by R. T. Ray
The echoes of Matuszak's footsteps were quite audible on the marbled flooring of the camber. The speaker, however, ignored the approaching footsteps and continued thumbing through the stack of papers before him. He waited until Matuszak had reached the halfway mark to the podium before he looked up, peering over his half glasses.
In a well-rehearsed move he folded the papers, placed them in his jacket's inside pocket, then, laying his glasses aside, he turned his attention to Matuszak. His movements and body English were well orchestrated and spoke clearly. Stop, come no closer.
Matuszak's movements had taken him alongside a large antique table facing the podium.
“Thank you for coming, Agent Matuszak,” the speaker said, in a soft, well-educated voice. Only the slightest trace of his English schooling was noticeable.
“My colleagues and I congratulate you on the discovery of the three missing coaches and the successful completion of your case. A most noteworthy accomplishment, indeed.”
Colleagues? Matuszak glanced around the dimly lit room. As his eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting, he was able to distinguish five, or possibly six, figures occupying a small section of the first row of benches to his right. Their silent, shadowy forms had at first gone unnoticed in the room's dimness.
“Please have a seat,” the speaker said, motioning toward the antique table with several leather upholstered chairs. “A coffee, perhaps?”
“No, thank you,” Matuszak replied, easing himself into the table's center chair.
A silver tray with a coffee carafe, an ice water decanter and an assortment of cups and glasses sat before him. The presidential seal, deeply etched into each item made a quiet but enigmatic statement.
The Presidential Seal? This was no ordinary trade committee. What have you gotten yourself into now Matuszak? the little voice inside him said.
“Who are you? And why have I been summoned to appear before this committee?”
A quiet smile formed on the speaker’s lips. “Permit me the small luxury of remaining anonymous,” he said. “In any case the name is unimportant and wouldn't be recognizable to you.”
Matuszak nodded. “And the reason for my being here?”
“Ah. Now in there lies the problem,” the speaker said, placing the tips of his fingers together to form an arch.
“You see, Agent Matuszak, your assignment, although known to us from the very onset, was of little importance or consequence, that is until your interview with Senator Victor Ewald.”
From the corner of his eye, Matuszak detected stirring among the figures occupying the gallery. What could be so sensitive that the mere mention of Ewald's name could cause this uneasiness?
“Perhaps you should come to the point,” Matuszak offered. “Why have I been summoned here?”
“Perhaps that would be best” came the reply from the podium. “Let me begin by stating that the two main parties responsible for this tragic chain of events have received their just punishments. The elder Ewald lays dying a lonely death in a nursing home, robbed of all conscious thought, while Arthur Donnley...” The speaker gave a sad shake of the head, “Let us say Arthur Donnley has chosen the coward's alternative.”
Hesitating a few seconds, the speaker carefully chose his words before continuing. “I can assure you that all other active participants are dead, especially one C4 expert,” he said, exhibiting a certain amount of satisfaction.
The thought raced through Matuszak's mind. “Nancy's killer? The crime lab test had indicated traces of C4 had been found in the wreckage.” He made a mental note to return to this subject when the speaker had finished. He needed to know that someone had indeed paid the price for that act.
“There are other participants, of course” the speaker said. “However their roles were minor and they are either too old or feeble and no longer a concern. Because this case will receive international prominence, we.” He hesitated, gesturing toward the occupants of the gallery, “We would like to know exactly how you will handle any future inquiries. To put it plainly, Agent Matuszak, we must know what do you intend to say and how will you respond to questioning.”
“With the truth,” Matuszak answered, trying hard not to make it sound like a tired, worn out cliche.
“No, no, no, Agent Matuszak. That simply will not do,” the quiet voice said, betraying no sign of anger or threat. Its tone was reminiscent of a kindly clergyman reprimanding a tardy child. “In the coming days, it will be of the most vital importance to the government that we know exactly how the role the elder Victor Ewald played in your investigation will be portrayed.”
“His was a major one,” Matuszak retorted. “Donnley was the mastermind behind the train hijacking and the murder of Jonathan Lambert. But, the elder Ewald’s willingness to sit idly by was tantamount to complicity. By his continuing silence he must bare equal criminal responsibility for the slow, torturous deaths of the twenty-six passengers and crew.”
The speaker gave an impatient nod. “And your proof of his involvement, Agent Matuszak. Where is your proof?”
“I have none,” Matuszak confessed. “Only the rambling bedside confession of a mentally deteriorated old man and my gut instinct. But apparently, that was enough to have me summoned here. But why? What part does Washington play in all of this?”
“Insolent fool!” a loud, harsh voice roared from the gallery. “Who are you to demand anything?”
Turning, he saw that one of the gallery's figures had risen and was leaning forward, his hands tightly gripping the wooden railing. His huge frame was partially in the light, partially in the shadows, but the mask-like features of his roughly hewed features were visible as they contorted and flushed with rage.
“And who are you to sit in the darkness and judge me?” Matuszak challenged.
“Idiot!” came the reply. “Do you think we will allow you or your petty little investigation to compromise this committee's mission? There is more at stake here than you realize.”
Several light taps from the speaker's gavel were sufficient to restore order. With a last angry glare at Matuszak, the man sat down. Matuszak noted the nervous figure occupying the seat next to the large man had glanced up into the gallery's darkened tiers several times during the outburst.
Why? Was there someone else up there? He scanned the upper gallery, but saw nothing. The darkness kept its secret.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” the speaker said, growing weary of the fiery exchange. “Please, if I may be permitted to continue.” Quietly laying the gavel aside, he directed his attention to Matuszak.
“Agent Matuszak, enough of this petty, verbal sparring. Perhaps we should lay our cards on the table, and maybe reach a compromise acceptable to all sides.”
Matuszak nodded; he had nothing to lose. Still, he needed time to think, to plan. Picking up a glass, he carefully removed the protective paper wrapping and slowly filled the glass with water from the heavy, crystal decanter. He took several small sips.
The tactic was not lost on the speaker. “Perhaps a brief lesson in far Eastern culture and diplomacy might be helpful,” he began, not waiting for Matuszak to finish. “The Eastern culture, and particularly the Japanese people, place a great deal of value on the family name and honor. To bring dishonor or shame on one's family or one's self is the pinnacle of disgrace. In the past, it has toppled many government parties and heads of state.”
“What does this have to do with my report?”
“If it should come to light that the senator's father played a part - even the smallest part at all - in this affair, Senator Ewald, as the innocent son, must also share in the family's dishonor. His reputation will be tarnished. The Japanese will demand his withdraw as chairman of the trade delegation.”
“Agent Matuszak, as you know, our government is in the final stages of reaching a monumental trade agreement with a reluctant Japan. An accord that will rapidly erase all of the trade barriers; barricades built to prevent our companies from competing head to head in an o
pen market. The multibillion dollar trade deficit could, in theory, be erased within a decade.”
“This scandal would be the perfect escape the Japanese government has been so desperately searching for. They could claim we have been bargaining from a position of dishonor. While this may mean little to us in the West, it will be custom tailored for the Japanese government and certain to have the support of their parliament.
“We would be forced to suspend negotiations while we elect a new chairperson. Years of hard-won concessions would be lost and we’ll have to start anew. Quite frankly, Agent Matuszak, our sagging economy cannot last that long.
“The recent collapse of the Soviet empire with all the hardships it created, is still fresh in our minds. I can assure you, quite candidly, that America is on the same collision course and the same fate awaits us.”
“What would you have me do? Falsify my report and allow a mass murderer to go free?”
“Free? Hardly free, Agent Matuszak. Victor Ewald is being held captive, as surely as if he were in a prison cell. Perhaps worse, for he is a prisoner of his own mind and is dying. He may well be dead before your report is completed. What good would it serve to release it?”
“Probably none,” Matuszak admitted. “But the families of the victims have the right to know who's responsible for the death of their loved ones, and maybe find some closure.”
“We are not without compassion Agent Matuszak,” the speaker said.
“Think back to that attempt on your life. The two good Samaritans who miraculously appeared to save you, then, just as quickly disappeared. They were government agents, assigned by this committee to protect you.”
Matuszak remembered that night in the alley in Little Italy and the terrible beating he took before the two strangers intervened. It became clear now why there had been no mention in the newspaper or police involvement.
“But I do offer my sincere condolences for the death of the young lady, Nancy. And the elderly gentleman, both were most regrettable. As for the Pier Six incident, please accept my apology. The team assigned to protect you arrived too late to save you from the dunking, but I'm told you put up a good accounting of yourself, and that you successfully eluded our agents afterward.”
“The two men sitting in the car on the parking lot, yours?”
“Naturally.” He smiled.
“They were not amused at spending most of the night sitting on a deserted parking lot waiting for your return, or at having to explain their failure to their section chief. But now, back to the matter at hand; in exchange for your cooperation, we are prepared to offer assistance to the victim's family.
“How and in what form?” Matuszak asked, becoming interested.
“A direct cash settlement is quite impossible. It would incorrectly imply government responsibility. There is also the possibility that, at some future date, an inquisitive reporter may get suspicious and trace the paper trail back to this committee.”
“What is your plan then?” Matuszak asked.
“I give you my word, as a gentleman, that an honest, thorough search will be conducted to identify any surviving immediate family members. If any should be located, they will be given every financial, medical or educational consideration possible with no red tape. All quite confidential, of course.”
Matuszak studied his intriguing opponent. Strange, but he believed him. His voice had a ring of truth in it. Whoever this man was, Matuszak was sure his word was good.
“And if I refuse?”
“That would be a most regrettable decision on your part, Agent Matuszak,” the speaker said, a hint of sadness accompanied his reply. “The decisions reached in this room tonight will have a direct affect on next week's summit. At any rate, there is too much at risk here of international importance to permit your report to be released.”
Shifting uneasily, the speaker leaned forward on the podium as he spoke. His voice, now lower, had a touch of finality in it.
“Naturally, as part of the process, your report would have to be discredited, and you, you would have to be dealt with.”
His face bore a sad look of resignation as he looked down at Matuszak. It left no doubt that the phrase, You would have to be dealt with, carried a more sinister intent.
Returning quickly to a lighter mood, he again used the phrase.
“So you see, Agent Matuszak, that simply will not do.”
“And if I choose to cooperate with your committee, what would you ask of me?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Return to your job and do nothing. All necessary reports will be filed and any inquiries will be directed to and handled by U.S. Government agencies. The murder of the postal workers and hijacking of the mail car has made it a federal crime, falling under the exclusive jurisdiction of the federal government. The inquiry will be swift and extensive, but, in the end, will find Donnley acted alone.”
“What about this secret meeting, this Star Chamber Decision of yours. Maybe the newspapers would be interested in it,” Matuszak threatened, playing his last card.
“Again, I ask: where is your proof? Your summons no longer exists; it was shredded before you entered this room. Nowhere will you find a record of this committee's existence, or of this meeting. No government personnel will acknowledge knowing you or collaborate your visit here tonight.”
“How can you be sure I won't walk out of here and talk?”
“We ask only,” he paused, glancing briefly at the darkened gallery before correcting himself. “I ask only for your word of honor in return. You see, Agent Matuszak, like the Japanese, I believe honor still has its virtue.”
Matuszak sat in the chair for a few moments, his mind racing. He had to make a decision, but which one?
Where to now, Matuszak? the familiar little voice said. Who would believe you? You have no proof, only the pitiful ranting of an old man dying a slow death, and a middle-age body, still aching from the abuse of the past months to show for your efforts.
“Well? What's it going to be?” the heavyset face thundered from the dark gallery.
“Let him be, he must decide on his own,” the nervous one ventured. “Don't rush him.”
“Ahhhh, why? We don't need him. Let's do it and be done with it. The hell with him,” the disgusted voice declared.
“No! We agreed,” the timid one snapped, standing his ground. “He must be allowed to choose.”
The loud one retreated, slumping into his seat, his large form disappearing in the deep shadows.
Then silence, only a muffled cough or the restless sounds of bodies rustling, could be heard echoing in the stillness of the room.
So, Matuszak sighed, it has come down to this, either go along with them or wind up some crime statistic in a back alley.
“How will I know if you kept your part of the bargain?”
“You have my word. But, if you wish, an anonymous report will be forwarded. From its contents, it shouldn't be to difficult for you to verify our efforts in locating the families and that they're receiving the proper benefits.”
“And if you don't?”
“By then, it will be a mute point, the treaty will have been signed. But surely, if that were our plan, why bring you here? We could have easily let the alley incident run its course and avoided tonight's meeting.”
Matuszak mulled it over briefly before he nodded his head.
“Then I give you my word.”
The speaker returned the nod, but said nothing. He busied himself, pretending to make notations on the pad in front of him. It was obvious that the meeting was over, yet no one made a move to leave.
Silence filled the room. Is this it? Matuszak thought someone should say something ... anything, but no one spoke. What in the hell were they all waiting for? He had agreed to their terms, hadn't he? Silence, he sat alone at the table surrounded by the awful silence.
From the upper reaches of the gallery, Matuszak heard the faintest, yet unmistakable, sound of movement.
He waited,
nothing.
No, there it was again. Footsteps moving along the gallery at the top of the tiers, only louder this time. Matuszak searched the blackness, but it was too dark to see.
Then the exit door at the far upper end of the room swung open. For the briefest moment, he could see, silhouetted against the hallway light, the dark form of a man hurriedly leaving the room. Curse it! It was too fast and too distant for him to recognize.
Infuriated that someone had secreted their self in the darkness and observed the proceeding. He turned to the speaker's podium, intent on demanding the identity of this mysterious observer.
The podium sat vacant; only the soft column of light remained.
Turning back to the gallery, he could make out dark forms, as they rose and walked single file up the steps, to the exit.
“Wait!” he yelled. “Who was that?” What happens now?”
Somehow, he hadn't expected an answer and he didn't receive one. The figures quietly filed out of the room. The heavy swinging door at the far end of the walkway swung back and forth. Its loud banging sound echoed in the large room, slowly faded, then came to a stop as the last person left.
Silence. He sat alone in the dark, empty chamber, staring at the soft column of light and the vacant podium. Was this it? Were the bizarre events of the last several months real and were they finally over? Had he made the right choice?
Taking a last sip of cool water from the glass, he rolled the empty glass around in his hand, idly staring at the Presidential seal. He thought of pocketing it. After all, it proved he was here ... and it was a hell of a souvenir.
“No,” he said, softly. “This is insane. Besides, no one would believe you anyway.”
Placing the glass on the table, he rose and walked toward the passageway exit.
Harrington was waiting for him at the doorway, a worried look on his face.
“Everything okay, Agent Matuszak?” he asked, in a voice filled with concern.
