Phillip Margolin - Lost Lake

“So, what does Jennings want?” Wingate asked as soon as he and Schoonover were alone.

“He’d love to see you on California’s death row awaiting execution for the murder of Eric Glass. Actually, we both would.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Wingate picked up the papers he’d stacked in a pile. “This jumble of numbers and letters won’t get you anywhere. And neither will testimony from my daughter, the ex-mental patient; or Carl Rice, the mass murderer.”

“Carl passed three polygraphs since we took him into federal custody. Vanessa passed her tests, too.”

“Polygraph evidence isn’t admissible in court.”

Schoonover smiled. “You’re right, but newspaper reporters are. The bail hearing is only in recess. What do you think the papers will print when these documents are admitted into evidence? You’ve testified under oath that you’ve never heard of these men and that you had no contact with Carl after he graduated from high school. Your signature on the pay records proves that you’re lying.”

“These documents are forgeries. Jennings probably had someone from the CIA doctor them.”

“Right, the CIA. That reminds me. Do you remember getting a visit from a CIA agent shortly after Eric Glass was murdered?”

“No.”

Schoonover nodded. “Charles told me you’d deny any knowledge of the meeting, and Gregory Sax, the agent, is dead-the victim of an armed robbery that occurred shortly after Peter Rivera was murdered.”

“Where is this going?”

“Sax was the Unit’s liaison with the White House in 1985. When Vanessa told the police that Carl Rice murdered Eric Glass, Sax knew that a member of the Unit had killed the congressman, and he had a crisis of conscience. He’d been leery of some of the Unit’s missions, but there had always been some sort of national security justification that let him rationalize the assassinations, the drug dealing, and all the other sordid activities in which your men engaged. But Glass’s murder was the last straw. He’s the one who went to President Reagan and told him that the Unit had to be shut down. He’s the man who carried President Reagan’s order to shut down the Unit back to you in 1985. And you really shut it down, didn’t you? You sent those fine soldiers to their deaths. Then you made it look like Carl Rice had murdered Peter Rivera for the codes to the secret fund, but you killed Rivera and took the money, didn’t you?”

“It’s convenient for you that this Sax person and the president he allegedly told about Vanessa’s secret army are dead. Where is this fairy tale going?”

“When Sax was murdered, President Reagan put a bright young CIA agent in charge of a secret investigation of the Unit. The agent was Charles Jennings.”

“Ah, and I suppose that Charles is going to get on TV and tell the world about his secret investigation that just happens to prove that the man who is running against him is a murderer and a thief.”

“You know better than that. But the president knows you’re dirty, Morris. He doesn’t have to be convinced that you betrayed your men in Vietnam, that you stole the millions in the secret fund and used that money to buy into Computex, and that you were behind the murders of Sax, Glass, and Rivera. Unfortunately, with Rice missing and Sax dead, he could never prove anything. Then Carl Rice returned from the dead. And now we have the pay records of men that you swore under oath you didn’t know, with your signature authorizing their promotions to a rank their official files say they never attained.”

“This is all very interesting but I’ve got a statement to make to the press and a plane waiting to take me to Pittsburgh.”

“Use the press conference to announce that you’re dropping out of the race.”

“Not a chance.”

“Then we’ll go public with the pay records, the Justice Department will look into where you got the money you used to finance Computex, and we’ll investigate the plane crash that killed Simeon Brown. With all the negative publicity, you’ll be lucky to get any votes in the primary, and the president will have four more years to make your life hell.”

“This is what happens in banana republics, Ted,” Wingate replied calmly. “The person in power arrests his opposition. If Charles tries that with me, I’ll win the primary in a landslide.”

“You’ll be able to count the votes in jail, if the other prisoners vote to watch the news that night,” Schoonover answered.

Wingate stood up. “I’m calling your bluff, Ted. If you persist with these outrageous demands, I’ll hold a press conference, all right, and I’ll use it to expose the blackmail threats you’ve just made. I’ll have Brendan Kirkpatrick and the Secret Service agents in my guard detail tell the world how the president’s hatchet man insisted on this private meeting. Then I’ll get the best experts money can buy to prove that these documents are false.”

Schoonover smiled. “When I was in ’Nam, we had a name for guys like you who sent other people to die doing their dirty work. We called them REMFs. It’s an acronym that stands for rear-echelon motherfuckers. We despised them, just like I despise you. That’s why I’m going to take great pride in bringing you down.”

Sam Cutler was working on the details of security for an appearance in Madison, Wisconsin, when the General stormed into his hotel suite. Wingate had been calm and self-assured when he spoke to the reporters at his press conference, but he was seething now.

“Sam,” Wingate barked. Cutler cut short his phone conversation and followed the General into the bedroom.

“Has this room been swept?” Wingate asked.

“We can talk,” Cutler assured him.

As he changed into casual clothes for the trip to Pittsburgh, Wingate told Cutler about his meeting with Ted Schoonover.

“The documents can hurt us,” the General said, “but our real problem is Carl Rice. Vanessa knows only what he told her. Carl is the key.”

“What do you want me to do?” Cutler asked.

Wingate stared at his aide. “Don’t be obtuse.”

“Rice is going to disappear, General. Jennings will stash him in a safe house.”

“Then find him. Use our contacts at Justice, the CIA. Pay what you have to, but find him. And remember, Sam, I’m not the only person who’s in danger. You have a lot to lose as long as Carl Rice is alive.”

Ryan was supposed to go home with Bobby O’Dell’s mother, so he was surprised when Ami picked him up at school and told him that they were going to the Multnomah County courthouse. The last time Ryan had been to the courthouse was on “Bring Your Child to Work” day. Before court convened, a nice lady judge had let him sit in her chair and hold her gavel. Then he’d had to sit in the spectator section for an hour and listen to his mom and another lawyer talk. Ryan liked sitting in the judge’s chair, but the other stuff was pretty boring. Ryan asked Ami why they were going downtown. Ami said it was a surprise. She didn’t tell him that this meeting had been one of Carl Rice’s conditions for helping Ted Schoonover and President Jennings bring down Morris Wingate.

The courthouse was still busy when Ami and Ryan arrived, but the only people in the corridor outside Judge Velasco’s courtroom were a hard-looking man and woman in plainclothes, who Ami guessed were FBI agents. Inside the locked courtroom, two other agents watched the door to the judge’s chambers.

Ami knocked on the hall door for Judge Velasco’s chambers. It opened into the anteroom where the judge’s secretary worked. The secretary was gone, her place taken by two FBI agents who watched alertly as Ami and Ryan entered.