Michael McGarrity - Nothing But Trouble

Clancy chuckled. “You would have made a grand politician, Hugh Michael Fitzmaurice.”

“I am deeply offended by that remark, Commissioner,” Fitzmaurice replied.

Clancy laughed and rang off.

Fitzmaurice put the telephone in the cradle, picked up the thick evidence book, and went to the interrogation room where Spalding waited. He was, at best, a nondescript-looking man, what the Yanks would call a good-old-boy type. A bit fleshy in the cheek, he had a wide nose that sloped down to a broad chin, and a bit of loose skin at his Adam’s apple.

Fitzmaurice dropped the evidence book on the table with a thud and sat across from Spalding. “Where to begin,” he said amiably. “Let’s start with the crimes you’ve committed in Ireland.”

“I want a solicitor,” Spalding replied.

“Yes, of course, but first allow me to inform you of the bill of particulars which will be presented against you. The courts are particularly harsh, when it comes to punishment, on those who launder money.”

Spalding blinked. “What money?”

“Those many millions you’ve secreted away over the years in a Galway bank.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“Ah, George, don’t make it hard on yourself.” Fitzmaurice patted the evidence book. “We’ve uncovered the money, and the court will rule very quickly to freeze your assets. You’ll soon be penniless.”

Spalding stared silently at his hands for a few moments.

“Then, of course, there are the additional charges of illegal entry into the country, forgery, conspiracy to commit fraud, and a number of lesser indictments.”

Spalding slouched in his chair.

“This must be depressing for you,” Fitzmaurice said. “There you were, about to put all your troubles behind, get on with a new life, and it all vanishes like a puff of smoke. Unfortunately, I’m afraid things will be much worse for you when we turn you over to the Americans.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Yanks want you to disappear, and because you are a wartime deserter from the United States Army technically still under the control of the military, I imagine they can easily do it without any fanfare.”

“Disappear?”

Fitzmaurice shrugged. “I can’t be totally sure of it, but that’s my distinct impression. They’ve asked for you to be released to them under their National Security Act.”

Spalding looked completely nonplussed. “National security? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It has something to do with a member of your smuggling ring, Thomas Carrier.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Fitzmaurice took out the information on Carrier he’d downloaded from the Internet and handed it to Spalding. “This may refresh your memory. He’s quite highly regarded by the current Washington administration.”

Fitzmaurice continued talking while Spalding read. “Were it not for Carrier, you would not be in such a pickle. As I’ve reflected upon it, apparently the Americans wish to avoid any unpleasantness you might cause them by seizing you up and holding you incommunicado in some military prison.”

Spalding stared at him with worried eyes.

“And I daresay,” Fitzmaurice added, as he took the documents out of Spalding’s hand, “from what I know about the new laws your government has passed, it may well be that you shall never again see the light of day as a free man.”

“How do I know you’re not just making this up?”

Fitzmaurice stood and reached for the evidence book. “I’ll have the Americans here in ten minutes.”

Spalding waved his hand nervously to stop Fitzmaurice from leaving. “Wait. I haven’t violated any national security laws. I was an enlisted man who worked in a mortuary in Vietnam, for Chrissake.”

“I know that. But what you did as a foolish young man in Vietnam over thirty years ago now has political implications no one could have predicted, and a far heavier burden than what the law normally allows rests squarely on your shoulders. Surely it is by no means fair. But there may be a way out of it.”

“What way?”

“Perhaps we can avoid giving you over to the Americans.”

“How?”

“Should you agree to admit to the crimes you’ve committed in Ireland, Irish law would take precedence, which means that neither the Americans nor Canadians could attempt to extradite you until your case here is settled.”

Fitzmaurice returned to his chair and sat. “That could take a good bit of time, which you and your legal counsel-you will certainly need the services of a barrister as well as a solicitor-could use to an advantage. However, you need to know that I alone will decide if your case goes forward to the courts or if you are to be quietly given over to the Yanks.”

“What do you want?” Spalding asked.

“Your free and willing confession, and all that you know about Carrier’s involvement in the smuggling ring.”

Spalding nodded.

“Very good.” Fitzmaurice pressed a hidden button on the underside of the table to signal that it was time to start the digital recording. “Let’s begin, then, shall we?”

Spalding made his voluntary statement with little need for prompting, and by the end of the very long session Fitzmaurice had not only a full confession but a detailed accounting of Carrier’s role in the smuggling operation.

He turned Spalding over to an officer to be officially charged, called the American embassy to report the capture of George Spalding, and then drove to Garda Headquarters, where he presented himself to Deputy Commissioner Clancy and made his report.

“Why did you charge Mr. Spalding without my authorization?” Clancy asked.

“Not to have done so would have raised too many questions.”

“We have promised the Canadians swift approval of their extradition petition.”

“Surely the Garda solicitor could sympathetically wring his hands, complain bitterly about the mistake made by a lowly detective inspector, and promise to rectify the situation promptly.”

“You know that can’t happen,” Clancy snapped. “Spalding’s solicitor will immediately file against the extradition petition. And the Yanks are all too likely to nobble the Canadians, who are well used to bowing to the Americans. What are you up to, Fitzmaurice?”

“Nothing at all, Commissioner. By the way, I did call the Yanks as you requested. I think it likely that they, too, will be seeking Spalding’s extradition, which should confuse the situation nicely. If we let the Canadians and Yanks fight it out, we can sit on the sidelines while Irish justice runs its course and avoid being accused of playing favorites.”

Clancy sighed. “You may be right. It does give us a way out of a worrisome situation.”

“Is there anything else, Commissioner?” Fitzmaurice asked.

“Consider yourself censured for insubordination,” Clancy said. “Now get yourself home and give my best to Edna.”

“I will indeed. Good night to you, Noel.”

“Just walk away, then,” Clancy grumbled, suppressing a smile.

Outside, Hugh Fitzmaurice relaxed. He’d done what he could to make it impossible for the American government to bury the political embarrassment of Thomas Loring Carrier’s criminal history under the cloak of national security. For Sara Brannon’s sake he hoped he had succeeded. He patted his suit jacket pocket, which contained a video of the Spalding interview he’d burned on a DVD disk. He’d made it just in case he might need a bit of insurance if and when the politicians started braying and carrying on.

Minutes after an unsettling telephone call from Sara, Kerney made airplane reservations on a flight out of Albuquerque that would take him and Patrick to Washington, D.C., by way of Chicago. With a two-hour layover they would arrive shortly after midnight eastern time.