To Save a Son (24 page)

Ronan was a large, thrusting man, constrained by the necessity of a business suit. Behind his desk, among the legal diplomas, there were several sports pennants displayed and four photographs of what Franks thought were football teams in which he guessed Ronan featured. There was another person with Ronan in the office when they entered: a tall, bespectacled man whose easy movements contrasted with those of the prosecutor. He rose as Franks and Rosenberg entered the room, and Ronan said, “I'd like you to meet Joseph Knap.”

The man offered his hand and Franks waited to follow Rosenberg's lead. The lawyer accepted the gesture and so did Franks.

“Sorry,” apologized Waldo, the late arrival. “Something came up.”

Franks and Rosenberg took the seats that Ronan suggested, and the district attorney said, “Thank you for coming.”

Rosenberg looked around the office, apparently seeking something, and said, “No recording?”

“No,” said Ronan.

“Shouldn't we establish some ground rules?”

“Of course.”

“This is entirely privileged?” said Rosenberg.

“Absolutely,” agreed the other lawyer.

“With no prejudice at all to my client?”

“None,” guaranteed Ronan. “And it can be suspended the moment you decide.”

Rosenberg looked away from Ronan to the other men in the room. “I know whom Mr. Waldo represents,” he said. “We met last night. Is Mr. Knap on your staff?”

“Mr. Knap is a senior investigator for the Internal Revenue Service.”

“This is a tax investigation, as well?”

“It's every sort of investigation,” said Ronan.

“Would you like to explain that further?”

“That's exactly what I intend doing,” said Ronan.

Rosenberg looked directly toward Waldo. “This meeting forms no part of any investigation of my client?” he insisted.

“No,” assured Waldo. Franks wondered if he heard a reluctance in the man's voice.

Rosenberg smiled toward the athletic man. “Then I guess we'd better hear you out, like you suggest,” he said.

There were a lot of papers and files on Ronan's desk; the contents of Waldo's briefcase at the hotel meeting, guessed Franks. Ronan arranged them in front of him, like a barricade. Looking over the top and not bothering initially to consult them, he said, “You'll be aware of the task forces formally established by President Reagan to combat organized crime. Even before their establishment, the FBI had ongoing investigations into the affairs of three men who operate under various pseudonyms but who, for the sake of this discussion, I shall refer to as David Dukes, Roberto Pascara, and Roland Flamini.”

Ronan paused, going to the first file. “Because of that monitoring,” he took up, “the bureau was quite quickly aware of their involvement as apparent investors in the hotel chain established in the Bahamas and Bermuda by Mr. Franks. For the last nine months, there has been a squad assigned specifically to those enterprises; every transaction has been followed, every involvement checked.”

Ronan looked over his barricade directly at Franks. “Three months ago the papers were submitted to me for a decision upon taking the case before a grand jury. The file was very complete. I have details of the Delaware incorporation, from which it is quite obvious that Mr. Franks—with the holding of his wife—controls the companies. I have sworn affidavits from officials in the Bahamas and Bermuda admitting the payment of bribes to facilitate the building of the hotels on both islands. The Bahamian and Bermudan authorities have prosecutions pending against each of them, depending upon the results of our investigations and decisions. There is also prosecution pending against William Snarsbrook, a Bahamian minister who has fully confessed to being personally paid three hundred thousand dollars through an offshore account to facilitate the establishment of a casino attached to Franks' main hotel, in Nassau; part of the Bahamian evidence—” Ronan took a slip of paper from one file. “Here's a photostat, a note that says, ‘Thanks for all your help and assistance, Eddie.'”

Rosenberg jerked in Franks' direction. Franks shook his head desperately.

“I have documentary and photographic evidence of Mr. Franks' presence in Las Vegas, not only with Dukes, but with another known gangster. There is also proof of Mr. Franks with Dukes and Flamini in Bermuda and the Bahamas and on other social occasions with Pascara.” Ronan nodded in the direction of the Revenue investigator. “Mr. Knap has been a senior member of the specially assigned squad. During the last nine months he has traced the movement through the credit link that again was personally established by Mr. Franks between Las Vegas and the Bahamas of some eighteen million dollars, which his inquiries suggest were not gambling winnings. The money was moved from the United States mainland into the Bahamas along the credit link created by Mr. Franks; of that sum, Mr. Knap has provided me with sample charges in the sum of four million dollars, and I am satisfied that the evidence with which he has accompanied those suggested charges is sufficient for a prosecution against Mr. Franks.”

Franks felt crushed under the weight of the further accusations, trying to assimilate what was being said but not completely grasping it all. Only one thing was obvious to him. He was lost; utterly lost beneath a welter of false evidence that it was going to be impossible to prove to be false. Because to these people it
wasn't
false. Everything was there, documented, photostated and photographed. Lost, he thought again; utterly lost.

Ronan held up a file that looked less worn and used than everything else upon his desk. “This contains a total of twelve charges, which I intend to lay before a grand jury to obtain indictments against Mr. Franks. They are variously brought under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organization Law, the Continuing Criminal Enterprise Law and the Tax Reform Act of 1976, as amended by the legislation of 1982.”

He offered it to Rosenberg, who accepted it, opened the folder, and looked at the material inside. There was complete silence in the room, interrupted only by the occasional rustle of the pages. Franks found it difficult to concentrate upon what was going on around him. Instead he thought of Tina and of David sitting on his chest that morning and Gabriella looking trustingly at him. Be careful, Tina had said. Franks was too confused to be sure any longer just what it was that he had to be careful about.

“My client denies each and every one of these charges, of course,” said Rosenberg.

Franks tried to bring himself back inside the room. How was it so easy for Rosenberg to remain calm?

“Of course,” said Ronan, just as controlled.

“You asked us to hear you out fully,” prompted Rosenberg.

“The proposed charges name only Mr. Franks,” pointed out Ronan. “I intend further charges, bringing in Dukes and Flamini and Pascara on indictments of conspiracy. But I think they can be defeated.”

“You want us to become a prosecution witness?” anticipated Rosenberg.

Franks jerked his head between the two men like a spectator at a tennis tournament, trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Yes,” said Ronan. “If you are prepared to cooperate in every way, if you enable indictments to be handed down against Dukes, Flamini, and Pascara, I am prepared to offer you complete immunity against prosecution.”

“I wouldn't be prosecuted!” burst out Franks, forgetting his promise to Rosenberg.

“No,” confirmed Ronan shortly.

Why wasn't Rosenberg showing more enthusiasm! thought Franks. They were being offered everything!

“Yesterday Nicky Scargo, who introduced my client to these men in a manner which we say was criminal deception, was shot dead,” reminded Rosenberg.

“We are further prepared to offer your client and his family complete protection throughout the duration of the grand jury hearing and trial,” said Ronan.

“And afterward?” persisted the other lawyer.

“He and his family will be admitted to the Witnesses Protection Program,” said Ronan.

“What's that?” asked Franks.

Rosenberg looked sideways at him. “An entirely new life,” he said.

PART THREE

De Duobus malis minus est semper aligendum.
(Of the two evils the lesser is always to be chosen.)

Thomas à Kempis

20

Franks looked warily around the chambers, stopping finally at his own lawyer. Let's actually see the straws before we start to clutch at them, Rosenberg had advised. Franks recognized the straw but wasn't sure how to reach out for it. Looking at Rosenberg, Franks said, “I want to know what an entirely new life means.”

“Exactly that,” said Rosenberg. The lawyer looked beyond, to Waldo. “Would you like to explain it?”

The FBI agent tried and failed to straighten in the chair, pulling his huge bulk forward on to its edge. “Like the district attorney has already explained,” he said, “in return for your cooperation—your complete cooperation in providing us with all the evidence you might have and testifying in court against them—we will provide you and your family with guaranteed twenty-four-hour protection, until the conclusion of the trial. That means you, your wife, and your children …”

Waldo hesitated, looking deferentially toward Ronan. The district attorney nodded, and said, “You're doing fine.”

“At the conclusion of all the hearings you—and your family—will enter a program that has been evolved to protect absolutely the identities and safety of those who help us convict recognized criminals and racketeers. The government will move you and your family anywhere in the country that you choose. You will be provided with new Social Security numbers, new bank accounts, new names. You'll be guarded, until the FBI and the United States Marshals Service is satisfied that you have adjusted completely. And then you'll be safe.”

Franks remained staring at the man, sure he'd misunderstood. He purposely waited, expected Waldo to continue and correct the ridiculous inference but Waldo didn't. Franks said, “Let's just wait a minute. Are you proposing—saying—that at the end of the grand jury hearings and whatever trial follows I—and my family—will just disappear? I shall cease to be Eddie Franks and my wife will cease to be Tina Franks and my children will have to have different names, as well?”

“Yes,” said Ronan, answering for the FBI agent.

Franks laughed disbelievingly. “You can't be serious!”

“Oh, we're very serious, Mr. Franks. There are a large number of people living safe, contented lives under the protection program. It's proven extremely successful in persuading criminals to testify against their superiors.”

“I am not a criminal, and Dukes and Flamini and Pascara are
not
my superiors!”

Ronan and the two investigators stared at him steadily, making no response to the protest. “What if I say no?” demanded Franks.

“I shall convene a grand jury and present the evidence before them and invite them to find that a case is justified,” said Ronan simply.

“But that's … that's … that's …”

“What, Mr. Franks?” asked Ronan politely.

“What about the businesses in Europe?” said Franks, not responding to the other man's question. “How could they be run?”

“You have a legal advisor, Mr. Franks,” said the district attorney, nodding toward Rosenberg. “I suggest you take his advice.”

“Why couldn't I just go back to England?” demanded Franks. “There's nothing left for me here anyway. Why can't I just go back there?”

“It's my obligation to make the facts clear to you,” said Ronan. “By cooperate we mean precisely that. Your agreement can't be obtained under any sort of duress or misunderstanding. The Witnesses Protection Program has been designed to serve just that purpose: to protect witnesses.”

“Are you telling me that I wouldn't be safe—I wouldn't be safe, or my wife and children—if I remained here to give evidence and then, at the conclusion of any hearing, returned to Europe?”

“As your own counsel has already pointed out, Mr. Franks, one person involved in this affair has already been murdered. Before any legal proceedings have been instituted.”

“Here!” protested Franks. “In America. I'm talking about Europe.”

“I know what you're talking about, Mr. Franks.”

“You're telling me I've got to lose everything!” said Franks, aghast. “You're telling me that I've got to abandon everything I've built up throughout my life! Become somebody else!”

“Yes,” said Ronan.

“That's not a choice! That's blackmail!”

“It
is
a choice.” argued Ronan. “It's a choice that I would advise you to talk through with your advisor.”

Franks shook his head. The lawyer responded, looking first to Franks and then to the district attorney. “Is there somewhere I can talk to my client alone?”