PART 5
NO REGRETS, NOTHING EVER BEGINS at the time we believe it does. Still, this is what I think of as the beginning.
Jannie and I sat in the kitchen and we talked the talk, our own special talk. The words didn't matter much, just the sentiments.
"You know, this is an anniversary for us," I said to her. "Specialanniversary."
I touched her cheek. So soft. Soft as a butterflys belly.
"Oh, really ?" Jannie said and gave me her most skeptical Nana Mama look. "And what anniversary might that be?"
"Well, I'll tell you. This just happens to be the five-hundredth time that I've read you The Stinky Cheese Man."
"Okay, fine," she said and smiled in spite of herself, "so read the story already! I love the way you read it." I read the story again.
After we were done with our Stinky Cheese, I spent some time with Damon, and then with Nana. Then I went upstairs to pack.
When I came back down, I talked out on the porch with Rakeem Powell. Rakeem was waiting to be relieved. Sampson was coming over for the night. Man Mountain was late as usual, and we hadn't heard from him yet, which was a little unusual, but I knew he would be there.
"You okay?" I asked Rakeem.
"I'm fine, Alex. Sampson will get here eventually. You take care of yourself."
I went out to my car. I stepped inside and put in a tape that felt right for the moment at hand -- for my mood, anyway. It was the finale to Saint-Sans's second piano concerto. I had always dreamed of being able to play the piece on the porch piano.
Dream on, dream on.
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I listened to the blazing music as I drove out to Andrews airfield, where Air Force One was being prepared.
President Byrnes was going to New York City, and I was going with him.
No regrets.
THERE HAVE BEEN many conflicting accounts, but this is what happened and how it happened. I know, because I was there.
On Monday evening, nine days before Christmas, we landed in a grayish blue fog and light rain at La Guardia Airport on Long Island. No specific information about President Byrnes's travel plans had been announced to the press, but the President was keeping his commitment to speak in New York the following morning. Thomas Byrnes was known for keeping his commitments, keeping his word.
It had been decided to go from La Guardia into Manhattan by car, rather than by helicopter. The President wasn't hiding anymore.
Had Jack and Jill counted on just that kind of courage, or arrogance, from him? I wondered. Would Jack and Jill follow the President to New York? I was almost sure that they would. It fit everything we knew about them so far.
"Ride with us, Alex," Don Hamerman said as we hurried across the tarmac, a cold December rain blowing hard in our faces.
Hamerman, Jay Grayer, and I had gotten off Air Force One together.
During the plane ride we sat together, planning how to protect President Byrnes from an assassination attempt in New of the ride.
"We're traveling in the car directly behind the President. We can continue our little chat on the way into Manhattan," Hamerman said to me.
We climbed into a somber, blue Lincoln Town Car that was parked less than fifty yards from the jet. It was close to ten in the evening, and that part of the airfield had been secured.
There were Secret Service men, FBI agents, and New York City policemen milling around everywhere.
Surrounding the five limousines of the presidential motorcade were at least three dozen NYPD
blue-and-white squad cars, not to mention a few Harley motorcycles. The Secret Service agents stared into the foggy night as if Jack and Jill might suddenly appear on the runway at La Guardia.
I had learned that the NYPD would have a minimum of five thousand uniformed officers on the special-service detail for the length of the President's visit. More than a hundred detectives would also be assigned. The Secret Service had tried to convince the President to stay at the Coast Guard base on Governors Island, or at Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn. The President had insisted on making a statement by staying in Manhattan. No regrets.
His words in the Oval Office played over and over in my head.
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I settled back into the cushy and comfortable leather seat of the town car. I could sense the power. What it was like to ride in a motorcade directly behind the President's car, which the Secret Service called
"Stagecoach."
A couple of NYPD police cruisers pulled out in front of the pack. Their red and yellow roof lights began to revolve in quick kaleidoscopic circles. The presidential motorcade started to wind its way out of La Guardia Airport.
Don Hamerman spoke as soon as we were moving. "No one has seen Kevin Hawkins in the past three days, right? Hawkins seems to have fallen off the face of the earth," he said. His voice was full of frustration, anger, and the usual petulance. He enjoyed bullying people beneath him, but neither Grayer nor I would put up with it.
"No one knows the route we're taking," Hamerman said. "We didn't have a final route until a few minutes ago."
I couldn't keep quiet. "We know the route. People in the NYPD know it, or they will momentarily. Kevin Hawkins is good at uncovering secrets. Kevin Hawkins is good, period. He's one of our best."
Jay Grayer was peering out of the rain-streaked window into the fast lane of the New York highway we were traveling on. His voice sounded far away. "What's your instinct about Hawkins?" he asked me.
"I think Kevin Hawkins is definitely involved somehow.
He's extreme right-wing. He's associated with some groups that are opposed to the President's policies and plans. He's been in trouble before. He's suspected of a homicide inside the CIA. It all fits."
"But something's bothering you about him?" Grayer asked.
He'd learned how to read me pretty well already.
"According to everything I've read, he's never worked closely with anyone before. Hawkins has always been a loner, at least until now. He seems to have problems relating to women, other than his sister in Silver Spring. I don't understand how Jill would fit in with him. I don't see Hawkins suddenly working with a woman."
"Maybe he finally found a soul mate. It happens," Hamerman said. I doubted that Hamerman ever had.
"What else pops out about Hawkins?" Jay Grayer continued to probe. He shut his eyes as he listened.
"All his FBI psych profiles and workups suggest a potential loose cannon. I don't know how they justified keeping him active for all those years in Asia and South America. Here's the interesting part. Hawkins can get committed to causes that he believes in, though. He strongly believes in the importance of intelligence for our national defense. President Byrnes doesn't, and he's said so publicly several times.
That could explain the Jack and Jill scenario.
Could explain it. Hawkins is experienced and resourceful enough to pull off an assassination. He definitely could be Jack.
If he is, he will be very hard to stop."
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We were starting to cross the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge into Manhattan. New York, New York. The presidential motorcade was a strange, eerie parade of wailing sirens and bright flashing lights. The island of Manhattan lay straight ahead of us.