MSU and Duke went back and forth in the final minutes. Chip tied the score at 80 with an off-balance driving layup with fourteen seconds left. Krzyzewski called time to set up a final play. “I’m not sure I can sit through another overtime,” Susan Carol said. “But I hope they don’t score.”
Stevie knew she meant it. His heart was pounding yet again. The time-out seemed to take forever. Finally, the teams were back on the court.
Duke inbounded. Everyone in the building knew the ball was going to J.J. Redick, their brilliant shooter. Terry Armstrong, the point guard, held the ball near midcourt as the clock went down. Everyone in the arena was standing. As the clock went down to five seconds, Stevie saw Redick sprinting around a screen near the top of the key. Armstrong snapped a pass in his direction. But it never got there. Out of nowhere came Chip. He’d been guarding Duke’s other superb shooter, Daniel Ewing, but had gambled at the last minute and left him alone. Chip got his hand on the ball and deflected it toward midcourt.
Stevie could see the clock clicking from :03 to :02 as Chip picked the ball up in full flight, Armstrong sprinting back to cut him off. Chip was almost at the exact same spot where he had made the winning shot on Saturday, when he stopped his dribble and went up in the air to shoot. Armstrong was diving at him, screaming at the top of his lungs, “No, no, no way!”
Just as Chip released the ball, Armstrong piled into him and they both went down to the floor. Stevie wondered if there would be a foul call, but he heard no whistle. Stevie thought he must be watching a replay of the end of the St. Joe’s game. This time, though, the ball hit the back of the rim and bounced high into the air. Overtime, Stevie thought. But then the ball dropped down, hit the front of the rim, hung there for a moment, and dropped through the net.
Bedlam.
Stevie knew he was jumping up and down and screaming and acting completely unprofessional. He didn’t care. Someone was pounding him and hugging him. It was Susan Carol. She had tears in her eyes. Well, so did he. It was déjà vu all over again. Same spot on the court, almost the same shot.
Chip had disappeared completely under a pile of his celebrating teammates. Stevie saw Krzyzewski waiting patiently for the pile to clear so he could congratulate him. Grudgingly, he had to concede that was a pretty classy move.
Suddenly Jurgensen appeared at their seats. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got work to do.”
They followed him to the tunnel. People were running in all directions, shouting instructions at one another. They were right underneath the Duke section, which was the one place in the Dome that wasn’t going completely crazy. At the top of the tunnel, Stevie saw a half dozen men in suits.
“Thanks for coming, Rick,” Jurgensen said, shaking hands with one of them, a tall bald man who did not appear likely to smile anytime soon.
“Steve, I came because your word has always been good in the past,” Rick said. “I’m assuming it’s good now, although that’s a wild story you told me on the phone.”
“It’s all true,” Jurgensen said. “These are the two kids I told you about. Stevie, Susan Carol, this is Special Agent Rick Applebaum. He runs the New Orleans field office of the FBI. We’ve worked together on cases in the past.”
They all shook hands. “You kids okay?” Applebaum said. They nodded. “And are you sure Graber will talk?” he said, eyes fixed on Jurgensen.
“He’ll talk. And so will these two. You’ll have plenty. And I can testify to seeing them tied up at the hotel.”
“Yeah, we’ve already picked up the guy you left back there,” Applebaum said. “Nice tape job. Okay, let’s go get the rest of them.”
Jurgensen told them where everyone was likely to be: Whiting on court with the team, Feeley in the Duke section. “And you’ll find Koheen down on the floor trying to look happy about the outcome,” he said.
Koheen? Stevie knew the name but wasn’t sure from where. Then he remembered the MSU media guide. Susan Carol had figured it out a split second before him. “Earl Koheen?” she said. “The president of MSU?”
Jurgensen nodded. “That’s the part I didn’t get to tell you. The other calls Wojenski made to the 612 area code were to Earl Koheen. It took me a while to add things up, but in the end, it all connects.”
“Wait a minute,” Stevie said. “The media guide. It said that one of Koheen’s professors at Providence was …”
“Tom Whiting,” Susan Carol said, finishing the sentence for him.
“And guess who was teaching up there at the exact same time,” Jurgensen said.
Stevie and Susan Carol looked at one another. Something Wojenski had said came back to Stevie. He’d said he and his wife were both from Rhode Island.
“Wojenski,” he said.
“Right,” Jurgensen said. “That’s where it all clicked. Koheen has been quietly sniffing around all winter to replace Tom Sanford as Duke’s president. I knew that from being on the board. Then all of a sudden MSU and Duke are in the Final Four. Koheen knew Chip had been in some academic trouble and he also knew that Feeley’s finances hadn’t been great the last year or so. My guess is he called Feeley and offered a deal: I’ll see to it that Duke wins the championship game if the schools play. Feeley makes a huge financial hit and in return Koheen ends up as Duke’s president.”
“And Whiting goes along with him to a big job at Duke, right?” Susan Carol said. “That explains why the fix had to be on this game. It wasn’t just about the money.”
“Right. And Koheen and Whiting knew that Wojenski had always had gambling problems even when he was still working. They were certain he would help set up the scheme.”
“Wojenski?” Applebaum said. “Where is he?”
They all looked at one another. “He might be with Whiting or Koheen,” Jurgensen said. “Come on, we’ll point everyone out to you.”
They all walked to the court. The FBI men, Stevie noticed, wore All Access passes that had apparently been produced for them very quickly. Heads turned as they made their way to the floor. Things happened very fast. Whiting was standing to the side watching the celebration when an agent approached him. He didn’t even look surprised. Jurgensen led Applebaum directly to President Koheen, who was standing next to Bob Bowlsby, whom Stevie recognized as the chairman of the NCAA men’s basketball committee. Stevie was trailing Jurgensen and Applebaum. Susan Carol had gone with another agent to identify Feeley.
“Earl Koheen?” Stevie heard Applebaum say.
Koheen gave Applebaum a puzzled look. Apparently, no one had warned him that he might be in trouble.
“My name is Rick Applebaum. I am the special agent in charge of the New Orleans field office of the FBI. Sir, you are under arrest.”
“Arrest?” Bowlsby said, clearly stunned.
“Yes, sir. Mr. Koheen—”
“Doctor Koheen,” the about-to-be-disgraced president said.
“Okay, Doctor Koheen,” Applebaum said without even a hint of a smile in the face of Koheen’s arrogance. “Doctor Koheen, you are under arrest for attempted blackmail, for tampering with state records, and for conspiracy to kidnap two minors.”
“That’s a complete lie,” Koheen said. “If you lay a hand on me, you will be subjected to the lawsuit of your life.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Applebaum said.
He turned Koheen not-so-gently away from him so he could handcuff him. Stevie was suddenly aware of dozens of photographers, on court to photograph the awards ceremony and net-cutting, turning their attention to the sight of Koheen in handcuffs. Koheen screamed, “Stop them! Someone stop them! Someone call my lawyer!”
Applebaum led him across the court, with Stevie following, trying not to get trampled by the photographers. He saw Bill Brill and Dick Weiss standing at the corner of the court, their mouths open wide, as Koheen was led past them. A few yards away, coming from the stands, he saw another agent with Feeley and Susan Carol.
“Stevie, what in the world is going on here?” Weiss said. “Where were you a
ll night?”
“Long story,” Stevie said. “I’ll tell you later.”
He raced up the tunnel. Security people were blocking all the media—reporters and photographers—telling them they had to go to the other side of the court to exit. But the security wall parted as soon as Stevie got near. He wasn’t sure if it was his pass or if Applebaum had said something.
At the top of the tunnel, Stevie saw Whiting and Feeley and Koheen all in cuffs and surrounded by FBI guys. Susan Carol and Jurgensen were waiting to one side, and as Stevie joined them he heard footsteps behind them: Bobby Kelleher.
“So I guess Steve got there in time,” Kelleher said, shaking hands with Stevie and Susan Carol. “I saw you guys come running in during the time-out, but I didn’t have a chance to come and talk to you. Steve and I were calling in the FBI. We need to have a long, long talk.”
Susan Carol nodded. “We certainly owe you that—and a lot more,” she said.
Kelleher shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. You saved yourselves—and the Final Four. I was just the messenger.”
“No sign of Wojenski anyplace,” one of the agents said, coming up behind Kelleher.
“These guys say he never came to the game tonight,” said another.
“Send a car to his home,” Applebaum said. “If he’s not there, put out an APB. Let’s get these guys booked. Doctor Koheen wants to call his lawyer.”
He turned to Jurgensen. “I’ll need you and the kids and the Grabers and Kelleher in my office tomorrow morning for complete statements.”
“No problem,” Jurgensen said.
Applebaum turned to Stevie, Susan Carol, and Kelleher. “I know you two are aspiring journalists. And I know, Mr. Kelleher, that you are sitting on quite a story here. I can’t order you to do anything. But I’m asking all three of you not to write about this tonight or talk to anyone else in the media. Once you’ve given me your statements, it will be different. Do you understand?”
Stevie and Susan Carol both nodded. Not Kelleher.
“You don’t expect us not to write about all these arrests, do you?” he said. “I have to write that the president of MSU was led away in handcuffs minutes after his team won the national championship, and I have to explain why.”
Applebaum nodded. “I know that, Kelleher,” he said. “I just don’t want the kids sitting down and telling you their whole story until they’ve talked to us first.”
“That’s not a problem,” Kelleher said. “I understand.”
Applebaum waved his hand at the entourage of agents and arrestees. “Joe,” he said to the agent standing nearest him, “you get these guys to our office. Call the U.S. Attorney’s office and have someone meet you there. I’m going to stay behind to brief the Grabers before they speak to the media.”
Joe nodded and led the way down the hall. There was a throng of screaming reporters and photographers to walk through before they could exit, but the three distinguished gentlemen in handcuffs were like a little bubble of silence, passing through the storm.
19: TELLING THE STORY
ONCE THE AWARDS CEREMONY WAS OVER, Alan and Chip Graber had to attend the postgame press conference. And, exciting as the game and the win had been, it was impossible to get around the fact that the president of Minnesota State had been taken off the court in handcuffs by an FBI agent in the midst of the postgame victory celebration.
“I’m not a hundred percent certain what happened or why it happened,” Alan Graber said. “I’m told it will all come out tomorrow. For right now, I’d like to stick to questions about the game, about us winning the national championship, and about what our team and my son just accomplished.”
Chip wore the net into which his final shot had dropped around his neck. He explained his lackluster play in the first thirty minutes as a combination of nerves and good defense played by Duke. Stevie and Susan Carol were standing in the back of the interview room with Steve Jurgensen and Bobby Kelleher, listening. Dick Weiss and Bill Brill walked over to join them.
“You guys know about this,” Weiss said. “You tried to tell us before …”
Kelleher answered for them. “They do, Hoops,” he said. “But they can’t tell you what’s going on tonight. Tomorrow, like Alan just said, it will all come out.”
Weiss and Brill looked at each other. “You guys promise you’ll fill us in tomorrow?” Brill said.
“Absolutely,” Stevie said.
“Everything we know,” said Susan Carol.
When the press conference was over, they went around to the curtained-off area of the hallway that was used to transport the players and coaches to and from the interview room. Again, no one stopped them when they walked behind the curtain. The All Access passes seemed to make the security people magically disappear when they approached. Roger Valdiserri was sitting there in his golf cart, waiting for the Grabers, who had stopped to talk to a couple of NCAA types as they left the podium. As soon as Chip saw Stevie and Susan Carol, he broke into a run. When he got to them, he gathered them both into a hug.
“We did it! You did it!” he said. Stevie could see he had tears in his eyes.
“That was a hell of a last shot,” Stevie said.
“What happened? How’d you get here?” asked Chip.
“It was Mr. Jurgensen—it’s all thanks to him,” said Susan Carol.
“Not true,” Jurgensen said. “Your e-mail to Kelleher saved the day.”
Chip shook hands with Jurgensen. “Dad told me a little about what you did,” he said. “I’m glad to meet you.”
“So, do I finally get to meet these two young heroes?”
It was Alan Graber, walking up behind his son. Chip introduced them. “You know, it all turned out okay in the end,” Alan Graber said. “But if you’d come to me right away, Chipper—”
“It turned out better than fine in the end,” Jurgensen broke in. “All those people wouldn’t be going to jail if Chip hadn’t handled it the way he did.”
“Or if Stevie and Susan Carol hadn’t overheard me on Friday,” Chip said.
“But Chip,” Stevie said, “you made your first three-pointer and then you basically stopped shooting. What was going on?”
Chip smiled. “I told myself Kelleher would get your message and get to you. But as soon as I made that shot, a chill went through me. What if I’m wrong? I kept trying to convince myself you’d be okay, but I couldn’t shake the vision of you tied to those chairs.…”
“So you weren’t actually throwing the game.”
“Not really. I just couldn’t concentrate. Once I saw you, I was okay. And then I got really mad. I decided that, one way or the other, we had to win.”
“And you did,” Susan Carol said, her eyes sparkling.
Chip put an arm around Susan Carol. “We did,” he said. “But I’m sorry about your Dukies.”
She smiled. “I was rooting for you all the way, Chip. But don’t tell Coach K.” She grinned at Stevie. “They’ll be back next year, right, Stevie?”
Stevie nodded. “They probably will,” he said. “And if they don’t play someone from Philly, I might root for them.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Then again, you might not.”
The one thing Stevie and Susan Carol had left to do that night was explain to their fathers what had been going on. They sat in a corner of the all-night coffee shop at the hotel and laid the whole thing out as their dads sat with their mouths agape. Both of them insisted that they should have come to them and told them what was going on, but it was pretty clear they were both relieved their kids were okay and also quite proud of them.
“Do me one favor,” Bill Thomas said to Stevie. “Tell your mother that I knew exactly where you were at all times.”
Reverend Anderson laughed. “Ditto that for your mother, Susan Carol,” he said.
The newspapers the next morning reported the arrests of four men in connection with a conspiracy to blackmail a player. There were few details other tha
n the names of the four men arrested and a quote from Rick Applebaum saying that another conspirator was still at large. Which meant they hadn’t found Dean Wojenski.
Stevie heard a report on CNN saying that the Washington Herald—Kelleher’s paper—was reporting that the blackmail conspiracy involved Chip Graber and that two teenaged reporters had helped break the case open for the FBI. Stevie liked hearing that. And Kelleher deserved to be ahead on the story, that was for sure.
Their dads took them to the FBI field office at nine o’clock the next morning, where they gave their statements. It was almost lunchtime by the time they were finished. Chip and Alan Graber were still there, too. Agent Applebaum explained that there had been no sign of Dean Wojenski in Bay St. Louis. His wife had told the agents that as soon as Chip’s shot went through the hoop, he had snapped off the television, gone upstairs, packed a bag, and told her he had to leave town for a while. She kept asking the agents to tell her what was going on. Stevie felt bad for her.
“We’ll find him,” Applebaum said. “Sooner or later.”
“How strong is the case?” Bill Thomas asked. “If it comes down to Chip and the kids against the president of a university and the chairman of the board of trustees at Duke …”
Applebaum waved a hand. “It won’t. Please don’t say this publicly but Feeley has already confessed. He gave it all up last night, said he should never have gotten involved.”
“Why’d he do it, then?” asked Stevie.
“He said it seemed like easy money and his school would be guaranteed a national championship as a bonus. And I think he was looking forward to having Duke’s new president in his pocket. But anyway, he’s talking. Plus, Whiting has made it pretty clear he’ll do anything to stay out of jail. So if he testifies against Koheen, we’ll probably cut him a deal.”
“But shouldn’t he go to jail?” Stevie asked.
Last Shot Page 19