by Sydney Bauer
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I’ve never been more serious in my life. Don’t you see? This has been a political set-up from the very beginning. It is no coincidence Ramirez has given Cavanaugh and his friends until Monday to change their plea. John will see to it that the real Vice Presidential recommendation will be announced to sync in with the hearing – what better way to announce a prospective new VP than to claim triumph over the killer who took the life of their much beloved predecessor?’
Ryan looked at her then, and saw she was coming around.
‘You’re right,’ she said at last. ‘They’ll be there, parading in front of the cameras. And the frightening thing is, the people will embrace them like they have never embraced anyone before.’
Ryan said nothing – but he could see the disappointment in her eyes and registered just how hard this must be for her.
‘Look,’ he said, feeling the need to offer her some form of apology. ‘I am sorry for assuming it was you who . . .’
‘It’s all right, Richard,’ she said shaking her head, the burden of what she had learned over the past twenty-four hours written clearly on her now forlorn features. ‘Considering I told you I was going to be the next Vice President, I can see how you made the leap. But I must tell you, I need you to know, that I have done many things in the name of ambition, many things I am not proud of – but I could never take another life in order to reach my own selfish objectives.
‘Believe it or not, Richard,’ she went on, her normally cool eyes now filling with tears, ‘I respect the principles of democracy – even feel humbled to be of service to them. So the thought that I could . . . that I would sink to such depths.’
Ryan nodded, realising there was nothing else he could say to comfort her now. ‘Don’t worry, Cavanaugh and his friends can pull this off,’ he said.
‘You think so?’ she said, wiping her tears.
‘I hope so – and besides, there is no other option. We’ve run out of time.’
‘They’ll need our help. It is unfair to ask them to do this without . . .’
‘I’ll be with them every step of the way,’ said Ryan, ‘steering them in the right direction, monitoring their progress. And if . . . when, they work it out, we’ll call them in, tell them how this has to be played.’
‘I’m not sure they are going to like that.’
‘They won’t have any choice.’
Just then, Ryan was interrupted by the ring of his private cell and one look at the incoming number sent a chill of anticipation up his spine.
‘Mr President,’ he said.
The companion made no attempt to hide her astonishment; the short, sharp intake of breath was accompanied by a tiny high pitched squeal.
President Latham, she thought. He was in on this too.
The past day had seen her try to come to terms with more surprises than she had encountered in her entire career – which was certainly saying something considering she thought she had become immune to the shocks of her chosen profession. For years she had taken pride in her ability to dodge the bullets, deflect the damage and even weather the occasional jolts of a ‘direct hit’ from a savvy opponent. But today was something else – today the knife cut deep, and while she had faith in her professional ability to endure this national cataclysm, she was not so sure about her personal survival, and if she would ever recover from . . .
The companion released her breath and tried to maintain some essence of composure. She sat straight, stock-still, despite the cramp in her left leg which had been squashed against the side panel of the less than accommodating van for the past half hour. She studied Ryan – her enemy turned ally – steeling herself, listening for some word, looking for some indication of what this latest revelation might mean, for him, for her, and for the world as they knew it.
But if she thought herself impregnable to further surprise, she was in effect, fooled again. For Ryan’s next reaction was completely unexpected. The CIA Director hung up the phone without saying another word – and then he began to cry.
55
David felt like he was drifting, slowly at first as if he was oblivious to the direction he was floating and did not have the energy to care. He felt thick, sluggish, the pain a distant throb, his limbs heavy and lifeless, the need for sleep overwhelming. But then there was something else, some persistent obligation which seemed determined to pull him from the abyss and call him back into action. And then the obligation had a voice and then, as he dragged his eyelids open, it had a face and for a brief second he thought he might have died and gone to heaven.
‘David,’ she said. ‘Can you hear me? David, it’s me, Sara, and Joe’s here too.’
‘Hey buddy,’ said Joe.
‘Sara,’ said David, reaching for her hand.
‘It’s okay. You’re okay. Lisa re-stitched your wound. She gave you a strong painkiller and a sedative.’
‘How did I . . . ?’
‘I called Joe the minute you left the apartment. Then I ran out into the street looking for you. I couldn’t find you anywhere, but then you found me – and Joe, who helped me get you upstairs. Your wound is deep. Lisa wanted to have you admitted but you wouldn’t let her, so she stitched you up right here. Do you remember any of this, David?’
‘Yes. Some.’ David looked around his bedroom, as if sensing someone else should be there.
‘Joe drove Karin back to the Regency Park,’ said Sara, reading his mind.
‘The press won’t bother her there,’ said Mannix. ‘There’s no way they’d figure her returning to the place where they kept her a virtual prisoner. I spoke to the manager, they have good security, and I put some extra uniforms on the detail.’
‘Thanks, Joe,’ said David, looking at Sara to check his concern was okay. Sara gave him a half smile, but he noted the furrow in her brow. Life was short, that much he knew for sure, and right now, more than anything else, he needed to make things right with her – once and for all.
‘Sara, I am so sorry. For beating you up over that call to Simba, for not telling you about Karin, for going to meet Ramirez when you begged me not to, for dragging you into this whole God-damned mess without once even asking you if . . .’
‘David,’ she said, shaking her head as she looked into his eyes. ‘You’re right, you had no right to do any of those things. You are a stubborn ass who thinks he can play Good Samaritan to everyone he meets. But it doesn’t work that way, David. You try to protect the masses and you end up forgetting about the ones that matter most.’ She took a breath then, obviously reading the regret on his face. And then she reached out and covered his hand in hers, her tensed features replaced by a consolatory smile of understanding.
‘Karin told me what happened. I know she was scared and I know you were only trying to help. You should have told me, David, and if you ever do anything like that again I will kick your ass to hell and back – but, I guess, with everything else going on, I can understand why you didn’t.’
He nodded then, raising her hands to his lips, the two of them relieved by what had been said, before returning to the nightmare that lay ahead.
‘I’m sorry, David,’ said Joe, who had retreated to the corner of the room in an effort to give them some privacy. ‘But we don’t have much time. We need to know what Ramirez told you, and we need to know it now.’
‘He’s in pain, Joe,’ said Sara. ‘Maybe he should rest a little before we . . .’
But David was already sitting up in his bed, the ache in his head shifting slowly down through his body, the details of last night’s bloody confrontation flooding back in waves of urgency.
‘What time is it?’ he asked, the adrenalin now pumping through his veins, bringing life to his limbs, shocking his brain into focus.
‘Just after ten, Thursday morning,’ said Sara.
‘Shit. I have to get up. There’s too much to do.’
‘David, you . . .’
‘Sara,’ he said, turning towards her. �
��Joe is more right than he thinks, the clock is ticking even as we speak. Four days – or three and a half. That’s all we have left.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Joe.
And then he told them about Ramirez and his threats and his fraudulent plea bargain proposal. About his fears of what the expiration of his four day deadline would bring – legally, criminally, physically.
‘We have less than four days to bring them down, so we need to pull together, all of us. That’s the three of us, and Simba, Arthur, Nora, McKay, Leigh and Sam Croker in LA and Dick Ryan of course. We have to make this thing happen now, otherwise we let them down.’
‘Montgomery will help us too,’ said Sara. ‘He is narrowing my list of undetectable sedatives. We’ll have Gus on the case by this afternoon, re-testing the bloods, finding something, anything. Montgomery and Karin know how much you are doing for them. No matter what, David, you won’t let them down.’
‘It’s not just them,’ he said. ‘It’s so much bigger than them, than us, even bigger than the memory of Tom Bradshaw. We have to do this otherwise we are answerable to an entire nation. We screw up and the next President of the USA could well be Maxine Bryant – a multiple murderess riding a wave of misplaced sympathy and hiding behind the guise of democracy.’
Sara turned to Joe and David saw the fresh look of realisation on her face. There was something they had not told him. Something he had missed.
‘David there’s something else. We haven’t had a chance to . . .’ she began. ‘Last night, after I watched the tape at Myrtle’s, I went to the Fairmont, on a hunch, something I saw on the tape.’
‘What Sara? What did you see?’
‘The edge of a shoe heel, the corner of a skirt, a uniform. It was the turndown housemaid, Maeve Barlow, or at least a fraction of her. She was directly behind Ramirez, coming out of an adjoining room when he came out of Bradshaw’s suite and face to face with Maxine Bryant in the hotel corridor.’
‘And . . .’
‘And Maeve overheard their conversation. Bryant wanted to see Bradshaw but Ramirez did everything in his power to stop her – told her he was resting, said he asked not to be disturbed under any circumstances, practically formed a human force field against Bradshaw’s door. Maeve said he was pretty forceful about it, almost intimidating.’
‘He was afraid what she would find,’ said Mannix. ‘And if Bryant entered she would have ruined their plan. She had no idea what was going down.’
‘What? I don’t believe this? I mean . . . if she didn’t . . . if she isn’t . . . ?’
‘It’s not her, David,’ said Sara. ‘Bryant isn’t John. We have the wrong person. I’m sure of it.’
56
‘What the hell are you doing, McKay?’ said Susan Leigh, dressed down in faded jeans and an old Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt, her normally tightly bound hair now loose about her still intense but surprisingly pretty face.
‘I’m inhaling,’ said Frank McKay, his eyes closed against the sunlight, his expression focused. ‘It’s the jacarandas, their woody balsamic scent. It reminds me of golden sunlight drifting into a dusty library on a balmy summer afternoon. Smells can be inspirational, Susan. Smells solve crimes, set a scene, clear your head. You ought to try it some time, your nervous energy could use a little redirection. Meditation is a load of crap, but stopping to smell the . . . well, in this case the jacarandas, it can be damned enlightening.’
‘Jesus,’ said Leigh, tapping her fingers on the side arm of her chair. ‘That’s just what we need. When the others arrive we can all just sit around smelling the local vegetation – but my guess is, all we will come up with is jack shit.’
‘Not in this yard,’ said Joe, emerging from his back verandah with two 7 Ups. ‘Marie banned the idea of us getting a dog after the fourth kid came along. No shit in this yard, Susan, I’m the local gardener and I can guarantee it.’
‘I’m sorry, Chief, I didn’t mean to . . .’
‘It’s okay, Susan,’ said Mannix, handing them both a drink. ‘No apology necessary.’
They had decided on Joe’s place largely because it was big and quiet and hopefully a long way from the likelihood of Ramirez’s prying eyes and ears at their various offices and regular meeting places. Joe had organised for Marie to take the boys to her brother’s place in Providence for a long weekend – and she knew better than to object, simply fussing over the lack of refreshments in the refrigerator and the late notice at catering for what she figured would be an all weekend ‘get together’.
‘I’m sorry, Marie,’ Joe had said only an hour before when he walked in the door announcing he and his friends were about to take over their house with some impromptu, and from what Marie could garner, rather urgent gathering.
‘Since when have I asked you to apologise for setting things right,’ she had smiled, the laugh lines around her pretty blue eyes then relaxing to reappear across her brow. ‘Just promise you will . . . It’s going to be okay isn’t it, Joe? I mean you are going to be okay? And David, and Sara.’
‘Sure,’ Mannix had replied, taking her in his arms. ‘I got five mouths to feed remember – and five Italian ones at that.’
Marie had hugged him a little tighter before releasing him to point at the refrigerator. ‘There are some sausages and steaks in the freezer, but you’ll have to furrow for a decent salad and we’re down to our last loaf of bread. There’s a couple of cases of Coors in the garage and a box of Coke and Dr Pepper and other assorted rainbow coloured sugar hits, and if all else fails,’ she had said, gesturing at the kitchen faucet, ‘you can serve water a là tap.’
‘H2O it is,’ Joe had replied. ‘And thanks, Marie.’
‘You can thank me next weekend when I tell you I’m going out for a night with the girls,’ she had said, and he knew she was giving him something in the future to hold on to, something beyond the mess that he had to deal with right now.
‘You got it,’ he had smiled. ‘That’s a promise.’
Half an hour later they were joined by Sara, Arthur and Nora. Sara had gone straight from David’s apartment to the office where she had collected all of their case notes including her recent work with Montgomery on undetectable sedatives. David was still with Tony Bishop. He had called him from home, requesting a quick lunch at Myrtles – where Mick had assured him some privacy in the kitchen away from the lunch crowd but still with the comfort of the curtain of chaotic noise which emanated like a blanket from the café beyond.
‘What’s Special Agent King’s ETA?’ asked Sara.
‘He won’t get here before seven,’ answered Mannix who had corralled the now six strong group into the large living area which he had cleared of the usual clutter of toys and sporting gear. ‘Simba’s in a tenuous situation, he can’t just play hooky from work. Not with Ramirez breathing down his neck. He’ll work out the day and then drive to Logan. He has arranged to meet the Caspians and take them via a secure route back to his car and on to the Regency Park, where I figured the extra security I put on Karin’s current place of residence would come in handy.’
‘What about our other witnesses?’ asked Arthur.
‘Pieter Capon and Maeve Barlow will both be at work tomorrow, so we can take their statements then. Pippa and Albert Mahoney are driving up from Philly tomorrow morning and should be here by late afternoon.’
‘And Croker?’ asked Leigh.
‘He’s on the first flight out of LA tomorrow – and he’s bringing his friend with him.’
They all looked at Joe, realising how serious this was getting. Nancy Doyle, the supposedly deceased wife of ex-Gospel member Luke, was on her way to Boston – and bringing all of her secrets with her.
‘As for Ryan,’ Joe went on, ‘I spoke to him this morning just after David told us about the four day deadline. He said he was going to be incommunicado for most of the day but told us to go ahead and set up a meeting with Tony Bishop. He promised he would check in before noon.’
Sara looked at h
er watch, it was now half past one.
‘He’s late,’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Joe. ‘About an hour ago I called his PA in Washington who said he was out of the building. I also called his private cell number, sent him a text and paged his beeper but so far nothing. All we can do now is hope he’s checking his messages and pray he contacts us soon.’
Just then an exhausted looking David entered the room, his tie loosened around his neck, his shirt wet with perspiration.
‘David,’ said Sara, signalling him to come sit by her. ‘So how did it go?’
‘Pretty much like I expected,’ said David falling into a well-worn couch at the end of the room. ‘At first Tony wanted to punch my lights out for even suggesting his older brother was a dope addict. But then I told him just enough to show him how much shit James was in – and that we could be the only ones who could help him.’
‘So, did Tony agree to . . . ?’ Sara began.
‘He agreed to be with Ryan when he approached James – and if possible convince him to work with the CIA in uncovering the identity of his drug suppliers. But you have to remember, Tony is a lawyer, and a good one at that. Any deal James cuts with the government will have to be on his terms. I told him not to call his brother until he was contacted by Ryan, and that Ryan would facilitate the approach, but as soon as I finished talking Tony jumped out of his seat like his life depended on it, and reading between the lines, my guess is he will be on the next available flight to DC.’
‘Can’t blame him really,’ said Sara.
‘David’s right,’ said Arthur. ‘We have to assume James will get the tipoff ahead of the formal approach which means a lot rests on Tony’s ability to talk James into cooperating. We need to talk to Ryan now – the timing on this is . . .’
As if on cue Mannix’s cell rang and the Homicide Chief scooped it up within seconds. But a shake of Joe’s head told them it wasn’t Ryan but Simba – who said he had some more information and would be dropping by on his way to the airport to fill them in personally.