The Shut Mouth Society (The Best Thrillers Book 1)

by Unknown

  He found the Kinko’s near Georgetown University bustling with students, faculty, and work-at-home professionals. After flagging down a harried store employee, Evarts secured an empty box that had previously contained ten reams of copier paper. He next stood in line and eventually got control of a self-service copier. For an hour, he told people who lined up behind him that he had a big job, but instead of a thank you, all he received was a series of irritated “how dare you” looks. When he finished, he hefted the now nearly full box and stood in another line for counter service.

  After he made it to the front, he asked the attendant, “How much do you charge for data entry service?”

  “A dollar per forty-five words.”

  He slid the original William Evarts document across the counter. “This is a historical document. Can I trust you with it?”

  “We handle all kinds of valuable papers, and we’ve never lost a single one.”

  “Never?”

  “Never. We do copy and transcription work for professors with years invested in their books and for attorneys working on Supreme Court cases. We don’t lose material left in our charge.”

  “What if I get called away and can’t get back right away? I travel a lot.”

  “We’ll keep your work for a year, but we can also mail it to you anywhere in the world.”

  “Okay, please instruct the typist not to eat or drink while she works on this.”

  After Evarts filled out the worksheet and turned to leave, he received more irritated “how dare you” looks from the people in line behind him. He didn’t blame them. He thought people insufferable who hogged the counter once they got to the front of a line.

  By the time he made it back to the townhouse, he had been gone for over two hours. Baldwin and Harding sat at a table tucked into the bay window that overlooked the rear garden. They continued to pore over notes, and both gave him a perfunctory greeting. Evarts set the heavy box down on the counter, pulled out a banded copy of the documents, and slid it onto the table in the breakfast nook.

  “Two copies, please,” Baldwin said.

  Evarts slid another one onto the table and took a seat. They talked about strategies, tactics, and nuances until he grew tired of trying to catch up and went to the refrigerator for water. As he twisted off the top, he heard Baldwin say, “We don’t want to dilute the focus on Branger.”

  “You found a Branger connection?” Evarts asked.

  “Sort of,” Baldwin answered. “I found a Charles Branger mentioned in the Evarts files. William Evarts had identified him as one of the ringleaders. With a little web research, we discovered that a Ralph Branger lives near Charlotte and is currently the chairman of a corporation founded right after the Civil War.”

  “Public or private corporation?” Evarts asked.

  “Private and closely held. Family only,” Harding answered. “Not real big. Sales around eighty million. The company makes furniture under several different brands, and as far as we can tell, they manufacture only in the U.S. and Taiwan. No Mexican operations listed. From our Internet research, it looks completely legit, and it certainly doesn’t have the financial heft the union supposedly wields.”

  “Could be a cover. Most of the union enterprises are supposedly covert. What have you learned about this Ralph Branger?”

  “An enigma. Very little information about him.”

  “So, beside the fact that he runs an old business possibly started by a charter member of the union, what makes you suspicious of him?”

  “Only one thing,” Baldwin said. “The corporation, Dixie Furnishings Company, has been headquartered in Charlotte for a hundred and thirty years.”

  “Charlotte?” Evarts said. “North or South Carolina? I forget.”

  Baldwin did a truly awful imitation of a Southern belle. “Oh goodness, you men do need us womenfolk. My dear, Charlotte is in North Carolina, right next to Lake Norman.”

  Chapter 48

  While Baldwin and Harding continued to work on the press release, Evarts checked the television to see how the news played Congressman Sherman’s earlier press conference. In a few minutes, he called them in to witness the carnage. He flipped back and forth between CNN and Fox. Both news networks were having a field day. The anchors almost gleefully reported that a bigoted congressman had made ridiculous accusations against all Hispanics and against Mexicans in particular. With little else newsworthy going on, the networks filled the screen with smug talking heads who compared Congressman Sherman to Senator McCarthy. To drive the point even deeper, the stations frequently flashed up a still photograph of the congressman with his lips curled in a vicious snarl. Having just left the amicable man, Evarts wondered where both news channels had found the identical photograph.

  “That’s your ally?” Harding asked.

  Baldwin laughed. “He’s friendlier looking in person. He wants all this negative coverage so that when he releases the evidence tomorrow, the networks will have already made the story the cause célèbre of the moment.”

  “What did he say in the press conference?” Harding asked.

  “They’ve shown only clips, but I gather he accused José Garcia and the Panther Party of being in the pocket of drug lords,” Evarts explained. “I’ve heard no mention of an American involvement. He said he has names, but when asked, he made some evasive remarks about releasing evidence later.”

  Harding whistled. “No wonder they’re comparing him to Joseph McCarthy. He’s playing a dangerous game. They may vilify him beyond redemption.”

  “I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Evarts said. “Not one news commentator has even hinted that there might be a smidgen of validity to his charge of a corrupted general election in Mexico.”

  Harding shook his head. “In this narcissistic town, you try to never piss off the bureaucracy, and he must have made the State Department livid. They don’t like mere congressmen creating foreign crises.”

  Evarts pushed the power-off button on the remote. “It’s all the same. We better get to work.” He turned to Baldwin. “I’ve hidden my original document. You might think about where you can stash yours.”

  She looked at the darkened screen, apparently lost in thought. When she spoke, her tone said she had made up her mind. “I’m taking mine to a professor at Georgetown. After watching this, I want the backing of a second opinion from someone with academic standing.”

  “Damn it.” Evarts knew he should have anticipated that one of the documents would go to a professional for authentication. “I didn’t think this through. We should’ve taken three documents out of the DTCC.”

  “You can’t anticipate everything, and I can always go collect as many documents as we need. While we work on the press release, could you decode some of those encrypted messages? I want to use them to whet the appetite of this professor.”

  “Do you have someone in mind?”

  She smiled. “Oh yeah. He tried to pick me up at a conference last year.”

  As Harding expertly prepared a late dinner, Evarts started decoding the pages of numbers. By the time they retired to the front sitting room with port and scotch, it was near midnight. Evarts took a small pillow from the couch and held it up in the air with a questioning look. Harding gave him permission with a nod, and Evarts placed the pillow strategically on the coffee table so that he could put his feet up as he had on many occasions in this house.

  “How are you doing with that press release?” Evarts asked.

  “Mostly wordsmithing left.” Baldwin pointed at Harding. “Colin Powell was right about your friend here. An academic would never write such an alarmist first paragraph, but it’ll grab the attention of any reporter. In less than sixty words, Steve laid out a vile conspiracy that threatens the democratic institutions of two nations. The rest of the release uses the documentation to tie several financial enterprises together, hints ominously about participation in drug trafficking, and implicates the most prominent families mentioned in the William Evarts papers. We menti
on the Branger family but don’t specifically call out Ralph Branger.”

  “Good idea,” Evarts said. “We have only weak circumstantial evidence. In fact, the whole case looks weak from this side. I sure hope Congressman Sherman has the goods on these people.”

  “He must,” she said. “We’re just supposed to be backup. What did you find in the decoded messages?”

  “A very circumspect man.” Evarts handed her his transcriptions. “I’ve only completed three, but my take is that Lincoln was in communication with a prominent abolitionist, probably in New York, and the series of messages represented a political cat and mouse game. We have only the New York side of the exchange, but the repeated requests to put abolitionists in the cabinet leads me to believe he never made the promise. My guess is that Lincoln wanted to enlist the support from Radical Republicans without committing himself to a particular course of action.”

  “That sounds like my Lincoln.” She scanned the papers Evarts handed her and said, “This may not look like much to you, but these few pages will probably support three or four doctoral theses. Lincoln avoided hard promises, but he frequently insinuated agreement and then followed through unless circumstances changed. He always wanted an emergency escape route.”

  She read the sheets again and seemed to be talking to herself when she added, “He did appoint Chase and Seward to the cabinet, both ardent abolitionists.” Then in a clearer voice, she said, “I know one thing—they’ll certainly make my lecherous colleague at Georgetown drool.”

  Evarts turned to more practical matters. “Steve, what kind of weapons do you have in the house?”

  Harding touched the .45 on the table beside him. “This is it, my friend.”

  “Do you keep in touch with any of the old gang?”

  “Once or twice a year for beers. None are in the business anymore. Gary drives the NASCAR circuit now.” Harding bounced out of the chair. “Shit! Gary lives in Charlotte. Maybe he can reconnoiter for us.”

  “Call him.”

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  Evarts gave him a look. Harding shrugged and left the room. He returned a few moments later with his cell phone in hand, scanning the directory. He plopped back into his easy chair and said, “His races are televised. Do you watch them?”

  Evarts felt a pang of guilt. “Not often. I’m usually out of the house on Sunday afternoons.”

  “Yeah, right. And you don’t have TiVo or even an obsolete video recorder.”

  “I watched a few times when he first made the circuit, and I checked the newspapers to see how he did, but I never could get into car racing.” He hated car racing, but he thought it better to keep that opinion to himself. Surfers and car-crazed inlanders never got along, and if he was honest with himself, he probably had carried the unwarranted prejudice into adulthood.

  Harding held the phone up. “It’s ringing. Just so you’ll know, he’s seventh place in points.”

  Harding put the phone on speaker and Evarts heard, “Hello.”

  “Gary, this is Steve and Greg. Where are you?”

  “In my rec room playing pool. How the hell are you guys?”

  Evarts cut in. “Bit of a bind, but we need to talk in private.”

  “Hold on.” After a pause, they heard a door close. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Do you have a landline we can call you back on?”

  “Yeah.” He gave them another telephone number.

  “Ten minutes or so. We need to get to a pay phone.”

  “What’s with all this cloak-and-dagger shit? You do know I race cars now.”

  “And I’m a police detective and Steve’s a bum. We all have new professions. We just need some confidential advice.”

  “How confidential?”

  Evarts hesitated. “This is life and death.”

  “Then I’ll switch from beer to coffee and send these guys home. They were cleaning my clock anyway.”

  Harding closed the cell phone. “You go. Someone needs to stay with Trish.”

  Evarts considered all three of them going and decided that was foolhardy. “Where’s the closest pay phone?”

  “Use my car and drive twenty miles west. There’s a persistent rumor that computers monitor every pay phone in the D.C. area. Use a prepaid calling card.”

  “Got one.” Evarts bolted from the house and drove for forty minutes before he pulled into a strip mall. Gary Johnson answered his phone after the first ring.

  “Gary, this is Greg. I need help.”

  “Police work, old business, or new trouble?”

  “New. First, do you know Lake Norman?”

  “I’m standing here looking at it. At least, I would be if it wasn’t dark.”

  “You live on Lake Norman?”

  “Most of the drivers do. Why?”

  “Ever heard of a man named Ralph Branger?”

  “Yeah, but we move in different circles. He’s kind of a mystery man. I’ve only heard about him because he got into a row with the county over this Gone with the Wind style mansion he wanted to build on an outcrop that extends into the lake. Made the local paper, but he must have found the right politician to bribe because he built the damn thing. Big eyesore, in my opinion.”

  “Can you find out everything you can about him?”

  “Surveillance or public records?”

  “Public records only … at least for now.”

  “Okay. I got a couple days. I guess I owe you a favor or two.”

  “Be careful. If Branger’s connected the way I think he is, he’s dangerous. Drugs and other bad stuff. He won’t take kindly to someone snooping around his personal life.”

  “I’m always careful. Probably why I haven’t won but one race so far this season.”

  “By the way, congratulations on being seventh in points.”

  “Thanks. I’ll send you some race tickets.”

  Chapter 49

  The morning news said that Congressman Sherman had called another press conference for ten o’clock in the morning. Evarts and Harding cooked a breakfast of eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast. Baldwin ate half a cantaloupe and a dry double-toasted English muffin. By the time they finished the dishes and scanned the newspaper, it was close to ten o’clock, so they turned on the television in a small side room off the kitchen.

  The preshow continued the attacks on Congressman Sherman and worked to set a high bar in case he did offer evidence to support his allegations. When the congressman appeared on the screen, he looked nervous and out of sorts.

  “Gentlemen and ladies of the press, this will be a short press conference. Reasonable questions about what I’m about to deliver will be entertained. I stress the word ‘reasonable.’”

  He looked down at some cards he held in his hand. “Yesterday, I made some startling criticisms of the upcoming election in Mexico. I accused the Panther Party of being implicated with international drug trafficking. Today I’ll present evidence supporting my allegations.”

  Evarts could hear a buzz from the off-camera press, and someone shouted, “Will we get a copy of the evidence?”

  “Yes. At the conclusion of my remarks, copies will be distributed to all of you. But first, I want to address the slanderous accusations that I’m motivated by racism. I’ll show that the corruption of the Panther Party emanates from these United States. That the real villains—”

  The uproar from the press drowned out the rest of his sentence. Everybody shouted at once.

  Evarts said, “He’s lost control.”

  Sherman made an angry face that the press would surely plaster all over the media if he didn’t present an ironclad case.

  “May I continue,” he said in a rough voice. “I’ll answer reasonable questions at the end.”

  The press wouldn’t relent, so he defiantly stood and waited until they quieted down enough for him to continue.

  “Thank you. The documentation I’ll distribute shows a financial trail that goes back to the nineteen twenties. A secret soci
ety—”

  A chorus of groans came from offscreen.

  “Excuse me, please! May I finish?”

  Someone shouted, “Go ahead!”

  “The secret society is called the union, spelled with a lowercase u. This secret organization has been in existence for over one hundred years and controls a fortune almost beyond comprehension.”

  This time laughter interrupted the congressman, but he pushed ahead.

  “This secret cabal looted its original money during Reconstruction after the Civil War. In the nineteen seventies, they started to support the drug traffic trade, using their strategic investments in Mexico. Although controlled by Americans, the union has reached such dominance in Mexico that they now threaten to put their man into the presidency and control a sovereign nation.”

  Offscreen shouting erupted again. “Put your hands down,” the congressman said. “I’ll answer questions only at the end. Please. This is serious.”

  Sherman reached behind him and took a spiral-bound binder from an embarrassed-looking staffer. He held it above his head. “This document delineates financial transactions between six American corporations and key Mexican companies. In the early part of the last century, money flowed south, but since the eighties, great amounts of cash flowed north into the coffers of companies right here in the United States.”

  “That’s called capitalism, Congressman!”

  “Of the most vile sort. These money sums are far too large to come from legitimate sources. They came from drug cartels.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “Circumstantially. The amount—”

  Laughter.

  “The amount of money far outstrips the profits from these Mexican corporations. I’m talking about hundreds of millions of dollars annually. The union controls huge private companies on both sides of the border and uses them to launder drug money.”

  “Is this the same secret society that killed JFK?”

  “No, but possibly Abraham Lincoln.”

  Huge laughter. That rejoinder had been an obvious mistake. Now they had him tagged for certain as a kook.