Cole smiled as he watched Seward and the other man look around nervously, straining to keep tabs on their associates stationed at different locations around the baggage area. Cole followed their eyes and quickly picked out the accomplices, obvious as they too strained to keep track of the bright yellow sweatshirt Nicki wore. He smiled to himself despite the situation. In life, timing was everything. He had studied the airport arrival information and checked with the skycaps before specifying to Seward that 6:45 would be the exchange time and carousel number two would be the location. The skycaps had confirmed that luggage from this flight always came to carousel two. But the flight could have been late. More often than not, long international flights were. Fortunately, this time it wasn’t.
Then the second flight arrived, this one from Berlin, and the baggage claim area was suddenly packed.
Cole threaded his way through the mass of people until he was standing directly in front of Seward.
“Where’s your trade bait?” Seward asked loudly over the buzz of several hundred conversations.
“I’ll give it to you when Nicki is holding my hand.”
Seward nodded, then gestured to the other man, and they moved back.
Cole stepped forward and Nicki held out her arms, sobbing uncontrollably, tears running down her cheeks from beneath the sunglasses. But he didn’t take her in his arms. Instead he dropped to his knees and carefully frisked her legs, then rose up again and searched her upper body for explosive devices.
“There’s nothing on her!” Seward yelled over the background noise. He and the other man stepped forward. They didn’t want Cole and Nicki to drift too far away.
Cole hugged Nicki and whispered instructions into her ear, pushing back the hood of the sweatshirt with his face as he nuzzled her neck. She tapped him on the shoulder as he had instructed her to do if she understood, and slowly he extended his left arm in the air, as if he were stretching, a signal to the bodyguard standing against the wall casually reading a newspaper.
The M-80—a powerful firecracker Cole had purchased at an outlet in a small town west of Billings on the way to meet the jet NBC had sent for him and Tori—exploded with a deafening roar.
Instantly the people at the baggage claim panicked, reduced to the primal urge of survival at the sound of a blast they were certain had been made by a bomb. They screamed, pushed others down, and climbed over strangers and friends and family members in their singleminded attempt to escape. Then another M-80 exploded and the panic turned to absolute chaos. Seward and the other man dropped to the floor at the sound of the second blast.
Cole grabbed Nicki’s wrist and yanked her toward the luggage conveyor disappearing down into the basement of the airport. It was just now beginning to transport bags up from carts that had met the flight from Tokyo minutes before. As Cole and Nicki stepped onto the stainless steel carousel, it began to turn and they lost their balance.
Seward was back on his feet, shouting orders at the disguised agents, but then he was knocked off his feet as one of the bodyguards ran him down.
Cole grabbed Nicki, pushed her into the opening atop the carousel and followed her down. They plunged, tumbling over suitcases and bags moving up the conveyor belt.
Tori was waiting at the bottom in the luggage staging area, wearing a baggage handler uniform she had managed to procure. “This way!” she ordered.
“Hey! What the hell’s going on?” A man unloading one of the carts dropped the suitcase he was about to place on the belt and moved toward them.
From her jacket Tori withdrew the General’s gun and leveled it at the man. It had been easy to gain access to the area, so lax was airport security. “Get out of here! Now!”
“Your world, lady.” The man backpedaled quickly, unwilling to confront someone with a gun.
Cole glanced up the conveyor belt, but there was still no sign of pursuers. “Come on!” he urged, taking Nicki’s hand and pulling her down a long corridor.
Tori sprinted after them.
“You’re safe now, sweetheart,” Cole assured Nicki as he urged her forward. The door leading out of the terminal and onto the tarmac was only fifty feet away.
As they neared the door, Commander Magee stepped out of a small office to the right, gun drawn. Tori saw him first and screamed.
“Drop the gun!” Magee yelled, nodding at Tori.
But Tori ignored the order and brought the gun up to Cole’s head. “Give me the tape,” she said calmly.
“What the—” Magee pointed his weapon at Cole, then back at Tori, then back at Cole, uncertain of what was happening.
“You bitch,” Cole whispered, turning to look at Tori.
“The tape,” she said smugly. “Give it to me.”
“What is…what is going on?” Magee stammered.
“I’m DIA,” Tori said evenly. “I’m Special Agent Victoria Brown.”
“DIA?” Magee asked incredulously.
“Yes.” She dug into Cole’s jacket, found the Dealey Tape in a large inside pocket and pulled it out. “Bingo.” She moved toward Magee.
But he kept his gun pointed at her. “Stop right there.”
She obeyed.
“Drop the gun,” he ordered.
“I work for Seward, you moron,” she hissed. “I told you, I’m DIA, Operation Snowfall.”
At the mention of Seward’s name and the operation, Magee dropped the barrel of the gun for a second. It was his undoing. Cole turned as if to run back down the corridor. Instantly Magee raised his gun at Cole and away from Tori, and in that second Tori aimed and fired. The bullet exploded into Magee’s chest, spraying the cinderblock wall behind him with blood. He fell back, screaming and sputtering.
Cole turned and sprinted to where Magee lay and stepped on the wrist that clenched the gun in a death grip, then bent over and yanked it free.
Tori stood in the corridor, paralyzed, watching Magee die, her face contorted in horror.
“This way.” Cole moved to the door to the tarmac and held it open. “Let’s go,” he yelled. Nicki staggered outside but Tori remained transfixed, staring down at Magee’s body. Cole grabbed Tori’s arm and shook her. “It was him or us. You did what you had to do.” He pulled her after him out the door.
The Gulfstream IV stood on the tarmac, engines roaring. Cole, Tori and Nicki raced across the asphalt toward it as one of the bodyguards stood ready to help them up the stairs.
As Tori moved into the jet, she slipped the Dealey Tape into Cole’s hand. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He smiled at her. “You were incredible.”
The bodyguard slammed the plane’s door shut and yelled an all-clear to the pilot. Immediately the plane was moving toward the end of the runway.
“I was terrified, Cole,” Tori admitted, collapsing into a leather seat.
Cole smiled. “You didn’t let on. I was convinced there for a second that you really were with the DIA. Dropping Seward’s name was a perfect touch. Magee bought the whole thing. I’m glad Bennett mentioned Seward’s name in the video store.”
As Tori put her head back and closed her eyes for a moment, Cole turned back to Nicki and put his arms around her. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“No.” She shook her head and put her arms around his neck. “I love you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I treated you so badly in Duluth.”
“You had every right to treat me that way.”
“No, I didn’t,” she sobbed.
Cole glanced toward the front of the plane. “I need to go up to the cockpit for a few seconds, Nicki. The pilot might need a little urging if the tower rejects his request for takeoff. But I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
Cole guided Nicki into a seat, then turned and moved up the aisle. “Beautiful morning for
a flight, huh, guys?” he asked, leaning into the cockpit.
The pilot glanced up at Cole with a quizzical expression. “Yeah, sure,” he responded.
There were no planes in front of the Gulfstream as it taxied toward the end of the runway, and ninety seconds later they were poised to take off.
Then the flight controller’s voice came through the plane’s radio. “Gulfstream N4273B, you are cleared for takeoff.”
28
La Crosse, Wisconsin, would be the refuge. There they would be back on the ground in minutes, probably before Seward could scramble a jet at the Air National Guard unit based at the Minneapolis airport. Still, Cole figured, Seward might be able to track the Gulfstream on radar by using his senior DIA status to gain access to the airport control tower, then send a contingency of local police officials to meet them in La Crosse when he realized where they were headed. They might have escaped Seward for now, but they weren’t safe yet. Far from it.
This early in the morning the La Crosse airport wasn’t busy and they were able to land quickly. As soon as the Gulfstream had stopped rolling, they pushed open the plane’s door and raced down the steps and across the tarmac, expecting to confront local officials rushing out to intercept them. But they saw nothing except a quiet airfield. Quickly they rented a car at the Avis counter and sped away. Only after they had crossed into Illinois did they begin to relax. When they reached Pennsylvania, Tori actually mentioned the word “confidence.” And now that they had made it to Greenwich, Connecticut—home of Raymond Burgess, executive vice president of NBC News—they were allowing themselves to believe that they might really succeed.
“Turn here,” Tori directed, studying the scrawl on the piece of paper in her hands—instructions that Burgess had given her by phone when she and Cole had stopped in Cardwell, Montana, after fleeing Helena.
Cole steered the car off the main road and onto a country lane. Through trees and morning mist he caught glimpses of huge houses standing at the end of long driveways. Greenwich was home to many wealthy senior executives who commuted to work in New York City each day via the Metro North railroad or by limousine.
“There!” Tori pointed. “That’s it.”
Cole whipped the steering wheel to the right and gunned the car down a driveway lined by tall oaks. He skidded to a stop beside a blue Mercedes station wagon and reached back for the Dealey Tape. “Come on, princess,” he whispered to Nicki, who was dozing in the backseat. “You can’t stay here.”
“Okay,” she said, awakening quickly.
Cole helped Nicki from the car and they followed Tori down the brick path to the mansion’s main entrance. The door was already open as they reached the front step. Ray Burgess stood in the foyer, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, and ushered them in.
“Hello, Tori.” Burgess had a deep, naturally commanding voice.
“Hi, Ray.” Her gravelly voice was shaking.
“Hello.” Cole shook Burgess’s hand. “I’m Cole Egan.”
“Hi, Cole, I’m Ray Burgess. It’s good to meet you.” Burgess was of average height and twenty pounds overweight after years of desk work. He was polite, but direct as well, as if a huge story was breaking somewhere in the world at that exact moment and he might be forced to excuse himself from the conversation at any minute. “I’m looking forward to seeing your little tape.”
Cole heard a hint of cynicism in the way Burgess accented “little.” He smiled to himself. Burgess’s attitude was going to change very quickly. “Ray, this is Nicki Anderson.”
“Hello,” Burgess said gently. Tori had told Burgess of Nicki’s hostage ordeal.
“Hello.”
“Perhaps Nicki could wait for us out here.” Cole nodded at a sofa in the living room.
“Of course,” Burgess agreed.
Cole led her to the sofa, kissed her hand, then moved back toward Tori and Burgess.
“Where’s your family, Ray?” Tori asked as she and Cole walked with Burgess down the hallway to his study. “Don’t you have a couple of children?”
“Yes, but everyone’s away at my mother’s place down in Florida for Thanksgiving. I’m flying down there tomorrow to join them.”
“Oh.”
“Come in.” Burgess motioned for Cole and Tori to follow him into his large study. It was a wreck. Newspapers and magazines lay strewn on the rolltop desk, the leather couch and the floor. “Sorry about the mess,” Burgess said as he took the cassette case from Cole and made his way through the clutter.
“I would never have guessed that you’d be such a slob at home.” Tori laughed as she surveyed the room. “Your office at Rockefeller Center is so neat.”
Burgess flipped on the television and the VCR sitting on the middle shelf of a huge bookcase against the wall opposite the desk. “I’ve got to have someplace to unwind.” He took the Dealey Tape out of the Reds case and inserted it into the machine. “Now let’s see about this piece of history,” he muttered as he backpedaled through the mess to his desk chair. “Both of you, please sit down.”
They obeyed, moving several magazines from the couch cushions before they could sit.
When the tape had finished playing for the fifth time, Ray Burgess put his head back and began laughing. It was all he could do. He had been cynical when Tori called from Montana, excited by what she claimed to have, but not overly so. He had learned after many years in the news business that these kinds of things often turned out to be major disappointments. But not this time. Her excitement was justified. The rifle was so obvious over the fence, the killing shot so clearly fired from that rifle. “This is incredible, Tori, really.”
She couldn’t hide her smile of satisfaction. “Thank you.”
“It’s going to make for wonderful television,” Burgess said confidently. He looked at Cole. “We’ll have you over to the studios the night we air it, Cole. Maybe we’ll interview you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Cole replied. The less personal publicity, the better, he thought to himself.
“Just one thing before we get to the money, Cole.” Burgess’s demeanor became serious.
“Yes?”
“I need to know that this is the only copy of the tape. I can’t pay you all this money, then see it playing on Fox tomorrow night.”
“I understand.” Cole glanced at Tori, then back at Burgess. “Ray, as far as I know, this is the only copy left. But I’ll make a deal with you.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I know you need time to line up advertisers for the broadcast, and you need time to promote the tape so you can have the nation’s attention. If you promise to air the tape within six weeks, I’ll return the money if that video shows up on any other network, unless it’s someone in your organization who leaks it. And as another sign of good faith, you can pay me half now and half when you air it.”
Burgess nodded. “That’s very fair, Cole. I think NBC can live with that arrangement.”
As he finished speaking, the doorbell rang. Burgess placed the coffee mug on the desk, rose and walked to the bay window. “It’s Federal Express,” he said, shaking his head. “Christ, I must get more of these deliveries than anyone on earth. I’ll be right back.” He moved quickly across the study.
Cole glanced warily at the tape clenched tightly in Burgess’s hand as he hurried from the room.
As he left Tori reached across the couch and hugged Cole tightly. “I can’t believe it. We made it.”
“It’s not on the air yet,” Cole warned.
“It will be.”
Burgess was back quickly. He walked across the study and dropped the purple-and-orange-lettered FedEx package on the desk. “Let’s get to it, people,” Burgess said. He moved to the wall safe behind the door and tapped a combination on the keypad. “I’ve got a million dollars in cash here, Cole. You’ll get six-point-five more this afternoon
, via a wire to your bank account, and you’ll get the rest when we air the tape.” He pulled open the steel door, extracted a tan briefcase, inserted the tape he was holding into the safe, closed and relocked it, then moved to the desk and placed the briefcase atop the clutter. He popped open the briefcase and stepped back. “Take a look, Cole. It’s all here. A million dollars. You can count it if you like.”
Cole rose from the couch and moved slowly to the desk. He smiled as he saw the rows of bills neatly stacked inside the briefcase. “That won’t be necessary, Ray.”
“We’ll count on you to pay your taxes, Cole.” Burgess winked at Tori as he sat down on the couch next to her. “It’s unbelievable, Tori. I’ve been in the news business a long time and this is going to rank as the biggest story I’ve ever been a part of by far.”
Cole heard them starting to discuss marketing and promotion efforts—when the tape would air, who they would interview on the broadcast before airing the footage, who would make the best host. Their words faded as he stared at the money. The risks had been incredible, but the money was right here in front of him now. There was enough here to repay the people at the Blue Moon and completely pay off his mortgage. Burgess and Tori’s conversation faded back in. He shook his head. He was exhausted, almost out on his feet, but he had one more sprint to make. He snapped the briefcase closed and turned toward them. “Let’s go, Tori.”
“I’m going to stay,” she answered, looking up from the couch. “Ray and I have so much to talk about.”
A faint alarm went off in Cole’s brain, but he was too tired to pay attention. His eyelids felt like two bricks. “Okay, we’ll hook up later.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll show you out.” Burgess rose from the couch and walked Cole and Nicki back down the brick path to the driveway.
Cole and Burgess shook hands, then Cole slipped behind the wheel, turned the car around and headed out the driveway toward the lane.
Burgess watched the car disappear, then hurried back into the house. As he moved into the study, he stopped suddenly. Sitting beside Tori on the couch was a short man in a dark suit whom he recognized immediately. “Oh, Christ.” Burgess’s voice was eerily calm.
The Legacy Page 30
