Nelson DeMille - Night Fall

“That’s not completely true, but if you want to keep her out of this going forward, then that’s understandable-but she may want to be there. Ask her when you pick her up at the airport.”

“Ted, is it possible that this conversation is being recorded?”

“It couldn’t be legally recorded without your knowledge or mine.”

“Oh, right. Why do I forget these things? It’s just that you sound so stilted-not like the old Teddy boy I know.”

He stayed quiet for a few seconds, then said, “You’re an asshole.”

“Thank God. I was worried about you. And you’re an asshole, too. Okay, asshole, what’s a good time for you tomorrow?”

“First thing. Let’s say eight, eight-thirty. We can meet here at 290 Broadway.”

“Yeah, sure. More people have gone into that place than have come out.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.” Nash suggested, “How about your ATTF office? Is that safe enough for you? Or is that part of your paranoia?”

I ignored him and thought about a meeting place. Now that Kate was going to be home, I knew she’d insist on being there, even though I didn’t want to drag her any further into this. But I could use some backup, and I’d feel better about bringing Jill to the meeting if Kate was coming along. I recalled my last night in New York before Kate and I parted, and I said to Nash, “Windows on the World. Power breakfast.”

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.”