City Havoc

by Jack Adler

  “Don’t overplay the media card,” Wolcott warned. He was as predictable as the rising sun.

  “I won’t.” Wearing the investigator and the public affairs hats at once always presented a challenge. I knew Wolcott was most worried about worsening Tramerica’s position; my personal safety was a secondary issue. “We have a meeting with this Professor Cabral tonight,” I said, as if this encounter would solve all our problems. I purposefully skipped our striking out on the check of politically wayward police officers. I also didn’t mention Val, and I was glad Wolcott didn’t, either.

  “Derry, as things stand now, I still want you to be back in the office Monday morning. You can keep working the case by phone. If circumstances warrant it, we may send you back to Los Angeles.”

  I was afraid of this decision, but I was hardly surprised. I had to find some solid reason to change Wolcott’s mind. DeCosta was surely applying pressure to make my West Coast mission produce results. Meanwhile, I now had to ask Corinne to set up my return to New York on Sunday, which I figured to be another red-eye flight.

  “But there’s still an ultimatum out to the city?” Wolcott asked.

  “Yes, and it’s even more serious, I’d say. At first the HAP just tried to scare the city, but now they’re killing people. The only good thing is that Holly wasn’t implicated.”

  “That’s good, but I gather the mayor isn’t giving in.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Don’t be surprised if the senior Baxter shows up. I understand his private investigator is already at work.”

  “I haven’t had any contact with him . . . yet.”

  “Let’s hope you don’t. Remember, Baxter wants to establish culpability.”

  “We have none,” I said, convinced this was true.

  This was a good time to prepare for the evening’s interview, I thought. I had brought Professor Cabral’s book with me. The book had a handsome cover, now that I took a closer look at it, with multiple fingers of different colors and shapes thrusting and pointing at a soiled copy of the U.S. constitution. A half-page photo of Cabral and a brief bio were on the rear cover. This was his second book; the other had been written on the history of security in the U.S. He was a good-looking, middle-aged man, and I couldn’t help wondering if there was something between Val and him. Dark thoughts.

  The copyright date showed the book was only two years old. I didn’t have time to read much, so I leafed through it. The table of contents broke the book down into historical periods. I skimmed the first chapter which covered an overview of dissent movements, and the form they had taken—violent and nonviolent—which seemed to start almost as soon as the first settlers clambered ashore in the seventeenth century. He seemed to weave in all the relevant cultural and social aspects and a liberal dose of quotes. Judging from the mountain of footnotes and an impressive bibliography in the rear of the book, his research seemed prodigious. His writing style was lively and facile; it was not at all the dry and tedious academic tome I had expected and probably wanted to find. The following chapters covered the pre-Revolutionary War period, the Great Awakening, the pre-Civil War period, Reconstruction, the Industrial Revolution and labor unrest, World War I, the Interbellum period, and then the post-World War II period up to the present. In the last chapter, he gave his predictions for the future; I glanced at this section with the most interest. He believed these so-called splinter groups were going to expand and become a growing and troublesome thorn, possibly even expanding into a legitimate political party. It was interesting stuff, and I wished I had more time to read the book completely. Val was right, though; the professor knew his subject well. I looked Cabral up on the Internet, but there wasn’t much there other than the usual bio.

  What other books should I have been reading if I had the time? More important, what avenue of research hadn’t I thought of?

  Holly had never heard of Art Lebon, but according to Bender, he was a well-known radio personality with his own daily morning show, which included coverage of current events and celebrity interviews.

  "We're not guests on his show, but we're going to pay him a visit," Bender said with the customary sardonic gleam in his eye.

  "Why?" Holly asked.

  That's it, she thought: show curiosity. Make them think you're wavering. Rona and Luke weren't there. It was always easier to talk to Bender when Rona wasn't around sniffing disdainfully at everything she said.

  Bender gave her a calculating and appraising look as they sat in the living room. It was all so ironically mundane, she thought; they could be any couple sitting in their home discussing their plans for the evening. But in this living room, she was a desperate captive. She was quite sure Bender wasn't at all convinced of her sincerity. He seemed to be enjoying her supposed spurt of interest as if it were some sort of chess game.

  "Mr. Lebon has been quite outspoken in support of the mayor. I thought he might want to interview us."

  "Do I have to go?"

  "Yes," Bender said as if he were admonishing an unruly schoolgirl. "I thought you would want to."

  He smiled as if he sat somewhere on a stool in her mind looking down and weighing her very thoughts. How had he gotten into her head so successfully? Was she really that vulnerable? She hated his false look of disappointment and took it as an insult.

  "And, Holly, while we're delighted to see you showing signs of common sense, we still have to take certain precautions. I hope you'll bear with us."

  Holly realized exactly what precautions Bender meant as she was blindfolded and led to the car. She could tell she was sitting in the rear between Bender and Rona, whose cheap perfume she could smell. Luke no doubt was driving. Bender made sure she was strapped in. She would only be sure of having earned their trust if they stopped blindfolding her when she left the house and let her leave the house on her own volition.

  "BB," she said, making use of his nickname, which she knew he liked, "isn't it time you didn't have to blindfold me?" She spoke in his direction, but she felt a hiss emerging from Rona.

  "We'll see," Bender said. His voice had a magisterial tone as if he were sitting behind a judge’s bench rather than just inches from her.

  Holly estimated that they had driven less than fifteen minutes by the time the car stopped, but she wondered if he had gone in circles to confuse her. It was possible, or had she seen too many movies? The blindfold was taken off. Luke drove off, leaving her on a residential street with Bender and Rona. She walked between them in the semidarkness down a rustic street with towering trees and no sidewalk. They stopped in front of a large two-story house. She could smell the sweet fragrance of the trees and bushes. Were they jacaranda trees? That might help the police if she ever survived to tell of her ordeal.

  "Mr. Lebon lives well, Holly," Bender said.

  "What're you going to do?"

  "I told you," Bender said, "a friendly exploratory visit to find out why his support is waning."

  "Is he expecting us?"

  "Not exactly," Bender said with a mysterious smile.

  Lebon opened the door while Rona rang the bell. Bender stood so close to Holly in the high bushes by the cement walkway that she could feel his breath waft by her hair. Now it was clear that they were up to no good, but there was nothing she could do.

  "I'm sorry to bother you, but my car broke down and I don't have a cell phone," Rona lied. "If I give you my auto club card, could you please call them for me?"

  "OK," Lebon said uncertainly. From her semiblocked vantage point, Holly could only see a large figure in the doorway.

  Rona reached into her purse, took out a wallet and starting fishing in it. "Typical woman's purse. Can I just step forward for better light?"

  Lebon nodded, and Rona took a few steps into the threshold. Before Lebon could react with more than initial surprise, Rona lunged forward and applied a chloroform cloth over his mouth and nose. As Rona pressed it against Lebon's face, Bender shoved Holly forward into the house and closed the door behind
them. He then helped Rona topple Lebon to a small area rug on the ground.

  More lies, Holly thought, horrified. Lebon, she saw, was a heavyset man with a well trimmed goatee and a bald scalp that gleamed in the light. Rona pushed her ahead while Bender dragged Lebon into a large living room with a high ceiling and two large couches placed parallel to each other before a fireplace.

  "Holly,” Bender said, “I'm sorry to have misled you, but our friend here has really transgressed. We have to take remedial action, which I'm afraid will be on the severe side."

  "You're going to kill him?" Holly exclaimed, her eyes wide with terror.

  "Moi?" Bender said with a cruel look that sent chills through Holly. "Certainly not. You are."

  “No!” Holly screamed. Almost instantly Rona was upon her and pressed a new chloroform cloth hard against her face.

  “Holly, we wanted to give you a chance to show your true colors,” Bender said. “I’m very disappointed.”

  “BB, we don’t have time for this crap,” Rona scowled, lowering Holly onto the rug not far from the prone body of Lebon.

  Nodding, Bender put on a pair of plastic gloves. He took a gun from behind his back and wiped it clean with a handkerchief. “She should be standing,” he said, and he helped Rona pick Holly up. While leaning against Bender for support, he guided Holly closer to Lebon; then he slipped the pistol into her right hand.

  Bender slowly guided Holly’s aim at Lebon’s temple and pressed her finger against the trigger. The bullet entered Lebon’s head, creating an oozing, bloody hole that made it look like a lightening bolt had suddenly pierced his skull. Dark red blood spread over his face and dripped onto the rug.

  “She’s become a rather good shot, don’t you think?” Bender said. Rona just shook her head impatiently. Bender took the manifesto from the pocket on his leather jacket, put it in Holly’s hand and guided her hand to drop the paper atop Lebon’s chest. They tugged Holly out of the house and waited for just a few moments before Luke drove by to pick them up.

  “That went well, I’d say,” Bender said as they got into the car. “Holly, you’re getting good at this.”

  The drive to Professor Chabal's home in Pacific Palisades area didn't take long, but I had forgotten just how curvy Sunset Boulevard could be. Val sat in the front immersed in her own thoughts as we passed through the UCLA campus, Brentwood and then stretches of more prime real estate with large, well-tended lawns and leafy trees overhanging clean streets.

  The professor lived in a ranch house set back far away from the street by a broad, well-mowed green lawn. He was of a medium height and had thinning brown hair, half-glasses tilted on a sharp nose and a genial manner. He looked to be in his late forties, just as in his bio photo. His wife and one of their daughters, who still lived at home—one daughter was married, according to Val—were out shopping.

  We sat in a comfortable den with a long, curved beige couch and a smaller matching sofa. A series of four glass candleholders, each a little taller than the last, stood on a rectangular teak table. Bookcases lined one entire wall, and a large pastoral tapestry dominated another. Both Val and I declined drinks. Now that I had met Professor Cabral, I felt there was no reason to be suspicious of him and Val. I had been paranoid, and it was a good thing I hadn’t revealed my silliness to Val.

  "Valerie explained that you're looking for information about the so-called Help America Patriots," Dr. Cabral said, settling in a Scandinavian-style teak chair with armrests in the form of scimitars.

  "Yes," I said. "And who might be a member."

  "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't know anything about the group. If I get to update my book in an expanded version, I’ll include this HAP group. But that’s up to my publisher, of course.”

  Val and I nodded. I wondered how well his book had sold, but it would be rude to ask. No doubt, any canny publisher could see an opportunity for a new version of his opus.

  “I assume you know about their latest effort, the radio personality," Professor Cabral asked.

  "Yes," Val said as my face sank, though I tried to seem optimistic. "We heard about it on the radio coming here. But no details."

  “This looks like a targeted assassination,” I said. “But who are they after?”

  Professor Cabral shook his head. “It’s hard to say. Until today, they seem to have avoided killing people other than the tour guide. But now they’ve created a real climate of fear in the city.”

  "What are they after," Val asked, “beyond economic strangulation?”

  The professor thought a moment. "Evidently, society, in their opinion, has gone astray, so they feel justified in doing something about it. No matter how violent they’ve been, they still seem to be trying to deliver a message. But I’m not sure what their final goal is, assuming they have one. They do seem to want to destroy the city’s economy.”

  "Right now they seem more intent on intimidation than anything else," Val noted.

  "That's probably a fair assessment," Professor Cabral said, giving her a look of approval as if he were recognizing the contribution of a superior student.

  "Do you think they're a new outfit or linked somehow to other terrorist organizations, namely Al Qaeda or any of their splinter groups?" I asked.

  "That's a tough one," Professor Cabral admitted. "In my book I explored the often tenuous connections among these groups. But here there haven’t been any obvious links to any Muslim group, and only the HAP has taken credit for their heinous acts. The authorities could give you a much clearer answer, though, of course, they won’t."

  "Someone is funding them,” I mused. “Any thoughts on who it might be if not Al Qaeda?”

  "Not really,” Professor Cabral admitted. “It’s a real conundrum at this point.”

  "But it's still possible that the plot is connected to Al Qaeda," I pursued.

  "As the saying goes," Professor Cabral said with a slight smile, "anything is possible. But in this scenario, it is dubious in my opinion, as no one is shouting that the great Satan has been shamed or anything of the sort. This goes against the grain of Muslim terrorist groups celebrating their triumphs." Before Val or I could comment, the professor went on. "Keep in mind that anyone can create a name, even individuals. The media, being what it is—my apologies, Valerie—gobbles it up."

  "They certainly gobbled this one up," I said.

  "But crimes have been committed," Professor Cabral pointed out.

  "Yes," I granted, "but I'm not sure it was Holly Baxter."

  "Why?" Professor Cabral asked. He gave me a pedagogical look as he waited for a precocious student to justify his point.

  "Because it doesn't fit her profile," I said, more aroused than I should have been. "It just doesn't make sense to me. In fact, the organization doesn't make sense to me. I think it’s a surrogate group."

  “Really?” Professor Cabral responded.

  Even Val stared at me a moment, surprised by the sudden intensity of my remark.

  Her look flashed back and forth for an instant between Professor Cabral and me.

  "The police are finding her fingerprints all over the place, and she was certainly visible at the bank robbery," the professor said in rebuttal as if we were in his classroom. "Isn't it logical to consider her the prime suspect and to believe the organization exists when it leaves its manifestos behind?”

  "Yes," I said. "It's logical, all right. They're playing Robin Hood with the Hispanic community. They're trying to make the most of the Patty Hearst angle. But it's all too logical for my taste."

  "Well, that's an interesting perspective," Professor Cabral conceded.

  "How long do you think this will go on?" Val asked. "That is, if they aren't caught?"

  "I suspect not much longer. I'm surprised they've been here this long. The ultimatum really surprised me."

  "Do you think the mayor is right in not giving in?" I immediately asked.

  "Yes," Professor Cabral said. "Giving in would validate their acts. But," he a
dded, "they've already probably accomplished what they wanted."

  "Which is? . . ." I asked.

  Professor Cabral considered the question a moment. "Let me put it this way: if their intent, as is the case with many terrorist organizations, was to gain media attention and establish some sort of identity, they've succeeded. But, like I said, I'm not sure what their final goal is."

  "I'm not sure that they are who they say they are," I said, feeling as stubborn as I sounded.

  "You’re sticking to your surrogate thesis, I see." Professor Cabral looked at me as if he were expecting a well-thought-out solution to a difficult problem. I would have hated to be a graduate student under his tutelage. I looked for a second at Val, who was also waiting for my response. Maybe I should have held back and let the professor expound further.

  "They're so intent—too intent—on establishing what they stand for and claiming Holly Baxter joined them. It just bothers me."

  Professor Cabral smiled. "They're bothering a lot of people. So you think she's being used, a puppet?"

  "Possibly," I said, not at all as determined as I wanted to appear. With all this talk of logic, I was operating simply on instinct.

  The professor mulled this over for a moment. "Well, I can understand your argument. Not sure I agree with it, though."

  "So what do you conclude?" I asked, trying not to sound as impatient as I was.

  "Nothing beyond what I’ve already theorized," Professor Cabral said as he smiled in surprise. "There may be more to what’s going on than what appears on the surface. Since you’re trying so hard to pin me down, I suspect that when the HAP people are finally caught—and they will be—it will be discovered they’re just a dissident domestic bunch. But this is just another theory. Don’t quote me."

  “Of course not,” Val said.

  I nodded. The professor’s theory was probably just as valid as mine. Was Holly Baxter herself a cover-up for a foreign-based terrorist group pulling the financial strings from abroad, or were they some homegrown loonies posing as a radical political organization? Either way, it didn't make sense.