by David Wind
I gathered the ‘evidence’, with one last look at Scotty and Elizabeth’s photo, put it all into a manila envelope, and clipped it closed. Then I looked at the clock.
It was nine thirty-five. The Corning Athletic Club was ten blocks uptown, off Madison Avenue. There was just enough time to walk there and burn off my excess energy.
I pulled the Sig from the harness and checked the clip. It was full of shiny brass and steel rounds. I slipped it back into the leather, buttoned my jacket, put the envelope under my arm, and headed out.
I opened the front door to find a FedEx driver reaching for the door handle. He jumped back, and then smiled. “Delivery.”
Taking the envelope, I signed his digital pad and tossed it on the table Femalé had appropriated for her makeshift desk.
Fifteen minutes later, I opened the brass and mahogany exterior door of the Corning Club and stepped into a blast of cold air. I smiled at the doorman who looked like an immaculately uniformed heavyweight boxer.
“Gabriel Storm. I’m meeting Senator Conklin.”
The starched pugilist looked at his clipboard, nodded and stepped to the side. “The Senator is in the Delaware Suite, third floor at the end of the hallway.”
I strode across the polished parquet floor to an old-fashioned brass framed elevator that appeared to be part of the original construction. By the time I reached it, adrenaline had kicked up a firestorm, priming me for anything.
The ride in the antique elevator, with another uniformed pugilist at the controls, took under a minute. When the door opened, I stepped into a hallway that seemed to go on for miles. The deep rich burgundy patterned wallpaper enhanced the illusion. Even if the doorman hadn’t told me where the suite was, the man standing at the far end of the hallway, at quasi attention, his eyes locked on me, was enough to tell me.
Reaching him, I said, “I have an appointment with the Senator.”
“He’s expecting you.” The guard eyed me from head to toe and on the return trip, his eyes stopped at my chest. “The weapon doesn’t go in with you.”
I’d been expecting that. “No problem,” I said and reached into my jacket.
“Don’t.” The single word held a lot of force.
I stopped reaching and opened my jacket. He pulled the Sig free and set it on a small table. “Against the wall, hands high.”
I followed his orders and ‘assumed the position’. He did a clean and professional frisk, looking not just for weapons but also for anything not part of my body. When he was satisfied there were no other weapons, he turned me, picked up a black wand and outlined my body. When there were no warning beeps, he said, “You can go in.”
I glanced at my Sig.
“It’ll be there when you come out.”
“Oh, I know it will be.”
I reached out and turned the doorknob.
Chapter 62
The door opened into the main room of a spacious business suite: thick drapes framed windows on two sides; a bar lined one wall and a door to my left led into another room. To my right was a brown leather Chesterfield couch, flanked by two matching club chairs and separated by a large coffee table. Dressed in a dark blue suit, Senator Brian Conklin stood with his back to me, staring out one window.
When I closed the door and started forward, Conklin turned. With twenty feet separating us, I got my first live close-up of his face. I’d seen the face a thousand times before in newspapers, magazines, and national newscasts, but TV and print are never as good as the view in person. Sharp eyes set beneath full brows with short dark hair replete with artfully perfect silver veins. A square jaw with thin lips and prominent nose completed the picture.
What was beyond my understanding was how someone with the brains and ability to become so powerful a political force was so depraved. He shouldn’t look like he did; he should be shrouded in darkness with the stink of a sewer emanating from him.
When I was halfway to him, he strode forward, his hand out. “Mr. Storm.”
Rather than take his hand, I put the manila envelope into it. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t like me, do you?”
“Whom I like and dislike doesn’t matter.”
He gave the envelope a cursory glance before dropping it on the coffee table. His eyes hardened, he squared his shoulders and drew himself taller. “You have a lot of balls, coming here and trying to blackmail me. Do you think you can get away with this?”
He was trying hard to stare me down. I let him work on it for a few more seconds before saying, “Don’t play innocent. You’re here because you know what I have will destroy you. If not, you would have told me to go to hell last night. But you didn’t do it then and you won’t do it now. I’ve rooted out everything you’ve tried to hide, Conklin, or should I call you Vandegroten, the name on your birth certificate?”
His features didn’t waver as he gave a dismissing wave of his hand. “That’s common knowledge. I’ve never hidden it from the public.”
I favored him with a knowing smile. “True, but while Vandegroten is the name on your birth certificate, it isn’t your birth name. Shouldn’t the certificate read Thornton?”
The color drained from his face like a punctured gallon jug. He went from a pleasant tan to greenish white. Even the blood from his thin lips vanished. He was stunned, and for a moment I thought he would faint and our opportunity blown.
It took a few seconds for him to pull himself together. Then, sounding less like a powerful senator and more like a cornered animal, he asked, “What do you want?”
“In a minute.” Cold beads of sweat formed like droplets of morning dew across his forehead. “That was just the beginning. That envelope contains the names of eight girls who disappeared—one every three years: beautiful and innocent children, all of them little blonde haired girls you abducted.”
My eyes stayed locked on his face. “I have enough proof to destroy you politically and to put you behind bars for the rest of your life, should you decide not to agree to my terms. And Rice, or should I say Heinlein, knew it and did his best to get what I have and then kill me. But he failed and you’re stuck with me.”
The color returned to his face. His breathing became regular and the tight lines eased from his face. His eyes shifted, his expression turned cunning. “If you have proof, and don’t for a minute think I’m admitting there could be anything, what do you want?”
“That depends on you,” I said, not wanting him to recover too much. “What’s it worth to you to not have the world know you need little girls to get off with? How much are you willing to give to stop your constituents from knowing you kidnap and rape their children and then kill them or sell them into slavery?” The bile built in my throat combined with my rage to punch my words out hard and strong.
“No one will believe you.”
“My ass. The public loves to see the high and mighty dragged through the muck. We both know that.”
“A million,” he whispered.
I laughed. “I could get double from any paper or news show in the country. I’m not here for pennies Conklin: make it worth my while.”
He sucked his lips between his teeth. “Even though it’s not real, it will hurt me. Five.”
“Ten million.”
“I…” He shook his head; his eyes flicked to the envelope on the table. “The proof?”
I waved toward the envelope “I brought you copies.”
He stared at it for a long time before dumping the contents on the tabletop. The picture of Scotty and Elizabeth Granger landed face up. He looked at it for a long time before pushing it aside with trembling fingers.
He lifted the list as if he were touching something foul, and started to read. An instant later, and like a slow motion movie, he collapsed into one of the club chairs and looked up from the list to me. He put the list back onto the table and picked up the Fuhrman confession. He took his time, absorbing every word. When he finished, he dropped it atop the other papers and didn’t bother looking at anything els
e.
“What guarantee do I have you won’t come back for more?”
“You’ll have everything I have on you.”
He studied me, thinking it out, seeking ways to make sure he would be safe once he paid the blackmail. “Will I? I read the papers. Granger was a friend of yours. How can I trust that you’re willing to take the money and walk away?”
Now it all came down to what would happen next. He had admitted nothing, and if I didn’t do it right, my taped voice would be the only thing detailing Conklin’s depravity. “I have my reasons. But this isn’t about me; it’s about choices. Give me what I want and you’re free; don’t and you spend the rest of your life in jail.”
He looked like he was going to puke. The game was almost over—he was in check. “That’s all you get. You were stupid, you and Heinlein. Heinlein is the name he took after the two of you hooked up—he was Wilkes in Thailand when you met him, and then he became Rice and then Heinlein, right?”
When Conklin nodded, I said, “If he hadn’t tried to warn me off, then to kill me, I would have missed it all.”
The depths of my knowledge shook him further. There was no way he would doubt I had the proof he and Rice had been seeking.
When he spoke again, it was with the sound of defeat. “All right, ten million, but it will take me time to put it together.”
“Twenty-four hours.” I looked at my watch. “At ten-thirty tomorrow, the newspapers get what I have.”
He shook his head. “It will take time to get it all in cash.”
“A bank transfer to my account in the Caymans. You can transfer the money from the account you maintain there.”
Again, my knowledge caught him short. “How did you…”
“That’s what I do—investigate. It is the same account you had your uncle Jeremy send money to every month, isn’t it?”
Again, defeat made him nod. “Yes.”
It was time for checkmate—time to get him on record. “What I don’t get, is why the little girls? You’re a good-looking man. You could have your pick of any woman, why?” I somehow managed to keep the disgust out of my voice. “Did Rice turn you onto the young girls or did you recognize each other as kindred spirits?”
Anger reshaped his features. “You think people like us are sick and depraved, but we’re not. History tells a different story. It’s only been in the last few centuries, that women are required to be a certain age to marry. The most desirable brides in many societies were young, and given in marriage when they were in full innocence. Can you not comprehend what that’s like—to have the perfect bride, pure beyond the touch of anyone: a bride who has never known another man? Can’t you see their innocence is their beauty? A few hundred years ago, a ten-year-old girl was considered a woman and ready for marriage. In other societies, girls as young as six were given in marriage.”
His anger disappeared, replaced by a spiritual look. “Even today, there are societies that believe a young girl to be the perfect wife.”
“Not this society. Is that why you took them? To make them your wives?”
“You can’t understand. Yes, they were my wives. I took them and I loved them.”
Got you, you son-of-a-bitch! “And when you were through with them, when they were no longer pure, what happened?”
“I don’t know.”
His reply took me by surprise. “How could you not?”
“He took care of that.”
“You mean Rice?”
“Yes. Rice handled that. What’s the point of this?”
“Curiosity. You’re going to get what you need, and I want my curiosity satisfied,” I said, as a new idea formed and I carved my features to show a deep interest.
He scrutinized me for several seconds before saying, “It doesn’t matter. He took them away when I was done. He had the means to do so.”
“What happened to them? Did he take ‘your girls’ and sell them overseas like he did with the others he collected?”
This latest revelation shook him the way I’d hoped. Conklin shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“Or, did he kill them?”
His skin darkened and I thought I’d gone too far. “Kill them? No, never, I loved them. They…they were just too old. He had places for them. Places where they were welcomed.”
I held up the pictures of Elizabeth and another girl. “What happened to these girls?”
He didn’t look at the photos; rather, he wiped his hand over his eyes in a tired gesture. “I’ve agreed to what you want. Our business is over.”
“You’re wrong. Our business will be over when I say it is.” Now I set my expression into one of eagerness. “I want to know more or there’s no deal.”
His eyes narrowed as understanding glowed within them. The fingers of his right hand played a tattoo on the leather arm of the chair. A smile grew on his lips and his eyes brightened with inner knowledge. “You’re interested, aren’t you? It’s not just the money is it? No, have you been holding back your desires? You want a taste of perfection, don’t you?”
It took every bit of my willpower not to grab him by the throat and shake him like an animal. I felt dirty and wondered if I’d ever feel clean again; but his sick mind was playing right into my hands. “What did Rice do with them?” The next words confirmed I was playing my part well.
“There are people all over the world who think as I do—who believe young and innocent girls are the most perfect women in the world. The girls went to these people. I don’t know to whom they went. Rice found the right mate for each.”
“Where?”
He shrugged, his confidence growing strong enough to think I was indeed like him. “Sometimes in this country, and like you said before, sometimes in other countries.”
“This one,” I pointed to Elizabeth’s picture again, “were did she go?”
Conklin eyed the photo then looked up and away in thought. A slow smile creased his face. “She was the second...I think. I’m not sure, maybe down south, but I’m not sure.”
“And when you sent a girl away, you took another to replace her. Did Rice help you?”
He smiled, believing I wanted the information for my own use. “No, you’ll understand the day you give in to your needs and find the perfect face, the angelic look of pure innocence and it will call to you. It will haunt you and make you watch her for a long time to make sure she’s the one. You’ll study her and learn what she does, where she goes, when she’s with others and when she is alone. Then, when you’re sure, you take her and make her your bride.”
His face filled with the look of an acolyte receiving spiritual revelation while my mind fought off the disease underlying his words. “Is that what happened with these girls? You took them and made them your brides?”
His smile broadened further and I recognized the look in his eyes for what it was—insanity. “Oh, they were all so perfect. They were made for me.”
I had the son of a bitch! Conklin’s admission was on video. The one thing left was to end this so they could arrest Conklin…but I wasn’t done. “I just have one more itch in need of scratching. Why did you kill Scotty Granger?”
Conklin’s eyes went wide. His mouth parted and his tongue pushed out. “I…kill him? Why would I do that?” he asked with unfeigned puzzlement.
“Because he told you what he had and because he threatened to bring you down.”
He took a couple of breaths then shook his head. “He never contacted me and if he’d tried I would never have spoken to him. We’d always known he was trying to find out who took his sister. We’d been watching him for a long time and knew he’d been compiling information. But we didn’t know what he had or how good it was. He hadn’t become a real threat so why would I kill him?”
I wanted to call him a liar, to beat him until he admitted he’d killed Scotty, but his words sounded true and it shook me. I had been so damned sure. “If that’s true, why did Rice go to the apartment looking for the information?”
“We needed to be sure there was nothing incriminating—I needed to know what was there. From what you’ve said, it was more than we’d guessed.”
Amidst the swell of my victory over Conklin, a wave of defeat crushed down on me. If Conklin wasn’t Scotty’s killer, then who was? How could I be so wrong?
“–tomorrow?”
I shook myself free just as he’d spoken the last word. “What?”
“Can we finish this up tomorrow?”
My reply was louder than necessary. “No, I think we’re finished now.”
Puzzled, he asked, “Is this some sort of joke? I told you I need time to put the money together.”
“That does present a problem. You see, the money is the least of it all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” On my last word, the door burst inward and the room filled with people.
Malcolm stepped between Conklin and me. “Senator Brian Conklin, I am Special Agent Brett Malcolm of Homeland Security. I am placing you under arrest for violations of the New Patriot Act. Treason will do for starters.”
Chapter 63
Three hours after Brett Malcolm’s words to Brian V. Conklin, I left the Homeland Security offices with Femalé. Gina had gone an hour earlier, after working out an agreement with Malcolm for the FBI to add kidnapping, transportation of a minor across state lines for illicit purposes, sexual assault and suspicion of murder on all the children on our list to the charge of crimes against the people of the United States.
Those charges would hold up, once they showed proof of Conklin’s involvement with shipping children to countries opposed to U.S. policies. The real question was if they would prosecute Conklin themselves, or, get the information they needed to capture Wilkes from him and let the Bureau put Conklin away and shoulder the embarrassment of naming a U.S. Senator as a pedophile. My bet was on the FBI as the final arbiter.
