“We already have a flash drive with the entire backup for you, Rick,” I said. “I request that you hand a subpoena to Diana. I want the record to show that Diana was just complying with a government demand and that she didn’t just come forward, which of course is exactly what she’s doing.”
“As an FBI agent I really don’t have the authority to issue a subpoena, but since you ask for it, I have no problem.”
He hit his intercom. “Janet, please prepare a subpoena for a Diana Spellman, the one with the standard ‘all electronic records,’ etcetera.”
A few minutes later, Bellamy’s secretary came into the room holding a piece of paper.
“Put your hands up,” she said. We all laughed.
“I love to serve subpoenas.”
“It’s my fate to be surrounded by wise-asses,” said Bellamy.
“Let me boil this down to its essence, folks,” said Bellamy. “This case involves a huge conspiracy and a huge investigation. The enemy’s operational approach is to kill people who know anything. You may not consider the other side as ‘the enemy,’ but welcome to the FBI. Now please don’t think I’m being overly dramatic, but I urge Diana and Matt to be cautious, extremely cautious. When you’re out and about, try to stay in crowds. Do you live in an apartment or a private home?”
“An apartment,” Dee said, looking nervous.
“Good, get extra locks for the door and make sure you have a security system. As I just mentioned, my wife, Ellen, was kidnapped by an al-Qaeda group right from our apartment. She’s safe, thank God, but it took a gunfight to free her. Diana, do you have a pistol permit?”
“Oh my God, you are serious, aren’t you? No I don’t have a permit, but I’m an accurate shot. My dad is a former soldier and he taught me how to use a gun.”
“I recommend you get a permit and a gun. Your future husband here is a former Marine and a war hero. He’ll make sure you remain proficient. Yes, Matt, I‘ve done some research on you. Semper Fi, captain. You’re the most decorated Chicago resident since World War II. I served with the Marines too. Do you have a permit, Matt? I know pistol-packing Bennie does.”
“Yes, I do.” When I said that, Diana stared at me.
“Does anyone have any questions?”
“I have a question,” said Diana. “Since this is now an FBI matter, thank God, there’s no reason to prolong my lawsuit. I know Matt agrees with me. I’d just like your thoughts on the subject.”
“Well, although I’m a lawyer,” said Bellamy, “I’ve never been involved in a personal injury case. But if I were you I’d settle as soon as you see a number you’re comfortable with. Matt knows more about this than me, but if this case goes to trial, the defense may take a position that it had nothing to do with the accident and that it was Morgan’s intentional action, not a case of negligence. Another problem, and a bigger one from my perspective, is that you will be called to testify if the case goes to trial. I strongly suggest that you remain in the shadows, Diana, for your own safety. I’m sure that I’m going to need to speak to you often, but that communication will be secure, which my deputy will brief you on. Your late husband was a very important player in this mess, and I’m sure I’ll need you to clarify some information for me.”
Our meeting was drawing to a close.
“Rick,” I said, “it was a pleasure to meet you. Whatever you need from us, just call—on the secure line, of course.”
“I thank you patriots for coming forward. I look forward to finding the scumbags who killed Diana’s husband, not to mention trying to figure out what they’re up to next.”
Chapter 38
My father suggested that Bill Randolph handle the final settlement negotiations in the Spellman case. Gulf Oil had originally offered $8 Million. After the depositions, except of course for the late Harold Morgan, it was clear that negligence was established. None of us discussed with Gulf Oil’s attorneys the evidence of an intentional act. After Diana, Bennie, and I met with the FBI guy, Rick Bellamy, Diana told us that she wanted to get the case behind her.
Our expert economist projected Jim Spellman’s future earnings into the millions. That, combined with the pain and suffering that he went through, showed the case was clearly a whopper. But a settlement means that there is no uncertainty. A settlement means that neither side has to risk what a jury may decide. It means that both sides can move on. It’s just a question of money.
Bill called Diana and asked her to meet with my father and I in his office to discuss the latest settlement offer. Diana asked me if I knew what was offered, and I honestly told her I didn’t know. Bill was playing this one close to his vest.
We sat around the conference table in Bill Randolph’s office. Bill looked at Diana and simply said, “$15 Million. They even agreed to pay our attorney’s fees, which shocked me. They really wanted to get rid of this case. So that’s $15 million net to you, Diana.”
Diana looked at me.
“Looks like you’re going to marry a rich chick, honey.”
And that was it. The Estate of James Spellman and Diana Spellman, and Diana Spellman individually v. Harold Morgan would soon be a closed file, and now the investigation will become what it always should have been, a criminal matter.
***
“Matt, it’s dad. Please come to my office.”
It was three days after the Spellman case settled. My father was busy preparing for a big trial, so I was surprised that he wanted come out of his cocoon and see me.
“Your mother and I are beyond happy about your engagement to that lovely lady, Matt. And now that she’s coming into a large settlement, you two will start out with a good nest egg. I haven’t seen your mom so excited since you were born.”
Only my father would refer to $15 million as a “nest egg.”
“Diana and I are pretty excited too, dad. We have so much in common it’s almost as if fate put us together. And thanks again for giving her after hours legal advice on marrying her attorney.”
My father cracked up.
“That was one of the more interesting telephone calls I ever got. But there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. An old college friend popped in to see me yesterday, Mike Delancy. It must be 20 years since I last saw him at a reunion. The strange thing about our meeting was his non-stop questioning about your upcoming wedding. It’s as if he were writing an article about it. He had so many detailed questions about Diana, I began to feel uncomfortable. So I just wanted to ask you if you ever heard of Mike Delancy. He hails from Michigan originally, but now he has a big job in Washington, at the White House, no less. He works in security, the Secret Service, I think he said.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell at all, dad. I’m sure I’ve never heard of the guy. You said he had a lot of questions?”
“Yes, a ton of questions. In college we weren’t the closest of friends, more like acquaintances. That’s why it struck me as odd that he would show up out of the blue and ask me for all sorts of pointed details about you and Diana. God knows we haven’t kept your engagement quiet. I think your mother would like to rent time on a cable channel to announce it. As you know, I’ve invited half of the Chicago Bar Association to your engagement party next month. Delancy said that’s how he found out about it, from a mutual lawyer friend. Anyway, this is all probably nothing. I was just curious about Mike Delancy’s interest in you and Diana. I suggest you pass this information on to that FBI guy you met in New York. Tell him to call me.”
“I will. Rick Bellamy wants me to pass any new data to him. Hey, speaking about our engagement party, dad, I want you to know how much Diana and I appreciate your generosity. I saw the guest list. There must be over three hundred people.”
“It’s also good public relations for the firm, Matt. You’ll be running this firm someday, and it’s important that you have personal contacts with as many people as possible. Anyway, I want it to be a party that you and Diana will never forget.”
Chapter 39
Diana a
nd I visited her parents, Stu and Maria Turner, in South Bend, Indiana. Stu had recently retired from Notre Dame where he was an assistant football coach and a history professor. Dee’s mother retired from teaching high school the year before. South Bend is about an hour and a half from Chicago, so we planned on going to our engagement party from there.
Their house was charming, but nothing elaborate. It was actually on the small side. Dee often told me how challenging it was for her and her sister to grow up in a house with only one and a half bathrooms. It’s not as if they’re poor by any stretch—they also own a farmhouse in Stu’s ancestral Scotland. Dee said that after our wedding she planned to use part of her huge settlement to buy them a new house.
“Maria and I feel bad that we’re not involved in financing this big party your dad has planned,” Stu said. “Your father is a hell of a generous guy. The place he picked is probably the fanciest restaurant in Chicago.”
“Please Stu—and pretty soon I’ll call you dad—if there’s one thing that my father has more than generosity it’s money. Let him worry about the expense. He’s having more fun with our engagement than I could have imagined. He and mom love Diana too, and they want to make everything special.”
It’s easy to see where Dee gets her extroverted personality. Her folks are flat out fun to be with. During our two days together, Stu insisted that we get a guided tour of Notre Dame’s football machine. I think he misses his old coaching job.
On Thursday, Dee and I left at 4 p.m. to drive to the restaurant in Chicago for the big engagement party. Her parents planned to leave a few minutes later. After about 15 minutes on I-80, the traffic stopped dead. I turned on the radio.
“Bill Benton here with your local traffic. Folks, avoid Interstate 80 west of South Bend, Indiana. Two tanker trucks collided spilling fuel across the roadway. Shortly after the collision, one of the trucks exploded and the other one caught fire too. It’s feared that one of the drivers lost his life. Route I-80 is now a parking lot for as far as the eye can see. Because of the active investigation, as well as the enormous cleanup efforts, it’s unlikely that the road will be opened for the next few hours. This is one nightmare traffic snarl, folks.”
I looked at my watch. It was 4:45. We were due at the restaurant at 6:30. The collision happened just before the next exit, which was 10 miles ahead, according to the sign. There was no way to get off the road, so I turned off the ignition and looked at Diana.
“I’m afraid they’re going to have our engagement party without us, hon,” I said.
“Maybe I’m crazy, Matt, but I’m thinking back to my time in rehab. One of the big things they emphasized was taking life’s problems and putting them into perspective. You know—shit happens. So we can sit here and freak out and get all upset, or we can simply recognize that of all the hands we’ve been dealt, this one isn’t so good.”
I leaned over and kissed her.
“I remember a story a friend told me about a wedding in Newport, Rhode Island. The bride and groom decided it would be a fun idea if they took a balloon ride to their outdoor wedding. A crowd of over 200 people were gathered at a mansion that was rented for the occasion. Along came a strong and constant wind, and blew their balloon right past the wedding site. It didn’t land until they reached Maine.”
Dee laughed. What the hell was there to do but laugh?
We made our phone calls. Thank God, Dee’s parents got a late start and hadn’t left South Bend yet. I spoke to my father, who, in his typical positive way said: “Don’t feel bad, son. We have photos of you two. I’m going to get them blown up and hung on the wall. You’ll be with us in spirit.”
I went to the trunk of the car, opened my suitcase, and took out a deck of cards.
“Name your game, hon.”
“How about strip poker?”
“Sounds exciting, but we don‘t have tinted windows.”
We played five card draw for small change. We had plenty of time on our hands.
“Hey, I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind visiting a ladies room. I see a Ramada sign up ahead. Looks like it’s a half mile or so. We can easily hoof it there”
We walked across the grassy slope and climbed over the guard rail to the service road, and then to the Ramada. After we used the facilities, we met in the lobby. A group of people were crowded around the TV, obviously upset about something they were watching.
“This is Al Cranston from ABC Eyewitness News. For those of you who have just tuned in, I have a horrible news story and the reports are still coming in. There has been a mass shooting at Binky’s, the elegant Chicago Restaurant. According to eyewitnesses on the scene, three gunmen opened fire with assault rifles on a crowd that was gathered for an engagement party. There have been multiple casualties. Two of the party guests were armed and opened fire on the gunmen, killing two of them. The third gunman fled and is being hunted by the police. From what we’ve heard, at least 12 guests were killed, and a large number wounded. We will update you as more details come in.”
Diana and I are never at a loss for words, but we were at a loss for words. I called my father’s cell phone. No answer.
Rick Bellamy, our FBI friend, had given us both secure phones to use for communicating only with him. The phone rang. I put on speaker so Dee could hear.
“Matt, it’s Rick Bellamy, are you okay?”
I told him about the traffic jam and how we’d missed the party, the massacre party. He knew all about the restaurant shooting.
“Matt, when the traffic clears, do not return to your apartment or Diana’s. We have a strong reason to believe that the massacre was an attempt to kill Diana. You’re going to get a call shortly from a Chicago FBI agent. Follow his directions exactly.”
I looked at Dee. She looked back with sheer terror in her eyes. I held her head against my chest.
“Rick, can you tell me anything about my folks? The news people aren’t giving out names.”
“I got a full rundown from an FBI agent in Chicago. Both your mom and dad are okay. Your dad was wounded, but it’s not serious. Were Diana’s parents there?”
“No, they missed it. Can you tell me about Bill Randolph?”
“He took a shot to the chest. He’s in the hospital in critical condition.”
“What about Woody Donovan and Ben Weinberg?”
“Bennie’s fine. Woody was shot and he’s in the hospital in serious condition. Ben and Woody were the heroes. They killed two of the shooters before Woody got hit. Let’s get off the line. You’re going to receive a call from FBI agent Bill Jordan. I gave him your private cell number, not the secure line which is only for me. Follow exactly what he tells you to do.”
My phone rang. I put the phone on speaker so Diana could hear.
“Mr. Blake, it’s Bill Jordan from the FBI. It’s our job to keep you safe from those people. I know you’re going through a lot of tension right now, but just listen to me. Where are you?”
I told him we were at the Ramada and gave him the address.
“Just stay put. Because of the traffic it will take me a while to get there, but just stay put. I’m going to bring you to a safe house. Please, do not move.” He hung up.
“Did I detect an Arabic accent?” Diana said.
The secure phone rang.
“Matt, It’s Rick Bellamy. Did you hear from Agent Jordan, and did you give him your location?”
“Yes, he just called. Of course I told him where we are.”
“Matt, get out of there now, right now. Agent Jordan has been killed. Whoever called is coming to get you and Diana. Are you armed?”
“Our guns are in the car, about a half mile from here.”
“Go to the car fast, get your weapons, and try to find another place to stay. Do not stay at the Ramada.”
I realized it was time to remember my military training. But I’m a Marine with one gun and no backup. Well, Diana is my backup, but she has no combat experience. We walked quickly back to the car and took our
bags from the trunk, including our guns and holsters. We got into the car and I put on my shoulder harness, and slipped my Glock into it. I put Dee’s gun into her purse with an extra clip.
“I’m sure that whoever’s looking for us has the GPS tracker from our phones. They probably already have a fix on our position, so even if we turn the phones off, they’ll still have us located. I saw a Holiday Inn down the road. We’ll first check into the Ramada and leave our phones stashed there. That should throw them off and will buy us some time.”
We walked into the Holiday Inn, just down the street, after leaving our phones in a fake potted plant at the Ramada. I told the clerk not to give our room number to anyone. The clerk assured me that security forbade any employee from divulging our room number. I imagined a hit-man with a few thousand dollars in cash, and I didn’t feel comfortable with the clerk’s assurances.
We went to our room but didn’t unpack our bags. I decided it was time to introduce Diana to the rules of sentry duty. We would take turns sleeping, with one of us in bed while the other would sit in a chair with a gun trained on the door.
“Hey, tough girl. You’re holding up well under the circumstances.”
“Maybe because I can’t believe what’s going on, hon. I’m slowly adjusting to being a murder target.”
I took the first turn at sentry duty. I set the secure phone that Bellamy had given me to vibrate every five minutes to make sure I didn’t doze off. At 2:30 a.m. I heard a key in the door. I pulled back the slide on my gun, chambered a round, and pointed it toward the door.
“Myron, this damn thing doesn’t work,” I heard an elderly female voice say.
Sideswiped: Book One in the Matt Blake legal thriller series Page 12
