Part 13 (2/2)
To get here I was dragged down so many windowless corridors and pa.s.sageways, for all I knew we were in Philadelphia.
My bag lay open on the table, its contents scrutinized. The deadliest item in it was a tube of toothpaste.
The younger of the two agents was the one who went to get the book. He had a copy of it in his office. He had a rogue hair curl on his forehead that reminded me of Christopher Reeve in Superman. He and Reeve also had the same build. His name was Agent Phillips.
”A good read,” he said of the book. ”Austin did the president proud.”
The other agent, who could have made a living as a model for Marine Corps posters, flipped through the book, not wanting to take the other agent's word for it. His name was Agent Cunningham. ”So, Mr. Austin,” Agent Cunningham said, ”why do you want to kill the president?”
”I don't!” I said. ”I'm trying to warn him of a possible threat, only for some reason, n.o.body wants to listen to me.”
”So you violated the perimeter of the White House just to get our attention.”
”I had no other choice.”
”Have you ever heard of a phone, Mr. Austin?”
I can sling sarcasm with the best of them, and I was tempted to engage him in the verbal equivalent of a food fight, but given the circ.u.mstances it might prove counterproductive, so I just answered the question. ”n.o.body would take my calls.”
”And why is that, Mr. Austin?”
”You'll have to ask them.”
Agent Cunningham's unflinching gaze hardened. ”Earlier today you attempted to enter the White House with an invalid pa.s.s.”
”It smelled fresh this morning when I sniffed it.” Inwardly I cringed as soon as I said it. Hadn't I just told myself I wasn't going to do this?
Agent Cunningham was not amused.
I modified my answer. ”I didn't know it was invalid. I was under the impression it was good for the rest of the year.”
Agent Phillips inched forward, signaling it was his turn to ask a question. ”All right, Mr. Austin. You have our attention. Tell us about the alleged threat against the president.”
Finally we were getting somewhere. I knew Agent Phillips liked me.
”Can I have a pillow or something?” I asked.
Two pairs of uncaring eyes answered in the negative.
Given my discomfort, it was easy to be brief. I explained my trip to California, the speech, and my meeting with Myles Shepherd, leaving out the Twilight Zone special effects.
Midway through my discourse Agent Phillips extracted a pad and pen from his inside suit pocket. He took notes and requested a spelling of Myles Shepherd's name. ”So, you sought out Shepherd. He didn't invite you to his office.”
”That's correct.”
”Given your history of antagonism, why did you want to see him?”
”To gloat.”
”To gloat. You sought him out to gloat.”
”Look, I'm not proud of it, OK? But yeah . . . I went there to throw my success in his face. Didn't you guys have someone in high school that just . . . I don't know, got under your skin?”
Apparently not.
”So you threw your success in his face and in return he told you he was going to a.s.sa.s.sinate the president.”
”If you knew Myles Shepherd, it makes sense. You see, my success is because of the book. By attacking the subject of the book, Shepherd undermines my success.”
Agent Cunningham wasn't following. ”So you're saying Shepherd wants to kill the president because you wrote a book?”
”Not exactly, but something like that.”
”And that was the last time you saw Shepherd?” Agent Phillips asked.
”Not exactly.”
What else could I say? I'm a terrible liar and the men across the table from me are trained at spotting liars. They waited, wanting me to elaborate.
”I saw him on my flight here.”
That got their attention.
”You're certain it was him?”
”Positive.”
”Did he see you?”
”Yes.”
”Did you confront him?”
”I attempted to confront him, but he got away.”
”Got away? During a layover?”
”Not exactly.” Again, they waited for me to elaborate. ”The flight was nonstop.”
”Where did you attempt to confront him?”
”In flight.”
Agent Cunningham was shaking his head. ”You attempted to confront him in flight, but he got away? Where did he go?”
”I don't know.”
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