by Unknown
Branger sat in a brown leather club chair with his hands and feet bound. He held a glass of water with both hands, and as Evarts approached, leaned over awkwardly so he could set the glass on a side table. “Tell this hireling to leave,” Branger ordered. “You won’t want him to hear what I’m about to tell you.”
“This hireling, as you call him, just beat the snot out of your crew, so treat him with a little respect.”
“I won’t talk in front of this boy. Tell him to leave us.”
Chet showed no reaction to Branger’s racial slur, so Evarts tried to suppress his own irritation. When Evarts had planned clandestine missions, the army had allowed him to pick his own team, and Chet’s name had always been at the top of his list. On two separate occasions, his life had depended on this black man’s courage and wits.
Remaining outwardly calm, Evarts said, “Chet, can I borrow your cell phone?”
Chet reached into his pocket with his left hand while keeping his gun aimed at Branger with his right. Chet flipped his cell phone over to Evarts, who caught it with a smooth motion. He punched in a number and waited for an answer. When he heard a voice say hello, Evarts said, “Detective Standish, this is Greg.”
“Yes, Commander,” he heard her reply.
“Have you arrested Lieutenant Clark, and are my parents under protective custody?”
“Yes, sir. To both.” She gave a brief recap of what had transpired on the West Coast that day.
“Excellent. I’ll talk to you again in a bit.” Evarts snapped the phone shut. “Now, what did you want to tell me, Mr. Branger?”
No smirk this time. In fact, the look of paralyzed dismay confirmed for Evarts that he had been right. Branger had left his parents alone so they would be available to use as hostages if all else failed. The examination of the calendar for the entire Santa Barbara Police Force had revealed that Clark had been the mole inside the department for the Rock Burglar. After his interrogation, Clark had turned state’s evidence, and a combined task force of three police departments had made seven arrests and captured the entire gang. Evarts guessed that Branger hadn’t needed to apply much pressure to further corrupt an already dirty cop. Fortunately, Evarts had figured out a few days ago that his parents’ safety posed a personal risk if he ever managed to get close to the union. He had delayed Clark’s arrest until the raid had been set so that Branger wouldn’t be forewarned.
“If you have nothing else on your mind, Mr. Branger, I would appreciate it if you would give me the combination to your vault.”
He gave Evarts and Chet a disdainful look. “I seem to have a lapse of memory.”
Evarts pulled the leather ottoman out of Branger’s reach and sat down. He stared at him for about twenty seconds before speaking. “Mr. Branger, you’re a smart man. You’ve climbed to the top of one of the most powerful organizations on earth and—”
“Soon to be the most powerful.”
“No, you’re wrong about that. Let me explain why. You’re sitting here under the presumption that there will be no hard evidence against you and that with your hundreds of millions of dollars—”
“Billions.”
“That with your billions of dollars you can buy your way out of this mess. Let me explain why you can’t. First, we assume that you planted worms deep inside your computer system that will erase all the data if we try to break through your security network. You know we’re army intelligence. We penetrate these systems for a living. Right now, I have the best hacker on the face of the planet working on your computer. It may take him days, maybe even weeks, but he’ll penetrate whatever safeguards you’ve put in place.”
Branger looked smug. “He’ll never get in.”
“I should also mention that he’s a black man.”
Branger roiled with laughter, and only the binds seemed to keep him from bouncing out of the club chair. When he finally caught his breath, he said, “I can’t imagine how you got this far. One of those cretins will fry my system and turn the records into gibberish. You’re so naïve; I can’t believe I’m tied up in my own library.”
“Chet, could you hand me your gun? I’d like you to check with Rick on his progress.” Evarts kept eye contact with Branger. “Feel free to tell Rick what our gracious host just said about him.”
“With pleasure.”
Just before Chet left the room, Evarts threw over his shoulder, “Chet, not too much levity. We have some serious work ahead of us.”
He heard the door close and then Chet’s laughter as he walked down the hall. Evarts just stared at Branger until the man finally asked, “What makes you so sure that boy can unlock my computer?”
“When he worked in army intelligence, the National Security Agency kept borrowing him. Now that he’s out of the service, he works as a contractor for them. He does what they call destructive testing. Whenever they think they’ve got an airtight system, they call him in.” Evarts smiled. “He has an unusual contract. He gets paid only if he breaks into their new system, and he hasn’t missed a fat paycheck yet.”
A look of concern flitted across Branger face, but he erased it almost immediately. “I’ll bet you a thousand dollars he can’t break into my computer.”
“You sure you want to make that wager? You’re already betting your entire future.”
“I’d bet my life against the intelligence of a nig—” He gave a half smile. “Excuse me, a black man any day.”
“This is the day.” Evarts smiled. “Now, let’s talk about the vault. I assume you’ve booby-trapped it with incendiary explosives. A series of false combinations or an attempted forced entry will cause a firestorm to envelop the interior of the vault and destroy everything inside.” He let it sink in that he had anticipated the move. “I presume you’re aware that fire requires oxygen. We’ve already discovered the air vent, and we’ve ordered equipment that will suck the air out and create a vacuum.” Branger tried to maintain a poker face but his hands tightened in a tell. Evarts had guessed correctly. “We do this for a living. It may take us days to bypass your computer security, but we’ll have that vault open tonight.”
“Then we don’t need to have this conversation.”
“Time is of the essence. We don’t know whom you may have scheduled for a visit or if your alarm alerted others outside the house. You could make things easier if you gave us the combination.”
“I have no reason to make things easy for you.”
“I meant you could make things easier for yourself. Let me explain. We aren’t turning you over to the criminal justice system. You have been classified as an enemy combatant and will be dealt with by the military.”
“You can’t do that.” His eyelids flickered. “Get me a phone. I want my lawyer.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll take you to your lawyer in a bit. Military police arrested him hours ago. You can talk to him in your cell … if you cooperate.”
“You can’t deny me legal counsel.”
“Of course, I can. You’re a foreign agent.”
“I’m an American citizen.”
“The Supreme Court can sort that out in a few years. In the meantime, let me explain your alternatives. If you give me the vault combination, you’ll go to a stateside military prison and share a cell with your attorney. If you continue to be uncooperative, then you’ll go to a secret offshore prison, and your cellmate will be a huge nasty black man. We’ll make sure he knows all about your opinions of his race.” Evarts paused. “Do I need to say more?”
Branger couldn’t have looked more frightened if he had been approached with a white-hot poker. “You wouldn’t dare. You’re just a damn city cop.”
Evarts let his temper flare. “You asshole. You just did despicable things to the only woman I have ever loved. I wouldn’t dare? Do not test the limits of what I might dare!”
Evarts stood and paced the room to cool down. He intended a little interrogation theater, but when he pulled the stopper off his anger, he surprised himself with how much he real
ly wanted to punish this man. Forcing his emotions under control, he sat back down on the ottoman and purposely spoke in an even voice. “As for being a city cop; that’s my day job. I also do contract work for the government. Did you think a bunch of army has-beens took out your team? This assault had the full backing of the Department of Defense.”
“That can’t be true. I would’ve been warned.”
“I believe you have heard of the Shut Mouth Society. Did you think they were just librarians?”
“I—”
“Mr. Branger, I’ve been patient.” He stood up and looked at his watch. “But your time is up. You have exactly thirty seconds to make a decision about your future cellmate.”
Before the thirty seconds elapsed, Chet reentered the library. “Rick broke the security system before I arrived. He said he knew twenty kids who could’ve done a better job.” He looked at Branger. “Just in case you think we’re a bunch of bluffing cretins, your primary account appears to be in the Cayman Islands.” He smiled and then recited the account number and exact balance from memory.
Branger looked shattered. Evarts had seldom seen a more crushed man.
Chapter 62
The water looked smooth as glass. Evarts loved an early morning that was overcast because it kept the wind from rippling the ocean surface. It was seven thirty, and he had been surfing for over an hour. He checked the flag on the lifeguard station, and it still dropped straight down: Not a whisper of wind. A low cloud cover made the sea look dark and heavy and as immutable as the earth. When the air was this still, Evarts sometimes found it hard to believe that a modest breeze could cause so much havoc with the surface of the ocean.
The smell of seawater, the feel of salt on his back, and the utter calm interrupted only occasionally by crashing breakers made Evarts feel at peace with the world. He looked out to sea to spot the next set. The waves were few and far between this morning, only about two to three feet. In these glassy conditions, the surf seemed to magically roll out of a flat, monotone backdrop, the overcast sky blending so evenly with the sea that there appeared to be no horizon line.
Normally, he preferred a point break, but on some mornings, he just liked to play in the beach break in front of his house. Due to the smallish surf, Evarts had chosen one of his new long boards to ride. All of his boards were new, of course. When he had finally returned to his home two months ago, his garage had been cleaned out and his old quiver of surfboards stolen. Luckily, a neighbor had noticed the open garage and called the cops before someone penetrated the house. He found everything inside just as he had left it.
Other things had changed, of course. He had visited the Abraham Douglass grave site twice since his return. He had missed the elaborate funeral, but the time he spent with Douglass had usually included only the two of them, and he preferred to pay his respects in the same manner. Standing alone at the grave site, Evarts came to understand that their friendship may have been engineered, but he and Douglass had bonds that stretched back over a century.
Over the last months, he had argued, cajoled, and even yelled to try and get the government to take the actions he thought necessary. After he had broken Branger, they had gotten enough hard evidence to create the biggest scandal in the country’s history, but the State Department had refused to add fodder to the horrible Yankee image south of the border. After weeks of negotiations, the Washington powers had finally come to a consensus that the best course of action would be to reveal the bust of a major money laundering operation and to disclose some carefully crafted half truths that would vindicate Congressman Sherman and restore his credibility. At least they had released enough information to ensure that Ralph Branger would spend the rest of his life in prison for drug-related crimes. Mexican authorities had detained José Garcia, and his Panther Party had imploded after the government disclosed that the Yankee Branger had been financing Garcia. The existence of the secret society of the union, however, would be buried under so much governmental bilge that it would never see the light of day.
Evarts reveled in the news that Branger had experienced an emotional meltdown while in custody awaiting trial. At the house, he had broken Branger’s will to resist with a string of bluffs, lies, and insinuations. The one thing he hadn’t lied about was Matthew’s prowess as a computer hacker. Evarts had discovered years ago that people who used a radical belief system as a shield fell apart if you could pierce the veneer of their convictions. Branger’s collapse had started at the house and accelerated as he saw his impenetrable organization poked with holes from a dozen different directions.
Last week, the government had convened a grand jury. With the hard evidence from the house and Branger’s continued cooperation, the demise of the union should be imminent. Should be. Evarts worried that the government’s decision to focus primarily on the drug-related aspects of the union might leave elements of the secret society in place. In case the union wasn’t completely destroyed, Evarts had taken a few precautionary steps to make sure they would never wield the same level of power again.
Evarts straddled his board and continued to wait for a wave. The sets had become even more inconsistent. He looked up and down the surf line and saw only one other surfer in the water over a hundred yards away. Many surfers liked the sport so they could fraternize with other surfers and enjoy the onshore clannish lifestyle. Few ventured into the water alone, but Evarts liked solitude. He had never feared being alone. Especially today. He needed to be by himself to figure out a few things about his future.
He spotted a bump in the ocean surface almost directly behind him. He lay down on his board and paddled several strokes to his right. He had judged right. As the wave bent in toward shore, the peak had shifted north. Evarts was in perfect position. He swung his board toward shore and made a couple of lazy hand-over-hand strokes until he felt the back of his board rise slightly and sensed a small acceleration. Then he made two deep, hard pulls to make sure he caught the waist-high wave. Suddenly movement enveloped his senses, and he snapped to his feet and slid down the face at a leftish angle. When he reached the trough of the wave, he used the momentum to gracefully swing the board around to the right.
He had done all this without a conscious thought, just an athlete’s automatic reflexes in response to sensory input. As the board naturally climbed the face, Evarts saw that the wave would crash in a line too long for him to beat. Instead of pulling out, he ran to the tip of the board in the hope of getting a momentary nose ride. He had no sooner reached the nose than he saw a surfer’s nightmare, a head in the water directly in front of him. Damn it, a swimmer. He stepped to the inside of the board, crouched, grabbed the rail, and pulled with all his strength toward the wave. The board pivoted on the nose in what surfers called an island pullout, and the tail section swung around in a swift motion. Evarts waited for the awful thud that meant he had hit the person with the back of his board. When the nose smoothly sank and the tailblock spun free, he knew he had missed the swimmer.
Evarts came to the surface with water and wet hair in his eyes, and it took him a second to shake his head so he could see.
“Trish? What the hell are you doing out here?”
“Bodysurfing.”
“I almost hit you.”
She laughed. “I noticed.”
“Damn it. You scared the hell out of me. How’s the leg?”
“Still kicking.” She ducked under a wave at the last instant so that it would surprise Evarts when it blasted him from behind. As he turned around to paddle back out, she yelled, “A surfer who needs a board is a wimp!”
Evarts reached down to where his board leash attached to his ankle and ripped off the Velcro strap. With the board free, he pushed it toward shore in the next wave. He didn’t bodysurf often, but he couldn’t pass up the challenge. “Longest ride buys breakfast,” Evarts said.
They bodysurfed for another half hour, and although he quibbled, Evarts knew Baldwin had won breakfast. They picked a rear table at Mrs. Olson’s Coffee
Hut.
“How’s the book coming?” Evarts asked. When he had left to go surfing at about six that morning, Baldwin already sat in his library, enmeshed in writing her new book as she drank her morning coffee.
“Excellent. I can’t wait to get back to it.”
The preinaugural Lincoln papers had been announced to the press but not released. Baldwin had kept exclusive possession until she could finish a new book on his early political life. Most of the William Evarts dossiers from Reconstruction had been released, and historians around the country had begun to rifle through them with the gusto of children ripping open Christmas presents. Baldwin had told Evarts that a pile of new books about the Civil War period would hit the market soon. That was the reason she stayed on sabbatical: so she could work full-time on her book to beat the rush.
Greta sauntered over, carrying two steaming coffee mugs. “What’ll ya have this morning, Trish?”
“Oatmeal and wheat toast.”
“You got it, darling.” She started to walk away.
“Hey, what about me?” Evarts asked.
Greta twirled around, threw out a hip, and placed a hand on her waist. “Bacon and eggs, over easy, hash browns, and rye toast. That right, mystery man?”
“White toast,” Evarts said defiantly.
“White toast? Only wimps eat white bread. I’ll bring you rye, hon.” And she walked away without a backward glance.
“She’s got your number,” Baldwin said.
“I don’t know. You beat me bodysurfing this morning. I may be on a white-bread diet soon.” He grabbed the table edge to scoot closer but touched something under the table. He felt around with his fingers until he recognized the object and ripped a number 10 envelope free from the underside of the Formica table. “I forgot all about this,” he said. “It seems like years since I taped this to the bottom of the table.”
