The President's Assassin Part 7

Kinney polished off his Pepsi without a word.

They then chitchatted about topics small and largefamily, Was.h.i.+ngton, and why Dallas always kicks the c.r.a.p out of the Redskins. So we learned that Agent Kinney had a wife and 2.3 kids, twelve years in the Secret Service, he couldn't wait to get out of house duty and back on the travel squad, and other useless trivia. This is called establis.h.i.+ng rapport and loosening up the subject. I call it wasting time.

There are two broad schools of thought regarding interrogation methods. The one in vogue down in Quantico these days is called, I think, the Lawrence Welk technique. Klieg lights, rubber truncheons, and demeaning or harsh questions are pa.s.se. Play soft music, avoid frightening gestures, establish a collegial relations.h.i.+p, and be sure to treat the target with the same courtesy and respect with which you'd like to be treated. If I understand this method correctly, the subject eventually thinks he's in a dentist's chair and opens wide.

A lot of experts and supposed studies advocate this technique. In my view, if you want to save time and get the truth, a friendly knee in the nuts is always a useful way to start off. Metaphorically, of course. Except sometimes.

Anyway, the run-up to this soft sell takes a while, but this guy made his living guarding windbags, and he showed the patience of Job until Jennie, in a tone meticulously modulated to be non-threatening and nonpatronizing, mentioned, "Listen, we've managed to contact everybody in your team except" --she glanced at her notepad-"except Agent Jason Barnes."

"Jason? Well, that's odd."

"Yes. Isn't it?"

"Yeah ... it really is. You've tried his home number?"

"A team was even dispatched to his home ... in Springfield, right?" Kinney nodded, and Jennie informed him, "He's not there. Nor is his car."

"I've got his cell number and pager number in my pocket. Maybe if"

"Ditto. We're getting his electronic answering service."

"Well. . . hmmm. That doesn't make sense."

"Maybe there's a simple explanation. Could he have left town?"

"Jason wouldn't... I mean, it's SOP . . . He'd have to inform me, and it wouldn't be like"

"But he's single, isn't he?"

"Yes . . . but"

"So it's springtime. Maybe he's shacked up with somebody"

He chuckled. "Not a chance."

"Why? He's a normal, healthy heteros.e.xual, isn't he?"

"Listen, Jason Barnes is so clumsy with the ladies, it's laughable. Also he's a very devout Christian. I'd bet my month's pay he's not shacked up."

Wisely, Jennie changed tacks, and put the onus on Kinney She smiled pleasantly and said, "Uh . . . well, look, I'm shooting in the dark here. Help me get to know Jason."

"Get to Wait a minute. Is he suspected of something?"

Clearly, Agent Kinney knew this wasn't a friendly session, and clearly he knew Jason Barnes was possibly a big problem for him. He was Barnes's boss, and if his trusted subordinate had helped whack the man and wife they were guarding, in addition to four of his comrades-in-arms, Agent Kinney was going to have an ugly notation on his next evaluation.

Also I thought Kinney was probably a decent guy and even a good leader. Displaying loyalty down is always an admirable trait in a boss-except now.

So I lied. "We need to ask everybody if they saw anything suspicious over the past few days. Maybe if we knew a little about Barnes it would help us track him down."

Kinney looked at Jennie, then at me. He said, "Check his file."

"It's on the way over," Jennie replied. "But we're in a bit of a hurry here. Give us a shortcut."

I thought, for a brief moment, that Kinney was going to mumble into his cuff link, "Agent in peril. . . send help."

Instead he said, "All right. For starters, he's incredibly bright. Grew up in Richmond. Father's a judge ... I think, a federal judge. Jason's a VMI grad, and he spent three years as a Marine infantry lieutenant. Excellent record as a Marine. Excellent record as an agent. Personally and professionally, the guy's clean as a whistle."

In fact, Mr. Kinney's brief biography exposed more about Jason Barnes than he probably knew or possibly intended. As an Army brat and as a soldier, I had several times lived or been stationed in the South. When I get tired, my childhood drawl sometimes slips through, and I still pick politely at corn bread and pecan pie, which I hate, but you don't insult the natives.

Broadly speaking, the South of my childhood produced two types of white southern male. First was the s.h.i.+tkicker, product of an agrarian culture, pickup trucks, and Waylon Jennings; if they learned how to add and spell, they aspired to attend Ole Miss, or Bear Bryant U, where pigskin, beer tasting, and frat partying were regarded as serious, taxing majors.

And second, the southern aristocracy and pretenders thereof, who sent their kids to old-line, top-drawer schools like UVA, Duke, William and Mary, and VMI, to be followed by at least a few years of military service, which they were expected to regard as part privilege and part obligation. I had worked with and for a number of these southern gentlemen turned officers, and it appeared Jason Barnes fell into this more exalted category.

Anyway, Jennie said to Agent Kinney, "Thank you. That's helpful. How long have you known him?"

"Since he entered the Service. Two years."

"Hobbies . . . personal habits . . . ?"

"Church, gym . . . that's about it. He doesn't smoke, drink, gamble, or swear. I'm nearly positive he's still a virgin. I'm telling you, he's a Boy Scout."

"So you consider him . . . incorruptible?"

"YeahI suppose I do."

"Money problems?"

"Not likely. His family's well-to-do, and Jason's frugal. Also, I don't think money means much to him . . . He's really into this spiritual thing."

"Uh-huh. Career problems?"

"Promoted just last month. A year ahead of his peers."

"Peer problems?"

Bingo. Agent Kinney stared at the table a moment, then said, with evident discomfort, "He's . . . he's awkward socially. Okay? A little stiff and intense, I guess. He's very detail-oriented and by-the-book. It gets on some people's nerves."

Jennie said, "Describe socially awkward."

Kinney took a moment, I think searching for a charitable way to couch this. He said, "Like a lot of incredibly bright people, he's not particularly good at relating. I just don't think he finds most people interesting." He looked at Jennie, and pointedly not at me. "You know how some bright people can be, right?"

Jennie did not respond to his question, but instead asked, "Mental stability?"

"As sane as you or me." Apparently he realized this was a statement loaded with weird possibilities, because after a moment he added, "But ignore my personal view. We all undergo a psych screen before we're even accepted to the Service."

"I'm aware of it," Jennie replied. "Have you seen the results of Jason's screening?"

"As his supervisor, I was allowed to view it."

"Please recall for us what it said."

"I told you he's bright. About a 160 IQ. No abnormality, no mental disorders. A footnote from the psychologist referred to what he termed Jason's mental rigidity. It wasn't a criticism, though. In fact, he predicted that Jason would be unusually diligent and dedicated."

"That was all?"

"A few father-son ego issues. Nothing abnormal."

I asked, "And how does Jason Barnes feel toward his Commander in Chief?"

He looked me dead in the eye and said, "Secret Service agents have no personal feelings toward the President, Mr. Drummond."

This was the proper response, of courseblind loyalty to the position, not the manand it was bulls.h.i.+t.

I didn't want to upset Agent Margold's interrogatory game plan, but the clock was ticking, and thus far this guy was jerking us off. So I said, "Bulls.h.i.+t." He stared back at me. "You described Barnes as a Bible thumper, moral and righteous. And a genius. He's judgmental, isn't he?"

"All right." After a moment, he smiled and replied, "You asked, so I'll tell you. This Presidenthe owned Jason the instant he had that first White House prayer breakfast. We'd all take a bullet to protect the guy, because that's our job. Jason would throw his own mother in front of this President." Only later would we learn how true that was, but after a moment he suggested smugly, "But that's not what you wanted to hear, is it?"

Jennie and I exchanged glances. We had gone through our checklist of sins, vices, and human flaws, and nothing Kinney had said made our senses tingle. She turned back to Kinney and asked, "Well. . . how do you account for his disappearance?"

"I can't." He looked at me, and then at her. "Hey, I know what happened at the Hawk's house this morning. And you think there was a leak or inside help, and maybe you suspect Jason was the source. Wrong. Jason Barnes is one of the most dedicated agents and purest souls I've ever encountered. I'd stake my career on it."

He already had bet his career on it. In fact, it seemed like the appropriate moment to reinforce that point, time to give him the metaphorical knee in the b.a.l.l.s. I informed him, "If it turns out you're wrong, and you've given us no indications as to how or why, the Director of the CIA will forward a letter to the President citing you as both an idiot and a danger to his personal health."

He stared back at me.

Jennie had also concluded that her kindler, gentler side had failed to foster a spirit of genial openness. She seconded my threat, and then one-upped it: "Lying to or misleading a federal officer is punishable under code 1001. If I discover you withheld, I'll charge you with aiding and abetting a felon." She added, more sweetly, "Now take a moment to consider whether you want to add or correct the record."

The c.o.c.kiness drained from Agent Kinney's face and although, as I said, he was struggling to be a good leader, the loyalty-down thing suddenly became a heavy cross to bear.

Eventually he insisted, "I told you the truth." After another moment of reflection he added, "There was a time ... six or seven months ago . . . when Jason was experiencing a bad time."

"Meaning what?" Jennie asked.

"He became . . . emotional. . . moody"

I asked, "Why?"

"I don't know why."

True to her trade, Jennie leaned forward and said, "Describe moody."

"Just. . . Look, I don't knowdistant, bothered, impatient. . . a little emotionally unstable."

"And did you ask him what it was about?"

"Yeah, I asked. But Jason's an incredibly private person. I gave him a month off to relax. He came back fine."

Jennie thought about this a moment. She asked, "Had anything happened at work?"

"No, nothing to do with the job. It was something personal."

Jennie looked at me as she asked Kinney, "Anything else?"

"Nothing."

I said, "Thank you. You may go. But if you think of anything you missed, call us or we'll have your b.a.l.l.s."

The second he was out the door, Jennie asked me, "Well. . . what do you think?"

"I think Agent Jason Barnes sounds like the ideal bodyguard for your national leader, your bank, or your virginal daughter. A religious zealot, pure of heart, devoted to G.o.d and country, probably never had an impure or ribald thought in his life."

"You're right. He doesn't sound like a suspect."

When I did not comment on this observation, she added, "Among my duties, I'm the FBI liaison to the Secret Service. I work with them all the time. I coordinate our joint operations and my office processes their background checks. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, they're an extraordinary group. But they're not all angels." She added, "Barnes does sound like a model agent."

"Sure does. Put an APB on him and get a search warrant."

"Get I'm sorry?"

"n.o.body's that perfect, Jennie. He's hiding something."

"I haven't got a clue where you're coming from."

"Think about what his boss just told us."

"His boss just told us he's a golden boy. And I know for a fact he pa.s.sed a number of very rigorous background checks."

"So did I. And so did you." I looked at her and added, "I know what I hid. Would you care to confess what you forgot to tell the background checkers?"

She thought about this a moment and then she replied, "Are you forgetting probable cause?"

"He's on the security detail and he's missing."

She shook her head. "I could maybe twist that logic to justify an APB on the basis of a threat to his security. A search warrant has to be vetted by Justice, though. I'll be laughed out of the building."

"Good point."

"Tell me about it."

"Be sure to mention the very alarming phone tip you just got from the anonymous caller."

"We don't play it that way, Sean. This is the FBI."

"Wow . . . the FBI. After the President's dead, be sure to put that on your resume."

"There's no need for sarcasm."

"Nor is there a need for excessive moralism. Play this one any Way that works, Jennie."