Robert Tanenbaum - Counterplay

What’s Kane get out of this? Karp had asked. He’s not the “political causes” type.

I don’t know…money. Jaxon shrugged. Al Qaeda has almost limitless funds, which Americans contribute to every time they fill up their cars with gas-either directly, or to governments that support these hyenas. So Kane arranges whatever they need and gets a flat fee and maybe asylum, some sweet penthouse overlooking downtown Tehran. Or maybe there’s more to it than that. The important thing will be to learn as much as we can about their plans, and then try to lure them into a trap. This photo will help us spot Azzam. His brows knit. If the Israelis have this, I wonder why we didn’t?

Someone spoke to him. Karp looked up from the rosary beads.

“So the killer was a fake priest?” Murrow asked again.

“Uh, sorry, Gilbert, I was somewhere else,” Karp apologized.

“I was just saying that Fey’s killer was a fake priest,” Murrow repeated.

“Well, if he was a fake, he was a good one,” Karp replied. “According to Jaxon, he even delivered mass in Latin for the Hispanic population and took confession from at least two staff members who said he knew all the rites.”

“So maybe a former priest who found a new line of work,” Newbury said. “He was obviously sent by Kane, so maybe he’ll turn up in the ‘No Prosecution’ cases. Espey Jaxon can send one of his feds over, and we’ll take a look at the possibilities. Maybe somebody at the prison farm will recognize this guy from a booking photograph, if there is one.”

Newbury was referring to hundreds of criminal complaints against cops, and, in a separate section, Catholic priests accused of sexual assault and other crimes. The city and archdiocese-trying to avoid lawsuits and the media-had hired Kane’s law firm to settle the cases quietly, as well as vet them to determine if they should also be turned over to the DAO for prosecution. Some, chiefly those Kane had no use for, or he disliked for some reason, had been sent to the DAO with the recommendation that criminal charges be filed. But many others had been stamped “No Prosecution” and forwarded on to Karp’s predecessors, who had filed them away in a secret cabinet.

Kane had used the cases to manipulate “dirty cops” into working for him as his own private army of enforcers, up to and including murder. He also had protected sexual offenders within the ranks of the priesthood in part to gain control of the archdiocese but with the ultimate goal of eventually having the accusations “discovered” by the press, thereby destroying the church through scandal and debasement. It was through his counsel that then-Archbishop Fey chose to remain ignorant of what was going on; believing, as Kane whispered in his ear, that he was protecting the church for the greater good.

However, while working on a cleanup crew at the Criminal Courts building, an emerging rap singer named Alejandro Garcia had discovered the “No Prosecution” files, recognized what they contained, and turned them over to his mentor and friend, Father Michael Dugan, a confidant of Marlene. The priest had then arranged to get the files into Karp’s hands.

After Kane’s arrest, Karp had turned V. T. Newbury loose on the “No Prosecution” inquiry, telling him to bring charges where warranted. V.T. and “Newbury’s Gang” of retired NYPD detectives and eager young assistant district attorneys had already charged a dozen police officers and priests with a variety of crimes from malfeasance to assault. One of the main NYPD henchmen on Kane’s payroll, Detective Michael Flanagan, had pleaded guilty to murder and was at Rikers Island. He’d been willing to testify against Kane, but now that was moot.

“Jaxon was hoping you might be able to help,” Karp replied to Newbury. “But he’ll be visiting you himself; once burnt, twice remembered, he’s playing things a little close to the vest right now.”

“What I don’t get is why go through all that effort to find and kill Fey?” Murrow said. “I mean, I could understand if Kane was still in jail, awaiting trial, and was trying to knock off the witnesses. But it’s not like he’s helping his case now. Even if we had to drop the charges in Manhattan because of a witness’s death-and that’s not the case, we’ve got plenty to hang him without Fey-the feds certainly have enough from his escape to earn him a lethal dose in the execution chamber at the federal pen in Indiana.”

“This wasn’t about taking out a witness,” Karp replied. “This is about vengeance. That’s why the killer made sure he left the rosary. This is Kane playing his little game.”

“But what’s this game all about?” Murrow asked. “He’s working with some terrorist, but he also wants to kill our DA and everybody he knows.”

“What’s to understand?” Marlene said. “He’s a vicious, cruel animal and he wants to frighten and torment anybody who gets in his way, or he thinks betrayed him. The terrorists have a score or two to settle with Butch and the rest of us, too. What better bedfellows?”

“I can think of two,” Karp teased.

“Oh brother, big talker,” Marlene laughed, which helped break the tension.

“I just want you all to be careful,” Karp said as he passed out copies of the photograph of Azzam. “NYPD now has these, so do the feds. This, we think, is Samira Azzam. She’s the one who sprang Kane, and we assume she’s still working with him.”

“Who’s ‘we,’ we’d like to know,” Murrow asked.

“I could tell you but-” Karp smiled.

“Yeah, I know, you’d have to kill us.”

“You.”

“Me.”

“Anyway, Fey’s killer is described as tall, dark-haired with severe acne scars, a big guy. I’m not trying to alarm anybody, but Kane has made good on one of his threats, so it pays to be careful. There’ll be a few more cop drive-bys around your homes than you’re used to, and you might occasionally notice the presence of federal agents-probably disguised as homeless derelicts so give ’em a buck when you walk by.” Karp’s announcement was met with groans but, he noted, no one demanded that they be excluded from the added police surveillance.

When the meeting was over, Marlene jumped up to give him a kiss. “I’m off to see Daddy, and maybe Uncle Vlad,” she said with a mischievous grin.

“Uncle Vlad?” asked Guma, who remained seated, as did Murrow.

“An Old World family she’s become attached to,” Karp said.

Karp was relieved when Newbury interrupted the line of questioning by whistling over near the bookshelf. “Hey, where’d you get the Carlos Torres chess pieces?” he asked. He held up the black bishop that had been sitting on the reading table, but then held up a black knight as well.

“Carlos who?” Karp asked.

“Torres. He’s the artist who carves these, though they always come as a set, no two sets alike,” Newbury said.

“Never heard of him,” Guma said.

“Of course you wouldn’t have, you Neanderthal,” Newbury said. “But anybody who actually enjoys the more refined aspects of chess knows a Carlos Torres piece. The guy’s an artist and expensive. Depending on the material he uses-which could be anything from petrified ivory to sperm whales’ teeth, and gemstones he inlays-they can cost a hundred grand easy.”

“I thought the first one might be yours, and I guess the second, too, though this is the first I’ve seen it,” Karp said.

“I wish,” Newbury said. “But no, I haven’t succumbed to that sort of ostentatiousness, for God’s sake. I have a beautifully carved oak set by Hannah Aowyn, but they only run about twenty K.”

“Only,” Guma said.

Karp laughed. “It’s all relative, Goom. Anyway, I’ll have to ask Mrs. Milquetost if she knows anything about it.”