“And I’ll help you with the curve and your schoolwork so Carl will be proud of you, okay?”
Ryan nodded.
“You know it’s a little late for me to shop for dinner. How about going to the Spaghetti Factory? You’ll need those carbs for tomorrow’s game. Coach is letting you pitch, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“Gonna try the curve?”
“I don’t know if I have it right, yet,” Ryan answered. Ami heard the worry in his voice. She smiled and gave him a hug.
“You’ll never know if you don’t try, right?”
“I guess.”
“Then let’s go eat and you can practice with me before you go to bed.”
One agent had stayed behind to lock up. He let them out of the judge’s chambers and turned off the lights at the same moment an unmarked car with tinted windows drove out of the parking garage with Carl Rice in the backseat. The car headed for the airport where an FBI jet was waiting to take Carl to an undisclosed destination.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
It took Sam Cutler a week, and the small fortune he had paid to Robert Bloom-an FBI agent with a cocaine habit-to discover where Victor Hobson had stashed his star witness. After viewing aerial surveillance photographs of the Nebraska farm, Cutler told Wingate that he did not like the setup one bit. Wingate had answered that the FBI used this remote spot for a safe house because it was difficult to attack. The farm was miles from the interstate, so anyone driving to it would stand out like the Rockies in the flat landscape. A locked gate separated the dirt road that led to the farmhouse from a paved state road. On either side of the gate were miles of barbed wire. The dirt road ran like an arrow through fields of corn that could provide cover for the attack force, but the fields ended a distance from the farmhouse where Carl was living with an FBI security detail, and there was open land between the house and the cornfields that provided no cover.
Wingate and Cutler had discussed their options and decided that they had none. They didn’t know how long Rice would be kept at the farm. If Hobson moved him, they’d have to start all over again. So Sam Cutler had assembled the team of six men he’d used to grab Vanessa and had driven to Omaha, eschewing air transport because of video surveillance and paper trails that could eventually lead back to the General.
There was no moon on the evening of the assault. Cutler parked half a mile from the entrance to the farm. One of his men cut a hole in the barbed wire and the team moved into the shelter of the cornfield, where the tall stalks blocked the cold wind that had cut through the men as soon as they left the shelter of their car. Using a Global Positioning System, Cutler maneuvered through the rows of corn, stopping just before the open ground. He scanned the farmhouse through night-vision binoculars. A guard was smoking a cigarette on the porch. Another guard was patrolling the perimeter. Cutler was disgusted by the sloppiness of the security detail. Two of his men were deadly accurate with a sniper rifle and would be able to pick off the guards without making a sound before the attack force ever left the cover of the cornfield.
How many guards would that leave inside? The overflight that had given the team the aerial surveillance photos had registered heat signatures for six human beings: Carl and five guards. But the overflight had been more than twenty-four hours earlier, and more agents could have arrived.
Just as Cutler was about to command the snipers to kill the guards, the agent on the porch snuffed out his cigarette and walked inside, and the man who was patrolling the perimeter walked out of sight behind the farmhouse. Suddenly, no one was watching the ground between Cutler’s position and the farmhouse. He made a split decision.
“Double-time to the house,” he commanded. If they could cover the ground fast enough, they could use the element of surprise to take out everyone inside.
The men were halfway across the open space when Cutler’s two snipers went down and the assault team was bathed in light. Cutler was temporarily blinded and threw a forearm across his eyes.
“Order your men to throw down their weapons, Mr. Cutler,” a voice, amplified by a bullhorn, boomed out. “You’re surrounded and you have no chance of escape.”
Soldiers were beginning to emerge from the cornfields just as it dawned on Cutler that his wounded men had been shot from the farmhouse.
“We’ve had you under surveillance since you paid Robert Bloom for the location of this safe house. He’s under arrest, by the way. You’ve been set up, Sam, and there’s only one way out for you and your men-cooperation. So throw down your weapons. We’ll take care of your wounded, and you and I can have a talk.”
Cutler knew that he and his men would die if he opted for a shootout, so he told them to lay down their arms. Several medics attended to the wounded snipers. His men were cuffed and led toward the barn, while three soldiers walked Cutler to the farmhouse.
Ted Schoonover was sitting in the parlor in an overstuffed easy chair. A fire was roaring in the grate. Tiffany lamps sat on oak end tables, and an embroidered antimacassar covered the back of a sofa decorated with a floral pattern. On the wall was an oil painting of cows grazing in a field. Cutler would not have blinked if Ma and Pa Kettle had appeared out of a side room. Instead, Carl Rice and Victor Hobson joined the president’s aide.
“Sit down, Sam,” Schoonover said, indicating a hard wooden ladder-back chair. Cutler settled in and his guards stood by, on the alert even though he’d been disarmed and his hands were cuffed behind him.
“Can I have these cuffs off?” Cutler asked.
Schoonover smiled. “Not a chance, Sam. You’re way too dangerous even with them on. Now, let me explain the program. I’m going to make you an offer. Then, whether you accept or not, you’re going to join your men in one of those secret locations where we interrogate terrorists. Don’t ask for a phone call or a lawyer. Your civil rights don’t exist anymore-but all is not lost.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ll make this simple, Sam. We want Morris Wingate. I’m sure he explained about the pay records. Coupled with his lies at his daughter’s bail hearing and Carl’s testimony, that gives us a shot at convicting him of something-perjury at a minimum. But I’ll be honest, that might be all we can nail him on-unless we can produce a witness who will corroborate Carl’s testimony.”
“Me,” Cutler said.
Schoonover nodded. “One or more of the men we just captured might also be helpful. We’ll know soon. They’re tough, but we’ll break them eventually if they decide not to cooperate. But you’re the prize, the inside man, Wingate’s chief lieutenant.”
Cutler didn’t say a thing, but everyone could see that he was thinking hard.
“As of now, you’re disappeared, Sam, and the General is not going to help you. He can’t. So, you’re on your own.”
“This is sort of like the mission to rescue the MIAs,” Carl said. “The General wrote off the men in the Unit, and he’ll do the same to you. The moment you were captured you became expendable.”
“Thanks for your concern, Carl,” Cutler said.
“Don’t become confused,” Carl said. “I’d as soon see you dead after what you did to the Unit, but I want to see Wingate destroyed, and you’re the key.”
“So, what do you say?” Schoonover asked.
“I’ll want more than life in a cage, if I’m going to cooperate,” Cutler said.
“We have to know what you can do for us before we can talk about concessions.”
“I can do plenty, believe me,” Cutler said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Two weeks later, Ami Vergano closed the door of a small, windowless room in the federal building in San Diego and set her briefcase and a package wrapped in brown paper on the floor before taking a seat across the table from Carl Rice and Vanessa Kohler. Carl’s hair was short, his beard had been shaved off, and he was dressed in casual clothes. Vanessa was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt.
“Mission accomplished,” Ami said as she took copies of several do
cuments out of her briefcase and gave them to the couple.
“This first set of papers dismisses all state and federal charges against you, and grants you immunity from prosecution, in exchange for your testimony against Morris Wingate in any state or federal proceeding.”
Vanessa looked at her incredulously. “Are you saying that you got us full immunity?” Vanessa asked. “They have me dead to rights on the jailbreak, and Carl admitted under oath that he killed Eric Glass.”
“Remember during the trial when Brendan went to the DA’s office to bring General Wingate to court to testify?”
“Yeah,” Vanessa said.
“Victor Hobson took me aside and explained what was going on. Brendan was in on everything. His job was to get your father to testify that he hadn’t seen Carl between high school and the rescue attempt at your father’s mansion. But they still needed me to get your father to deny he’d ever heard of the men in the Unit. I told Victor that I wanted immunity before I’d help. I reminded him that you’d both been victims and had taken a terrible chance in testifying in order to bring down your father; furthermore, without the two of you, there’d be no case. He agreed to come through with immunity in exchange for Carl’s complete cooperation in the government’s case against Wingate.”
“I was happy to oblige,” Carl said.
“Did they have second thoughts after Sam Cutler agreed to testify against my father?” Vanessa asked.
“Some,” Ami answered, “but it was too late. Carl and I had already followed through on our part of the bargain.
“Here’s something else I want you to read,” Ami said as she handed the couple more documents.
“This second group of documents is the paperwork that will get you into the federal witness protection program,” she explained.
As Vanessa examined the paperwork, she showed none of the joy or excitement that Ami had expected to see.
“Is there something wrong?” Ami asked.
“Do you remember the last scene in The Graduate?” Vanessa asked.
“I think so. I saw it on TV a year ago. Dustin Hoffman has just spirited the girl away from her wedding, right?”
“Katharine Ross played the girl,” Vanessa said, “and she and Dustin are sitting on the bus and they’re together, but they have this scared look on their faces when they realize that they have no idea what they’re going to do next. I feel like that. My entire adult life has been dedicated to getting revenge on my father. Now I’ve won, but the life I’ve built for myself during the past twenty years is what I’ve had to sacrifice to get him. I have no idea what I’m going to do from this day forward.”
“Was it worth it?” Ami asked.
“I guess I’ll find out, only I’ll never be able to tell you or anyone else I’ve ever known the answer to your question. I’ll have to cut all my ties to the people and places I used to know.”
“Once your father is in prison you’ll be safe.”
“We’ll never be safe, Ami,” Carl said. “The General has a network that stretches back to the nineteen-sixties. He’ll have people on our trail until he’s dead, and maybe even after that.”
“Are you sorry you agreed to testify against him?”
“I had no choice,” Carl said. “Besides, my life won’t be so different. I’ve been on the run so long I don’t remember any other life. It’s Van I worry about.”
Vanessa reached out and took Carl’s hand. “I’m tough, Carl. I made it through the asylum. I conquered drugs. I’ll live through this.”
Carl squeezed her hand. “We’ll get through it together.”
Vanessa smiled at Ami. “At least your life will go back to normal now that you’ve gotten us out of your hair.”
Ami laughed. “I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t glad this case is over. I don’t like being a celebrity. Can you believe that two people stopped me in the airport this morning and asked for my autograph?” She shook her head. “Drawing up a simple will is going to seem like heaven after being attacked by assassins and groupies.”
“I bet people are asking you to handle more than a simple will after the publicity you’ve been getting,” Vanessa said.
Ami blushed. “I have been asked to handle some bigger cases.”
“Are you going to take them?”
“I don’t know. I can use the money, but I’m worried about Ryan. I don’t want him to turn into a latchkey kid.”
“Why don’t you hire an associate? With the money you can charge now, you can afford one.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
There was a sudden silence as the trio ran out of things to say. Ami had promised herself that she would keep this meeting businesslike, but she felt herself tearing up.
“I’m going to miss you guys,” she said. “You’re both special.”
“I’m going to miss Ryan,” Carl said.
Ami brightened. “He tried the curveball in his last game.”
“How did it go?”
She laughed. “He struck out a batter the first time he threw it. But the next guy hit a homer off him. But he’s not discouraged. We practice every day.”
An embarrassed quiet settled on the room. Then Ami remembered her package.
“I brought you something. The marshals said they’d make sure you got it when you’ve settled into your new home.”
Ami took off the brown paper. Under it was the landscape that Carl had admired at the Portland Spring Art Fair on the day they’d met.
“This is great, Ami. This is perfect.”
Ami reached across the table and placed her hands on top of Carl’s and Vanessa’s. She was crying unashamedly now.
“You take care of yourselves.”
“We will,” Vanessa said.
“You’ve been an important part of our lives, Ami,” Carl said. “We’ll never forget you.”
Brendan Kirkpatrick stood up when the door to the interview room closed. Ami’s eyes were red and her face was flushed. He could see that she’d been crying, and he handed her his handkerchief.
“Are you okay?” Brendan asked.
“I’ll be fine. I’m just worried about Carl and Vanessa.”
“Those two are survivors, Ami. Remember, Carl escaped from a North Vietnamese prison camp, survived the jungle, and fought his way back to the states. And Vanessa had the courage to challenge her father, who just happened to be a billionaire candidate for the White House. These are two tough guys. They’re going to survive this, too.”
Brendan pushed the down button and the elevator doors opened. Ami stepped into the car.
“I know you’re right,” she said. “This whole thing has just overwhelmed me. I’m not used to seeing my face on the front page of the paper. I don’t like being the center of attention.”
“I know you don’t, but you’ve been magnificent.”
Ami blushed. “Thank you, Brendan, but I don’t feel magnificent. I feel…I don’t know…exhausted, I guess.”
“I don’t doubt you’re exhausted, but you’re also one of the gutsiest women I’ve ever met.”
Brendan laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Ami asked.
“I was just remembering that stunt you pulled in the hospital when you kept me from asking Carl if you were his lawyer. You have no idea how pissed off I was at you.”
“Oh, I have some idea. What you don’t know is how scared I was. As soon as you left, I collapsed. I was so frightened that you were going to arrest me that I was shaking.”
The elevator doors opened on the main floor and Ami was shocked to see that it was dark outside.
“Do I still scare you?” Brendan asked with a grin.
“Nah, you’re all bark and no bite.”
“I’m also famished. I was down here in San Diego about a year ago working with the feds on a drug case and one of the U.S. attorneys took me to a terrific seafood place in the gaslight district. Want to join me? I’m buying.”
“I don’t have much of an appetite
.”
Brendan shook his head and laughed ruefully “You must be tired.”
“What do you mean?” Ami asked warily.
“Because you usually pick up on stuff pretty fast. I’m asking you out on a date, Vergano. I’m not nearly as interested in the seafood-which is really good-as I am in spending time with you.”
“Oh!” Ami paused. “Okay, I’ll have dinner with you, especially if you’re buying.”
“You’re not a gold digger, are you?”
Ami slipped her arm through Brendan’s. She had an impish grin on her face.
“You’ll have to figure that out, won’t you?”
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-f10515-30e7-1749-6e9f-b0f3-1542-fa062f
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 31.07.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.56, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
Phillip Margolin
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Lost Lake Page 31