Shall We Tell the President? Read Online Free PDF

they arrived, they peered
through the small window and saw two men in the room, Angelo Casefikis and a cheerful-looking black, who was staring at
a television set which emitted no sound. Calvert turned to Dr Dexter.
    ‘Would it be possible to see him alone, Dr
Dexter?’
    ‘Why?’ she asked.
    ‘We don’t know what he is going to tell us,
and he may not wish to be overheard.’
    ‘Well, don’t worry yourself,’ said Dr
Dexter, and laughed. ‘My favourite mailman, Benjamin Reynolds, who is in the
next bed is as deaf as a post, and until we operate on him next week, he won’t
be able to hear Gabriel’s horn on the Day of Judgement, letalone a state secret.’
    Calvert smiled for the first time. ‘He’d
make a hell of a witness.’
    The doctor ushered Calvert and Andrews into
the room, then turned and left them. See you soon, lovely lady, Mark promised
himself. Calvert looked at Benjamin Reynolds suspiciously, but the black
mailman merely gave him a big happy smile, waved, and continued to watch the
soundless $25,000 Pyramid; nonetheless, Barry Calvert stood on that side
of the bed and blocked his view of Casefikis in case
he could lip-read. Barry thought of everything.
    ‘Mr Casefikis ?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Casefikis was a grey, sick-looking individual of medium build, with a
prominent nose, bushy eyebrows, and an anxious expression that never left his
lace. His hair was thick, dark, and unkempt. His hands seemed particularly
large on the white bedspread, and the veins stood out prominently. His face was
darkened by several days of unshaven beard. One leg was heavily bandaged and
rested on the cover of the bed. His eyes darted nervously from one man to the
other.
    ‘I am Special Agent Calvert and this is
Special Agent Andrews. We are officers with the Federal Bureau of
Investigation. We understand you wanted to see us.’
    Both men withdrew their FBI credentials
from their right inside coat pockets, and displayed them to Casefikis while holding the credentials in their left hands. Even such a seemingly
insignificant manoeuvre was carefully taught to all new FBI agents so that
their ‘strong hand’ would be free to withdraw and fire when necessary.
    Casefikis studied their credentials with a puzzled frown, pressing his tongue
over his lips, obviously not knowing what to look for. The agent’s signature
must pass partly over the seal of the Department of Justice to insure
authenticity. He looked at Mark’s card number, 3302, and his badge number,
1721. He didn’t speak, as if wondering where to start, or perhaps whether to
change his mind and say nothing at all. He stared at Mark, clearly the more
sympathetic, and began his tale.
    ‘I never been in any trouble with police
before,’ he said. ‘Not with any of police.’
    Neither agent smiled or spoke.
    ‘But I in big mess now and, by God, I need
help.’
    Calvert stepped in. ‘Why do you need our help?’
    ‘I am illegal immigrant and so is wife. We
both Greek nationals, we came in Baltimore on ship and we been working here two years. We’ve nothing to go back to.’ It
came out in spurts and dashes. ‘I have information to trade if we not
deported.’
    ‘We can’t make that sort—’ began Mark.
    Barry touched Mark’s arm. ‘If it’s
important and you are able to help us solve a crime, we will speak to the
Immigration authorities. We can promise no more than that.’
    Mark mused; with six million illegal
immigrants in the United
States , another couple was not going to sink
the boat.
    Casefikis looked desperate. ‘I needed job, I needed money, you understand?’
    Both men understood. They faced the same
problem a dozen times a week behind a dozen different faces.
    ‘When I offered this job as waiter in
restaurant, my wife very pleased. On second week I was given special job to
serve lunch in a hotel room for big man. The only trouble that the man wanted
waiter who not speak English. My English very bad so bossman tell me I could go, keep my mouth