by Todd Moss
“Did you make contact with an official of the Nigerian oil ministry to lobby on behalf of Wildcat?”
“Are you serious? The Nigerians are the corrupt ones. I’m trying to protect an American investor. Can’t you see it? I’m trying to serve American national interests.”
“Did you call the Secretary of State’s chief of staff just this week to ask for help finding an HHQ employee, a Mr. Jason Saunders, who reportedly went missing in London?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just ironic.”
“What’s ironic about helping a constituent? That’s what members of Congress do.”
“Uh-huh,” Donatella said. “What I’m seeing here is a pattern of political favors in exchange for financial contributions.”
“What?”
“Another word for this is . . . ‘corruption.’”
“This is bullshit. You haven’t proved anything. You’ve got nothing.”
“We have a witness already. Mr. Saunders is ready to testify in open court how HHQ funneled money from illegal Russian sources into your campaign fund.”
“Saunders?” Truman’s face contorted with confusion. “You found the missing kid? How is he . . . involved?”
“Involved? He’s right in the middle of it. He’s our star witness, Congressman. Jason Saunders is going to blow the whole case wide open.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“That’s fine. We know everything already. How the money was moved, where it came from, where it went.” Donatella Kim cracked her knuckles. “How it was covered up.”
“I want my lawyer.”
“That’s not even the worst part, Congressman.”
“I’m not saying another fucking word until my lawyer is present.”
“Don’t you want to know about Harvey Holden’s mystery angel investor?”
“No.”
“The Bolshaya Neva Fund is into some strange stuff, Congressman.”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“Bolshaya Neva launders money for Russian organized crime.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“You ever heard of the Bear?” Donatella asked.
“No.”
“Well, he knows you. The Bear’s responsible for the murder of hundreds of people. He’s ruined thousands of lives. He traffics everything from narcotics to arms to people. That’s guns, drugs, little girls.” Donatella paused to let that image sink in. “Now the Bear’s moving into the oil business. And guess who is his man in Washington, D.C.?”
Shepard Truman looked up blankly at Donatella Kim.
She arched her eyebrows. “You.”
Truman dropped his head.
“Here’s the picture that a jury’s going to see. The Friends of Shepard Truman Political Action Committee is really a front for Holden Harriman Quinn, which is a front for Wildcat Oil, which is actually a front for Bolshaya Neva, which is a front for a psychopathic Russian mob boss.”
“That’s quite a story, Special Agent Kim.”
“That’s exactly what a jury’s going to see once we get through connecting all the dots. Shepard Truman, Congressman from New York’s Tenth District . . . Works for the Bear.”
“This is all circumstantial. You don’t have anything on me.”
“The FBI’s counterpart in Nigeria has been doing some homework on your business partners. The Nigerian Crime and Corruption Task Force is ready to unseal its findings.” Donatella dropped a thick bound report on the table with a thud. “Here’s an advance copy from Judge Akinola’s investigation. Would you like to know what it says?”
“No.”
“Well, here are the highlights, Congressman. Oil executives dropping dead. Workers disappearing. Pipelines exploding. The platform that was overrun. The sixty-four dead men, including an American engineer with a wife and two kids. It’s all part of a plan to use local militias to attack the Chinese. So Wildcat Oil can take over their concessions. Judge Akinola’s report brings the whole story into focus.”
“You can’t connect anything back to me.”
“With Akinola’s dossier, we can now show exactly how the Bear was trying to muscle in. We can show how Holden was working for the Bear. And we can show how you were a key part of it.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong. You have no proof.”
Donatella tapped the microphone on her radio. “Bring it in.”
An agent in an FBI windbreaker entered the room carrying a large red picnic cooler, which he set down.
Donatella sat back in her chair and stared at Truman, savoring the moment and again wishing that Isabella Espinosa could be there. Then, slowly and deliberately, she opened the cooler top and grabbed two black cartons of Breyers ice cream, holding them both out in front of her.
“Congressman, vanilla or chocolate?”
57
LAGOS, NIGERIA
FRIDAY, 12:05 P.M. WEST AFRICA TIME (7:05 A.M. EST)
Wot am I supposed to tell the Bear, love?” Mikey’s fat, bald head was dripping with perspiration. With one hand he aimed a handgun straight at Jessica. In the other hand hung a long, shiny machete.
“Now what?” Isabella gasped.
“Queen Sheba, you was supposed to have sorted out this here judge,” Mikey sneered. “Now, I’m going to have to finish your job.”
“No!” Jessica yelled.
Mikey raised the machete. “All you, down on your knees!” he ordered, waving the gun.
“What is going on?” Judd asked. “Who is this?”
“I’m sorry, Judd,” Jessica said. “I didn’t have time—”
“Oi!” Mikey shouted. “Shut your gob or I’ll have your head off.”
Mikey paced behind the four of them, brandishing the gun and the machete as they knelt on the ground, fingers interlocked on the back of their heads. He finally stopped and stood over Jessica. “That’s a bloody good idea I’ve had. I’m going to take your soddin’ head back wif me. Show the boss what I’ve done. That I’ve finished your job.”
He pressed the gun barrel against the back of Jessica’s neck.
“I knew sommink wasn’t right wif you,” he snarled. “I told you that you didn’t know who you was messin’ wif.” Mikey took a deep breath. “Queen Sheba, my arse. What game you playing, love?”
Jessica didn’t move.
“You was supposed to do this here judge.” He slid the gun to the back of Bola’s neck. “The Bear paid you a shitload of dosh to get this done. And now here I am, watching you run around this shithole, pretending you’re on the job. You tryin’ to mug me off.”
He squeezed the gun against Jessica’s neck again. “I fink you been fakin’ all them hits. I fink you working for them fuckin’ muppet Yanks. That’s why you’re first.” Mikey raised the machete high over his head.
“No!” Isabella shouted, standing up but keeping her hands high over her head. “I’m the one you want,” she insisted, stepping straight in front of Judd and stretching her arms as tall as she could, exposing her lower back. Judd watched her, unsure of what she was doing. “Look here,” Isabella said slowly. “I’m the one you want. Look at me.”
A flash of metal was visible at the small of her back.
“Fuck off,” Mikey sneered, turning back to Jessica.
Bang! A gunshot echoed through the hollow warehouse. Time stood still for a moment before a thick ooze ran from a hole in Mikey’s forehead. The big man dropped to his knees, the machete and handgun clanged on the ground, and he slumped over, his face hitting the concrete with a dull thud.
All eyes faced the shooter.
Judd Ryker held the smoking Glock tightly with both hands.
DAY SIX
SATURDAY
58
DOWNTOWN WASHINGTON, D.C.
/> SATURDAY, 6:01 A.M. EST
When “Breaking News” flashed across her television screen, Mariana Leibowitz hit the PAUSE button on her treadmill and turned up the volume.
Mariana had been up late the previous evening working her contacts in the national media to make sure they got the story just right. She knew there were too many rumors swirling around, too much misinformation out there, and she saw it as her job to fight back against the tide of lies. She wanted the truth to come out. Well, she thought, mostly the truth.
“This is CNN and I’m Vijaya Subramanian. We’ve got breaking news this morning right here in Washington, D.C.,” the newscaster announced, excitement gleaming in her eye. Mariana recognized the look on the reporter’s face, like a hungry lion in the savannah that’s come across an injured gazelle. A flash of hesitation—imperceptible to most, but Mariana knew what she was witnessing—to savor the moment before the pounce of certain delicious victory. The newscaster ever so slightly licked her lips before sharing the red meat.
“CNN has just learned that the FBI has taken Congressman Shepard Truman into federal custody after a raid on his home early yesterday morning. The FBI isn’t yet saying the exact charges they expect to bring against the three-term Congressman from the Tenth District of New York. But they have confirmed that he is now being held by the authorities and his arrest followed a months-long sting operation by a special investigative unit within the Department of Justice.”
The screen cut to a wobbly shot of the Congressman in a gray sweatshirt being led out of a van by a pretty Asian woman in a business suit and with a government badge swinging around her neck. Truman held up his handcuffed palms in a futile attempt to block his face from the television cameras.
Mariana winced in sympathy, knowing that, whatever the facts of the case, whatever the outcome of the trial, this was the lasting image that would run on all the news shows for days if not years. The money shot.
“For more on this breaking news, let’s turn to our legal correspondent, Teri Goldberg, who’s outside FBI headquarters. Teri, what more do we know?”
“Thanks, Vijaya. The FBI isn’t saying much officially. But CNN has learned that the investigation into Congressman Truman is related to illegal campaign financing and possible links between his campaign, an unnamed New York hedge fund, a foreign oil company, and Russian organized crime. Our sources report that the investigation into Shepard Truman has been ongoing for many months and involved not only the U.S. Department of Justice but extensive cooperation with law enforcement authorities in foreign countries in both Europe and Africa. This was a highly complex and well-coordinated global investigation of a prominent American legislator.”
The screen cut back to the newscaster. “If true, that’s quite a bombshell, Teri. A U.S. congressman with links to the Russian mafia? Is there any precedent for this?”
“We’ll have to see what facts emerge in coming days, but if these initial reports are true, it would indeed be unprecedented. It would also be quite a comedown for the Congressman. Shepard Truman is a handsome, well-liked member of Congress thought to have a bright political future. It was widely known he was planning to run for the vacant New York seat in the U.S. Senate and was tipped to be the primary challenger to District Attorney Arturo Osceola. Truman was best known for serving his constituents and his hard stand against international corruption. Sources on Capitol Hill confirmed to me today that he was planning to introduce the new Truman Zero Tolerance Amendment, which would have imposed new sanctions and fines on corrupt activities and restricted political contributions. That’s obviously now dead, Vijaya.”
“Thank you, Teri Goldberg, reporting from FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C. Shepard Truman has not made any public statements, but his lawyer Fred Faulkner had this to say. . . .”
“The allegations against Congressman Truman are patently false,” declared a dour man in a pin-striped suit, bow tie, and oversized tortoiseshell glasses. “We look forward to a thorough investigation and we are confident that, when all the facts come to light, Congressman Truman will be cleared of all wrongdoing. We will also be asking the attorney general to launch a special independent inquiry into FBI overreach and gross constitutional violations that impinge on the separation of powers that our Founding Fathers held to be sacrosanct.”
Mariana admired the lawyer for immediately going on the offense. That’s what she would have advised, had she not known exactly what was coming next.
“Let’s now turn to Nancy Birdman, who is in upper northwest Washington, D.C., outside the home of Congressman Truman. Nancy, what do you see?”
“Right now, police have cordoned off the entire block around the home of Congressman Truman. They aren’t letting anyone in or out, and neither the D.C. Metropolitan Police nor the FBI are saying anything except to confirm that law enforcement activity is under way at this location. However, an unnamed source who we can only describe as well-informed about the details of the operation has shared with CNN that the FBI has discovered a large amount of cash in a freezer in the basement of the Congressman’s home.”
“You’re saying the Congressman was hiding cash in his freezer, Nancy?”
“I don’t think we can say that just yet. Only that we have a report that one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in unmarked bills was found inside ice cream tubs in the freezer in the Congressman’s basement. We’re still seeking public confirmation of this from the FBI.”
Ouch, Mariana thought. This can only get worse.
“Thank you, Nancy. Let’s now go to Anderson Adeola in New York. Anderson, what can you add to this story?’
“I’m here at Park Avenue and Fifty-fifth Street in New York, where the authorities have raided the offices of prominent investment firm Holden Harriman Quinn. HHQ’s senior partner Harvey Holden is, we understand, being held for questioning by the FBI. No one is yet saying whether this action is directly related to the Shepard Truman investigation, but the timing suggests that it may be. Harvey Holden is a prominent philanthropist and the principal owner of the Brooklyn Nets basketball team, so he’s well known in New York financial and social circles. FEC filings show that Holden has been an active political contributor, including to Shepard Truman, but we still don’t yet know if there’s any connection to Truman’s arrest or what exactly law enforcement was looking for in the raid.”
“Thank you. That’s Anderson Adeola in New York. We’ll keep on this remarkable breaking story of the arrest of Congressman Shepard Truman as it unfolds,” the newscaster announced. “In other news, an attack on a U.S. diplomatic convoy in the Nigerian city of Lagos has resulted in the death of one man.”
A still shot of a burned-out van was shown on the screen.
“According to a State Department spokesman, this was a routine convoy transporting diplomats to the airport in the early hours of yesterday morning. The cause of the explosion remains under investigation by local authorities, but we understand that one of the embassy vehicles either caught fire or struck an IED. Lagos, a city of some twenty million people, has suffered from a wave of kidnappings in recent months, but no Americans have been targeted so far. Neither the terrorist group Boko Haram nor Niger Delta militants have claimed responsibility. We don’t know if this attack is related to a similar incident in Islamabad, Pakistan, last week, where a U.S. embassy vehicle came under heavy gunfire by unknown assailants. The American embassy in Nigeria has confirmed that there were no American casualties from yesterday’s incident and that all U.S. personnel are safe and now back home in the United States. One man, being reported on Nigerian television as an innocent bystander, died in the explosion. . . .”
Nothing about Bola Akinola, nothing about Judd Ryker. Relieved and satisfied with what she was hearing, Mariana clicked over to ESPN.
“What a week for Brooklyn Nets star center Tunde Babatunde!” an over-caffeinated broadcaster cried. “Babatunde is back in New York, fresh
from a harrowing visit to his homeland in West Africa. Babatunde made a three-day humanitarian trip to Nigeria to open a children’s hospital in his name.” The television screen cut to video of Babatunde at the hospital ceremony, surrounded by throngs of young children.
“According to initial news reports, he disappeared on Wednesday and team officials could not reach him for forty-eight hours. The Nets front office reportedly contacted the State Department, fearing that Babatunde may have been kidnapped, igniting a frantic search that included American and local authorities. But this crazy story has a happy ending, folks: Yesterday, Babatunde was found unharmed and NBA officials have told ESPN that the incident was just a misunderstanding and there was in fact no kidnapping.”
On the screen flashed a still shot of Babatunde sitting in a small boat, holding his knees, surrounded by awkward young men with serious faces. Mariana narrowed her eyes. She thought she could see that one of the boys had a tiny stuffed animal around his neck. A pink rabbit?
The shot cut back to the studio. “What a story! The Nets coach insists Babatunde is in top shape and will be ready for the first game of the season. . . .”
Click. Mariana changed over to the Discovery Channel and restarted the treadmill. As the pounding of her feet accelerated, she decided, yes . . . she was very satisfied.
59
ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA
SATURDAY, 1:32 P.M. MOSCOW STANDARD TIME (6:32 A.M. EST)
Still no word from Mikey?’
“No, boss,” said the Greek. The former Olympic boxer had not made it through the first round in the 2004 Athens Games, but he still knew how to throw a punch. “Nothing from Mikey.”
“He’s dead,” said the Bear. He was sitting in his desk chair, grooming his beard with a gold-plated comb.
“No one ever found a body,” said the Greek, who was sitting on the white leather couch and fiddling with a thick gold chain around his neck. “We’ll keep searching, boss. Maybe he’ll turn up.”
