The Outlaws (Presidential Agent 6)
Page 183
[TWO]
1155 9 February 2007
Word had quickly spread among the inner circle of White House functionaries that President Clendennen’s current rage was one that would go down in history. So it was with a certain trepidation that White House Press Secretary John David “Jack” Parker stood at the door of the President’s study and waited for permission to enter.
It was almost a minute in coming, but finally President Clendennen signaled with his fingers for Parker to enter.
“And what bad news are you bringing, Porky?” Clendennen asked.
“I’m afraid it’s not good news, Mr. President.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Clendennen asked rhetorically. “Are you aware of what happened in here this morning?”
“No, sir. I understand the attorney general and Assistant Secretary Andrews asked for an appointment, but—”
“You know where Ambassador Montvale is?”
“In Argentina.”
“The stupid sonofabitch! Director of National Intelligence, my ass. His title should be Director of National Stupidity. He’d damned well better be on his way back here.”
“I’m afraid, Mr. President, that I don’t understand.”
The President related what had transpired earlier in his office, ending his narration with a question: “How would you describe, Porky, Ambassador Stupid standing up in court, with Wolf News filming him, and swearing on a Bible that he went to some goddamn place I can’t pronounce in Argentina on my orders looking for a man who was just across the Potomac in Alexandria?”
Parker took a deep breath before replying.
“Sir, I would describe that as a public relations disaster.”
“You’re goddamn right it would be. But what could be worse than that?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“How about some press sonofabitch—C. Harry Whelan, Jr., for example—asking Ambassador Stupid why he was looking for this Darby guy in the first place. That would be worse, Porky. And Ambassador Stupid would be stupid enough to tell him.”
“Speaking of Mr. Whelan, sir ...”
“Dare I hope he’s been run over by a truck?”
“Mr. Whelan came to see me just now, sir.”
“Close your mouth and put your hand on your wallet, Porky. I’m afraid to ask why.”
“Sir, Mr. Whelan said he was about to publish this, and wanted to give us a chance to correct any errors he might have made before he did.”
Parker handed the President a sheet of paper.
Clendennen snatched it, and read:
BY C. HARRY WHELAN, JR.
COPYRIGHT 2007
WORLDWIDE RIGHTS RESERVED
SLUG: WHITE HOUSE LAUNCHED STRIKE ON IRANIAN BIOLOGICAL WARFARE FACTORY IN CONGO BASED ON INFORMATION FROM RUSSIAN DEFECTORS IN HANDS OF SECRET, POSSIBLY ILLEGAL, “PRIVATE CIA” CONTROLLED BY PRESIDENT
WASHINGTON—(INSERT DATE) THIS REPORTER HAS LEARNED THAT THE STRIKE ON THE ALLEGED IRANIAN BIOLOGICAL WARFARE LABORATORY IN THE CONGO WAS BASED SOLELY ON INFORMATION GATHERED BY A SUPER-SECRET INTELLIGENCE AGENCY REPORTING DIRECTLY TO THE PRESIDENT.