either, but he didn't cry any tears over it.”
“Your father had a gun to that guy's—the leader, I mean—his head, but he didn't squeeze off the round. It wasn't necessary, and so he held back. Had I been in his position, well, I don't know. It was a hard call, but your father made the right choice when he had ample reason not to.”
“That's what Mr. Clark said. I asked him about it once. He said the cops were right there, so why bother? But I never really believed him. That's one hard-case mother. I asked Mike Brennan, too. He said it was impressive for a civilian to hold off. But he would not have killed the guy. Training, I guess.”
“I'm not sure about
Clark
. He's not really a murderer. He doesn't kill people for fun or for money. Maybe he would have spared the guy's life. But no, a trained cop is not supposed to do anything like that. What do you think you would have done?”
“You can't know until you're there,” Jack answered. “I thought it through once or twice. I decided Dad handled it okay.”
Hendley nodded. “You're right. He handled the other part right, too. The guy in the boat he drilled in the head, he had to do it to survive, and when you have that choice, there's only one way to go.”
“So, Hendley Associates does what, exactly?”
“We gather and act upon intelligence information.”
“But you're not part of the government,” Jack objected.
“Technically, no, we're not. We do things that have to be done, when the agencies of the government are unable to handle them.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Not very,” Hendley replied offhandedly. “But that may change—or it might not. Hard to tell right now”
“How many times—”
“You do not need to know,” Hendley replied, with raised eyebrows.
“Okay. What does Dad know about this place?”
“He's the guy who persuaded me to set it up.”
“Oh . . .” And just that fast it was all clear. Hendley had kissed off his political career in order to serve his country in a way that would never be recognized, never be rewarded. Damn. Did his own father have the stones to try this one? “And if you get into trouble somehow . . . ?”
“In a safety-deposit box belonging to my personal attorney are a hundred presidential pardons, covering any and all illegal acts that might have been committed between the dates that my secretary will fill in when she types up the blanks, and signed by your father, a week before he left office.”
“Is that legal?”
“It's legal enough,” Hendley replied. “Your dad's Attorney General, Pat Martin, said it would pass muster, though it would be pure dynamite if it ever became public.”
“Dynamite, hell, it would be a nuke on Capitol Hill,” Jack thought aloud. It was, in fact, something of an understatement.
“That's why we're careful here. I cannot encourage my people to do things that might end them up in prison.”
“Just lose their credit rating forever.”
“You have your father's sense of humor, I see.”
“Well, sir, he is my dad, you know? Comes along with the blue eyes and black hair.”
The academic records said that he had the brains. Hendley could see that he had the same inquisitive nature, and the ability to sort the wheat from the chaff. Did he have his father's guts . . . ? Better never to have to find out. But even his best people couldn't predict the future, except in currency fluctuations—and on that they cheated. That was the one illegal thing he could get prosecuted for, but, no, that would never happen, would it?
“Okay, time for you to meet Rick Bell. He and Jerry Rounds do the analysis here.”
“Have I met them before?”
“Nope. Neither has your father. That's one of the problems with the intelligence community. It's gotten too damned big. Too many people—the organizations are always tripping over themselves. If you have the best hundred people in pro football on the same team, the team will self-destruct from internal
“Your father had a gun to that guy's—the leader, I mean—his head, but he didn't squeeze off the round. It wasn't necessary, and so he held back. Had I been in his position, well, I don't know. It was a hard call, but your father made the right choice when he had ample reason not to.”
“That's what Mr. Clark said. I asked him about it once. He said the cops were right there, so why bother? But I never really believed him. That's one hard-case mother. I asked Mike Brennan, too. He said it was impressive for a civilian to hold off. But he would not have killed the guy. Training, I guess.”
“I'm not sure about
Clark
. He's not really a murderer. He doesn't kill people for fun or for money. Maybe he would have spared the guy's life. But no, a trained cop is not supposed to do anything like that. What do you think you would have done?”
“You can't know until you're there,” Jack answered. “I thought it through once or twice. I decided Dad handled it okay.”
Hendley nodded. “You're right. He handled the other part right, too. The guy in the boat he drilled in the head, he had to do it to survive, and when you have that choice, there's only one way to go.”
“So, Hendley Associates does what, exactly?”
“We gather and act upon intelligence information.”
“But you're not part of the government,” Jack objected.
“Technically, no, we're not. We do things that have to be done, when the agencies of the government are unable to handle them.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Not very,” Hendley replied offhandedly. “But that may change—or it might not. Hard to tell right now”
“How many times—”
“You do not need to know,” Hendley replied, with raised eyebrows.
“Okay. What does Dad know about this place?”
“He's the guy who persuaded me to set it up.”
“Oh . . .” And just that fast it was all clear. Hendley had kissed off his political career in order to serve his country in a way that would never be recognized, never be rewarded. Damn. Did his own father have the stones to try this one? “And if you get into trouble somehow . . . ?”
“In a safety-deposit box belonging to my personal attorney are a hundred presidential pardons, covering any and all illegal acts that might have been committed between the dates that my secretary will fill in when she types up the blanks, and signed by your father, a week before he left office.”
“Is that legal?”
“It's legal enough,” Hendley replied. “Your dad's Attorney General, Pat Martin, said it would pass muster, though it would be pure dynamite if it ever became public.”
“Dynamite, hell, it would be a nuke on Capitol Hill,” Jack thought aloud. It was, in fact, something of an understatement.
“That's why we're careful here. I cannot encourage my people to do things that might end them up in prison.”
“Just lose their credit rating forever.”
“You have your father's sense of humor, I see.”
“Well, sir, he is my dad, you know? Comes along with the blue eyes and black hair.”
The academic records said that he had the brains. Hendley could see that he had the same inquisitive nature, and the ability to sort the wheat from the chaff. Did he have his father's guts . . . ? Better never to have to find out. But even his best people couldn't predict the future, except in currency fluctuations—and on that they cheated. That was the one illegal thing he could get prosecuted for, but, no, that would never happen, would it?
“Okay, time for you to meet Rick Bell. He and Jerry Rounds do the analysis here.”
“Have I met them before?”
“Nope. Neither has your father. That's one of the problems with the intelligence community. It's gotten too damned big. Too many people—the organizations are always tripping over themselves. If you have the best hundred people in pro football on the same team, the team will self-destruct from internal
Similar Books
