Jackson gave the only possible reply. “Whatever you say, Congressman.”

Daggat nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Turkey-shit son of a bitch!” Jackson hissed through clenched teeth as he removed another set of the photographs from a cabinet drawer.

“You’re gonna get yours!”

Dale Jarvis’s wife was used to his habit of reading in bed. She kissed him good-night, rolled into her customary fetal position, facing away from the beam of the lamp on his night table, and soon drifted asleep.

Settling himself in, Jarvis arranged two pillows behind his back, bent the high-intensity light to the proper angle, and pulled his Ben Franklin specs low on his nose. He propped the folder lent him by John Gossard on his raised knees and began reading. As he turned the pages, he jotted

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notes on a small pad. At two o’clock in the morning, he closed the folder on Operation Wild Rose.

He lay back and stared into nothingness for several minutes, considering whether to drop the folder back in Gossard’s lap and forget about it or have the outlandish plan investigated. He decided to compromise.

Easing slowly out of bed so as not to disturb his wife, Jarvis padded to his den, where he picked up a telephone and expertly punched its touch system in the dark. His call was answered on the first ring.

“This is Jarvis. I want a rundown on the current status of all foreign and United States battleships. Yes, that’s right-battleships. On my desk sometime tomorrow. Thank you. Good night.”

Then he returned to bed, kissed his wife lightly on the cheek, and turned out the lamp.

40

The House Foreign Affairs subcommittee hearing on economic aid to African nations, chaired by Frederick Daggat, opened to a half-empty conference chamber and a platoon of bored reporters. Daggat was flanked by Democrat Earl Hunt, of Iowa, and Republican Roscoe Meyers, of Oregon. Loren Smith sat off by herself near one end of the table.

The hearing stretched into the afternoon as representatives of several African governments made their pitch for monetary aid. It was four o’clock when Hiram Lusana took his turn and sat down before the subcommittee. The chamber was crowded now. Photographers stood on seats, their flashbulbs stabbing the walls, while reporters began furiously scribbling on note pads or muttering into tape recorders. Lusana paid no attention to the commotion. He sat poised at the table, like a croupier who knew the odds were in his favor.

“General Lusana,” said Daggat. “Welcome to our hearing. I think you know the procedures. This is purely a preliminary fact-finding session. You will be allowed twenty minutes to state your case. Afterward, the committee will put their inquiries to you. Our opinions and findings will later be reported to the House Foreign Affairs Committee as a whole.”

“I understand,” said Lusana.

“Mr. Chairman.”

Daggat turned to Loren. “Yes, Congresswoman Smith.”

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