“And Jack Conner told you to kill him?”
Another breath while he gathered his wits. “Yes,” Mazzini wiped his brow. “You asked about Factory 17. I…”
Mazzini stopped, tears in his throat clogging his words. He didn’t want the caller to hear any weakness in him. “I…”
He stopped again, gathering his strength. Niesha could tell what was happening, but she kept quiet.
“I’ve been harassing workers from Factory 17, extorting them, threatening. Just yesterday…”
“Fatima,” the caller broke in.
“Yes. Fatima.” Again, the depth of the caller’s information.
“All of this at Conner’s hand?”
Mazzini could feel the anger toward Conner welling up inside his skin. Take Conner down—his mantra.
“Yes. Jack Conner is a ruthless man. He has bought out FDA officials and senators all his life. I threatened a couple of them for him, bringing family names into the threats so they knew we meant business.”
“You’re telling me that Jack Conner was responsible for these threats?”
“Yes.”
“I need documents,” the caller pressed, though more gently than before. “Can you help secure them for me?”
“I’ll do what I can. How soon…”
The caller broke in again. “Yesterday. You know Conner has put a price on your head? His cousin Rudy Conner is looking for you. You might be dead later today.”
“He already tried. An hour ago.” Mazzini felt latent tears and anger heave in his chest. Yes, he was supposed to be dead by now.
Niesha continued, taking note of Rudy’s persistence. “Not to undervalue your life, but if you want to begin making a difference—a positive difference for humanity—then we need a deposition from you as soon as possible. If you want protection—physical protection—I’ll do what I can. We can determine that course later. Are you safe where you are?”
Mazzini peered around the room. “Yes. I have changed locations for the night. I don’t think I was followed.”
“And coordinates for your cell phone calls?”
“True. They could track me that way, but I don’t think they’ve felt a need to go that far just yet.” As he said it, Mazzini knew he didn’t believe it.
“What can you provide tonight—you know, documents that could be used against Conner?”
“I can give you my email access.”
“We already have that.”
Mazzini smiled—again, appreciation for the true professional. “Yes,” he continued, “but I have another account.” He waited for the second declaration of having already gained access. Hearing none, he allowed a quiet smirk, a small notch in his belt. At least he knew his veil was somewhat intact. “It’s [email protected]. I have some important documents there, in case of my demise.”
“Password?”
Another hesitation. Mazzini was truly handing it all over, wasn’t he, he thought. “Hench-hell. I think you’ll find everything there you need. I’m tired. It’s not every day my life comes to within a centimeter of death.”
“Centimeter?”
“I’m of European blood. Inches and feet are for imperialists. Good night, Cleopatra.” In his exhaustion, he just hung up.
40
Cleopatra, imperialists. Niesha mouthed the words. The former stirred her; the latter a downright insult if directed at her. She shook the sensations, returning to her task.
Lishan had heard Mazzini’s comments, his confessions, through the other half of her aunt’s phone earbud. She blinked at the Cleopatra line but let it go. Another time and it would have been the source of some ribbing between them.
“I have a stack of emails to consider, to sort. Let’s go back to my place. It’s quite secure, but I’ll call the owner/manager first and ask him to check the security tapes before we get there.”
Within half an hour, they approached Niesha’s home, a conversion into high-end condos on 21st Street NW.
Lishan said if her auntie didn’t need her help for a few minutes, she would call the hospital. The call proved fruitless, since HIPAA regulations preserved patient privacy. She decided to call Erik.
“Lishan, where are you? Are you okay?”
Lishan said she was with “N.” Erik understood the secrecy.
“The students aren’t yet in good shape, but the doctors are optimistic given the information they worked with when the girl from your office was there. It sped things up, at least somewhat.” Erik paused to breathe. “The police have the cake and the box. They dusted for fingerprints. I just found out a few minutes ago that they matched with Mazzini. We’ve got him cold.”
“Should I come down? We’re working on… on putting together the coffin nails for Conner.”
“No. Stay where you are. Be productive. The other students know why your name was on a note on the cake box. They’re all hoping you get the bastards.”
“Thanks, Erik. I hope the building has police protection. You don’t take any chances, okay? You’re important to me.”
This last comment meant something to both of them. They could tell.
One hour later, Niesha and Lishan stopped for a moment, noticing the tally of processed emails before them—sixty-five emails of substance, which they copied to both Lishan’s and Niesha’s email accounts. They packaged these up in a new Mazzman folder under each inbox, just below the recently born Mazzini folder. Niesha was meticulous about order. She declared at an early age that order would minimize her efforts when it came to locating documents and other paraphernalia. This left, she preached, more time to be at the beach.
For additional backup, they created and deftly concealed two CDs with copies of all of “Exhibit A” emails. They both knew there was no guarantee about the safety of their homes.
This caused them to discuss Mazzini and Rudy. Mazzini was seemingly no longer a threat. In fact, Niesha, who had spoken with Mazzini and heard his tears, knew he wasn’t. She could feel the change in this man. But Rudy—she had possibly instilled a hesitation in this bullet-for-hire, but he would only break stride for a few yards before continuing his assignment.
Mazzini was at considerable risk. Niesha wanted him alive—in part for humanitarian reasons; in part for the well-being of her niece. She couldn’t lose sight of the plight Lishan had become embroiled in with Jack Conner’s vision of her future.
Resetting focus, they set about assembling the data found in the Mazzman folder, creating three subfolders—labeled Foundation, Incriminating, and Substantive. In Foundation, they placed forty-six—those giving rise to Conner’s intent but containing nothing that would hold in court. They housed fourteen in Incriminating. These would give a judge and jury cause to fabricate a noose but not use it. In Substantive, they held the last five. Here was where they devoted the next hour, for the other sixty laid a foundation that had already been poured.
#61—“Arrange for baked goods in Factory #17 cafeteria to use Mod X3 Connola Oil. Keep the employees in the dark. Monitor any significant results.”
#62—“Shit, Mazzini. Do I have to do everything? We have two dead workers and a host of very sick ones. Can you handle this, or do I have to?”
#63—“Take that jackass out. He has spoken up once too often. $50k in your wallet.”
Niesha didn’t know who the jackass was, but the email still incriminated Conner as someone who would resort to strong-arm tactics with little hesitation.
#64—“Pay the FDA manager $200K. We need this trans fat mod on the market—period! Get the approval fast-tracked. Cannot wait long for approval.”
#65—“Fatima. Too visible now. The media. Don’t touch, but bi-monthly harassment, face-to-face. Collect protection money. We’ll get our money back from that troublemaker.”
“My darling niece, I believe we’ve got him.” Niesha paused. Lishan’s questioning look prompted her auntie to continue. “Just thinking. I need to decide who we can trust with this evidence.” Niesha paced for a moment. “I know! Ma
ya Rosenstein. She’s a chief U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia, the head of the Criminal Division. She’s an old friend of mine, though I haven’t seen her in months. I’ll find out how soon she can meet with us. You should stay the night.”
41
“I’m here for my nine o’clock meeting with the director,” Jerry said condescendingly to the HR assistant. “Any coffee?”
The coffee comment was ignored. “They are expecting you—in Ms. Walker’s office.”
They? And the publisher? Jerry thought to himself.
As Jerry took a seat at the conference table, Elizabeth began. “Given previous employee relation problems between you—Jerry—and Ms. Amir, I advised that any meetings regarding continuing issues, including accusations of insubordination, be brought to my attention. Jerry, tell us—exactly—what happened. The absolute truth.”
“Dammit, Elizabeth. I always tell…”
“Ross, make note of the language. Go on, Jerry.”
Jerry Hanson told his version.
“Now, Ross, play the recorded interview you had with Ms. Amir—recorded, of course, with her permission.”
The recording—in Lishan’s voice—held back nothing. She recited back everything she said, everything he said. Jerry noticed she made no attempt to cover up her self-incriminating comments.
After the recording, Jerry slammed his fist on the table. “You see! Insubordination at its worst. She must go.”
“Describe to me the insubordination, Jerry.” Elizabeth was cool and calm, of obvious concern to Jerry.
“She said, ‘Damnit Jerry,’ and made reference—a comparison—between myself and the animals at the zoo.”
“A comparison you initiated. And why is it insubordination?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m her boss.”
“And, when you express those same words to me, and in meetings?”
Jerry stammered. “That’s different.” Jerry wiped his cheeks where the sweat was beginning to drip.
“Because?”
“Damnit…I mean…we’re management.”
“And we play by different rules, allowing you to speak to me, and others, disrespectfully?”
Jerry was quiet.
“Exactly, Mr. Hanson. We are governed by the same rules. I believe Ms. Amir treats you with disrespect because you treat her, and many others in the newsroom, disparagingly. Jerry, we have a very long list of indiscretions on your part. We’ve tried to overlook them. I’m afraid that you’re the one being put on report. Mr. O’Brannigan will outline the terms, you will sign the papers, and, hopefully, you will change. Ms. Amir has been reinstated to her position as a reporter for the city desk. Ross, see to it that Ms. Amir is apprised of this, today. It can’t wait. I don’t wish to lose a key employee. That might include you, Jerry. Think about it. The choice is yours. In fact, the choice has been yours all along. Good day.”
The two men left her office. Elizabeth Walker shook her head and returned to the pile of papers in front of her.
42
The next morning, after breakfast with Niesha, Lishan decided to take a little time for herself and went for a walk in the neighborhoods northwest of D.C. This was all getting to be a little too much, including her Lifestyles assignment, if she still had a job. For some reason, she thought of Rafael. She wanted, once and for all, to decide whether he could be a friend, or not, where he stood in her life. Did she trust him? If he weren’t a journalist, she had decided she would just forget about him, but she knew it didn’t pay to have unresolved issues within the local sphere of one’s career path.
After walking for a couple of hours, her phone rang.
“Ms. Amir. This is Ross O’Brannigan. We had a meeting this morning—the publisher, myself, and Jerry Hanson. Your position has been reinstated. We’re hopeful there will be no further problems between you and Mr. Hanson.”
Lishan brightened, then her face dropped. “My worry, of course, is that he’ll retaliate.”
“Ms. Amir, I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics, but I believe you will be pleased with the outcome. Rest assured.” That was it.
Lishan could feel her shoulders lifting. Just a little. Perhaps there will be justice. Where was I? Ah, Rafael. Her temporary cell phone wouldn’t have his number, but she was always good with numbers—her mother always said. She decided to call, pausing the tragedy of her life for at least a few more minutes.
“Hi. Is this Rafael?”
“Lishan! I’ve missed you. Did you move? Are you okay?” He stopped short, sounding worried. “Are you calling me to tell me you have a boyfriend, or you’re getting married?”
“No. No boyfriend. Not getting married.”
“Can you come over?”
His enthusiasm seemed a little too fake, but she decided to ignore it.
“I can. But I can only stay a short time.”
“It’s not my preference. You know that. But I’ll take it. Am I sounding desperate? Sorry.”
“No, not desperate. Where do you live? I’m on foot.”
“925 L St. NW. Where are you?”
Looking around for the street signs, she spotted a crisscross of signs on the far corner. “I’m in luck, I think. I’m on 11th Street, in front of Samuel Gompers Memorial Park.”
“No! Just a minute. I’ll call you right back. Oh, I don’t have your number. It’s listed as private. Don’t explain now. But if we don’t connect in five minutes, call me right back. Promise?”
“Promise.” The line disconnected. Lishan felt a continued twinge of unease about Rafael as she browsed the neighborhood for the next couple of minutes. She hoped she was wrong.
Then she saw Rafael walking out into the intersection. Traffic was light to non-existent. She started to say hi to him when she noticed he seemed to look right past her. Then she remembered her disguised appearance.
When Rafael was within two meters, she said, “Rafael.”
Startled, he stopped abruptly, recognizing her voice. “Lishan?” Then his face tightened. “Don’t ever scare me like that, do you hear?”
Lishan recoiled, thinking about leaving.
Rafael realized his mistake. “Look, I’m sorry. I just felt like I lost control of my surroundings. That scares me.”
“Giving you the right to mistreat me?”
Rafael heaved a breath. “No.” He hesitated. “Can we start over?” He paused to take a closer look. “Hey, why the disguise?”
If he asked her that, he wasn’t aware of recent threats, or he didn’t care. She felt her mistrust growing. “Listen, I really have only a few minutes. We can just talk here.”
“No. Come up. I have something for you,” he lied.
Lishan felt confusion. Just for a few minutes.
As they walked to his apartment, Lishan parsed out the pieces she felt she would share—just enough to explain her camouflage, but no names or places. If he pressed for these, she would find a way to downplay it.
Inside, Rafael attempted to make Lishan comfortable. “Have a seat. Beer, wine, water?”
Before she could decline the alcohol, her phone rang. Lishan decided to see who it was, in case it was Niesha. “Ring, ring,” it rang again, a cute verbal ring tone she had created.
“Who’s that?” Rafael stole a glance at her phone. His eyes narrowed when he saw a photo of Erik on the phone. “Oh, it’s that white boy from the apartment where you live.”
“His name is Erik,” Lishan said haughtily.
“Whatever. You like him don’t...”
“It’s not ‘whatever.’ He’s a good friend.”
“Like I said…Isn’t he a bit white for you?”
Lishan stood abruptly to her full height. “White for me? You can’t honor a name that’s not from your own culture, can you? And you complain about racism in others. What in the hell am I doing here?” She began gathering her things, the cell phone insisting with its reminder ritual.
Rafael’s face revealed the intensity he was feeling. He wasn’t o
ne to lose the game.
Lishan’s rant filled the room. “You can’t begin to recognize the apologies that are in order because you’re such a xenophobe. If it’s not your culture, you can’t be bothered. Your kind of thinking—or lack of it—is what’s wrong in our world.” As she opened the door, she looked back. “I’m sorry for you, Rafael. You haven’t got a clue, have…?”
Seeing her Frazier book on a kitchen counter stopped her. She literally screamed at him. “It was you! Damn you. Damn. You are filth.”
She grabbed the book and was gone.
Lishan’s rage consumed her as she briskly walked into the business district. Passing the library, she saw it as an opportunity to return the book. Keeping a low profile—which she knew the reference librarian would want—she merely handed it to him, saying it was a delightful read, and thank you for the recommendation.
Outside, she felt a need for coffee, maybe something stronger. In the first pub she eyed, she took a barstool at the far end of the quiet bar. The bar was all but empty.
“One Irish coffee, please.”
While the bartender tended to his craft, a fellow from a nearby table approached her.
Lishan turned to face him straight on, firmly implanting her message with a loud voice. “Don’t you dare disturb me. I haven’t been here two minutes and you predators think nothing of harassing people, like it’s your right. In fact, I think I’ll just go ahead and call my brother and his friends.” She reached for her phone. The aberrant male, wide-eyed, left abruptly.
A few minutes later, Lishan began to quiet. Then she remembered Erik had called, and she wanted Erik to know about her finding the book.
Her face turned somber. He’ll know I went to Rafael’s. I can’t lie to him. And what about the thirteenth? Lishan put her face in her hands, elbows on the bar. Her eyes moistened. Now what? She knew she had to tell him. It’s just that she was worried his jealousy would create a scene. With the thirteenth in view, at least she knew, she thought, that she had the presence of mind to keep sex out of her intentions with Rafael.
43
Silence Her Page 24
