The Legacy
Page 32
“Yeah.” Nelson was gazing out of his office onto the trading floor. “You had a nice run there in December as interest rates kept going down. You ended the year making thirty million dollars for the firm.” He pointed at Cole. “But don’t get cocky,” he warned.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Cole assured Nelson as he stood up to go. “I’m resigning.”
“What?”
“I’m going to take some time off and enjoy myself for a while.”
Nelson was incensed. “You can’t quit. Eight hundred thousand might sound like a lot of money, Cole, but it isn’t. Your standard of living will just increase to meet your income. It always happens that way. I’ve seen it a million times around here. You’ll burn through that check in no time. I promise you.”
Cole nodded. “You’re probably right.” In fact, the small ranch outside of Livingston, Montana, was going to cost close to three million dollars. But the second half of the NBC money had arrived in his account this morning. After tax, he was worth almost nine million dollars now.
“Don’t come back here looking for a job, Cole,” Nelson blurted out. “I’m warning you. If you walk out of here, that’s it.”
Cole smiled as he reached the office door. No one at Gilchrist had any idea that he was the one who had recovered the tape a nation would be glued to their television sets watching in a few hours. And after the program concluded, they still wouldn’t. NBC had agreed not to reveal how they had located the Dealey Tape. Cole opened the office door to leave.
“I’m not kidding!” Nelson screamed.
Cole picked up the autographed baseball from on top of the file cabinet beside the office door. “Here, Barry.” He tossed it to Nelson. “Knock yourself out.”
Nelson grabbed the baseball out of the air and heaved it against a picture of the 1941 Yankees he had put up on the wall to replace the one of the 1927 team.
Cole was still chuckling as he reached his chair on the government desk. He picked up a small bag filled with personal items, then leaned over the bulkhead. The two traders on the other side were staring blankly at their computer screens. “You guys still haven’t heard from Gebauer, huh?” he asked.
One of the traders glanced up, pushed out his lower lip and shook his head. “Not since right after you started your vacation back at the end of November. His wife hasn’t heard from him, either.”
Cole knew what that meant. Lewis Gebauer was dead. He waved. “See you guys later.”
“What are you doing tonight, Cole?” one of the traders yelled after him.
“I’m gonna watch that Kennedy assassination special,” he called over his shoulder. “It sounds interesting.”
“It does at that,” the trader murmured. He would be tuned in, too.
The entire nation would.
* * *
—
Cole, Nicki and Jim Egan sat before the wide-screen television in the living room of the Plaza Hotel suite Cole had rented for the evening. It was ten thirty-five and the interviews were finally over. The Dealey Tape was about to roll for the first time on national television.
Jim sat in a chair while Cole and Nicki sat close to each other on the couch, their hands locked together.
Even though he had watched the tape of the assassination many times, Cole’s heart was beating rapidly. Not out of anticipation, out of fear. They had come so far, but there was always the chance that somehow the DIA or the Mafia would get to the tape. But then it was there on the screen in front of them for the world to see. The now familiar sight of the rifle over the fence, and President Kennedy’s head snapping back.
Nicki gasped at the sight.
Then the limousine was moving away and it was over. NBC had agreed to cut it after that. Jim Egan’s face would never be part of the tape again.
After the tape had finished the first time, Jim rose and moved to the bar on the other side of the room. Cole followed his father while Nicki remained on the couch, her eyes glued to the television screen. NBC would show the tape again several times, and she wanted to see it as many times as possible. For Cole and his father, it was enough to simply know it had made it to the airways.
“Cheers, Dad.” Cole touched his glass to his father’s. Cole had spent almost every day with his father over the last six weeks, making up for a lifetime of absence, and he had enjoyed every moment. Now his father didn’t have much time left. “You did it.”
“We did it,” Jim asserted, his voice weak.
They sipped scotch in silence for several minutes.
Cole finally spoke. “All of what we’ve been through and what we know really points the finger squarely at the Mafia as the ones who killed Kennedy. Don’t you think, Dad?” he asked quietly, so Nicki wouldn’t hear.
Jim took another long swallow from the glass. “You’ll never know who really killed John Kennedy, Cole. Be very careful of who you accuse.”
“Okay.” Cole heard the warning. “Hey, there’s something I want to ask you.”
“What’s that?”
“How did William Seward know to put me under surveillance? How did he know I would be the one to get the tape?”
“Pretty logical, don’t you think?”
“I suppose, but—”
“And he didn’t put just you under surveillance,” Jim interrupted. “He had several people followed, including Bennett Smith.”
“How did Seward know when it would happen? Or have I been under surveillance all my life?”
Jim shook his head. “No. In the DIA we had to have complete physicals every six months. I’m sure he started tailing people as soon as he found out I had cancer.”
Cole glanced back at the television set. The tape was playing for the fourth time and Nicki was still awestruck by the images.
“Cole?”
“Yes, Dad.” Cole had been watching the television again. NBC was highlighting the rifle coming over the fence, and an expert was analyzing what make of rifle it was and who would have been likely to use that type of gun.
“I want to apologize,” Jim said firmly.
“For what?”
“First, for never being around.”
“It’s all right. We both know—”
“Second,” his father interrupted, “for your mother’s death. I should have been there to protect Andrea, but I was away so much. It’s been very hard for me all these years to think of her being attacked. I could have prevented that if I’d been around.”
Cole glanced down at the floor. “Did you actually see her body when you got back?”
“No.” His eyes narrowed as he sensed something in Cole’s voice.
“Was anyone ever arrested for the crime?”
“No,” Jim said. “If I had ever found out who they were…” His voice trailed off.
Cole took a sip of his drink, wondering whether to tell his father what he suspected. “Dad, I don’t know if this will make you feel better or worse.”
“What?”
“Was Mom ever sick?”
Jim hesitated. “Come to think of it, yes. A couple of times while I was away. It seemed to get worse over time. It was pretty bad right before she was attacked.”
“I don’t think Mom was attacked, Dad,” Cole said quietly. “I think the long-haired hippie story was made up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think Mom was poisoned. There was a massive amount of arsenic in her body when she died.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“I visited the Thomases before I went to Wisconsin, and I saw Mom’s brush in her old room. It was among the things you had sent them after she died. I called Anita, my receptionist at Gilchrist, from Montana and had her take the brush to a lab. The lab analyzed the—”
“—the hair in the brush,” Jim Egan finished the sentence
. Ice clinked against the side of his glass as his fingers began to tremble.
“Yes. They must have put it in her food or something so they could search the house.”
“For what I had taken from her in Dealey Plaza.” Cole’s father shut his eyes.
“Yes. I’m going to present that lab analysis to someone in Washington.”
“No, you aren’t,” Jim said quickly.
“But, Dad—”
“Cole, leave it alone. No good can come of you opening those wounds.”
Cole hesitated several moments, then nodded. “Okay.”
Jim pointed at the television. “Let’s go back and sit down.”
But Cole caught his father by the arm. “Just one more thing, Dad.”
“What, son?”
“Why did you do it?”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Why did you pass the tape on to me the way you did? Why didn’t you just sell it yourself? And why did you go to so much trouble to fake your own death?” The dimple appeared in Cole’s cheek. “You put me in a couple of tight spots.”
“Yes, I suppose I did, but I knew you could handle it.” He chuckled as he took a sip from his glass. “I knew I had to make that tape available at some point. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t. I also knew that the odds of me getting to either copy were very small after the DIA knew I was sick. They were watching me closely. Even if I had managed to get to one of them and sell it, I would have been killed very soon afterward.” He swallowed hard, then nodded at the television. “I never would have been able to enjoy this moment with my son.”
They both looked down at the floor, neither one certain of what to say.
Finally, Jim broke the silence. “Besides, if I’d been the one to sell it, the Internal Revenue Service would have taken most of your inheritance.”
Cole looked up. “Huh?”
“You sold the tape for fifteen million dollars, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you probably have eight or nine million left over?”
“Yes.”
“If I had sold it, the IRS would have taken their chunk of income taxes and a huge inheritance tax when I died, and you’d only have about four million left. This way you avoided the inheritance tax and saved five million dollars. I think five million is worth a few tight spots.”
“Maybe.”
His father smiled. “I can’t believe you didn’t think of that. I thought you were supposed to be the financial genius in the family.”
Cole shook his head, and they both laughed.
“Well, I’m going to bed,” Jim finally said. “I’m tired.” Cole had rented his father a separate room in the hotel. “Good night, Nicki,” he called.
Nicki rose from the sofa and met Jim and Cole at the door of the suite. “Good night, Mr. Egan.” She kissed Jim gently on the cheek.
He smiled at her, then turned to Cole. “See you in the morning, son.”
“Right.”
They shook and he was gone.
As Cole closed the door, Nicki slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.
“That was nice,” he murmured when their lips had parted.
“Well, there’s more where—”
“So nice,” Cole interrupted, “that I’ve decided I want it permanently.”
Nicki’s eyes widened and she took a step back. “Do you mean?”
Cole lifted a small jewelry box from his suit pocket, opened it, and smiled broadly. “I sure do.” He glanced down at the diamond shimmering atop the gold band. “Will you marry me?”
Once again Nicki put her arms around Cole and kissed him. “Just tell me where and when.”
For Stephen Fertig, Eugenia Stalfort and Joan McDonald.
Never forgotten
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Lil, Christy and Ashley.
Cynthia Manson, Stephen and Julie Watson, Michael Pocalyko, Dr. Teo Dagi, Walter Frey III, Chris and Christine Tesoriero, Barbara Fertig, Lori Lipsky, Kimberly Perdue, Barbara Hall, Judy Hansen, Gordon Eadon, Lee Thompson, Jeff Faville, Arthur Manson, Kevin and Nancy Erdman, Jim and Anmarie Galowski, Brooke McDonald, Betty Saif, Jim McPartlan, Gerry Barton, Pat and Terry Lynch, Mike Lynch, Dr. Tom Lynch, Nita Mathur and Dileep Bhattacharya, Bob Geist, Mark Randles, Robert Wieczorek, Jr., John Paul Garber, Rachel Simon, Jim O’Connor, Brian LaLonde and David Tashjian.
Jerry Bauer
STEPHEN FREY is a former vice president of corporate finance at a major midtown Manhattan bank. His first novel, The Takeover, was a national bestseller in hardcover and paperback. He lives in Princeton, New Jersey.
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