The Manhattan Deception

by Simon Leighton-Porter

  A voice shouted, ‘FBI, stand still or I fire!’

  Novak turned on James. ‘Cocksucker! You’re wearing a wire,’ he yelled and, taking a pistol from his pocket, grabbed Cathy round the neck, holding the gun to her head and pulling her tight against him. A woman screamed and the tourists scattered, leaving the three of them alone on the broad marble terrace. ‘You keep close to me too,’ hissed Novak at James. ‘Bad move, boy. Now turn to your left. That’s good, keep walking, we’re right behind you. Try anything stupid and I promise this time you won’t get lucky, either of you.’

  Glancing left and right, James caught occasional glimpses of shadowy figures as they darted in and out of cover, all the while keeping pace with them. Novak, who continued to hold Cathy tight against his chest, kept the pistol rammed hard against her temple and walked backwards to make sure that there could be no chance of anyone firing on him without hitting one of his prisoners. Painfully slowly, they inched their way past the oblong marble tomb and down the steps towards a broad, grassy avenue, about twenty-five yards wide and bordered on either side by a stand of mature trees, trimmed into parallel hedges. As they neared the bottom, James looked up, alerted by a sound. Coming towards them at high speed was a helicopter. Thank Christ for that, he thought, the cavalry’s here, but for some reason the aircraft swung away and came into a high hover about five hundred metres to the east of the monument. ‘Right, stand still,’ Novak told James. ‘We’re all going to get real cosy, real close, and remember, anything stupid, neither of you makes the credits. Got that?’

  James did as he was told and Novak turned his attentions to the black figures who were following their progress, remaining in the cover of the trees. ‘Listen to me,’ he shouted. ‘In a moment, a helicopter is going to land here and if anyone tries to interfere with it or to get in our way, I will kill them both. Now back off. You’ve got ten seconds.’ In the silence that had fallen on the scene, James could make out the crackle of radio conversations and then saw, to his dismay that the dark forms were indeed pulling back.

  Novak said something that James didn’t catch, presumably into the microphone of a hands-free phone, and the helicopter dipped towards them. Passing close over their heads and battering them with its downwash, it pirouetted through 180 degrees to touch down facing away from the amphitheatre. Speech was impossible owing to the noise and Novak gestured to James to move towards the machine. He looked up and saw the pilot’s face, white with fear, staring at the trio in disbelief, the cold steel of a pistol barrel pressed hard into the nape of his neck. The side door of the helicopter slid back and a burly figure beckoned to them. At first, James was too paralysed with fear to move, but a kick from Novak sent him on his way. The machine was only thirty feet away and James moved as slowly as he could in the forlorn hope that it would buy time for a miracle to happen.

  All his attention now was fixed on the figure in the doorway. The man wore a headset and dark glasses, but what worried James most of all was the semi-automatic pistol that was aimed straight at him. Buffeted by the downwash from the main rotors and blasted with heat from the helicopter’s twin turboshaft engines, James failed to notice its starboard skid, half-buried in the grass, and pitched forward onto his face. He got to his knees and the man inside the cabin stretched a hand out to him.

  For an instant, James couldn’t work out what had happened. The shockwave from the supersonic round passing just above his head came as sharp crack that he felt rather than heard. Simultaneously, the hand was whisked away as if by an invisible force, and with it, its owner. When he next looked, the man now lay in a bloodied, motionless sprawl on the other side of the cabin. James stopped, rooted to the spot, and spun round towards Novak who was still facing away from the open door, keeping Cathy between him and any potential marksman. James realised Novak had no idea of what had just happened and so, edging forward, put his head through the open door. Apart from the pilot and the lifeless figure in the aft cabin, there was no one else on board. Seizing his chance, he leapt aboard. The noise was deafening and any thought of a conversation with the pilot, even shouted, was out of the question so he leant forward and tapped the man hard on the shoulder. With a look of terror in his eyes, the pilot turned round, expecting to see the muzzle of a 9mm pistol, but instead came face to face with a wildly gesticulating James Atkinson, trying to draw his attention to something behind him.

  Novak didn’t make the same mistake as James and backed carefully over the helicopter’s skid keeping Cathy between him and the FBI team. As he did so, the pilot suddenly realised the significance of what he’d seen, grabbed a handful of collective pitch and sent the machine rocketing upwards, causing James to tumble backwards. As it lifted off, the skid caught Novak’s right foot, knocking him off balance. The pilot shoved the cyclic pitch control forward and the machine accelerated down the narrow alley between the trees, gaining height all the time.

  Through the open door, James could see running black figures and muzzle flashes coming from the tree line. As they climbed away, the aircraft turned in a wide arc to the right, finally rolling out on a westerly heading. On the grassy avenue, side by side, lay the motionless figures of Novak and Cathy.

  James motioned frantically at the pilot in an attempt to get him to land back at the amphitheatre. He yelled and shouted but his words were inaudible. Cathy was dead and all he wanted in the world was to be with her, even if it was too late. All because of him, all because of those bloody pictures, he thought, his nails digging into the palms of his hands in involuntary spasms of fear, rage and grief. I wish I’d asked Hammond to put them on the bonfire. He grabbed the pilot’s shoulder and pointed once more but the pilot shook his head, gesturing towards a headset, slung over the back of the left-hand seat. James put it on and adjusted the boom mike. At first he could hear but not speak but then found the toggle switch. ‘Please. It’s Cathy,’ he said, his voice distorted by the vibrations from the rotors. ‘We’ve got to go back and land.’

  ‘Hey buddy, I dunno who the fuck you are but you can forget that,’ said the pilot. ‘Take a look to your left.’

  James leant forward and cruising slowly past them, at what seemed like an impossibly nose-up angle was an F-16 fighting falcon. ‘Now take a look to your right – you’ll probably get a better view out of the door.’ On that side of the aircraft was a US Coastguard MH-60 Jayhawk helicopter, its six-barrelled minigun trained on them. ‘That’s why I’m doing as I’m told,’ the pilot said. ‘Sorry ‘bout your friend, but I’m not messing with these guys.’

  ‘Where are they taking us?’

  ‘Big loop round to the south of the DC area so we don’t overfly Reagan National and then Andrews NAF.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Just ahead, about ten miles. Used to be called Andrews Air Force Base. Oh, and do me a favour. Check that the other guy back there isn’t moving and grab a hold of his gun, would you?’

  James inched nervously back towards the immobile figure. The floor of the aft cabin was now slippery with blood and the he froze at the prospect of going past the open door. The pistol had slid to the back of the cabin and was wedged under a seat. ‘He’s dead as a doornail and I can’t reach the gun,’ said James.

  ‘OK, leave it then. Find a seat and strap yourself in. Dunno whether you heard what they just told me on the radio, but when we land, sit still, and don’t move. We’ll have a reception committee.’

  The pilot lined up with Andrews NAF runway 10 Left and then, as instructed, banked away to the north of the centreline, descending over the golf course and the tall floodlight stanchions to land on the airfield’s hot cargo ramp just to the left of the runway threshold. The area was ringed with armed vehicles and what looked to James like hundreds of soldiers. The pilot’s voice crackled in his headset for the last time. ‘Remember, what I said. Don’t move, don’t unstrap, just sit still until someone tells you to do otherwise.’

  The pilot shut down the engines and applied the rotor brake but still nobo
dy moved. James did as he was told and remained motionless. He tried counting the number of rifles and assorted weaponry that was pointed their way but soon lost count. After about five minutes, three black-clad figures appeared at the helicopter’s open side door and he thought for a moment they were going to shoot him. ‘What’s your name?’ shouted one of them. They seemed satisfied with the answer and he was told to unstrap, keep his hands visible at all times and to get out of the aircraft. He was then forced to lie face-down on the concrete while they searched him in front of a crowd of onlookers. Fifty feet to his left, the pilot was undergoing the same treatment.

  A sea of combat uniforms swarmed around the aircraft while James and the pilot were led away to separate cars and driven to the base medical centre. Neither the driver nor the medic accompanying him had even heard of Cathy, let alone whether she was still alive. He tried calling her mobile phone but there was no reply.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  My request to try and find a job has caused a major row. Will have to find another way of making money. The weekly allowance for food and clothing helps but everything has to be accounted for – lucky if I can pocket more than a few dollars per month. No let up in the cold but at least the roads are now clear. Mrs Higgs and her husband taking me shopping tomorrow: highlight of my week. Sic transit.

  *

  ‘What took you so long?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, we decided to go on a scenic tour of Virginia and Maryland. How’s the head?’

  ‘Sore, but I’ll live. They’ve put a couple of stitches in and they’re keeping me till the concussion’s gone, so with luck I should be out tomorrow.’

  James smiled and pausing to lay the flowers down on the bedside table, leant over and kissed her. ‘You made all the papers and you’re wall-to-wall on the news channels,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, I know. It’s kinda creepy seeing your own picture staring out of the TV at you all the time,’ Cathy said.

  ‘I thought you were dead.’

  ‘Yeah, so did I for a minute when the helicopter took off. I don’t know whether it was the skid or the back of Novak’s head that hit me, but it hurt like hell when I woke up.’

  The hospital room was bright, airy and clean. Cathy was propped up in bed against a pile of pillows, her head swathed in bandages. A nurse came in and helped James arrange the flowers in a vase.

  ‘You heard anything from Pauli?’ he asked once the nurse had left.

  ‘Yeah, he phoned to ask if I was ok.’

  ‘Did he say what he’s going to do?’

  Cathy shook her head and then winced in pain. ‘Ow. Damn,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to remember not to do that. No, but he asked to come and see me this afternoon and I said yes. I can’t see him carrying on after all that’s happened.’

  ‘None of it was his doing,’ said James.

  ‘It doesn’t work like that, though. He suppressed information that was in the public interest and as a result, people got killed. This happened on his watch and he didn’t stop it. What’s more, he’s going to have to explain what was so all-fired important that his chief of staff decided it was worth killing people for: that’s the clincher as far as the campaign’s concerned.’

  ‘So I take it you’re still going ahead with your Pulitzer-winning story?’

  ‘It’s a nice thought but as a magazine writer I’m not eligible.’ Cathy hesitated for a moment. ‘You know, there’s part of me that wants to write it – something like this is every print journalist’s dream – and there’s another part that thinks I ought to let sleeping dogs lie.’

  ‘But you said it yourself, everyone’s going to want to know why Novak did it. The genie’s out of the bottle. If you don’t write it, someone else will.’

  ‘That’s what I want to talk to Pauli about. I feel awful about misjudging the man so badly and I don’t want to kick him while he’s down.’

  ‘But he lied.’

  ‘Yeah, sure he did. Everyone does – I mean I told you I liked that shirt, didn’t I?’ James saw the blue-grey eyes crease as she smiled. Cathy continued. ‘Politicians do it all the time – think of Watergate, and then what about Monica? Clinton got away with it – guess it depends what you lie about. I mean, you didn’t exactly broadcast the fact that your uncle was a looter and used stolen bullion to fund his business.’

  ‘Fair point.’

  James was still in Cathy’s hospital room when Pauli arrived, looking drawn and pale. ‘You have no idea how glad I am you guys are ok,’ he said. ‘All this mess because of me.’

  ‘It’s funny,’ said Cathy. ‘We were just talking about that. Oh, but don’t worry,’ she added quickly, on catching sight of his hangdog expression, ‘I didn’t mean it like that. And besides, none of us thought Novak was going to pull a gun. Not even the FBI. We thought it was going to be a straight handover of the DNA evidence.’

  An anxious expression spread across Pauli’s face. ‘Does it identify me by name?’ he asked.

  ‘No. We gave the samples to the labs under John Doe names, but you and Hillman are related all right, no doubt about that. What about the letters? I take it that was Novak too?’

  ‘They’re under lock and key in my office,’ said Pauli. ‘We found them in Vince’s briefcase.’

  ‘How are Novak’s family?’ asked James. ‘Have you spoken to them?’

  ‘Not personally, no,’ said Pauli. ‘I didn’t think it would be appropriate just yet. But I’ve heard Louise and the boys have taken his death pretty bad.’

  ‘Can’t be easy seeing a report about your dad getting shot every time you turn on the TV,’ said James.

  ‘True, but who am I to criticise people’s dads?’ Pauli said.

  James looked from one to the other. ‘Look, I know you’ve got things to discuss. I’ll make myself scarce,’ he said, standing up to leave.

  ‘I’d prefer it if you stayed,’ said Pauli, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘But there’s one thing I’ve got to ask you, James. What happened to the gold?’

  ‘My uncle spent most of it to fund his business. When he died there were only five bars left and now they’re at the bottom of the sea off the south coast of Devon.’

  Pauli nodded. ‘Probably the best place for them. I just wish you’d levelled with me from the start; a lot of what happened could’ve been avoided,’ he said.

  ‘Easy to say now, but at the time everything pointed to you being behind the murders, the break-ins, even the guy who scared the shit out of me at Dulles.’

  Pauli looked down at his feet. ‘Yeah, that last one was me. All it took was a couple of phone calls – not really illegal but seems like it was pretty effective.’

  James continued. ‘The trouble is, put that together with your getting heavy with me on the trip to Charleston and everything that followed; like we told the FBI after the car bomb, we were convinced it was you.’

  ‘You should have gone to them earlier.’

  ‘Trouble was, Eric, we had no evidence,’ said Cathy.

  ‘And you’re telling me that pulling off the scoop of the century didn’t colour your decision to hold off as long as you could?’ asked Pauli.

  Now it was Cathy’s turn to look sheepish. ‘Guess it might’ve done,’ she replied.

  Pauli’s face became serious once more. ‘After the car bomb, the FBI took me in.’ He held up his thumb and forefinger close together. ‘I was that close to being arrested.’

  ‘Figures,’ said Cathy. ‘We gave them the works about you.’

  Pauli shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to believe it could be him,’ he said. ‘But as soon as I heard the full story, I knew it had to be Vince and when I challenged him he tried to blackmail me.’ Pauli fell silent. Cathy was propped up against her pillows and James, sitting on the bed, swinging his legs, watched him intently, waiting for what he was going to say next. ‘I did the right thing,’ he said.

  ‘Course you did,’ said Cathy. ‘You had no choice; you had to tell the FBI.’ However, she could see
from Pauli’s face that there was something troubling him, something far deeper.

  He looked down once more, avoiding eye contact. ‘Yeah, in the end I did. But not straight away. The official version is that as soon as Vince left my office I went straight to the Feds.’ He paused again, the dilemma he was facing only too clear in his expression. ‘The reality is that when I told Vince I’d go along with him, I meant it: for a few hours at least I seriously considered doing a deal with the Devil. Buy enough time, let things settle down and then after the election, presuming I won, I’d be in a position to have my problems taken care of.’

  ‘You mean have him killed?’ said James, aghast.

  ‘No. Not just Vince, you guys would’ve been on the list too.’

  ‘But that’s appalling,’ said Cathy, the colour draining from her face.

  Pauli made a nonchalant gesture. ‘Yes it is, but I owe it to you to be honest – God knows I’ve got to make a start somewhere – even if that involves telling you stuff you don’t want to hear,’ he said. ‘We’re not talking about whether or not you get the lead in your school play, we’re talking about what you’re prepared to do to become President of the United States. And, if I’m honest, yes, I thought about it for a moment. Truth isn’t always pleasant, is it?’

  ‘Guess not,’ said Cathy warily.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. I went home, calmed down, talked it over with Janet and then called the Feds.’

  ‘Did they tell you they asked us to wear a wire?’ asked James.

  Pauli stood up from his chair and began to pace around the room. ‘No, they didn’t. But I can see why they had to: every bit of evidence up till then was circumstantial. All they had on him was misuse of campaign funds.’ He turned once more to Cathy. ‘If I’d known what was going to happen, I’d never have agreed to them bringing you into this. And if anyone had known that he was going to pull a stunt like that with the helicopter – ’