The Broker Read Free

without knocking, poked his head through the door and announced: “Maynard’s here.”
    “So he’s alive,” the President said.
    “Barely.”
    “Then roll him in.”
    Hoby and a deputy named Priddy followed the wheelchair into the Oval Office. The President and Critz welcomed their guests and directed them to the sitting area in front of the fireplace. Though Maynard avoided the White House, Priddy practically lived there, briefing the President every morning on intelligence matters.
    As they settled in, Teddy glanced around the room, as if looking for bugs and listening devices. He was almost certain there were none; that practice had ended with Watergate. Nixon laid enough wire in the White House to juice a small city, but, of course, he paid for it. Teddy, however, was wired. Carefully hidden above the axle of his wheelchair, just inches below his seat, was a powerful recorder that would capture every sound made during the next thirty minutes.
    He tried to smile at President Morgan, but he wanted to say something like: You are without a doubt the most limited politician I have ever encountered. Only in America could a moron like you make it to the top.
    President Morgan smiled at Teddy Maynard, but he wanted to say something like: I should have fired you four years ago. Your agency has been a constant embarrassment to this country.
    Teddy: I was shocked when you carried a single state, albeit by seventeen votes.
    Morgan: You couldn’t find a terrorist if he advertised on a billboard.
    Teddy: Happy fishing. You’ll get even fewer trout than votes.
    Morgan: Why didn’t you just die, like everyone promised me you would?
    Teddy: Presidents come and go, but I never leave.
    Morgan: It was Critz who wanted to keep you. Thank him for your job. I wanted to sack your ass two weeks after my inauguration.
    Critz said loudly, “Coffee anyone?”
    Teddy said, “No,” and as soon as that was established, Hoby and Priddy likewise declined. And because the CIA wanted no coffee, President Morgan said, “Yes, black with two sugars.” Critz nodded at a secretary who was waiting in a half-opened side door.
    He turned back to the gathering and said, “We don’t have a lot of time.”
    Teddy said quickly, “I’m here to discuss Joel Backman.”
    “Yes, that’s why you’re here,” the President said.
    “As you know,” Teddy continued, almost ignoring the President, “Mr. Backman went to prison without saying a word. He still carries some secrets that, frankly, could compromise national security.”
    “You can’t kill him,” Critz blurted.
    “We cannot target American citizens, Mr. Critz. It’s against the law. We prefer that someone else do it.”
    “I don’t follow,” the President said.
    “Here’s the plan. If you pardon Mr. Backman, and if he accepts the pardon, then we will have him out of the country in a matter of hours. He must agree to spend the rest of his life in hiding. This should not be a problem because there are several people who would like to see him dead, and he knows it. We’ll relocate him to a foreign country, probably in Europe where he’ll be easier to watch. He’ll have a new identity. He’ll be a free man, and with time people will forget about Joel Backman.”
    “That’s not the end of the story,” Critz said.
    “No. We’ll wait, perhaps a year or so, then we’ll leak the word in the right places. They’ll find Mr. Backman, and they’ll kill him, and when they do so, many of our questions will be answered.”
    A long pause as Teddy looked at Critz, then the President. When he was convinced they were thoroughly confused, he continued. “It’s a very simple plan, gentlemen. It’s a question of who kills him.”
    “So you’ll be watching?” Critz asked.
    “Very closely.”
    “Who’s after him?” the President asked.
    Teddy refolded his veiny hands and recoiled a bit, then he looked down his long nose like a schoolteacher addressing his little third graders. “Perhaps