“Don’t second guess yourself Robert. This was not an easy decision.
You did what you thought best.”
He found comfort in her words, but wanted to hear them from Fiona.
“Where is she?” “In the den resting. They grilled her pretty hard, reviewing the questions she can expect at the hearing. It’s going to be tough but she’ll make it. I know Fiona, she’s a fighter.”
“I know. I just wish there was more I could do.” Barbara grabbed his hand. Her eyes watered. “I’m proud of you son and I know your father would be too.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Robert handed her tissue from a box on the coffee table.
“I met President Kennedy while he was still a senator, and worked on a number of projects at the White House because of him.” Robert’s eyes widened. His mother never mentioned she’d worked with Kennedy, then again, she never told anybody everything.
“He was a good man,” she continued. “Not perfect, but a good one.
When they killed him, they stole our innocence, just as sure as if they’d raped us. Nothing has ever been the same.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You get the bastards,” she told him.
“Every last one of them.”
Robert kissed her forehead. “I will mother. Now you calm yourself, and try to rest.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine.” Barbara looked at the door to the den. “Be patient with her, son.”
Robert kissed her palm. “I will,” he said. “Now, why don’t you track down Thorne? I think she can use a calming influence right now.”
“I’ll do that,” said Barbara, dabbing away the wetness from her face.
Robert watched her disappear outside, braced himself, and headed for the den. He knocked softly and entered. “Hello Fiona.” Fiona, sitting in an easy chair next to the couch, didn’t say a word or move. He closed the door. “We need to talk.”
“Sure. What is it now? You know who really killed President Lincoln and want to share that too?”
Robert smiled. She didn’t. He sat down on the edge of the couch.
“It was Booth,” he said. “And as far as I know, he worked alone.” Fiona stared at him, her back ramrod straight, eyes stern and piercing.
Silent. Unmoved.
“Fiona, I need to explain.”
“It’s really not necessary, Mr. Veil. I’ve made my decision. I’m going to keep quiet about what’s happening.” Robert, relieved, took a cleansing breath. “I’m glad you have faith in me.”
“This has nothing to do with you. I talked to Barbara and she put it all in perspective. If I go to the authorities with a conspiracy story about President Kennedy’s assassination, I’ll be the laughing stock of the legal community. Especially after Edward Rothschild gets finished with me.
So I might as well roll the dice.”
“You’ll come out of this fine, Fiona. I’ll break my neck to make sure you do.”
“This isn’t about me either! This is about a President’s murder. It’s about justice being served, and Rothschild not getting away with it. No matter what happens to me.”
“I know, I feel the same way, but I’m saying that I know I put you in a precarious situation, and if I could do it all over again I’d…”
“You should’ve told me, Robert! You should have let me make the decision to stay in this or get out! Now I’ve got a mass murderer after me, Edward Rothschild out to destroy me and everything I’ve worked for, and I didn’t even have the chance to choose whether I wanted in on this or not!”
Robert anticipated her reaction, but it hurt all the same. “It wasn’t an easy decision. I tried to avoid taking this case but you and my mother pushed it. Besides, I began to care for you.” Fiona sprang to her feet and slapped his face. “Don’t you dare talk about caring for me, not after this. How could you care and not tell me?” Stunned, more by her words than the slap, Robert stood up to face her.
“I’m sorry Fiona, I really am. I did what I thought was right. I wanted to protect you and Jessica from this monster, and still go after Rothschild.”
“I really don’t care about your intentions,” she said, pounding her fist in her hand. “I just want to get out of this alive with Jessica safe.”
“I understand. I want the same thing. And I think we’re close to making that happen.”
“How so?”
“We think we know where the evidence is hidden.” Fiona crossed her arms. “Where is it?”
Robert whispered the details, leaving out the confrontation with Edward’s men and the death squad.
She stepped back. “Are you sure?”
“Not one hundred percent.”
Fiona furrowed her brow. “You’ll need a court order,” she finally said. “I can help you with that. I have a very good friend on the bench who owes me a favor. Not as big as this one, but he’ll stretch for me and won’t ask questions.”
Her offer encouraged him. “Thank you Fiona,” he said, reaching for her hand. She pushed him away.
“Fiona, what do you want from me? How can I make this right?”
“What I want is for you to catch these people, and you can never make this right. It won’t be like before. In fact, when this is over, I don’t want to see you anymore.”
He stepped toward her. “Fiona, I…”
“Robert, please go,” she said, backing away. “Contact Judge Gary Bonner in the morning at the Federal Courthouse. He’ll have your court order ready so you can exhume the casket. I hope the evidence is in there. You’ll need a detective or Federal agent present. Do you have someone you can trust?”
“Yes, she’s FBI. Her name’s Marilyn London, and I’m sure she’ll play ball.”
“Good,” said Fiona. “I’ll let Judge Bonner know. It’s not normal procedure, but he’ll release the order to you. Agent London will have to present it to the cemetery’s managers, and be there when you open the casket.”
“I understand,” said Robert. “And I…”
Fiona raised her hand. He searched her face for some sign she cared for him, but found none. Fiona picked up her purse and left the room.
31
Friday morning clouds gave way to rain, and the nation’s capitol braced for Judge Fiona Patrick’s confirmation hearing. The citizens of Washington, conditioned to swallow daily doses of political high drama, prepared to dine on the choicest of political meat.
Political appointees on the skewer were nothing new to veterans of Washington warfare, but what made this day, this happening different, was the killer, the Bear. He’d slipped through one of the most intense, widespread dragnets in American history, and like a modern day Jack the Ripper had managed to immerse much of the city in terror, turning them into children, children afraid of a diabolical, mass murdering bogyman.
The area around the Russell Senate Office Building, Constitution Avenue, First Street, Delaware Avenue, and C Street N.E., locked down as tight as a military base, made members of the Senate and their administrators feel constricted. There were roadblocks and an obvious increase in police patrols. More than a quarter of the staffers and passersby, including a small group of imitation reporters were undercover police, Secret Service, and FBI. To the rest of the world it looked like everyday political theater instead of a desperate attempt to keep a Supreme Court nominee alive.
Inside the Russell Office Building, a distinguished mix filed through the Roman-style rotunda, past a milky white marble statue of former Senator Richard B. Russell, Jr. Several lucky lottery winners, excited to claim their coveted seats, pointed and gawked like wide-eyed neophytes, at every small detail of the impressive structure.
The Russell Caucus Room, grand, well ordered and richly detailed, boasted a history of important hearings, including those devoted to the Sinking of the Titanic, Organized Crime, the Vietnam War, Watergate, the Iran Contra Affair, and the Supreme Court Nomination of Clarence Thomas.
The architectural influence and mastery of Ecole des Beaux-Arts of Par
is was stunningly evident in the seventy-four by fifty-four foot room; treated with paired Corinthian pilasters standing on a continuous pedestal, supporting a richly detail entablature, including, dentils, modillions, and egg-and-dark moldings. The breathtaking ceiling was decorated with a variety of gilded classical motifs-rosettes, guilloche, and Greek key. Six windows stood like exquisite picture frames on the courtyard wall, and four, three tiered chandeliers, original to the room, seemed to float above the fray like crystal clouds, featuring globes etched with national emblems, including, the U.S. Seal, American Indian, and Liberty Cap.
The broadcast crew and sound technicians put the finishing touches on camera equipment and microphones for a broadcast forecasted to be seen by more than sixty million viewers, a hundred fifty million worldwide. Some would watch to see if Fiona would be confirmed, but most, out of a morbid curiosity, wanted to see if she would live.
The members of the hearing committee took their seats. Fiona and her team filed in behind the tables set up below the tribunal. The room fell silent. A grip dropped a microphone and the speakers exploded against the quiet, causing some to clutch their chests and others to clench their bladders. At the pound of a gavel, silence returned. Fiona folded her hands on the dark oak table and smiled. The committee didn’t smile back.
32
Latex, make-up, and collagen lip injections molded Andre’s face, giving it a full, pudgy swell. His hair, double-dyed jet black and mowed down into a military buzz cut, gave him a dedicated, take-no-shit aura.
False teeth, fit tightly over his own, pushed out into a slight overbite.
His eyes flashed ocean blue.
A fifty thousand dollar microchip, surgically implanted by a German black market surgeon, irritated his vocal chords, but gave his voice a perfect baritone pitch.
His identity, flimsy and tenuous, cost him three million dollars.
Much of it spent on street and government contacts who could never surface again, it would buy him a week, maybe two.
Sitting in a small reception area outside the office of Captain Mark Reasons, a new crew of security officers for the Supreme Court Building sat waiting for their assignments.
The five men and one woman talked sports and politics, but primarily discussed the confirmation hearings going on in another building less than a hundred yards away. Andre took it all in.
“If you ask me, the guy’s just a super nut case,” said Bill Hardy, a lean wiry guard with pointy ears and bald head. “How stupid can you be to try and kill a Supreme Court nominee?”
“He can’t be that stupid,” said Judith Staten, a big boned blonde who reminded Andre of women back home. “If you ask me, he’s pretty clever. He managed to get by a full secret service detail and Robert Veil.”
Andre’s ears burned.
“Robert Veil?” Andre asked.
“Yeah,” Judith continued. “My brother humped with him in Iraq during Desert Storm. Use to be a Company man. Real black bag stuff.
Now he works on his own.”
“If he’s that good, why is he on his own?” asked Andre, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Don’t know,” said Judith. “My brother lost track of him after the war.”
“Well he can’t be that good,” Bill smirked. “That maniac got close enough at the hotel to kill her.”
Andre smiled.
“Thomas Flagg,” called the receptionist.
Andre stood.
“Captain Reasons will see you now.”
He walked, shoulders back, chin up, across the plain, well-trodden carpet and, upon entering, took a mental snapshot of Captain Reasons’ office. Large but plain, the only noticeable items were a picture of his wife and two daughters and a photograph of the Captain shaking hands with Ronald Reagan.
They shook hands and Andre sat down in front of the square shouldered black man’s government issue gray metal desk. Captain Reason’s picked up a file folder Andre recognized marked Personnel: Classified Information.
“Thomas Flagg. Born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio.”
“Cleveland Browns country,” Andre added, for effect.
“I see you transferred in from the Federal Building in Los Angeles and spent some time in Oklahoma City.”
“Yes sir. Oklahoma City was my first assignment out of training. I moved to L.A. just before the bombing.” Andre let his voice quiver slightly.
“I understand, son,” said the Captain, sympathetic and sincere.
“Thank you sir. I’m glad they buried him,” Andre lied. He considered Timothy McVeigh a hero.
Captain Reasons continued to thumb through the file. “I was considering you for assignment on the main floor, near the Justice’s chambers.”
Andre forced down the urge to smile. “Thank you sir, that would be an honor.”
Captain Reasons stroked his chin. “But I noticed you have extensive experience in electronic surveillance, so I’m putting you in the watchroom at the monitor’s desk in the basement. We can’t let experience like yours go to waste.”
Andre forced a smile. “Thank you sir. I’ll do my best.”
33
Edward watched the 60” inch plasma television imbedded in his conference room wall, eager for the morning proceedings to start.
“You can’t really believe this is putting pressure on Veil,” said Vernon.
Edward spun around and faced his three minions. “Never underestimate the heart, Vernon. I have it on good authority, no thanks to you, that she’s something very special to him. And I know for a fact he’s feeling the pressure.” He leaned forward. “What I don’t know is why Robert Veil and his partner have spent so much time at cemeteries,” he said, playing dumb. “Who can fill me in?”
“Obviously that’s where the evidence is hidden,” said Marilyn. “In one of the crypts.”
Edward brightened. “Please tell me you know which tomb it’s in.” Nobody spoke. Edward let them stew in the silence.
Simon cleared his throat. “We haven’t a clue as of yet.”
“We’ve gone through the files at Parklawn, and several of the cemetery offices they’ve visited,” added Marilyn. “So far, nothing stands out.”
Edward leaned back in his chair. “What about the names of his parents?”
“Negative,” answered Vernon. “No such luck.”
“Then we’ll have to make Veil tell us,” said Edward.
“That is, if he knows,” said Simon. “What if he doesn’t?”
“It doesn’t matter at this point,” said Edward. “We’re going to kill them anyway, whether they give up the evidence or not.” The three of them looked curiously at each other.
“Is there something I’m missing?” he asked.
Neither of them spoke.
“I said, is there something I’m missing?” Simon cleared his throat again. “There does seem to be a small problem, Edward. You see, we’ve been following Mr. Veil and his partner closely… and we were wondering if you’ve hired another team to kill them.”
Edward didn’t answer.
“Yes,” said Marilyn. “There were reports two shootings took place a couple of nights ago. One at Parklawn, and the other at the Congressional Cemetery. Simon trailed Thorne, and I followed Veil with several of Vernon’s men, to Parklawn.”
“Yes,” Vernon chimed. “Then a group of Middle Eastern men, followed Veil into the mausoleum. My guys heard machinegun fire a few minutes later somewhere in the woods.” Edward calmly drummed his fingers, trying to decide how much to tell. “There is a team, a hit squad, after them,” he finally said. “I didn’t hire them. My partners brought them in. It couldn’t be helped.”
“Couldn’t be helped!” Vernon barked. “Dammit, you should have warned us!”
“Yes,”added Marilyn. “ We could have gotten killed.”
“It wasn’t necessary that you know,” said Edward, stoic and cold.
“My partners are not patient men, and they wanted this taken care of immediately. As far as
getting killed is concerned,” he continued, looking over at Marilyn. “It’s part of the job.”
“You know what’ll happen if a Middle East death squad is caught here in Washington,” said Vernon. “All hell will break loose and they’ll dime us out. We can’t trust them and you know it.”
“It’s not about trust, it’s about money,” said Edward. “Where the hell do you think your millions are coming from, the tooth fairy?”
“We understand that, but how many more people are involved?” asked Marilyn.
Edward sprung to his feet, and slammed his fists down on the table.
“If you’d find the evidence we wouldn’t have to worry, now would we?”
“So where do we go from here?” Simon asked, unmoved by the outburst.
Edward stroked his chin. “Where’s Veil now?”
“My men are due to check in within the hour,” said Marilyn. “We’ll know then.”
“Well, wherever they are, pick them up and take them to my ranch in Virginia. It’s quiet there and the servants are off for the week. You can question them without interruption, but I don’t want them killed there.
Do that somewhere else after you finish.”
“Why not just kill them and get it over with?” asked Marilyn.
“I want the evidence if I can get it. So give it a chance before you end them.”
Vernon and Marilyn nodded their understanding. Simon turned his attention to the television. “They’re about to get started,” he said, pointing to the screen.
Senator Stuart Hall sat down and glared at the judge. The other six members of the committee included Eileen Sassin from California, Oliver Franklin from Pennsylvania, Nicholas Alexander from Massachusetts, Carmen Udesco from Hawaii, Lawrence Echols from Georgia, and Ramona Arnold from Arkansas.
Hall guaranteed at least three of them would play ball and trash Judge Patrick completely. Hall asked Edward why he wanted her eliminated, but a hundred grand shut him up.
Fiona smiled, raised her right hand, and swore to tell the truth.
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