Gospel (40 page)

‘That's great,' said Karin, obviously not knowing what else to say. ‘You make him happy. I can see that.'

‘Thanks,' said Sara. And then they stood there, Sara still holding the door, Karin still clutching her wet face cloth, the two of them frozen in an endless moment of mind-numbing discomfort.

‘About that cab?' managed Karin.

‘Of course,' said Sara, relieved at the cue to escape. ‘I'll go see Nora.' And then she left the bathroom, walking quickly, and then almost running down the hallway towards the office and wishing beyond all hell that this woman had never re-entered their lives.

W
ashington DC's National Mall is a long strip of green surrounded by museums and monuments that stretches for over two miles from the Lincoln Memorial on its western border to the US Capitol in the east. The Lincoln Memorial stands like a grand palace – looking down upon the famous long, glass-like Reflecting Pool towards the towering Egyptian obelisk-inspired Washington Monument and the US Capitol beyond. The Memorial, which was completed in 1922, was built to resemble a Greek temple but constructed with nothing but good, solid American rock: with a white Colorado marble façade, Indiana limestone interior, cream Alabama marble ceiling and pink Tennessee marble floor.

As for Lincoln himself, sculptor Daniel Chester French took his twenty-eight blocks of white Georgia marble and gave all nineteen feet of the late, great President the best possible view of the Capitol laid out before him – one of the President's hands is clenched, representing his strength and determination to see the Civil War to a successful conclusion, the other hand is open and much more relaxed, representing his warmth and compassion.

But there was nothing warm about this morning.

‘Jesus, I'm blowing smoke,' said Frank McKay to Joe Mannix as they walked westward along the southern side of the Reflecting Pool and
towards the imposing monument where they were due to meet CIA Director Richard Ryan in under half an hour.

‘Steam, Frank. It's condensation, not fire.'

‘What's the world coming to when you have to wear undervests in the middle of June?'

Mannix just shrugged, looking towards their destination, hoping to hell Ryan would keep his promise and show up.

‘You realise this pool has been the backdrop for hundreds of Hollywood films,' McKay went on. ‘
Mr Smith Goes to Washington, Deep Impact, The Firm, Forrest Gump
. Now that was a great picture. Wouldn't you say, Lieu?
Forrest Gump
?'

‘Is that why you're wearing the cardigan, Frank?' asked Mannix. ‘You wanna play Forrest Gump? Where'd you get that from anyway? It looks like a ladies' knitfest.'

‘It is. I woke up cold, borrowed it from Pearl at the Bethesda B&B.'

‘Jesus, McKay. We're about to meet with the most powerful intelligence agent on the planet and you're wearing a ladies' cardigan.'

‘Well, at least I won't freeze my ass off.'

‘Just don't walk too close to me. Okay, Frank?' Mannix managed a smile.

‘No problem, Chief,' said McKay. ‘Whatever you say.'

They knew exactly what they were doing; making meaningless chatter, filling in the minutes between knowing and not knowing, between finding out and not.

They had spent another sleepless night with Leigh and King, working on a strategy, deciding how much to tell the CIA Director and what, if necessary, they should hold back. In the end they decided Frank's initial bites about the Bible and Nancy Doyle would have to act as collateral for further information. In other words it would be tit for tat – either Ryan coughed up what he knew and gave as much as he took, or they would walk away, praying to God that Ryan would not run all the way back to the Langley and place a series of formal charges against them, including failing to report information accumulated in the course of a police enquiry, and undermining the progress of a Federal investigation.

By the time they reached the steps of the monument the sun was
casting long beams directly into the front of the mammoth classical structure. Its thirty-six Doric columns – one for every State that existed at the time of Lincoln's death – were casting deep shadows across the interior, giving a huge candy stripe-like effect across Lincoln and the walls that surrounded him.

The air was crisp and clean, the sun slowly warming the backs of tourists already congregating at Lincoln's feet, and the almost reverent silence broken only by a father reading his children ‘The Gettysburg Address', which was inscribed on the far southern wall.

‘He's not here,' said Frank.

‘We're early,' said Mannix. ‘Give him time.'

And so they waited.

Half an hour later they were still waiting and about to give up all hope when Mannix's cell phone rang.

‘Mannix,' answered Joe.

‘I'm sitting at a bench on the northern side of the Reflecting Pool,' said the distinctly southern voice before hanging up.

‘Jesus Christ,' said McKay, following Mannix out of the Memorial. ‘They pay these guys extra for the cloak and dagger shit?'

‘He's been watching us,' said Joe. ‘He just wanted to make sure we were alone. My guess is he's worried about Simba. The FBI are notoriously tight and Ryan is probably worried Leo is just another Feeb ready to rat out the Bureau's enemies to his superiors. We're gonna have to convince him Leo is straight up.'

‘That's easy, we just tell him King told us about Ramirez,' said Frank.

‘One step at a time,' said Joe, approaching the bench where a tall, broad-shouldered man was standing to meet them. ‘Let's just see what Director Ryan has to tell us first.'

‘Detective Mannix,' said Ryan, rising to his feet with an outstretched hand. ‘Forgive me for not returning your calls but nine times outta ten, detectives like you are ringing to ask me for a job and quite frankly, I don't have the time.'

‘It's okay,' said Joe. ‘You know Frank.'

‘I certainly do.' And the two men shook hands. ‘Mind if we walk while you talk. I listen better when I'm on my feet.'

‘No problem,' said Joe. ‘But with all due respect, Director, we didn't ask you here to listen. We believe you have information relating to the death of Vice President Tom Bradshaw, information that may suggest the wrong man is now sitting in jail accused of his murder. We also think we may be able to supplement such information but, and this is the kicker, Director, we are not going to risk sticking our heads out waiting for the crap shooter to blow them off without some kind of quid pro quo up front. In other words, this is not a one-way street. It's a freeway.'

‘How do I know I can trust you?' asked Ryan.

‘How do we know we can trust
you
?' countered McKay.

‘Tom Bradshaw was one of my best friends.'

‘And he's dead,' said Frank. ‘And if I were you, I'd be hell-bent on finding the people who killed him.'

Ryan stopped then, turning to face them, his blue eyes squinting against the mid-morning sun.

‘Gentlemen, I am in the business of suspicion and not accustomed to taking uncertain leaps of faith, especially when I have no idea if you are on the level.'

‘Fine,' said Mannix. ‘But to put things bluntly, Director, our time is up. Frank has told you enough to get you interested; otherwise, you wouldn't be here. He gave you some of our information, but not all, and let's just say we are unwilling to spill any more beans until we have a commitment that this thing is gonna flow both ways. So let's get this straight – right here, right now. You either jump or you don't. It's up to you.'

Ryan considered them, and started pacing slowly, in circles. He turned back to face them as if wanting to say something, but then seemingly thought better of it, and started walking again, this time east, away from them, towards the towering Washington Monument beyond the World War II memorial at the other end of the Pool.

‘
Shit
,' said McKay to Mannix. ‘We shouldn't have come on so strong. We've lost him.'

And then they heard him call over his shoulder, his deep southern drawl thick through puffs of dissipating steam. ‘You gentlemen coming or not?' he said. ‘It's cold, I need to keep moving, and I guess if I'm gonna jump, I might as well have some company on the way down.'

And then he began, starting with the girl.

In early February, Ryan explained, he got a call from retired CIA agent and old friend by the name of Albert Mahoney. Mahoney had been somewhat of a mentor to Ryan, an old war horse who ran the CIA's Crime and Narcotics Centre when Ryan was not much more than a rookie. He did things by the book and managed to hold his position as head of the CNC through two decades and four administrations until he retired to Uniontown, in his home state of Pennsylvania five years ago.

Mahoney told Ryan his eighteen-year-old grand-daughter, Pippa, who lived with her parents in Philadelphia, had been hospitalised after passing out at a rave party in her home city. Despite Pippa's insistence that she never took drugs, tests proved positive for MDMA or Methylenedioxyme thylamphetamine, better known as ecstasy, and the local cops were called in. Pippa's father immediately rang his father, and thanks to Albert's connections in Crime and Narcotics, the charges were dropped. Pippa went home with a sore head and a warning never to take the drug again, all the time maintaining her innocence.

‘The following weekend Albert drove across to Philly to basically give his grandkid the “dangers of drugs” talk,' explained Ryan as they walked alongside the Pool and past the Vietnam Memorial to their left. ‘But the kid is adamant she didn't take the drug, and even more adamant that she didn't drink anything which ruled out the possibility of her being slipped a “mickey”. According to Pippa Mahoney, the only pill she did take that evening was one she “borrowed” from her place of employ, a vitamin/beauty company called G4, written ‘
GIV
' in Roman numerals. She says she took the pill from a bottle of exclusive skin rejuvenation supplements the company sends to various clients via courier. She also said the company had a very strict policy on staff sampling product and begged her grandfather not to intervene for fear she would lose her job.'

‘Did Albert believe the kid?' asked McKay.

‘Not at first. Turns out Pippa has told her fair share of “cover my ass” lies in the past. But he was curious enough to make a visit to GIV on one of Pippa's days off.'

Ryan told them how Albert Mahoney visited the small but classy off-street offices where GIV beauticians performed services like facials, pedicures, manicures and body waxing. They also advertised packaged vitamin supplements, which were part of a display on their front counter, and were
billed as ‘a special combination of 100% natural ingredients guaranteed to rejuvenate the skin in less than four weeks'.

‘So Albert asks the manager – a Mrs Grace Van Horton – exactly what's in these miracle concoctions, and Van Horton rolls out a list of legit vitamins, minerals and herbs. Albert buys a pack and immediately gets it analysed by some old buddies at CNC's crime lab – and that's exactly what it is – Vitamins A, C, E, Calcium and so on.'

‘So his grand-daughter
was
lying,' said Frank.

‘No, no she wasn't. When Albert calls her on it again, she says her pill came from the
other
vitamin packages, the ones with vacuum seals locked in personal canisters that are sent out to private clients, the ones delivered from Philly Airport every month and dispatched via courier to a list of no-name private security boxes once a week.'

‘If they are vacuum sealed and locked,' asked Joe, ‘how'd the girl get her hands on one?'

‘She told Albert one of the canisters had been damaged in transit. She opened it, took what she thought was some super powerful anti-ageing concoction, re-sealed the canister and sent it on its way. Later that evening, right before hitting the rave with some friends, she downed the tablet, and
voilà
– instant high.'

‘An eighteen-year-old wanting to decelerate the ageing process,' said Frank. ‘Now that's a crime in itself.'

‘So where did Albert go from there?' asked Joe.

‘To me,' said Ryan. ‘He called and asked me to do some digging. And that's when I first became aware of clandestine narcotics operations being carried out by a small elite group of drug importers and distributors known as G4, which Tom Bradshaw and I later found out was an abbreviation for Gospel Four.'

‘As in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,' said McKay, looking at his boss.

‘Yeah,' said Ryan, obviously not yet realising the significance of Frank's recognition. ‘That's them.'

Ryan went on to explain how he then called in a few favours himself, asking some old and current CIA buddies to make a few discreet enquiries about the workings of GIV. The company itself was listed as being owned by a parent company known as Four Incorporated, which listed
its trading address as an abandoned warehouse in Houston, Texas, and its company director as one M. Johns of Galveston, whose phone was disconnected and whose address corresponded with a reclaimed reservoir where the only living residents had feathers or six legs.

‘Two dead ends,' said McKay, ‘So where to next?'

‘Back to Pippa,' said Ryan. ‘I was hoping beyond all hell that Ms Mahoney was exactly what she said she wasn't – a liar. And luckily I was right.'

Ryan told them how he followed Pippa to a café in her lunch break and basically told her he was from the ‘government' and that unless she handed over the other tablets she had taken, she could well be prosecuted for theft and possession of an illegal narcotic.

‘Basically, I was just going on a hunch that Pippa had taken more than that one tablet – maybe two or three or four. But when poor naïve Pippa reached into her handbag and pulled out a whole bottle of the stuff, I had to stop myself from smiling. She said she had intended to throw them out, but had just not got around to it.'