Night of Camp David by Fletcher Knebel

Author:Fletcher Knebel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2018-11-19T16:00:00+00:00

12.

Martha

The mood of dejection which enveloped him like a cocoon almost constantly these days was upon Jim again as he rode away in a taxi. The only consolation, a thin one, was the realization that apparently he had not been followed to O’Malley’s house. There was no evidence of pursuit as the taxi rolled down Constitution Avenue to the garage on L Street, near 16th, where he’d left his convertible.

But even that minor victory dissolved when he reclaimed his car and drove toward McLean. The rear-view mirror disclosed a black sedan maintaining the pace about a hundred yards behind. Jim watched the trailing vehicle for a bit, but then dismissed it. Now that he was on his way home, he really didn’t care how many diaries of surveillance recorded the fact. Jim’s thoughts centered bleakly on O’Malley. The Vice-President, Jim surmised, probably had an instinctive feeling that Jim was right, but O’Malley’s mind obviously refused to accept the fact. Only unanimous agreement by the leaders Thursday night would propel O’Malley to action. Jim knew that somehow he must convince these four men of the nation’s danger. But wasn’t Pat right? Would they ever believe him unless they heard the Davidge story from Rita herself? And how could he persuade her to talk, especially when she had no inkling of his conviction about Hollenbach’s mental state?

Thinking of Rita made him realize that Martha had no idea where he was. It had been four hours since he’d called from the Georgetown phone booth and gotten no answer. MacVeagh pulled into a gas station at the foot of Key Bridge and called home. Martha listened in silence to his explanation.

“Where are you calling from?” she asked.

“A pay station on M Street near Key Bridge.”

“Oh, yes. Georgetown.” She sounded dispirited.

When Jim turned into his driveway in McLean, the open garage was dark, but his headlights framed a figure standing inside. It was Martha, leaning against the workbench which Jim hadn’t used in weeks. She held the collar of a cloth coat about her throat against the chill of the night, and she blinked in the glare. When Jim turned off the ignition, she leaned inside the convertible.

“Jim,” she said, “take off that white coat and put it in the trunk of the car.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask questions,” she said, her tone peremptory. “Just do it.”

He leaned across the front seat to kiss her, but she pulled back. Jim questioned, blankly, but Martha merely jerked her head toward the rear of the car. Jim took off the topcoat, unlocked the trunk compartment and stowed the coat beside the spare tire.

“What the devil…?” But Martha was walking across the lawn to the front door, a hand clutching her coat collar.

In the vestibule, Chinky greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. The pony tail stretched her hair tight from her forehead, and her wide, brown eyes shone with pleasure. Chinky rubbed a hand over his sleeve.

“It’s cold out, Pops. Where’s your topcoat?”

Martha, standing beside them, spoke quickly.

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