The men in front relaxed when they reached the FDR Drive and more speed was possible. Tomkiss attempted conversation, but Franks only grunted, uninterested in small talk, and the FBI agent quickly abandoned the effort. It was still daylight when they reached Scarsdale, and Franks appreciated for the first time just how absolute the protection was around the house. There was actually a helicopter fluttering overhead when they approached, and there was a wedge-shaped formation of four vehicles in the immediate entrance, making any entry impossible. He counted six figures on the grounds on the way up to the main house, where there were three more cars that didn’t belong to him or the staff, and a man he hadn’t seen before opened the door at their arrival.
The children ran out, ahead of Tina, and David said triumphantly, “I saw one! I saw a gun. A man in a police car showed me. There was a shotgun in a rack in between the front seats, too. He says I can have a picture to take back to school.”
Franks picked up Gabriella, looking back painfully at Tomkiss. “I don’t want that to happen.”
“Sure,” agreed the FBI man. “I’ll fix it.”
“Why not, Daddy! Why not!” wailed the boy. “He promised.”
“Because,” said Franks.
“That’s not fair!”
“There’s a lot that’s not fair,” said Franks.
“Can we see the treasure, Daddy? Can we please?” said the girl. She had her arm around his neck and tugged, at every question, so that Franks had to lean back against her.
“Stop it, Gabby,” he said. “Not yet. I’ll tell you when.”
At the door Tina frowned at how he looked, and said, “Hello.”
“Hello,” said Franks. “Get someone to take the children, will you?”
Her frown deepened but she said nothing, turning back into the house and calling to the hovering Elizabeth.
“I want my picture taken with a gun!” insisted David defiantly.
“No,” said Franks.
“Yes!” said the boy.
Franks hit him, harder than he intended, although the rudeness justified the slap on the leg, irrespective of what it was about. David stared up at his father in shocked surprise and then burst into screaming tears. Franks saw that where he’d hit the child, just above the knee, he’d left a white imprint. Gabriella began crying too, in support. Franks looked angrily at the approaching nanny and said, “For God’s sake, take them away!”
“Come in,” said Tina tightly, pulling him toward the door of the smaller sitting room, where the drinks were.
Franks looked awkwardly at the unspeaking and unknown FBI man and then at the accusing face of Elizabeth and followed his wife into the room. Tina pointedly closed the door behind him and said, “You need a drink.”
Franks thought about artificial crutches, and said, “Yes. Gin.”
He sat, staring directly ahead. He took the drink without looking at her or thanking her, drinking deeply at it. It wasn’t an artificial crutch! Millions of people had a drink, like this. How many people had the choice of going to jail to be killed, or adopting a new identity to prevent being killed?
“You look awful.”
“I feel awful.”
“Shouldn’t I know about it?”
“I want you to,” said Franks.
It took a long time for him to recount the day: several times he ran ahead of himself and had to backtrack, and then he forgot the point he’d reached and Tina had to remind him. Twice she got up, freshening his glass; not a crutch, he convinced himself. His glass was empty when he finished, and this time he got up to help himself. Behind him Tina said, “I don’t believe what you’ve just told me!”
“I still can’t.”
“It’s … it’s … not fair.”
Franks turned back toward his wife, thinking as he looked at her just how much he loved her and remembering, too, the promises he’d made always to keep her safe. That hadn’t meant keeping her safe behind a protective ring of men who thought there was nothing wrong in letting children pose for school photographs holding guns. With his mind on the boy, Franks said, “That’s what David said.”
“Stop it!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell me again,” she insisted. “Not what happened; I understood that. Tell me what it would mean.”
“All these people around us, for I don’t know how long. I guess that’s got to happen anyway, for some time. Then we’d get new identities; go somewhere else to live.”
“Why!” exclaimed Tina. “Who are the gangsters, who kill and cheat and rob, for Christ’s sake! We haven’t done anything wrong!”
“I know,” said Franks.
“Then solve it. Do something to make it all work out right. You’re the man I trust. Do you seriously mean that I’ve got to tell Gabby that she isn’t Gabriella Franks? And David that he isn’t David Franks? That we’re not going to live here anymore? Or in England? That they’re not going to go to the schools they go to now and that at whatever school they do go to they’ve got to pretend to be somebody else—and always remember who that somebody else is—and that we’re not the mommy and daddy they always thought and trusted us to be but some other people—” Tina ran out of breath, staring at him across the room. She gulped, dragging the air into her, and said, “Tell me, Eddie! You’ve always been the one with the answers! So what are the answers to all that! Let’s go from there, for starters!”
Franks stared down into his empty glass, wanting another drink but not wanting another drink either, at that crux of drunkenness when he knew absolutely that he could handle another drink—quite a few other drinks—and knew absolutely that if he had one more he’d become stupidly drunk. “I know what we’re going to do,” he said.
Tina gazed at him, anger and frustration and incomprehension gone. “I knew you would,” she said.
“I’m going to cooperate, like I always intended to do,” said Franks. “Like I told Nicky we should do, from the moment I knew what had happened. I’m going to see that Dukes and Flamini and Pascara go to jail. Go to jail for killing Nicky, whatever he did to me; to us. The conviction won’t be for that, of course. But it will be the same. Mean the same as far as we’re concerned. We’ll take the protection—we’ve got to take the protection, intrusive and unpleasant as it is—and I’ll go through whatever charade they think is necessary, about names and things like that.” Franks hesitated, still looking into the empty glass. God, he wanted another drink. “And we’ll go into the program. Actually go into it. But only for a while. And when everything blows over and is forgotten we’ll go back to England and start all over again and do exactly what I promised we would. I’ll take only a token interest in the businesses and I’ll be with you all the time and the kids can pick up whatever education they’ve lost—we’ll cram them if necessary—and it’ll all be over.”
“I thought you told me that would be dangerous?” said Tina.
“Dangerous if we tried to go back immediately after the trial. But we wouldn’t. We’ll go into the program for a few weeks. Maybe a few months. Until everything calms down.”
“I want so much for everything to calm down,” said Tina.
So did he, thought Franks.
21
Franks didn’t take another drink. He had coffee, consciously sobering up to make the calls to England, to the London managers. Reports of Nicky’s murder had reached London. When he heard that, Franks telephoned the lawyer and accountant nonvoting directors, too, to satisfy any concern they might have, and then set about the plan that had occurred to him as he’d sat waiting for the effect of the alcohol to wear off. The final call was to the principal lawyer-director, Nigel Kenham. Franks explained he was going to establish a holding company into which all his and Tina’s shares from the various groups were to be transferred and protected. Kenham was to start the necessary formalities at once and have everything ready for him by the time he got back to London. He wasn’t sure when that was going to be, he apologized; maybe a week, maybe a litt
le longer.
Franks was completely sober when he finished making the calls, buoyed by the activity and confident because of it. He’d come very close to collapse; to giving everything up in despair. Which was hardly surprising, considering all the circumstances. But he’d managed to pull back. Now he was behaving like the businessman he’d always been—apart from the one appalling lapse—and he was going to prove, to himself and he supposed to Tina, just how much he’d learned from that appalling lapse. Franks actually felt excited at what he was doing. Certainly he didn’t want the interruption of eating, so Tina ate with the children while he remained on the telephone. After London he called Rosenberg, glad the lawyer had thoughtfully provided a home number, and said that having talked everything through with his wife he’d decided to cooperate and enter the protection program. But there were things he wanted—guarantees to be established—and so he needed further meetings. Rosenberg promised to arrange them and they fixed an appointment for the following day. When Tina joined him again, Franks told her what he’d already done and what he intended doing, and Tina asked if he was sure it would work.
“It’s got to work,” insisted Franks. “I’ve made enough sacrifices, and I guess we’re going to have to make some more. I’m sure as hell not going to lose everything.”
That night they made love, although Franks half suspected that Tina didn’t want to, and afterward she said, “We’ll always have each other, won’t we? No matter what happens, we’ll always have each other?”
“And a lot more,” assured Franks.
“I don’t think I want a lot more,” said the woman.
It wasn’t until the following morning that they discussed Nicky’s funeral. Tina said that during the previous day’s telephone conversation Maria insisted she wanted to organize it herself. Tina had promised that day to drive up to her parents’ anyway, wanting to be with them.
“I thought I’d take the kids; it’s getting claustrophobic with all these men around.”
“I didn’t think you wanted them to know yet about Nicky’s death?”
“I don’t mean them to be in on any talk or grieving,” said Tina irritably. “They can play in the garden; Elizabeth can come to look after them.”
“I suppose that will be okay,” said Franks.
Franks spoke to Tomkiss, repeating that he didn’t want David posing with any guns, and Tomkiss assured him he’d spread the word and that they were sorry. Franks saw the children just before he left the house. There wasn’t any talk of guns or treasure and Franks was glad. In the car on the way into the city, Franks wondered if he could convince the children it was some sort of grown-up game they were being invited to play when they went through the formalities of the protection program. Almost at once he decided against it. The story couldn’t be sustained for however long it was going to take, and they’d realize he’d lied to them. Better to tell them some sort of truth, though he’d hold back from frightening them. Franks knew he’d think of something when the time came. Which wasn’t yet. Just like he’d have to think of how to handle their schooling. Could he risk some sort of interregnum: ask both places to agree to a period of suspension on the understanding that the children would eventually return? Something else to discuss with Tina; he’d always felt things like that were more her responsibility than his. The kids would be all right, whatever; kids were adaptable. Into his mind, for no apparent reason, came a remark that Rosenberg had made the previous day. There’d be a lot of publicity, the man had said. Perhaps the schools wouldn’t accept David and Gabriella back if the notoriety became too much. Okay, he was escaping prosecution, but some of the evidence might indicate that he’d been a knowing partner; he guessed that would certainly be what the defense lawyers for Dukes and Flamini and Pascara would try to establish. To discredit him as completely as possible, in fact. What was it going to be like? Really like? The grand jury hearing and the trial itself? He supposed Rosenberg was the person to ask; he was the ace trial lawyer, after all.
“I think you’ve made the right decision,” said Rosenberg as Franks seated himself in the lawyer’s office.
“I thought we already decided it wasn’t much of a choice.”
“Still, better than trying to mount a defense.”
“I want some undertakings, beyond the protection,” warned Franks.
“Like what?”
“I’ve already got my people in London setting up a holding company for the European groups; I’m not going to just abandon them. I’ll need to go back, to put it into operation. Arrange a capital transfer, too.”
“They won’t like that.”
“I don’t care whether they like it or not,” said Franks. “That’s the way I want it to be.”
“They’ll probably say they can’t guarantee protection.”
“I don’t want them to,” said Franks. “I’m quite prepared to go back on my own.”
“It won’t be your safety they’ll be worried about,” said Rosenberg. “It’ll be losing their star witness.”
“I must go back,” insisted Franks. “I’m not going to go into this leaving the European operations as they are at present.” He hesitated. “As it’s the word of the moment, I’m not leaving them unprotected.”
“I thought you understood how the program worked,” said Rosenberg cautiously. “You can’t go back to anything that existed before.”
“Which is why I’m making the arrangements that I am,” said Franks. “I’m going to set up a sideways holding company. Do you know what an omnibus account is, in a Swiss bank?”
“What?” said Rosenberg.
“Something guaranteeing complete anonymity,” said Franks. “I’m going to transfer all my working capital into an omnibus account that will be in the name of a company, not a personal name. The holding company for the European groups will be activated in Switzerland but formed in Liechtenstein. It’s called an actiengesellschaft. That will form complete but independent anonymity, too.”
“You seem to know a lot about how to move money around the world, Mr. Franks,” remarked the lawyer steadily.
“You making a point?”
“I’m not,” said Rosenberg. “But a defense lawyer for Pascara or Flamini or Dukes could make a lot of it—particularly in the apparent payment to the Bahamian minister from an offshore account.”
“How are they going to know?”
“I hope they don’t,” said Rosenberg. “Ronan still isn’t going to be happy with the idea; he might refuse.”
“Can’t we bargain?”
“The file is all we’ve really got,” said Rosenberg. “I’m hoping there will be something in that payment to Snarsbrook in the Bahamas that ties in with the account we now know Pascara holds.”
“Have you spoken to Ronan?”
“He suggested another meeting, this afternoon. I didn’t see any reason to say no.”
“With the file?”
“After we’ve copied it,” said Rosenberg.
“Why the precaution?”
“Why not? I thought taking precautions was the name of the game now.”
“I’m sorry,” said Franks. “It was a stupid question. A lot are.”
Tomkiss and Sheridan provided the same escort as before, and when they took the file from the safe-deposit box Franks supposed he should feel grateful; he didn’t. Despite everything he remained embarrassed at the theatricality of pavement and doorway and elevator checks. It would be good to get away to Europe. Tina was right; it felt claustrophobic. He guessed it was going to become a problem later.
The gathering in Ronan’s office was the same as before, but when they entered this time the district attorney offered his hand first to Franks, and said, “Thank you. I’m sure it’s going to work. That everything will come out all right.”
The previous day Franks had been bewildered and unsure and knew it must have showed. He didn’t like the knowledge and moved immediately to correct the impression he must have made. He said, “I know it might be di
fficult—even impossible at this stage—for any of you to believe that I am innocent. Maybe you will, later. At the moment it’s not important. I know, too, that although everyone’s going through the motions, it’ll never be possible for Scargo’s murder to be proven against any of them. Having made the decision to cooperate, my commitment will be absolute; I’ll do anything and everything to ensure that they’re jailed for as long as possible, on whatever charges are formulated against them.”
“There have been prosecutions that have failed before,” said Ronan. “This time they won’t.”
“Perhaps whatever it was you brought today from the safe-deposit box might help?” asked Waldo, the unremitting professional.
“Mr. Franks has something further to say,” prompted Rosenberg.
Recalling Rosenberg’s reaction in their earlier meeting, Franks did not go into detail about the holding company and hidden accounts he intended to set up. Instead he said simply that he knew the hearings would take time, making it impossible for him to involve himself in his businesses, but that he was refusing to abandon them altogether and wanted the opportunity to make arrangements.
“Mr. Franks,” set out Ronan as the other lawyer had earlier, “you must understand what is involved in cooperating—”
“I understand completely,” cut off Franks, overly forceful in his need to recover from the previous day. He looked toward the tax investigator. “You’re familiar with the protection afforded by Switzerland and Liechtenstein?”
“Yes,” said Knap.
“Is their banking secure?”
“An investigatory understanding exists between the United States and Switzerland in the pursuit of criminal enterprise,” said Knap pedantically. “But taking the question on the level that you’ve posed it, yes, the anonymity provision of the banking laws of both countries is extensive. If we are thinking—as we must be thinking—of the chances of organized crime later getting to Mr. Franks through any Swiss or Liechtenstein source, then I must say I consider that extremely unlikely.”
To Save a Son Page 20
