Iron Orchid by Stuart Woods Page A

discovered his visit to the cottage north of Kennebunkport and perhaps even have found his parachute. Now they would be checking all modes of transportation to Boston and beyond, and, once they had run down everything, they would know that he had taken the bus to Atlantic City. From there it would be tougher. The only possibility they had of tracking him from Atlantic City would be if they located the concierge who had arranged the limo to New York, and then the driver.
    If they, indeed, traced him to New York, they would have to deal with two possibilities: one, that he might have left the city by any number of means for any number of destinations; two, that he had chosen to disappear among the eight million inhabitants of the city. In the first case, they were bound to find at least dozens of men traveling alone to various destinations; in the second, they would start from what they knew about him, that he was a simple man who had always lived simply. It was for that reason that he had chosen an expensive apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Besides, it was fun not to live simply anymore. He doubted if they had been able to determine the extent of his financial resources, so it was unlikely that they would suspect him of high living.
    He finished his dinner, put his tray table outside his door for collection, then turned to the New York Times, specifically to the Arts section, where he perused the schedule of the Metropolitan Opera. He had never had enough of the opera and the theater during his working days, and he intended to make up for it. He ordered tickets for half a dozen performances by phone, paying with a credit card, then turned to the book of Winston Churchill’s speeches he had been reading.
     
    BOB KINNEY SAT in his first daily national security briefing with the president, the secretary of defense, the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, the attorney general, the director of Central Intelligence and the national security advisor. The president heard reports from all of them, saving Kinney for last.
    “Bob, what do you have for me today?” the president asked.
    “Mr. President, following your instructions I have ordered a top-to-bottom survey of the Bureau’s security, and I expect to have written reports and recommendations from all the relevant people by the end of the month. As soon as I’ve had a chance to digest their reports, I’ll submit a written report to you outlining what steps I intend to take.”
    “Excellent. Have you had an opportunity to look for housing yet?”
    “The General Services Administration has put someone in touch, and my fiancee is screening them for me. I’ll let the final decision be hers anyway.”
    “You’re a wise man, Bob. Have you made any personnel changes yet?”
    “I’ve appointed Special Agent Kerry Smith to be my chief of staff, sir, but I intend to make other changes as part of a more sweeping revamping of the Bureau’s management. It will be some weeks before I’ll be ready to do that.”
    “I understand. Well, that wraps it up for today. Thank you all for coming.”
    As the group was shuffling out, Kinney stepped up to the president. “Mr. President, may I have a moment alone?”
    “Of course, Bob.”
    “And I’d like for the director of Central Intelligence to stay, as well.”
    “Kate, hang on a minute, will you?” Lee said.
    When the room had been cleared the president invited Bob and Kate Lee to sit down again. “Now, what is it, Bob?”
    “Mr. President, I have to tell you that, at the time of my appointment, I inadvertently misinformed you about the disposition of the Theodore Fay case.”
    “How so?”
    “When I returned to the Bureau, after the press conference, I learned that evidence had surfaced, literally, indicating that Fay parachuted from the airplane and survived the explosion.”
    The president grimaced. “And we’ve been telling the press that was resolved.”
    “Yes, sir; I’m very sorry about