86
Charlotte Douglas International Airport
A stainless-steel briefcase waited for Hank Trammel on the table separating two of the facing leather seats in the Cessna Citation III's cabin. Hank sat with his back to the crew, giving Sean the seat facing forward. From across the table, she watched him dial a combination, open the case, and lift out an envelope, leaving a laptop computer and its components inside. Before he broke the foil seal and slipped out a stack of several sheets of paper, Hank put on his reading glasses. While the plane taxied, lifted off, and for the first five minutes of the flight, he studied the documents in silence, idly twisting the tip of his mustache. After finishing, he removed his glasses. The playful light that had been in his eyes before he read the papers Shapiro had sent was out. Clearly Hank was seething, but she couldn't imagine what he had just read that had darkened his mood.
“Is it bad news?” she asked.
“It's sure not good. You know, it's a bit odd that you haven't asked me once why I'm escorting you to New Orleans.”
“You said to meet Winter.”
Hank frowned. “That was as much as I knew until I read this,” he said, putting his hand on the stack of pages. “Remember when I told you Shapiro tracked you to Richmond by setting a net to catch your voice pattern?”
Sean nodded, uncertain where this was going and increasingly unsettled by Hank's chilled manner.
“The NSA generates transcripts of intercepted calls.”
Even before he handed two stapled-together sheets of paper to Sean, panic bloomed inside her.
Verbatim transcription. Call initiated Tuesday 10/22/02 at 22:31:21 hours EST. Phone of origination: Bernhard's Exxon, 221 N. Service Road, Richmond, Va. Number called is a mobile listed to Palma Hamamagian, 221 Norway Street, Chalmette, La. Voice tag positive for subject Sean Marks Devlin. Second subject positive for suspected organized crime figure John Michael Russo known associate of Sam Manelli. Due to continuing request for any call containing individuals listed with Organized Crime tags additional copy forwarded to FBI-OC task force. Call duration 1:21.
Russo: What?
Devlin: You tell Sam I didn't know anything about it.
Russo: Hey, kid, you okay? We were worried you might of got hurt in that mixup. It's cool, I mean, but you need to tell him face-to-face. He knows it wasn't your fault. We're cool, you and me, right?
Devlin: Mixup? I understand he had to stop him. But they came for me, too. They've tried to tag me twice now. Two were after me tonight. They left a mess.
Russo: What are you saying? That's crazy talk. You know, this ain't no conversation for a telephone. Face-to-face only, you know that. I'll meet you. Where you at?
Devlin: You think I'm stupid, Johnny?
Russo: Nah, kiddo, you sure ain't. It's cool. I swear. There is no trouble from us. We don't know what's happening. Let me help you.
Devlin: Help by calling them off.
Russo: Hey, kid, I don't know what you're talking about. Listen, nobody sent nobody to see you. We have to talk this out.
Devlin: I will talk only to Sam from now on. Where is he?
Russo: I'll send somebody for you. I'll come personal. We can't ask him to… you know…
Devlin: I'm not crazy enough to walk in there to see him or meet you.
Russo: Give me a number and I'll have him get back to you.
Devlin: I'll call you back. You have him near your phone tomorrow afternoon. Anybody takes another run at me, all bets are off, Johnny. I haven't done or said anything, so don't make that change.
Russo: This is all crazy. We'll fix it if we know what's going on. We would never let nobody-
Devlin: (interrupting) You sounded really surprised to hear my voice. If what you say is true, why is that?
(called disconnect 22:32:42 hours EST)
Russo: Aw, flying Christ.
(call terminated 22:32:46 EST)
She handed the transcript back to Hank. Her mind felt like it had been deadened with Novocain.
Hank's glare was icy, his facial muscles tense. “See where the FBI's Organized Crime section was copied on this? Both Director Shapiro and the FBI are naturally curious about this call. I have to admit I'm wondering about it myself.” He slammed the transcript facedown on the table.
Strangely, somewhere beneath the fear, she felt relieved that he finally knew. But it didn't alter anything except perhaps to reinforce his opinion that she hadn't been honest with him in his office. She had been as truthful as she could afford to be. “You want to know what, exactly?” she said calmly.
“We are going to New Orleans because the FBI is going to swap Winter for you.” His tone was suffused with disgust.
Being delivered to the FBI was an unpleasant surprise.
“As part of the deal between Shapiro and the FBI, he has expressly ordered me not to interrogate you. I suppose the FBI wants to do that themselves. I reckon they don't want us to know what you are going to tell them, which I doubt you would tell me anyway.”
“Okay, so you can't interrogate me. What would you want to know if you could?”
“I'd start by asking how you, someone I honestly believed was as innocent as the driven snow, would know to call a phone number that's listed to whoever this Palma Hamajama is, to speak to this thug Russo about Sam Manelli and what are obviously the attempts on your life. How do I know you aren't lying about what happened in Richmond?”
“That's all true. Everything I've told you is true.”
“Why didn't you level with me? That means you have lied, if only by omission. You are a threat to Manelli, aren't you?”
“The truth is I'm not a threat to him-he's a threat to me.”
“Obviously Manelli thinks you are. And, had I just been interrogating you, you would not have answered my question truthfully.”
“I'm not responsible for what Sam Manelli believes. I do want you to believe me, because I am a total innocent in this. I swear to you-that's the truth.”
Hank glanced down at the papers, then back up. “I don't want you to be blindsided by what is going on. Monday morning I showed Winter evidence the FBI had compiled on the assaults. They had proof that Greg Nations sold Manelli the location of the safe house and the time Dylan was being moved.”
“You think that Greg could have done that?”
“Somebody inside WITSEC gave the operation up to Manelli. Shapiro says the FBI was planning to make the case that Winter was in on it with Greg-still can if they want to.”
“I don't understand. How can they say that?” she asked, genuinely confused.
Hank reached into his bag and took out a bottle of water. He offered it to Sean and, when she declined, opened it and drank half of it. “Shapiro's letter says that Winter's home phone records show that he called Cherry Point and then Norfolk Navy Base yesterday. There's no way to know what he discussed. Those calls were followed by an incoming call from a cell phone registered to the shore patrol at Norfolk. Last night, after seven P.M., there was a call from that same cell phone to Winter's cellular. Shapiro thinks that one was Reed giving him the information that we got by FedEx this morning. Worse still, Reed was shot last night while he was driving his car, a few minutes after his call to Winter. He crashed. Military cops found a dart from a gun in his neck. Witness saw a car chasing his.
“Around ten last night, a man showed up at Winter's house and took him away in a car. Winter told his mother it was official business and that he'd be back in two hours. Lydia called me at six this morning because he hadn't returned, so I called Shapiro.”
“Was that man working for Manelli? Did he take Winter to New Orleans?”
“The FBI found Winter in the basement of a building that blew up in New York early this morning. They took Winter to New Orleans because that's where your friend Mr. Manelli is. The FBI has a large-scale operation in motion, built around you.”
“Around me?”
“The FBI assumes you can get them Manelli, so that is why Shap
iro could make a deal to exchange you for Winter. They intended to hang Winter for being in a building filled with explosives and weapons and who knows what. They say the place was being used by the Russian bunch that assaulted Rook Island and wiped out your husband's detail.”
She let that sink in. “I'll do anything I can for Winter. But I can't tell the FBI anything about Sam that will help them.”
“That's between the two of you. This transcript makes it clear to them that you can get close to Manelli, and that's what they're going to insist you do. The A.G. has to make sure Manelli pays for all those dead people. You help him and your problems can vanish.”
She laughed, feeling trapped and desperate. “If I get anywhere near Sam Manelli, or Johnny Russo, I'm dead.”
“I doubt the FBI can afford to let anything happen to you.”
“Do you honestly believe the FBI can protect me from Sam Manelli-in New Orleans? Look at the protection Dylan had.”
Hank shrugged. “Nobody can force you to do anything, but if you help the FBI get Manelli, the attorney general will clear you of the federal and state charges. He gave Shapiro his word on it. If you don't, I expect you'll be prosecuted for Richmond at the very least.”
“Won't the ballistic evidence clear me?”
“Ballistic evidence is open to interpretation and the FBI's experts can testify pretty convincingly. They control the investigation, the media spin, witnesses, the evidence. If Winter is right about fabricated evidence on Greg, there's no telling what they can pin on you. Looks like you're going to have to select from a shortlist of nightmares.”
“They're liars,” she said, feeling overwhelmed and lost.
“World's full of liars.” Hank winked at her. “But I don't entirely believe you're one of them. I figure you're as honest as your circumstances allow you to be.”
All in all, Sean thought that was a fair assessment.
87
New Orleans, Louisiana
The Windsor Court on Gravier Street sat within rock-throwing distance from the city's new downtown casino. The hotel was built in the 1980s, intended to be the finest in America. Fred Archer was probably the first person to encamp an FBI army in the 3,000-square-foot, four-thousand-dollar-a-night penthouse suite, but the staff could easily assume the group was the entourage and security for a reclusive movie or rock star.
While the FBI agents went about checking their equipment cases and making telephone calls on encryption units, Winter sat on a couch below a pastoral oil painting of a sleeping child nestled in the curve of the body of a furry dog, which was keeping vigil. The painting was a perfect metaphor for WITSEC. He wore a fresh T-shirt in contrast to his filthy jeans.
At two-thirty P.M. Special Agent Finch led Hank and Sean into the living room. Trammel seized Winter's hand and slapped him hard on the shoulder. “Hey, Hoss,” Hank said.
“Hank. It's good to see you.” A few hours earlier he had been sure that his life was over.
Sean smiled when Winter turned his eyes to her. “Like my hair? I did it with a sand wedge.”
“It looks fine, Sean,” he said, meaning it.
“Let's get this show on the road,” Archer's voice interrupted as he strode into the room. “Take him and go,” Archer ordered Hank. “We have a lot of work to do.”
“Let's get going. I'll buy you both lunch at Galatoire's.”
Archer folded his arms. “Sean Devlin, you're under arrest for the murders of two United States marshals and interstate flight to avoid prosecution.”
Winter bristled. “You know that's total bullshit, Archer. She didn't kill anybody.”
Archer turned to Trammel. “Get him out of my sight.”
“My Walther?” Winter asked Archer.
Archer nodded at Finch, who disappeared for a few seconds and returned with the antique Walther PP, which he handed to Winter.
“Now get him out,” Archer said.
“What the hell is your hurry?” Hank asked through clenched teeth. “You think giving these people a couple of minutes to talk will jeopardize your record as the world's biggest prick?”
Archer frowned, but seemed to decide that Hank's was not a wholly unreasonable request. “Two minutes.” He left the room with Finch following like a dog expecting a treat.
“I'll be at the door,” Hank said.
“Exactly what's the deal here?” Winter asked Sean when they were alone.
“They want me to do something for them in exchange for making something that happened in Richmond last night go away.”
“What do they think you can do for them?”
“Help them get Sam Manelli.”
“That's crazy. What makes them think you can do that?”
Sean looked down. “Because I know him.”
“How?”
“It's a long story-I didn't know Dylan knew him, much less worked for him. But Sam doesn't know that, and he won't believe it no matter what I say. He thinks I betrayed him, even though I didn't. I have to do this, because unless the FBI gets him, I'll never be safe.”
“So on Rook, those four were sent by Manelli to kill you. That's why they were still after you?”
“As far as Sam is concerned, I'm unfinished business. After those women tried to kill me in Richmond, I thought maybe I could explain to him that I didn't have anything to do with Dylan betraying him. I made a call to one of his people hoping to buy some time, and the FBI found out. I decided to find you so we could try to figure out a way to get this mess sorted out. You have to believe that I was going to come clean with you.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I'm sorry, Winter. All I've ever wanted is to live a normal life, and this is the only way that's ever going to happen.”
“Archer can't make you do anything that puts you in danger.”
“The FBI does what it wants.”
She was right. Winter had witnessed Archer's sleight of hand. He knew that Archer wasn't interested in the truth unless it fit where he needed it to.
“I know who the killers were and I think I can prove Greg wasn't involved. After I talk to Chief Marshal Shapiro, I believe he can put a stop to all this.”
“Time's up.” Finch was standing in the doorway.
Winter kept his eyes on Sean's. Finch turned his back.
“You watch yourself,” he told her. “I'll do everything I can as fast as possible.”
“Winter, can I hug you? For luck?”
He squeezed her to him and held her there, then kissed her on the forehead. “I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure nobody hurts you.”
She looked into his eyes. “No. You go home to your family. I'll call you when this is over. I'll be fine.”
Winter released her. “After this is over, nobody will have to order me to watch over you.”
She smiled and hugged him again, squeezing very hard. “I'd like that. Now, go.”
He walked out, leaving Sean in an expensively appointed den of wolves.
88
The Delacroix Hotel had been constructed in New Orleans's pre-World's Fair building frenzy in the 1980s with profits from the importation of cocaine. It had been seized by the DEA and, although it was managed by a private company, it remained property of the United States of America. As it was a seizure, every penny above direct operating costs was profit. The fact of government ownership was not publicized, but when upper echelon officials of the Department of Justice stayed there, it was at a reduced rate.
Winter and Hank talked en route to the hotel, located a few blocks away from the Windsor Court. As soon as they got into their room on the fourth floor, Hank unpacked the laptop Shapiro had sent. He reached into his bag and took out a FedEx envelope. “This is the package Reed sent you from Norfolk.”
“Great.” Winter read Fletcher Reed's note:
Massey,
If I spoke to you, I didn't want to mention over the telephone that this package containing my originals was coming to you because if I am right, some of the people mentioned on these
pages will do whatever it takes to stop it. They may not come after you immediately if they think they have all the copies I made of these. I sent one to your director and left another set in my office for them to find. I sent yours from another department so it might slip through. If they are smart enough to find this, then they're too smart to be stopped by us anyhow. I hope I'll be around to see you nail these animals. If not, we sure gave it the old college try. Enclosed are the original print cards I pocketed on Rook Island as well as the matching print cards from their military records and their first death certificates, all dated well before that night. The thing they all have in common is that in each case the corpse's identification had to be made using dental records or DNA. Also included are all of the suspicious deaths of Special Forces guys (back to 1980) who are likely candidates for membership in the black-bag club.
I have no idea how you can use this, but you seem the industrious type and I hope you'll figure something out.
I still owe you that drink.
Fletcher Reed
“Fifteen didn't tell me that a dart had anything to do with Reed's accident.”
“Sounds to me this Fifteen character didn't expect you to live long enough to check out the details.”
After reading the note, Winter flipped through the files, studying the faces of the young men. Some of them had become killers, while the others had suffered actual fatal accidents during or just after their Special Forces training. There were whites, blacks, Latinos, and Asians on the pages, but no women at all, because Special Forces were supposedly boys' clubs. But, according to what Sean had told Hank, there had been at least two women, certainly cutouts.
“Fifteen told me that Herman Hoffman developed the test to single the murderers out from the herd. I don't have any proof of it, but Hoffman and Manelli had a long-running relationship and I bet Hoffman sold Manelli intelligence, or maybe Manelli gave Hoffman wet work for a price. He told me that Hoffman was with the CIA until the Bay of Pigs. I heard while I was living here that Dominick Manelli was involved with other mobsters in plots to kill Castro, and the CIA trained some of the Cuban liberation soldiers on land owned by the Manellis. Maybe their relationship started with that.”
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