“I lost them in the crowd.”
“Jesus. Keep looking.”
“For Webber or Reyes?”
Again in a whisper so no one nearby might overhear, but with no room for doubt, she said “Webber!”
“Got it.”
“Find him, damn it, and make sure you don’t lose him again. Try to figure out what the hell’s going on.”
* * *
Webber followed Reyes and the other man out of the Courthouse. Catching up to them at the curb, he realized this might be his only chance: “Mr. Reyes?”
The other man quickly stepped in to shelter Reyes, pushing Webber back, almost knocking him off his feet.
Webber recovered. “Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t do that.”
The man flashed a gold shield. “Actually, I can. Back up and tell me who you are.”
“My name’s Mark Webber. I’d like to speak to Mr. Reyes for a moment.”
“It’s all right, agent. Something I can do for you, Mr. Webber?”
Webber’s felt his juices reaching full boil. “You bet there is.”
CHAPTER 68
Thursday, May 8, 12:05 pm
JOEY CAUGHT sight of Webber and Reyes standing at the curb, accompanied by some gorilla wearing a Bluetooth in his ear, and giving Webber a bad time. He continued slowly past them, as close as he could get without drawing attention to himself. He couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Trying to look like a typical tourist, he pulled out his phone and began taking pictures of the surrounding landmarks. And the three men.
The swing Justice’s son-in-law meeting with the White House chief-of-staff; he had to let Nishimura know. Must be a story in this somewhere. And just maybe a thank you party for me.
* * *
Thomas watched the three men from a safe distance. Jesus H. Christ. That’s the girl’s father, Webber. The fuck’s he doing here? Talking to Reyes no less.
Thomas wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying above the din, but he couldn’t move any closer, and risk being spotted. Thomas could tell Webber was agitated. The two by four with the ear piece was making a scene, drawing a lot of attention. Manny never did crave the limelight. Looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and disappear. Reyes said something to the goon and he backed off.
* * *
Reyes looked right into Webber’s eyes. “What is it I can do for you, Mr. Webber?”
Webber was flummoxed. He had to say something. He wanted to ask Reyes what he knew about Cassie, but it suddenly dawned on him that he might be putting Cassie in even greater jeopardy than she already was.
Reyes looked at Webber harshly. So did the FBI agent.
“Excuse me, Mr. Webber, I’m really in a hurry. Is there something you want to say to me?”
If the name “Webber” meant anything to Reyes, he sure wasn’t letting on. “Mr. Reyes, you’re the White House Chief of Staff. I was intrigued. I guess. About, well, what interest the White House has in this case.”
Reyes studied Webber’s face, as though looking for a place to insert a knife. “I’m sorry, Mr. Webber. White House policy doesn’t permit me to comment on pending litigation.” A chilling smile appeared on Reyes’s face. “You have yourself a nice day.”
With that Reyes and the FBI agent walked off, leaving Webber standing there, feeling a bit like a deflated balloon.
* * *
Just like that, it was over. Thomas hated surprises. And this one had the smell of disaster written all over it. He hurried to where he’d parked the van, scrambled inside, grabbed one of his phones, slipped in a new SIM card, and punched in the number.
CHAPTER 69
Thursday, May 8, 12:15 pm
AS MUCH AS he hadn’t allowed it to show, Reyes was spooked by his confrontation with that sputtering goof ball. Webber. Mark Webber. The name meant absolutely nothing to him.
He decided to skip the afternoon Court hearing and return to the White House. The FBI would have to handle the vigil for Thomas without him.
* * *
Hirschfeld sat alone in his office, sipping a cup of soup brought to him by his assistant. He was going round and round in his head, thinking about Brooks’s bizarre suggestion that morning.
Could an escrow strategy actually work? Or would suggesting something so outrageous push Cassie’s captors to an even worse extreme, to prove once again that they were the ones in control?
His cell phone rang. He glanced at the incoming number. It was unfamiliar. He quickly answered. “Hello?”
“Don’t hello me, old man. The fuck you doing with Reyes?”
“Reyes? Reyes who?”
“Smart. Go ahead, play games. See where that gets your little girl.”
“Manuel Reyes? White House Chief of Staff?”
“Give the man a kewpie doll.”
“I’m not doing anything with him. I swear. I barely know the man. What are you talking about?”
“Look, old man. I don’t want to hurt the kid if I don’t have to. I’m just in this to get you to perform. Anything happens to the girl, it’s on you. No one else. Not only was Reyes in Court this morning, but he had a bunch of ear-pieces stationed all around the perimeter of the Courtroom. Then, out of nowhere, your son-in-law approaches him outside the Courthouse a few minutes ago. They talked to one another! Now you better damn well talk to me and tell me what’s going on.”
Hirschfeld panicked. Brooks? Maybe Brooks had secretly reached out to the President. But why? “Please, listen to me,” he said. “You need to believe me. I have no idea what’s going on. None. I’ve not been in touch with Manuel Reyes or the President or anyone else. Just you.” His throat tightened up at the lie. He closed his eyes, grimaced. “I’ve not contacted anyone. I can’t imagine that Cassie’s father would have done anything that foolish either. But I’ll find out for you.”
The silence was excruciating.
“Better not be lying to me. Maybe I need to send you a little piece of your girl in a nicely gift-wrapped box. Watch for it.” The line went dead.
* * *
Thomas’s anger moved toward redline. Way too many loose ends between the girl’s grandfather, her father, Reyes, and the FBI heavies stationed around the Courtroom. He had no idea who was working with whom. Or why. Or who exactly—if anyone—was on the lookout for him.
It was too risky to return to the Courtroom. He’d watch the afternoon session from the sports bar. He’d still be able to text the old man if necessary. But his view of the proceedings would now be at the mercy of the TV cameras. And their visual priorities didn’t coincide with his.
CHAPTER 70
Thursday, May 8, 12:30 pm
LOTELLO HAD MADE the first attempt at eight that morning. His call was intercepted by an automated recording that said the office opened at nine. He didn’t leave a message. He called back at 9:15, this time reaching a live person who said that Mr. Lance would be tied up for most of the day. When Lotello explained that the matter was extremely urgent, she asked him to please hold. She returned to the line two minutes later, advising that she could fit him in for a few minutes between meetings at 12:30. Lotello thanked her, said he’d be there.
The offices were located in a new industrial park twenty minutes outside of D.C., intended to resemble the more prestigious inner-city high-rise office buildings, but at lower rents. He entered the contemporary modest reception area at 12:20. When the receptionist asked him for some identification, he chose to share only his civilian driver’s license, not his Metro D.C. credentials. She inspected the name and photo. He seemed to pass. He was shown into a large, well-appointed conference room with a high-tech look and feel—ergonomically angled computer devices built into the conference table opposite each chair and several wall-mounted large screen monitors.
He was invited to help himself to water, coffee, or tea and was informed that Mr. Lance would join him shortly. Intimidated by all the technology, Lotello reviewed his low-tech notepad while he wait
ed.
He had reached out to several contacts for a short list of “escrow agent” candidates. When the name J.R. Lance appeared on three different lists, Lotello looked into his bio, and decided he might have found the right man.
Lance had joined the army out of high school, and had served several tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan. He was highly regarded by his superiors, and ended up in an almost invisible elite black ops unit reportedly comprised of highly skilled and trained members, discreet, selfless, committed to the country, and used to carry out extremely covert missions.
Lance ultimately retired, honorably, from the military and immediately transitioned into the security business. His company handled such things as installing and maintaining computer security systems, finding hackers and turning them over to the authorities, providing human security systems—bodyguards—and recovering stolen ‘assets’—the kind that breathed as well as the kind that didn’t. He enjoyed a singular and unblemished reputation for excelling at his engagements, almost always below the radar and without fanfare.
At 12:30 sharp, Lance entered the conference room. He was as physically imposing as his background suggested. Lotello stood and they shook hands.
“J.R. Lance. Nice to meet you, Detective. Was there some reason you didn’t mention your occupation to my receptionist?”
“Only because I thought it might end our meeting before it started. I didn’t want to chance that, possibly make you nervous.”
“Why would you think that? My services are usually pretty low profile and sometimes a bit on the edge, but I have lawyers to be sure they’re always above board and legal. I frequently work with the authorities.
“And whether or not we end up working together, no one will ever learn what we discuss today. At least not from me. So, how can I be of assistance? What brings you to see me?”
Lotello knew Lance was between meetings and wasn’t sure how much time they’d have. He got right down to it, laying out all of the background, including how he and Brooks had come to be involved, and the escrow arrangement they wanted to explore with him.
“The two of you believe you are free to pursue this in private, unofficially, rather than formally turning it over to authorities more traditionally charged with such matters?”
“Frankly, that’s been the subject of considerable debate between us. Let’s say he’s given me a crash course in the relevant legal and ethical considerations; I’ve cautiously come around to his way of looking at the matter. At least for the moment, I’m satisfied that we are not legally or morally obliged to report any of this to the authorities. Do you feel differently?”
“Let me answer you this way: this is not the first time I’ve been asked to do something like this. Nor is it the first time I’ve agreed to do so. But I’ve also said no, more often than I’ve said yes.”
“How do you decide?”
“It’s not just how I feel, but also how my lawyers feel. They concentrate primarily on the legalities, making sure I remain within those boundaries. Done the right way, things that some might intuitively think unlawful, really aren’t. In contrast, I concentrate on the ethics—my ethics. On both scores, it usually comes down to making sure that there is a clear understanding and agreement among all of the parties involved. Where’s the girl’s family on all of this? Are they on board?”
“That’s a work in progress. They are fully aware that we are exploring this alternative on their behalf, but not with whom. They haven’t committed as yet, and won’t until they know more.”
“Fair enough. Let’s talk then about my ethics. Taking possession of the girl and turning her over to her family in the event the 28th Amendment is invalidated is easy. The harder question, of course, is my returning her to her kidnappers in the event the 28th Amendment is upheld.”
“I agree. So, how do you feel about that?”
“I’m driven by several competing interests. One is the girl’s welfare. I’m sure you’d love me to tell you that I’d never return her to the kidnappers no matter what, but it’s not that simple. I must—and will—strictly adhere to the terms of the negotiated agreement, no matter how harsh they might be. In this day and age of increasing extreme tactics, I, and a few others like me, are trying to build a cottage industry, so to speak, of helping to resolve cases like this. In order to succeed—not only for Cassie and her family today, but for all those similarly situated in the future—it’s essential that I remain neutral and non-judgmental, and that my integrity remains inviolate. If the hijackers can’t rely on me to honor my word, then, by definition, I will be useless to present—and future—victims. If Cassie’s kidnappers don’t firmly believe that about me, then I can’t realistically be of any possible help to her, and there’s no reason for me to become involved.”
“So you’re saying those who wish to save Cassie need to focus on the language of the escrow agreement, not on trying to influence or co-opt you.”
“That’s precisely what I’m saying. Yes.”
“But isn’t that calculated to fail?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because if you or we tilt the language for our benefit, the kidnappers will never agree to it. We won’t be able to reach an agreement.”
“First of all, I won’t tilt the language in anyone’s favor. My lawyers simply make sure the arrangement is lawful and that I know what my rights and responsibilities are. Who the agreement favors or doesn’t favor is strictly up to the parties. If you’re patently obvious, of course you’re right. However, keep in mind that the assailants and victims don’t necessarily look at written agreements in the same way, or from the same perspective.”
“That last point. You lost me. Can you run that by me again?”
“Sorry, sometimes I forget that it’s easier for me because I’ve been through these situations before—several times. They’re all unique, but they do have some common threads. I don’t mean to talk down to you, but how about if I share a few basic observations?”
“Sure, that’s why I’m here.”
“Okay. Kidnapping for political ends is arguably extreme, but it’s nothing new—and perhaps on the rise. The Vikings were adept at it. It was prevalent with fringe guerrilla groups in the Sixties and Seventies, not just Patty Hearst but others as well, including a number of American businessmen kidnapped in Argentina. One Exxon executive was held 144 days before the company finally coughed up $14 million to secure his release. More recently, the baton has been passed to Mexico, where much of my experience has been.
In your case, we know what the kidnappers want, but we don’t know who they are, how they think, or how they operate. From my experience, however, they’ll put much less stock in the language of a written document than your side.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they have to remain invisible. For them, the agreement is not something they will ever be able to take to court to enforce, or to use as a basis to obtain an award of damages from a court if you breach your obligations to them under the agreement.”
“Well, then, how can we ever expect to get them to settle on language?”
“I didn’t say the agreement won’t be important to them, just that they’ll look at it differently than you will. For them, it’s simply a barometer to decide whether they feel they can trust me to honor it, especially since your side would be the one recommending me.
“The family’s focus will be both on me and on the contract language. The kidnappers’s focus will mostly be on me. They’ll buy off on the agreement, but likely only after someone on their behalf first meets with and fully vets me, and concludes that I can be trusted to honor the terms of the agreement on behalf of each of the parties.”
“Language that serves Cassie’s purposes, but without causing the kidnappers to be concerned that you won’t also honor their objectives, isn’t that a pretty fine line?”
“It is. And just as important to me as it is to you. The last thing I want is to have the girl’s ca
ptors think I haven’t honored my commitment to them. I can take care of myself. But I have staff. I can’t be everywhere at once. Not only do we need them to conclude they can trust me, I also want to be sure they won’t think I’ve abused that trust.”
Lance glanced at his watch and stood, signaling the end of the meeting.
“I’ve gotta run. My receptionist will show you out. Give her all of your contact information, and two dollars. My lawyers will prepare a first draft of the escrow agreement and I will email the draft to you first thing in the morning. The email will include contact information on how to reach me 24/7. You and Judge Brooks will need to correct any factual errors in the document and fill in any blanks or other gaps. You can also propose any revisions you want, but keep in mind the ‘fine line’ we’ve just discussed. Once we’re in accord, you’ll have to figure out how to get the document to the kidnappers to review. And give them a chance to have a representative meet with me on their behalf—a meeting that may provide an opportunity for me to find a way to bring the parties somewhat closer together.”
“Sounds right, but two dollars? You couldn’t be saying your fees are two dollars are you?”
“My charges are spelled out in the agreement. They’re a lot more than two dollars, but they’re generally the least difficult thing for us to agree on. The two dollars is a lawyer thing, one dollar from your side and one dollar from the other side. You’re advancing the other side’s for them. Your wife’s a lawyer. She or Judge Brooks can explain it to you better than I can. It has something to do with establishing my agency on behalf of each party. That I’m not acting as a volunteer, what the law calls an officious intermeddler, which could increase my legal exposure.”
Lotello stood as well. They shook hands once again. Lance turned and exited through the same door he’d used twenty minutes earlier. As if on cue, the receptionist appeared and escorted Lotello back to the lobby. Before leaving, he gave her his contact information and two one dollar bills. It had been worth the price of admission.
Brooks-Lotello Collection Page 19