Brooks-Lotello Collection

by Ronald S. Barak

  “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-believe 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.”

  “Lance is a pretty smart fellow,” Brooks said. “Or his lawyers are. The escrow agreement was always for his protection, to establish his agency, and his authority. He has no need for the person or people to use their real names. Which obviously they wouldn’t do anyway.”

  “The man I’ve been speaking with will let me know when and where I can pick up the document with his signature. I’ll make a copy of the fully executed document and put it in my safe deposit box, although I’m honestly not sure to what end. It just seems like the thing to do. I hope it’ll never see the light of day. I’ll deliver the original to Mr. Lance.”

  “When is Cassie to be transferred to Lance?”

  “Hopefully sometime tomorrow. I was trying for today, but that was wishful thinking.”

  “I would have preferred that too,” Brooks said. “Obviously, we all would.”

  “All except for ‘Anonymous Party.’ I’m on the way home to tell my family. I called you first because if I had called them first, I’d never have gotten off the phone to let you know. And to thank you.”

  “Nothing to thank me for, Arnold. Besides, while I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade, we’re not out of the woods yet. First, the kidnappers have to make the transfer. That’s going to be extremely delicate. We’re dependent on Lance to help pull that off. Fortunately, he has the credentials.

  “And then there’s also the small matter of the Supreme Court decision.”

  “I’ve hardly forgotten that, Cyrus. Trust me I haven’t.”

  CHAPTER 90

  Friday, May 9, 11:40 am

  HIRSCHFELD PULLED into the Webber driveway. His family intercepted him at the front door. But when his wife, Linda, saw how pale and spent he must have looked to her, she herded everyone into the family room and insisted that he sit and take a moment to compose himself.

  “While there are still some details to be worked out,” Hirschfeld began, “we seem to have a deal. I tried to arrange for Cassie to be transferred to the middleman today, but the agreement provides for 24 hours, to allow time to work out the transfer details, and the kidnappers refused to deliver her any sooner. Hopefully, it will be done by mid-afternoon tomorrow.”

  “That’s well and good,” Jill said, “but what about the Nishimura woman. Could she ruin everything?”

  Hirschfeld stared back in exhausted puzzlement. He lacked the capacity for any more surprises, or complications. “Nishimura? The TV broadcaster? What’s she got to do with any of this?”

  “She came here earlier today, Arnold,” Linda said. “She claims she knows what’s happening. And that history demands she tell the world.”

  Hirschfeld was crushed. “That can’t happen. It could—”

  “Relax,” Webber said. “Linda took command. You would have been incredibly proud. She made Nishimura an offer she couldn’t refuse.”

  As Webber explained, Hirschfeld regarded his wife with redoubled pride. And gratitude. She offered him only a troubled smile in return.

  “Well, it sounds like you all made the best you could of a tough situation. If Linda slowed Nishimura down long enough for Cassie to be transferred to the agent tomorrow before she acts, we’re probably okay. If not . . . He didn’t finish the sentence.

  “I’d love to pay Nishimura a visit myself, but to what end I’m not sure. My presence might only spur her on. And it would violate the terms of our agreement with the kidnappers. No way to know how the escrow agent would react if that came out. We can’t run that risk.”

  “Even if Cassie is safely transferred to the middleman,” Webber said, “there’s still the question of what the Supreme Court will decide. Any better feel on that?”

  “Still five to four, counting me in the four. I have to flip one other Justice. I don’t yet know how I’m going to do that, but somehow I will.”

  CHAPTER 91

  Friday, May 9, 1:45 pm

  REYES WAS SITTING at his desk when his secretary walked in with an odd expression on her face.

  “There’s a man on the phone who wants to talk to you. He says he’s an old golf buddy of yours, but wouldn’t give me his name. He said you’d know. Ordinarily, I would’ve just routed the call to security, but something told me to let you know first.”

  “You did well. Stall him for a minute. Tell him I was down the hall but will be right with him. Have security put a trace on the call.”

  * * *

  Thomas held. Reyes came on the line after a couple minutes.

  Stalling as long as he thinks he can without making me suspicious? Tracing the call? I’m hardly going to give him enough time.

  “Hey, Tommy, thought that was you who left the voicemail the other day. The last time we played I said we’d do it again soon. You shouldn’t have become such a stranger. How the hell are you? What brings you to town now?”

  How the fuck does he know I’m in town? I never said where I was in the voicemail.

  “Fine, Manny. Thanks. Here to take care of some unfinished business. Quick turnaround. Probably have to take a raincheck on the golf this time, but I’ll be back. I remember our round together at Congressional fondly. Love to play it again. And to catch up. Next time for sure.”

  “That would be great, Tommy. Anytime. Just—”

  “Hey, Manny. In my voicemail, I said I wouldn’t let you and the President down this time. And I won’t. Why were you and those earpieces over at the Courthouse yesterday? Were you looking for me? Why would you do that, Manny?”

  “Whoa, Tommy. Why would you think anything like that? You and I, we’re on the same team. The FBI was there on unrelated security matters. I was there to observe and report on the case to the Presi
dent, our boss, POTUS. Just chatted it up a bit with the security boys while I was there.”

  Bullshit! Chief of Staff doesn’t handle assignments like that. White House Counsel does. No good son of a bitch is definitely playing me. So disappointing. “Gotta go, Manny. My guys are calling me into a meeting. Just wanted to check in, say a quick hello. You take care. I’ll be in touch. Count on it.”

  * * *

  Moments later, Reyes was on the phone to security. “Did you locate him?”

  “Depends on what you mean. We were able to complete a number of pings before he hung up, not enough to identify an exact location, but enough to put him within a couple of square miles. And we caught a break. He was calling from a fairly uninhabited forest area outside of Maryland. Our satellite cameras captured a total of only 57 vehicles in the area at the time.”

  “What the hell good is that?”

  “We now have 57 plates. We can track the records of those vehicles within an hour or so. It’s already happening as we speak.”

  “What if he wasn’t calling from a vehicle?”

  “He was. The location of each ping we completed during the call was traveling too fast to be anything other than a call taking place from within a moving vehicle.”

  “All right. So he was in one of those 57 vehicles. You’ll check each of the 57 vehicle owners as soon as you get their information?”

  “Yes, but I need as much help as you can provide.”

  “What help?”

  “First off, do you know what kind of vehicle the target is driving? That would help us narrow down the field.”

  “No idea. What else?”

  “Male. Female. Young. Old. Black. White. Hispanic. Asian. We don’t need to spend time chasing down a 23-year-old Asian if you know our target is a 50-year-old Caucasian. We can access the tapes of the call. I can listen to those, but what can you tell me right now?”

  “Stay away from the tapes! They’re classified. So’s his real name. It wouldn’t do you any good anyway because he won’t have registered a vehicle under his real name or to a real address. And I have no idea what name he’s using today anyway. Plus, he’s probably driving a leased or stolen vehicle registered to someone else.”

  “Mr. Reyes, no disrespect, but you’re making it—”

  “The guy is a former covert CIA operative, previously on loan to the White House for highly classified national security purposes. He’s very sharp, and very careful. And very dangerous. White. In his late 40s. About six feet tall. Maybe a little taller. Used to weigh around 170 to 180, but it’s been a few years since I’ve seen him. He could look totally different today. Man’s completely off the grid. And unbalanced. He won’t come in voluntarily.”

  “Okay. That means there’s no point checking public records. What we should be able to do, though, by process of elimination, is to reduce the field, hopefully to a single vehicle, two or three at the most.”

  “So what? Say you’re able to wheedle the 57 cars down to one or two that we can’t rule out. What then?”

  “If he’s staying in the two-to-three-mile radius and hasn’t gone to ground, moved somewhere else, then we man the satellites over the same area until we spot the vehicle on the move again. We’ll then swoop in on it. If he’s still in the area, we’ll get him for sure. Just a matter of time.”

  “And if he’s relocated outside the area?”

  “Then we got nothing. Back to square one.”

  “How long until you can eliminate the uninvolved vehicle owners?”

  “How long do I have?”

  “Two hours. Three tops.”

  “Then I need at least twenty agents.”

  “Take ‘em. Just keep this under the radar. No one knows anything they don’t need to know. Got that?”

  “Got it. I’ll be back to you as soon as I have something.”

  CHAPTER 92

  Friday, May 9, 2:10 pm

  BROOKS OPENED THE DOOR. He was right on time. Even a few minutes early, no less. With a couple of subtle prompts, he knew Lotello grasped how important punctuality was to their relationship.

  “Kudos, Judge, for coming up with this. And making it happen.”

  “Nonsense, Detective. Occam’s razor and Hirschfeld deserve the credit. I just delivered the mail.”

  “When is the drop supposed to go down?”

  Brooks wiggled into a jacket. “The drop, as you so eloquently put it, is not until tomorrow, but there are a few things we need to talk about. Let’s take a walk. It’s a nice day and I need to stretch my legs.”

  Brooks guided Lotello to a path that led through some nearby woods.

  “First, we can’t breathe a word about this, not before Cassie gets home—if she gets home—and maybe not even then. That’s the agreement. As agents of Hirschfeld, we have to honor his confidentiality commitment. How do you feel about your daughter knowing anything about this?”

  “Aren’t you the perceptive one? As usual, she’s been all over me for information. No way I’m comfortable sharing what’s going on with her. She’s a kid. It’s not a matter of wondering whether she’d talk out of school. Or in school for that matter.”

  “Pun intended?”

  “For me, Judge, the problem is I don’t think an 11-year-old should be exposed to these kinds of things.”

  “Including Cassie,” Brooks responded. “Well, Detective, don’t expect Madison not to learn all about this from Cassie, if we’re able to get Cassie home.”

  “Whatever Cassie tells Madison is out of my control. I can’t worry about that. Actually, I can, and no doubt will, but I can’t prevent it.”

  “Even assuming Cassie is safely transferred to Lance, I don’t know exactly what that gets us,” Brooks said. “We still have at least two problems.”

  “Only two?”

  “Of course, our first priority is to get this little girl safely back to her family. But Ms. Klein and I still have an obligation to NoPoli, and to we the people, to achieve a result that is inconsistent with Cassie’s ultimate release by Lance. And, while Hirschfeld and I haven’t discussed it, and can’t, I believe Hirschfeld wants the same result, a 28th Amendment that is upheld by the Supreme Court.”

  “That sounds like one problem, Your Honor, maybe with two integrated parts. What’s the second problem?”

  “The second problem overlaps with the first. You’re the one who met with Lance. What do you think Lance does if he’s in possession of Cassie and the Supreme Court upholds the amendment?”

  “Tough question,” Lotello said. “I can’t imagine that Lance would want to return Cassie to her kidnappers. But, as I reported to you, his word is everything to him and I don’t believe he’ll compromise his duties as set out in the escrow agreement. He’s committed to returning Cassie to the kidnappers if the amendment is upheld. I believe he’ll honor his word to them.”

  “So do I. It’s a matter of precedent,” Brooks said. “If the agreement is not honored on the rationale that the snatching is so abhorrent that it justifies breaking it, and if that gets out, how many future hostages will die because a deal like this one can’t be brokered for lack of reliability? Even if it saves Cassie and allows an untainted result in the Supreme Court. Do you not feel the conflict between this Cassie and future Cassies, so to speak?”

  “Not necessarily,” Lotello responded. “Doesn’t that depend on whether what goes down here becomes common knowledge?”

  “Perhaps. But ‘common knowledge’ is elusive, hard to avoid. Hirschfeld has to decide how to vote, or maybe even to abstain because of his own conflict. He also has to decide how to beseech some or all of his fellow Justices to vote or abstain. That’s a slippery slope down the hill of common knowledge. And whether that will actually matter may turn on how Lance would truly perform under the agreement if the amendment is upheld.

  “How do you and I cope,” Brooks continued, “if the Supreme Court instead upholds the amendment, and Lance returns Cassie to the kidnappers?” How do we live with the
fact that your wife’s and my performance in the Courtroom may be the very reason the Supreme Court votes to uphold the amendment, and send this young girl to her death? It would be of little solace to me that our performance was in discharge of our sacred duty to our client, and is that which we believe to be best for our country. I don’t know if I could carry the girl’s demise on my conscience.

  “And you, Detective? And Ms. Klein? And even Madison, for that matter, once she figures it all out, which, sooner or later, she will? How will your family reconcile your respective actions and inactions if Cassie doesn’t make it through this?”

  “Other than to say that we did our best to implement what the family decided and what we thought was right, I have no answer, Judge. We’ve done our best. I don’t see any other options.”

  Brooks didn’t answer. But he did stop walking. So did Lotello. Brooks bent over and touched his toes. Pretty close anyway. He leaned left and then right. Then he lifted his arms chest high and twisted to each side, first left, then right.

  “Damned sciatica.” He repeated the maneuvers once more. “Okay. I’m good.”

  They picked up the pace again.

  * * *

  “On a slightly different subject, Detective.” Brooks paused to make sure he had Lotello’s attention.

  “Your Honor?”

  “Did you know that the White House Chief of Staff was in the Courtroom yesterday?”

  “And how would I have known that?”

  “Don’t know. You’re the detective.”

  “Don’t recall you mentioning it. Were you aware?”

  “I wasn’t. He was apparently sitting behind me, in the gallery. I was focused on the Justices up on the bench in front of me.”

  “So how’d you find out?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. Hirschfeld told me he received a call from the kidnappers accusing him of turning Reyes onto them.”

  Now it was Lotello who came to an abrupt halt. “Did he?”

  “Did he what? Receive a call from them or turn Reyes onto them?”