Gospel (54 page)

‘Karin told me what happened. I know she was scared and I know you were only trying to help. You
should
have told me, David, and if you ever do anything like that again I will kick your ass to hell and back – but, I guess, with everything else going on, I can understand why you didn't.'

He nodded then, raising her hands to his lips, the two of them relieved by what had been said, before returning to the nightmare that lay ahead.

‘I'm sorry, David,' said Joe, who had retreated to the corner of the room in an effort to give them some privacy. ‘But we don't have much time. We need to know what Ramirez told you, and we need to know it now.'

‘He's in pain, Joe,' said Sara. ‘Maybe he should rest a little before we . . .'

But David was already sitting up in his bed, the ache in his head shifting
slowly down through his body, the details of last night's bloody confrontation flooding back in waves of urgency.

‘What time is it?' he asked, the adrenalin now pumping through his veins, bringing life to his limbs, shocking his brain into focus.

‘Just after ten, Thursday morning,' said Sara.

‘
Shit
. I have to get up. There's too much to do.'

‘David, you . . .'

‘Sara,' he said, turning towards her. ‘Joe is more right than he thinks, the clock is ticking even as we speak. Four days – or three and a half. That's all we have left.'

‘What are you talking about?' asked Joe.

And then he told them about Ramirez and his threats and his fraudulent plea bargain proposal. About his fears of what the expiration of his four day deadline would bring – legally, criminally, physically.

‘We have less than four days to bring them down, so we need to pull together, all of us. That's the three of us, and Simba, Arthur, Nora, McKay, Leigh and Sam Croker in LA and Dick Ryan of course. We have to make this thing happen now, otherwise we let them down.'

‘Montgomery will help us too,' said Sara. ‘He is narrowing my list of undetectable sedatives. We'll have Gus on the case by this afternoon, re-testing the bloods, finding something, anything. Montgomery and Karin know how much you are doing for them. No matter what, David, you won't let them down.'

‘It's not just them,' he said. ‘It's so much bigger than them, than us, even bigger than the memory of Tom Bradshaw. We have to do this otherwise we are answerable to an entire nation. We screw up and the next President of the USA could well be Maxine Bryant – a multiple murderess riding a wave of misplaced sympathy and hiding behind the guise of democracy.'

Sara turned to Joe and David saw the fresh look of realisation on her face. There was something they had not told him. Something he had missed.

‘David there's something else. We haven't had a chance to . . .' she began. ‘Last night, after I watched the tape at Myrtle's, I went to the Fairmont, on a hunch, something I saw on the tape.'

‘What Sara? What did you see?'

‘The edge of a shoe heel, the corner of a skirt, a uniform. It was the
turndown housemaid, Maeve Barlow, or at least a fraction of her. She was directly behind Ramirez, coming out of an adjoining room when he came out of Bradshaw's suite and face to face with Maxine Bryant in the hotel corridor.'

‘And . . .'

‘And Maeve overheard their conversation. Bryant wanted to see Bradshaw but Ramirez did everything in his power to stop her – told her he was resting, said he asked not to be disturbed under any circumstances, practically formed a human force field against Bradshaw's door. Maeve said he was pretty forceful about it, almost intimidating.'

‘He was afraid what she would find,' said Mannix. ‘And if Bryant entered she would have ruined their plan. She had no idea what was going down.'

‘What? I don't believe this? I mean . . . if she didn't . . . if she isn't . . . ?'

‘It's not her, David,' said Sara. ‘Bryant isn't John. We have the wrong person. I'm sure of it.'

‘W
hat the hell are you doing, McKay?' said Susan Leigh, dressed down in faded jeans and an old Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt, her normally tightly bound hair now loose about her still intense but surprisingly pretty face.

‘I'm inhaling,' said Frank McKay, his eyes closed against the sunlight, his expression focused. ‘It's the jacarandas, their woody balsamic scent. It reminds me of golden sunlight drifting into a dusty library on a balmy summer afternoon. Smells can be inspirational, Susan. Smells solve crimes, set a scene, clear your head. You ought to try it some time, your nervous energy could use a little redirection. Meditation is a load of crap, but stopping to smell the . . . well, in this case the jacarandas, it can be damned enlightening.'

‘Jesus,' said Leigh, tapping her fingers on the side arm of her chair. ‘That's just what we need. When the others arrive we can all just sit around smelling the local vegetation – but my guess is, all we will come up with is jack shit.'

‘Not in this yard,' said Joe, emerging from his back verandah with two 7 Ups. ‘Marie banned the idea of us getting a dog after the fourth kid came along. No shit in this yard, Susan, I'm the local gardener and I can guarantee it.'

‘I'm sorry, Chief, I didn't mean to . . .'

‘It's okay, Susan,' said Mannix, handing them both a drink. ‘No apology necessary.'

They had decided on Joe's place largely because it was big and quiet and hopefully a long way from the likelihood of Ramirez's prying eyes and ears at their various offices and regular meeting places. Joe had organised for Marie to take the boys to her brother's place in Providence for a long weekend – and she knew better than to object, simply fussing over the lack of refreshments in the refrigerator and the late notice at catering for what she figured would be an all weekend ‘get together'.

‘I'm sorry, Marie,' Joe had said only an hour before when he walked in the door announcing he and his friends were about to take over their house with some impromptu, and from what Marie could garner, rather urgent gathering.

‘Since when have I asked you to apologise for setting things right,' she had smiled, the laugh lines around her pretty blue eyes then relaxing to reappear across her brow. ‘Just promise you will . . . It's going to be okay isn't it, Joe? I mean you are going to be okay? And David, and Sara.'

‘Sure,' Mannix had replied, taking her in his arms. ‘I got five mouths to feed remember – and five Italian ones at that.'

Marie had hugged him a little tighter before releasing him to point at the refrigerator. ‘There are some sausages and steaks in the freezer, but you'll have to furrow for a decent salad and we're down to our last loaf of bread. There's a couple of cases of Coors in the garage and a box of Coke and Dr Pepper and other assorted rainbow coloured sugar hits, and if all else fails,' she had said, gesturing at the kitchen faucet, ‘you can serve water a là tap.'

‘H
₂
O it is,' Joe had replied. ‘And thanks, Marie.'

‘You can thank me next weekend when I tell you I'm going out for a night with the girls,' she had said, and he knew she was giving him something in the future to hold on to, something beyond the mess that he had to deal with right now.

‘You got it,' he had smiled. ‘That's a promise.'

Half an hour later they were joined by Sara, Arthur and Nora. Sara had gone straight from David's apartment to the office where she had collected all of their case notes including her recent work with Montgomery on
undetectable sedatives. David was still with Tony Bishop. He had called him from home, requesting a quick lunch at Myrtles – where Mick had assured him some privacy in the kitchen away from the lunch crowd but still with the comfort of the curtain of chaotic noise which emanated like a blanket from the café beyond.

‘What's Special Agent King's ETA?' asked Sara.

‘He won't get here before seven,' answered Mannix who had corralled the now six strong group into the large living area which he had cleared of the usual clutter of toys and sporting gear. ‘Simba's in a tenuous situation, he can't just play hooky from work. Not with Ramirez breathing down his neck. He'll work out the day and then drive to Logan. He has arranged to meet the Caspians and take them via a secure route back to his car and on to the Regency Park, where I figured the extra security I put on Karin's current place of residence would come in handy.'

‘What about our other witnesses?' asked Arthur.

‘Pieter Capon and Maeve Barlow will both be at work tomorrow, so we can take their statements then. Pippa and Albert Mahoney are driving up from Philly tomorrow morning and should be here by late afternoon.'

‘And Croker?' asked Leigh.

‘He's on the first flight out of LA tomorrow – and he's bringing his friend with him.'

They all looked at Joe, realising how serious this was getting. Nancy Doyle, the supposedly deceased wife of ex-Gospel member Luke, was on her way to Boston – and bringing all of her secrets with her.

‘As for Ryan,' Joe went on, ‘I spoke to him this morning just after David told us about the four day deadline. He said he was going to be incommunicado for most of the day but told us to go ahead and set up a meeting with Tony Bishop. He promised he would check in before noon.'

Sara looked at her watch, it was now half past one.

‘He's late,' she said.

‘I know,' said Joe. ‘About an hour ago I called his PA in Washington who said he was out of the building. I also called his private cell number, sent him a text and paged his beeper but so far nothing. All we can do now is hope he's checking his messages and pray he contacts us soon.'

Just then an exhausted looking David entered the room, his tie loosened around his neck, his shirt wet with perspiration.

‘David,' said Sara, signalling him to come sit by her. ‘So how did it go?'

‘Pretty much like I expected,' said David falling into a well-worn couch at the end of the room. ‘At first Tony wanted to punch my lights out for even suggesting his older brother was a dope addict. But then I told him just enough to show him how much shit James was in – and that we could be the only ones who could help him.'

‘So, did Tony agree to . . . ?' Sara began.

‘He agreed to be with Ryan when he approached James – and if possible convince him to work with the CIA in uncovering the identity of his drug suppliers. But you have to remember, Tony is a lawyer, and a good one at that. Any deal James cuts with the government will have to be on his terms. I told him not to call his brother until he was contacted by Ryan, and that Ryan would facilitate the approach, but as soon as I finished talking Tony jumped out of his seat like his life depended on it, and reading between the lines, my guess is he will be on the next available flight to DC.'

‘Can't blame him really,' said Sara.

‘David's right,' said Arthur. ‘We have to assume James will get the tipoff ahead of the formal approach which means a lot rests on Tony's ability to talk James into cooperating. We need to talk to Ryan now – the timing on this is . . .'

As if on cue Mannix's cell rang and the Homicide Chief scooped it up within seconds. But a shake of Joe's head told them it wasn't Ryan but Simba – who said he had some more information and would be dropping by on his way to the airport to fill them in personally.

As Mannix was hanging up from King, his home phone rang and David grabbed it from the couch side table.

‘Mannix residence,' he said.

‘This is Ryan. I need to talk to Mannix.'

‘This is David Cavanaugh. It's nice to talk to you at last, Director Ryan,' said David who had not as yet been introduced to the CIA Chief. ‘I'll hand you over, but before I do, there are a couple of things we need to discuss.'

David gave Ryan the run down on his meeting with Tony Bishop, and
warned him it was more than likely Tony would soon be on his way to Washington.

‘My guess is he'll get there some time this evening, which means, since you are in DC . . .' David paused before going on, hardly able to believe he was about to tell the Director of the CIA what to do. But like they said, desperate times call for desperate measures, and time was short so . . .

‘I was about to say that since you are in Washington it might be worth you keeping tabs on both Tony's arrival details and James's whereabouts. I'm assuming you have people who can do that sort of thing which means you may even be able to meet Tony at Ronald Reagan and hopefully convince him it is best you go to see James together.'

‘That all sounds fine, Counsellor,' said Ryan, his Alabama drawl extending the word ‘fine' with a rich southern fullness. ‘But unfortunately I am not in the immediate DC area. I'm on a personal mission for the President right now.'

David said nothing, damning their lack of plain and simple ‘luck'. He did not know what else to suggest and was hoping Ryan might be able to.

‘How soon can you get to Washington?' asked Ryan.

‘What?'

‘Now listen closely, Cavanaugh. Here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna call your pal Tony and tell him you will accompany him to DC on a private plane supplied by the US Government. Then you are gonna fly to Washington and go see James Bishop. As of now you have been given temporary agent status which means you can act on my behalf when negotiating with James Bishop at the bequest of the Central Intelligence Agency. I'll fax the documentation to Mannix at home. That way you can give Bishop proof of your temporary status.

‘You talk to the older brother, promise him immunity on behalf of his secured cooperation and guarantee his position in Congress will not be compromised. In fact, if we have anything to do with it, he'll be back at work by mid next week.'

‘What? Forgive me, Director Ryan, but you can't be serious,' said David, still reeling from Ryan's instructions. ‘All of that might be possible, and don't get me wrong, I will do just about anything to get James Bishop on board, but I do find it hard to believe the CIA will go through with a deal
that basically allows a drug addict to sit in the House of Representatives and vote on behalf of the American people.'