by J. B. Turner
The more he thought about it, the more he wondered, even though the Feds had beefed up security, if they shouldn’t move, even at this late hour. He wondered how Dyer would react. But in the circumstances, with Feds protecting her room and the hotel until she reached the Hart Senate Office Building, it was maybe best to stay where they were.
Reznick had agreed to wake Dyer at seven, and they would get a cab at eight. His mind was still racing, and he wasn’t tired. Probably the Dexedrine running through his system, since he popped three pills earlier in the bathroom. He didn’t want to let his guard down now.
He wondered when he was going to cut the habit. He was doing amphetamines every day. He was wired every day. He knew it wasn’t great for his health. But still he took them.
He thought about that.
Meyerstein had raised the issue with him before. She thought it was affecting him psychologically. Affecting his decision-making. Making him less cautious.
He realized better than anyone that amphetamines were a surefire way to self-destruct. Popping pills that kept you alert might be fine for a few days. Maybe. But each and every day, feeling wired, on edge, was taking its toll on him. He couldn’t relax. Couldn’t switch off. His mind was running fast. His heart rate was pounding. Palpitations. He had tried to ignore the rapid-fire beats in his chest. But it was always there.
A woman’s voice behind him said, “Hey, Jon.”
Reznick turned and saw Meyerstein. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“You have?”
Reznick shrugged. “Well, I thought you would have found us before now.”
“A lot of cameras around the Hay-Adams. And the call from Senator Aldrich pretty much confirmed where you and Rosalind were.”
“Appreciate the protection you’ve put in place. I know you could’ve hauled us all out of here. So thank you for that.”
Meyerstein sat down, and Reznick ordered a couple of glasses of red wine from a passing server. “A few things. First, Dyer would have been better off with us when this all started.”
“I’m not disagreeing with that. You guys would have gotten her to a genuinely secure location. I get that.”
“Second, just so you know, when she has finished her testimony tomorrow, we’re taking her in. There’s an arrest warrant that needs to be executed. And I don’t care what you say. Are we clear?”
“I think she’s fine with that.”
“Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
Meyerstein nodded and looked at him. “Are you OK? You look awful.”
“Haven’t had much sleep in the last forty-eight hours. But I’ll live.”
Meyerstein pulled her chair close and leaned in. “Your eyes are like pinpricks. You need to ditch the Dexedrine. It’ll kill you.”
He grinned. “Does it help if I tell you I’ve been hearing your voice in my head telling me that?”
She smiled. “I’m glad to know at least some of my advice sticks with you. Anyway, after your meeting, Senator Aldrich mentioned you’d made allegations about the deaths of seven accountants and auditors who have investigated the Pentagon’s books. He was curious if any of their deaths had made the FBI’s radar. They hadn’t, but we’ve started our own investigation into them.”
“Excellent.”
“Can I ask, Jon—it’s just that I’m curious—why did Dyer want to speak to Aldrich before the hearing tomorrow? What was that all about?”
“That was my idea.” Reznick shook his head, then gestured around the hotel. “No matter how much security you throw at her, no matter how many precautions we take, I think something is going to happen to her. There’s too much at stake. So I suggested she tell the chairman what she knows, face-to-face. And also give him details of where she sent all the files.”
“So she wouldn’t have to give evidence tomorrow?”
Reznick nodded. “I had hoped that would be the outcome. Unfortunately, the chairman said she needed to be there so the other senators could question her, cross-examine her evidence.”
“I wish they didn’t need to do that. The sooner she’s out of sight, the better.”
The server returned with two glasses of red.
Meyerstein waited until the server was out of earshot. “I thought you’d like to know. We’ve got a connection. A firm connection. To Max Charles.”
“You do?”
“Quantico has been looking at the forensics side of things. The clip in Miami from the warehouse?”
Reznick nodded.
“The language the guys used? It’s a Mayan language.”
“Guatemalan?”
“Got it. And Charles was based there. But one final thing. His son-in-law was a colonel in the Guatemalan army back in the early 1980s. Luis Molena. He was involved in a massacre at a village called Dos Erres. Two hundred men, women, and children butchered. Now he’s a naturalized American. Living here in DC.”
Reznick ran some scenarios through his head. “Interesting. But it doesn’t prove anything.”
“True. But it’s building a compelling picture. We think he’s the guy pulling strings, hiring his old buddies from the Guatemalan death squads who are hiding out in America. The FBI has secured a warrant, and we’re looking through his house, his business interests. We’re speaking with immigration too. And we’re in the process of finding Charles so we can serve a warrant.”
“You got him in custody?”
“Not yet. But we will.”
“What are your analysts saying about this Guatemalan colonel?”
“We believe that he was, from what I’ve read, involved in an elite unit known as the Kaibiles. Human rights groups have documented abuses that the colonel’s men committed.”
“So why was he never sent back to Guatemala to face charges?”
“Redacted letters sent by Max Charles and two members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, saying this wouldn’t be in American national interests.”
Reznick rubbed a hand over his face, then sipped some wine. “We have no idea how many of these guys are out there gunning for Rosalind.”
“We have plainclothes FBI throughout the hotel. We have two agents from the field office outside her door. It’s as close to lockdown as we can get.”
“At least it’s something.”
“And by the end of tomorrow, she can join her family. She will also need to answer for the hundreds of classified documents she has allegedly stolen.”
“She’s not disputing that. But you have to look at it from her point of view. She couldn’t have evidence of corruption without official documentation.”
“I’m interested in the law. She’s broken the law. And she needs to answer for that.”
Reznick took a few moments to study Meyerstein’s features up close. Even at that late hour, her eyes were sparkling, her posture in the leather seat upright, and the navy suit she wore impeccable. Her nails were freshly painted. A woman who always looked her best, no matter the time or occasion. He saw the faintest lines around her eyes, which she had tried to conceal with makeup. He felt calm in her presence. He always did.
He wondered why he had never broached the subject of a serious date, just them. He knew her divorce had come through. It seemed crazy but, in all these years, despite their lives being interwoven through their work, they had both always kept their distance. It was as if he feared she would politely decline. Was that it? But he sensed that she cared about him too. A lot. Initially, he felt uncomfortable with that. But he had begun to realize, helped by his daughter’s finely tuned intuition, that it was OK to let another woman into his life. That was the problem. He hadn’t let anyone, let alone another woman, into his life since his wife died all those years ago.
“Are you OK, Jon?” she asked.
“Me? I’m fine, thanks. Why do you ask?”
“You seem miles away.”
Reznick smiled. “A lot on my mind.”
“I can imagine.”
Reznick leaned closer. “Listen, I�
�m not very good at this sort of thing. But I just wanted to say, I’ve got a lot to thank you for, Martha. I really do.”
Meyerstein blushed. “Gimme a break, what are you talking about?”
“I mean, you instinctively know how to walk that thin line. You put your neck on the line for me. I love that about you. I don’t trust many people. But I trust you. With my life. I guess what I’m trying to say is that, despite the circumstances, I’m glad you’re here tonight. You didn’t have to be.”
Meyerstein tucked her hair behind her right ear. She gazed at him long and hard. “No, I didn’t have to be. But I wanted to be.” She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. “And here I am.”
Reznick took a gulp of the red wine, savoring the taste.
“This hotel your idea?”
Reznick nodded.
“Very expensive tastes you have, Jon.”
“What can I say? I don’t get out too often.”
Meyerstein laughed. “Yeah, right. So, are you picking up the tab for this tonight?”
Reznick nodded.
“Including Rosalind, Trevelle, and the girl?”
“I’m a bit of a soft touch, if you must know.”
Meyerstein rolled her eyes. “Next time, my treat, what do you say?”
“You asking me on a date?”
“Maybe.”
Reznick clinked his glass to hers. “Then you’ve got a deal.”
Thirty-Seven
Rosalind Dyer was floating on a dark sea, staring at the inky-black sky. She looked at the billions of stars twinkling like pinpricks of light. She began to drift downstream, taken by the water. Ripples washing over her.
A voice was talking softly.
She opened her eyes. The luminous red dial on the radio alarm clock showed it was 4:30 a.m. The radio was tuned to a talk program discussing gang violence in DC.
Dyer pushed back the covers and walked to the bathroom. She looked at her face in the mirror. Ashen. No makeup. Eyes bloodshot. She looked awful. But she was ready. She had gotten four hours of sleep. That was enough. “You can do this, Rosalind,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “You will do this. Be strong.”
She turned on the shower and stepped into the glass cubicle. The hot water was reviving her. The hotel shower gel refreshing her. Cleansing her. She felt sharper.
Dyer tilted her head back, enjoying the sensation of the water splashing onto her face. She leaned forward, hands pressed against the tiles, luxuriating in the powerful jets of water on her body. She thought of her father. The commitment he had made to the country over the years. She thought of her brother. A man who served his country with distinction. And she thought of her husband. The thread that ran through them and her was love of country. She had felt torn and more than slightly scared. But her mind was settled. She was doing the right thing.
The talk the previous afternoon with the chairman, face-to-face, had helped her realize her fears. But also unburden herself before today’s events. She wanted to tell the committee about the seven men. She had to.
Dyer stepped out of the shower, dried herself, and put on a new set of clothes the Feds had brought over from her house. She dried her hair and applied her makeup. She was ready.
She called room service and ordered breakfast.
“It’ll be about twenty minutes, ma’am,” a female voice said on the other end of the line.
“Thanks.”
Dyer opened the blinds. In the distance, the White House was illuminated in all its alabaster glory. She thought of what lay ahead for her today. She was going to hold some of the most senior military men and, indeed, the United States government to account. It was her duty. As an American. As a patriot. She wouldn’t let herself down.
She sat down in an easy chair and turned on Fox News, sound low. Her picture was up on the screen as a reporter spoke about her upcoming secret testimony.
Dyer’s heart skipped a bit. It was surreal. She began to feel butterflies in her stomach. The full magnitude of what she was about to do hadn’t yet hit her. The reporter stood among a crowd of other journalists outside the Hart Senate Office Building.
She thought again of what Reznick had told her about the apartment and the two men with a sniper rifle within range of the building. It had unnerved her, although she’d tried not to show it in front of Reznick.
All of a sudden, she felt panicked. Her heart was racing. Her mind was going in a million different directions. How would she perform in front of the committee? Would she screw up? Would she inadvertently incriminate herself?
Dyer closed her eyes and began some meditation exercises. Deep breathing. Imagining a positive experience. She visualized a beautiful meadow. And a lake, ice-cold water. A few minutes later, she felt a sense of calm return. She had this.
She knew her subject. Inside out. The faces of the men flashed through her mind. Honest men. Americans who had all died unexpectedly in different circumstances. But all linked to the same huge investigation into the corruption, the complicit generals, and the trail of money and foreign bank accounts. It was sickening.
She’d gone over the files and report with a fine-tooth comb. Frank had grilled her in practice sessions. She would feel his loss this morning, without him at her side. His associate would be sitting in, but the fresh-faced young lawyer would not have the same intimate knowledge of her report. She hadn’t even gotten around to trying to contact Frank’s widow—she vowed that it would be the first call she made after her testimony.
Dyer stared blankly at the TV as her thoughts turned to her own family. She picked up the remote control and turned down the volume. Her husband had wanted to sit by her side that day. But she didn’t want him embroiled in her fight. She wanted him to look after their family, to remind her of what she had to go home to.
She checked her watch. A few minutes until her breakfast would arrive. She wondered what her husband was doing. She knew he was an early riser. She missed his voice. His slow Carolina drawl. It always reassured her. Calmed her.
Dyer reached over to her bed and picked up her cell phone. She wanted to hear his voice again.
“Honey, thank God, I’ve been worried sick.”
Dyer felt her throat tighten. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I’ve been awake all night. Did you sleep?”
“Yeah . . . I managed four hours, so I’m good.”
“That’s a relief. Excellent. Rosalind, I was going to call you, but you beat me to it. I just wanted you to know that you’re incredibly brave. And I’m going to be thinking of you every step of the way.”
“I’m sorry about everything that’s happened. The Feds coming into our house and taking away all my stuff. It must’ve been very unsettling for you and the kids.”
“Rosalind, relax. The Feds couldn’t have been nicer. Very apologetic. But they’re doing what they have to do, I guess. And they’ve moved us. But we’re somewhere safe.”
Dyer closed her eyes, tears welling. “I miss you, honey. And the kids. Tell them I miss them and I’ll see them later today. Once it’s all over. Then we can all catch up.”
“Everything’s gonna be fine. You’ll see. You all set with your testimony?”
“I got this, honey. Trust me.”
“You’re going to be great. You’re going to knock ’em dead. You know all that stuff.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so. I’m the one who’s had to listen to it for the better part of a year.”
Rosalind smiled. Her husband was a good man. He was a great husband. And a fantastic father. She was lucky.
“When this is all over, we’re going to take a long, long vacation.”
“Where do you have in mind?”
“Italy. You always wanted to go to Italy, right? So how about the Eternal City? Rome. Lake Como?”
“I’d love that.”
“Just me and you. And my mother can look after the kids.”
“I want to go to Capri.”
&n
bsp; “Two weeks in Rome, followed by two weeks in Capri.”
“You got a deal.”
Her husband was quiet for a few moments. “Anyway, I just want you to know that the kids and I wish you the very best for today. I’m thinking of you.”
“I love you. Take care.”
Dyer ended the call as tears threatened to fall. She turned up the volume on the TV. The news was now discussing the death of her lawyer again. She felt the wounds begin to open. The bad memories flashing through her head.
She wondered if Frank’s widow blamed her.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized how obsessed she had been with her investigation. She had pushed aside concerns for her own family and for her lawyer as her investigation had proceeded. And despite the silent calls and the low-level intimidation, she’d pressed on.
What was the end result?
Her lawyer was dead, and her husband and kids were in an FBI safe house, unable to return to normal life for months, perhaps even years.
Had it really been worth it?
Dyer got up and walked to the bathroom, switched on the light illuminating the mirror. Despite the makeup, she could still see the dark shadows under her eyes. Her skin was bone white. She looked drained. Exhausted. She had been killing herself with fourteen-hour days, seven days a week. But she needed to get it together today.
She needed to be sharp. Be sharp.
Dyer reapplied her makeup, and she looked a bit better.
Three sharp knocks sounded on the door.
Dyer walked over to the door and pressed her eye against the peephole. The Fed guarding her door was standing next to a smiling Latina room service lady and a trolley of food.
Thirty-Eight
It wasn’t even dawn, and Reznick was standing in the lobby, wearing a black polo shirt, jeans, and black sneakers. He wore an FBI earpiece and was shooting the breeze with a couple of young Feds in navy suits. “So when’s the shift change for you guys?”
The taller of the two stifled a yawn. “I was on a split-shift yesterday. Three hours of sleep yesterday afternoon. And I’m hoping I’m out of here by seven.”
