The Devil's bed

“The monster that is the federal government. The horrendous bureaucracy.” He rolled his head and spoke toward Bo. “What do you think is the most powerful weapon in the modern world? Some nuclear device?” He shook his head. “Information. A man who knows the right things has leverage that can move the world. Gass understood that. NOMan was designed to know everything.”

“To what end? The assassination of its enemies?”

“To make sure information that might prevent global blunders reached those who needed it. A noble motive.” He paused, as if gathering his strength. Bo could tell this was difficult for him, physically and emotionally. “But there was always division, always those who were eaten up inside by the desire for revenge or for power-”

“Like William Dixon?”

Jorgenson nodded. “That kept him out of the White House, you know. NOMan wanted one of its own in that office. Dixon and I were the contenders. NOMan chose me. They positioned me for ascendance. Then Myrna died, and I lost my heart for it. Came home to Wildwood. They were understandably disappointed in me. Until I established the Institute for Global Understanding. That proved to be quite useful to NOMan, and NOMan was useful to me.”

“They fed you information?”

“On occasion. To negotiate successfully between men or countries or regions divided by hatred takes logic, cajoling, bribery, sometimes a little blackmail. Information is essential. Six or seven years ago, things began to change. The old guard of NOMan began to die off or step back, disappearing from the picture. New blood came in, with selfish motives. Dixon stayed in the thick of things, gathering more power for himself personally. Eventually, I was frozen out. NOMan and I have been strangers since. I’ve sometimes wondered, given what I know, if my days on this earth are numbered.”

“Maybe that’s what Gaines’s visit was all about.” Bo sat back. “If you’re concerned for your safety, why haven’t you told this to anybody before?”

“I decided long ago that my safety takes a backseat to the good that I might do, and NOMan helped me accomplish a lot of good things. I’ve hoped the organization would come to its senses.” Jorgenson breathed a weary sigh, but not for himself. “Robert Lee. What a tragedy. Does Clay know?”

“He suspects. We need proof.”

“What you need is an army. NOMan is everywhere.” He reached out and took Bo’s arm. Bo could feel the weakness of the man’s grip, the quiver of the tired muscles. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure, Tom. Would you be willing to go on record with what you know?”

“That’s a pretty big Rubicon to cross. NOMan would be a formidable enemy. Let me think about it.” He let go, and his hand fluttered back to the bed.

“Sure.” Bo stood up. “I’ll be back. You get some rest.”

“Have you seen Kate yet?”

“I’m on my way to Wildwood now. Just to say hello.”

“You won’t say anything about Lee and NOMan?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” Jorgenson closed his eyes as if preparing to sleep. “Keep her safe.”

The orchards of Wildwood lay green under the sun, the fruit turning red like hearts hung from the branches. The deputy in the cruiser at the entrance to the drive waved him on through, but when Bo came to the gatehouse, he was forced to stop.

Special Agent Fred Turner bent to talk through the car window.

“Sorry, Bo. I can’t let you pass.”

“Why not?”

“Got a directive this morning.”

“Whose directive?”

“S.A.I.C. Ishimaru.”

“Diana? What’s going on, Fred?”

The agent shrugged. “You need to see Ishimaru, Bo.”

Beyond the gate, through the cut in the orchard where the drive ran, Bo could see the main house and the yard. He saw the pool and, sitting in the shade of a table umbrella, Kate. The sight of her seemed to suck out his soul. He wanted to grab Fred Turner and throw him aside. Instead he turned the car around.

On the fourth floor of the Federal Court Building in Minneapolis, he punched in the security code for the lock on the main door of the field office. The door would not open. He tried again. Nothing. He stepped back to the bulletproof window that opened onto the reception area just inside, and he pushed the buzzer. A moment later, the receptionist, Linda Armstrong, appeared. She was a woman in her late forties, smart and trim. She’d grown up on a farm in Nebraska, and she and Bo had often swapped farm tales. When she saw who it was, her face took on a pained expression.

“I need the new code, Linda.” He spoke louder than was necessary.

“Just a minute, Bo.” She vanished again.

Diana Ishimaru accompanied her when she returned. Ishimaru opened the door.

“What the hell’s going on, Diana?” Bo said.

“In my office, Agent Thorsen.” She turned, and he followed.

Her office was not empty. Another man sat in a chair near her desk. He stood up as Ishimaru and Bo entered.

Ishimaru said, “Agent Thorsen, this is Assistant Director Bill Malone.”