by Unknown
“This is the Speaker’s Balcony. You should feel privileged. You should also feel private. No one can eavesdrop on us here.”
The balcony gave an elevated view of the Mall with the Washington Monument standing at the end like a giant exclamation point. Evarts wanted to enjoy the view, but he assumed that they didn’t have a lot of time.
“We understand you have possession of evidence against the union.”
“I do. Do you have the William Evarts documents?”
“We do. At least we have copies. The originals are safe.”
“Copies should do.” He turned to Baldwin. “Are you prepared to endorse the documents as genuine?”
“How soon?” she asked.
“Three days. I’ll release my evidence tomorrow.”
“You have a plan?” Evarts asked incredulously.
“I do now. A new one. I was chartered by the Mute Council to help collect and then hold the evidence until I turned it over to Ms. Baldwin, to be released with the historical records. When I never heard from you and saw that the Mute Circle had been murdered, I came up with a new plan. It’s already in motion and too late to change.”
“What is it?” Evarts asked.
“It started with my speech a few days ago. I accused the Mexican Panther Party of corruption and complicity with drug trafficking. It got the response I wanted.”
“You wanted epithets hurled at you?” Baldwin exclaimed.
“Many and often. I’m the lead in every newspaper, talk show, and blog in the country. I’ve been called a racist, a demagogue, a McCarthyist, and a meddler in foreign affairs. I wanted the hullabaloo to reach a crescendo before I released the evidence.”
“So it will get the attention it deserves?” Baldwin asked.
“Precisely, plus the hate mail got protection for me and my family. Without it, I’m sure I would already share the fate of your parents.”
“You don’t want the historical record released simultaneously?” Evarts asked.
“No. Dilute the impact. Orchestrated properly, we can be the lead story for over a week.” He placed a hand on Baldwin’s arm. “You should say you happened on these documents a while ago, and you kept them to yourself until you could authenticate them. When you read about my disclosures, you realized the connection and decided to bring your documents forward.” He looked them both in the eye. “Publicity is our only salvation. Can you do it?”
“Yes, of course,” Baldwin said. “I haven’t really had time to authenticate them, but I have no doubts.”
“They’re genuine, I assure you. You won’t be embarrassed.”
“What do we do in the meantime?” Evarts asked.
“Keep your head low. These are dangerous people, as you well know.” He handed Baldwin a small card. “That’s my secure cell phone number if you need to contact me. Try to use a pay phone.”
He looked at his watch. “I don’t have much time. I called a press conference so I could give an ‘I got a list of fifty-seven names’ speech.”
“Then after the predictable uproar, unlike McCarthy, you’ll publish actual evidence,” Evarts said.
“This town loves political theater,” the congressman said with a smile.
“Do we have time for a few questions?” Baldwin asked.
“Go.”
“Why did the Society keep the Lincoln documents hidden?”
Sherman looked irritated with the question. “Because they’re worth tens of millions. We don’t have the resources of the union. We held the Lincoln documents in reserve in case we needed funds. Now we’re going to raise suspicions if we dally, so do you have any questions about the union or the plan?”
“How is the Mexican election tied to the union?” Evarts asked.
“José Garcia has been a longtime member of the union. He started working for them over thirty years ago as a teller in one of their banks. Someone noticed that Garcia had brains and charisma. They pulled him out and sent him to school. Then at some point, they recruited him into the union, and ever since, he’s been groomed for high political office. They got their chance with the ascendancy of the Panther Party.”
“Are you saying the Panther Party isn’t a union front?” Baldwin asked.
“It is now, but originally it was a run-of-the-mill populist sideshow. The union began backing it about fifteen years ago, when the Panthers started capturing local elections in southern Mexico. They managed to jockey Garcia until he became the standard-bearer for the party. In the three-way election next month, he’s sure to win the presidency and control of the Mexican military and police functions.”
“Aren’t you leaving something out?” Evarts asked.
“Nothing crucial to executing my plan.”
“Do you know the Greenes?” Evarts had grown annoyed and tried to keep his voice steady.
“Of course. We’re all members of the Mute Council.”
“They betrayed the Society,” Evarts said.
The congressman gazed out at the Mall. Finally, he said, “We knew someone did. Damn.” He kept looking out into the distance. “We haven’t heard from our man inside the union since this trouble began. I suppose he’s dead now.”
“The Greenes told me the union was involved in drugs.”
Sherman whipped his head around and gave Evarts a startled look. “You interrogated them?”
“Briefly.” Instead of saying more, Evarts just gave the congressman his hard-ass cop stare.
Finally, Sherman said, “I didn’t mention that because I was afraid it might scare you off.”
“How is the union involved with the drug cartels?” Evarts asked.
“‘Involved’ is a wimpy word. The union is the power behind the throne. With Garcia in place, they’ll rule the drug trade throughout the Americas.”
“Which cartel are they aligned with?”
“All of them. At least all the big ones.”
“All of them?” Evarts found this hard to believe. “You’re not telling me the Mexican cartels cooperate?”
“No, not at an operational level, but they share the services of the union. They have no choice.”
“What services? Weapons? Intelligence? Money? Distribution? What could the union possible hold over the cartels?”
“The union doesn’t smuggle or distribute drugs. They sell the first three services you mentioned, but only one gives them their leverage over the cartels. Weapons can be bought on the worldwide black market, and officials can be bribed to gain information.” Sherman gave Evarts a cunning look. “Money is the weakness the union exploited.”
“Laundering?”
“How do you handle $142 billion a year? You need someone to launder it, move it across borders, invest it, and create clean little bundles that can be used for the big-time bribes. Only the union controlled banks and industries on both sides of the border that could disguise cash flows that large.”
Evarts thought through the implications. “The union has control over the cartels’ money, don’t they?”
“Yes. They have custodial possession of billions of dollars.”
“But the cartels are dangerous clients. They can turn vicious with the slightest provocation, so the union protects itself with secrecy, don’t they? Do the cartels even know they exist?”
“Not by identity, at any rate. But you’re right; they rely on anonymity for security. Oh, they have their own mercenaries, but they’re no match for the cartels’ thugs if they grow angry. That’s why my plan might work. Their safety requires that they stay anonymous.”
Sherman shifted his gaze between Baldwin and Evarts. “We need to leave this balcony. Any final questions?”
“What’s at Lake Norman?” Evarts asked.
The question stopped Sherman. “Not the slightest. Why?”
Evarts ignored him and asked, “What’s the name of the leader of the union?”
“We think a man named Branger might run it, but we’re not certain.”
“I am,” Evarts said
. “And he’s what’s at Lake Norman.”
Chapter 46
Evarts and Baldwin walked east on Pennsylvania Avenue in the direction of the sidewalk café where they had left Harding.
Baldwin took his arm and laughed quietly to herself. “So Branger’s at Lake Norman. Aren’t you the smart guy?”
“You’re not going to rub my nose in that she-man thing, are you? It still smarts.”
“An odd choice of words.”
“You are going to rub it in.”
“For years.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re optimistic about our survival.”
“I like Sherman’s plan.”
Evarts walked a bit before saying, “I have reservations.”
“Really? Why?” She seemed surprised.
“The congressman asked if you could do it, but he failed to explain what that entailed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The man is manufacturing a media maelstrom. Pretty competently, I might add. When you go public, you’ll be sucked into the vortex. Press conferences, interviews with reporters, talking-head television shows, and you’ll be besieged by other academics who will badger you for an early peek at the documents.”
“Oh my god, you’re right. I hadn’t thought it through.”
“It means coming out of hiding, which is fine as long as the union runs from the media’s intense beam.” He walked a few steps. “What worries me is that I don’t know how the union will react.”
“I know how they should react if they’re smart.”
“They’re smart, so tell me.”
“Get a bunch of renowned academics to challenge the meaning, relevance, and authenticity of the documents. Believe me, you can’t hold the media’s attention with an arcane academic argument.”
“Can they do that quickly enough to blunt Sherman’s strategy?”
“Have you seen a professor’s salary? James Carville once said you’d be surprised what you could pick up if you dragged a hundred-dollar bill through a trailer park. Well, try dragging a ten-thousand-dollar bill through any American campus.”
“Okay, but what about Sherman’s evidence? In truth, you’re just a sideshow.”
Before Baldwin answered, they saw Harding get up from his little table and walk toward them. Evarts noticed him look back and wave like he was saying good-bye to someone at the café, but he was really checking for activity behind him. When Harding reached them, he gave Evarts a big bear hug to disguise Evarts’s reaching inside his friend’s waistband to retrieve his SIG automatic.
“Well?” Harding said.
“Back to your place,” Evarts said. “We need to do some planning.”
On the drive back to Georgetown, Evarts and Baldwin explained their conversation with the congressman. Harding suggested they stop along the way and pick up Chinese food to take back to the house, and Baldwin insisted on buying. Harding scoffed at her, and Evarts thought it bizarre that two rich people would fight over buying a lunch that he could afford. When they entered the strip mall takeout joint, Harding reluctantly conceded that she could buy, but only if she let him order. Evarts made a theatrical groan when she readily agreed.
She smiled. “I know, he eats a lot.”
“True, but I’m alarmed because he orders weird.”
She looked at Harding. He winked and said, “Deal’s a deal.”
Evarts enjoyed her expression as Harding ordered dish after dish. Puzzled, she stepped back to get a clear view of the huge menu that hung above the counter. As Harding continued to order, she tapped him on the shoulder. He paused, faced her, and said, “Yes?”
She pointed up. “I don’t see those items on the menu.”
He looked up as if seeing the menu for the very first time. “That’s for tourists,” he said dismissively.
“I’m picky about what I eat,” she said.
“I’m ordering over a dozen dishes. You’ll find something to your liking.” He shrugged. “If not, there’s always rice.”
“What was that last dish you ordered?”
“Chicken feet. They have a different menu for Chinese customers. You’ll enjoy the pig’s throat.”
“Order lots of white rice,” she said with a smile that acknowledged that she had been had.
Harding tuned back to the counterman and said, “Three orders of fried rice.”
“You bastard,” she laughed.
“Live a little. Try things the way nature intended. God made sugared soda pop, red meat, and beer. He drinks his tea hot and his wine red, and he made lettuce for rabbits.”
Baldwin turned to Evarts. “Excuse me for ever thinking of you as an unreconstructed cowboy.”
“You thought I was a cowboy?”
“You lamebrain,” Harding said. “All women think we’re good-for-only-one-thing retrogrades who behave like fifth graders on our first unsupervised recess. Hell, they see us as buffoons with our heads in a refrigerator and our ears tuned to a televised game. You don’t think they build televisions into refrigerators for women do you?”
“That act work well with women?” she asked.
He laughed. “I get my share of dates.”
“Really? Do you think it’s because of your impeccable manners? No wonder you’re not married.”
That stopped conversation cold. Harding picked up one bag and shoved it in Evarts’s arms, grabbed the other bag, and headed out the door.
Baldwin gave Evarts a questioning look, so he explained, “His wife died two years ago from breast cancer.” He looked at his friend’s back. “I never saw two people more in love or any husband who so readily accepted his lot as caregiver. He was by her side constantly at the end.”
“Oh my god.” She rushed after Harding. When she caught up, she put a hand on his arm to stop his progress. “I’m sorry. Greg never told me. I thought we were just roughhouse bantering. Please?”
“Forget it. You had no way of knowing. And you’re right; it’s an act. I like to shock people and sometimes I go too far.” He hugged her shoulder with his free arm. “But give these dishes a chance. Despite its appearance, that’s a damn fine takeout joint. Authentic as hell.”
Evarts kept a couple paces behind them and let them talk as they walked toward the car. He wanted these people to like each other. He heard her say, “When will you quit surprising me?”
He laughed good-naturedly. “Tomorrow morning I promise to be perfectly predictable.”
“And the rest of the day?”
He hefted the bag up and grinned. “That depends entirely on my mood.”
Chapter 47
Baldwin had eaten delicately, but she had tried almost every dish. Evarts guessed she was still hungry because she had barely touched the fried rice. When they had rid the table of all the little white boxes and dirty dishes, Evarts pulled out the materials they had removed from the DTCC and shoved them over toward Harding.
After perusing the documents for a half hour, Harding said, “You can’t just dump this thick stack of paper onto some innocent reporter’s desk. You need a press release to go along with them.”
“A press release?” Baldwin asked, a bit surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah, you gotta package news nowadays. Write a press release that tells the story the way you want it to read on the front page. Otherwise, the lazy will ignore you, and the industrious will study the material. A good reporter might take days to figure out the lead.”
She looked at the large stack of documents and sighed. “How long?”
“Time?” Harding looked puzzled.
“No. How long is a good press release?”
“No more than two pages. You don’t want an academic synopsis, you … well, to put it bluntly, you’re handing the news media the spin you want.”
“I’m not sure I can do that,” Baldwin said.
Evarts decided this had gone on long enough. “I know someone who can write your press release, someone Colin Powell called the best military fl
ack in the business.”
“Who?” Baldwin asked.
Evarts pointed with the flat of his hand. “May I introduce you to Mr. Steve Harding.”
“You? You scoundrel. I ate your damn food. I thought you promised no more surprises.” She stood, arms akimbo. “Next, you’re going to tell me that when they sent you on black bag jobs, you went undercover as a ballerina.”
“Nope, wildcatter. I kept asking to be a ballerina, but the big boys had me typecast. I sure wanted to be backstage with limber women. Instead they kept sending me to godforsaken deserts to live with a bunch of putrid-smelling louts.”
She tapped the stack of paper. “How long will it take you to write a press release?”
“Us … and it might take all night, maybe more to get it right. If we made it ten pages, we could probably finish in a couple hours, but a terse, carefully crafted message takes time.”
He looked at Evarts. “To get this process rolling, Greg can run over to Kinko’s and make twenty copies of the whole package. We tell our newspaper of choice that it has only a one-day head start before we blanket the major dailies with this stuff. That’ll build a fire under their abundant posteriors. While your boyfriend’s gone, you can give me the general gist, and we’ll talk through various ways to dress this scandal so that it makes the right people quake in their tasseled loafers.” He winked. “Unless you and Greg are really just friends—then other possibilities come to mind.”
She turned to Evarts. “Please hurry,” she said in mock panic.
Evarts looked over the material they had brought out of the DTCC and separated the paper into three stacks: the encoded pages, the William Evarts documents, and the two original documents. He only intended to make twenty copies of the Evarts evidence, but that still comprised over two hundred pages. He would be gone awhile. Before Evarts left the townhouse, he had an inspiration and grabbed one of the two original manuscripts.
