“Yeah. Bit of a headache but better. Yourself?”
“Something beyond a bit of a headache.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Any of those aspirin left?”
He held the bottle in his hand and threw it to her. She immediately went into the bathroom, and in a few minutes he heard the shower going.
When they had both showered and redressed in their dirty clothes, they grabbed their overnight bag, threw it in the backseat, and went in search of a coffee shop. They found the only one in town that served breakfast.
They went over what Greene had disclosed one more time. After a pause in the conversation, Evarts said, “I figure we’re less than a hundred miles from Omaha.”
“How many miles are enough?”
“Who knows? They seem to keep finding us.”
He motioned to the waitress for more coffee. After she refilled their cups, he said, “Our last remaining clue is the computer files your father downloaded. We’ve developed an MO of always running far away. Maybe this time we should stick close. If we settled in one spot, we could use the time to carefully examine those files.”
“We’ve looked through those files already.”
“Now we’re motivated. We have nothing else to do and nowhere else to go.”
“How about Canada? Straight up north. You’re a cop—don’t you know how to get us new identities?”
“I thought you wanted your old life back.”
“The price scares me.”
“Well, I want my old life back. I liked it and I’m beginning to believe I would like it even better with you in it.” He watched her face carefully. He wanted confirmation that she felt the same way. He got an encouraging smile but no words. He plunged ahead anyway. “Trish, the life I want with you doesn’t include running from place to place hiding from bogeymen. We must win this fight.”
“Alone? You said we could find help by following the trail of my parents. Look where that led.”
“We discovered some new information, at least.”
Evarts thought about what Greene had told him. Sketchy, due to lack of time, but it gave him something to think about. According to Greene, in the latter part of the nineteenth century, the union partners from the South took control of the secret organization and directed their investments toward Mexico. By the nineteen-seventies, they had built strong financial positions in Mexican businesses, especially in banking and defense-oriented enterprises that dealt with the government on a national level. The union kept in the background and put Mexican nationals in apparent charge of the supposedly independent companies.
Somehow the union had recently gained control of the newly popular Mexican Panther Party and José Garcia—the standard-bearer for the populist movement and very possibly the next president. According to Greene, the Shut Mouth Society had missed the move south and merely watched the union’s United States investments, which were relatively benign. The Society had recently learned about the union’s ambitions in Mexico because they had finally infiltrated someone into the union’s inner sanctum.
Last spring the Shut Mouth Society had made three decisions, and the Mute Council approved these directives. The council comprised eleven voting members, and the Greenes held a single-vote membership together.
The first decision was to finally make public the William Evarts Reconstruction files and to distribute them to the American and Mexican governments after sending copies to the press in both countries.
To forestall wholesale renunciation, the second decision was to secure a noted historian verification of the documents’ authenticity.
The union ruthlessly used violence and bribery to make difficulties go away, so the council’s third decision was to authorize a small security force.
Abraham Douglass had been assigned to recruit Patricia Baldwin and Gregory Evarts to carry out the actions related to the last two decisions prior to international disclosure of the files. Unfortunately, the Shut Mouth Society never learned that their informer had been discovered, and one of their own trusted members had been turned against them.
Before time had run out with Greene, Evarts had learned one more piece of troubling news: The union had become a silent partner with the Mexican drug cartels. The cartel connection made the violence Evarts and Baldwin had witnessed more understandable.
Yesterday, when he had explained all this to Baldwin in the car, she had wrapped her arms around the purse that held her .45.
She set her cup down in a way that rattled her saucer. When she spoke, it seemed that she had been reading his mind. “These drug cartels are bad people, aren’t they?”
“The worst.”
As a Southern California policeman, Evarts knew enough about the Mexican cartels to be scared, but he debated how much to tell Baldwin. He hadn’t held anything back so far, so he decided to tell her.
“The Mexicans started out as small-time smugglers for the Columbians, initially not much more than loose gangs willing to risk border crossings. But the Columbians made a strategic error: They paid the Mexicans in cocaine. The Mexican drug traffickers were already distributing their own marijuana, heroin, and methamphetamine, but after they acquired an inventory of cocaine, they grew to dominance over their partners from the south.”
“I thought the Columbians were the major drug threat to this country,” she said.
“Not for years. In the eighties and early nineties, the American War on Drugs diminished the Columbian cartels and made smuggling into Florida difficult. The Mexicans benefited. In short order, drug wars broke out and a few gangs emerged as preeminent: The Mexican cartels were born. They’re a nasty bunch. Much more dangerous than the Columbians. They bribe the corrupt and kill the honest … without a moment’s hesitation. Police, politicians, opponents, informants—doesn’t matter.”
Baldwin sat silent for a minute. “Who’re we fighting: the union or drug cartels?”
“I don’t know. Possibly both. That’s what’s bothering me. I wish I knew how tight the union is tied to the cartels … and which one.”
Baldwin shoved her plate away to signal she was through eating breakfast. “If the union is more concerned with Mexican politics than drug trafficking, does that make it easier?”
Evarts swiveled his neck, first in one direction and then the other, in a futile attempt to expel the remnants of his headache. “Politics and drugs are intertwined in Mexico—at least at the local level. The Fox and Calderón administrations made some headway against drugs, but if the union can get their man in the presidency, they’ll create a risk-free zone for the drug trade.” Evarts gave her a glance. “Remember when I said something must have changed to bring all this to a head after all these years? This has got to be it. I’m guessing the union and one of the cartels are about to make a grab for control of the $142 billion U.S. drug business.”
“How many cartels are there?”
“Three big ones—the Gulf, Juarez, and Tijuana cartels—lots of small contenders. Hopefully, the union isn’t tied into one of the big three.”
Evarts also wanted to know how the union had weaseled their way into such a lucrative enterprise. Suddenly, he knew the answer. Banking and defense contracting. Money and weapons. With the way the cartels corrupted or intimidated almost every aspect of Mexican society, it would actually be surprising if the union had been able to keep their operations clean. What he didn’t know was whether they had been coerced or joined up willingly with some of the worst criminals on the planet.
Evarts wished he had had more time to interrogate Greene, but the quick arrival of the union henchmen proved that he had been right to get out of the loft.
“What do you know about Mexican politics?” Evarts asked Baldwin.
“Not much, but I’ve been thinking about the Greene allegations.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “In Lincoln’s day, the Mexican War and the admittance of Texas as a slave state emboldened some leaders in the Deep South to envision a slaveholding empire that would eventually annex Mexico a
nd Cuba. If these sentiments got passed down generation to generation, then I can believe they aimed their investments south of the border.” She shrugged. “Buy what they couldn’t conquer.” She paused. “Plus, the violence we’ve witnessed reminds me of my days hanging around the DEA.”
“Then you believe him?”
“Don’t you?”
“I believe what he said. I’m scared about what he didn’t say. What I didn’t ask.”
“At least we know the names of the eleven members of the Mute Council.”
“Greene told the union as well. Douglass, your parents, and the third member of the Mute Circle are dead. I bet both Greenes are dead now. If any of the others are still alive, they can’t help us find the documents.”
“What didn’t he say? Do you suppose he actually knew the identities of people in the union?”
“No, they’re too good for that, but I can’t get rid of a nagging fear that the union has an ace in the hole.”
Chapter 38
After breakfast, they returned to the motel to examine the laptop files once again. A little after three o’clock, Baldwin said, “There’s a small workout room. Let’s exercise and come back with clear heads.”
Evarts snapped the computer lid shut. “Let’s go.”
They had the tiny exercise room to themselves, but Evarts pointed out a security camera in the corner, so they didn’t discuss the day’s work. After they returned to the room and showered, Evarts plopped down in the sole side chair and Baldwin reclined on the bed.
“If we ever get out of this mess, you’re going to be a wealthy woman.”
“I’m already wealthy.”
“Your books can’t have earned that much money.”
“When I turned eighteen, my father funded a trust for me with three million dollars. When I graduated from Stanford, he added two million. They annually distribute to me all but two percent of the earnings.”
Evarts made a quick mental calculation. “In Santa Barbara, they’d say you were comfortable, but when you get those proceeds from probate, you’ll be rich by any standard.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to sign a prenuptial agreement.”
That comment startled Evarts, but when he looked at her, she smiled in a way that conveyed that she might have been kidding. Why were they both fencing around the subject of their relationship? Did they even have a relationship?
He decided to get back to the task at hand. “Maybe the clue isn’t in the files. After all, he waited a long time to give them to you. I’m beginning to think it must have been something he told you.”
“I’m not convinced he left me a clue.”
“Downloading the files meant he still had faith that you would eventually join him in the Shut Mouth Society. Think about your conversations with him. He wouldn’t leave you in the lurch if something happened to him.”
“He left me money.”
“He left you more.”
Baldwin frowned. But Evarts saw her face slowly relax as she mentally went over her history with her father. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “I told you he once said our family had a responsibility to people who had no idea about the corruption around them. I’ve gone over all these conversations in my head, and I can’t remember anything that helps. I didn’t like being preached to, so I tuned out a lot. Maybe I missed something.”
“No chance … rather, he wouldn’t take that chance. Any other big birthday events?”
“No, I didn’t even want his five million. On my other birthdays, I got pretty standard presents, if you consider Saks and Barney’s standard.” She laughed. “When I attended Berkeley, they tried to buy my affections with gifts in my name to the Sierra Club and the American Civil Liberties Union.”
“The Sherman descendants helped found the ACLU.”
“Good memory, but I’ve found no connection to the Sierra Club. I think they knew I’d return ostentatious gifts, so they put some of their charity donations in my name.”
Evarts opened the computer lid and scrolled through the files once again. He sat back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t think this will get us anywhere. These files contain only the numbers associated with these accounts. Did your father tell you the name of the lawyer who drew up these trusts?”
“Why?”
“Maybe I can figure out a way for you to examine the full text. The clue might be buried in the legal jargon.”
“A lawyer doesn’t have them. They’re filed away at the DTCC.”
Evarts leaned forward with newfound interest. “What’s the DTCC?”
“Depository Trust and Clearing Corporation. Some big building near Wall Street that—” Baldwin bounded off the bed. “Oh my god!”
“Everything might be together!” Evarts said.
“Of course. How stupid of me. I shut those trusts out of my mind.”
“What does this company do?”
“I don’t know.” She grabbed the laptop and connected the phone line for dial-up access. Because of the slow speed, it took almost ten minutes for her to find their website. She turned to Evarts with a smile. “They store financial records and process transfers of assets for the big financial institutions. They’re a nonprofit owned by all the big banks and brokerage houses.”
“What’s the address?”
“None listed. Security, I suppose, but I remember my father telling me they were in the financial district, near Wall Street.”
“We can find them, but I don’t think we can break in. We need to figure out a way to get you authorized to view those files. Does your family’s lawyer have access to them?”
“No, but I do.”
“What? How?”
Evarts had never seen her beam with such joy as she grabbed her computer bag and unzipped a side pocket. With abandon, she flipped through a bunch of small, stiff plastic cards and flung them around the room. One landed at Evarts’s feet, and he saw that it was a frequent flyer card for one of the airlines. In a moment, she held up what looked like a library card. “My father made me sign a signature card when I was still in prep school.” She waved the card. “This is the account number.”
Chapter 39
In less than five minutes, they had thrown their few belongings into the Explorer and headed for the highway. They arrived in New York City two days later. Evarts wanted a base of operations away from the city, so they rented yet another cheap motel room in Newark, close by the airport. Baldwin insisted that they both dress businesslike, so the next morning they shopped. They didn’t have time for custom tailoring, so it took most of the day to find appropriate clothing that fit well enough off the rack.
They went into the city by train the following morning and took the subway to the financial district. Evarts knew there would be some risk in attempting to enter the DTCC building, but they had kept an eye on the news and had seen the barest mention of the shooting in Boston and no mention of their names. He had also checked the Internet law enforcement web pages and found no reference to himself or Baldwin. He didn’t know the security procedures for the building, but he didn’t believe they could be too onerous. Besides, he wanted to see the documents firsthand, and he needed to keep Baldwin in sight so he could protect her.
As they emerged from the subway, Evarts considered how to find the right building. He decided the best way was to ask. With Baldwin at his elbow, he approached a Wall Street type and said, “We’re lost and late for an appointment with a client at the DTCC. Could you tell us where it is?”
Without hesitation, he pointed down the block at a building that looked like all the others. “That’s the DTCC.”
“Thanks.” So much for keeping the address secret. Baldwin had been right about dressing appropriately. People projected their own values on others dressed as they dressed.
The lobby looked like every other office building except that, behind the reception counter, no company name appeared blazoned in huge brass letters. Baldwin approached the woman behind the counter with he
r account card in hand. “Good morning. I’d like to access my deposit,” she said in a slightly haughty tone.
“Good morning. Do you have an appointment?”
“No. My attorney told me yesterday afternoon that she needed to see the originals of my trust.”
“No problem, but there might be some delay. May I see your card?” After she examined it, she said, “My, this looks tattered. You must have been with us a long time.”
“My family has.”
She pushed a larger card toward Baldwin. “Would you be kind enough to sign?”
“Of course.”
After she compared the signature against her computer screen, she asked, “Have you been here before?”
“No. I’m preparing for probate.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Baldwin. Unfortunately, we see many of those.”
“May my fiancé accompany me?”
“Of course, if you sign a release. The elevator banks are behind me. Go to the reception area on the second floor. When one of our custodians becomes available, he’ll escort you to your deposit. You’ll have to sign another signature card upstairs.”
Baldwin retrieved her card and perfunctorily said thank you. Evarts noticed that the elevator required a key to go to any floor other than the second. He also spotted cameras. He presumed they would be under surveillance everywhere but in a private viewing room, and they couldn’t count on that.
The upstairs lobby had the ambiance of a private bank. The paneling, Persian rugs, and tasteful art were supposed to make a waiting client feel comfortable, but unobtrusive cameras in the corners had the opposite effect on him. He was beginning to worry that he had underestimated their security measures. They hadn’t been sitting long when an impeccably dressed young man approached them.
“Ms. Baldwin, my name is Jonathon. I’ll escort you this morning.”
After Jonathon shook Baldwin’s hand, Evarts introduced himself using his real name. He didn’t think that Jonathon’s first name familiarity went with the refined character of the Depository Trust, but nowadays everyone, including doctors, seemed to have adopted the informality of the waitress at Mrs. Olson’s Coffee Hut. Only the police and the military continued to use proper titles and sir and ma’am.
The Shut Mouth Society Page 23