|
|
Executive Times |
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
2005 Book Reviews |
||
|
|
The President’s
Assassin by Brian Haig |
||
|
|
Rating: •• (Mildly Recommended) |
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Click on
title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Smarts Brian Haig
has reprised army lawyer Sean Drummond for another thriller, The
President’s Assassin. FBI Agent Jennifer Margold
joins Sean as he tries to make sense of his current assignment at the CIA,
protecting the President from threats. The action starts moving when the
President’s chief of staff is found dead in what appears to be a well planned
job, and Drummond learns of a $100 million bounty placed on the President’s
head. While the plot moves quickly, and Drummond remains an interesting
character, Haig’s writing is usually weak on dialogue,
and long on exposition narrative that makes on feel like an insider in My new pal Jennie spoke
for fifteen minutes. She used a felt-tip marker and wallboard to create a
visual of Terrence Belknap’s home and security
systems, took everybody through the arrival of the government car, through
the perp’s walk up the pathway, then through the
trail of death from the front door to the basement. She was indeed very
bright. She spoke articulately, minimized the FBI jargon, knew which details
were important, had good recall, was organized and succinct, and she had a
pleasant voice. Wisely, she did not speculate, or even elaborate beyond the
facts. She finished up by saying,
“We in the FBI classify murders into two broad categories: organized and
disorganized. This might sound generic, even oversimplified. It is not. It’s
a very complicated judgment and we draw many inferences and discoveries from
those classifications. Unquestionably, this was an organized killing.” From my observation of the
faces of the players around the table as she spoke, nearly everybody had
listened attentively, raptly, even apprehensively. Mrs. Hooper fell into none
of these categories, tapping her pencil on the table, yawning, totally bored
and disconnected. She put down the pencil and asked, “Is there a relevance
I’m supposed to draw from that observation?” “Well... it has great pertinence to those
involved in the hunt for the murderers,” Jennie replied. She paused. “Here’s
what’s noteworthy to you. During my years in the Behavioral Science Unit, I
observed over three hundred murder sites and studied countless others. This killing. . . it’s
one for the books… flawless intelligence, preparation, and execution. This
operation was planned weeks in advance. We should expect.
.
. well, whatever they have
planned over the next two days, expect the same pattern.” “The leopard doesn’t
change his spots. Tell us something we don’t know.” Jenme nodded. “All right. Here’s what’s curious. . . even
alarming. It is axiomatic in our business that political assassins are
disorganized. Their motives may be myriad, but their profiles and patterns
are not. They are nearly all social losers, frustrated individuals, of low
intelligence and ability They fixate on the target and the statement they
want to make. They take only elementary precautions to avoid evidence and
witnesses, to create an escape plan, to avoid detection. In fact, nearly all
political assassins want to be identified. Irrelevance is the mental
hell they’re trying to escape.” “All right, what was their
motivation?” “There’s no way to know.
Not yet.” “At what stage will you
know? After the President’s dead?” Set aside the nasty tone,
and Mrs. Hooper had posed a pressing and beguiling question. Jennie replied,
“If they have a message, they’ll choose the time and place to convey it?’
She added, “Personally, I’m not sure they have a message?’ “And what would you call the note they
left?” “I haven’t read it. I’m not prepared to
analyze it?’ “But you know what it said.” “I heard a summary. It didn’t sound
like a message. It sounded like... like
an announcement—a taunt?’ She was right, it did. I mean, they
open the game by capping the President’s right-hand man, and then leave a
note that reads, up Yours, more to follow, then the big guy himself These
people had big egos and brass balls. But gosh, wouldn’t we all look
bad if they got away with it? Surveying the faces around the table,
Jennie asked, “Other questions?” After a moment, Townsend asked, “How
long were you in the house?” “Twelve minutes, sir. Two sweeps?’ “Twelve minutes?” Those unblinking eyes
regarded Jennie for a full ten seconds. The effect was unsettling, almost
creepy, like staring at a dead fish and waiting for it to speak. But eventually
the lips parted and he said, “That was an impressive analysis for such a
short time.” “Thank you, sit Mr. Drummond here was
invaluable. He figured out there was more than one killer, and he pointed out
a number of other clues I might have overlooked.” “That’s why we have teams,” Townsend
replied. “We all bring something to the party?’ He then said, “You have some
speculations and leads, I assume?’ “I do?” “Proceed.” “We believe the killers had a detailed
understanding of the security. They knew how to circumvent the security
systems, they may have known a female agent would answer the door, and
apparently they knew Terrence and Marybeth Belknap breakfasted together.” She
paused, then added, “They knew exactly how to
deploy themselves in order to kill everybody in that house efficiently and
simultaneously.” Mr.Wardell of the Secret Service didn’t like the
direction she was going and said, “I hope you’re not implying that one of our
people might be involved.” “I implied nothing.” “You’d better not.” Jennie nodded. Though of
course she had implied exactly that, and Mr. Wardell worked up a little steam. “Look.
.
. before anyone jumps to a
bad conclusion, the Secret Service has been officially guarding the President
and his people since 1902. Can anyone here name a single instance of
betrayal?” He looked at the faces around the table and added, very
insistently, “No federal agency matches our vetting and security procedures.” For a moment the room was
silent. Then Phyllis Carney commented, “Charles, I don’t mean to be
contrary, but really... we
at the CIA take a backseat to nobody when it comes to safeguarding against
traitors and betrayals.” It took a moment before we
all realized the sound we heard was Charles Wardell’s balls rolling around on the floor. He
said, “I. . . I didn’t mean
to imply that our systems are airtight.” Margold nodded appreciatively in Phyllis’s
direction and said, “Anybody with knowledge about the security at that house
needs to be put under a microscope immediately.” Townsend turned to Wardell. “Provide that list to Meany
this morning. And for impartiality’s sake, the Bureau will handle the
interrogations and investigation.” Poor Mr.Wardell
did not look happy to carry that word back to his beloved Service. He was
realizing, of course, that the crap was about to rain on the American
praetorians and there was not a big enough umbrella to hide under. At least
he could look his peers in the eye and claim he fought the good fight. Townsend glanced back at Margold and asked, “Further leads? Speculations?” “Well, the driver, Larry Elwood, and
the location of his car have to be targets of immediate and primary interest.
Elwood is a suspect, obviously. However, his car arrived five minutes late
and his face is not visible on the videos. This could imply his car was
hijacked and the man on our tape is an impostor. Also, the car is a mining
site for forensics.” “Good point.” Townsend turned to George
Meany. “What are we doing about the car?” “An APB has been issued?’ “Not enough. Scramble helicopters and
notify every local jurisdiction to conduct a street-by-street search. Put out
a description to every tolltaker in the five-state
region. Assume they changed plates. Focus on the car model?’ George was furiously scribbling all
this down on a notepad. Townsend studied him and said, “By
nightfall, every black Jennie suggested, “We should also send
agents door-to-door in the Ballantrae Farm
neighborhood, asking if anybody saw anything this morning.” I suggested, “In any of the weeks
leading up to this morning. The killers no doubt staked out the Belknaps’ house well in advance?’ Townsend looked at Meany
and commented, “It’s an exclusive neighborhood. Strangers would be noticed.” Actually, anybody not in a
Brooks Brothers suit and a hundred-thousand-dollar luxury car would stick out
like a purple banana on that block. Meany needed to get a point on the board and
suggested, “Also, every police district and sheriff’s department from My personal feelings about
George aside, he was smart and competent, and it was a timely suggestion. I thought for a moment I
was going to be asked to leave. But Peterson shook his head and said, “Leave
it to Drummond to drag the elephant into the room.” George Meany
chuckled. Jennie smiled, and everybody else stared at me. I take a bit of
getting used to. But apparently this
question fell into Mrs. Hooper’s basket, who said, “I haven’t decided. For
now, Terry Belknap is at home with the flu.” She glanced at Peterson and
Townsend and instructed them, “You two go brief the President. I’ll let you
know.” Power is a weird thing.
Theoretically and on paper, the Directors of the FBI and CIA are higher in
the food chain than some lady who came to town on her boss’s coattail and did
not need permission from Congress for her corner office in the West Wing. Yet
this brief exchange cleared up any messy confusion about who was who in the
pecking order. I really missed the Army, where everybody has their rank on
their collar. The rank doesn’t always tell you who’s actually in charge, but
it does tell you who can and who can’t screw you. Anyway, they both nodded
and departed, and Jennie Margold and I exchanged
troubled looks. As soon as the door closed, Jennie addressed Mrs. Hooper and
asked, “Are Drummond and I missing something? The White House Chief of
Staff’s dead. You can’t hide that.” It was an interesting
question, and apparently a provocative one, because for a moment it just hung
in the air. Then Phyllis, my boss, said, “It’s. . . well, it’s a little more complicated
than that, I’m afraid. We probably should have seen this coming.” “Why?” “Well.
.
. the bounty.” She studied
a spot on the wall for a moment. “Somebody has offered a reward of one
hundred million dollars to whoever murders the President of the Shit. Haig excels in letting smart people reveal
their skills, and there’s a lot of entertainment value on the pages of The
President’s Assassin, amid the rampant violence that also smarts. It’s
not so compelling that you want to stay up late to finish, or so well written
that you’re disappointed when you reach the last page. Steve Hopkins,
October 25, 2005 |
||
|
|
|
||
|
Go to Executive Times
Archives |
|||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
ã 2005 Hopkins and Company, LLC The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the November 2005
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/The
President's Assassin.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
