The Winner (51 page)

“Your sources?” Berman almost laughed.

Masters intervened. “I’ve looked at it, Matt. It probably
is
bullshit.” He glowered over at Berman. “And even if it isn’t, it’s Georgia’s problem, not ours.”

“Right, and your interests should lie elsewhere.”

Berman refused to give it up. “She’s also a tax evader. She won a hundred million bucks and then disappeared for ten years and hasn’t paid Uncle Sam a dime.”

“I thought you were an FBI agent, not an accountant,” Riggs shot back.

“Let’s settle down, guys,” Masters said.

Riggs leaned forward. “I thought you’d be a lot more interested in the person behind LuAnn Tyler, the person behind a lot of people. The invisible guy with billions of dollars running around the planet playing games, causing havoc, making your lives miserable. Now, do you want to get to him, or do you want to talk to LuAnn Tyler about her itemized deductions?”

“What are you suggesting?”

Riggs sat back. “Just like old times, George. We reel in the big fish and let the little one go.”

“I don’t like it,” Berman grumbled.

Riggs’s eyes played over the man’s features. “Based upon my experience at the Bureau, catching the big fish gets you promoted and, more important, gets you pay raises; delivering the small fry doesn’t.”

“Don’t lecture me on the FBI, Riggs, I’ve been around the block a few times.”

“Good, Lou, then I shouldn’t have to waste time on this crap. We deliver you the man and LuAnn Tyler walks. And I mean from everything—federal, taxes, and the state of Georgia.”

“We can’t guarantee that, Matt. The boys at the IRS go their own way.”

“Well, maybe she pays some money.”

“Maybe she pays a lot of money.”

“But no jail. Unless we can agree on that, it’s a no go. You have to make the murder charge go away.”

“How about we arrest you right now and hold you until you tell us where she is?” Berman was inching forward, crowding Riggs.

“Then how about you never break the biggest case of your career. Because LuAnn Tyler will disappear again and you’ll be stuck at point A again. And on what charge would you be holding me by the way?”

“Accessory,” Berman fired back.

“Accessory to what?”

Berman thought for a moment. “Aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

“What proof do you have of that? What actual proof do you have that I even know where she is, or have ever even met her?”

“You’ve been investigating her. We saw the notes in your house.”

“Oh, so you came by my house on your visit to Charlottesville? You should’ve called ahead. I would’ve fixed up something nice for dinner.”

“And we found lots of interesting stuff,” Berman snapped.

“Good for you. Can I see the search warrant you used to enter my premises without permission?”

Berman started to say something and then clamped his mouth shut.

A thin smile broke across Riggs’s face. “Great. No search warrant. All inadmissible. And since when is it a crime to make a phone call and get some
public
information on someone? Considering that I got that information from the Feds.”

“Your WPP handler, not us,” Berman said threateningly.

“I guess I treat all you guys as one big, happy family.”

Masters started speaking slowly. “Supposing we do go along, you haven’t given us the connection between Tyler and this other person.”

Riggs had been expecting this question and was surprised it hadn’t come up before. “He had to get the money from somewhere.”

Masters considered this statement for a moment, and then his eyes flickered. “Listen, Matt, this is a little bigger than you probably know.” He looked over at Berman briefly before continuing. “We know—or rather we think—the lottery was . . .” Masters paused, searching for the right words. “We believe the lottery may have been compromised. Was it?”

Riggs sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table. “Maybe.”

Masters again chose his words carefully. “Let me make this real clear to you. The president, the A.G., the director of the FBI, they’ve all been apprised of this possibility. I can tell you that their collective reaction was one of absolute shock.”

“Bully for them.”

Masters ignored Riggs’s sarcastic tone. “If the lottery was fixed, then this situation has to be handled very delicately.”

Riggs chuckled. “Translation: If it ever gets out to the public, half the guys in Washington, including the president, the A.G., the director, and you two guys, will probably be looking through the want ads. So what you’re suggesting is a major cover-up.”

“Hey, this all probably happened ten years ago. It didn’t occur on our watch,” Berman said.

“Gee, Lou, that’ll go over real big with John Q. Public. All of your butts are on the line here and you know it.”

Masters banged his fist down on the table. “Do you realize what would happen if it becomes public that the lottery was fixed?” Masters said hotly. “Can you imagine the lawsuits, the investigations, the scandals, the blow it would give the old U.S. of A. right in the gut? It would almost be like the country defaulting on its debt. It cannot be allowed to happen. It
will not
be allowed to happen.”

“So what’s your suggestion, George?”

Masters rapidly calmed down and ticked off the points with his fingers. “You bring in Tyler. We question her, we get her cooperation. With that information in hand we bring in the people—”

“
Person,
George,” Riggs interrupted. “There’s just one of him, but let me tell you, he’s a very special one.”

“Okay, so with Tyler’s help we nail him.”

“And what happens to LuAnn Tyler?”

Masters spread his hands helplessly. “Come on, Matt, she’s got a state murder warrant out. She hasn’t paid taxes for almost a decade. I have to assume she was in on the lottery scam. That all adds up to a few lifetimes in prison, but I’ll settle for just one, maybe half of one if she’s real cooperative, but I can’t guarantee it.”

Riggs stood up. “Well, guys, it was nice talking to you.”

Berman was up in an instant and he slid over to the door, blocking Riggs’s exit.

“Lou, I’ve still got one good arm, and the fist attached to it is just itching like hell to plant one right across your face.” Riggs started to advance menacingly toward the door.

“Wait a minute, just hold it. Both of you sit down,” Masters bellowed.

Riggs and Berman engaged in a suitably lengthy stare-down and then slowly returned to their seats.

Riggs stared over at Masters. “If you think the woman’s going to waltz in here so she can risk her life in order to bring this guy down and then be rewarded by spending the rest of her life in prison, then you’ve hung around the Bureau too long, George. Your brains are gone.”

Riggs pointed a finger at him. “Let me fill you in on something. It’s the game of life and it’s called ‘who’s got the leverage.’ You call up the state of Georgia and tell them that LuAnn Tyler is no longer wanted for murder there, or for anything else. If she’s got a friggin’ parking ticket outstanding, then it’s wiped out. You understand me? Squeaky clean. Then you call up the IRS and you tell them that she’ll pay what she owes, but they can forget jail time. As far as being involved in any lottery scam, if the statute of limitations hasn’t already expired, then that goes away too. The tiniest infraction that could possibly put her in jail for even a second gets blotted out. Gone. She’s a free person.”

“Are you nuts?” Berman said.

“Or?” Masters said quietly, his eyes fixed on Riggs.

“Or, we go public with everything, George. What does she have to lose? If she’s going to go to prison for life, then she’s going to have to have some hobbies to fill up her days. I’m thinking appearances on
Sixty Minutes, Dateline, Prime Time Live,
maybe even
Oprah.
A book deal would probably be in the cards too. She can just talk her little heart out about the lottery being fixed, how the president and the A.G. and the FBI director wanted to cover it all up to save their jobs and how they were stupid enough to let a master criminal who’s been wreaking worldwide havoc for years walk away so they could put a young woman who grew up dirt-poor in prison for doing something all of us would’ve done in an instant!”

Riggs sat back and looked at both men. “That, gentlemen, is what I mean by leverage.”

While Masters considered this, Berman snorted. “One guy? I don’t believe that. We’re looking at a big organization. No way could one person do all the stuff I’ve been seeing on my radar screen. We haven’t been able to prove anything, but we know there are multiple players.”

Riggs thought back to the cottage, right before the knife sliced into his arm. He had stared right into the most deadly pair of eyes he had ever seen. Over the years working undercover in some very dangerous situations, he had been scared before; he was only human after all. But he had never before felt the nervous terror those eyes had aroused in him. If he had had a crucifix handy, he would have pulled it out to ward the guy off.

He looked at Berman. “You know, Lou, you’d be surprised. This guy is a master of disguise. He can probably play enough roles to fill a Broadway musical. And by going it alone, he never has to worry about anyone turning snitch on him or trying to cut him out.”

Masters started speaking in low tones as he tried a different tack. “Remember, Matt, not so long ago, you were one of us. You might want to think about that. You’ve obviously gained Tyler’s confidence. You bring her in, well, let’s just say your government would be very grateful. No more sawing and hammering to make a living.”

“Let me think about that for a second, George.” Riggs closed his eyes, reopened them almost instantaneously, and said, “Go to hell.”

He and Masters locked eyes. “What do you say, George? Is it a deal? Or do I go and phone Oprah?”

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Masters nodded.

“I’d really love to hear you
say
it, George.”

Berman started to cut in, but Masters stared him into silence.

“Yes, it’s a deal,” Masters said, “no jail.”

“Georgia too?”

“Georgia too.”

“You sure you can do that? I know your authority is limited there.” Riggs’s tone was taunting.

“Mine is, but I don’t think the president of the United States has that same problem. My instructions are to avoid public exposure at all costs. I guarantee that either he or the A.G. will make that phone call.”

“Good, now get the director and the attorney general in here, because I want to hear the same things from them. By the way, is the president busy today?”

“There’s no way in hell the president is meeting with you.”

“Then get the director and the A.G. in here, George. Right now.”

“You don’t trust my word?”

“Let’s just say your track record hasn’t inspired my confidence all that much. And I take comfort in numbers.” He nodded at the phone. “Make the call.”

Masters and Riggs stared across at each other for at least a minute. Then Masters slowly picked up the phone and spoke into it at length. It took some schedule-juggling, but within thirty minutes the director of the FBI and the attorney general of the United States were sitting across from Riggs. Riggs presented the same deal to them he had presented to Masters, and he extracted the same promises.

Riggs rose. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Berman got up too. “All right, if we’re working together now, bring Tyler in, we can wire her, get a team together, and go get this ‘one man crime wave.’ ”

“Uh-uh, Lou. The deal was
I’d
bring him in, not the FBI.”

Berman looked ready to explode. “Listen you—”

“Shut up, Lou!” The FBI director’s eyes bored into him and then he turned to look at Riggs. “You really think you can pull this off?”

Riggs smiled. “Have I ever let you guys down before?” He glanced over at Masters.

Masters didn’t return the smile, but just continued to study Riggs’s face. “If you don’t, all bets are off. For Tyler.” He paused and then added ominously, “And you. Your cover’s blown. And I’m not sure how much incentive we’d have to reestablish it. And your enemies are still plenty active.”

Riggs walked across the room to the door, but then turned back. “Well, George, I never really expected anything less from you guys. Oh, and don’t try to have me followed. That’ll just piss me off and waste a lot of time. Okay?”

Masters nodded quickly. “Sure, don’t sweat it.”

The big-voiced attorney general asked a final question. “Was the lottery fixed, Mr. Riggs?”

Riggs looked back at her. “You bet it was. And you want to know the kicker? It looks like the United States Lottery was used to finance the plans of one of the most dangerous psychopaths I’ve personally ever seen. I truly hope this never makes it onto the six o’clock news.” His eyes swept the room taking in the steadily rising panic in each of their faces. “Have a good day.” Riggs closed the door behind him.

The rest of the group looked around at each other. “Holy shit,” was all the director could say, his head swaying from side to side.

Masters picked up the phone and spoke into it. “He’s leaving the building now. He’ll know he’s being followed. Make it a short leash, but give him some room. He’s an expert at this stuff, so he’ll take you for a waltz around the city and then try to lose you. Be alert! When he hooks up with Tyler, communicate with me immediately. Keep them under surveillance, but don’t approach them.” He looked over at the A.G., who nodded her assent. Masters hung up the phone and took a deep breath.

“Do you believe Riggs’s story that it’s only one man behind all this?” the director asked, looking nervously at Masters.

“It sounds incredible, but I hope to God it’s true,” said Masters. “I’d rather be dealing with one guy than some worldwide crime syndicate.” The A.G. and director both nodded in agreement.

Berman looked around with questioning eyes. “So what’s the plan here?”

The director cleared his throat heavily and said, “We can’t ever let this come out, you all know that. No matter what happens. No matter who gets hurt. Even if Riggs is successful and we are able to apprehend this person and any others involved in the scheme, then we still face a major problem.”