The Inner Sanctum

by Stephen W. Frey

  “If you had tried to sell it, I would have intervened.” The men shared a loud laugh.

  “I was also sure you didn’t like me.”

  “I didn’t,” Mohler admitted, his laughter fading. “But these gentlemen convinced me I should feel otherwise. Now I’m glad they did.”

  “Why isn’t Elizabeth here? After all, she founded the firm.”

  “Usually she is,” Finnerty responded quickly. “But…um…”

  “But she had other business to attend to.” Webb finished Finnerty’s sentence, but offered no further explanation.

  “I’ve got another year before my fifth anniversary,” David pointed out. “Why are you doing this now?”

  “Sometimes it isn’t necessary to wait until the end of the fifth year. Sometimes we feel there is more to be gained by allowing the individual insight into our group before that time. This is one of those occasions.” Webb inhaled from the cigar once more, then snuffed it out in the ashtray. A thick smoke column rose before him. “On your fifth anniversary, Art will call you in before the executive committee and officially knight you for appearance sake, but you’ll already know what’s going on.”

  “I see.” David brushed a piece of lint from his suit pant. A $2 million one-time payment. Huge annual salaries and bonuses. That kind of money would mean a lifetime of large houses in exclusive neighborhoods, private schools for children, and the best vacations money could buy. The alternative was prison. “How do I officially accept your generous offer?”

  “Look us in the eye and tell us you accept,” Webb answered immediately.

  For a few moments there was no sound in the room. Finally David smiled graciously. “Of course, I accept.”

  “Remember, someone will always be watching,” Webb warned. “We’ve never had to resort to this, but we wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of someone who would make trouble, who would try to destroy what we have built at Sagamore.”

  “Is that what happened to the men who supposedly committed suicide?” David asked. “The one who jumped from the Bay Bridge and the one who sucked down carbon monoxide in his garage? Were they…disposed of?”

  “No. Those were real suicides. I told you we’ve never had to resort to that. Perhaps those men were driven to suicide by what they were hiding. Maybe they just weren’t mentally strong enough. I really don’t know and I really don’t care. The only thing I do care about is that those two events brought unwanted attention to Sagamore. Which is why we implemented the psychological testing to rectify that potential problem.” Webb tapped the arm of the chair. “I’m happy to tell you, David, you have no chance of killing yourself.”

  “Great,” he whispered to himself.

  “David, the bottom line is that you can look forward to an extremely prosperous life.” Webb crossed one leg slowly over the other. “There is one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s come to our attention that you know a woman named Jesse Hayes.”

  David tried not to allow the recognition of Jesse’s name to register on his face.

  “Elizabeth Gilman relayed this information.”

  Still David said nothing.

  “Is what she said accurate? Do you know Jesse Hayes?”

  “Yes,” David said quietly It would have been stupid to deny their relationship. Webb obviously knew about it or he wouldn’t have said anything.

  “David, we need to find her. Quickly.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s taken something of ours and we want it back.”

  “Are you talking about the copy of the canceled check from LFA?” David knew he had just dropped a bomb.

  The three men looked up together. “How the hell do you know about that?” Webb asked.

  “She told me. I’ve made her believe she can trust me.” They were clearly impressed. “Elizabeth Gilman was a guest lecturer at the Maryland Business School and met Jesse Hayes there. Afterward, Elizabeth asked me to get to know Jesse. Elizabeth thought Jesse might be a good candidate for Sagamore, as a portfolio manager. So I did get to know her. And I found out that for some reason Jesse was investigating Elbridge Coleman’s political campaign. I think it had to do with tax violations or something. Anyway, it led her to LFA, and she found the check from Doub Steel.” David’s expression became grim. “I believe she said I was the signatory on the check, but I didn’t write it.” He watched the three men carefully. “I couldn’t figure out why someone at Doub would be sending checks to LFA or would use my name to do it. I was going to say something, but I didn’t know who to tell. So I just kept quiet.”

  “You did the right thing.” Webb nodded approvingly. “Can you contact her for us?”

  “Her number’s probably in the phone book.”

  “She hasn’t returned to her apartment since early this morning. As I said, we need to reach her as quickly as possible.”

  “So that you can retrieve the information?” David asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And dispose of her?”

  Webb suddenly wondered if David Mitchell might not be just as good a poker player as they were. “That may be necessary.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” David warned.

  “Why not?” Webb asked suspiciously.

  “I can’t understand why Elizabeth was so adamant about me getting to know Jesse Hayes so well, but as I said, I did as she asked. After all, as far as I knew then, Elizabeth was my ultimate superior.” David noticed a subtle glance between Webb and Finnerty. “So I made Jesse believe I cared about her, and I think I did a pretty good job, because she confided to me she was involved in something she was frightened about. Even when she found the copy of the Doub Steel check made out to LFA with my signature, I was able to convince her that I hadn’t written it, that there had to be some sort of conspiracy going on and that I was just as confused as she was. Which, frankly, I was. But I also wanted to keep track of her for selfish reasons at that point because of the check copy. I had to find out what was going on, so I convinced her that we should work together to figure out what was happening. Fortunately, she bought everything I told her and agreed.”

  They were hanging on his every word now. “Anyway, Jesse told me she believed someone was manipulating the Elbridge Coleman campaign,” David continued, glancing at Webb. “She didn’t tell me exactly what she had, but she said she had put together a great deal of information which in the aggregate would nail someone. She also told me she had hidden the information, and that if anything happens to her, there is another person who has instructions to take the material to federal authorities. So you can’t just find her and dispose of her. That won’t work. You’ll still be vulnerable.”

  “Why hasn’t she gone to anyone yet?” Webb asked.

  “I told her she couldn’t be certain of who to trust, and that if the information she had wasn’t compelling enough, wasn’t enough to convince someone to investigate right away, she would pay the price. I scared her, but I had to. Even though I didn’t write it, I couldn’t have her giving the copy of the Doub Steel check to her superiors with my name at the bottom. That would have been very bad for me. It would have caused them to go through Doub’s books with a fine-tooth comb, and someone would have discovered that I’d sent the other money out as well. I would have gone to jail. I’m sorry, but that isn’t in David Mitchell’s future.”

  “If what you say is true, you’ve acted with great foresight, David,” Webb said. “And I appreciate your advice about dealing with her fate delicately. But the question still stands. Can you contact her? Do you know where she is?”

  “I want to ask another question first.”

  “Go ahead,” Webb growled, growing impatient.

  “Was Jesse Hayes correct in her investigation of the Coleman campaign? Is someone attempting to manipulate his election?”

  The young man was smart,
perhaps too smart. He knew exactly what was going on, but he wanted confirmation. He wanted to hear the words. “Yes, she was correct.” Webb leaned forward in his chair. “David, what we have put in place here, Sagamore’s coordination with the black budget, is much too valuable to let wither away once I’m gone. I’m pragmatic enough to realize I won’t be around forever, and we need to make certain it keeps going. You will benefit from our hard work on Coleman’s campaign.” His jaw was clenched. “Now, can you find Jesse Hayes for us?”

  * * *

  —

  David rifled through Rebecca Saunders’s files. Hager, Halston, Hayes. He yanked the thick file from the cabinet, set it down on the table and opened it. As he leafed quickly through the pages his expression did not change despite what he was reading. Raped by her stepfather at age seventeen. Rage, guilt, fear. An abortion. But where? Clinic or hospital? Jesse would have been nothing but a number at a clinic. But there might be a name on her file at a hospital.

  And then he saw it, scrawled in script on the edge of a typewritten page. The answer. Edgewood General.

  David replaced the papers in the envelope, closed the file, put it tightly under his arm, and headed toward the door.

  * * *

  —

  It helped to know people—and to have a face women were attracted to. “Thanks, honey,” the young man said sweetly as the nurse handed him the bag. Inside was confirmation that Jesse Hayes had visited Edgewood General at age seventeen and had an abortion performed. Something she was still guilt-ridden over. Information they could use against her.

  “I shouldn’t have done this.” The nurse shook her head.

  “Don’t worry. No one at Edgewood General will ever know it was you,” he assured her. “I promise. Here.” The young man slipped the letter-size envelope into the nurse’s hand. Inside was $1,000.

  The nurse snatched it from the young man’s hand, checked the contents, and walked away into the night.

  Chapter 31

  David sipped black coffee from the Styrofoam cup in his left hand as he held the receiver and punched in the number with his right. It was six in the morning, but time of day was of little concern to him now. If she wasn’t awake yet, she soon would be.

  “Sheraton North,” the operator answered loudly.

  “I’m trying to reach Jesse Hayes. She’s in room ten-eleven.”

  “One moment please,” the woman said enthusiastically.

  David groaned. Anyone who was that chipper at six in the morning didn’t have a life, or had been completely brainwashed during corporate training. Finally the line began to ring.

  “Hello,” a groggy male voice answered.

  David pulled the receiver away from his ear for a second. What the hell was going on? “Is Jesse Hayes there?” he asked hesitantly.

  “There’s no one here by that name.”

  “Sorry.” David hung up quickly and hit the phone’s automatic redial button.

  “Sheraton North.” The same obnoxiously chipper voice greeted him.

  “Yeah, I just called. I’m trying to reach Jesse Hayes. I believe she’s in room ten-eleven. Could you check that?”

  “Just a minute.”

  He heard the tapping of fingertips against a keyboard, then the woman’s voice was back on the line.

  “She is a guest here, but not in room ten-eleven. I’ll connect you now.”

  “Operator!”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you tell me which room she’s in?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do that. We aren’t allowed.”

  “She’s my fiancée,” he lied. “And it’s my credit card paying for the room. The name is David Mitchell. You can check it out. I can give you the Visa number. I think I’m entitled to the information.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It’s corporate policy not to give out room numbers over the phone or at the front desk no matter what,” the woman answered firmly. “Would you like me to ring her room?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly, accepting that this woman wasn’t going to violate protocol.

  There was a single ring and then an answer.

  “Hello.”

  “Jesse?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s David.”

  “What do you want?” she asked coolly.

  “What the hell is your problem?” David sensed the chill instantly.

  “My friend Sara Adams, the one I told you about at the bar the other day, is dead.”

  He heard the accusatory tone. “I’m sorry.”

  “You know whoever killed her meant to kill me.”

  “Is that why you switched rooms? In case they figured out their mistake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you knew the operator wouldn’t divulge room numbers?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I’m the only one who knew which room you were in?”

  “Yes,” she said evenly.

  For the moment he ignored the implication. “When you switched rooms, why didn’t you use an alias if you wanted to keep people away?”

  “I was worried the front desk would give me trouble if I changed names when it was your card paying for the room. And of course I don’t want to use my card.”

  “You have to have faith in me, Jesse,” he said, interrupting the flow of conversation, subtly acknowledging the distrust so evident in her tone. “I’m trying to help you. You must believe that.”

  “They killed Sara. You work for them. They can make you rich. You said it yourself. All you ever wanted was to be rich. Why should I trust you?”

  “I don’t care about money now. I want to do what’s right. I want to protect you.”

  “Does protecting me include moving me out of my apartment so you could destroy it searching for information? I told you none of the information I have is here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My apartment was ripped apart. I went there last night.” She listened carefully to his breathing for any clue to the truth.

  He knew what she was thinking. “I didn’t have anything to do with your apartment being ripped apart. You must realize that.” He had to think, fast. He had to win her confidence back. “You told me the Neil Robinson file wasn’t there when I dropped you off at the Sheraton. Why would I rip your apartment apart?”

  “Simple. You didn’t believe me.”

  “I want to take care of you, Jesse.” Again, rather than respond to her words, he tried to play on her emotions.

  “I can take care of myself,” she answered icily.

  Todd groaned as he came out of his sleep. Jesse glanced over at the couch and covered the phone’s mouthpiece.

  “Who the hell is that?” David asked quickly.

  Todd rubbed his eyes, then looked up at Jesse.

  She held a finger to her lips. “It’s Todd Colton. I felt I needed protection last night, so I asked him to stay here with me.”

  David banged his desk hard with an open palm. “Don’t trust that guy, Jesse. Get away from him. I’m not kidding.”

  She heard the smack of his hand hitting the desk. “I told you, I’ll make my own decisions from now on.”

  David pressed the receiver to his ear tightly. “Jesse, they have something on you.” He had to tell her now. It was the last chance.

  “Something on me?” Her voice suddenly wavered. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. I have to show you in person. I’m telling you, it’s definitely something you don’t want them to use against you.”

  Her hand began to shake. “What is it?” But she already had an idea. It could only be one thing.

  “Meet me.”

  “So someone can shoot me?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” he said soothingly. “I hav
e their assurances. You name the place. It can be as public as you want. You can bring Todd if that makes you feel better. I’ve told them you possess incriminating information, but that it is safely stored and that there are instructions with a friend to go to the authorities if anything happens to you. I’ve told them that the information you have would put them behind bars for the rest of their lives. They believed me. They are willing to work out a deal. Perhaps with a large cash payment. This can all work out for the best, Jesse. We can all be safe. I urge you as strongly as I can to consider this option. They believed me, now you have to believe me.”

  The bastard. He had been working with them the entire time.

  Todd sat up on the couch as he saw the sadness in Jesse’s eyes.

  “Name the place, Jesse.” David was insistent.

  She felt the emotion hurtling to the surface but choked it back. There was no time for emotion. “The Mercantile Bank branch on York Road just north of the fairgrounds,” she uttered despondently.

  “When?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “Good. You’re doing the right thing, Jesse.”

  Slowly she put the phone down without answering.

  “What’s wrong, Jess?” Todd sat down on the bed next to her and gently took her hand.

  “Nothing. Everything. Just hug me, Todd, please.”

  * * *

  —

  At ten-fifteen, Jesse and Todd sprinted across York Road, dodging heavy traffic, to the Mercantile Bank branch. They had been watching the building for thirty minutes but had seen nothing to make them wary. Each car that had rolled into the small parking lot had exited, and now the lot was empty. There seemed no reason to be suspicious.

  They entered through the glass doors at the front of the building and moved quickly to a counter on one side of the lobby. A guard stood amiably in one corner of the room next to a large fern, hands behind his back. Jesse glanced at the guard, then at the two unoccupied tellers.