CHAPTER 82
Friday, May 9, 8:15 am
REYES PICKED up a second message from Nishimura:
Calling about Congress v. NoPoli. We need to talk this morning.
She didn’t know it, but this time she had his undivided attention. He closed his office door and dialed her number. She picked up on the first ring.
“Anne Nishimura.”
“Hey, Annie, Manny Reyes.” His tone betrayed a smile his face refused to divulge. “Two calls in two days. How do I rate all your affection?”
“Noticed you in Court yesterday. What’s your sudden interest in our judiciary?”
Reyes fiddled with the vintage Montblanc Meisterstück pen the President had given him. “I always try to stay on top of the important news. The 28th Amendment qualifies. As you know, our Attorney General and our Solicitor General are our chief representatives in the Supreme Court, but they fall under my watch.”
“Maybe we can do a piece on that for the nightly news. Our tax dollars hard at work.”
“Now you are stroking me. Or so I wish. Are you going to tell me what this is really about? Or do we need more foreplay?”
“The name Webber mean anything to you?”
The oddball who confronted me yesterday—how would she know about that?
“The people who make the outdoor grills?”
“Very clever. No, add one more ‘b’ and give it another try.”
Reyes took a moment, as though thinking. “Nope. Sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”
“He’s Justice Hirschfeld’s son-in-law.”
He stopped twirling the Montblanc. “Okay. And—?”
“Are you saying you’re unaware of that?”
“Look, Annie, I’ve got half a dozen meetings lined up back to back this morning. Much as I love hearing your sultry voice, and would enjoy spending some quality one-on-one time with you when things are a little quieter, for now, can we just cut to the chase?”
“Alright, Manny. I have it from reliable sources that Hirschfeld has some kind of problem and that it might have something to do with the NoPoli case. Care to comment?”
“I love saying ‘No comment,’ even when I have a comment I could provide. Makes me seem more important than I really am. But in this instance, it’s not a stretch. I’ve got nothing for you. No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying. Guess you don’t get lucky today, Manny. Remember where you heard this first. Please give me a call if you stumble across anything.”
“Always cherish happy endings and getting lucky, Annie. You’ll be the first to hear.”
As soon as he hung up, Reyes placed another call. “Supreme Court Justice Hirschfeld. Something’s going on with his family. With him or his wife. Kids. Grandkids. Haven’t a clue, but need to know. Two hours tops. Don’t let me down.”
CHAPTER 83
Friday, May 9, 9:00 am
THE MEETING of the nine Justices was just ending. It had taken a little more than one hour to go around the table. Congress’s standing was not in issue. The vote that Congress has standing was seven in favor, two against. Hirschfeld was one of the seven voting for standing. This assured that Congress was entitled to sue and be heard and that the Justices would now have to decide whether the 28th Amendment was valid.
Even with Hirschfeld in the nay column, the vote to uphold the 28th Amendment remained five to four—five to uphold and four to invalidate. Hirschfeld had to move one of the five uphold votes over to the invalidate column. But they each appeared firm. He wasn’t going to pick up a vote arguing the law or the social merits of the case. He would have to take someone into his confidence, and plead for their sympathy. Just thinking about it made him ill.
He removed the escrow agreement from the sealed envelope his secretary had given him. What he read sickened him almost as much as the thought of having to approach one of his colleagues. At least he had already decided who he was going to ask.
He read through the document once more. He couldn’t imagine treating another human being so coldly, especially his own granddaughter. As if she were an inert piece of property.
Just then his private cell phone rang. A wave of dread swept over him.
“Saw your signal, old man. Make it fast.”
“I can’t make it fast. We need to talk. Within the next thirty minutes.”
“Or what?” After a moment: “You know the drill. Outside. Where you made the insulin drop. Wait for me. I’ll call when I see you.”
* * *
Webber glanced up and down the street before ducking into the Alexandria café where Larry Adams sat waiting. The man had chosen a dark corner table far in the back. No one in earshot. Webber drew back a chair and sat.
Adams smiled gamely. Webber watched him make one last nervous check of the room, presumably to be sure no one was trying to listen in. “Sorry to drag you out like this, Mark, but things have taken a turn. We needed to meet in person.”
Webber felt the blood drain from his face. “What—?”
“My contact intercepted another Reyes call. Reyes seems to be getting warmer. He gave some subordinate two hours to find out what’s amiss in the Hirschfeld domain. Do you know something I don’t?”
Webber sank deeper in his chair. His foolish approach to Reyes the day before came to mind. He couldn’t bring himself to share this with Adams. “I don’t, but it sounds like we’re running out of time. If something doesn’t break by midday, we’re going to take our chances with the FBI.”
“Probably best. I’m wearing out my welcome, but I’ll call if I learn anything more.”
“Thanks, Larry. I really appreciate what you’ve been doing.”
“No worries. Wish I could do more.”
* * *
Nishimura was frustrated. She felt she was onto something, but Reyes was stiff-arming her. He knew more than he was letting on, but she had to come up with something for him first. In her business, you had to give to get.
She called Joey. “We need to make another run at the Webber family. How soon can you pick me up?”
“See you in fifteen.”
CHAPTER 84
Friday, May 9, 9:45 am
THE FOURTH DAY. Nothing for her to do but exercise, read, sleep—it had grown routine. Boring. Infuriating. She wished the man would give her a bucket of balls and a fairway wood or a nine iron, and take her outside for a few minutes, and let her empty the bucket. Probably afraid she’d clobber him. She wondered if he were as antsy as she was.
She missed her family, her friends, even feeding Whitney. What are they all doing and thinking right now? This has to be hard on them, too, worrying about me.
Her blood sugars were higher this morning. She told herself to stay positive, stay brave. That was much easier for her to say than to do.
* * *
Hirschfeld gazed in every direction from his position near the park drop point, looking for any sign of the man. Nothing he could detect in any direction. His phone rang.
“What’s so urgent, Gramps? Your little girl has her insulin, a roof over her head, three squares a day, all the comforts of home. The case is over. All you have to do now is deliver. What’s the frigging problem?”
Hirschfeld’s patience was growing thin. “Enough with the tough-guy routine, huh? It’s really getting old.”
“Gee. Sorry. Didn’t know you were the sensitive type.”
“The bottom line is I can deliver the results, but I don’t trust you. What assurance do I have that you’ll let Cassie go once I deliver?”
“You don’t have any assurance. You don’t have any choice either. I make the rules. You follow them.”
“No. Not anymore. I’m done with that.”
The line went dead. The bastard hung up on him. Hirschfeld thought he was beginning to understand. It wasn’t just that this man, and whomever he was working with, were trying to intimidate him, maintain control. They were changing telephones every few minu
tes so they couldn’t be traced. They were worried someone was monitoring their calls. They didn’t trust Hirschfeld any more than he trusted them.
Sure enough, the phone rang again. “The hell you mean you’re done?”
“Just what I said. If I give you what you want, how do I know you’ll let Cassie go?”
“You don’t.”
“If you think your bluster is having a positive effect on me, it’s not. And as scared to death as I am, I’m done giving into my fright. It doesn’t accomplish a damn thing. Not for me, not for Cassie. And not for you either, wise guy. Painful as it is, Israel has the right approach to deal with terrorist extortion.”
“So, what do you and the Zionists suggest, keeping in mind, schlepper, that Israel is not always as tough as it pretends to be?”
“You have to show some trust in me. Let Cassie go first if you expect the results you want.”
“Oh, yeah, right! That’s a helluva chuckle. Fat chance of that, gramps. You don’t trust me, but I’m supposed to trust you?”
“Why not? I’m a Supreme Court Justice. What are you? A common criminal.”
“Now, now. Sticks and stones. Bully for you, old man, but your status doesn’t mean shit to me.”
“Exactly. Then you need to wake up. You don’t trust me, an honorable, respected, law-abiding citizen, but you expect me to trust you? A bully and a thug. Why would I do that?”
“I told you. The difference is you don’t have any choice. I do.”
“I don’t think so. As desperate as I am—and, yes, I am desperate—I think you are too. Just as much as me. For you to kidnap and repeatedly threaten to kill an innocent young girl, you must be pretty desperate too. And without any other viable options either. If I’m wrong, then,” he choked trying to get the words out, “Cassie’s probably going to die no matter what. So, I’ve decided you can just rot in hell before I’m going to give you what you want without knowing my little girl’s safe, and coming home.”
Once again, the line went dead. Right on schedule. It was about changing phones, not just for dramatic effect.
And then he was back again. “How about I let you hear the girl scream as I—”
This time, Hirschfeld was the one who hung up. No choice. The die was cast. He had to see it through.
His heart pounded, waiting, sweat breaking out all over his body, the fear so intense he felt like he was going to pass out. Steady. Steady. Hang in there.
The phone rang again. He answered.
“You don’t hang up on me.”
Hirschfeld did exactly that. Again.
He felt no sense of triumph in any of this. His fear segued into unfathomable grief. Cassie, baby, I am so sorry . . .
The phone rang once more. Hirschfeld looked at the God awful thing, thrumming in his hand, wanting to throw it as far away as he could. Instead, he answered.
“Stop being so melodramatic. I asked you, what’s your proposal? Other than letting the girl go first. Believe me, that’s never gonna happen.”
It’s time, Hirschfeld thought. “Our problem is that neither of us trusts the other. And neither of us is willing to go first. We need a way to break this deadlock. I have a thought, if you’re willing to listen.”
Silence. Then: “I’m listening.”
“This is going to take a few minutes. I’m not trying to trace your calls, but do you want to hang up and call me back?”
It took five more calls for Hirschfeld to finally lay it all out. He wondered how many phones they had. At least they were still talking to him.
“I need to think about this. Check out your escrow agent, this Lance fellow. See if I think I can trust him. I’ll get back to you.”
“Don’t hang up.”
“What do you want? We’re talking. I’m telling you . . . maybe. You press me too hard and you’ll blow any chance you have.”
“I’m not pressing. Take some time, just not a lot. Cassie’s parents don’t like this. My wife doesn’t either. They don’t want to do this. I’ve persuaded them to let me try, but they’ve given me an ultimatum. If we don’t reach an agreement by noon today, my sonin-law is going to the FBI. He won’t wait another minute. And his wife and mother-in-law are behind him. If that happens, you can trust me that the 28th Amendment will be upheld. You will not get what you want—whether or not you’re willing to release Cassie.”
In the brief silence that followed, Hirschfeld looked around him at the park, the busy street, the maddening, humiliating normalcy of it all.
“And you can trust me, old man, if anyone goes to the FBI, no one will ever see the girl again.”
Hirschfeld was shuddering head to foot. And doing his best not to let it make its way into his voice.
“Here’s what I’m going to do. I have this escrow agreement. In an unmarked envelope. It’s only one page. I’m going to leave the envelope in the trash receptacle just like I did with Cassie’s insulin. As soon as we hang up. Then I’ll walk away. No one’s watching. I know Cassie’s life depends on the truth of that. You’ll be safe to retrieve the envelope, look over the document, and make your decision. Call me back before noon. I can’t emphasize that timing enough. Alright?”
No answer. The line went dead again. This time a full, five ago nizing minutes before the man called back.
* * *
“Are you crazy? A fucking written agreement?”
“It’s the only way. The agent won’t get involved without one. His lawyers say he needs to be able to prove that he’s acting as an agent at the request of each of us and not on his own. He won’t participate without his lawyers’s okay and they won’t give it without a written agreement. The agreement actually favors you.”
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“It says the arrangement is confidential. The middleman doesn’t want any of this seeing the light of day. It provides a $1 million penalty for him if either you or I divulge our deal.
“I can’t imagine you talking to anyone, or paying the $1 million penalty even if you do. But I’m not judgment proof. I have assets. And I’m not anonymous like you are. This tells you that if I talk about any of this—even after we have Cassie back—Lance will make me pay him that penalty for exposing him to public notoriety he doesn’t want. This is critically important to him. He tells me a good part of his business success requires him to assure his clients that he operates under the radar.”
“That’s a lot of money. Why won’t he leak the story and make it look like you were the source so he can come after you for the money?”
“He doesn’t really care about money here. When you read the agreement, you’ll see he’s doing the deal for a very modest fee. Just $1 a piece up front from each of us to make the deal legal. And then $25,000 on the back end, which is on me alone to pay, not you.
“If he cared about the money, he has to know I would pay all I could for him to break this stalemate, and get my Cassie back. This $1 million penalty is not about the money, it’s to maintain his low profile. He knows that once I have Cassie back safe and sound I’m not about to wipe myself out financially.”
“I don’t know, old man. You might be willing to do that to get back at me.”
“Really? Think about it. Aside from ruining my reputation, what could I possibly accomplish? You and your accomplices will be long gone. I don’t even know who you are. The only one I’d hurt would be myself. This penalty is his assurance—and yours—that I won’t bolt after we have Cassie back, go public with what happened and cause the Supreme Court to reverse its decision invalidating the amendment. With this penalty exposure on top of destroying my name, I couldn’t dare afford to do that.”
“A million dollars doesn’t mean that much to you.”
“You’re missing the point. If I betray this agreement, I not only face financial ruin but also complete humiliation and destruction of the reputation I’ve worked my whole life to build.
“I’m telling you this deal—and this agreement—is good for both of us, a true
win-win, or as close to that as either of us can hope for. We each get what we want. Read the agreement and decide for yourself.”
Silence. Then: “Lance’s lawyers? How many people are already in on this? I warned you not to tell anyone.”
“I told you, I don’t want anyone knowing what I’m doing either. They’re bound to confidentiality by the attorney-client privilege.”
“Maybe you trust lawyers, grandpa, but—”
“I’m doing the best I can here to get both of us what we want. This was the only way I could get us to where we finally are. This is our only chance. Our only chance.”
Hirschfeld didn’t bother to mention that Brooks also knew what was going on, and maybe Lotello too.
“How do I know I won’t be grabbed the minute I go to the trash to get the papers?”
Hirschfeld knew what he had to tell this man. Feed his ego. “Again, think about it. What good does that do me? You won’t break and start talking the second you’re in custody. I know Cassie dies if you’re captured. As much as I’d like to see you go down, hard, I’m more than willing to see you walk—so long as we get Cassie back.”
More silence. This one seemed to drag out for an eternity.
“Alright. we’ll pick up the envelope. Check out this guy Lance, I’ll talk it over with my people, try to get back to you before noon. If I can. It’s gonna be tight.”
Hirschfeld was encouraged. It was now or never.
“There’s one more thing.”
“Jesus Christ! You’re getting pretty damn greedy, Gramps.”
“Cassie has to sign the document too. Right below our signatures. I have to see her do it, and I have to talk to her when she does.”
“Unbelievable.” An acrid laugh. “You know that’s not going to happen.”
“I’m not saying it has to be live. Just do that FaceTime thing with our phones.”
“No tricks?”
“No tricks. I swear it. On Cassie’s life.”
“You got that right, old man.”
The line went dead. Once again. Hirschfeld sat there, shaking. Trying not to let it show in case they were watching him at this very minute. He got up from the bench, dropped the envelope in the trash, and hurriedly walked away. Like the trash can was a pox on his life.
Brooks-Lotello Collection Page 24
