The Tangled Webb (11 page)

CHAPTER 28

L
ocated in a neighborhood of D.C, every nook and cranny of the home was filled with darkness except for the study where the faint glow of a lamp cast the silhouette of Henry Ward.

It was now past midnight and Mrs. Ward had gone to bed a couple of hours earlier.

Staring at a secure phone on his desk, the Senator worked up the courage to hang on.

It won’t be long now.

The phone rang, shattering the silence, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Hello.”

“Good evening, Mr. Ward,” a man said.

He tried to steady his voice.

“It’s good to hear from you, Deacon.”

“What do you have for me?”

“I met with Dekker and McKenzie earlier this evening. I must say, they were badly shaken.”

“I’m not surprised. One never knows when the past will return and haunt him.”

“As you expected, they were eager to accommodate our wishes,” declared Ward.

“Splendid. Two more are captive to our demands.”

“We’re getting closer.”

“Patience my friend,” the Deacon cautioned.

Ward paused to consider the remark. The Deacon obviously had this luxury. But he could think only of how much longer he could hang in. As each day passed, the burden placed on his shoulders by the Deacon made him increasingly weary.

“You’re right, Deacon.”

Detecting a hesitation in the Ward’s voice, the Deacon offered encouragement.

“Your good works will not go unrewarded.”

Invigorated by the Deacon’s praise, Ward inhaled deeply before pressing on.

“I appreciate your confidence in me.”

Satisfied, the Deacon changed topics. “Our sources are informing us that much progress has been made in the Senate.”

“Things are moving along nicely, the balance of power is shifting.”

“Excellent. Goodnight.”

Ward heard the connection go dead and he leaned his head back in his chair. His eyelids felt heavy and he slowly closed them.

Six more to go.

CHAPTER 29

T
he moment James entered the living room of the townhouse Kate noticed the look on his face.

He repeated Reardon’s words.

You’re on your own.

She cast her eyes downward.

For Kate, the words were like broken glass, but they weren’t bleeding yet.

She suggested dinner at a nearby café.

James slipped his hand in hers and they walked along the sidewalk on Wisconsin Avenue, an FBI agent trailing not far behind. Passing a row of quaint shops, they entered the eatery and settled on a table nestled to one side against an exposed brick wall.

Both of them now knew that Max Baer was somewhere in the city of Paris.

In all probability, he’s arranging the demise of his next victim,
thought Kate.

The urgency of locating him was intensifying and growing more relentless as the hours passed.

A server came over, filling water glasses and asking if they’d like to see menus. They had dined here before, so James told the guy not to bother and ordered drinks and entrées for both of them. When the waiter headed for the kitchen, James said, “You know, the bank account in Switzerland will have to be tapped to finance the manhunt for Baer.”

Kate suggested a course of action.

“I was thinking of starting with the casinos. Paris has eight of them. He likes to gamble. The high-end hotels in the metropolitan area would be good targets too. The man does have expensive tastes.”

“And the photos of Baer?” James asked.

“The images are good quality. Copies can be made and distributed to private detective agencies.”

The server returned, placing drinks on the table.

James resumed the conversation. “The manpower can be ramped up quicker by hiring large, multi-national firms.” James did some quick calculations in his head. “Surveillance teams can be used for the casinos and investigators for intelligence gathering. Teams of individuals can canvass the streets and interview store clerks. I figure the total comes to about two hundred people.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “At what cost?”

“Four to five hundred thousand a day.”

“At that rate, we’ll have to get a break soon,” she pointed out.

“It’s a good start.”

“I hear a sucking sound,” she said, referring to the drain on the Swiss bank account.

Leaving the café, the fresh evening air provided a nice atmosphere for a stroll through the neighborhood as they walked home.

Once inside, James spoke with a banker in Switzerland, coordinating wire transfers and sending funds to businesses throughout northern France. Kate began working the phones and making arrangements in Paris. Several hours later, three multi-national firms and a legion of detectives were in hot pursuit of the elusive Max Baer.

A wall-mounted clock in the kitchen caught Kate’s eye and a feeling of racing against time overwhelmed her. So far, no one was on the ground in France to run the manhunt.

But this was about to change.

CHAPTER 30

T
he morning sun was an hour away from peering above the horizon in the Washington suburb of North Bethesda when Senator Carol Bailey started the engine of her BMW sedan.

Her husband was fast asleep as she left to begin a ten minute drive to the Potomac River: a daily ritual she started a few years ago. Approaching the Great Falls Tavern Visitors Center, the BMW swung into a parking area. She pulled on a pair of hiking boots and bracing her hands against the trunk of the car, began stretching her legs.

Her muscles sufficiently loosened up, she headed for the Billy Goat Trail, a five-mile path curving between the C & O Canal and the Potomac River in the Chesapeake and Ohio National Historical Park. She enjoyed the convenience of the trail, its location a mere ten minutes from the hustle and bustle of the nation’s capital. These hikes at daybreak helped to keep her figure trim and her mind sharp.

At this early hour, the park was nearly deserted as she advanced along a narrow path, taking deep breaths and slowly increasing her heart rate to a point where she started to break into a light sweat. Just ahead, the dirt path wound around a bend where the terrain steepened as she scrambled over layers of angle-faced rocks.

Her mind clearing, she looked out toward the river, thinking about the grisly car wreck that claimed the lives of her colleagues and the Bible verse left behind at the scene.

THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH

In her head, she could not help repeating the words. Trying to shake feelings of dread, she struggled to escape the surreal aspects of the incident. As much as she wanted to, she could not make any sense of it.

Now climbing higher beside a rock outcropping, her attention turned to Senator Kowalski, her late colleague who apparently had suffered a massive heart attack in his sleep. The event had struck a personal chord. Kowalski’s home was located only two miles from her own in North Bethesda, and the two had been close friends.

And there was the open Bible at his bedside, and the verse.

MATTHEW 3:2. REPENT, FOR THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS AT HAND

The words had a chilling effect on her, even as warming rays of the morning sun tingled on her arms. As she ascended the rough terrain, her legs continued to pump forcefully and her hair streamed like copper against a clear sky.

She struggled with a conviction that several of her colleagues had in recent days given her the cold shoulder. The silence was deafening. For Carol Bailey, the corridors of Congress had become a lonely place.

Are they conspiring against me?

There had been whispers and unsubstantiated rumors, mostly about blackmail and payoffs. She recalled discreet advances by a mysterious figure whose identity remained unknown. She had spurned suggestions of bartering her vote in exchange for financial gain. Bailey was a woman of high principles. She had been clear and unequivocal. By now, anyone interested knew her vote was not for sale, at any price.

All of a sudden, she had the feeling of eyes on her.

Is my imagination playing tricks?

Spinning on her heels, she scanned the narrow path and the surrounding area.

Not a soul in sight.

Returning her attention to the trail, she moved along the path before traversing an outcrop of large boulders. For a moment, she stood and watched the wild power of the Potomac force its way through the rocky crags of Great Falls.

Then she heard it.

The snapping of a twig in the near distance.

She quickened her pace, hurrying along the trail until reaching a point where the path cut up a diagonal crack in the rock face. Her legs propelled her body forward, each new breath more labored than the last. Resisting the urge to look back, she came to a stretch of the trail overlooking the river. Moving swiftly, she was momentarily preoccupied by a pair of rock climbers on the Virginia side of the river. Turning her eyes back to the path, she headed for a clearing a hundred yards beyond the high and rocky terrain beneath her feet.

She would never make it.

A man jumped from a clump of underbrush a few steps behind her. As she ran in full stride, he kicked her legs out from under her. She stumbled and fell. Rolling on her back, she faced her attacker and looked up to see his cold black eyes.

At this moment, Boris could not have been more pleased.

The Deacon has done a fine job in selecting the ambush point.

“Get up,” he commanded.

As she got to her feet, a raw fear consumed her. She recoiled and looked away from the hunchback’s eyes as they cast a hideous terror.

Then a disturbing realization struck.

My colleagues were murdered.

Boris loomed over her as she stood a few steps from the edge of a rocky cliff.

“What do you want from me, cooperation?”

“The time for that is gone.”

He stuffed a small booklet into her pocket.

“You shouldn’t have rejected the Deacon’s proposal,” the hunchback said.

Trembling, she glanced over her shoulder at the precipice, her feet near the edge of the cliff.

She spoke her last words as he reached out with his huge hand and pushed her over the cliff.

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

As she hurled into a free fall, Boris watched as Carol Bailey plunged sixty feet to her death.

His work done, he tracked along a predetermined route and vanished from the park without a trace.

Later in the day, a hiker discovered the Senator’s body in a thicket of underbrush near the foot of a trail. The Park Police had been the first to arrive on the scene, followed by the Montgomery County Police, and finally, the FBI. When her body was taken to the Department of Health, the medical examiner removed a small Bible from a pocket and noticed that one verse in particular had been highlighted in yellow marker.

PSALMS 107:11. FOR THEY HAD REBELLED AGAINST THE WORDS OF GOD, AND SPURNED THE COUNSEL OF THE MOST HIGH

Having inspected the peculiar item, the examiner put the article in a sealed evidence pouch and sent it on to the FBI.

CHAPTER 31

FBI
Special Agent Carter stomped into the offices of the United States Capitol Police. A senator had been murdered earlier in the day out in Potomac, increasing the death toll to four.

An accident.

Or so he had been told by the Montgomery County Police.

Accident my ass.
Carter’s blood pressure skyrocketed. Determined to prevent more fatalities, he flashed his badge in the face of an assistant, then he brushed past her and stepped over to a glass door with letters stenciled on it.

CHIEF OF POLICE—USCP

No introduction was necessary as he entered the room. Chief Jackson already knew the volatile FBI agent. Closing the door, Carter stretched out his arm as he held a photograph of the late Senator Bailey.

“This was less than two hours ago,” he declared.

“I know,” the Chief replied as he studied the grisly image. “We’ve had this information for more than an hour.”

“I don’t want to hear any nonsense about accidents,” Carter barked. “We’ve entered full protection mode. And this goes for
all
U.S. Senators.”

“We?”

“That’s right. I’m talking about round-the-clock security. And I don’t want any flak, either.”

The Chief, a hardened veteran of the D.C. law enforcement establishment, leaned back in his chair. “I would like to remind you, Agent Carter, this department has exclusive jurisdiction where the protection of U.S. Senators is concerned.”

“Limited to the United States Capitol Grounds,” Carter retorted, clarifying the Chief’s response.

“Exactly what is your role in this, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“It’s my case. I’ve been designated by the Director as the liaison for the FBI. I’ll be coordinating and supervising all of the security details in connection with the senators.”

“On whose authority?”

“The Attorney General and the President of the United States,” Carter stated flatly.

The Chief sighed. “It looks like we’re going to be working together.”

“That’s right, Chief. The game plan has changed. The President and the Justice Department have taken the position that someone is killing senators. And they want us to provide protection for them.”

“That isn’t going to be easy,” Jackson pointed out.

“Damn right. Each of those senators is going to get a twenty-four hour security detail,” Carter announced.

“Then I assume you’re bringing Metro in on this?”

“And the D.C. and Park Police as well.”

“You’re talking about a lot of manpower,” the Chief said. “Is Justice prepared to commit the resources?”

“Let me worry about that,” Carter replied as he grasped the doorknob. “Believe me, they’re on board, one hundred percent.”

“Whatever you say.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Standing in the doorway, Carter turned to the Chief whose eyes were glued to an open file on his desk.

“I’ll have an outline of your duties sent over,” he added, “and no screw ups.”

Carter slammed the door as he went out.

The city’s traffic was brutal as the bureau man sat behind the wheel of his non-descript, bureau-assigned sedan. He headed in the direction of the Metropolitan Police Department located a mile south of the National Mall. Passing the western facade of the Capitol building, he thought about the protection of the senators. Carter had immediately grasped the difficulty of the situation. Given the number of individuals needing protection, the odds were stacked against him.

His eyes darted to one side as he dodged a taxi driver who cut him off, sending his sedan careening toward a row of cars parked alongside a curb.

“Watch where the hell you’re going,” he shouted from his open window.

After regaining control of his vehicle, he jotted down the cabbie’s license plate number. Retaliation would have to wait.

Approaching the D.C. Police Station, his thoughts returned to the senators. He knew some would reject outright the spike in security. He could already hear the complaints; this is a hassle, it’s hindering my lifestyle. Still others would attempt to give the slip to their security teams, hoping to steal away for some privacy.

The task was a nightmare.

Growing more angry and frustrated by the minute, he pulled into a parking space at the Metro’s First District Station. Their operations covered the Capitol Complex and the surrounding area within a two-mile radius. Bolting from the sedan, he slammed the car door and marched toward the building’s entrance, his trench coat blowing in the breeze with a quickening of his steps.

Inside, a middle-aged woman sat behind an information desk. A visibly agitated Carter shoved a badge in her face. “Special Agent Carter,” he said bluntly.

She responded with a pleasant smile.

“They’re expecting you,” she said as she rose to her feet. “Right this way.”

She led him to a conference room where he was met by the Metro Chief and the Assistant Chief of the Park Police. Among its many functions, the agency had a horse-mounted unit and conducted helicopter patrols over the National Mall. Agent Carter took a seat at the conference table opposite the two lawmen.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Carter began. “I’m sure you don’t need to be told the reason for this meeting.”

“We got a telephone briefing from the Justice Department,” replied the Metro Chief. He then gestured to his right. “This is Jeffrey Davis, the Assistant Chief over at Park Police.”

“I guess the Chief didn’t consider this matter important enough to attend,” Carter snapped.

The two men exchanged a look.

“I’m sorry. He had a previous commitment,” Davis replied.

“Right.”

The Metro Chief’s eyes moved to Davis, then back to Carter. “Jackson over at Capitol Police filled in some of the blanks for us.”

“Listen to me. This situation is of the highest priority. I want to see a blanket of security around these senators. Every one of them, twenty-four-seven. Am I making myself clear?”

“We get it,” the Metro Chief replied.

Carter’s face turned red as he pounded a fist on the table. “I don’t want to be getting any more calls telling me that another senator is dead.”

“Understood,” Davis said.

“Good,” Carter replied.

The conversation went on for another twenty minutes as Carter did the talking, mostly about the framework for the new inter-agency task force. He told them he was assembling a group of agents at the bureau, and the assignments and duties of their departments would be coordinated through his team at the FBI.

He slid two business cards across the table as he turned to leave.

“My home number’s on the back. If anything important comes up, I want to be notified immediately,” he said. “And gentlemen, don’t screw this up.”

And with that, Carter walked out.