What Goes Up

by Allen Weiner

  “Craig Gentile, head of the construction company, is a bigwig in the Lehigh Valley Democratic Party. The word is, he’s backing Donahue to run against Shapp in the next gubernatorial primary.”

  “That’s some great stuff,” Max said, grinning ear to ear. While he chose to work with Aaron through a process of elimination, he knew Grant was the real deal . . . and more.

  In the heart of downtown, Allentown City Hall was built in 1962 for a cost of $3.1 million by Everett Associates, a local architectural firm. The brick-façade building is made up of six floors with the mayor’s office on the top floor. The top floor also houses the office of the police chief, Charles Van Dyke. Between the mayor and police chief’s office are several conference rooms and a large banquet hall used to entertain high-ranking visitors. That day, it was set up for a white-tablecloth lunch with four chairs.

  Max and Aaron sat outside the banquet hall, waiting for their hosts. The meeting was called for one thirty, and the two reporters were a few minutes early. A short, matronly looking assistant to the mayor asked the two guests to take a seat as Donahue and Taylor were just wrapping up some city business.

  The chairs turned out to be plush leather wingback chairs far nicer than either man could afford for their homes. Max sat with his briefcase on his lap and stared off into space. It may not have been the best time for introspection, but Max couldn’t help but rewind the clock. It had been four months since Max left his parents’ house in Philadelphia and moved to Nesquehoning. From a city of close to three million people to a township of 3,300. The change was bigger than a relocation; it was a do-or-die time for Max if he wanted to fulfill his goal of being a star newspaper columnist for a major daily. It was do-or-die time for a man whose life experience and personal growth had been limited to four years living in a college dorm where his emotional state had more ebbs than flows.

  Reflecting on that first day of work, when he nervously walked from his car to the office, Max remembered that moment when he knew that to succeed, he would have to leave the past behind with all its doubts and fears. From that warm August afternoon that marked his first day of work up until the current moment when he was sitting by the mayor’s office, Max felt proud of how he had grown as a person on the cusp of a major investigative story. What Max realized was that, like so many others, his life was ruled by varied emotions that fight with one another for control. In the past four months, his usual feeling of vulnerability and loneliness had been overtaken by one of strength and confidence. It was not as if moments of sadness and weakness had disappeared; but in the battle between personal strength and weakness, the good guys were winning.

  Max returned to earth when the mayor and his gendarme approached the banquet room, where the two reporters were seated. Max and Aaron got up to greet their hosts, shaking hands and trading opening pleasantries. The mayor led the others into the room where lunch was to be served. Max was surprised by the degree of formality when he noticed place cards with names were located by each place setting. Max and Aaron were to be seated across from one another.

  As Max pulled out his chair to sit, he found a package on his seat, wrapped neatly with a blue bow. Aaron, too, had a gift waiting on his seat, albeit in a smaller package. Aaron and Max traded curious glances across the table, wondering about this unusual gesture.

  “Guys, open your gifts,” Mayor Donahue said, gushing with warmth. “These were specially selected for you.”

  Max went first. In the box was a 1978 Phillies yearbook autographed by Mike Schmidt, Greg Luzinski, and relief pitcher Tug McGraw. Aaron then opened his box to find the record album, “How Great Thou Art,” a classic gospel recording from Elvis Presley. This rare Elvis LP was out of print and considered a rare collector’s album.

  The Chronicle had a strict policy on reporters receiving gifts of any sort, but the rule stated the gift could not be worth more than twenty-five dollars. The Phillies yearbook had a five-dollar price tag, and the Elvis album, even rare, was not worth close to twenty-five.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Max told the men seated on either side of him. “I went to my first Phillies game when I was six and have been a fan ever since. You sure know how to make a great first impression.”

  Across the table, Aaron was shaking with emotion. He was trying to reach for the right words, but all that could come out was a weak “Thanks. I love Elvis’s gospel music.”

  The meal was served, and the small talk took over. Mayor Donahue did most of the talking while his sidekick listened intently, quietly eating the small salad placed in front of him. Taylor appeared to be making detailed mental notes as if he were looking for points in the conversation that could provide him clues about the two Chronicle reporters’ intent. Using Taylor’s research, two office interns were sent shopping for the perfect gifts that reflected careful personal research. Bull’s brilliantly subtle goal was to let Max and Aaron know how easy it was to find out details about their lives.

  After serving the main course, the two waiters disappeared for good. The conversation was about to get serious, and the pair of servers were sent to the kitchen by Taylor with a wave of his hand. Coffee and a tray of Christmas cookies were waiting for the four men back in the mayor’s office. The deputy mayor stood, and Max was struck with the imposing nature of the man they called Bull. He was Max’s height at six foot two, but easily thirty pounds heavier and all muscle. Max was not intimidated but knew he had to choose his words carefully when they adjourned to Donahue’s office.

  The mayor’s office was decorated in muted holiday cheer with a real miniature tree off to the side. A few ornaments adorned the tree, but a large star sat on top that seemed too large given the smallish evergreen. A half dozen presents were alongside the tree, waiting for the last workday before the holiday to be unwrapped. Max wondered if those gifts were as thoughtfully selected as his yearbook and Aaron’s Elvis masterpiece.

  Donahue’s secretary—the same woman who earlier told Max and Aaron where to wait for lunch—came into Donahue’s office and poured coffee into four cups without asking. A cloud of tension filled the room as the mayor and Aaron reached for a cookie at the same time. Breaking the ice, Taylor initiated the post-lunch talk.

  “So, I understand the two of you have been doing some homework for the story you’re working on,” Taylor said as his boss munched on a cookie topped with a likeness of Santa done in red icing. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for, and maybe I can help you?”

  Even though Aaron was the more experienced of the two reporters, he was caught off guard. Long before lunch was over, Max came to realize the whole afternoon had been well orchestrated—the gifts, the seating arrangement, and even the use of the mayor’s office for the possibly contentious interview. Max was ready, with his game face on, to get down to business.

  “Mayor Donahue, I want to talk a bit about your time in Springfield, if that’s okay,” Max said to kick things off. “I understand you ran a car dealership and were active in local politics.”

  Mark Donahue exchanged glances with Joe Taylor, who sat with arms crossed to the right of Max. As with lunch, Max and Aaron were across from each other while the mayor sat at the head of a long rectangular table. Aaron, looking for visual cues, watched Taylor while Max addressed Donahue directly.

  “That was a long time ago,” the mayor answered. “How is that relevant to a story on my work in bolstering the business climate in Allentown?”

  Max stumbled for a reply. “Mr. Mayor, if I might add,” Grant interjected, “we had heard through some folks in Springfield that you had some issues with a lawsuit involving your car dealership. With that as background, it leads me to wonder about some of the questions regarding your convincing companies to move their headquarters.”

  Before the mayor could respond, Taylor took over the conversation. Earning his nickname Bull, the deputy mayor shot his cuffs and sat up ramrod straight in his chair, striking a posture anyone would consider imposing. It was clear who was i
n charge, and questions or topics not submitted in advance were out of bounds for the interview.

  “Gentlemen, there wasn’t anything about Mark Donahue’s time in Springfield on the list of things you wanted to talk about,” Bull said, trying to calm things down. Before resorting to less direct ways of dealing with nosy reporters, Taylor wanted to try the sensible approach. Other options would always be available if the situation warranted.

  “We think the topic is appropriate to shed light on whether the mayor brought some of his less-than-ethical tactics to bear in his redevelopment plans,” Max replied, tag-teaming with Aaron. “I think it’s a fair question if we are to paint an accurate picture of Mayor Donahue.”

  While Max, Aaron, and Joe Taylor sparred, the mayor tried to look busy, staring at his leather Day-Timer but hanging on every word. He looked up at his second in command and quietly nodded his head.

  “You know, this interview is over,” Taylor said as he rose from his chair. “The mayor has an important meeting with his staff. I want to let you know how much we enjoyed meeting you both. Any further questions you have can be directed to me.”

  With that, the man they called Bull strode to the door and ushered Max and Aaron to the outer office. “Thanks again for coming,” he said to the two reporters with a shit-eating grin. He turned, went back into the mayor’s office, and firmly closed the door.

  The meeting in the mayor’s office did not go well. In what seemed the blink of an eye, Max found himself sitting behind the wheel, too angry to turn the key in the ignition. “What was that?” Max said out loud, the chill of the cold afternoon air turning his breath into steam. Before he could head back to the bureau, he had to make sense of the last twenty-five minutes. He remembered drinking coffee and posing a simple question to the mayor.

  As he started unscrambling the afternoon’s odd events, Max was attempting to understand the narrative of the story he saw unfold. Perhaps he had to take some blame for the way the meeting went by starting with questions about the mayor’s past in Springfield instead of his recent accomplishment in Allentown. Now, it seems, it was time to call in the big guns and get Barrett to eavesdrop on the mayor and his handler. Several pieces were missing from this story, and he was determined to learn the truth one way or the other.

  Back in the mayor’s office, Mark Donahue sat behind his desk, a bit shaken by the Chronicle reporters’ interaction. What started off to be a pleasant lunch, he thought, sure turned ugly quickly.

  Nonplussed, Joe Taylor raised his hand to stop the mayor from fretting.

  “Listen, Mark. I’m here for a reason. I will take care of this, so you have nothing to worry about. All you need to know is that when it comes to gathering dirt, I’m the best of the best.”

  The mayor smiled and let out a sigh of relief. “I think I know what you have planned. I don’t want to know anything about it . . . but you have my blessing.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Barrett looked out of place as he walked into the lobby of Allentown’s city hall at 10 a.m. two days after Max and Aaron’s disastrous meeting with the mayor. He was wearing a second-hand janitor’s uniform and a heavy woolen outer coat. The winter coat was gray, a top-of-the-line Burberry that the ex-attorney bought when he went on a ski weekend two years ago in Vermont. Barrett never actually got on skis, but he loved the chalet’s fireplace and won five hundred dollars hustling guests at backgammon. The coat was a reminder that, while he’d never go skiing again, it was nice separating so-called backgammon experts from their cash.

  As Barrett entered the lobby, he spotted a woman sitting on one of the benches in the middle of the main floor. Max had described Sue perfectly, and while Sue and Barrett had never met before in person, they briefly spoke the night before to review plans for the planting of the FM transmitter.

  Sue got up as Barrett approached and was all smiles. Max had called her Tuesday night and given her a recap of that day’s bizarre events. She listened intently and asked her friend how she could help.

  “If you’re serious, I want you to call my friend Barrett,” Max told her Tuesday night. “He’s the point man for this project. I am sure he’d love to have your help, and I think you’ll like him—he’s a shorter version of me.”

  After recognizing each other in the lobby, they shook hands, and both noticed that at five-foot-six, Sue was face-to-face with Max’s lifelong friend. In his mid-twenties, Barrett knew that he would not have another growth spurt, so being short was his destiny. He always said that being vertically challenged had its advantages, but he’d yet to discover one to that point in time.

  The plan was simple: Barrett would put an “Out of Order” sign on the middle elevator and work on placing the surveillance device behind the billboard at the back of the structure. Barrett had the sign, the transmitter, a soldering iron, and a steel wool pad to clean up any excess solder in his satchel. While Barrett performed his duties, Sue would stand guard and tune in the transistor radio Max bought for her the day before.

  Everyone agreed on using 92.9 FM for this undercover mission. The trick was finding a spot on the dial far enough away from other local radio stations to avoid interference. The placement of the device and Sue’s observation went smoothly. Less than twenty minutes after Barrett arrived, the job was done, and the two spies for the day left city hall, said their goodbyes, and went on their way.

  Max arranged with Sue to take the first eavesdropping shift. The mayor and Joe Taylor left for lunch daily at 12:20 p.m. on the dot. Max knew this from his one thirty lunch meeting on Tuesday. He remembered asking Donahue’s secretary if it was customary for her boss to eat lunch so late. She indicated that Donahue and Taylor left the office for lunch at that time nearly every day.

  Sue had an hour to kill. She walked two blocks over to the Chronicle office, flashed her badge, and walked up the stairs to the newsroom. She found an empty desk and called Max to let him know that the Max-Barrett-Sue caper was in progress.

  At precisely twelve twenty, Joe Taylor pushed the down button for the middle elevator on the city hall’s top floor. Standing to his right was a man in his early thirties of medium build and closely cropped hair; not Mayor Donahue. The doors swung open, and the pair quietly entered the forty-two-square-foot chamber. The door closed, and the two men were alone.

  “So, from what I gather, his landlord and downstairs neighbors don’t much like him,” Taylor said to the man he carefully recruited for a specific task. “I have seen pictures of his place, and there’s only one phone, and it’s in the kitchen.”

  Taylor’s accomplice stood quietly, hanging on every word. He nodded his head, indicating he heard the instructions loud and clear. Paul Revere, the man who would later be identified by his code name, walked off the elevator toward the exit while Taylor stood by its closing doors. Revere had a limited window to get his job done, and he wasn’t one to waste time.

  Revere walked past a woman sitting on a bench with an earpiece plugged into a new Zenith transistor radio on his way to the exit. Max’s previous intelligence was spot on, and Sue turned on the radio at twelve fifteen and waited for the broadcast on 92.9 FM to start. She heard every word of the discussion between Joe Taylor and the shady-looking individual who walked by her on the way to some nefarious task. Putting together the overheard conversational puzzle pieces, Sue knew Joe Taylor was sending Paul Revere to bug Max’s telephone.

  Sue didn’t want to wait to return to Nesquehoning to warn Max, so she dashed over to the Chronicle building and looked for an empty conference room with a telephone. She found one by the newspaper’s library, which was used for reporters wanting to do quiet research. The lights were off, so Sue took it to mean it was unoccupied, and since she wouldn’t need the room for more than a few minutes, she knew she was safe.

  Max was in the office and picked up on the second ring. Given the time, he suspected it was Sue but didn’t expect to have any information from their transmitter stakeout so soon.

  Sue spoke softly.
“Max,” she said, “have you ever see the Mad magazine cartoon ‘Spy vs. Spy’?”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Yes, I have.”

  “Well, that’s what we have going on. Joe Taylor is sending someone to your apartment to bug your telephone. I found this out from our bug in the city hall elevator.”

  It took Max a few seconds to comprehend Sue’s statement. He was in disbelief.

  “What? I find that hard to believe. How do you know this?”

  “Taylor described your apartment to this guy who looked like an ex-military officer and told him where your phone was located. I know it’s you because Taylor told this man that your landlord and downstairs neighbors don’t like you.”

  That detail further rattled Max. Finding those sorts of personal details was unnerving. Sure, the landlord wasn’t his biggest fan, and the older Pennsylvania Dutch couple below him didn’t like him running up the stairs, but how does someone get that information?

  “What do you think I should do?” Max asked Sue.

  “I know one thing,” she said, raising her voice slightly. “Don’t make any calls from your house that you don’t want to be spied on.”

  “You know,” Max said, gathering his wits. “Your reference to ‘Spy vs. Spy’ is perfect. That gives me an idea.”

  Max deliberately stayed at the bureau to give Bull’s right-hand man time to place the bug on his home phone. He planned to double-cross Taylor and his cohort. He called his parents from the office and told them there was some work being done on his apartment building, and all the phones would be out of order for a few days. Max then called Barrett and told him about the plan to set a trap for Taylor and his helper. The idea was to let Taylor think he was pulling a fast one, but Max would use his ruse to dispense false information. Max added that they should hold off bugging the federal building until this countermove played out. That ploy, Max assumed, would provide some clear runway to complete the investigation.