So he pulled back around the block and this time went beyond the Tybaum's temporary house and pulled into an empty drive then backed out so he was again facing the house. It was hard staying awake, he found as he settled in for the long watch, but he knew it was going to be worth it.
At six p.m., Mona had returned and Rudy assumed the family was all inside. He started up his Lincoln and went rushing past the house, down another block, before turning right and rushing out to the highway.
He needed a silencer and he thought he knew where he might find one.
Across the river in Arlington, just as he drove down off the bridge, Rudy turned right, drove up two blocks, then made a left turn. He pulled down three store fronts to a window that said, in large gold letters, PAWN. He parked in the side lot and hurried inside.
"Raul here?" he asked a burly white man behind thick bulletproof glass.
"Raul!" called the burly man down the length of the display cases full of pawn. "Window One!"
A Hispanic-looking man wiping his hands on a shop towel appeared out of a private room at Rudy's far left. He saw Rudy but remained impassive even though he knew the man quite well.
"Yes?" he said through the aluminum speaker embedded in the glass divider between the two men.
"Forty- caliber Glock. Silencer."
The man's eyebrows knitted together. "That'll cost you."
"Not a problem."
"Five grand. I can have it here in one hour."
Rudy pulled a gangster's roll of hundreds out of his pocket. He counted off fifty bills, pushed them beneath the glass, and said, "Count it."
The man riffled quickly through the bills, counting. He then turned and ran the bills through an electronic counter. Same total: fifty.
"Done," said Raul. "Come back in sixty minutes. Leave for now."
Without a word, Rudy turned and walked out of the store. Out on the sidewalk he looked both ways. A restaurant across the street caught his eye. Fernando's said the blinking sign in the window. Dodging two oncoming cars, Rudy danced across the street and entered the restaurant at a slow walk so as to not draw attention to himself. A woman holding a plastic-sleeved menu to her breast approached and motioned for him to follow her. At the table she set down a plastic drinking glass of water and ice. She then turned, went behind the counter, and returned minutes later with a bowlful of tortilla chips and smaller pot of salsa. Laying her offerings before him she said, "Take your time."
He ordered a green chili relleno and a cheese crisp with a bottle of Dos Equis. The food was passable and the beer was refreshing. In fact, he decided to have a second, something he almost never did when he was working a job. But he had an hour to kill and he didn't want to pass the time outside the pawn shop sitting in the parking lot while running the engine to stay warm. The second beer was nursed for almost thirty minutes. Then he stood up, walked to the register, and asked for his check. He paid up and shrugged into his North Face coat and stepped outside. Snowing again.
Back across the street he dodged, this time going straight inside the pawn shop and walking directly to Window One.
"Raul!" called the burly white man. "Your customer is back!”
Again Raul entered from Rudy's left, this time carrying an object wrapped up in a yellow shop rag. He placed it on his side of the bulletproof window and unwrapped the shop rag. Rudy stared at the silencer. "Pass it through," he asked the proprietor, and the silencer came sliding from beneath the window. Rudy picked it up, turned and stared through the instrument into the outside light--gray as it was--coming in the front window. He turned the item as one might turn a kaleidoscope for effect. Evidently satisfied with the silencer, he nodded to Raul and pocketed the device.
"Come back," Raul said.
"You can be sure of it," Rudy replied on his way to the door. "Adios."
"Adios."
Rudy drove slowly back to the Tybaum house. There was no hurry; the hit wasn't until after midnight but before dawn.
The two Dos Equis beers had left him drowsy. Sitting behind the steering wheel, his head propped against the window, he shut his eyes. Just for a minute--he thought. Four hours later he jerked awake. Something had hit his car. He scanned around 360 degrees. Then there, off at his four o'clock, he saw the body of a large man. He was holding a baseball bat on his shoulder and now was walking around to the driver's window. Rudy rolled down the window and looked up. The silenced gun was resting on his lap under a newspaper he'd brought along for that purpose. The man leaned down.
He was brawny and he wasn't smiling.
"That's my house back over there," the man growled at Rudy.
"I see. How can I help you?"
"Why're you parked in front of my house?"
"It's a pubic street, mister. I can park here for a week if I decide to."
The man reared upright. For just a moment Rudy was afraid the bat was about to come crashing back down.
But it didn't. Instead, the man leaned down again and pointed the thick end of the bat right at Rudy's head. "No, son, that ain't the way it works around here. You can't park here for a week. Not even for a day. We've had burglaries and we've had muggings in our neighborhood. Our watch group is online; we've got shit going down every day. So you're gonna have to leave or I'm gonna have to think of some other way to convince you."
Staring straight ahead, Rudy flexed his jaw, trying hard not to be aggressive. "Tell you what," he said. "What if I pay you to let me stay here just awhile longer?"
"How much longer?"
"All night."
"Why would you want to do that?"
Rudy's mind was racing. The man knew what he looked like. If the Tybaum kids died that night, the man could pick Rudy out of a lineup in a hot second. And he knew it. His cover was blown, the hit was off, he'd have to think of some other way of getting the job done.
"All right," Rudy replied. "I guess you're right, I guess I wouldn't really want to."
"That's right."
"So I'm going to leave now. I won't be back. I'm sorry I bothered you tonight."
"Don't come back," the man said, waggling the bat menacingly at Rudy.
Rudy felt the heavy gun in his hand, made heavier and even more deadly with the silencer mounted on its muzzle.
"I won't be back," he finally said, relaxing his grip on the gun. "I'm done here."
"You are that."
"No need to be a tough guy," Rudy said back, his hackles suddenly raising up.
"No tough guy, friend. Just a man with a family. You know what else? My wife has your license number. Anything happens around here, you're the first suspect on the cops' list. Got me?"
"Sure. But don't worry, I'm already gone."
Rudy downshifted the idling Lincoln, nodded at the man and raised his window as he began rolling away.
“Damn it to hell!” Rudy cried under his breath as he accelerated on down the street. He pointed at the Tybaum's house as he rolled past. "You're very lucky, my children. Very lucky."
Then he was at the corner and turning right and gone.
But he wasn't finished.
It had only just begun.
24
Vice President Jon Vengrow was widely known as a private man who kept his own counsel. He was rarely seen in public except for Rose Garden events where the president announced some new tax cut or new treaty with a trading partner. So when I called his office and explained who I was and that I wanted to speak privately with him, my request was summarily rejected. I thought maybe they didn't realize who I was, so I tried writing a letter to him explaining that his name had been mentioned by a witness in a criminal case I was investigating. Again, nothing but a stonewall.
I decided I must be trying the wrong approach.
So, I convened a grand jury and issued a subpoena to the VP. It was served on him by a U.S. Marshal on March 2 by leaving a copy at his office with his legal counsel, who stepped up and said they would accept service. So be it. The subpoena's appearance date was March 9,
a Monday, at 10 a.m.
Next up was Vincent Tirley. I made an appointment to speak with the treasurer of Gerry Tybaum's PAC. I wanted to discuss the missing 12 million dollars and see whether we could begin to understand exactly what had happened and how the same amount of money was deposited in a Russian bank and whether any of it was related to the Gerry Tybaum murder. The FBI had taken a statement from Vincent Tirley previously, and I had his statement, but I wanted more. So Mr. Tirley agreed to meet with me--but only after I let it drop that I was convening a grand jury and that he could tell his story under oath to the grand jury if he didn't want to speak to me. He elected the one-on-one with me in the privacy of his office.
I arrived at Tirley's Foggy Bottom office on Tuesday morning and was immediately provided with coffee and a seat in a small conference room. Tirley didn't keep me waiting but joined me just minutes later, a second man accompanying him, a man who I knew would be his legal counsel. Introductions were made, and a court reporter commissioned by Tirley's lawyer set up her tripod and cracked her knuckles then nodded, ready to proceed.
"I'll want a copy," I told her. "Any problems with me getting a copy of her transcription?"
Tirley shook his head.
"Good, then," I said, and took a seat at the table.
I didn't waste any time. Tirley was a slight, pasty-faced man, early fifties, whose pinstriped suit was perfectly tailored to fit his body and whose fingernails reflected the dull light in the conference room thanks to their coat of clear polish.
I launched right in, acceding to a standard question-answer routine because that's what I do whenever a court reporter shows up. I thought it fit the mood and the staffing quite nicely.
"State your name," I said.
"Vincent Richard Tirley," came the reply.
"Mr. Tirley, what is your business, occupation, or profession?"
"Chief Financial Officer, Government Use of Lands and Policy. It's a PAC."
"Also known as GULP?"
"I think some people are fond of that acronym, yes."
"Tell us the nature of GULP's business."
"We are a political action committee. Our charter provides that we may do any and all fund-raising as we choose where climate policies, legislation, and elections are involved. We work hand-in-glove with the Climate Change party."
His face brightened as he told me this. Evidently, he was proud of the work of his PAC and his cheerfulness convinced me that he believed in its mission.
"Are you acquainted with Gerald Tybaum?"
"I am. Or was. Mr. Tybaum founded the Climate Change party and served on the board of GULP."
"As a board member of GULP, what were Mr. Tybaum's responsibilities?"
"Hiring and policy. All new hires went through GULP's board of directors and all policy matters, and campaign supports were debated and voted on by GULP's board. Sometimes those debates were quite heated too, I might add."
"I'm sure that's true. Especially in today's political climate and environment where giant masses of the Arctic and Antarctic are melting away."
"Exactly."
"As a member of GULP's board did Mr. Tybaum have access to GULP's checkbook?"
"Could he write money out of our accounts? Is that what you're asking?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Recently I was visited by the FBI in connection with a meeting I had with Mr. Tybaum. The FBI indicated there was likely a connection between Mr. Tybaum and funds reported to be missing from the PAC. Can you enlighten me about this?"
"We were embezzled to the tune of just over twelve-million dollars and change. The embezzlement was investigated by the FBI under federal PAC laws."
"Please state what you told the FBI about the missing funds and Tybaum's ability to move those funds himself."
"Pretty much what I've told you, that Gerry Tybaum didn't have access or signatory authority on any of our cash accounts."
"Did you give your opinion regarding Tybaum's involvement in the embezzlement of GULP?"
"I did give my opinion."
"And what was that opinion?"
"I told them I believed Gerry Tybaum had no way of obtaining control over any of our accounts or monies. I still don't see how he might have. Plus, we have no idea where the money went or wound up so we can't even formulate an educated guess as to any role Gerry Tybaum might have had."
I realized then and there that the FBI hadn't advised GULP and Tirley that Tybaum's Russian bank account had received a deposit of almost the exact amount that had been embezzled. I decided, moreover, that they weren't going to learn about this possible connection from me. So I moved on.
"Can you share with me any notions or theories you do have about the disappearance of GULP campaign contributions?"
"Yes, I believe our money was moved from our account to some other account by someone within the bank. Not from our end."
"What bank was that?"
"Charter Bank and Mercantile of Boston. All of our accounts are with Charter Bank."
"Did the FBI investigate Charter Bank?"
He looked at his attorney at this point, who did a small shrug and a nod. Go ahead, answer.
"The FBI investigated, but we haven't been told anything they found out. We're as much in the dark now as we ever were."
"Mr. Tirley, I've never dealt with a PAC before. But twelve-million dollars is a trainload of money. Would that be a lot for any PAC? If you know?"
"I've worked for several PACs. Twelve-million is at the top end of what I've seen. But remember, there's a zillion climate activists out there, Mr. Gresham. Everyone's in on it now. The only ones who don't realize this yet are your current administration in the White House. They still want to drill, baby, drill."
"Without getting into the politics of climate change and the polarization of people because of it, can you tell me whether Gerald Tybaum had any detractors who might have wanted to see him dead? Any that you're aware of?"
"Only about twenty-million executives working for the fossil fuel companies. Hatred for Gerry ranged far and wide. Petroleum hated him, so did coal, even certain people in Congress whose campaign financing relies on coal and oil barons writing huge checks. They hated him too. Yes, there was a world of hatred for Gerry out there."
"What about more personal relationships? Are you aware of any one person who might want to see him dead?'
"Not really. Well...maybe I shouldn't say this."
"Say what?"
"I know Gerry was reportedly boffing the VP's wife. So maybe the government wanted him dead. I'm half-kidding, sir. I don't know this, and I really shouldn't have repeated it. It's just a rumor. But everyone around the Beltway knows about it."
I smiled at him. "I'll put that down as pure guesstimation. Not to worry."
"Thank you."
"Had you ever seen Gerry and Mrs. Vengrow together?"
"Oh, no. Gerry would never have been that open and notorious. He was a gentleman."
"So this connection between Gerry and the woman is just hearsay?"
"I think that's right. I'm feeling terrible about myself for repeating that rumor just now. Nobody knows anything about anybody else. It's all hearsay and guesses."
"We've talked about detractors who might want Gerry dead. And we've talked about an alleged affair he was having. Can you think of anyone else who might've wanted Gerry dead?"
"No, sir. The whole climate thing is a hornet's nest. There are millions of people on both sides of the issue. Any of them might have a grudge. It looks like an all-but-impossible case, Mr. Gresham."
"All right, I'll remember that. Do you have any questions for me, Mr. Tirley?"
"Yes, do you have any idea what might've happened to our missing money?"
"No," I lied. "No idea."
I then thanked him, and we said our goodbyes.
Part of being a good prosecutor, I had just learned, was keeping a straight face when telling a lie.
But I had been a defense lawyer since for
ever.
The lying skill was one I already owned.
25
The Vice President was anxious to sneak out of the hospital to keep a rendezvous with his lover. However, the Secret Service insisted the official vehicles be used—flashing lights and all. If he agreed to that, they would agree to look the other way—as usual, the unspoken gentleman's agreement between the errant husband and his armed entourage. So, he grudgingly agreed—which spoke to the desire he felt for the young woman.
Mona Tybaum was always anxious when meeting the Vice President. Low profile and clandestine was out of the man's reach, as the second-in-command of the U.S. Everywhere he went it was long black cars, lights and sirens with Secret Service escort, squad cars and police motorcycles. It was very little different from the motorcades typically seen when the president comes to town.
On the same day Michael Gresham was meeting the GULP CEO, Mona was attempting a meet up with the VP. Their plan was for him to go the Georgetown Good Egg restaurant, be seated, get up and go to the bathroom, and then disappear on down the hallway and out the back door to where Mona would be waiting with her Subaru SUV. It was all going as planned until the VP pushed open the rear restaurant door and an alarm sounded. Someone was using a protected doorway. A sole security officer was first on the scene and just managed to see the Subaru speeding away down the alley with two figures in the front seat. The Secret Service officers behind him pushed him roughly aside and began shouting into their wrist mics for vehicles to be brought around to give chase.
But it was too late. By the time the motorcade squad cars came around the SUV was long gone. And no one had a description as the security officer alone had seen the receding vehicle, and he was not a car buff. Meaning he had no idea what make or model he was watching squeal off down the alley. Nor did he get a license number. "I don't think it had a license plate," he told the Service. They gave him pained expressions and moved away to begin searching by air and along surface streets driven randomly by a large force of Washington D.C. Police. As a Service lieutenant said to the men he commanded, "This could even be a kidnapping by a foreign power."
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