CHAPTER
SIXTY-FIVE
Travis County, Texas
December 10, 1999 / Friday / 12:10 p.m.
Franklin stood up and walked to the window after everyone but Caine and Andrea had left the room.
“Well, that didn’t go too badly. In fact, I really think you and Mr. Caine made some progress with Agent Spencer and maybe even with Ms. Russo.”
Caine smiled at Franklin’s attempt at optimism. Andrea didn’t look up from the pad in front her when she spoke.
“Russo’s not buying it. I don’t particularly like her, but I understand her perspective. She can believe our story and initiate an investigation of a Fortune 500 company for sending a band of killers after two honest folks for unknown reasons. Or, she can assume that we’re just two criminals spinning an elaborate yarn. For her, that’s an easy choice.”
Caine looked over at Andrea. Her face was drawn and tired. Caine reached over and turned her swivel chair so that she faced him.
“Have patience, Andrea. Spencer knows that the picture is more complicated than that, and don’t disregard O’Connor and Benoit. My read is that O’Connor is CIA and Benoit is with the DGSE, the French security service. They wouldn’t be here if they thought that this was a simple criminal matter,” Caine said.
Andrea nodded and then stood up.
“Mr. Franklin, do you have a computer here that I can use to access my e-mail? I need to check my calendar and messages, or I’m going to be out of a job.”
“Of course, Andrea. There’s a visitor office two doors down. The computer there will get you to the Internet.”
After Andrea left the room, Caine looked across the room at Franklin.
“You didn’t ask about Benoit and O’Connor when you opened the meeting,” Caine said.
“No, I did not,” Franklin said.
“You already knew who they were,” Caine said.
“Yes.”
“May I ask how?”
“Let’s just say that an old friend of mine from Langley called me last night. He told me that two heavy hitters from the intelligence field would be willing to attend this meeting and lend a hand, if their names didn’t appear in any of the articles published by this paper. I agreed.”
Caine nodded. Franklin turned from the window and looked directly at Caine for a moment.
“I have an idea that you are a very interesting man, Mr. Caine. When this is all over, I surely would like to sit down with you over a bottle of fine scotch and hear your story.”
CHAPTER
SIXTY-SIX
Brandon, Arkansas
December 10, 1999 / Friday / 11:00 a.m.
Amelia Teatro lived in a small townhouse in Brandon, Arkansas.
She was seventy-two years old. When her husband passed away ten years earlier, she had started dabbling in genealogy. Initially it was just a hobby, but later she obtained a certificate from a local college and launched a second career. Teatro’s persistence, patience, and eye for detail had enabled her to find unknown ancestors, heirs, and relatives for clients throughout the country.
When Richard Steinman’s effort to find a living descendant of Thomas O’Neill failed, a senior librarian at the University of Texas at Austin had suggested he ask Amelia Teatro for help. Although Steinman had been skeptical that Teatro could succeed where he’d failed, he’d had nowhere else to turn. Three minutes into the phone call, Steinman knew that he’d found the right person, and Amelia Teatro had found a challenge too enticing to pass up.
Her search effort encompassed federal, state, and local archives, newspaper archives, church records, and finally the records maintained by local and national preservation societies throughout the
State of Texas. The exhausting search had taken three weeks, but Amelia had succeeded. She had found a surviving heir of Thomas O’Neill—just one.
On December 1, 1999, Teatro had sent Richard Steinman an e-mail with three compressed file folders. The folders contained all of the information supporting her findings. Also, in accordance with Steinman’s instructions, she had sent a second e-mail with the same information to [email protected]. The next morning Amelia had left for a six-day cruise in the Caribbean.
The day after she returned from the cruise, Amelia sat down at her computer and pulled up her e-mails. When she worked her way through the list, Amelia came to a message informing her that the e-mail she’d sent to Ms. Marenna a week earlier had bounced back. Apparently Ms. Marenna’s account was closed. Fortunately, Mr. Steinman had told Amelia that Ms. Marenna was a lawyer, which made finding her very easy for an expert like Amelia. She pulled up Andrea’s name in the nationwide directory of attorneys maintained by Martindale-Hubbell and forwarded the e-mail to her new address.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-SEVEN
Austin, Texas
December 10, 1999 / Friday / 1:00 p.m.
Russo, Spencer, and Agent Morgan were sitting at a booth in a small café a block away from the Statesman building. Spencer had waited until the three of them had finished their lunch before trying to persuade Russo that her “investigation” would be a lot easier if she changed her tactics.
“Ms. Russo, all I am suggesting is that we will obtain more information from Mr. Caine and Ms. Marenna if the exchange is less confrontational. I would also suggest that your theory that the two of them are somehow involved in the drug trade doesn’t fit the facts. The operations were too well planned, equipped, and executed. I see this as ex-military, almost a private army.”
Russo sighed with exasperation.
“Mr. Spencer, I assume we can agree that the plethora of Mexican and Columbian drug cartels are not prohibited from using ex-military personnel?”
“Yes, Ms. Russo, we can. However, in thirty years, I have never seen a drug cartel mount a airborne assault on a cabin located in the mountains in Southern California. It simply doesn’t fit the profile.”
“Well, maybe the profile has changed and you just don’t know it. In any event, I find that theory a lot more credible than the idea that a respectable corporation sent out a paramilitary force to hunt down two nobodies, for no reason.”
Russo stood up without waiting for a response, and Spencer and Agent Morgan stood up with her.
“One of the attorneys in my office has obtained a warrant for the arrest of Andrea Marenna and John Caine from District Judge Samuels. A federal marshal will be here to serve that warrant and take the two into custody within the hour. I intend to end this little drama as soon as he arrives.”
Spencer’s face was carved in stone. “I see.”
Austin, Texas
December 10, 1999 / Friday / 1:00 p.m.
The office that Andrea was using was equipped with a desk, computer, printer, and phone. She used the computer to log into her firm’s website and pull up her calendar; today and tomorrow were clear. Then she switched to her e-mail folder. Four of the seven e-mails were from the firm’s administrator. The first e-mail advised all employees that a virus had corrupted Kelly & White’s server and all messages before Saturday had been lost. The next three were updates on the resolution of the virus problem and the firm’s ongoing effort to recover the lost e-mails.
One of the remaining three e-mails was from Jill. She asked Andrea to call as soon as possible. The second message was junk mail. The last message was from [email protected]. It had been sent to her two hours earlier. Initially, Andrea didn’t recognize the name and started to move on, but then she made the connection. Richie had mentioned that name in his voicemail. Andrea clicked on the message. The sender was Amelia Teatro; Richard Steinman was the receiving party; Andrea was listed as an additional recipient. The message read:
“Dear Mr. Steinman, I am sorry for the delay. Attached are the documents. They confirm that John Caine is a descendant of Thomas O’Neill. As I said in our phone call last week, this was a difficult quest, but that’s what made it fun. I even had to pull the records from the main archives maintained by the Catholic Dioces
e in Austin to put all the links in the chain together.
“I’ll give you the short version. Thomas O’Neill’s daughter, Mary, had a son named Michael. Michael had a son who was also named Michael. Mary, Michael, and Michael Jr. died in a fire. But the family line didn’t end there. Two nights before he died, Michael Jr. married one Rosalie Viera, and she was pregnant with his son at the time of his death. Rosalie died in childbirth, but the child survived. The boy was named John, and he took the surname of Rosalie’s parents—Viera. Since Michael and Rosalie’s marriage and the birth of their son were recorded by the church, and these records are valid under state law for inheritance purposes, John Viera qualifies as an heir of Thomas O’Neill.
“John Viera later married Emilia Rios, and the couple had a son named John. In 1955, John Jr. married Ann Peters, and they had a son who was also named John. When John III was four years old, his parents were killed in a car crash. The boy grew up in Saint Michael’s Orphanage in Waco, Texas. After he left St. Michael’s, John III took the surname Caine. So, to finish the story, John Caine is a direct lineal descendant of Thomas O’Neill, the man who is the grantor on the deed that you gave me.
“All of the backup documents are attached. For convenience, I also attached a PDF of the deed you sent to me as well.
“One other thing: I may be getting old, but I think there’s something wrong here. Between 1910 and 1918, there was a chain of accidental deaths in the O’Neill family. In fact, every single heir, other than John, Rosalie’s son (who nobody knew about!), appears to have died within this twelve-year period.
It’s spooky. Good luck.
“You now owe me $2,800.
Sincerely,
Amelia”
When Andrea finished reading the e-mail, her heart was pounding so hard she had trouble breathing. She glanced up at the clock. Thirty minutes had already passed. She double-clicked the two compressed files attached to the e-mail and over thirty documents appeared on the screen. All the documents were in PDF format, except one, which was in Word format. Andrea suspected that the string of PDF files were copies of public records, such as birth and death certificates. The Word document entitled “Memo” was probably a summary of whatever Ms. Teatro had found.
Andrea saved the documents on the computer’s hard drive and then began printing out copies. When the last page came out of the printer, she glanced at her watch. A full hour had passed since they had broken for lunch. The document entitled “Memo” was written on letterhead that identified Ms. Teatro as a certified genealogist. It seemed as if Richie had been trying to establish that John was the heir to someone who had died more than a hundred years ago. That didn’t make sense to Andrea. If John was a distant heir who should have received a property distribution from a probate estate years ago, any claim would almost certainly be barred by the statute of limitations. Helius would know that.
The knock on the door wasn’t loud, but Andrea felt as though she had been hit by electric shock. It took her moment to recover and answer.
“Yes, come in.”
It was Franklin and John. The look on Franklin’s face was grim.
“Andrea, I just received a call from one of our contacts at the federal court. Russo has obtained arrest warrants for you and John. I assume she will wait until the warrants get here, but not a minute longer. I’m sorry. I had a promise from Bill Spencer that they would listen to the whole story, but apparently Ms. Russo doesn’t feel bound by that.”
Although Andrea had feared that Russo would do something like this, the reality shocked her. She started to think about who would represent them in the criminal case, but suppressed the thought. She had to stay on task. Andrea looked at John for a moment and then turned to Franklin.
“Mr. Franklin, I think I just received everything we need. I believe these documents will not only explain, but document what has been going on. I need thirty minutes to go over them. Can you delay Russo for that long?”
Franklin looked at her for a minute and then smiled.
“Why, it would be a distinct pleasure.”
CHAPTER
SIXTY-EIGHT
Austin, Texas
December 10, 1999 / Friday / 1:30 p.m.
Russo walked into the conference room without knocking. Spencer and Agent Morgan followed her in. Franklin was the only one in the room.
“Mr. Franklin, I thought I made it clear that Ms. Marenna and Mr. Caine were not to leave this room.”
Franklin had served in the Korean War as a young Marine, and he’d spent twenty years covering conflicts and crises all over the world as a foreign correspondent for three major newspapers. He knew how to deal with difficult people, particularly bullies. As far as he was concerned, Michaela Russo was simply another government lawyer with too much ego and too little sense by half. So he did the one thing that he knew she would find most irritating: he ignored her.
Spencer, who was standing behind Russo, couldn’t hold back a grin. Russo’s face turned scarlet and she raised her voice to just below a shout.
“Did you hear me, Mr. Franklin?”
Franklin still didn’t look up from his paper, but after a pause, he did respond.
“I am old, Ms. Russo, not deaf.”
“Well?”
After another pause, Franklin looked over the top of the newspaper at Russo, as if she were a quarrelsome child.
“Well, what, Ms. Russo? Is there a question pending that you would like me to answer? If so, I suggest you remember that you are a guest in my office.”
For an instant Spencer thought Russo was going to explode, but she controlled herself.
“Where, Mr. Franklin, are Mr. Caine and Ms. Marenna?” Each syllable was enunciated with icy care.
“They are in the building. They will be here shortly.”
“When, if you please?”
Franklin lowered the paper and glanced at his wristwatch.
“Approximately twenty minutes, Ms. Russo. I will have a pot of coffee brought in. I find that a good cup of coffee after lunch helps me get through the rest of the day.”
A quiet knock at the door stayed Russo’s verbal explosion. After a brief pause, James O’Connor and Paul Henri Benoit entered the room. O’Connor and Benoit nodded to the others, walked to the far end of the table and sat down. Franklin turned to the two men and said, “Gentlemen, Ms. Marenna and Mr. Caine will return shortly and we will continue. Would you like a cup of coffee while we wait?”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Franklin. I’m sure that both Mr. Benoit and I would appreciate that very much,” O’Connor said.
Benoit nodded and said, “Yes, thank you.”
Although Russo did not want to leave the situation alone, in the face of O’Connor’s and Benoit’s gracious acceptance of the delay, she was reluctant to play the role of a petulant spoiler.
“Very well then,” Franklin said as he stood and put down the paper, “I’ll be right back.”
When Franklin left the room, he made a point of closing the door. He waited outside the door for a moment just to make sure that Russo did not try to follow him. Then he walked down the hall and stepped into the room where Andrea and Caine had a series of documents laid out on the desk in two piles.
“You have twenty minutes. No more. After that Ms. Russo may well chew her way through the wall to find you,” Franklin said, a grin on his face.
Andrea nodded her thanks and then turned back to the table. Caine smiled at Franklin and gave him the thumbs-up sign.
Austin, Texas
December 10, 1999 / Friday / 1:52 p.m.
Twenty-two minutes later, Caine and Andrea walked into the conference room. Andrea was holding two large folders full of paper in her arms. Russo made as if to stand, but hesitated when Andrea placed one of the folders in front of Franklin and said, “It’s all there.”
Then she continued to the other side of the table to where Caine had just sat down.
Russo could restrain herself no longer.
“Where
have you been, Ms. Marenna, and what is all this?”
Andrea remained standing, opened the remaining folder, and placed it on the table in front of her.
“This, Ms. Russo, is the evidence that documents exactly why Helius, or more likely the Mason family, has been trying to kill Mr. Caine and myself.”
“It’s a little late—” Russo started, but Franklin interrupted her.
“I’m sorry, Andrea. I neglected to start the tape again. There. Now, please go ahead. I know that the people who read the Statesman every day and the tens of millions of Americans who will read this story on the wire services tomorrow will want a full and complete account of this story.”
The reference to millions of readers slowed Russo down. Her boss was a politician and his boss was the president of the United States, the most political of all politicians. Although she was skeptical, the stack of documents and Andrea Marenna’s confidence were enough to persuade her to listen, at least until the marshal showed up with the warrants.
“Yes, please go ahead, Ms. Marenna,” Spencer said politely, breaking the tie.
“Thank you, Agent Spencer. However, before I go through the documentary evidence, I need to summarize a complex, even arcane, area of real estate law that is at the very heart of the issue. Most people who buy or sell a piece of real property either buy or sell a fee interest or a leasehold interest.”
Russo interrupted, “Ms. Marenna, I am sure that we appreciate this refresher on real property law, but this has nothing—”
“In fact, it has everything to do with this case. It is this case. Now, I need five minutes, Ms. Russo, no more.”
Benoit was the first to respond to Andrea’s plea for time.
“Please proceed, mademoiselle. The French government would welcome your explanation.”
O’Connor nodded his head in agreement. Spencer took the issue out of Russo’s hands.
“Please continue.”
“Thank you. In most instances, when a buyer purchases, say, a home, the buyer receives what’s called a fee estate. In essence, the buyer acquires all of the owner’s rights, title, and interest in the property, leaving the seller with nothing. However, the owner of a piece of land does not have to sell the buyer all of his or her rights in the land. The seller can retain certain rights. The variations on what he can retain are quite numerous.
Helius Legacy Page 34