by Jon McGoran
We woke up Toma and Elena to say good-bye.
Elena kissed each of us and thanked us. Mikel paid for all our rooms and left a big something extra, which Elena tried to refuse until I pulled Toma aside and told him Mikel was filthy rich. He whispered in his aunt’s ear, and she relented.
I pulled him aside a second time. “Be cool, and be careful, okay?”
“Always cool,” he said, spreading his arms out so I could appreciate the full extent of his coolness.
“That I know. Thanks for all your help out there. You really came through.”
He nodded. “Thank you, too. Thank you from Haiti.”
I didn’t want to ruin the moment with a lecture. But I couldn’t not. “You could be doing lots of other things with your life.”
He laughed and shook his head, shushing me.
Elena swatted his hand down. “Tell him,” she said to me.
“You care about your country,” I went on, despite his head shaking and eye rolling. “Maybe you could help Regi. He could get you a job.”
“Go on back to America and have a nice trip, okay?” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll steal a boat and come visit you.”
Mikel had arranged for a car so we wouldn’t have to drive to the airport in a stolen National Police Jeep.
Elena and Toma came to the door to see us off. As we were getting into the back of the car, Toma called out, “Carrick!”
I paused, half in the car.
He nodded. “I’ll talk to Regi.”
I smiled. “Good man.”
Then I paused again, shoved my hand in my pocket. “Here,” I called out, tossing Toma the keys to the Jeep. “It’s up to you what you do with it. There might be some people looking for it, but at the moment, they’ll probably be more concerned with other things.”
89
The drive to the airport was uneventful. I was nervous, wondering if we would be stopped and harassed, if I’d be arrested for being an outlaw. But I showed my passport, and they let me through with no hassles or questions about entry stamps. I was surprised they didn’t pull me aside for questioning just for looking the way I looked. Maybe that was one of the perks of traveling with a rich guy in his private jet.
I was relieved the jet wasn’t ridiculously luxurious—I was having a hard enough time trusting Mikel as it was. But it was comfortable. And I was tired.
As I sank into my seat, he asked if he could access the recording, listen to it while we flew. I said sure. I would have agreed to anything if he would just let me catch a few minutes of sleep.
I plugged the phone into his charger, and after a minute or so, it came back to life. I logged in to the plane’s Wi-Fi and the interview app. I expected it to take forever, but apparently, billionaires have very fast Internet connections, even on their private jets. Mikel put on a pair of earbuds to listen to the recording. I settled in next to Nola and closed my eyes, but before I could fall asleep, before we were even at our cruising altitude, he gasped.
I opened one eye.
Nola got up and went over to him. He handed her one of the earbuds, and she put it in her ear.
A moment later, they both gasped.
“What?” I asked.
Mikel shook his head. “Bourden just mentioned the fact that they were working with Ducroix to oust Cardon.”
I already knew that. I was drifting off again when I heard a tinny pop from the earbuds, and they both gasped again.
Nola’s eyes met mine, and she pulled out her earbud. “Someone was just shot.”
“I was there for that,” I said. “That was one of the guys that came after Miriam. It was right before I left.”
By then, I was awake. And they were getting to the part I hadn’t already heard. I got up anyway and went over to them.
Mikel unplugged the earbuds, letting the audio come out over the phone’s speaker just in time to hear my exit from the boat. I heard the splash, the motor starting, Pearce telling his men to let me go.
After that, it was mostly Pearce and Bourden snapping back and forth, Bourden complaining about Pearce letting me go and about his men killing someone named Jeffries, whom I assumed was Axe-Man. Then Pearce was laughing, telling Bourden he had a lot of nerve to be complaining about anything after the Soyagene stunt he had tried to pull.
“You’re lucky I don’t have you all shot and fed to the sharks, mate,” Pearce said with a snort. “That’s what I ought to do, and I have half a mind to at that. Lucky for you, I’m a businessman, and I know this is just business. I’m not going to forget this little dust up, but I’m not going to let it interfere with our plans with Sang Kuu in Southeast Asia or Boku in Central Africa, either.” He sounded like a whimsical old man, but then his voice went hard. “So you and your friends, or what’s left of them, are going to spend the night here as my guests while my people chase down this poison of yours. And in the morning, we’ll pretend it never happened. But you’d better hope we don’t miss any, because if I hear about this again, you’re all going to wake up dead. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Bourden mumbled, barely audible.
A moment later, there was a gunshot and a scream, “Oh, fuck! My fucking knee!”
That was the shot I’d heard from the water. The three of us looked at each other, stunned, wondering if we’d just heard Bourden being shot. Then Pearce said, “Sorry, mate. I couldn’t hear you. I said, ‘Do you understand?’”
“Yes,” Bourden said, loud and clear over the sound of the man sobbing in the background. “Yes, I understand.”
Shortly after that, Pearce had Bourden and his men escorted to their cabins. Pearce must have left the room as well, because the remaining ten minutes was indecipherable mumbling and ambient noise.
When it was over, Mikel spoke first. “Might not be much there from a legal standpoint.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“What are you talking about?” Nola exclaimed. “They admitted to all sort of things. Criminal things. They call each other by name. They shot someone, for God’s sake. How can that not be incriminating?”
“It’s plenty incriminating,” I said. “It’s just not admissible.”
“Okay, but it’s proof of wrongdoing, isn’t it? Couldn’t we play it for the authorities so they can look into it, get evidence of their own that is admissible?”
I sighed. “Well, there can be evidentiary problems with that, too, but we could get around them.” I looked to Mikel to help me out, but he seemed content to let me handle this. “I mean, the murder is the murder. That’s one thing. By now, there’s probably no evidence, no body, nothing except for an illegal audio recording, my testimony, several other witnesses who would testify against me, and a Haitian police force in the midst of massive upheaval. As for the other stuff, the international stuff, the people who would prosecute something like this, they almost certainly already know about it. They’re just deciding not to go after it.”
Nola sighed and shook her head. “Look, I know these people are rich and powerful, and they have rich and powerful friends.” She glanced at Mikel, almost accusingly. “And the people in charge of regulating this kind of thing are the same people doing it. But surely we can do something with this.”
Mikel cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the guilt by association but not arguing the point. “In order to get something like this taken seriously, you have to put together the entire case. You have to do the regulators’ work for them, then leak it to the press, or what’s left of the press. You have to embarrass them into it, make it so impossible for them not to pursue it that they would lose their jobs or be liable for prosecution if they didn’t.”
His eyes stayed on me the whole time he spoke, pushing his point from earlier.
Nola looked back and forth between us. “What?” she asked.
“I’ve asked Doyle to come and help me,” Mikel said. “To help me do exactly the type of thing we’re talking about.”
Nola turned to me with an eyebrow cocked questioningly.
I shook my head. “I can’t even think about that right now.”
Mikel nodded. “All right. Well, if it’s okay with you, one thing we can do is release this. Put it out on whistle-blower channels, give it to the press. Anonymously.”
One of the things that had rankled about the way things had turned out was that in order to thwart Bourden’s plan, I’d had to help protect Stoma’s market share. It bugged me that I was helping Stoma in any way, protecting it, propping up its global dominance.
I looked at Nola, and she nodded just as the seat belt light came on.
I turned back to Mikel. “Do it.”
He smiled and said, “Buckle up.”
90
Regi was sitting with Miriam in a conference room at the courthouse, close but not quite touching. Next to them was a thin man in his sixties wearing a drab but expensive-looking suit. He and Mikel exchanged a nod, and I figured it was Schultzman, the lawyer.
Miriam looked better—clean, fed, and rested—but stressed and a little shell-shocked.
Regi came over to me. I put out my hand to shake it, but he pushed it aside and gave me a big hug. Miriam came over and hugged me, as well. “Thanks,” she said, trembling, her eyes wet.
“Sure thing,” I said. I introduced her and Nola while Mikel and Schultzman exchanged a few words. Then the judge entered, seeming bored and harried. He asked us all to sit while he looked over the papers, looked at my ID—my passport—signed some documents, stamped some others, and sent the bailiff to process paperwork so they could release Miriam to my custody. Then he was gone.
While we waited, Schultzman studied his papers.
I introduced Regi to Nola and Mikel.
“So nice to meet you, Nola,” he began, clasping her hands in his. Then did a double take and looked at Mikel. “Gregory Mikel?”
I gave a quick explanation of how Mikel was involved.
“Thank you for your help,” Regi said, gracious but suspicious.
“Happy to help,” Mikel said, clapping a hand on Regi’s shoulder. “And don’t worry,” he said, leaning in close and lowering his voice. “If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me, either.” He displayed a big fake-looking smile. “Anyway, congratulations on your new position. I’ll have someone from my charitable foundation contact you and see if there’s some way we can help.”
Regi nodded, slightly dazed. “Thank you.”
Mikel then bent toward Miriam, mumbling reassurances, leading her back across the room toward Schultzman. He kept his hand on her arm, his focus on her and her alone as the three of them spoke quietly. I was just thinking that he reminded me of a politician when Regi said, “Do you trust him?”
I laughed quietly, ruefully. “I believe we’re on the same side.”
Now Regi laughed. “You be careful around him.”
I nodded. “These days, I’m careful around everybody.”
The bailiff came back ten minutes later, and then we were done. Miriam was in my custody, and we were headed to the airport.
It occurred to me that billionaire justice was almost as fast as billionaire Wi-Fi.
Before we got on the plane, I called Lieutenant Suarez.
He answered screaming. “Carrick? Where the fuck have you been? You’re calling me now? After, what, three days of radio silence? I hope you got a note from a doctor that you’ve been in a coma, because otherwise, you are in the middle of a shit storm of biblical proportions. I mean it—biblical. You’d better build a fucking ark and start collecting animals, because you will be forever known as the Noah of shit storms.”
For a moment, I actually considered asking Regi to write a note—from the minister of health, that ought to be good enough. “Please excuse Doyle Carrick from work these last few days. He has been in a coma.”
Instead I said, “I’m in Haiti.”
“Haiti? Carrick, what the fuck? Do you know what kind of trouble you’re in? You know Mike Warren is trying to get a warrant for you? We’re not talking job trouble, we’re talking jail trouble. He’s talking aiding and abetting a fugitive from justice—”
“I’m bringing her in.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m bringing in Miriam Hartwell. She turned herself in and is being extradited back to the States. But exculpatory evidence has come to light, so there will be a hearing with Judge Pauline Greenberg to clear her as soon as we return.”
“Exculpatory evidence? What are you talking about?”
“Video of the real killers. Video of Ron Hartwell’s murder.”
He took a long, loud breath. I could feel him seething, now angry that in addition to everything else, I had gone around him. I could have explained I hadn’t set it up, but it was a long explanation, and he was not in the mood. Neither was I. “And when is this?”
“We’ll be there in about four hours.”
“I can’t wait. What flight?”
“We’re in a private jet.”
“Of course you are. Well, get your private-jet ass back here and get me that case file.”
The drive to the airport was quiet and awkward, but when it was time to get on the plane, things got sloppy pretty quick. Mostly, it was Regi and Miriam saying good-bye, hugging and crying and saying they’d see each other soon.
I got more misty than sloppy. Mostly saying good-bye to Regi but also saying good-bye to Haiti itself.
I told him I’d be back. And I was pretty sure I meant it.
91
The mood on the plane had been somber even before we landed. There was a bit of a letdown after the initial victories. Then an hour outside of Haiti, Mikel received word that the Helio had been found with Sable inside it, dead. I don’t think Mikel really thought Miriam might have been wrong about it, but when we got confirmation, I realized on some level he’d been holding on to a tiny bit of doubt or hope. Now that was gone.
When we landed, Philadelphia seemed like an alien planet. It was cold and wet, and the colors were all wrong. The greens were different. The browns were gray. Everything else was bathed in red and blue lights from the trio of police cars waiting for us on the tarmac. They felt alien, too. They felt like the enemy.
Suarez was standing in front of his black unmarked Impala, its grille lights flashing. Mike Warren and Lieutenant Myerson were next to another unmarked car, its grille lights flashing as well. Two uniforms were there with a patrol car. They were all standing in the cold drizzle watching us with the same pissy expression.
Before we got off the plane, I told Nola what to expect, that I’d be immediately consumed with police business, but that I’d see her at home soon. I kissed her, and she put her arms around me, lingering until I had to peel them off me.
“Don’t be long,” she said.
I told Miriam what to expect, as well, and that Schultzman and I would be with her the entire time.
I came down the steps with her, and Warren met us at the bottom step, trying not to smile as he held up a pair of cuffs.
He motioned for Miriam to turn around. She looked up at me, and I nodded. We had known this would be part of it.
Warren snapped on the cuffs, looking at me and muttering, “If you’d done this in the first place, we wouldn’t have had to chase her halfway around the world.”
I hooked my hand on Miriam’s arm, staying with her as he led her to his car.
“And if you’d done proper police work,” I muttered back, “you’d have known she wasn’t the killer, and we wouldn’t be cuffing her at all.”
We led her to the back door of the patrol car and inserted her inside. The two uniforms got in the front. I went around and to the other side.
“Where are you going?” Suarez asked.
Warren was walking back to his car. He stopped and turned.
“I’m accompanying Ms. Hartwell to the hearing,” I said.
He shook his head. “No, you’re coming with me to get that goddamn case file and get Warren and Myerson off my ass.”
That got a grin
from Warren.
I looked back at the plane, at Nola and Mikel standing at the top of the steps. “Afterward,” I said as I got in the car.
As we drove off, I could see Warren outside bitching to Suarez. I think the two uniforms realized they were in the middle of something messy, and they just wanted to get the hell out of there.
It was very strange riding in the back of the patrol car instead of the front. I knew the doors wouldn’t open from the inside, and I felt claustrophobic. Miriam was trembling, and I put my hand over hers.
We rode in silence to the courtroom, across the street from city hall. We parked in the back and used the rear entrance, getting directly onto the elevator to the seventh floor, where we sat on a bench out in a hallway. Less than a minute later, Warren and Myerson showed up. Warren glared at me as he stepped off the elevator. Myerson looked bored. Mikel and Schultzman arrived just as the bailiff opened the door and led us into the conference room.
Judge Greenberg was already seated at the head of the table, looking at copies of the extradition paperwork. She was a small woman in her fifties with a stern face. I’d seen her before but had never been in court with her. That was probably a good thing.
Schultzman took a seat next to the judge and directed Miriam to the seat on his other side. Warren sat across from Schultzman, looking nervous until Suarez arrived and sat next to him.
It filled me with the warm and fuzzies that my own lieutenant was sitting on the opposite side of the table from me, helping Mike Warren.
Greenberg looked up. “Everybody here?”
Warren and Schultzman murmured, “Yes.”
Greenberg recited a bunch of legal boilerplate, explaining why we were there. She asked Miriam if she understood, and at Schultzman’s prodding, she said, “Yes.”
“Okay,” Greenberg said wearily. “Looks like a pretty tight case. But apparently there’s exculpatory evidence. Is that correct, Mr. Schultzman?”
