He waved his revolver at them once more. ‘You can leave this office the way you came in. Two agents will be in the hall to escort you downstairs. Good night, gentlemen. You can leave the building by the front door this time.’
It was the longest drive Chris Collins had ever taken back to his home in McLean, Virginia.
Crushed, he slumped in the front seat of Pierce’s rented car as Pierce, also a picture of dejection, drove. In the rear seat. Van Allen was equallv miserable.
Hardly a word was exchanged, until they drew up in front of the Collins’ residence.
As the car idled, Pierce said, ‘Well, you can’t win them all, but this wasn’t the one to lose.’
‘I guess it’s the end of the road,’ said Collins. ‘Tomorrow it’ll be their country.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘It’s just that we were so damn close,’ said Collins. ‘The R Document - I had the goddamn thing in my hand.’
Pierce shook his head. ‘The sadistic bastard. Well, they outsmarted us. For the life of me, I don’t know how. What was all that drivel about Tynan’s mother?’
‘She must have found out, I guess from Hannah Baxter, that I was going to be seeing Hannah. Mrs Tynan must have mentioned it to Vernon, so they covered the Baxter house. They took no chances of missing anything. Oh, well.’ He opened the front door. ‘Gentlemen - if I may quote Harry Adcock - gentlemen, I feel suicidal enough to get really drunk tonight I’m going to hang one on. Want to join me?’
‘Why not?’ said Pierce, shutting off the ignition.
They trooped up to the front door. Collins found his key, unlocked the door, and let them all in.
They had just reached the living room when the telephone started ringing.
‘I’ll take it,’ said Collins. He looked at Pierce. ‘Is it safe? Can I take calls on my phone?’
‘The entire house has been swept,’ Pierce assured him.
‘Okay. Liquor’s in the sideboard, ice is in the kitchen.’ He started for the insistently ringing telephone, calling back, ‘And for me - make mine hemlock on the rocks.’
He snatched up the receiver, almost dropping it, and at last got it to his ear.
‘Hello?’
‘Mr Collins?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you. This is Jim Shack in Fort Worth. Some good news for you. I won’t go into detail now, but I spent the entire afternoon in Dallas with Mrs Adele Zurek, the witness Tynan claimed had seen your
wife commit murder. It was a he, an outright lie. And so was Karen’s so-called sexual misconduct. Pure fabrication.’ Collins sighed with relief. ‘Thank God.’
‘I interrogated Mrs Zurek for hours, and when I promised you’d protect her, she cracked wide open. She confessed that Tynan had blackmailed her - she has an episode in her past that makes her vulnerable, and Tynan found out and used it against her - he promised to overlook it if she played along with him. She was too scared not to agree. But when I promised her you’d see she wasn’t harmed, she spilled out the truth. The truth was, she’d heard the Rowleys fight. It was nothing unusual. She’d stayed on, finished her work, and then left to go home - that was after Mrs Collins had already gone - and she’d got across the street, out of sight, when she saw a car drive up. A man got out - she couldn’t see him well - and he went to the front door, monkeyed with it, and let himself in. She was waiting around, wondering about his entry and what to do, when she heard a shot from inside the house. She was frightened, and she ran off. The next day, when she heard Thomas Rowley was dead, she was afraid to go to the authorities, because of her own past. She didn’t want to get involved, but Tynan involved her recently. About the man who probably killed Rowley - there seems to be some evidence Rowley was having an affair with this man’s wife, and he got found out. We could pursue it further, if you like.’
‘I don’t give a damn about that right now,’ said Collins. ‘The important thing is that you got to the bottom of this. You don’t know how grateful I am. As long as Karen is all right -‘
‘She’s shipshape. Perfect. She’s right here in the room with me now, waiting to speak to you.’
‘Put her on.’
He waited, and then he heard her speak, and he loved her more than ever.
She was weeping, and she was happy.
With a choked voice, she began to recount what had happened all over again. He stopped her, told her it wasn’t necessary. Everything had been straightened out.
‘Oh, Chris,’ she said, trying to control herself, ‘it was such a nightmare.’
‘It’s over, darling. Let’s forget it.’
‘But the important thing, the important thing,’ she said, ‘is now you don’t have to worry about me - about Tynan. You can go to California, resign and go to California and speak out while there is still time. You will, won’t you?’
His exhilaration had vanished, and her question had brought him back down to where he had been before the phone call. ‘It’s too late, darling,’ he said dispiritedly. ‘There’s nothing I could say that would matter now. Tynan’s won. He outwitted me completely in the end.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s too much to go into now. I’ll tell you when you get home.’
‘I want to hear it right now. What happened?’
Wearily, he told her what had happened, recounted to her the events of the long day, with its highs and final low. He told her of the morning, when he had accidentally learned that Rick Baxter had taped the contents of The R Document. He told her of the plan to retrieve the tape that the boy had put in Colonel Baxter’s file cabinet. He told her of the raid on Tynan’s office in the FBI, and how Tynan had bugged him earlier and anticipated the raid, and how Adcock had been waiting with the fateful tape and had destroyed it in front of him.
‘And that was it, Karen,’ he concluded. ‘Now it is gone forever - the only piece of evidence that might have saved us all.’
He had expected Karen to commiserate with him, but instead there was silence at the other end of the phone.
‘Karen?’ he said. ‘Karen, are you there?’
Suddenly, her voice burst upon him, alive with excitement. ‘Chris, Rick’s tape - that wasn’t the only piece of evidence! Are you listening? Listen to me. There could be a copy of that tape -‘
‘A copy? What are you talking about?’
‘Yes, listen. Do you remember the night we dined with - oh, what’s his name? - Tynan’s ghostwriter - the one you did a favor for -‘
‘Ishmael Young?’
‘Yes - the night we had dinner with Ishmael Young at The Jockey Club, remember? He was bitter because Tynan had double-crossed him. Tynan had promised Ishmael to allow his girl friend in from Europe if Ishmael ghosted the autobiography. But then, reading over some recent material he’d copied from Colonel Baxter’s file, he found out Tynan had double-crossed him, wasn’t going to admit his girl friend after all. Chris, do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘I’m not sure.’ He tried to make sense of it. ‘I’m afraid I’m confused.’
‘Ishmael Young told us that night - I can recall almost his exact words - he told us, “I got my hands on a whole new cache of material, of research for the book. I got papers and tapes that Tynan gave me to copy. Lots of the late Attorney General’s papers. I’ve been copying the research so I can return the originals to Tynan.” Now do you understand, Chris? He told us he’d just made copies of lots of things from Colonel Baxter’s private file - Tynan wanted him to have everything for the autobiography - that would have been before Tynan knew that one of the tapes was the one made by Rick. If Ishmael made a copy of that, along with everything else - then the tape you need, The R Document, still exists - and Ishmael Young has it. I don’t know that he copied it, but if he did -‘
‘He must have!’ Collins exploded. ‘You’re a genius, Karen! I love you - I’ve got to run now - I’ll see you here!’
*
Ishmael Young
was not at home.
After reporting the newborn possibility of success to his colleagues, Chris Collins had sought Ishmael Young’s telephone number in his address book and been unable to find it. Then he’d realized that he had never possessed it. Praying that Ishmael Young did not have an unlisted number, Collins had tried telephone Information. Dimly remembering that Young had a place in Fredericksburg, Virginia, Collins had communicated the area to the operator.
Moments later he had not only Young’s phone number, but his address as well.
He had telephoned Ishmael Young, waited nervously to hear his voice, and finally had heard it. But it had been Young’s voice on a message-taking machine. The voice said, ‘Hello. This is Ishmael Young. I am going to be out for the evening. I won’t be back until one o’clock in the morning. Please leave your name and number. Do not start talking until you hear the tone.’
Collins had not bothered to leave his name or any message. Hanging up, he had decided they should be on hand in Fredericksburg when Ishmael Young returned home.
They sat around Collins’ living room speculating on the likelihood of Young’s having made a copy of Rick’s tape along with the other material in Baxter’s file. They did not drink much. They were too high on their one last resurrected hope. They watched the clock, revived the same discussion, continually and nervously got up and sat down.
By eleven o’clock, Collins had run out of patience. ‘There’s too much at stake to sit around here doing nothing. Let’s go to Fredericksburg right now and wait there. He might come home earlier.’
Pierce and Van Allen agreed.
They got back in Pierce’s car and drove out to Washington toward Fredericksburg.
An hour and five minutes later, they pulled up before the small bungalow Ishmael Young had rented, and they parked. Collins left the front seat, went up the walk, and rang the doorbell several times. Then he peered into the house through a front window whose shade was not pulled all the way down.
He returned to the others. ‘Apparently he’s not home yet. Except for one lamp, it’s dark inside. We’ll just have to wait another fifty minutes.’
At five minutes to one, headlights showed themselves at the far end of the street. A red sports car was approaching. As it reached them, it swung left in front of them and bumped up into the driveway and ran along the house.
The door of the sports car opened. A short, squat figure struggled free, came around the car. halted on the lawn to
stare curiously at them, and then bolted for the front door.
Collins, who was half out of the auto, leaped to his feet ‘Ishmael!’ he shouted. ‘It’s me -Chris Collins!’
Young, who had been about to duck into his house, stopped and turned around as Collins approached him, followed by the others.
‘Christ,’ breathed Ishmael Young, almost fainting with relief. ‘You sure looked suspicious out there. I thought it was someone trying to hold me up or something.’ He took in Pierce and Van Allen. ‘Hey, what’s going on - at this hour, yet?’
‘I’ll explain,’ said Collins. Hastily, he introduced his two friends. ‘We’re here because maybe you can help us. I can’t tell you how important this is.’
‘Come on in,’ said Young.
‘Thanks,’ said Collins. ‘We can’t waste a minute.’
Once they had gathered in the living room, Young stripped off his corduroy jacket as he eyed them inquisitively. ‘It sounds urgent. I don’t know what I can do for anybody.’
‘Plenty,’ said Collins. ‘Do you want to see the 35th Amendment killed?’
‘Do I? I’d do anything in the world to kill it. But there’s no chance, Mr Collins. When they vote in California this afternoon -‘
‘There is a chance. It depends on you. Where do you keep your research for Tynan’s book?’
‘In the next room, the dining room. I converted it into a study. You want to see?’
Puzzled, he led them into a small room that resembled a makeshift office. Near a window on the driveway side of the house was an old rolltop desk, piled high with papers. Beside it, on a study stand, rested an IBM electric typewriter. Against the opposite wall stood the dining-room table, also strewn with papers, folders, and supplies. A large Wollensak tape recorder was at one end. Two more tape recorders, a seven-inch Norelco and a portable Sony, sat on a chair beside the table. Two letter-size file cabinets were backed against a third wall.
‘It’s a mess,’ Ishmael Young apologized, ‘but it’s the way I work. Sa-ay. Mr Collins. I hope vou got my note thanking
you. That was super of you, clearing up that immigration matter. I can’t tell you what Emmy and I owe you.’
‘You owe me nothing. But you can help me, and all of us, right now. You say your research is in here? Okay, there’s one piece of research I want to see, if you have it.’
Young patted the hair down over his balding pate worriedly. I want to help you in any way I can, of course - but you know, lots of this stuff is confidential. I pledged on my honor to Vernon Tynan that no one would ever see - Why, if he found out I snowed you anything … ‘ He broke off. ‘To hell with him. You stuck out your neck for me. I should do the same for you. What do you want?’
‘Remember when we had dinner at The Jockey Club? You mentioned in passing that Tynan had loaned you part or all of Colonel Baxter’s private file to make copies - to copy Baxter’s letters and tapes for your research in order to prepare the book. Did you actually make copies of everything in Baxter’s file?’
Ishmael Young nodded. ‘Practically everything. Certainly everything that pertained to Tynan. Except for the tapes -‘
Collins’ heart fell.
‘ - everything is done,’ Young went on. I duplicated the tapes, too - that’s why you see two machines over there, because I had to rent an extra one - but I haven’t finished actually transcribing the tapes. That’s a tedious job. I have to do it all myself, because Tynan doesn’t want me to have any outside secretarial help. I started typing up what’s on the tapes just three days ago.’
Collins’ heart lifted. ‘But you did duplicate or copy all the tapes taken from Baxter’s file?’
‘Whatever Tynan gave me, and I think he gave me everything.’
‘How did you copy them?’ Collins asked quickly.
‘Well, there were two sizes, so I had to use two different machines to play them into my larger Wollensak recorder.’
‘That’s right,’ said Collins, ‘two sizes. Norelco miniature cassettes and Memorex normal cassettes. Did you hear them when you were recording?’
‘God, no - I’d lose too much time. There’s a jack and they record from one machine to another silently.’
‘Where are the larger Memorex cassettes?’
‘I returned them to Tynan some days ago. Those were the originals. I copied - rerecorded - maybe six of the cassettes on larger reels I had.’
‘Do you know what’s on those spools of yours?’
‘Not until I transcribe them. But I identified each one and noted its place on the larger spool. Every cassette, large or small, had some kind of identification or date. I kept a sort of index.’ He stepped to his desk, and found several sheets of paper clipped together. ‘You can see.’
‘I’m looking for one special Memorex cassette. It - it’s marked “AGG”, and then it’s marked “January”, on the outside. Would that help you?’
‘Let me find out.’
Ishmael Young began to scan and flip the pages of his tape index. In a state of feverishness, Collins watched.
‘Sure, it’s here,’ Ishmael Young announced, pleased with himself. ‘The tape is the first recording on my second spool.’
‘You have it? You’re sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘Man, oh man!’ Collins exclaimed jubilantly. He gave the writer a bear hug. ‘Ishmael, you don’t know what you’ve done.’
Ishmael Young was at a loss. ‘What have I done?’
‘You’ve turned up The R Docume
nt!’
‘The what?’
‘Never mind,’ said Collins excitedly. ‘Play it. Find the goddam spool you copied it on - put it on your machine and play it.’
The three huddled around the large Wollensak machine on the table as Ishmael Young found the reel of tape and brought it to them, Carefully, he set it on his player, threaded the thin strip of tape through the machine, and attached it to the pickup reel.
Ishmael Young raised his head and stared at Collins, Pierce, and Van Allen. He said, ‘I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m ready if you are.’
‘We’re ready,’ said Collins. Then he himself leaned over and punched the lever marked Play. The spools began to turn.
A moment later, the voice of Vernon T. Tynan filled the room.
Seated restlessly in the back seat of the Cadillac limousine that had brought him from San Francisco to the suburbs of Sacramento, Chris Collins came forward once more to speak to his driver.
‘Can’t you go a little faster?’ he implored his chauffeur.
‘I’m doing the best I can in this traffic, sir,’ the driver replied.
Collins made a determined effort to contain his nervousness as he settled into his seat again. Lighting a fresh cigarette from the butt of the old one, he looked out the window and saw the distant city growing nearer and larger. They were in the western sector of Sacramento, he noted, and had entered an area of interchanges. The driver wheeled the car into the right lane, picking up State Highway 275, which would soon lead them up before the Capitol Mall.
Soon, he knew, but perhaps not soon enough.
It was ironic, he thought, that the success of his long quest might be thwarted at its climax because of a conspiracy of nature. The fog was lifting now, he could tell, but Sacramento’s Metropolitan Airport was probably still socked in by it.
Originally, he had been due to arrive in Sacramento by air at twelve twenty-five California time. His date to meet Assemblyman Olin Keefe was for one o’clock in the Derby Club of Posey’s Cottage, the restaurant where legislators
(1976) The R Document Page 32
