I’ll pencil you in for 10:30, Mr. Stames. Do you want me to tell the Director what the subject of your discussion will be?”
    â€œI’d prefer not to.”
    Mrs. McGregor never pressed or asked a second question. She knew if Stames called, it was important. He saw the Director ten times a year on a social basis, but only three or four times a year on a professional basis, and he was not in the habit of wasting the Director’s time.
    â€œThank you, Mr. Stames. 10:30 tomorrow morning, unless you cancel beforehand.”
    Nick put the phone down and looked at his two men.
    â€œOkay, we’re fixed to see the Director at 10:30. Barry, why don’t you give me a lift home, then you can take yourself off afterward, and pick me up again first thing in the morning. That’ll give us another chance to go over the details again.” Barry nodded. “Mark, you get straight back to the hospital.”
    Mark had allowed his mind to slip away to visualize
Elizabeth Dexter walking down the corridor of Woodrow Wilson toward him, red silk collar over the white medical coat, black skirt swinging. He was doing this with his eyes open and the result was quite pleasant. He smiled.
    â€œAndrews, what the hell is so amusing about a reported threat on the President’s life?” Stames demanded.
    â€œSorry, sir. You just shot my social life down in flames. Would it be okay if I use my own car? I was hoping to go directly from the hospital to dinner.”
    â€œYes, that’s fine. We’ll use the duty car and see you first thing in the morning. Get your tail in gear, Mark, and hope the Met makes it before breakfast.” Mark looked at his watch. “Christ, it’s already 8:00 P.M.”
    Mark left the office slightly annoyed. Even if the Met were there when he arrived, he would still be late for Elizabeth Dexter. Still, he could always call her from the hospital.
    â€œLike a plate of warmed-up moussaka, Barry, and a bottle of retsina?”
    â€œIt was more than I was expecting, boss.”
    The two men left the office. Stames mentally checked off the items on his nightly routine.
    â€œBarry, will you double-check that Aspirin is on duty, as you go out, and tell him we won’t be back again tonight.”
    Calvert made a detour to the Criminal Room and delivered the message to