The Inside Ring by Mike Lawson Page A

from the warning letter, Billy, who had been staring belligerently at Emma, shut his eyes. He kept his eyes closed for several heartbeats, hoping the two “agents” would be gone when he opened them, then turned his head slowly to face DeMarco.
    “What . . . what the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he said.
    “I think you know, Billy,” DeMarco said.
    “Damnit, who are you guys? FBI?”
    “Billy,” Emma said, “you sent a note to General Banks telling him to cancel the President’s trip to Chattooga River. How did you know what was going to happen that day?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Billy said.
    Unlike Patrick Donnelly—or for that matter, Joe DeMarco—Billy Mattis was not a professional liar. He was blinking so rapidly his eyelashes seemed like butterflies trying to reach escape velocity.
    “Billy,” DeMarco said gently, “I think you’ve been sucked into something ugly. Maybe we can help you.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Billy repeated. “Look, I wanna see some ID from you guys.”
    “Why did you duck Billy?”
    “Duck?”
    “At the river that morning. You dropped your sunglasses to give the shooter a clear shot at the President. You ducked right before the shot was fired. You can see it on the tape.”
    Billy’s face flushed crimson. He took an aggressive stride toward DeMarco and jabbed him hard in the chest with his index finger. “That’s a goddamn lie,” he said. His anger was genuine and for the first time DeMarco could hear truth ring in the agent’s voice and could see it in his face.
    “You can see it on the film, Billy,” DeMarco persisted. “You were as nervous as a cat on a griddle walking toward the helicopter that morning. Your eyes were bouncing all over the place. You—”
    “My eyes were moving, damnit, because I was scanning the area like I was supposed to.”
    “I don’t think so, Billy. I think you knew what was going to happen and at just the right moment you dropped your glasses. Did you give Harold Edwards the President’s itinerary, Billy?”
    Beads of sweat popped out on Billy’s forehead, and DeMarco could see rings of perspiration began to form in the armpits of his short-sleeved white shirt. Billy opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it, his lips becoming a hard line barricading a tongue he couldn’t trust. Finally he said, “I said I want to see some ID. Now!”
    Ignoring the agent’s demand again, DeMarco said, “How did you get by the polygraph, Billy?”
    Mattis looked confused. “What polygraph? Nobody gave me a polygraph.”
    Now it was DeMarco’s turn to hesitate because again it sounded as if Billy was telling the truth. Then DeMarco remembered it was Patrick Donnelly who had told Banks and the FBI and DeMarco that Billy had been given a polygraph test.
    “Then let’s talk about how you were assigned to the President’s security detail, Billy.”
    Shaking his head adamantly, Billy said, “No. We’re not talkin’ about anything else. I’m not saying another word to you two.”
    He started to walk away, then stopped and turned. There were tears glazing the surface of his blue eyes, making them sparkle like wet gems. “I did my job that day. I did everything I could to protect him.” His voice caught when he added, “I would have died for him.”
    And DeMarco believed him.
    As Billy walked away, DeMarco thought again of Calder’s mobile as it slowly turned in the atrium of the museum. Calder’s mobile: a substantial object balanced so delicately that the current created by a single door opening could set it in motion.
    Like Billy Ray Mattis—one small push and he began to spin.

15
    I’ll be damned,” Emma said softly.
  “Son of a bitch,” DeMarco said at the same time.
    “When you quoted from that note, Joe, I thought that sweet boy was going to lose his lunch.”
    “Yeah, he definitely knew about the warning letter. No doubt about it. But when I accused him of ducking