by Sydney Bauer
‘I was just doing my job, Counsellor,’ smiled Ramirez. ‘Perhaps you should be asking the hotel manager as to why he did not supply us with an unedited copy. Perhaps he is the one who should be up here answering such questions.’
‘Good idea, Assistant Director. Mr Capon?’ David called across the room loudly, prompting everyone to jump. He pivoted to face a dapper man in a cream linen suit with small round glasses perched on the end of his nose. The man had just risen from a seat in the far right hand corner of the room.
‘No, Mr Cavanaugh. I am certain I gave Assistant Director Ramirez a full, unedited copy of the original,’ said Capon. ‘I do not wish to offend the Assistant Director but I would never deign to alter what I knew might be important to those investigating the Vice President’s passing.’
‘Forgive me, Your Honour,’ said David, turning back to the Judge. ‘This is Mr Pieter Capon – General Manager of the Fairmont Copley Plaza Hotel. I took the liberty of asking Mr Capon to take the oath before entering the courtroom this morning so that anything he said could be entered into evidence. Thank you, Mr Capon.’
And then Capon nodded – the unease at the earlier suggestion of his possible impropriety still evident in the flush of pink on his cheeks – before taking his seat once again.
Early this morning they had decided their biggest hurdle in tackling Ramirez was the nature of Ramirez himself. The Assistant Director was an expert at deflecting accusations and had conducted each of his crimes meticulously leaving little if no physical evidence in his wake.
And so, they had come up with a strategy to attempt to rattle the ice cool FBI Agent by confronting him with a number of ‘sniper’ witnesses placed strategically around the room. It had been Frank McKay’s idea – a tactic based on the principles of jungle warfare – ‘surround and surprise’, so that the ‘target’ had no idea from where the next ‘bullet’ would be fired.
David had also stressed the need for speed. Dick Ryan had been more than frank about the President’s views on their plans to expose the full gamut of the Gospel Four’s intentions, and David knew they would have a counter-strategy to deal with his determination to push ahead regardless. Truth be told, they could be ‘shut down’ at any time. He had to lead Ramirez down a road where he believed there was no hope of turning back, and he had to do it now.
‘Two tapes and no explanation,’ David went on, ‘a mystery which must rub you the wrong way, Assistant Director, being the astute investigator that you are. So I’ll let you think on that one a while. In fact, let’s just let that sit while we move on shall we?’
David then moved back to the defence table where Sara handed him the prescription repeat Eleanor Caspian had presented into evidence yesterday afternoon. He then strode quickly back across the room and placed it in front of the witness next to the two tapes.
‘Mystery number two! The script repeat. You obviously had no knowledge of this repeat, Assistant Director.’
David saw Ramirez hesitate. This was a hard call on his part. If he admitted to knowing of the repeat he would have to explain to the court why he did not provide such information to Trial Attorney Adams earlier. If he denied any knowledge of its existence he would have to deal with what he knew would be Eleanor Caspian’s counter testimony. David’s guess was that he would choose the latter option blaming the discrepancy on the elderly Caspian widow – and luckily, he was right . . .
‘Obviously, if I knew of the repeat, Mr Cavanaugh, I would have informed the Trial Attorney,’ said Ramirez. ‘I do however feel deeply for Mrs Caspian who is obviously distressed by her husband’s death. Her memory lapses are completely understandable under the circumstances and I . . .’
But David had turned his back on the witness again, this time looking at a tall, well-dressed woman who had stood from her seat four rows behind the defence table.
‘Forgive me, Your Honour, but this is Kate Caspian Cole, Mrs Caspian’s daughter and America’s foremost UNICEF representative in Central Europe. Mrs Caspian Cole resides in Brussels and was with her mother when she received a call from Assistant Director Ramirez early last Wednesday morning requesting the two women meet with an FBI operative at Place Rogier in downtown Brussels, to hand over said OxyContin prescription repeat. Is that correct, Mrs Caspian Cole?’
‘Yes it is, Mr Cavanaugh.’
‘But you did not keep that appointment?’
‘No, on subsequent advice from Special Agent Leo King from the FBI Boston Field Office we decided it best to avoid the rendezvous and return to America for this hearing.’
David saw Ramirez flash an automatic glare at King, who simply gave the slightest of smiles in return.
‘And your mother has shown no signs of forgetfulness or delusion as far as you are aware, has she, Mrs Caspian Cole?’
‘No, Mr Cavanaugh. In fact my mother is one of the most lucid people I know.’
David turned quickly back to Ramirez, catching him steal yet another quick glance – this time at Trial Attorney Adams – no doubt wondering why he was not jumping to his feet to object. But Adams didn’t move an inch, and David guessed Ramirez now realised the possibility of Adams objecting to anything in the near future was somewhere in the vicinity of ‘highly unlikely’ and ‘not a fucking chance’.
‘Mr Cavanaugh,’ said Ramirez, his voice still cool despite the onslaught. ‘I am sure Mrs Caspian Cole is genuine in her intent, but I am afraid the elderly have been known to mislead their relatives on occasion – not intentionally, of course, but as I said before Eleanor Caspian has been under a lot of stress.
‘As for Special Agent King, I must say I am grateful for his efforts to have the Caspian ladies here today. But I am at a loss as to why he did not inform his superiors or this court about the repeat script earlier. Perhaps he sensed Mrs Caspian was a little . . . shall we say, vague, and wanted to make sure the script was legitimate before he proceeded to inform us. Yes, I am sure that must be it.’
God, he was a piece of work, thought David. Ramirez had an answer for everything. Well, if he wanted to weave his way through David’s ‘witness’ minefield, then let him give it a go.
‘That’s very generous of you, Assistant Director,’ said David. ‘I don’t know if my boss would be quite as accommodating,’ he said, gesturing at Arthur. ‘And I must also say that, considering your . . . ah . . . , current situation, I admire your obvious compassion for the older members of our community.’
‘We will all be elderly one day, Mr Cavanaugh. The aged and infirm deserve our respect, not our ridicule.’
‘Too true, Assistant Director – something you could teach our youth no doubt. In fact . . . ,’ said David, scratching his head as if the thought had just occurred to him.
David turned again, this time striding towards the back of the far left hand corner of the room to take the hand of a pretty teenage girl in the second to last row. A nervous Pippa Mahoney glanced at her grandfather beside her, who smiled in encouragement before she took David’s hand and walked with him to the front of the room. David glanced up at the Judge, expecting him to query the unusual nature of his actions, but in that moment Donovan caught his eye and his slightly opened mouth, perhaps on the brink of objecting to David’s theatrics, closed once again. The Judge was giving him some latitude – now all he had to do was use it.
‘Assistant Director Ramirez, this is Philippa Mahoney.’
And then David said nothing, just stood there allowing the witness to take in the neatly dressed young girl before him.
‘Judge,’ said Ramirez, turning to Donovan. ‘Forgive me, I am more than willing to be of assistance to the court, but I do not see how . . .’
‘I’m sorry, Assistant Director,’ David interrupted. ‘Her friends call her Pippa. Pippa Mahoney – one of your loyal employees.’
‘What?’ said Ramirez incredulous. ‘This young girl, although obviously well presented, is not, I can assure you, an employee of the FBI. The Bureau is all for encouraging career paths for the yo
ung of this country, Mr Cavanaugh, but I believe Miss ah . . . Pippa, may be a few years away from . . .’
‘Oh,’ said David shaking his head. ‘My fault again, Assistant Director. Allow me to clarify. Pippa is not employed by the FBI, but by GIV, the Philadelphia-based health and vitamin company – the same company which fronts for the elite narcotics trafficking business known as Gospel Four, of which you are one of four – I suppose you would say – directors.’
The room erupted in astonishment – the level of noise now hitting a new crescendo. Judge Donovan slammed his gavel down hard, calling for order. The press looked at one another as if the colleague next to them could confirm what they had just heard. They were obviously now salivating over what they suspected was just the ‘tip of a brand new iceberg’.
Ramirez’s normally olive complexion blanched a deep shade of red as his breath caught in his throat – and, for the first time this morning he gave a quick, almost imperceptible glance towards – her. David moved forward then, trying desperately to get a look at John’s face, to see if there was any trace of anxiety, panic . . . fear?
But she remained facing forward – stoic, steadfast, her eyes reflecting the light of the glowing domed pendulum above her, her white blonde hair brilliant as it flowed effortlessly over her shoulders.
And then it was as if she sensed him – looking at her, trying to read her mind. For she glanced left, ever so slightly, until her almost colourless eyes locked on David – the man she obviously knew was determined to bring her down. And in that instant, her perfect face, clear and unworried, offered him the only expression he did not expect to see – the slightest trace of a smile.
‘Enough!’ yelled Donovan. ‘Mr Cavanaugh, you are treading some very serious ground here. I hope you have evidence to back up what you are suggesting – and perhaps more importantly some decent explanation as to how this new information is relevant to the case at hand. At this point Assistant Director Ramirez has not been accused of any crime and, unless you have some very solid evidence in support of your claims, I am afraid you will find yourself prosecuted for the slander of a highly respected law enforcement official.’
‘Forgive me, Your Honour,’ said David. ‘I understand the seriousness of these accusations but I promise, if allowed to proceed, my course of enquiry will soon make itself clear.’
‘Mr Adams?’ Donovan turned to the Trial Attorney who sat unusually still in his seat.
‘As you said, Your Honour,’ said Adams, rising from his chair. ‘It is Mr Cavanaugh’s legal prerogative to produce evidence in this pre-trial hearing.’ And then he paused, before taking his seat again, no doubt leaving a by now obviously even more confused Donovan wondering why the prosecution had suddenly decided to play ‘best friends’ with the defence.
‘You’re on thin ice, Mr Cavanaugh,’ said the Judge, turning back to David. ‘I suggest you make your point and hurry up about it.’
David then moved to his desk again, this time accepting what looked to be two sheets of type-covered paper from Arthur. Once again he progressed towards the witness, quickly turning the sheets around and placing them in front of him, next to the tapes and the repeat script.
‘Okay, Assistant Director, given you don’t recognise your employees, I’m going to see if a savvy man such as yourself can recognise his clients.’
Ramirez leant over the list – obviously now realising what Cavanaugh had acquired. His brow was starting to shine with a slick film of sweat, as he shifted in his seat.
‘Go ahead, Assistant Director,’ said David. ‘They won’t bite. Pick them up, take a long look. I know there are a lot of names to read – 210 to be exact. Although given your high standing in Washington, I am sure you will recognise the great majority of them.’
Ramirez said nothing, just sat up and leaned back, as if trying to distance himself from the all-telling register before him.
‘Not ringing any bells, Assistant Director?’ David went on. ‘Need some assistance? Well I am nothing if not accommodating. The people on this list are all respected members of Congress and/or relatives of said members – Senators and Congress men and women from all over the country.’ David snatched the list from in front of the witness and handed it up to the Judge. ‘But if you are unsure as to how to clarify this particular group – or more specifically why this group became GIV’s “clients” – I believe there is someone who can help you out in that regard as well.’
At that point David turned to look at Sara, who, during the recent melee, had left her seat to move to the back of the room. She opened the rear doors to allow the entry of a conservatively dressed man standing side by side with a pale, young teenager who could only be his son. The pair followed Sara towards the front of the courtroom, stopping short at the end of the aisle as David turned to Donovan.
‘Your Honour, this is Congressman James Bishop and his son James Junior – better known as Jimmy. As you will note, the Congressman’s son is on the list you now hold in your hands. Once again, both witnesses have taken the oath prior to this morning’s proceedings and, if the court permits, Congressman Bishop would like to read from a statement he submitted to the CIA in front of his attorney, one Tony Bishop, last Thursday evening.’
‘Go ahead, Congressman,’ said Donovan.
‘Thank you, Your Honour,’ said Bishop who then took a deep breath before beginning.
‘My name is Congressman James Bishop, and this is my son Jimmy.’ Bishop’s voice was strong, echoing above the astonished crowd who held their breath again as they prepared themselves for another show-stopping revelation.
‘Last Thursday morning, I received a call from FBI Assistant Director in Charge Antonio Ramirez who told me my son had been implicated in a new Federal investigation regarding a blue chip drug cartel. The Assistant Director insinuated that, due to my position in Congress, it would be best if we met in private to discuss the implications of said discovery.’ James Bishop paused before going on, his right hand reaching for his son’s beside him.
‘Following recent conversations with representatives of the CIA, it has come to my attention that my son, a drug user, was specifically targeted by this group so that they might take advantage of my position in Congress and the power that accompanies it. I believe my son is one of many young people who have fallen victim to this cartel known as Gospel Four – not just because they are addicts, but because they are related to other men and women who hold positions of influence such as my own.’
‘Your Honour,’ Ramirez’s voice echoed around the room in a bellow of deep-seated protest. ‘This is preposterous. How dare defence counsel use this forum to . . .’
‘Shut up, Agent Ramirez,’ said Donovan.
The room fell into silence as if the order was also meant for them.
‘That is Assistant Director in Charge Ramirez, Judge,’ countered Ramirez.
‘In charge of what though?’ snapped Donovan, turning sharply towards the witness. ‘I am beginning to wonder.’
Donovan stared at Ramirez a moment longer before turning back to the Congressman before him. ‘I apologise for the interruption, Congressman,’ he said. ‘Please, go on.’
And then Bishop abandoned his script to look at Judge Donovan.
‘Your Honour, I have learned many things in the past few days, things that have disturbed . . . no, horrified me on both a personal and professional level. I have tried to make sense of it – the scope of it all, and perhaps most distressingly the fact that my son, my child, has unwittingly become involved with a group of four criminals who quite specifically set out to poison our youth in an effort to blackmail their powerful relatives.
‘I have only one request to make. That these people be stopped before they can do further damage – not just to people like Jimmy and the families who love them, but to the people of greater America who sit in their homes and go to their offices and attend their schools and colleges, completely unaware as to what is occurring under the guise of that hallowed system of g
overnment we refer to as democracy. It is a travesty of the highest order, Your Honour. And as a member of Congress – as a father – I beg to put an end to this now, before their ugly interpretation of government ruins further lives and slaughters the very soul of everything we hold dear.’
Nothing. Complete silence as the courtroom seemed to breathe as one – absorbing the information before them, allowing the uncomfortable shock to settle like icicles melting down their backs.
‘Your Honour,’ said David at last, realising it was now time to reveal the full horror of Gospel Four’s far-reaching initiatives. ‘We have evidence to show FBI Assistant Director Antonio Ramirez, Gospel Four code name Matthew, is one of four highly placed Washington individuals involved in this covert narcotics cartel known as Gospel Four. His fellow members Luke, Former DEA Agent Robert Doyle, and Mark, former Customs and Border Protection’s Assistant Director of Intelligence, Travis Toovey, worked with the Assistant Director to negotiate the purchase of high quality narcotics from notorious drug felons in Panama and import them across the border into Texas before flying them to Philadelphia.
‘From there the drugs were distributed via a “legitimate” dietary supplement company known as GIV, to a group of high profile politicians and their drug-addicted relatives. Their aims beyond that were to contact said politicians and threaten to expose . . .’
‘Wait,’ said Donovan. ‘Believe me I am anxious to hear everything you have to say, Mr Cavanaugh, but I need you to take this one step at a time. You speak of these men Doyle and Toovey as former government employees. Where are these alleged criminals, now Counsellor?’
Donovan was cut short by movement at the far left hand side of the room. A rather dishevelled looking man was squeezing his way past the crowd as if determined to make his way to the front. His large frame made the journey difficult – especially since he was carrying what appeared to be several large sheets of cardboard in an oversized plastic satchel.