The Manhattan Deception

by Simon Leighton-Porter

  Pauli stopped his pacing for a moment. ‘Thanks, Tony. Please thank your people for their good work,’ he said. ‘As for Vince, I’ll talk to him when he comes in, but what I need from you is a full audit report on what you’ve found: dates, times, invoices, amounts, people – you know the sort of crap I mean.’

  Mason looked up at him with a world-weary smile on his face. ‘Do you know, I was afraid you were going to say something like that. Here it is,’ he said, handing Pauli a plastic-coated file. ‘All tallies to the last cent.’

  Mason had barely left the office and the impact of his bombshell hadn’t even begun to sink in when his secretary’s head appeared round the door. ‘MSNBC interview at six in room SR-235, Eric. Prep meeting starts in ten, just letting you know.’

  Pauli raised his tired eyes towards her. ‘Yeah, got it. Thanks for reminding me.’ As she left, he swore under his breath: for the first time in a long while, he felt events getting ahead of him. He was water-skiing rather than driving the boat.

  ***

  Vince Novak parted company with Dave Newman and immediately got on his mobile phone. He made two calls and set off through the sunshine towards Potomac Park, the usual meeting place. It would take the two men a good half hour to get there, so making a quick call to his own secretary telling her that his meeting had over-run, he set off on foot along the Mall towards the Washington Monument. As he walked he basked in the feeling that he could now truly call this place his home, his village, and he loved every square foot of it, knew practically every stone, every shortcut – physical as well as metaphorical – that made this the place he wanted to be above all others: the place where everything began and everything ended. This is real power: screw Wall Street, screw Pinewood Investments – how many battalions, submarines and jet aircraft did they command? And as for the current little setback; another bump in the road that’s all it is, he told himself; nothing that can’t be taken care of, just like the others. I’m so nearly there, I can practically smell it.

  By the time he reached the park he regretted not taking a cab. Tie and jacket had been discarded long ago and his once pristine white shirt now clung to his back like a damp rag.

  Sitting on a bench in the shade of a cherry tree, he was lost in thought when someone called his name. ‘So, Vince, where’s the fire all of a sudden?’ He turned round to see two familiar faces grinning at him.

  ‘Ronnie, Pete. Thanks for turning out at short notice, guys. We got problems.’

  ‘Anything bad?’ asked Ronnie, putting down his briefcase next to Novak’s.

  Just as he’d done the previous time when the ice was thick upon the ground, Novak picked up the case, leaving his own for Ronnie to collect. ‘Bad enough,’ he replied. ‘But nothing that the FBI’s finest can’t handle. Now Federal Agents Wilson and…what the fuck’s your guy called?’

  ‘Balshaw,’ answered the man whom Novak had addressed as “Pete”.

  Novak smiled. ‘Yeah, right. At ease, Agents Wilson and Ballsack – ’

  ‘Balshaw, asshole,’ said Pete, aiming a fake punch at the diminutive Novak.

  ‘Are those the Rhode Island Balshaw-Assholes? I think I used to play polo with your uncle.’

  ‘So stop fucking around, Vince, what is it you want us to do?’

  ‘Just sit down and keep smiling, you dickheads,’ said Novak through gritted teeth. ‘In the unlikely event that anyone’s watching us, I want to make it look like three good buddies shooting the breeze in the sunshine. Now listen. I need a minor obstacle removed – a couple of people who’ve outlived their usefulness. Understand?’ The two men nodded in unison and Novak briefed them in detail on what he wanted done. When he’d finished he looked up. ‘Any questions? No? Good. Just like last time, you’ll find everything you need in the briefcase. I’ll look forward to hearing from you and good luck.’

  The two men rose and left Novak sitting on his own gazing over the Potomac as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

  ***

  Pauli was tired but happy. The interview with MSNBC had gone well. His campaign media team had done an excellent job of forecasting the questions that came his way. The rebuttal unit had provided him with three killer economic statistics that not only flattened the Republicans’ charges that his proposed reforms would be unaffordable but showed the criticisms were based on selective reading of the existing Federal budget. However much he hated it, Pauli knew that in the poker game of politics, perception beats facts every time. Better still, the importance of the points he’d put on the board against Lopez lay not in the fact that her team had been caught trying to make two and two equal five, but in the subliminal message of competence that he exuded. For the first time, heavyweight media analysts were talking about him outright as the future president, and none of the accusations of fostering socialism and big government that were flung his way were sticking: a good day all round.

  By the time Pauli returned to his office suite on the third floor, it was nine o’clock and apart from the media guys who’d sat behind camera during the interview, the rest of his team had gone home. He phoned Janet to tell her that he was running a little later than planned and then checked his diary for the following day. There was nothing that could be moved or cancelled without causing problems, so it would have to be an early start. He hit the speed-dial and Novak answered straight away. ‘Vince, we need to talk,’ said Pauli. ‘Breakfast in my office at 6.45 tomorrow….no, there’s nothing you need to prep and I’ll tell you all about it then. Have a good evening. Next, he logged into the building’s facilities system and ordered breakfast for two, and before turning off the light and calling for his driver to take him home, picked up Mason’s report and slipped it into his briefcase.

  When she heard the front door open, Janet Pauli ran down the hallway to kiss her husband in greeting and they went through to the living room together. ‘Well hail to the chief,’ she said with a smile. ‘I watched every second and I thought you were great.’

  ‘No preaching? No rambling?’ he asked warily. Janet was the fiercest and most honest critic of his TV appearances and he knew he must have done something special to win her praise.

  ‘Nope. The boy done good. You’re on your way…’ Janet could see from his expression that something was badly wrong and her voice trailed off in mid-sentence. ‘What is it, Eric? You should be turning cartwheels not pulling faces. C’mon, tell me, what’s up?’

  Pauli loosened his tie, poured himself a generous measure of Scotch and slumped into an armchair with his legs stretched out in front of him. ‘Nothing. Just tired that’s all.’

  She stood, hands on hips, looking at him intently with her head cocked slightly to one side. ‘Eric Pauli, I haven’t kept house with you all these years not to know the difference between tired and worried. We share stuff, remember?’

  Pauli closed his eyes and put his head back in the chair. He sighed. ‘It’s Vince.’

  The look of indulgent amusement faded instantly from Janet’s face. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘A bunch of stuff. If the allegations are true I’m going to have to let him go.’

  ‘But that’ll kill your poll ratings.’

  ‘Yeah, I know all that,’ he said wearily. ‘Poor judge of character, cronyism, lack of financial oversight, how can we trust this guy to make the right decisions? Lopez’s people will have a field-day.’

  ‘Whoa. You said lack of financial oversight. What’s happened? Are we going to have to self-fund the campaign after everything Tony Mason said last week?’

  ‘No, it was Tony who came to see me. I hope I’m wrong about this,’ he said, retrieving the file from the briefcase by his feet, ‘but it looks pretty damning. It’s a report into campaign financial transactions with a political consultancy outfit based in the British Virgin Islands.’

  Janet’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Where?’ she asked in amazement.

  ‘Precisely. I had a first read-through in the car on the way home and it looks bad. Vince has signed off
against what look like a whole slew of wash transactions: movements of cash with no other purpose than to obscure the audit trail.’

  ‘But why would he do that?’

  ‘That’s what I’m going to ask him tomorrow. The net payments we’ve made to these people run into millions and once the cash hits the account out there, the trail stops dead. I hate to say it, but my first guess is that it’s finding its way back to Vince.’

  ‘But how do you know he’s to blame? Someone could’ve set him up. There could be an innocent explanation.’

  Pauli sipped at his whisky and savoured the instant hit. He knew the amount he got through was bad for him but it sure as hell felt good. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll give him a fair hearing and if there’s an innocent explanation as you say, then he stays. The trouble is, it walks and quacks like an incredibly well-constructed attempt to hide the paper-trail, and apart from Tony, Vince is the only one on my team with the financial know-how to pull a stunt like this.’

  ‘But it’ll be a PR disaster if you have to sack him.’

  Pauli turned on her angrily. ‘Janet, I know that. I also know that the consequences of trying to cover it up will be even worse. No, if he’s guilty, he’s out and I throw him to the wolves.’

  ‘To hell with wolves, Eric, you’re forgetting the elephant in the room.’

  He slammed his glass down on the table next to him, causing the amber liquid to slop over the side. ‘And now I suppose you’re going to say “I told you so”.’

  Janet perched on the arm of the chair and stroked his head. She smiled once more at her irascible husband. ‘No need,’ she replied. ‘You just said it for me.’

  He looked up into her eyes, suddenly vulnerable. ‘My parents? Do you think he’d dare?’ he asked.

  Her brow furrowed as she weighed the options. ‘I honestly don’t know, darling. If he’s desperate enough, then yes he might use it against you. You told me yourself how ambitious he is.’

  Pauli sat up straight, animated and bright-eyed once more. ‘I could always deny it,’ he said. ‘After all, he’s got no proof, he’s never seen the diaries and without anything to back it up, it’s one hell of a wild accusation.’

  ‘I don’t like having to lie any more than you do,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘But there’s the not-so-minor problem of the people who’ve been killed: that poor journalist, then Robert Reiss and the IT guy from New Horizons. Even the police think there’s a connection to you. You talk about Lopez making five from two and two – throw the murders in with the story about your parents and the media will make it ten.’

  ‘I could always pre-empt him.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘If I have to sack him, then before I do I come clean about my parents. I dunno, maybe say I only just found out.’

  Janet shook her head. ‘And d’you really think anyone would believe you? They’ll say you’ve known all along and you’re fessing up now just to distract attention from the fact that your trusted chief of staff is a crook. Oh, and you can kiss goodbye to the Jewish vote too.’

  Pauli sighed. ‘Guess I’ll just have to play it by ear. I just hope to Christ Mason’s wrong about Vince.’

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Funeral utterly depressing. Instead of a pyre of Viking longships and an adoring nation mourning its father and leader, there was me (Mrs Higgs kindly looked after Erich), two plain-clothes policemen who spoke terrible German and an adenoidal little runt of a Catholic priest, all standing in the rain round the open grave. Later: two cars-full of policemen turned up at the house and searched it from top to bottom. They’ve even been messing about in the garden. Tried to stop them but they took all A’s clothes and other belongings, even his shaving brush, and I’m left with not a single thing to remember him by other than little Erich. At least they didn’t find you, dear diary. Will make a big bundle of everything and give it to Erich on his twenty-first birthday. Hope he’ll be pleased and honoured.

  *

  The combined effects of not enough sleep and too much Scotch had done little for Eric Pauli’s mood: up at 5:15, collected by his driver at 6:00 and in the office by 6:20. Let’s hope to God it’s not like this when I’m President, he thought. He laughed to himself at the idea as he logged on to his PC: when I’m President…yeah, got a good ring to it.

  The Russell Senate Building catering team were their usual efficient selves and a smell of fresh coffee and hot pastries greeted Novak as he came into Pauli’s outer office. He tapped on the door and Pauli called him in. ‘So what’s up, Eric?’ he asked, trying his best to appear nonchalant. He knew from experience that unplanned meetings with no chance to preview the agenda were rarely good news for the invitee in any organisation.

  They sat opposite each other across the table and Pauli got straight to the point: a left to the jaw. ‘Does the name Tag-Value Inc mean anything to you?’ he asked.

  Novak indeed felt as though he’d been punched, but with much effort, managed not to let his features betray the shock. ‘Rings a bell. Can’t say where from,’ he said.

  He’d seen this look on Pauli’s face before and knew it wasn’t good news. ‘I can tell you where from,’ continued the senator. ‘The British Virgin Islands.’

  ‘Oh of course,’ said Novak, faking a carefree, silly-me response. ‘They’re the guys who do the advanced data-crunching for us.’

  Pauli didn’t smile back. ‘And you went all the way to the BVI to find someone to crunch numbers? You yanking my chain, Vince?’

  ‘It’s not like they’re actually there or anything,’ said Novak. ‘The data guys are based somewhere in Europe but they operate through a brass-plate BVI company for tax reasons. It was one of the guys we let go after New Hampshire who brought them on board – can’t remember the guy’s name. It’s really no big deal.’

  Pauli’s features darkened. ‘No big deal?’ he said, his voice rising to a shout. ‘You’ve signed off on practically every one of these damn transactions and we’re pushing three million bucks of spend with these suckers.’

  Novak continued his charade of indifference and helped himself to an almond croissant: anything to buy a little thinking time. ‘Sure I signed off on them, he said. ‘I sign off on practically everything. You remember? Two pairs of eyes – I do the first check: if it looks ok I approve it and if there’s any problem downstream, then Mason and his people pick it up.’

  Pauli shook his head. ‘This report came from Mason’s people,’ he said, sliding the folder across the table to Novak. ‘First of all, you’d better be able to produce a valid IRS Form W-8BEN for these guys or we’ve just spent the last six months colluding in tax evasion, and second, the audit trail on this shit looks like money-laundering one-o-one.’

  Nervously, Novak opened the folder. ‘Now go to page five and read on to page eleven,’ said Pauli. ‘As an example of what our books and records should look like, that’s a list of invoices and payments for one of the other consultancies we use in DC: full break-down of what they’ve charged us for, a total and when we paid them –’

  Novak gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Yeah, sure, Eric, I know where this is going. The Tag-Value guys are good at what they do but their financial control stinks – couldn’t find their own asses in a well-lit room half of ’em. We’ve had overcharges, paid them back some, they send us credit notes, all kinds of shit. Aw, come on, people put stuff in front of me all the time and I sign it. Should I check it more closely? Course I should, but I figured that winning the election was more important. I been kinda busy, you know how it is.’

  ‘No I don’t know how it is, Vince. There are no invoices on file from this company either in electronic or hard-copy form, so how the hell do you expect me, Mason’s people or the Federal Election Commission, come to that, to believe that this is anything else but fraud?’

  ‘Eric, you’ve had a rough week – ’

  Pauli’s fist hit the table, sending coffee splashing into the saucers and rattling the plates. The words were spat one by
one and each found its mark. ‘Do not fucking patronise me, Vince. Never, ever do that again,’ he shouted. He sprang up from the table and for one moment Novak thought he was going to hit him, but instead, the senator marched across the office and closed the door to make sure that any early-birds would not overhear what came next.

  Novak made to speak but Pauli held up a hand to silence him. ‘I haven’t finished,’ he said. ‘You have twenty-four hours. We will meet again, at the same time tomorrow when you will show me the signed original contracts we have with these people, invoices to justify every last cent of this expenditure and precise details of the work they’ve done for us. Oh, and I want the name of the guy who brought them on board so that I can talk to him about it. Have you got that?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, I hear you, Eric, but it’s not that simple – ’

  Pauli held up a hand and stopped him in mid-sentence, no longer shouting, but with a look on his face the like of which Novak had never seen in all their years together. ‘Vince, Vince, listen to me please,’ he said quietly. ‘It is that simple. You return here tomorrow with all the information I’ve asked you for and we can get on with the job in hand. Alternatively, you can bring me your resignation: it’s one or the other. Now kindly leave, I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do.’

  ***

  The weather had turned humid and James and Cathy were grateful for the car’s air conditioning as they made their way against the southbound rush hour traffic. Leaving the town of Thurmont behind, the countryside grew more rugged as they approached Cunningham and Cathy began to recognise landmarks from her last trip to see the Hillmans. Her plan was to go down Main Street, past the store and show James the site intended for the new mall, but to their surprise, in a town where two cars passing in opposite directions counts as gridlock, they joined the rear end of a tailback more than two hundred yards from what passed for the town centre. Nothing was moving so she parked and they continued on foot.