The Manhattan Deception

by Simon Leighton-Porter

‘Well, if she’s got wireless internet then there’s a chance,’ said the young man sipping bitter, stewed coffee from the cracked mug.

  ‘So what are you waiting for? You’ve done well so far. A couple more jobs and then you don’t have to speak to us ever again. D’you know where she lives?’

  ‘I’ve got an address, I’m just not 100% sure I’ll be able to hack the connection.’

  ‘Hey. Don’t go limp on us at the last moment, tiger –’

  ‘It’s not that. Her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend now – used to work in IT. Think he was a Java developer or something but now he plays in some rock band. Anyway, if he’s changed the security settings on her modem away from WEP to something like WPA2, then I could have problems.’

  ‘We know you won’t let us down, bright kid like you.’ The hand that clapped him on the shoulder was just the heavy side of friendly. Another hand pressed an envelope full of used notes into his. ‘A token of this great nation’s appreciation and there’s more where that came from.’

  ***

  It took him a couple of goes round the block to find the right address in the north-western suburbs of DC: a small development of modern town-houses in a no-through-road with a turning circle at the far end. He slowed to look at the numbers as he drove slowly towards the end. He was in luck: the lights were on. She was in. No one around which was lucky but he was aware that his pick-up looked out of place in a street like this. If anyone asked, he could pretend to be lost or looking for someone. He stopped between two streetlights and turned off the engine.

  Firing up his laptop he waited while it searched for available wireless networks in range: there were literally dozens, but which once was hers? A-light DFD8, A-light 24-A67… could be any one of them and he hadn’t got time…CathyS, that had to be it and it was only WEP protected. He made a final check that he’d loaded the right applications and that the right services were talking to his wireless card. Then he opened the first app and waited until her wireless signal appeared on the screen: got it. He selected it, double-clicked and after only a couple of seconds, the status bar went green: he was in. Time was short so he worked his way through the directory structure as quickly as he could: admin, personal, house, money, work. That was the one: he selected the entire directory and copied across to his machine: “8 minutes remaining” said the pop-up box and the green caterpillar at the bottom of the screen began to creep agonisingly slowly from left to right.

  “Two minutes remaining” claimed the dialog box, then for what seemed like an eternity it hung on “20 seconds remaining”. At last: “files copied successfully” and as he breathed a sigh of relief he was jolted back to reality by a sharp tap on the car’s side window, accompanied by the beam of a torch shining on his face. Blue uniforms, peaked caps, this wasn’t possible.

  ‘Step out of the car please, sir.’ A second police officer stood further back and was unfastening the clip on his holster.

  He did as he was told, numb with fright.

  ‘Turn away, please and put your hands on top of the car. In response to their questions he confirmed that he wasn’t carrying a concealed firearm, a knife or any sharp objects and the first officer patted him down. They checked his licence, the car and his insurance. ‘We’ve had a call about someone acting suspiciously in a parked car, so do you mind telling us what you’re doing here, sir?’ asked the one who’d searched him.

  ***

  ‘Fuck! You told them what?’ From adjoining tables heads spun round at the sound of raised voices.

  ‘Like I said, I told them it was a Federal investigation,’ said the young man in the woolly hat.

  ‘You fucking idiot. Those are the cops, the ordinary neighbourhood cops. Do you really think we’d bring them in on a case like this? Do you have any idea of the level of shit you’ve just caused? The months of work your stupidity has just blown.’

  ‘I thought all you people were on the same side.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, you really are a fucking liability. So what else did you tell them?’

  The young man hesitated. He suddenly felt very small and afraid. ‘Everything.’

  ‘What, you mean names, where we meet, stuff like that?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Of course I did. They said I had to.’

  He rolled his eyes in disgust. ‘Where did they take you?’

  The young man gave them the address of the police station where he’d spent most of the previous evening.

  ‘And have they still got your laptop with the files on it?’

  A dejected ‘guess so’ was all he could manage in response.

  The two older men looked at one another and then turned to glare at him once more. ‘In that case, we’d better go and ask them to give it back. And you’re coming with us.’

  The other customers in the diner had lost interest by now and none of them took any notice of the two heavily-built men in the dark blue overcoats who walked either side of the unkempt younger man as they left the building.

  ***

  James was determined to see as much of Washington as he could in the short time he had left before heading back to the UK. Mick Cuthbertson had already left and he was enjoying being on his own, setting his own timetable and doing things at a leisurely pace rather than at a mad scramble. The weather had stayed fine and the tour boat was passing the Lincoln Memorial when his US cell phone rang. To his delight, it was Cathy Stenmark.

  ‘This is a nice surprise,’ he said. I thought you were supposed to be in North Carolina.’

  ‘I am and we’ve got a problem.’

  ‘Who’s we?’ he asked, moving towards the stern of the boat to keep out of earshot of the other tourists.

  ‘You and me.’

  ‘I didn’t know you cared,’ said James, leaning back in his seat and basking in the sunshine.

  ‘James, please. This is serious, there’s been another murder.’

  He sat bolt upright. ‘Who?’

  ‘Our IT support guy from work. Police found him yesterday with the back of his head blown off.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with Pauli? I thought that’s why you were there. Isn’t it the North Carolina Primary or something?’

  ‘It is. Now listen. Three days ago the police caught this IT guy in his car, outside my house hacking into my wireless connection and downloading all the articles I’d written on my PC. I’d no idea he was even there – one of the neighbourhood curtain-twitchers must’ve spotted him and called the cops. I only found out what he’d done the day before I came up here when they asked me if I wanted to press charges. And now I just got a call to say he’s been shot.’

  ‘Shit. That’s serious,’ said James.

  ‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ she said. ‘This is getting too close to home. I can’t think he hacked my connection just to copy files he could’ve got from New Horizons’ network if he’d waited a couple of days, so I’m wondering who put him up to it and why.’

  ‘At a guess, I’d say it was the same people who killed him.’

  ‘That’s the conclusion I came to. The police are going crazy that we’re sitting on a story and I’ve got to go see them when I get back to DC.’

  ‘What are you going to tell them?’ asked James.

  ‘The truth. That I don’t know why he was snooping on my wireless connection and that I don’t know who killed him.’

  ‘Nothing about Pauli?’

  ‘Are you kidding? I don’t want to sit out the rest of my days in a padded cell. Look, I’m back the day after tomorrow. I’ll call you. And for Christ’s sake, James, be careful.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Have managed to talk to the American woman again. Name is Marina Higgs and husband away on business a lot. Think she’s lonely and not very intelligent – ideal combination. Important not to make her suspicious by rushing things.

  *

  Two thousand Democrats were crammed into the conference hall in Raleigh and Pauli took a last drink of water before going out onto the stage. He’d
ignored the campaign media director’s offer of makeup to hide the lines on his face. ‘I’d need four tons of it to hide these mothers,’ he said, his voice reduced to a hoarse croak by another day of non-stop public speaking. ‘And I ain’t going out there looking like fucking Liberace.’

  As he came out of the wings and into sight of the expectant crowd, the noise level went off the scale: stamping, whistling, cheering. They loved him. His one remaining rival for the nomination, Mike Murphy, Governor of Massachusetts, had won almost as many states but not the big ones, and it was numbers of delegates that counted. The superdelegates, the Brahmins of the party, were flocking Pauli’s way too and even though she now knew enough about the man to see through all the ballyhoo, Cathy Stenmark never ceased to be amazed by his ability to work a crowd. She knew the speech as well as he did by now, having heard it four times that day alone, but the themes were beautifully crafted and his audience loved him for it.

  The Republicans had failed ordinary people, he thundered: the vast majority of folk who lived outside the Beltway and who were at the mercy of big business rather than reaping its benefits. The message was subtle but direct enough to hit home: President Lopez was a good person and his criticisms of her were directed at her policies and her record in government. That and nothing else. She had failed, the economy was spinning its wheels and the banking sector was still, despite all her fine rhetoric, thumbing its nose at the little guy.

  He paused for breath, waiting for the yelling and cheering that this line always provoked to die down enough for him to be heard. Then the knock-out blow, the left-right combination aimed at the jaws of both the President and of Pauli’s last remaining Democratic rival. ‘There are precious few, and I stress the word few, career politicians who’ve ever done an ordinary job like those of us in this room – driven a combine, worked in a store, run a business – and so however much they may try, they just don’t know what it’s like: they don’t get it. That gnawing in your gut because tomorrow your job may be on its way to China…’ Another pause to let the cheering die down. ‘….and then you’re left wondering how much more of your hard-earned cash the IRS is going to take while the Federal government gives you nothing in return when you need it.’ Not just a tank on the GOP’s lawn, but its gun-barrel through their living room window. ‘The Republicans always say that “government doesn’t work” and every time they get into the White House they prove just how right they are.’ The line was older than the hills but always got a cheer. ‘Let me make this clear. What our party needs, what this great country needs, is someone with the knowledge, the experience and the guts to govern in the name of all of us and not be afraid to stand up to vested interest; vested interest that stops hard-working people achieving their potential…’

  Cathy noticed that his voice had almost completely gone, but such was his influence on the crowd that he could’ve been reading them his laundry list and they would still have cheered just as loudly. She also knew that following this meeting he had a fund-raising dinner where he’d be expected to speak again: rather him than me she thought as she slipped out of the back of the hall to get ready for her next interview. This time it was with one of the State’s Congressmen who had recently announced that, as a superdelegate, he’d ditched his long-time allegiance to Governor Murphy and was now backing Pauli. The trickle was becoming a flood and it looked set to wash Governor Murphy clean out of the race.

  Happy but tired, the victorious Pauli circus returned to DC. One more round of primaries to go and the result would be beyond doubt.

  Later that day, Cathy called James. Her trip to Florida to cover the Murphy campaign’s last throw of the dice before the final round of primaries had been cancelled. Instead, she’d spent almost the entire day with the DC police homicide unit. ‘Where are you meeting Pauli?’ she asked.

  ‘At his place. They’re sending a driver for me at seven fifteen this evening. I must admit I’m feeling a bit nervous: not every day you get invited to dinner by the man who might be the next President.’

  ‘Well just go easy on him, that’s all.’

  ‘Go easy on him? Do you really think I’m going to start finger-poking the guy?’

  ‘No, but he’s tired and cranky as hell right now so just be careful what you say.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll grill me about the paintings and the other stuff?’

  ‘He might do. Depends who else is there.’

  ‘Just him and his wife.’

  ‘Then I don’t know. But either way, I hope you enjoy it. He’s clearly worried otherwise he wouldn’t take a day out from the campaign trail just to shoot the breeze with some Brit who’s at minute fourteen of his fifteen minutes of fame.’

  James chuckled to himself at her directness. ‘You say the nicest things.’

  ‘Just jealous, that’s all. Anyway, I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  ***

  The car headed north-west from Dupont Circle. Turning off the main road, they purred slowly along a tree-lined avenue bordered by high walls, behind which stood some of the capital’s most desirable and expensive real estate. The driver braked to walking pace and James saw the wrought iron gates swing open. As they did so, two plain-clothes protection officers appeared from the shadows and nodded the car through the gate-posts and onto the manicured gravel drive at the end of which stood a brick-built Georgian-style mansion. The car did a half circuit of the turning circle in front of the house and they stopped in front of a short flight of stone steps. As the driver came round to open the door for him, James saw that the front door had already been opened, not by the liveried servant that he had expected, but by Eric Pauli himself, dressed in jeans and an open-necked shirt. James, who was wearing a suit, felt over-dressed and gauche.

  All good political operators are born with a knack of putting people at their ease and making them feel like they’re the most important, fascinating person that the politico has ever met. Eric Pauli had it in abundance and James soon forgot his earlier pang of embarrassment.

  He steered James along the corridor towards the kitchen. No stranger to opulence, James was left open-mouthed in admiration at the subtly tasteful décor of the Pauli’s home: no ostentation, no glitz, just quality and that indefinable air of solidity and confidence that comes with old money. Eric Pauli had learned fast and spent his new money wisely. Another pleasant surprise was his host’s lack of ostentation: when they reached the kitchen Pauli opened the fridge and tossed him a cold beer. ‘That’s the most important part of the evening out of the way, don’t you think? If you only knew how long I’ve been dying for one of these mothers but my wife says it’s rude to start before the guests. What d’you reckon to that?’

  ‘Depends who the guests are,’ said James, quickly getting into the mood. ‘Some of the people I’ve had to entertain I couldn’t have faced without having at least half a dozen.’

  Pauli chuckled. ‘I know exactly what you mean. Come on through, I’ll introduce you to Janet.’

  As they came into the high-ceilinged living room, Janet Pauli rose to meet him. Dressed in a simple white blouse and dark-blue trousers, she was almost as tall as her husband. Her hair, once blonde, was now streaked with silver and James saw at once the beauty she must have been when younger. The smile was broad and genuine as she shook his hand. ‘It’s really good of you to take the time out to come and see us, James,’ she said.

  For a moment he was unsure how to answer. ‘Well, that’s terribly kind of you,’ he said. ‘I’m honoured that you’ve taken the time out from campaigning – I’d hate to think I’d cost you votes and I can’t imagine what it must be like for you both living out of suitcases all the time.’

  At this, Janet Pauli looked across at her husband and smiled. ‘You love every minute of it, don’t you, darling?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s terrific,’ he said. ‘Just think what a great headstone I’m going to be able to afford once this is over. You ever thought of going in to politics, James?’

  ‘Happy to
leave it as a spectator sport, thanks.’

  ‘Wise man,’ said Pauli. ‘Janet comes out on the stump with me on some of the trips but since it’s me who’s running for office, not her, the longer we can keep at least some of our private life out of the public gaze the better.’

  The conversation flowed easily and it was just as they were about to go in for dinner that James realised that he was doing most of the talking. Every time he asked the Paulis a question, they somehow turned the topic around so that he ended up opining about it. These two are different, he thought: the charm might just not be an act. Undeterred, he swam hard against the tide and was at last able to pick up one or two facts about them. Pauli himself was reticent about his early years and common courtesy prevented James pushing any harder. Moving onto safer ground, he steered the conversation towards politics.

  ‘There’s every possibility,’ said Pauli, ‘that if I do become President then I’ll make so many enemies by doing what needs to be done that I won’t get a second term. But I learned long ago that if you compromise the things you know are right against popularity and votes, and you do it once, then the next time it becomes easier and the time after that it’s become a habit.’

  Janet Pauli looked at her husband indulgently and then turned to James. ‘I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve told Eric that isn’t possible. You just look at the number of US Presidents, UK Prime Ministers and so on who’ve tried that approach and failed.’

  ‘So being popular is more important than being right? Is that how it works here too?’

  She nodded. ‘It works like that everywhere except it’s not a straight either/or. I still don’t think what he’s suggesting is possible, but if I had to pick anyone to give it their best shot, well, you’re sitting here in the room with him.’

  Pauli cut in. ‘And even if I get kicked out after one term, I still believe there’s a ratchet effect in politics that makes it impossible to move things backwards if progress has been made. So if I spend four years moving things in the right direction then even a two-term Republican in the White House won’t be able to wreck everything we’ve done. That’s the idea anyway.’