Capitol Murder (29 page)

“Then why don’t you have me arrested? The transcript will be the key evidence in your case. I want to hear you explain to the judge how this transcript came into existence. You may also be interested in knowing that I have an associate looking into whether this taping is a violation of the federal criminal code.”

Crawford ignored Schatz and picked up the motion and the brief. Schatz sat perfectly still as Crawford thumbed through the citations to the cases that required dismissal of the charges against Ron Tolliver.

“So?” Schatz said when Crawford put down the brief.

“How did you get the transcript?” Crawford demanded.

Schatz stood up. “See you in court, Terry, where I believe the judge will be much more interested in your explanation of why you eavesdropped than how I discovered your unethical and possibly illegal activity.”

B
obby Schatz waited until he and Dana had left the DOJ before breaking into a grin.

“Terry looked like he had a serious case of indigestion,” Schatz said.

“What do you think he’ll do?” Dana asked.

“Cave. He’s got no choice,” Schatz said just as Dana’s cell phone rang.

Dana held up a finger and stepped into a doorway to take the call.

“I’m thinking of publishing an article about angels,” Pat Gorman said.

“I haven’t come across too many of them in my line of work,” Dana answered.

“Well, it’s about time you acquainted yourself with some of the more famous ones, like Simone Martini’s
Angel of the Annunciation
.”

“And where might I find her?”

“This angel is named Gabriel and
he
hangs out—quite literally—in the West Building of the National Gallery.”

T
he National Gallery of Art, located on the National Mall, was established in 1937 by a joint resolution of Congress with funds for construction and a substantial collection donated by Andrew Mellon. The collection is housed in two buildings, the neoclassical West Building and the modern East Building, which are connected by an underground passage.

Dana located
The Angel of the Annunciation
in Gallery 3 on the main floor of the West Building. A school group had just moved on, leaving Dana in the gallery with two Japanese tourists. As soon as they finished looking at the painting, Dana walked over to the panel that presented a side view of the angel Gabriel kneeling, clothed in an ornate robe rich with textured gold.

Dana didn’t know the name of the man she was going to meet, so she thought of him as Gorman’s Spook. He hadn’t told her his name or anything about his background the first time they had met at the National Museum of the American Indian during her investigation into the assassination attempt on Justice Moss. The only thing she knew about the Spook was that he had deep knowledge of the intelligence community.

A minute after the Japanese tourists walked away, Dana sensed someone stand beside her. The man had a pale complexion. He was wearing a ski jacket over a sweatshirt with a hood. The hood was up and Dana could just see his brown eyes and thin lips.

“Martini was one of the most influential artists in the Sienese school,” said the Spook in a voice so low that Dana had to strain to hear him.

“Really,” answered Dana, who couldn’t care less.

“The Angel was originally half of a two-part panel he painted around 1333. Imran Afridi will never be a model for any painting of an angel.”

“And that is because?”

“Afridi is from a very wealthy Pakistani family with diverse holdings. He was educated at Cambridge and returned to Karachi with a degree in finance to work in the family businesses. He lives in a walled estate in one of Karachi’s wealthier suburbs and keeps a low profile. Even so, he is suspected of financing terrorist operations.”

“Why hasn’t he been arrested?”

“Afridi’s family is very influential. They have a lot of money, which means they have several politicians in their pocket. Two of his brothers are high-ranking military. No one is going to make a move on Afridi unless the evidence is indisputable.”

“Is there anything showing a connection between Afridi and the attempt to blow up FedEx Field?”

“The bombers have been thoroughly interrogated. The only person they could finger is your client and, as you know, he hasn’t given anyone the time of day.”

“Jessica Koshani is on a board with Afridi.”

“More than one, but she was conveniently murdered before she could be questioned by the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.”

“So that’s why she was in Washington.”

“InCo, one of her companies, is suspected of laundering money for terrorists. She may have helped finance the FedEx operation, but there’s no way to prove that, now that Koshani is dead.”

“Why isn’t there more intel on Afridi?”

“He’s not associated with any recognized terrorist organization like al-Qaeda. My sources say that terror is a hobby for him and he likes to run the show himself, like a boy with a model train set.”

“Is Afridi in Pakistan now?”

“No, he has a home in northern Virginia.” The Spook gave her the address. “He was in residence on the day of the attempt at FedEx Field, and he’s still there.”

“That seems odd. You’d think he would want to head home as soon as the plot failed.”

“Something is keeping him here, but I can’t help you with that.”

“Thanks,” Dana started to say but the Spook was already moving to another section of the gallery, where he commenced to study
Joachim and the Beggars
, by Andrea di Bartolo.

T
he traffic was deadly, and it took Dana an hour and a half to find Afridi’s estate. It was in the countryside, approachable by a narrow country lane and sequestered in the middle of a forest of oak and maple. Dana drove along the wall that protected Afridi’s house and grounds from prying eyes. An iron gate sealed off the only entry from the road. Dana could make out a guard shack behind the gate and a guard wearing a blazer, a black turtleneck, and tan slacks. He looked fit and ex-military, and Dana bet he was armed.

Dana parked at the far end of the wall and walked a circuit around the property. There were gaps where she could see the house, but she also saw other guards, and she bet there were security measures she couldn’t see. When she decided that she wasn’t going to learn anything useful, Dana drove home.

A
man wearing camouflage lay in a blind in the woods high up the tree-covered slope across from the entrance to Afridi’s estate. As soon as Dana’s car was out of sight, he lowered his binoculars and radioed in her license number. When he learned the name of the owner, he called his superior and told him that Dana Cutler had conducted surveillance of Imran Afridi’s property.

Chapter Forty-four

“I
have great news,” Bobby Schatz told Ron Tolliver as soon as the guard closed the door to the contact visiting room. “The government is dismissing your case.”

Tolliver stared at his lawyer as if he had not understood what Schatz had said. Bobby chalked it up to shock. He smiled.

“By the end of the day, you’re going to be a free man, Ron.”

“They’re letting me out?”

Schatz nodded. “Remember our first meeting? The prosecutor was taping everything that was said in the interrogation room. When I came in to talk to you, I demanded that he stop because it’s illegal for the government to record a conversation between a lawyer and his client.” Schatz grinned. “We got lucky, Ron. Crawford broke the law. He kept taping our conversation. There are a ton of cases that hold that this type of conduct is presumed to be prejudicial. In your case, there’s no question that your case was prejudiced, because I laid out our trial strategy during the meeting.

“This morning, one of Crawford’s superiors phoned me. He’s in big trouble, and the DOJ doesn’t want its dirty linen aired in public, so they’re not fighting my motion to dismiss. You’ll be out of here today.”

If Schatz thought that Tolliver would thank him, the prisoner disappointed him.

“Where am I going to go?” he demanded.

“Maybe home to Ohio?” Schatz suggested.

Tolliver looked incredulous. “Are you insane? You don’t know my father. He’s ex-military and a flag-waving patriot. I’d be lucky if he didn’t shoot me. And if he doesn’t, someone else is bound to. Everyone in America has heard that I tried to kill ninety thousand people. As soon as I step out the door, I’ll have a target on my back. Every nut job will be out to kill me, and I don’t think the CIA will take this lying down. They probably have a hit squad waiting for me.”

“Ron, my job is to win your case. I did that. It’s your job to figure out what to do with the rest of your life.”

Schatz lowered his voice and leaned close to his client. “Maybe you should call your friends. They got you into this. Maybe they’ll help you out.”

Tolliver looked at the tabletop. Schatz could see he was thinking hard about his predicament.

“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?” Schatz asked.

Tolliver shook his head.

“I’ve left clothes and money for you,” Schatz said. “I wish you good luck.”

Chapter Forty-five

B
rad had been questioned by the Capitol Police and the FBI for hours after the incident with the intruder, and Senator Carson had told him to take the next day off. Having a lazy day at home was terrific, but it also meant that he was behind in his work when he returned to the office, so he’d had to stay late to catch up. Brad was putting the finishing touches on a memo when Senator Carson appeared in his doorway. Lucas Sharp was standing beside him.

“Good, I’m glad I caught you before you left,” Carson said. “You live near here, don’t you?”

“Just a few blocks.”

“I’ll give you a lift home. It’s too late to be wandering around Capitol Hill alone.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Nonsense. I insist.”

Brad was exhausted and grateful for the ride. The trio took the elevator to the garage in silence. Lucas Sharp led the way to a black Lincoln town car. Sharp drove, and the senator sat in front. Brad told Sharp his address just before the car pulled out of the garage. Then he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked at the street signs.

“I think you took a wrong turn,” Brad said. “We’re headed away from my apartment.”

“We’re going to my house first,” Senator Carson said. “There are a few matters Luke and I need to discuss with you.”

Brad wondered why they had to go to the senator’s home to talk. He was also having trouble keeping his eyes open, and he was starving.

“Can this wait until tomorrow, Senator? I’m out on my feet.”

“I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t really important. I have plenty of guest rooms. You can sleep at my estate when we’re through, or Luke can drive you home.”

“Okay,” Brad said reluctantly. He wanted desperately to head for his apartment, but you don’t say no to a United States senator, especially if he’s your boss. “Let me call my wife to tell her I’ll be late.”

“That’s not necessary,” Sharp said. “We won’t keep you long.”

There was an undercurrent of menace in Sharp’s tone, and suddenly Brad felt uneasy, but he didn’t insist on calling Ginny.

Everyone was quiet during the ride from the Capitol to the Virginia countryside. A little less than an hour after leaving the Capitol, the car parked in front of a white colonial mansion with a portico shaded by an overhang supported by pillars. The estate had reminded Brad of Tara from
Gone with the Wind
when he’d visited for the staff picnic shortly after he’d started working.

“My wife and the kids are in Oregon, and I’ve given the staff the night off, so we won’t be disturbed,” Carson said when Brad got out of the car.

“What do you want to talk about?” Brad asked nervously.

The senator opened the front door. “I’m interested in how much you know about Jessica Koshani’s connection with Executive Escorts and how you came by the information,” Carson said.

Brad hesitated. “I told you I can’t talk about that, Senator.”

“That’s not an option anymore,” Sharp said as he crowded in behind Brad and forced him into the front hall. Carson turned on the light.

“What are you talking about?” Brad asked, suddenly frightened.

Before Sharp could answer, a large man in jeans and a leather jacket stepped from behind the door and slammed a gun butt into Sharp’s head. Sharp slumped to the floor. Two more armed men appeared from the shadows. One man was as massive as Sharp’s assailant. The other was Brad’s height and slender.

“Put your hands behind you,” Mustapha said calmly. “If you resist, we’ll hurt you, and the end result will be the same.”

“Who are you?” Carson asked.

Mustapha answered by slamming his gun into Carson’s face. The senator’s knees buckled and he looked shocked. Blood poured out of a split lip.

“We aren’t in the Senate. I ask the questions, and you keep your mouth shut except when you’re answering them. Now put your hands behind your back.”

Brad and Carson complied. One of the larger men wrenched Sharp’s arms behind him and secured his wrists with plastic cuffs. The large man who had been at Mustapha’s side stepped behind Brad and the senator and secured their hands. Then Brad, Sharp, and Carson were herded into the living room and lashed to straight-back chairs. Brad tested his ropes and found almost no give.

“Go outside and stand guard,” Mustapha said to the man who had assaulted Lucas Sharp. He left the living room, and Brad heard the front door open and close.

“Senator,” Mustapha said. “I need honest answers. If you don’t give them to me here, we will kill your friends. Then we will take you to a place where we won’t be disturbed and where I will have an unlimited amount of time to question you. If I have to resort to this backup plan, you will suffer an incredible amount of pain. Inevitably, you will tell me everything I want to know. Then you will die. Tell me what I want to know now, and all of you will live.”