Midas w-2

by Russell Andrews

  Justin looked up at Schrader and bit his lip, his expression as full of regret as he could muster. The guy wanted to throw around the bullshit, Justin could toss it with the best of them. “You’re right,” he said. “Sorry. What can I do for you?”

  “Is there an office or someplace a little more private?”

  Justin hesitated, then stood and led Schrader back to Jimmy Leggett’s office. He flicked the light switch and the fluorescent light flickered on for the first time since Jimmy had been killed.

  The two men sat-Justin a bit uncomfortably behind Jimmy’s desk-and the FBI agent said, “I’ve been one of the men in charge of investigating the Harper’s explosion. One of the reasons I’m here is that I know Billings took you there, gave you a little look-see.” When Justin didn’t say anything, Schrader went on quickly. “I said I’m not looking to bust your balls and I’m not. I don’t know why he took you there and I don’t really care. I assume he had his reasons. What I want to know is if he might have told you something that could in any way be useful.”

  Justin hesitated, then said, “He didn’t really tell me anything.”

  “So can I ask why you were there?”

  Justin made a show of shrugging, as if apologizing for what he was about to say. “My boss, the guy whose office we’re in, was killed in the explosion.”

  “Jimmy Leggett. I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, the thing is, I made a promise to his wife. She was kind of hysterical and asked me to find out why he was killed. I asked Chuck to show me the site, no reason really, just so I could tell her I saw it. I mean, there’s not much I’m going to be able to tell her-what the hell can I really do or find out? — but I at least wanted to make it look good.”

  “So was it helpful?”

  “No. Mostly it was just depressing as hell.”

  “Did Billings give you any of his theories on what happened?”

  “He tried. Not in any great depth or anything. I have to say, I wasn’t able to understand most of what he was talking about. It was a lot of technical bomb stuff, and that’s hardly my area.”

  “Kind of a self-effacing guy, aren’t you?”

  Justin shrugged again. “Just telling you what happened.”

  “Did Chuck discuss with you anything about a notebook?”

  “What kind of notebook?”

  “His notes on the case. Anything he might have written down about his investigation.”

  “No. I don’t think he was carrying anything when he gave me the tour. I hate to use that word, but you know what I mean.”

  “He didn’t have a casebook with him?”

  “No. But we weren’t really there on official business. He was just showing me the site as a favor. I wasn’t really picking his brains and he certainly wasn’t picking mine.”

  It was now a little after twelve-thirty, and Justin glanced up from the desk because Stanton “Don’t call me Stan, my name’s Stanton” Carman from the East End post office was tapping his thin, nervous fingers on the doorframe. Stanton, a small, wiry guy with a thin mustache that looked like it had been penciled on, had worked in the post office for fourteen years. He liked to think he was both tough and cool, although he was far from either. In keeping with his self-image, he flirted with every single woman who mailed a letter or picked up a package, and on his lunch breaks he often stopped in at the police station to chat, annoying the hell out of everyone. He was harmless, and sometimes he’d take mail from them, saving a trip and a wait on line, so the cops all tolerated him. He always came in with a little swagger-the closer he got to the police station, the more he swaggered-and even lounging in the doorway his body language was self-important. Justin’s eyes were raised but he didn’t speak, because any opening for conversation was an invitation for Stanton to talk your head off, so the post office clerk just dropped a large manila envelope on the desk.

  “Came for you this morning, Chief,” Stanton said. “You in this office now?”

  Justin looked up at him. Usually they were on a first-name basis. This “Chief” thing was new. He shook his head, a silent answer to Stanton’s question, and did his best to look as if Stanton should get the hell out now.

  “Looked like it might be important, so I thought I’d drop it by.”

  Justin nodded again. He knew if he said a word, he’d be stuck for the next ten minutes. Maybe longer. Even with Hubbell Schrader in the room. Stanton never seemed to care if he was interrupting even the most important business conversation.

  “Expecting something?” Schrader asked.

  Justin wasn’t. He rarely got anything besides bills and the occasional postcard from Deena’s young daughter, Kendall, when she went away on a short trip. But without thinking he answered, “Yeah.” With a smile, as if there were something sentimental inside. “From my dad.”

  “Well. . see ya,” Stanton said, and Justin waited until he was out the door before casually dropping the envelope on the desk and saying to the FBI agent, “Anything else?”

  “Maybe,” Schrader said. “The plane crash a few days ago. Got anything on that?”

  “I was wondering if you guys were going to get around to that. You interested?” Justin did his best to register genuine surprise.

  “It hasn’t been a top priority because our info is that it was an accident. But I’m interested in anything out of the ordinary right now. And that sure as hell qualifies as out of the ordinary.”

  “You know, it’s weird,” Justin said. “I don’t have a goddamn thing. Maybe you can help me out. Might be to your benefit, too. The pilot didn’t have a shred of ID on him. I managed to get a fingerprint but it doesn’t seem to be on record anywhere.” He thought about his next sentence, whether or not to toss it in, decided he’d go for it. “I even called a friend of mine in the FBI. The agent who runs the New England bureau. I know her from Providence, that’s where I’m from.”

  “Chinkle or something like that, right?”

  “Wanda Chinkle. Exactly.”

  “She help you out?”

  “Nope. Said she tried and got the same answer-nothing on record.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Schrader said. “We restricted access.”

  “But you know the pilot’s identity?”

  Schrader nodded.

  “You gonna share it?” Justin asked.

  “I don’t want to be difficult,” the agent said. “In fact, I’m under orders to try to be as cooperative as possible. But I’m also under orders not to reveal his name.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve been looking into it,” Schrader said. “We don’t have any answers yet, but we’re investigating. Like I said, we’re looking at anything out of the ordinary. We got burned pretty bad on 9/11, didn’t connect a lot of the dots we should’ve connected. We can’t ignore anything that might relate to this bombing.”

  “And does it?”

  “It’s unlikely, but we don’t know for sure yet. That’s why we’re not releasing any information. I know it’s frustrating, but if local cops get involved, even someone as competent as you seem to be, it can only muddle things even further.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” Justin said. “That’s the first time anyone from your organization admitted I might even be competent.” He grinned easily. “So do you have a hunch? I mean, about the pilot’s connection to the bombing?”

  The agent hesitated, furrowed his brow thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I think the plane crash is just a coincidence. Pilot error, accidental malfunction, something like that. Screwy. . but screwier things happen all the time.”

  “That’s what I figured,” Justin said. And he did his best to furrow his own brow, before adding, “Except. . the pilot’s body disappeared.”

  “Yes, we know.”

  “Have a hunch about that?”

  “More than a hunch,” Schrader said easily. “We’ve talked to Southampton Hospital and several other facilities within fifty miles of this place. They’ve had so many
bodies, living and dead, after the explosion, they’re sure this one just got misplaced. Put in with all the others.” He shook his head at the tragedy of it all.

  “There didn’t seem to be a record of any ambulance being dispatched to pick up this particular body,” Justin said.

  “That also got lost in the confusion. But it’s been found now. I think if you get in touch with Southampton Hospital, they’ll corroborate what I’m telling you.”

  “I’m sure they will,” Justin said.

  Schrader stood up. “Well,” he said. “I just thought we should touch base. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, but I wanted to fill you in.”

  “I appreciate it. If there’s anything I can do for you while you’re around, just ask.”

  “Same here,” Schrader said. And smiled.

  Justin watched him go, but the agent didn’t leave the station. He stopped at Gary Jenkins’s desk, started up a casual conversation. Justin knew that Gary was smart enough not to reveal anything he shouldn’t. At some point, Schrader looked up and caught Justin’s eye. Justin flashed him a big smile and, staring straight at him, began opening the envelope that Stanton had dropped off. It was addressed only to Justin Westwood, East End Harbor Police Department. No street number. And no return address or name of sender.

  Inside was a thick three-ring binder. Justin flipped it open to find pages filled with notes, diagrams, and hand-scribbled drawings. It took him a moment to realize what he was holding on to, and when he did, he involuntarily slammed the notebook shut. He glanced up, but Schrader wasn’t watching him now. The FBI agent was heading toward the door, on his way outside. That’s when Justin saw that there was a note taped to the cloth front of the book. It was handwritten and said, “Jay: Just for safekeeping. If I’ve already told you to FedEx this baby up to me, you can have a good laugh at my expense. If you’re surprised to get it, then it meant I did the right thing. Get the bastards.”

  The note was from Chuck Billings.

  He was holding all the information Billings had compiled on the bombing at Harper’s Restaurant.

  Justin licked his lips because his mouth had suddenly gone dry. But before he could open the book up again, it was 12:40 P.M., and Stanton came racing back into the police station, yelling for them to turn on the TV or the goddamn radio. Special Agent Hubbell Schrader came racing in, too, as Stanton began screaming that the fuckers had done it again, the goddamn fucking shitheads had just blown up another restaurant, this time in New York City.

  Justin shoved the notebook into a desk drawer, came racing out of the small office. Mike Haversham was the closest to the small TV they kept in the main room and he punched at the on button and, sure enough, Stanton was right. On the TV screen there was smoke and sirens and cops and firemen. There seemed to be blood everywhere and you could hear the hysteria that was happening in Manhattan. And as Justin looked up, saw Agent Schrader staring at the TV just like the rest of them, he thought two things.

  One: when Schrader had come into the police station, he’d walked right up to Justin’s desk. He didn’t hesitate, walked right up as if he knew who he was, as if he’d seen him before. As if he’d been briefed.

  But that wasn’t nearly as odd as the second thing Justin was thinking.

  Watching Hubbell Schrader now, standing amid the cops, all of them staring in disbelief at the TV screen, Justin was thinking, This guy doesn’t look surprised.

  He looks as if he’d been expecting it.

  14

  Speech delivered at 6:07 P.M. on November 13, by Thomas Wilton Anderson, the president of the United States

  My fellow Americans,

  This afternoon, evil struck again, trying to insinuate itself into the very fabric of American life. Today, at 12:34 P.M., a suicide bomber detonated a bomb in New York City, in a Manhattan restaurant, La Cucina, killing twenty-eight people, including himself, and injuring nearly fifty more.

  Some people, in what I believe is an unfortunate and dangerous attempt to politicize today’s tragedy as well as the tragic bombing of Harper’s Restaurant nine days ago, are already saying that these evildoers have succeeded in infiltrating our everyday lives, that they are successfully destroying the things that make America great. I say they have not succeeded. . that they will never succeed. Not under my watch. No one will ever be able to successfully attack the core of our greatness. Because that core comes from strengths that are almost unimaginable in the world in which our attackers live. Our strength comes from faith, faith not only in a wise and just God, but in wise and just people. In the American people. Our strength also comes from our freedom, from our many freedoms. And right now I’m declaring another freedom-one we’ve always had, one this country was founded on, one that we must exercise yet again, not happily but proudly: the freedom to fight back. And I mean more than simply strike back. I mean strike first. Strike hardest. I’m talking about the freedom to seize control of our own lives. The freedom to make other people pay-and pay big-time-when they try to take away our freedom.

  My administration has been working very closely with the FBI and the CIA since the bombing at Harper’s. I must commend our intelligence agencies, for they have moved swiftly, decisively, and effectively, which is not easy when dealing with the kinds of shadowy networks we’re dealing with. As a result of their actions we now know the identity of the first terror suspect, the madman who blew himself up in Harper’s, killing so many people. His name is Bashar Shabaan. He was an Iraqi citizen, with links to Al Qaeda and other terrorist groups, and he had been living here, in the United States, for three years. We not only know Bashar Shabaan’s identity, we know other members of his terrorist cell and we know the members of his family who provided aid in his evil scheme. Many of those cell members and family members have been arrested and the remaining ones are about to be picked up and arrested. They will be questioned, and, believe me, when we are done, we will have all the answers we need to have. And they will receive all the punishment they deserve to receive.

  We also know the identity of today’s bomber: Muaffak Abbas. He was a Saudi, also with links to Al Qaeda and other terrorist groups, and we have already rounded up family members and supporters for interrogation. We are looking for any and all links between these two villains, and if those links exist, we will find them. And we will find anyone else, any individuals, any groups, connected to them as well. I should add that the Saudi government has been extraordinarily supportive and helpful and wants to make it clear to all Americans that they abhor any and all acts of terrorism and will continue to do their best to rid their country and the world of such evildoers.

  As you can tell from these results, we have moved swiftly, we will continue to move swiftly, and we will get results.

  Standing beside me are Vice President Phillip Dandridge; the attorney general of the United States, Jeffrey Stuller; and the assistant attorney general, Ted Ackland. I have spent the last several hours with Phil and Jeff and with Teddy, along with some other key advisers. The vice president has been put in charge of the task force investigating the recent attacks and our enemies responsible for them. He is reporting directly to me. At first, I was going to step aside and let the vice president and the attorney general tell you about some of the decisions and plans that were made today. But then I decided no, I want to speak directly to you myself. Partly because, as everyone knows, next year is an election year and I will be stepping down after two terms, and I in no way want to politicize these proceedings, just as I hope no politician, from either party, tries to politicize these tragedies. But mostly I’m speaking to you because these are things I believe in so deeply and so passionately. These are things upon which hang the future of America, the future of the world as we know it. And I want to make it clear that I expect support for our vision of the future. Not my vision, not the vice president’s vision, but our vision-America’s vision. I expect bilateral support from the Senate and the Congress, support from the media by having fair and accurate reporting, supp
ort from judges who will stop their activist agenda so we can do what is right for the country, and military and political support from our allies around the rest of the world. There used to be a saying: You are either part of the solution or you are part of the problem. I’ll say this: If you are part of the problem, get the hell out of our way or we will sweep you out of our way, because right now I am only interested in solutions.

  To that end, I am going to ask Congress to pass what we are calling the Triumph of Freedom Act. And I am asking that it be passed unanimously to show our support not just for the dead, for those who died in these two horrible attacks, but for the living, those who care about protecting our future.

  What is the Triumph of Freedom Act? It’s many things. Mostly it will guarantee that terrorists and terrorism will never get a foothold in our country. We will wipe them out with several bold strokes-and the first stroke will start now, with this Act.

  The Triumph of Freedom Act means that we will be able to put any terror suspect’s DNA in a national data bank. This will be an enormous benefit to everyone, to all agencies fighting this sort of horrific crime.

  We will be able to clamp down on and seize any assets found in Arab hawala transactions. Hawala is where cash is exchanged and funneled to terrorists.

  We will be able to get business records without a court order in all terrorism probes.

  We will be able to track wireless communications with a roving warrant.

  We will be able to revoke U.S. citizenship of anyone we suspect of militant extremism.