Chapter 25
The DART train pulled up to the West End Station. Jason got aboard and took a seat. It was mid-afternoon and the train was nearly empty. Just as the doors began to close, a middle-aged man in a blue suit squeezed through the doors and sat down across from him. They looked at each other nervously.
"So, you must be Jason Robinson," he said.
"That's right," Jason replied. "And you would be George Mathias, right?"
"Correct."
"So, what's this all about? Why did you want to see me?"
"I’m here to give you the biggest story of your life," Jason said.
He looked at him skeptically. "Really? I’ve heard that before.”
Jason shrugged. “I bet you have.”
Mathias sighed. “So, why me?"
"Because you're well known, respected, and I think we can trust you."
“How do you figure that?” Mathias chuckled.
Jason frowned. “I don’t know. I guess it’s because I read about you going to jail last year rather than revealing a source. That to me indicates integrity and loyalty.”
Mathias smiled. “Well, in this business you have to protect your sources. . . . So, what kind of story do you have?"
"It's a little complicated, but we're about to blow the whistle on some very powerful people. If they knew what we were up to, they'd kill us all without giving it a second thought."
"Really? So where do I fit in?"
"We have a senator who will help us if we can deliver certain evidence to him to produce for Congress. The problem is preserving that evidence. The minute these people find out what's coming down they'll do whatever it takes to destroy the evidence before it can be delivered."
"I see. So what do you want me to do?"
"We want to show you and a couple other reporters the evidence so you all can study it and see that it's real. Then you'll write a story about it that will come out simultaneously with its delivery to Congress. That way Congress won't be able to bury it. You see these powerful people have a lot of influence in Congress too."
"You're talking about MidSouth Bank, right?"
"Exactly."
"Oh God. . . . Does this have something to do with Matt Coleman?"
"How did you know?"
"I did my homework. You have a history with him."
"That's true. He'll be getting out of prison soon."
"Huh. . . . So where did you get this evidence?"
"Do you remember a lady and her son who were executed in a parking garage at the Hotel Continental a year or so ago?"
"Yeah, vaguely."
"That was Martha Simonton. She was the secretary to the chairman of MidSouth Bank."
“I don’t remember that connection,” Mathias said.
"Somehow the identities of the victims were altered," Jason said.
"Really?"
“Yes, Ms. Simonton saw the Senate Banking Committee hearings on TV and wanted to help Matt Coleman and Professor Swensen. She contacted Professor Swensen, they met, and shortly thereafter she and her son were killed by a man named Hans Schultz. Schultz worked directly for Frank Hill at MidSouth Bank.”
"Whoa. That’s pretty intense,” Mathias said. “And you can prove this?”
“Yes, but I can’t tell you exactly how right now. What I would like to do is meet you in Washington, D.C. and show you and two of your colleagues the evidence just before we meet certain Senate officials.”
Mathias stroked his chin while he pondered the proposition. Jason watched him intently for a moment and then said, “We need to know if you're in or out. There are lots of reporters who would love this story if you’re not interested."
He shrugged. "All right, I'm game. When will this all take place?"
"In seventy-two hours. Check in at the Watergate and we’ll be in touch with more instructions. Bring two other reporters with you."
"That doesn’t give me much time.”
“We can’t delay any longer than that. It’s too dangerous.”
“Okay.”
"Oh, there is one condition to your participation in this venture."
"What's that?"
"You can't discuss this with anyone, including your boss, your photographer, or even your wife, prior to the meeting. We know Frank Hill has some influence with your newspaper. You can't give them any time to quash the story."
"Don't worry. I'll make sure the story gets printed."
Plastic Gods, A Rich Coleman Novel Vol 2 Page 42
