The Assassin Read Free

president’s. “We have money, enough to fund an army, and we’re willing to spend it. But we need some help data-mining our records. It’s all there if we can just dig it out. And we need some hard men who can pull the trigger and thrust in the knife. I want you to find the people who can help us.”
    “If this ever comes out,” the president said frankly, “the least that can happen is your companies gets a black eye for violating privacy statutes. Customers may sue—“
    “Damn them!” Winchester exclaimed. “Terrorists have no privacy rights, and everybody else can just go hang.”
    “Oh, there’s more,” the president added. “If you do anything beyond giving information to the government, you’ll probably go to prison. Conspiracy to commit murder, murder for hire, money laundering— maybe they’ll even throw in a terrorism charge.”
    Huntington Winchester didn’t say a word.
    The president rose and went to the window. He stood there with his arms crossed looking at the war protesters in Lafayette Park, at the trees, at the top of the White House and the Washington Monument beyond. He thought about the last few years, about the politicians and promises and coffins and kids brought back on gurneys, maimed for life.
    Finally he turned and faced Winchester. “I’ll think about it.”
    Winchester wanted more of a commitment than that, but he held his tongue.
    “If this blows up in your face, Hunt, I’ll make sad noises. Nothing else. There will be no presidential pardon, so don’t even entertain that possibility in the back of your mind. You and your friends want to play a very dangerous game, and your lives and your fortunes and your freedom are the stakes.”
    ” ‘We pledge our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.’ Wasn’t that the way the phrasing went?” Huntington Winchester asked softly.
    The president wouldn’t let it rest. He walked forward until he was three feet from Winchester and scrutinized his face. “You aren’t proposing business as usual, Hunt. This isn’t doing market research for a Wall Street tender offer, buying an oil concession from some impoverished dictatorship or launching a new brand of toothpaste. I want to make sure you understand precisely how big the pile is that you and your ‘friends’ are shoving out onto the table.”
    “I do understand. Goddamnit, man, Owen was my only son! What do you think he gave to his country ? What the hell do you thinly Ellen and I gave?”
    “Owen was wearing a United States Navy uniform. You aren’t. There’s a huge difference.”
    “I understand. I’ll not ask you for anything else. Ever.”
    The president made a gesture with his right hand, one hundreds of millions of people had seen him make countless times. “Who knows, if you help us find a few of those bastards, it might actually do some good.”
    He stuck out his hand. Winchester rose from his chair and took it.
    One firm shake, then the president headed for the door. “I’ll think about it,” he said, almost to himself. He opened the door and passed through and closed it behind him.
    A week later Huntington Winchester received a call from the president. He was at home, in his empty house. The cook left after dinner, and the maid and butler had the evening off. He answered the ringing telephone. There were no social preliminaries. “The Java Hut in Marblehead. A man will meet you there tomorrow morning at ten. He knows what you look like.”
    “Thank you,” Winchester said.
    “Good luck,” the president muttered and broke the connection.
    Downtown Marblehead was a cutesy tourist town, and this late-autumn morning the tourists were out in force, filling every parking place, cramming the sidewalks and shops. Huntington Winchester was ten minutes early when he walked into the Java Hut. The place was packed, with every seat taken. He glanced at the faces, saw no one he recognized and got in line. When he made it to the counter, he ordered a medium-sized