CHAPTER 36
F
or Senate Majority Leader Henry Ward the mid-afternoon traffic was bearable in downtown D.C. and the drive from the Capitol Complex to his destination a relative breeze.
He pulled into the entrance of a hotel nestled in a prime spot near the Potomac River in historic Georgetown. A valet approached and opening the door asked if he had any luggage.
“Two suitcases in the trunk,” he replied.
“I’ll have a porter bring them up right away sir.”
Ward crossed the lobby and at the front desk picked up a keycard. Taking the elevator to the top floor he entered a suite. Walking to a row of windows, he stood and gazed out at a beautiful view of D.C. and the Potomac River.
The luxury of the setting made him think of the lifestyle he could afford with the Deacon’s money.
It won’t be long now.
A knock at the door jolted him back into the present and a porter entered with two suitcases, placing them on a coffee table.
Alone again he stepped to the bar, poured a drink and sat on the sofa.
Ten minutes later a second knock came at the door. As he peered through the peephole he recognized two of his colleagues; Senators Erik Lindholm and Frank Giordano. He opened the door and welcomed them in.
Then Ward gestured to a sitting area in the living room. “Please, gentlemen, have a seat.”
Once they were all seated, a silence followed as Lindholm and Giordano looked at each other.
The elephants in the room were the two suitcases on the coffee table.
“May I get you something to drink?” Ward asked.
Both settled on a Perrier.
Giordano, experienced at this kind of thing, took a device from his pocket and put it on the table. It was a white noise machine and focused sound in the frequency range of human speech.
If there were any bugs in the room the words spoken by the Senators would be masked by the machine.
“You can’t be too careful these days,” Giordano said.
“Alright, Henry, you asked for this meeting. What’s on your mind?” Lindholm asked, as if he didn’t already know.
“Votes.”
“And whose might those be?” Giordano shot back like a pit bull.
Ward eyed the two men.
“Why yours, of course.”
“And what if they’re not for sale?” replied Lindholm.
They both knew they were playing a dangerous game. A steely look in Ward’s eyes told the story. He was holding the upper hand and he knew it. Sure, they could refuse, but that decision would definitely shorten their lifespans. In the event they left the suite without a deal, their chances of seeing another sunset were slim to none.
“I think we’re beyond that point, don’t you, gentlemen?” Ward countered.
Then Giordano spoke.
“Suppose, hypothetically, that we came to an agreement. What assurances would we have that you’d keep up your end?”
Ward’s eyes shifted to the suitcases on the table.
“Open them.”
Each man unzipped his bag and as they opened them Ward looked on. Eyes wide with awe the men stared at the contents. Inside each of the suitcases was $2 million, neatly stacked and bundled. Before them for the taking was almost ninety pounds of cold, hard cash.
“For you,” Ward said. “A token of good faith.”
Lindholm stared at the stacks of cash.
Pick up the case and we walk out of here, or die.
A
tough decision,
he was thinking.
Giordano put on his poker face.
“There are two million dollars in each of those cases and eight million more on the back end for each of you,” Ward said.
Giordano wasn’t a person to let a good opportunity pass him by. Somehow he had gotten wind of Senator Dietrich’s dealings with Ward and knew about the $15 million she had extracted from him.
More important, he knew that buying his vote was easier than bumping him off and replacing him.
He decided to play hardball.
“Ten million is low.”
“Did you have a figure in mind?” asked Ward.
Giordano showed no emotion and said, “Fifteen,” his face like stone.
Lindholm turned to Giordano, his pulse racing.
He’s signing our death warrants.
He lacked the stomach for this kind of thing.
Ward raised his eyebrows. “Twenty?”
“It’s a pittance compared to what you’re getting in return,” Giordano pointed out. “You’re getting control of the U.S. Senate. What’s
that
worth?”
A shrewd operator, Giordano believed Ward must be getting close to the votes he needed and figured his and Lindholm’s votes should bring a premium.
“Thirty million is a bargain and you know it. The power a person could wield is
incalculable
.”
Ward didn’t need lectures on power.
The only remaining superpower in the world, the U.S. has tremendous influence. A reserve currency and an enormous military assure its leadership. It’s often said, “As America goes, so goes the world.”
Ward broke into a wide grin.
“Done.”
Lindholm exhaled in relief, wiping sweat from his brow.
“The balance will be wired into offshore accounts before, not after, our votes are cast,” Giordano said.
“As you wish.”
With that, they zipped up their suitcases and started for the door. Anxious to get out of the suite, Lindholm headed for the elevators.
Giordano lingered, looking back at Ward.
“Nice doin’ business with you,” he said, and closed the door.
Ward stood again at the window.
He then looked out at a town that had devoured his soul.
CHAPTER 37
J
ames spent the day scurrying around Paris checking in at investigative agencies about the elusive Max Baer. He was starting to think Baer was a figment of his imagination. So far the search hadn’t turned up a single lead and he was getting discouraged.
Walking into his hotel he was planning on giving Kate some relief from the manhunt. He just wanted a quiet evening together.
But the frenzied pace made this impossible.
As he made his way to the elevators a young woman rose from a nearby chair and walked up to him.
“Excuse me, are you James Webb?” she asked in a polite manner.
“Maybe.”
He studied her.
A gorgeous brunette wearing a low-cut silk blouse and a short skirt, revealing cleavage and curves.
She persisted. “I’m looking for Mr. Webb.”
“Who wants to know?”
She extended a perfectly manicured hand to shake.
“My name is Tiffany. I’m a private investigator here in Paris. I believe you’re looking for Max Baer?”
“Who isn’t?”
“I might know where to find him.”
“You might?”
She poured on the charm.
“I’m ninety-five percent certain. There’s a huge reward out and I intend to collect it. I’d like to discuss this in more detail.” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the bar. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”
He shrugged.
Why not? What do I have to lose? I’ll do anything
to get my hands on Max Baer.
He followed her into the bar and heads turned to have a look at her. A server came around to their table and quickly came back with their drinks. As they talked the waiter came around a couple more times.
James didn’t mind.
I desperately needed to blow off some steam and a few drinks will do the job nicely.
Tiffany leaned in and gently touched his arm with her hand. He was overwhelmed by the alluring scent of her perfume and curves in all the right places.
She whispered in his ear.
“I’ve got the information up in my room.”
A silence.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They rode the elevator to the sixth floor and to her room. The instant both were inside and the door closed, she pressed her body against his and spun on her heels.
The action got loose quickly and James found himself on the bed with a beautiful woman. She moved over his body like a tigress, rousing his senses with her lips.
Then she sat upright.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Moments later she came out of the bathroom and when she turned to James, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, pointing a gun at her.
“Who are you working for?” he demanded, his voice cool.
Shocked, she stammered, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“This is no time for theatrics. I want answers, now.”
She grew increasingly agitated.
“I’m serious. I really don’t know what you mean.”
His eyes were cold and distant.
“This gun is pointed directly at your heart.”
She stared down the barrel, an expression of agony on her face.
“But . . . you don’t understand. If I talk, they’ll kill me.”
Her eyes remained fixed on the gun as James pulled back the hammer.
“If you don’t start talking, you won’t make it out of this room alive. Now talk!” he yelled.
In a fit of hysteria, she turned, ran to the window and threw herself against the glass.
The pane shattered into pieces as she plummeted like a stone. Her body crashed through the roof of an atrium and plunged into the hotel swimming pool.
James then walked over and stood at the opening where the window had been, peering down at her lifeless body floating in the water.
“Pity,” he said. “And such amazing lips too.”
He turned, walked across the room and paused at the door. Cautiously, he placed one hand on the handle and the other on his gun.
He was slowly opening the door when a burst came thrusting against it.
James put the barrel of his gun against the peephole and fired three shots. One of the bullets burrowed into the neck of an assassin who collapsed against the opposite wall.
Between the open door and the wall an arm appeared, holding a gun. James swung his leg upward and kicked the pistol from the hand of the second assassin.
It flew into the bathroom.
The assassin heaved his weight against the door and James struggled to hold his position. He raised his gun and tried to fire a round, but the assassin managed to grab James by his wrist. Twisting with his huge hands, he wrenched the gun away and it fell behind the door.
In a swift action James swung his leg upward and it made contact with the assassin’s groin. He shuffled backward, still holding on to James, and he pulled him into the hallway.
The door closed behind them.
Neither man had a weapon so each would have to rely on his skills and wits to survive.
James did not move.
Then the assassin closed the distance and pounced.
His left jab was followed quickly by a right hook that grazed James on the face. He thrust his head back and avoided the blow, countering with an elbow to the face and kicking the back of the assassin’s knee, which made him slump. Then James drove a knee into his head.
Lying on his back, the assassin drilled his foot into James’ chest, sending him back against the wall. On his feet again the assassin lunged forward with a hard punch and James flipped him over his shoulder.
The assassin got to his feet and made another assault. The struggle continued as they moved along the corridor. His movements fierce and quick, he fought defensively, waiting for his assailant to make mistakes before countering with decisive strikes of his own.
All of a sudden the door to the stairwell opened and a frightened chambermaid stepped back, turning and running down the stairs.
The assassin launched a side kick and sent James reeling backward onto the landing at the top of the stairs. Outwardly James appeared calm, but inside he boiled with fury. It was like a switch had been turned on and his childhood memories set off a fight or flight response.
The trigger was the assassin.
James waited.
Then the assassin threw a punch.
James shifted his head to the side and after the man’s fist missed its mark, he came back with a blow to his throat. The assassin struggled to draw air into his lungs.
Quickly James made a crisp, chopping motion, striking the assassin on the side of his neck and he collapsed on the stairwell railing, the momentum of his weight carrying his body over.
He plunged ten feet, landing on the concrete stairs below.
Then James moved back into the hallway as the elevator doors opened. A hotel manager stepped into the corridor with a security guard in tow. His eyes were fixed on the dead assassin, but then he turned and looked at James.
“My wife and I heard a commotion from our room below,” James said.
Not sure which room Tiffany had fallen from, the manager continued to look at James.
“It’s right here,” James said helpfully, pointing to the door of Tiffany’s room.
Once inside, the manager and the security guard went straight to the shattered window and stared down through the opening in the atrium roof.
James quickly picked up his gun from behind the door and tucked it into his belt.
“Dreadful,” James told them. “Absolutely dreadful.”
Then he disappeared into the corridor and down the stairwell, stepping over the assassin, his neck broken by the fall. He entered the hallway on the fifth floor and ducked into his own room.
Kate approached him.
“James! What in the hell is going on? The couple across the hall told me a hotel guest died from a high fall.”
He shrugged.
She knew from the intense look in his eyes that her question hardly needed to be asked but she did so anyway.
“What have you been up to?”
He gave her the look of a cat that just swallowed a canary.
“I was pursuing a lead.”
“So. It was
you
causing all the commotion.”
“A woman approached me in the lobby. She claimed to have information about Baer.”
Kate could smell Tiffany’s perfume on his clothes and clearly he had a lot of explaining to do.
“We need to find someplace else to sleep, and quickly,” he said.
“What happened to this woman?”
He paused, thinking about the question.
“She got in over her head.”
CHAPTER 38
T
he interior of the apartment was completely dark except for the faint glow of a cigarette near the bed. As she drew smoke into her lungs the woman looked at a man through a pair of French doors.
He stood on a narrow balcony, his silhouette tall and lean.
In her mid-forties, the brunette had known her distant lover for only two days.
Taking the brisk night air Max Baer remained still as the glimmering lights of Paris enlivened his senses, and along narrow streets below the din of music and voices blended as revelers absorbed the city’s night life.
Then a phone began ringing in the bedroom. Turning away from the lights, Baer stepped inside and lifted a secure phone from a bedside table. He gestured to the woman with a movement of his head, a cue for her to disappear into the bathroom and close the door.
He pressed the Talk button.
“Yes.”
“The business with Mr. Webb,” the Deacon began, getting right to the point. “Very messy.”
“This kind of work is seldom clean,” countered Baer.
“You allowed him to slip from your grasp.”
“Tiffany slipped up.”
“Excuses, from you Mr. Baer? Failure will not be tolerated.”
A long silence.
“There are three bodies in the morgue,” the Deacon said, “and Webb is not among them. He’s still on the loose.”
“Not for long.”
“Our plans are being opposed by a capable and determined foe. The city is crawling with spies.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Stay where you are. Don’t leave under any circumstances. There’s a woman there. Am I correct?”
Surprised, Baer managed to say, “Yes.”
“She will tend to your needs, and you will keep out of sight. Understood?”
“I understand.”
“We’re extremely close. The objective is nearer than you think. Be vigilant.”
And the line went dead.
_______________
In another part of the city James and Kate were busy getting themselves free of the chaos at their hotel. After a hasty departure they motivated rental agents with cash and cajoling, and more cash, finally securing new lodgings along the right bank of the Seine.
The small apartment came fully furnished and occupied a corner on the top floor of a Beaux-Arts building, at a point where the river turned south and passed the Eiffel Tower.
“What do you think?” Kate asked.
Exhausted and banged up, James could think only of a comfortable place for resting his head. He knew it would all begin again in a few hours.
“It’s lovely,” he said softly.
He found the bedroom and collapsed on the bed.
On the contrary, Kate was energized.
Wasting no time, she unpacked bags and got settled in. An hour later stacks of notes and papers were strewn across the dining room table, and with the command center in place she paused for reflection. She felt her pulse quicken. The danger terrified her, but was exhilarating too.
They tried to kill James. We must be getting close. Max Baer is in Paris. I feel it in my bones.
The apartment was dark and still. She drifted in and out of a daze, feeling her heart, beating . . .
She almost jumped out of her chair when a phone rang.
It’s four o’clock in the
morning. Who would be calling at this hour?
Jolted back to life, she recalled the hundreds of investigators combing the city and hunting for Max Baer.
She scrambled for her secure phone and pressed the Talk button.
“Hello.”
“I’m sorry to be calling at this late hour, Mrs. Webb,” the woman began, “but your instructions were to contact you
immediately
if I obtained any information.”
Now fully alert Kate recognized the voice. It was a woman on one of the investigative teams pursuing Max Baer.
“Yes, Isabelle. Please go on.”
“I have surveillance footage taken at a fashion retailer on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. I compared the video to the footage you provided. I’m certain this is the man you are looking for.”
“How sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
Kate pumped a fist in the air.
“And his gait, he walks with a slight limp?”
“Mrs. Webb, this is the man.”
A silence as Kate waited. Then the woman continued.
“I slept with the store manager so I could get this copy of the video. He’s a real pig. Now about the reward money. I’m certain that I’ve earned it.”
“Oh yes, of course. I understand completely Isabelle.”
“I prefer payment in Euros.”
“Absolutely, as you wish.”
Kate made arrangements to meet Isabelle and complete the transaction when the bank opened at 9:00 A.M. She mentioned that Max Baer had been accompanied by a woman as he was captured on the store’s surveillance equipment.
Maybe the woman can be identified
, Kate thought.
Her attention turned to the Paris police department. Surely, at least one of the hotel guests had seen James following Tiffany into the hotel bar. A homicide investigation into her death, and the assassins, was no doubt underway. And the FBI’s Paris office had probably been contacted. A composite sketch drawn from the accounts of hotel guests and staff was likely in the works.
Pushing these thoughts from her mind, Kate figured a few hours of sleep would do her good. She stood in the bedroom doorway, looking at James.
He lay in bed, asleep.
She changed into a night shirt and slipped in beside him. Gently she ran her fingers along his arms and chest, feeling the welts and bruises he sustained in the hotel ambush.
Holding him tightly she struggled with her emotions. He had taken the brunt of the mayhem. Kate made a plea for deliverance and eventually she drifted off to sleep.