Ricard stopped for a minute, rested, and then continued.
“The incoming force was larger and better-armed than we anticipated. An hour before they arrived, we were ordered to fall back to the mining facility. The people in the village … they had stayed there, because we … because I told them we would defend them. I knew there would be slaughter if we left, and I protested the order. My commanding officer told me that I had my orders. I did … and I followed them.”
Ricard paused again. He seemed to be struggling against an emotional wound that was even deeper than the injury that was killing him.
“MacBain was with me on the new perimeter. The screams … we could hear them. We were … we were that close, but we couldn’t do anything. Nothing.”
There was a long silence. Then he looked back at them.
“My honor … my soul was stained that day. Sergeant MacBain and I, we lived with that memory every day.”
Then he looked directly at Caine and a small smile came to his face.
“Corporal Caine, you think, mistakenly, that Shabundo was a disaster of your making. Yes, I know what you learned in the bar that night. What you don’t know is that we were advised that the warlord and his force were coming an hour earlier. Command ordered us to quietly abandon the village before the rebel force appeared. MacBain and I knew the nightmare was about to happen all over again. We could not bring ourselves to disobey the order, so we did something else. We delayed the evacuation. We knew that you would see the rebel force first because you had the high point. We also knew, Corporal, that you would start the fight if they attacked the women, orders or not. And, as we anticipated … as we prayed, you did.”
Caine was stunned by the revelation.
“I didn’t tell you because you would have been compromised in the inquiry that followed. As it was, you simply told the truth. You know the rest. The French public learned about the incident and made us out to be heroes, so the Legion buried the evacuation order. Unfortunately, you found out about it.”
Ricard hesitated, then reached over and grabbed Caine’s arm with surprising strength, his eyes demanding Caine’s attention.
“So you see, Corporal, it was my responsibility that day, not yours. I was also with MacBain at the end. He died thanking you for giving him the opportunity to regain his honor.”
Ricard stopped, too exhausted to continue, and rested his head against the rock. He died ten minutes later. Although Caine mourned his loss, he knew Etienne Ricard had died the way he wanted to, just like Danny MacBain had all those years ago.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-ONE
Travis County, Texas
December 8, 1999 / Wednesday / 6:30 a.m.
Paquin stood in the courtyard in front of the main building and stared at the destruction around him. The stucco facade of the main building was pockmarked with innumerable holes and cracks, and the glass in the windows was gone. The jagged ten-yard breach in the north wall of the compound was still smoking, and chunks of concrete, brick, and stucco were scattered over a forty-yard perimeter.
Paquin turned and looked to the south. The fire started by the propane explosion had spread. The entire second floor of the guest house was now in flames. The ascending plume of black smoke would soon be visible for miles.
Vargas walked past the burning building with Juan and made his way over to Paquin. His face was covered in sweat and stained with dirt. Juan looked the same. Blood was showing through the bandage on his right arm.
“We completed a sweep of the compound. It’s clear, sir. They took the woman with them,” Vargas said.
Paquin nodded. “They accomplished their mission.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you find Severino and Anders?”
“Yes, sir. They’re both dead. It looks like Severino was killed when the propane tanks blew. Anders … well, he picked a knife fight with the wrong guy.”
“I see. Well, Mr. Vargas, we must leave this place and quickly. Apparently the police are on the way. Center estimates that we have about twenty minutes. Put the bodies in the back of the truck with the rest of the equipment. We’ll evacuate using the road to the south.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Vargas and Juan were out of sight, Paquin pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number with a New York City area code.
“Sergei, it’s Nicholas Paquin.”
“Major Paquin. It’s good to hear from you.”
“And you too, General.”
“How is Mr. Mason doing?”
“Not good,” Paquin said. “In fact, the situation is terminal.”
“That is unfortunate. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes,” Paquin said, “if you happen to hear about another assignment—”
“As a matter of fact, a gentleman in Peru would like protection for his family. Apparently those troublesome Shining Path people have decided he’s impairing their profit margins.”
“That would be of interest, Sergei.”
“Where can I reach you?”
“Some place other than Austin, Texas. I’ll contact you.”
“Very good, my friend.”
Five minutes later, Vargas drove up in the black Ford Expedition, followed by the truck.
Paquin climbed in the passenger seat and looked over at the Columbian.
“Would you have any interest in working in Peru, Mr. Vargas?”
CHAPTER
SIXTY-TWO
Travis County, Texas
December 8, 1999 / Wednesday / 7:00 a.m.
Caine sat in the back of the Suburban with Jaq and Andrea on the way back to the warehouse. The car was quiet. Each of them was dealing with the rescue and Ricard’s death in their own way. When the Suburban pulled up outside the warehouse, Jaq pulled Caine aside.
“Don’t go anywhere. We need to talk.”
Caine nodded.
“What are we going to do with—”
“I will arrange for Ricard’s body to be taken back to France. He would want to be buried in the family cemetery. Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you inside.”
Caine knew what Jaq wanted to talk about: how Andrea and he intended to stay alive. Helius’s army of killers might have been temporarily thinned out, but the bench would be restocked and the hunt would continue. As far as Caine was concerned, they only had two options: staying under Helius’s radar, which meant going underground for a long time, or persuading the police that they were the victims, not the bad guys.
Although Caine didn’t want to play a game of hide-and-seek for the rest of his life, he was doubtful they could convince Austin’s finest or the FBI that they were being pursued by one or more death squads secretly directed by the CEO of a large, respectable corporation. To pin the tail on that tiger, they’d need irrefutable evidence and a helping hand from a high-level law enforcement insider willing to listen. Unfortunately, they didn’t have that kind of evidence, and the only law enforcement asset available, Michael Bosmasian, was lying in a hospital with a bullet in his chest.
Caine walked over to Andrea, who was waiting beside the car.
“Let’s go inside and sit down for a minute.”
Jaq joined them at the table that they had used to plan the mission ten hours earlier. Vlasky and Pietro sat down as well. Jaq didn’t waste any time.
“You two have to disappear for a while.”
Andrea’s response was immediate. “Why? We haven’t done anything wrong. We just need to set the record straight with the police.”
Caine quietly interrupted her, knowing time was short.
“Andrea, I don’t like it any more than you do, but we don’t have any proof.”
Vlasky nodded his head. “He’s right, Ms. Marenna, you can’t simply walk into—”
“I agree,” Andrea said, “we can’t just walk into the local police station and clear this matter up. But there is a way. You see, we do have proof, and I think we might be able to get some help from a powerful guard
ian angel.”
“We’re all ears, Ms. Marenna,” Jaq said with a smile.
“Two months ago, Richard Steinman introduced me to Reed Franklin, the managing editor of the Statesman, after he made a speech to the bar association. Franklin is an incredibly powerful man in this city, and he’s nationally recognized in the world of journalism. If I can persuade him that these people killed one of his reporters in order to bury a massive story, I think he will back us to the hilt. And once the story hits the front page, we’ll be invulnerable.”
“Andrea, that is all well and good, but we’ll need—” Caine started, but Andrea finished his thought.
“Proof. I know. I have it. Do you remember when you first called me and suggested that my phone might be bugged?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t really believe it, but I decided to throw the phone into my purse just in case, when I left for the Portman Lodge on Sunday afternoon. I was hoping to have someone check out the phone, but I never had the chance.”
Caine shook his head.
“Andrea, they would have searched the cabin and taken whatever you left there. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think so. The cabins at the Portman have a small alcove on the inside wall above the closet door. The alcove goes back about a foot into the wall. I know about it because I threw one of my dolls up there when … anyway, I know it sounds paranoid, but I always put my purse up there to keep it safe.”
“Paranoid is good, Ms. Marenna,” Jaq said.
Andrea returned his smile.
“There’s a very good chance that my purse is still sitting in that little alcove. We just have to go there and get it. If that bug is in the phone, that’s hard evidence. It will establish that someone is really after us, and the device may be traceable.”
“Andrea, I think the bug is a good start, but I don’t think it will be enough to turn Mr. Franklin into a believer,” Caine said.
“There’s more. Whenever I’m out of the office, Jill, my secretary, goes through my voicemails. If anything sounds important, she transcribes the message and puts the transcription into the case file. There’s a chance, a good chance, that Jill transcribed Richie’s last call. If that transcription exists, it’s what we call a dying declaration. That’s admissible in court. Even more important, the transcript will prove that Richie was killed in order to bury the story. That fact, gentlemen, will turn Reed Franklin into our personal crusader.”
Caine looked over at Jaq, who leaned back in his chair and looked over at Andrea and Caine.
“It could work, but you folks will be taking a big risk,” Jaq said.
Vlasky nodded. “He’s right, but it’s your call.”
Caine reached over and put his hand on Andrea’s shoulder and said, “Okay. Let’s go see Mr. Franklin.”
Travis County, Texas
December 9, 1999 / Thursday / 11:00 a.m.
Andrea had been right. Her purse was still hidden in the alcove at the Portman Lodge. Even more important, Jill had transcribed Richie’s phone message and put a copy in the miscellaneous file she kept for Andrea. The transcription was critical because Kelly & White’s phone system had gone down, unaccountably, on Sunday night. The crash had corrupted the memory on the voicemail server, wiping out the original recording.
Andrea had also been right about Reed Franklin. When Andrea told him that she wanted five minutes of his time to talk with him about the murder of one of his reporters, he’d agreed to meet with them that day.
They met with Franklin in a small conference room on the sixth floor of the downtown high-rise where the Statesman was located. Franklin was tall and spare, with a full head of white hair that framed a narrow face with a long, aquiline nose. The old patrician’s face, which was not a forgiving visage in the first instance, could have been carved in stone when Andrea began her presentation. However, he didn’t throw them out of the conference room when the five-minute mark passed, which Caine considered a small miracle.
At the end of Andrea’s precise summation, Franklin looked over at the two of them, unimpressed, and said, “Where is your proof?”
Andrea reached into her briefcase and placed the phone on the table.
“That is my home phone. Inside it you will find a sophisticated listening transmitter, commonly known as a ‘bug.’”
Franklin looked briefly at the phone. Then his eyes returned to Andrea.
“What else?”
Andrea returned his stare for a moment and then reached into her briefcase. She pulled out the transcription of Richie’s phone call that Jill had made two days ago. An affidavit executed under penalty of perjury was attached to the transcription, confirming its veracity and accuracy.
Andrea slid the document across the table.
“Richie left a message on Kelly & White’s voicemail on Friday night at approximately 9:00 p.m., shortly before his time of death.”
“Why didn’t you bring the actual recording, Ms. Marenna?”
“My firm’s voicemail system was attacked by a sophisticated virus on Sunday night. The server was corrupted. The original was destroyed. That document is an exact transcription of the message that my secretary prepared before the server crashed.”
“That seems rather convenient, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. That’s been her practice for over five years, when I’m out of the office and the message seems important. She places the transcription on my desk in a miscellaneous correspondence file.”
“I see.”
Franklin made no move to look at the transcription.
“I would respectfully request that you read it, Mr. Franklin. It is the dying declaration of Richard Steinman, my friend, and one of your reporters.”
There was the slightest hint of anger in Andrea’s voice when she spoke.
Franklin looked at her without moving for a moment. Then he leaned over and read the transcription. He read the document at least three times before he looked up. When he did, the expression on his face had changed. There was the slightest hint of anger in his eyes. The editor slowly stood up and walked over to the only window in the room. He stared out at the skyline for several minutes in silence, before turning to look over at the two of them.
“Your story is fantastic—in some respects, even absurd. However, I had one of my people look into your background, Ms. Marenna, before you came here today. You are known as a competent and serious attorney among your peers. Concocting this story would seem inconsistent with your character, but then stranger things have happened. My people turned up very little about you, Mr. Caine, which does nothing for your credibility. As for Mr. Richard Steinman, I’m sad to say that I wouldn’t have recognized him if he passed me in the hallway, despite the fact that he worked for this paper for more than a year. What I do know is that Mr. Steinman was a local legal events reporter. He was not assigned to investigate Helius. We also checked his files. There is nothing in there about Helius.”
Franklin paused briefly and looked over at the transcription on the table.
“What tips the balance in your favor is not your proof, which is thin, but the possibility that one of my people may have been killed trying to bring this story to light. If that’s the case, I have a responsibility to Mr. Steinman to publish his work. For that reason, I will help you.”
Andrea let out a visible sigh of relief and Caine gave Franklin a small nod of thanks.
“Don’t thank me for anything yet. Right now, you two are fugitives. This paper cannot aid and abet your evasion of the law. Therefore, the first step in this process, and it may well be the last, is to persuade the police or FBI to listen to your story.”
Franklin decided to make his initial approach through a seniorlevel contact in the FBI with whom he’d worked in the past. There were more than enough violations of federal law for the agency to have a basis for jurisdiction.
Franklin’s contact had been a special agent in the FBI’s Houston office when the two men first met ten years
ago. The FBI had discovered that one of Franklin’s senior reporters was pursuing a corruption case that intersected with an ongoing FBI investigation. The agent in charge, William Spencer, had met with Franklin, and the two men had worked out a cooperative arrangement. The FBI was allowed to complete its investigation without a premature press disclosure, and Franklin’s reporter was given the right to be on hand when the critical arrests were made. William Spencer was now Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Dallas office.
When Franklin called Spencer’s office, his administrative assistant told him that Agent Spencer was out of town. Franklin politely responded that he was the editor of the Austin American-Statesman and that Bill Spencer would definitely want to call him back within the next five minutes. Spencer returned the call three minutes later.
“Good morning, Agent Spencer. It’s been a while.”
“Good morning to you, Mr. Franklin, and yes it has.”
“Your office told me that you’re out of the office today. I hope I’m not interrupting a vacation.”
“No. I’m actually in your neighborhood today.”
Franklin hesitated for second and then decided to do a little fishing.
“Your presence in our fair city wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the shooting of Michael Bosmasian the other night?”
The hesitation on the other side of the line told him everything he needed to know.
“I will politely pass on that question, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, but if you were working on that matter, I might be able to help you. In fact … assuming we can work out a few minor details, I might be able to bring the FBI up to speed on a criminal conspiracy, a very large criminal conspiracy, of which that shooting is just a very small part.”
There was a long hesitation this time.
“Everything is off the record on this until we agree otherwise, right?”
Franklin smiled.
“Of course.”
“Your assumption about why I’m here is on the mark. I don’t have my arms around how big this thing is, but I can tell you that my office and another office are working on the matter jointly. I guess we have to figure out whether we’re both circling the same bull.”
Helius Legacy Page 31
