Nash replied, “Isn’t that a little too public for what we’re discussing?”
“I said a public place, and you said this is just an informal, exploratory meeting—and a courtesy to me. What’s the problem?”
“I just told you. It’s too public.”
“You’re making me suspicious, Ted.”
“Paranoid is more like it.”
“Hey, didn’t I meet you alone on the beach at night? That’s not paranoid—that’s just stupid. But this time, I want to be smart.” I added, “It’s a great view.”
“I really want to do this in an office. Anybody’s office. Koenig. Stein. You pick.”
“Are you trying to keep me on the phone? See you tomorrow at eight-thirty. Windows on the World. You’re buying breakfast.” I hung up. Asshole.
It was a long afternoon. My wife was due to arrive at Kennedy with one, possibly two welcoming committees, and my star witness was out on the street.
Jill called me and said, “I spoke to Mark. He said the FBI had come to his office today inquiring about my whereabouts.”
“What time was this?”
“He didn’t say.”
I suspected that they’d actually come to his house yesterday, which prompted that strange phone call from him. Also, I wasn’t sure it was the FBI who came calling—more likely the CIA with FBI credentials.
Jill continued, “They wouldn’t tell him what it was about—only that I was a witness to something and that they needed to speak to me.”
“Did he ask you what it was that you witnessed?”
“He did. And I told him all about it. About Bud, and us on the beach, and the videotape.”
“How did he take that?”
“Not very well. But his five minutes were up, and I hung up on him.”
I said to her, “I want you to come back here, now. Shut off your cell phone.”
“All right. I’ll be about fifteen minutes.”
Things were moving a little ahead of my schedule, but it wasn’t such a bad thing that Ted Nash knew for certain that John Corey had found Jill Winslow, as long as he didn’t know where we were. Basically, Mr. Nash was having a very bad day. I couldn’t even imagine the phone calls between Nash and whoever it was who had decided five years ago to engage in a conspiracy and cover-up.
But Ted Nash thought he had a chance to turn this around—either at the airport by grabbing me and Kate, or tomorrow at the meeting.
Meanwhile, he was juking and jiving everyone involved with this, trying to do damage control, trying to find me, and going to the bathroom a lot. And when he found out that I had a copy of the videotape, he would wish he was dead again.
I checked my cell phone, and there was a message from the object of my ruminations, Mr. Nash. I called him back, and he said, “I spoke to a few people, and I just wanted to confirm our meeting tomorrow.”
He sounded a little more concerned than the last time I spoke to him. He’d obviously been conferencing with worried people. I said, “I’ll be there.”
He asked, “What . . . what will you want to discuss?”
“Whatever.”
“Let me ask you this—do you have any hard evidence to present that might cause this case to be re-examined?”
“Such as?”
“I’m asking you.”
“Oh . . . well, I might have something. Why?”
“Will you bring that evidence tomorrow?”
“If you’d like.”
“That would be good.” He asked, “Do you have any witnesses who you would like to be present at that meeting?”
“I might.”
“Any witnesses you have would be welcome at that meeting.”
“Are you reading from a script?”
“No. I’m just telling you to bring whoever you want.”
“So, I can bring a guest to breakfast? Your treat?”
I could almost see him snapping a pencil. He said, “Yes, you should bring with you any evidence, and any person who you would like to speak.” He added, “There are offices available in the North Tower if we want to adjourn to a private venue.”
I decided to completely fuck up his day, and said, “I might want to make an audiovisual presentation. Can we have some equipment available?” I was sorry I couldn’t see his face.
He let a long second pass, then said, “I think you’re bluffing.”
“Call my bluff. Have a VCR and screen available.”
He didn’t reply for a while, then said, “I told you, the tape was destroyed.”
“Well, you were lying. It was only erased.”
“How do you know that?”
“You know how I know.”
He said, “You’re blowing smoke up my ass.”
I said to him, “Did you ever see that French film, A Man and a Woman?”
I waited for a reply while his head gears engaged and spun, but he didn’t say anything, so I said, “Think about it.” I added, “You and Griffith really stepped on your dicks.”
I could picture him in a room with a few people, all of them looking at him. If Griffith was also there, or Mr. Brown, they were probably all pointing their fingers at one another.
Nash said, “Either the lady is very clever, or you’ve made her more clever than she was that night.”
“Well, we know I’m clever. I think she’s clever. But I don’t know about you anymore, Ted. Or your friends.”
He reverted to his thuggish self and said, “Sometimes, when we make a mistake, we have to bury our mistakes.”
“Speaking of which, when can I expect your next death? Is this an annual event?”
He surprised me by saying, “Are you having fun?”
“I am.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“I will. You, too. Gotta go.”
“Hold on. Tell me what you expect to happen after this meeting? What is the result you’re looking for?”
“Truth. Justice.”
“How about for yourself? And Kate?”
“I smell a bribe.”
“Are you willing to consider a compromise? A good deal for everyone?”
“No.”
“What if we told you what this is all about? Why we had to do some of the things we did? Would you be open to seeing the whole picture and considering the larger issues involved?”
“You know what? I don’t give a shit what this is all about, and you can take your moral ambiguities and shove them up your ass. There is not one fucking thing you or your friends could tell me that would make any of this legal, lawful, or right. Friendly fire accident? Terrorist attack? Space alien death ray? Or maybe you just don’t know. Whatever it was, the government owes the American people a full and honest answer. That’s the result I expect from this meeting.”
Ted Nash informed me, “You’re in way over your head, Mr. Corey.”
“And you’re up to your ass in shit.” I said, “I’m feeling triangulated. See you tomorrow.” I hung up, went to the bar, and got myself a cold beer.
Ted Nash is a master at alternating between death threats, compromises, and bribes to achieve his goals. In this case, his ultimate goal was to bury the evidence, and while he was at it, to bury me, probably Jill Winslow, and possibly Kate.
And this was the guy who Kate liked. I know the ladies like the bad boys, but Ted Nash was beyond bad; he was, to make an analogy, like a vampire—sometimes charming, mostly scary, and always evil. And he was now back from the grave to kill anyone who threatened to expose his dark secrets.
So, no matter what happened tomorrow, or the next day, this guy was not going to rest or feel safe until he killed me.
I felt the same way about him.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Jill returned with a few shopping bags, one of which contained a tube of Crest toothpaste, and the other a VHS tape of A Man and a Woman.
She sat down, took off her shoes, and put her feet up on a hassock. She commented, “I’m not used to this much walking.”
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I said, “If you’re going to live in Manhattan, you’ll do a lot of walking.”
She smiled and replied, “You don’t think Mark will give me a car and a chauffeur as part of our divorce?”
“Can’t hurt to ask.” I was glad to see she still had an upbeat attitude. Starting a new life was exciting, but eventually the scary part started to sink in. It was time to brief Mrs. Winslow, and I pulled up a chair across from her and said, “I have a meeting tomorrow morning at eight-thirty—to discuss you, the videotape, and related matters.”
She nodded.
I continued, “Bud Mitchell is scheduled to be at that meeting.”
“I see. And you’d like me to be there.”
“I would.”
She thought a moment, then said, “If that’s what you want, I’ll be there.” She asked, “Who else will be there?”
I replied, “I’ll be there, of course, and probably Kate. On the other side will be Ted Nash and Liam Griffith, who you met five years ago. The third man you met, Mr. Brown, may or may not be there.”
She nodded and said, “I didn’t particularly like Ted Nash.”
“Most people don’t—me included.” Kate did, but not for much longer. I continued, “I’ve asked that my boss, Jack Koenig, be there, and perhaps a police captain named David Stein.”
“Whose side are they on?”
“That’s a very good question.” I said, “I think of this as a game between two teams—the Angels and the Demons. The players are choosing up sides now, and there could be some defections from one team to the other. The captain of the Demons is Ted Nash, and he’s not changing sides. Everyone else is waiting to see what happens at this meeting.”
“Who’s the captain of the Angels?”
“Me.”
She smiled and said, “I’m on your team. And so, too, of course is your wife.”
“Of course.” I added, “I’ve asked that a person from the attorney general’s office be there—he or she will be the referee. To continue the analogy, there may be people there who are only spectators, but who may want to get in the game.” I further added, “The videotape is the game ball.”
She didn’t reply for a few seconds, then said to me, “I still don’t understand why this is a problem. That aircraft was shot down. The people who took my erased tape and restored it know that. Who is keeping this information secret? And why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will we know tomorrow?”
“They may tell us why, but it doesn’t matter why. They’ll never tell us who. And it doesn’t matter right now why or who. It only matters that this tape, and your testimony, and Bud’s testimony become public. The rest, I can assure you, will sort itself out.”
She nodded, then asked, “They’ve actually gotten Bud to come forward?”
“If that’s what they want, then Bud will do what they want.”
“But how about the promise made five years ago that if Bud and I answered their questions, they would never reveal our names or what happened that night?”
“A lot of things have happened since then. Don’t worry about Bud—he’s not worried about you.”
“I know.”
“And don’t feel awkward or guilty when you meet him tomorrow. You need to get up for this game.”
She looked at her feet on the hassock, and asked me, “Will the videotape be shown?”
“Probably, but neither you nor Bud need to be present.”
She nodded.
I said, “This meeting will be held in a public place—Windows on the World in the Trade Center. We may then adjourn to a Federal office in that building where the tape will be played.” I looked at her closely. She’d understood all of this as an abstraction—divorce, public exposure, and all of that—but as we got into the specifics—Windows on the World at 8:30 A.M., parties present, and so forth—she was becoming somewhat anxious. I said to her, “No matter how bad any of this gets, in the end, only good will come out of this.”
“I know.”
I said, “Something else you should know. This first meeting is, quite frankly, the most dangerous.”
She looked at me.
I said, “I think that these people are desperate and therefore dangerous. If they have any chance to squash this before it gets bigger and out of their control, then their time and place for that are tomorrow, before, during, or after the meeting. Understand?”
She nodded.
I said, “I’ve taken some precautions, but I need you to be aware that anything could happen. Stay alert, stay close to me, or to Kate, or to Dom Fanelli. Don’t even go to the ladies’ room without Kate along. Okay?”
“I understand . . .” She asked me, “Why don’t we call the news media?”
“After tomorrow, we won’t have to call them—they’ll call us. But for now . . . there’s an unspoken rule in my business about going to the media. We don’t do that. Ever.” I smiled and said, “That’s a worse crime than treason or conspiracy.”
“But—”
“Trust me. By the end of the week, you’ll have all the news media you can handle for the rest of your life.”
“All right.”
I said, “Sometime tomorrow or the next day, Kate will discuss with you the Witness Protection Program, and the new identity program, if you’re interested in that.”
She didn’t reply.
I stood and said, “I need to make a phone call. You can listen.” I turned on my cell phone, canceled the anonymous feature, and dialed. I said to Jill, “My boss, Jack Koenig.”
Koenig answered his cell phone. “Corey?”
“I’m back.”
“Well . . . how are you? How was Yemen?”
“It was great, Jack. I wanted to thank you for the opportunity.”
“You’re quite welcome. I heard you did a good job there.”
“Well, then, you heard wrong. No one’s allowed to do a good job there.”
He said, “I’m not used to so much honesty.”
“That’s too bad. If we all started to get honest about the problem, we could find a solution.”
“We’re all doing the best we can.”
“No, we’re not. But that’s not why I called you.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Have you heard from Ted Nash?”
“No . . . I . . . what are you talking about? He’s dead.”
“He’s not, and you know it.”
There were a few seconds of silence, then Koenig asked me, “Where are you?”
“Jack, don’t waste my five minutes of untriangulated phone time with questions that I’m not going to answer. Answer my question—have you heard from Nash?”
“I have.”
“Will you be there tomorrow?”
He didn’t answer and said, “First of all, I don’t like your tone of voice. Second, you’ve gone from career problem to career over. Third, I gave you a direct order not to—”
“Answer my question—are you in on this or not?”
“I’m not.”
“You are now.”
“Who the fuck do you think—?”
“Jack, you can get on the right side of this now, or I swear to God you’re going to wind up in jail.”
“I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, you’re either in so deep, you can’t get out, or you’re waiting to see how this plays. If you wait past eight-thirty tomorrow, you’re going to miss this boat, and the next boat goes straight to jail.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Look, I’m giving you a chance because I actually like you and respect you. What you need to do is to conference with your bosses in New York and Washington. Lay it all out and come to an intelligent decision. I’d like to see you at that meeting tomorrow, and I’d like you to be wearing a halo.”
He was obviously thinking fast and hard, which is difficult when you started with your mind someplace else a f
ew minutes before. He said, “I’ll be there.”
“Good. Don’t forget the halo. And bring David Stein.”
He said to me, “You understand, John, that there’s a fifty-fifty chance you won’t make that meeting, or if you do, it’s about fifty-fifty that you won’t get to your next destination.”
“I’ll give you ten-to-one odds that my odds are a lot better than that.”
“I’m not threatening, I’m warning. You know I’ve always respected your honesty and your work . . . and on a personal level, I like you.”
Actually, I didn’t know any of those things, but I sensed a small change in the direction of the wind, which was the purpose of this call. I said, “I feel the same way about you, Jack. Do the right thing. It’s never too late.”
He didn’t reply.
I said, “Gotta go. But one more thing . . .”
“Yes?”
“There was a fucking videotape, and there was a fucking rocket.”
He didn’t respond to that, but said, “Welcome home.”
“Thanks. Now it’s time for you to come home.” I hung up.
Jill said to me, “Do you always talk to your boss like that?”
“Only when I have him by the balls.”
She laughed.
It was mid-afternoon, and Jill and I were having tea in the room. Somehow, in some way that I couldn’t verbalize, the tea and finger sandwiches went with the pink shirt.
Jill checked her cell phone, and there were two messages. She listened, then replayed the messages, and handed me the phone. The first message said, “Hello, Mrs. Winslow? This is Ted Nash, who I’m sure you remember from our meetings five years ago. I understand that there have been some new developments regarding the matter we discussed at that time. It’s important for you to understand that the agreement we made then is in jeopardy as a result of your speaking to a person who is not lawfully authorized to deal with this matter. It’s extremely important that you call me as soon as possible to discuss this before you do or say anything that will compromise you, your friend, your personal life, and your legal safeguards.” He gave Mrs. Winslow his cell phone number and said, “Please call me today to discuss this urgent matter.”
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