Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet

by Bill Thompson

  He waited patiently while they backed out their car, then took their space. He had a half hour to kill so he went across the street to Starbucks. He sat outside where he had a clear view of Nicole’s parking garage.

  I don’t even know what kind of car she drives and yet I’ve had sex with her. Well, not real sex. But it had seemed like it at the time, until his rude awakening with his phone call from the mystery man.

  About five minutes before three, he saw her drive by Starbucks directly in front of him. She was at the wheel of a white Mercedes convertible and was wearing the ball cap he’d dreamed about! As she drove into the garage he walked across the street and was standing in front of her building when she walked up.

  He had made fun of himself this morning as he dressed in exactly the outfit he had been wearing in his dream. She wasn’t in her tank top and shorts, however. She wore a polo shirt tucked into a pair of yellow cotton shorts. She was wearing gym socks and yellow tennis shoes. She was color-coordinated but somehow when you looked at her it didn’t make you think she had actually given that any thought. It was just as though it was how she was supposed to look.

  She smiled. “Hey there. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

  Brian involuntarily shuddered but quickly recovered. “Me too!”

  There were a lot of people in her office. Everyone was working; no one looked up as they passed down the hallway. She motioned Brian to sit down while she got some water. He sat in the armchair, as in the dream, hoping she’d sit on the couch again.

  She gave him a water, kicked off her shoes and sat on the couch, curling her feet under her.

  “Before we get started I want to tell you something that happened last night after I left here.” He told her everything he could remember about Carl Cybola’s phone call.

  She took notes. When he finished, she said, “Is there anything you’ve told me about Carl Cybola, his relationship to you or the firm, or anything about Bellicose, that you want to change now? I’m not saying there should be but if there is, for God’s sake now’s the time to tell me.”

  Brian assured her there was nothing Carl was going to say to the U.S. Attorney that would be harmful to Brian’s situation in any way.

  “I’ve told you the entire truth. Carl knew a lot of inside stuff that I didn’t. And I never participated in it. I was about to but I hadn’t yet.”

  The afternoon and early evening were spent much like the dream. She asked pointed questions to which he gave direct answers. She asked him things about the firm that were outside his direct knowledge. As she had taught him, instead of offering conjecture or opinions he said, “I have no knowledge of that.”

  It was dark when she finally closed her notebook. “I don’t think there’s anything more I can do for you. I want to tell you a few rules and I want you to remember them.” She picked up a yellow pad.

  “First, you’ll be sworn in like you’re in court, and a court reporter will be in the room just like in court. My job will be to object, but only rarely, which is not like in court. In a deposition, a judge will decide later whether most of your testimony will be allowed, if this ever gets to that point, which I think it won’t.”

  She told him that she also could be a resource for him. If he was asked something and wasn’t sure how to respond, he could whisper to her and she would help him if she could.

  “Don’t volunteer information. If they ask you a question, answer the question. Don’t give them more information than they asked you. If they ask you something close to the truth, don’t help them get where they want to be. If they ask you if Carol did it, and it was Mary, don’t say ‘No, Mary did it.’ Instead, you just say, ‘No, Carol didn’t do it.’ See what I mean?”

  He nodded, trying to concentrate on this important last information while wondering what was going to happen next.

  “If you don’t know something for sure, say ‘I don’t recall.’ You should never be reluctant to say that if you aren’t sure. And Brian, you can never be certain what someone said exactly, even if it just happened. They can’t kill you, they can’t touch you, they can’t beat you up. If they ask you about a conversation and they say, ‘What did Carl say next?’ your answer should be what?”

  “I don’t recall,” Brian replied.

  “Right, but even better say ‘I don’t recall specifically.’ Because even if the conversation happened this morning there is no way you can recall it word for word. If you say ‘I don’t recall specifically,’ you’ll make them have to say, ‘Can you relate it in words or in substance?’ That’ll take a lot of time and frustrate the hell out of them. Just keep your cool and you’ll be fine.”

  “You’re really great at this.” He steered the conversation as it had happened in his dream.

  “You’re paying enough to get the best and I’m good at what I do. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.” She stood, putting on her shoes. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”

  He stood, resigned that the dream now was nothing more than that. He agreed that dinner was a good idea, and they soon ended up in Papa’s, a casual Italian place a couple of blocks down the street just off McKinney Avenue. She had a pasta salad, he had a calzone, and they drank a couple of beers each.

  As they walked back to their cars, she said, “Get some rest tomorrow. Come to my office Monday at nine and we’ll ride over to the FBI’s field office together.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  On Sunday Brian bought groceries, worked out for an hour at the gym and read the Dallas paper by the pool at the Mansion on Turtle Creek. Since his apartment building was next door the tenants had privileges to use the facilities at the Mansion. Brian didn’t eat there much but he met people in the bar for drinks fairly often, and on warm weekends he enjoyed the scenery around the pool.

  Around six he went back to his place, starting a DVD he’d ordered online. It described the new archaeological finds at Petra in Jordan. Several mummies had been unearthed and there was speculation that one of Jesus’ disciples might have been buried in the area. He found it difficult to concentrate. For once his mind was racing not about Nicole, but about the deposition. He found challenge invigorating and he felt confident he could do a good job tomorrow.

  After all, I really can’t help them much if they’re trying to hang the Bellicose deal on somebody. For sure they can’t hang it on me.

  Around eleven, he called it a day and went to bed. He was in a dead sleep when the cell phone rang. Awaking suddenly, he glanced at the clock. 3:30 am. Same time as the last call, he thought. He picked up the phone and saw the caller ID said “unknown.” The same gravelly voice as last time started talking before he said anything.

  “Listen closely. You have an important job to do tomorrow. You have to help us, so we can help you. We take good care of our friends. Don’t hurt us. You don’t want us to be angry. Do well tomorrow. Your future depends on it.”

  He was gone before Brian had even fully grasped what he said. He lay in his bed, thinking of what he was involved in. How could he help? He didn’t even know what these people wanted from him. It was over an hour before he fell asleep again. He tossed and turned the rest of the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  At six he arose, turned on the bathroom TV as usual and stepped into the shower. He could hear the newscast in the background as the water ran down his body. Suddenly he stopped and turned off the spigot. He had heard Carl’s name.

  He opened the shower door so he could see the TV. Carl’s picture was on the screen, then a cutaway to a street scene where a reporter stood, emergency lights flashing in the background.

  “Cybola was arrested at Warren Taylor and Currant only a few weeks ago, and was under indictment by the U.S. Attorney for a number of crimes, including fraud. It appears he was out for an early morning run when he was struck and killed by a hit-and-run driver. The vehicle was found about a mile away and turns out to have been stolen. Police have no clues about the driver. Anyone who may
have information about this crime is urged to call Crimefighters.”

  Brian started shaking. He dropped the towel and sank to the floor as his legs gave way.

  No way was Carl Cybola out for a morning run. This guy hated exercise. Carl was killed because he was about to cut a deal with the Feds.

  For over an hour Brian sat at his kitchen table in a pair of briefs. He took a sip of coffee now and then but mostly he stared into the air. The guy on the phone had said, “do well – your future depends on it.” Was that why Carl no longer had a future? What the hell had he been involved in? Brian didn’t know what to think, what to do. He knew he had to concentrate on the deposition but he could only think of the veiled threats he had received and how Carl was now dead, probably because of what he was about to tell the Feds.

  His cell phone rang. He started to ignore it then saw it was Carter and Wells, Nicole Farber’s firm. He reflected for a second that he didn’t know her cell number but obviously she knew his.

  “Hey.”

  “You’ve seen the news?”

  He said he had, and she asked him how he was doing.

  “The truth? I’m scared to death, Nicole. I think somebody killed him.”

  “It looks that way. But you don’t know what he knew. And you really don’t know how much he knew. You also don’t know it wasn’t an accident. So I want you to settle down, pull yourself together, and let’s get through this morning and on with your life.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Dressed conservatively in a dark suit and tie, he arrived at her office at nine and she met him in the firm’s reception area. They had a cup of coffee and then she said, “OK, you’re ready for this. You’re an honest guy, not a criminal. You said so yourself and you’ve got me believing you now. So you’re going to go in there and be the honest, straightforward, sincere guy you are. There’s nothing like the truth to make things right.”

  She had arranged a sedan and driver to take them to One Justice Way, the offices of the FBI a few miles west of them near Stemmons Freeway. “I want you relaxed, not worrying about traffic,” she had said when she told him she was spending some of his money on a limo.

  Brian was surprised at the high security in the FBI’s office. Thick, heavy glass separated the receptionist from the waiting room. A carrier like the one in a drive-in bank was used to deliver documents back and forth. They were told to take a seat, and shortly Special Agent Callender opened a door to allow them in.

  They went into a conference room where a court reporter sat at one end of a long table with her machine in front of her. Two men dressed in dark suits sat at the table. They rose and Callender introduced them as field agents who were working on this case. He explained that their role would be strictly as observers and they would ask no direct questions although it would be possible from time to time they might pose a question for Agent Callender to ask.

  For the record, Nicole established her position as Brian’s attorney. They were served coffee and then asked if they were ready to begin. Brian was told to raise his right hand and swore to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

  The deposition started with nearly an hour of incredibly routine background questions. The agent made detailed inquiries about Brian’s college days, his degree and his time at Merrill Lynch, and then he turned to Warren Taylor and Currant. Callender began a series of questions aimed at determining how Brian had found out about the position at WT&C. He asked some specific questions about dates.

  Brian answered, “I don’t recall specifically.” He glanced at Nicole, whose face remained impassive.

  Callender rephrased the question, making it more general as to timeframe, and Brian said, “I really don’t recall.”

  Callender hesitated for a moment and said, “Do you even recall the month to which I’m referring, or what year it was? You haven’t been there that long.”

  “I’m afraid not. I do a pretty poor job at recall.”

  Suddenly Nicole sat up in her chair. “May I have a word with my client?”

  “Of course. Let’s take a ten minute break.”

  The agents and the court reporter left the room.

  Nicole whispered to Brian, “This room is bugged so talk quietly. Want to explain just what you think you’re doing?”

  “I really don’t remember much.”

  “Don’t screw around with these people. They don’t take well to games.”

  “Believe me, this is no game.”

  He stood and walked down the hall to a restroom, leaving her sitting in the conference room alone.

  The deposition began again and, except for a few questions of little significance, Brian’s lack of recall was total. He didn’t remember anything that had happened; the more Callender asked, the more Brian couldn’t tell them. Finally the agent said, “May we go off the record?”

  Nicole responded, “OK with me.”

  “Mr. Sadler, I really thought you had nothing to do with any of this, that you were just a broker who happened to sell a lot of this crap and made some money. My hunch was you weren’t part of the fraud itself. Now I don’t believe that. You’re deliberately refusing to answer my questions and this outcome isn’t going to be something you’re going to be happy with, I’m afraid. I’m going to ask you point blank, right now. Do you intend to give us any more information, or is this deposition effectively finished?”

  “I don’t know what other questions you have, so obviously I don’t know whether I will recall anything or not. So far you haven’t hit on subjects I remember much about. I’m sorry that my answers aren’t as helpful as you had hoped.”

  Callender turned to Nicole. “Ms. Farber, have you advised your client to respond to my questions this way?”

  “Absolutely not,” she responded, anger apparent on her face. “But in fairness, if he has no recollection he can’t answer your questions.”

  The agent turned to the court reporter, asking her to take the proceedings back on the record.

  “For the record, the client is unable to respond to relevant questions with any answer except that he cannot recall. For this reason, I am now considering this deposition finished.”

  The reporter began to dismantle her machine and the two agents in the room stood. One of them looked across the table at Brian and said, “I hope your lack of recall is not a serious tactical error. We will undoubtedly see you again. Perhaps it will be in a deposition room like this. Maybe it’ll be in the booking room of a jail. Who knows?”

  The three agents left the room.

  Neither spoke as the car headed back to Nicole’s office. Brian stared out the window. Nicole sat with her arms crossed, an angry expression on her face. His phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, glad for the distraction. The caller ID showed a number in the 305 area code, which he knew was Dade County, Florida.

  “Good job today, Mr. Sadler,” the gravelly voice said. “Now we’ll help you.” The call ended abruptly.

  Brian pocketed his phone and Nicole said, “Do you get calls often where you only listen?”

  “Pardon me if I seem abrupt. I don’t think my calls are your concern.”

  “Your life is my concern at the moment. I don’t know what you think you were doing in there today. I’m not sure if you thought it was the smart thing to do, or a cute idea to snub your nose at the FBI. These guys can make your life miserable just because they’re pissed off at you. They can sic the IRS on you for no reason at all and you’ll end up getting audited. They can show up often enough at your office that your boss finally gets nervous and fires you just to keep them from taking a look at him. But you – after all our meetings, you chose the high road. You decided to be a smartass with the damned Federal Bureau of Investigation. You just didn’t recall anything.”

  She sat back in the seat, arms folded. And she wasn’t finished.

  “I’ll say one thing; I’ve never had a client do that before. Most of my clients at least respected the power the government has. But
I’m sure you have a good reason for giving the finger to the FBI. And once we get to the office I absolutely can’t wait to hear what it is.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The sedan dropped them in front of Nicole’s building. As the driver opened the back door for Nicole, Brian hopped out the other side. They stood on the sidewalk. “Come on up.”

  “You know what, Nicole? I’m not a kid in school. I paid you a lot of money to get me ready for today and I probably owe you even more than I’ve already paid. I chose a course of action today for reasons you don’t know and I’ll live with the consequences of my actions. I’m not a kid whose mom has caught him doing something bad and I’m not interested in your review of how things went. So I hope you’ll continue to represent me going forward and if either of us finds a reason we need to talk, let’s talk.”

  “I’ll think it over.” She turned and walked into her building.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Six months later – December 2005

  It had been an eventful six months since the last time he saw Nicole Farber. That had been on the sidewalk in front of her office after his deposition. The FBI had advised the U.S. Attorney, who had advised Nicole, who had advised him, that he was no longer a person of interest in the Bellicose case. It seemed once Carl decided to become a witness for the government, he had turned over every document he could get his hands on, including hundreds of pages of highly confidential information that belonged to the firm. If Carl had been alive he would have faced a lawsuit of immense proportion from his firm, and his estate still might. He had stolen much of the information but at this point nothing mattered except that the U.S. Attorney and the FBI had evidence that gave them cause to issue arrest warrants for WT&C’s two top executives.