The Amendment Killer (Brooks/Lotello Thriller)

by Ronald S. Barak

  “You remember that old loose end I mentioned the other day? The one I said might have resurfaced?”

  “The one you were supposed to have taken care of a long time ago?”

  “Unfortunately, I think my hunch was right. I’m pretty sure he’s back.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled in between them. Tuttle glanced away.

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No, Mr. President, but—”

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “I haven’t, but—”

  The President stopped him with a raised hand. “The only thing I want to hear about this problem is that you’ve fixed it. Once and for all. Let me know when it’s done. Soon.”

  He put his glasses back on and redirected his focus on his computer screen. The meeting was over.

  Reyes returned to his office. He wasn’t sure what to do next. He had no idea where Thomas might be, or how to reach him. He didn’t even know what he looked like today. No one had spotted him in the Courtroom yesterday. How would they find him if he had altered his looks beyond recognition?

  Reyes revisited Tuttle’s demeanor during the meeting. The only thing scarier than one of the President’s tirades was when he was calm.

  CHAPTER 86

  Friday, May 9, 10:48 am

  NISHIMURA ASCENDED the porch steps to the Webbers’s front door. This time she left Joey and the camera in the van parked at the curb. Having him right behind her had backfired the last time. She would take a softer approach this time.

  She rang the bell. After only a moment, Webber answered. So far, so good, she thought. At least she didn’t have to start all over with someone else.

  “Again? Lady, what don’t you understand about no?”

  “The name’s Anne Nishimura, not ‘Lady.’ I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Webber. I know what’s going on.”

  If Webber’s looks could kill, she’d already be dead. “What is it you think is going on? You don’t know anything about us.”

  “I’m a journalist, Mr. Webber. It’s my job to uncover the news. And report it.”

  “So? What do we have to do with that? Interviewing the family of a Supreme Court Justice is hardly newsworthy. Especially in D.C.”

  “Let’s stop pretending. I’m not here to do some kind of puff piece. I’m here to cover what’s happened to your daughter.”

  He stepped back a little in the doorway. “Our daughter? What are you talking about?”

  “Someone has kidnapped your daughter. I believe she’s being used to control your father-in-law’s upcoming vote in the Congress v. NoPoli case.”

  Webber feigned the best wide-eyed look he could. “That’s some imagination you have, Ms. Nishimura. Where’d you concoct a story like that?”

  “I didn’t get where I am by making things up.”

  “That’s not only preposterous, but it’s downright offensive. You ought to be careful before you make unsubstantiated allegations like that, especially derogatory statements impugning Justice Hirschfeld’s integrity. I think you’re in way over your head, Ms. Nishimura.”

  “Your concern is touching, but I know what I’m doing.” Actually, she couldn’t prove anything at this point, but she’d learned to trust her instincts. “Did you hear your father-in-law’s remarks in Court on Tuesday? I’m sure you know what I’m talking about—his comments about hostages and extortion.

  “I was right there, Mr. Webber. I heard every word he said— and I know he wasn’t talking to the lawyers arguing the case. I’ve gone over the tapes several times. If I introduce them in an investigative piece—”

  She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. She saw the look of resignation on Webber’s face. He stood aside and motioned her inside. He followed and closed the door.

  CHAPTER 87

  Friday, May 9, 11:03 am

  THOMAS HAD TOLD Hirschfeld he had to review the document with the others. There were no others, of course, but the old man didn’t know that. He retrieved the envelope with the document from the drop, returned to his van, and read. It wasn’t long, or complicated. He’d seen a lot of strange documents over the years, but nothing quite this strange. He read it once more. If there were any tricks, he didn’t see what they were. But, then again, he wasn’t a lawyer. And time was short.

  That didn’t mean he liked it. He didn’t. Not one bit. He would be giving up his chief advantage: Control. No more upper hand. But what did that matter if they weren’t going to go first anyway? He was inclined to believe they were serious. Scared to death. But serious.

  He forced himself to be objective. What would he do if the tables were turned? He wouldn’t trust a bunch of kidnappers to honor their word and return the girl after they had extracted what they wanted—especially when she might be able to identify them. Under those circumstances, he’d expect them to kill the girl and vanish. Exactly as he planned to do.

  I have to prevail. I have to.

  He could see only two options: Preserve his theoretical control, and run the risk that the girl’s family would go the FBI, in which case he would lose everything he had worked so hard to rebuild. Gone.

  Or give up some of that control—and ego—and maximize the chances of achieving his ultimate goal.

  He was no dummy. He knew this might be a setup to recover the girl and never make good on their promise. But to do this, they would need the cooperation of this guy Lance. The intermediary. He wished he had more time to study the agreement, find a lawyer to carefully go over it with him, but, hell, he’d never been impressed with agreements. Especially not in D.C.

  And if the old man were not bullshitting him, there wasn’t enough time to do that and vet the escrow agent. What mattered in his experience were the people behind the agreement. In his mind, it all came down to Lance. Whether he could be trusted. No document could tell him that. And it wasn’t like someone would ever be able to find and sue Thomas over the document. Did it really matter what it said?

  He combed through Google. There was actually quite a bit of information on Lance. He skimmed the last of the material on his cell as he drove. The man appeared to be for real. In fact, his background was not that different from Thomas’s. They could even have crossed paths once upon a time. Lance might rationalize reneging, but the odds were good that he would honor the arrangement for the sake of his reputation. Just as he would if he were in Lance’s shoes. Even the shadow world in which they both operated had its code of honor. Honor and trust were everything to Thomas.

  Ten minutes later, he tapped in the number on his cell.

  “Lancer Solutions.”

  “Anonymous Party here.”

  “Yes?”

  “Face to face. Your office. Fifteen minutes. Send anyone else there out for an early one-hour lunch. One more thing: I have to text a different number with a different code every five minutes you and I are together. I miss one text, my partners kill the girl dead on the spot. Understood?”

  “Understood.” The line went dead.

  Thomas was pleased. Having to share his space without warning and meet in person with no one else present didn’t seem to rattle Lance. Impressive.

  * * *

  Thomas was five minutes early.

  “Anonymous Party, I presume. Cute mask, nice touch,” Lance scoffed.

  “Thanks. Under the circumstances, I’m a little shy. And careful. Especially considering all your security cameras. But for the cameras, I like your offices.”

  “Not to worry, I don’t shoot any of my clients. As in record. Unless, of course, they give me reason to.”

  As Thomas sent his first text to no one: “Good. I don’t shoot my representatives either. Unless of course they give me reason to.”

  “Good to get that out of the way. So, Anonymous Party, what would you like to know? And help yourself to one of the drinks in the frig over there. Didn’t have time to slip anything in them. Besides, I wouldn’t want to interfere with your texting schedule.”

  “Thanks, I
’m good. Tell me a little about yourself. The stuff not available on Google.”

  Took Lance only a few minutes. He stuck to the executive summary. Thomas sent his next text before Lance finished.

  “Not a lot of detail, Lance.”

  “You’re not the only one here a little shy. I tend to get that way when talking to guys wearing Frankenstein masks. Might have been a little more relaxed if you’d chosen Bambi.”

  “Touché. How’d you get into your line of work?”

  “A pretty easy transition from the work I was doing in the military. I also recognized a growing hole in the marketplace I thought I could fill.”

  Another text. “So, is business good?”

  “No complaints. And I don’t have to advertise. Word of mouth gets around when you do good work, and when there isn’t much competition. And a lot of what I do is for repeat clients. I give volume discounts by the way. In case you might have more need for my services.”

  “Work ever become dangerous?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. At least so far. I’m pretty careful.”

  “How’d you come by this particular gig?”

  “The other party just reached out to me. A new client.”

  “Any misgivings about taking on this role?”

  “I’m not judgmental if that’s what you mean. I like the job because there’s a valuable service I can provide.”

  “Any questions you have for me, Lance?”

  “Not really. I trust you understand my agreement. Sorry about that. Lawyers. They tell me I need to have it down in writing.”

  “Seems straight forward enough.” Thomas stood. Lance did too. “Gotta run. I’ll be in touch. In case you get any ideas, my next text’ll be due just after I’m safely in my car and back on the highway.”

  * * *

  No, it wasn’t perfect. And it wasn’t the way he had planned it. He wondered whether he would ever come to regret it. But he dialed the number.

  Hirschfeld picked up almost instantly. “Yes?”

  “I’ll do it. Only because I kind of admire the brat. No need for it to turn out badly for her if you’re able to deliver on your end of the bargain. I noticed that Lance and you signed the document as ‘Escrow Agent’ and ‘Other Party.’ And that I’m to countersign it as ‘Anonymous Party.’ In case the document ever sees the light of day. Isn’t that clever. I’ll leave it for you to pick up at our usual spot, and let you know the time to be there.”

  “You’re forgetting something.”

  “What?”

  “I told you. Cassie also has to sign the document. And I have to watch her signing it on FaceTime.”

  “You’re really pushing your luck. Why is this necessary?”

  “Because I need to speak with Cassie to know that she’s okay. And to let her know that what’s about to happen is a good thing, that she doesn’t need to be frightened. I want her to hear that directly from me, not you. She won’t know she can believe you. I have a lot to accomplish with my colleagues tomorrow, to get the result you and I both want. I won’t do that until I know that Cassie has already been moved to the escrow agent without being scared to death about what that might mean.”

  A momentary silence. Thomas smiled to himself, imagining that Hirschfeld wondered if he had hung up.

  “But why does the girl need to sign the document? There’s no signature line for her.”

  “Because I want her to feel empowered. I want her to know that she’s a part of this, not just a pawn in your and my machinations. I want to start the process of rebuilding any self-esteem you’ve cost her.”

  “If you think that kid’s lost any self-esteem, you don’t know your granddaughter.”

  “I know her as well as anyone on this earth.”

  “Seems to me you’re being a bit theatrical. Doesn’t really matter to me, but I want to think about it anyway, just to be sure. If I’m willing to do it, I’ll FaceTime you in the morning with the girl so you can tell her what’s happening, and watch her sign the document. Then tell you when you can pick it up.”

  “Wait a minute. Why not today? The document you have is already signed by the agent and me. Why can’t we do the FaceTime, get your and Cassie’s signature on the document, and have you move Cassie to the agent today?”

  “First of all, we have to work out the logistics. How and where we do the transfer. I have to figure that out. Cassie has to go straight from me to the agent. There can’t be any opportunity for her to escape, or for anyone to take me out. The agreement gives me 24 hours to make the delivery. I intend to use them. Are we clear?” Hirschfeld had pressed all Thomas was going to allow. And made a lot of progress. He’d have to be patient for one more night.

  “Yes,” Hirschfeld said.

  “I’ll also be watching and listening in on your progress with the other Justices. If that hits a dead end, I may rethink all this. Keep your phone charged, old man. I’ll be in touch.”

  He hung up. Actually, he had no way to watch or listen to anything. He had tried to set that up when he was hiding his cell phones in the Courtroom. It wasn’t possible. But Hirschfeld had no way of knowing that. He wanted every edge he could get, even if only imaginary. And he had work to do before he would be ready to connect with the agent in the morning about the transfer details.

  CHAPTER 88

  Friday, May 9, 11:05 am

  WEBBER INTRODUCED Nishimura to his wife and his mother-inlaw and everyone took a seat around the dining room table. She expected Webber to set the stage for the others, but he left her totally twisting in the wind, to fend for herself. He wasn’t going to make this easy on her. She had barely begun speaking when Mrs. Hirschfeld interrupted her.

  “Pardon me, Ms. Nishimura. We don’t need any background. Just tell us what is it you want?”

  Don’t let her gray hair fool you. This lady has ice water coursing through her veins.

  “It’s simple. There’s a blockbuster story here. The country’s entitled to hear it. I want to be the one to tell it.”

  Webber said nothing. His wife was also quiet.

  Mrs. Hirschfeld said, simply, “Why?”

  “Because I’m the one who’s pieced this story together.”

  “No, Ms. Nishimura. Why is the country entitled to hear this story?”

  “This is bigger than the Lindberg kidnapping. It will become a part of history. A Supreme Court Justice torn apart, forced to choose between his public oath and his granddaughter. The decision your husband makes will have consequences far beyond this room. It’ll affect the whole nation, the entire world. People will want to know what he chose, and why.” I want to be in all those history books, too. The one who broke the story. This is going to be my legacy.

  “That’s quite an imagination you have, Ms. Nishimura. Putting aside your rank speculation, what I find most intriguing is the fact that you would place your contemptible ambition over the life of an innocent 11-year-old girl—my granddaughter—and the distinguished career of a lifetime public servant—my husband. If memory serves, the Lindbergh story broke only when the body of that unfortunate little boy had already been found. My granddaughter and husband are still very much alive. But you can’t wait to pick the carcass clean.”

  Nishimura took a second to reflect on how best to word what she wanted to say next. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Mrs. Hirschfeld. And how you feel. I promise you, I want nothing to do with endangering anyone, or ruining anyone’s reputation. I know who the victims are here. But that includes the American people, who will be irreparably harmed if criminals can highjack the Supreme Court to their own ends.”

  “Well, that’s an interesting perspective, Ms. Nishimura. We’ve apparently found something upon which we can agree: Priorities. I don’t understand yours, but do please allow me to tell you some thing about mine.”

  “Of course.”

  “You have two choices. You can remove yourself from our home this very second, and do whatever you please. Tell the world whatever make-b
elieve story you think you’ve stumbled across. However, if you embarrass or otherwise harm either my granddaughter or my husband, I assure you I will make it my priority for as long as I live and as long as anyone will listen to me to let the world know how loathsome and uncaring you are. I will do my very best to make sure history, which you claim to cherish so greatly, properly defines you.”

  “Mrs. Hirschfeld, the press is constitutionally protected because the truth is important, not just to a few, but to everyone. Go ahead and think of me however you want, but you and I both know I’m not making up anything here.”

  “On the other hand,” Mrs. Hirschfeld said, as though Nishimura hadn’t even bothered to speak, “you can subordinate your selfish interests and your lofty concern for the people, the right of free speech, and so on and so forth, to the privacy and welfare of my innocent granddaughter and husband. In that case—as soon as your imagined saga plays out—or doesn’t—we will give you an exclusive, and publicly commend you for your professional restraint and good taste. That’s what I think you call that, right, an exclusive?”

  Nishimura could barely suppress her admiration. She glanced toward Webber and his wife to see if their solidarity might be wavering, a weakness she might exploit, but they just glowered back at her.

  “An exclusive,” she said. “I can hold you to that?”

  “I believe I’ve said all that needs to be said. I’m not a person who needs to repeat myself.” Mrs. Hirschfeld rose from her chair. “We’ll be watching you, Ms. Nishimura, and your coverage of the news. With great interest, I assure you. Mark, please show Ms. Nishimura out.”

  CHAPTER 89

  Friday, May 9, 11:15 am

  BROOKS SAW Hirschfeld’s name in the dialog box. “Good news, I hope?”

  “They’ve agreed to sign the document.”

  “They?”

  “I’ve been referring to the kidnappers in the plural all along because—well because it just seemed like this was too much for one person to pull off by himself. But I’ve never seen any of them. And I’ve only spoken with one man. He said he would be signing as Anonymous Party, just the way the document provides.”