Gospel (37 page)

‘See, Dick,' laughed Howell, obviously trying to throw a little water on the heat that was rising fast between his two previously calm companions. ‘I told you the Treasury guys know it all.'

‘Take your shot, Larry,' said Ryan, obviously seeing something in McKay's expression and reading the man's desire to have a word with him alone.

Howell, despite no doubt being as curious as all hell, turned away and mounted his ball on the tee. McKay guessed the ex-VP had built a career on knowing when and where to leave a room – and this was one of those times.

‘Who are you?' asked Ryan. ‘Your card said you work for the BPD. What the hell would a pencil pusher from Public Debt know about the murder of Vice President Bradshaw?'

‘The Bureau of Public Debt probably know diddly squat, but there's a few of us up in Boston who have an idea or two.'

‘The BPD . . . you're . . . Boston Police,' said Ryan.

‘Homicide actually – and I never said otherwise,' said Frank.

‘Well tell me, Detective Frank McKay,' said Ryan, stepping forward, now
facing McKay eye to eye. ‘It's pretty obvious this golfing rendezvous was orchestrated for a reason. So here I am – you've got my attention, which is what you wanted, am I right? What is it you know, McKay? And perhaps more to the point, what is it that you
want
?'

Frank knew he didn't have much time. He had to convince this man of his sincerity before Ryan lost his cool and Howell fluxed his shot.

‘I know what I have read in the Bible, I know about the four Gospelmen who set out to re-write history and I know Nancy Doyle is still alive.' Mannix and King had told McKay that, if necessary, he should give Ryan a piece of information too shocking for the CIA Director to dismiss, and he could tell by the look on Ryan's face that now he really had the Director's attention.

‘As for what I want – what
we
want – is your help. We are not sure who to trust, Director, and I'm here today to take a chance on you.'

Ryan said nothing, just sized McKay up and down, obviously wondering how on earth he could know all that he did and what in the hell he should do about it.

‘You said “what
we
want”. Who are we?'

‘My boss Joe Mannix, my partner, and a Feeb from Boston.'

‘FBI,' said Ryan, and McKay immediately saw the distrust on his face.

‘Think of him as a renegade good guy.'

‘This have anything to do with Montgomery's wife's claims last night?'

‘Yes. Her lawyer, Cavanaugh, he rounds out our team.'

Ryan said nothing, just turned slightly to make sure Howell, who had just hooked his shot too far to the left, was still out of earshot.

‘You know the Lincoln Memorial?'

‘I've seen it on TV. I'm sure I can find it in real life.'

‘Meet me there tomorrow morning, 9am. That's early enough for us to blend into the first of the tourist crowd but not late enough to be bothered by it. Don't bring the Feeb or your partner. Just your boss, Mannix.'

‘You know Mannix.'

‘I've heard of him.'

‘Then you know what I say is true.'

‘I know you're an idiot for getting mixed up in things you don't understand.'

‘Maybe we understand things better than you think,' said Frank before
taking his bag off the cart, sizing up the drive on the last hole and moving a step closer to Ryan. ‘Three people are dead, Director, and those who are responsible need to be stopped. We may be a bunch of Beantown cops but where we come from, murder is murder no matter how important the killers claim to be.'

‘T
he ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances.'

David said nothing, just sat there and stared at his latest client – Stuart Ignatius Montgomery – his orange prison garb temporarily replaced by a tweed suit and crisp white shirt, his pepper hair combed back, his face cleanly shaven and a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

The English mahogany, tall-case grandfather clock ticked loudly on the far wall of Arthur's office, cutting into the silence with its monotone beat, as Montgomery, already lording over proceedings, looked from David to Sara to Karin to Arthur, revelling in their discomfort and obviously determined to garner control from the get go.

‘
Aristotle
, my dear people – and so profound under the circumstances, would you not agree? Come now, this
is
a sombre group.'

It was just after noon, and with the air-conditioning taking another unscheduled day off, David had opened all the windows in Arthur's office. The breeze was now strong enough to ruffle the papers on Arthur's large old desk but not cool enough to lower the temperature in a room now thick with anticipation.

This private meeting had been David's idea. He wanted to avoid the barrage of press now parked outside Suffolk County Jail and thus called
in some favours, resulting in Montgomery being given a fresh change of clothes and a grant of ‘temporary leave'. The Professor, along with his wife and two large prison guards, had left the jail via an undercover garage and entered the offices of Wright, Wallace and Gertz the same way – underground and around the back – with strict orders to return by two.

‘Thanks, Nora,' said David as she served him a mineral water and handed Montgomery the iced tea he had requested – strong, with one sugar, three ice cubes and a twist of lemon.

‘My pleasure, Mr Cavanaugh. Please let me know if there is anything else you require,' she replied and David gave her a half smile knowing she had not called him Mr Cavanaugh, nor asked him if he ever ‘required' anything, in the entire twelve years she had known him.

‘Professor,' Arthur began, and David knew his boss would be determined to establish the firm's own point of control over this all-important first meeting. ‘As Aristotle also said “the beginning is the most important part of the work”, so I suggest we begin with a confirmation of our agreement.'

Montgomery nodded and gave some sort of majestically inspired gesture with his right hand, indicating he was ready for Arthur to go on.

‘You will be represented by Mr Cavanaugh and Ms Davis for the remainder of your discovery and throughout the duration of your trial. As partner in this firm, I will be providing additional assistance, but mainly in the area of research and administration. David is your first chair and thus your principal legal representative both in and out of the courtroom.'

Montgomery frowned slightly but said nothing – just gave the royal wave again, indicating for Arthur to go on.

‘You have been provided with details of our billing structure,' Arthur went on. ‘And from what your wife has told us, you agree to all terms. What we ask from you in return is quite straightforward – the plain and simple truth. We need to know every detail of your dealings with the late Vice President and everything you can tell us about the night of his death. Anything short of this will be taken as a failure to fulfil your part of the “contract” and will result in termination of our agreement. Do you understand?'

‘Understand?' beamed Montgomery, as if just jolting to life. ‘How could I not? Good Lord, man, I like your style, succinct, direct, persuasive.

‘Karin, my dear,' he said, turning to his wife. ‘Are you sure you chose the right firm member to represent me? Mr Wright certainly seems to command a strong sense of authority. Forgive me, gentlemen, but is it not true that Mr Wright is a partner in this firm, and as such Mr Cavanaugh's superior?'

Karin said nothing, just furrowed her brow at her opinionated husband, as if in a silent plea for him to stop.

‘And Ms Davis is, well, forgive me, my dear,' he said, turning to Sara. ‘But from what I've heard you are new to this firm, with a background dealing mainly in petty crimes committed by those less fortunate?'

‘They're called innocent Americans, Professor,' Sara bit back. ‘Just as you claim yourself to be.'

‘Of course, my dear. Reasonable doubt and all that.'

Sara looked to David as if asking his permission to lash out at their self-opinionated client, but a slight shake of David's head told her this was not the time.

‘I am sorry to be so pedantic, my dear,' Montgomery went on, still focusing on Sara. ‘But isn't it the case that your joining this firm coincided with the formation of a special relationship with your learned co-counsel? Which is all very cosy but . . .'

‘For God's sake,' Sara began as she started to rise from her chair.

‘Please, I apologise,' said the Professor, holding up his hands in mock surrender and then bringing them down in some sort of indication that it was safe for Sara to return to her seat. ‘I have forgotten my manners, but Aristotle
was
right, beginnings
are
important and these things are best discussed up front. Am I wrong?' Cue smile, sip iced tea, sigh with satisfaction and give concerned look to indicate a desire for some response.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

David could see Arthur out of the corner of his eye – his face now red, his brow shiny, his mouth now open and ready to tell this guy to shove it and then some. But then he sensed Arthur's mouth closing and saw his body relax back into his chair. Arthur was handing him the floor, and David was more than happy to take it.

‘Professor Montgomery,' said David finally, his voice calm, his demeanour composed. ‘Perhaps it will help if I give you a better idea of how I operate.'

‘Excellent, Mr Cavanaugh. By all means, please do.'

‘Then allow
me
to begin at the beginning. First of all, I never take on a client unless I believe in their innocence. Call me naïve, idealistic, economically bereft, I really don't care. I don't think you killed the Vice President but you still have to convince me. You fail in doing that, and we say goodbye, have a nice life – however long or short yours may turn out to be.'

David took a deep breath and slowly moved himself forward onto the edge of his chair. Then he shifted his weight, leaning in towards the Professor, his body language giving the subtlest of threats.

‘Secondly – and number two is pretty important to me, Professor, so I suggest you take note – secondly, I won't sit back and watch you show disrespect to your wife, to my boss, to my co-counsel or to our office manager Mrs Kelly. You dish up that condescending bullshit again and I walk.'

Montgomery said nothing, just gave a rather uncomfortable little smile and shifted ever so slightly back in his own seat.

‘Finally, I take my job very seriously and I suggest you treat your situation the same way. This is not some game of petty manipulations. In case you are not aware, you are possibly the most hated man in the country right now and very soon, if not already, my firm and I will become a very close second. Lie down with dogs and all that . . .'

David shifted again, this time within an inch of the edge of his chair, and less than a foot from his now silent client.

‘You want to get in a pissing match with me, fine, but every minute you waste trying to prove who has the bigger dick, is time wasted in trying to save your life Professor –
your
life, not mine. So do me a favour – no, do
yourself
a favour. Every time you get it into your head to play “let's kick the ex-husband”, I want you to picture this image.

‘I want you to imagine yourself horizontal, on a gurney, your wrists and ankles restrained. You are staring at the ceiling, trying not to focus on the rather clinical looking gentleman to your right who is administering an IV line in both of your arms. Then I want you to feel the sensation of the cool flow of saline gliding into your veins, its innocence and purity an ironic introduction for the three potent drugs to follow.

‘Now your eyes are dry. You are thirsty but cannot drink. Your focus is blurred, you cannot bring yourself to look at your wife who sits sickly
white, straight ahead, so you turn your head slightly to your left where you catch the warden giving a nod. You start to sweat, knowing what is about to happen but at the same time, having no idea. So you turn back to your right where you see the same white-coated gentleman administering the first of three drugs – a big fat dose of sodium thiopental, a common hospital anaesthetic you have no doubt used thousands of times. It will put you to sleep so that, basically, you miss the finale of your very own show.

‘Now you are unconscious, so allow me to do you a favour and fill you in on what happens next. Mr White Coat triggers the introduction of pancuronium bromide, a muscle-relaxant which paralyses the lungs and diaphragm, slowing your breathing and reducing the flow of oxygen to your brain. Shortly after that comes drug number three, potassium chloride, which will constrict the vessels in your heart and send you into full cardiac arrest – the very same physical phenomenon you have spent your life researching, treating, preventing for other people, over and over and over again.

‘Seven minutes later you will be dead and the witnesses, although horrified, will take comfort in knowing justice was done. And your wife will cry and the press will crawl all over your corpse like flies and your tax paying enemies will take heart in knowing that it only cost them $86.08 to kill you. That's right Professor, the cost of that lethal injection will be a measly eighty-six bucks and change – less than you charge for a private consultation.

‘So, it's your choice, Montgomery. You either commit or you don't. You either work with us or you continue to play your ridiculous self-defeating little dance of misplaced superiority, because in the end, I ain't gonna lose any sleep, one way or another.'

Ramirez was, in all honesty, in awe of her. He had worked with some tough sons-of-bitches over the years but none had ever come close to John. She was not just a human being set on an unwavering course of power and ambition; she was more like a
force
, a chameleon who could feign distress or concern while still maintaining a dignity and grace that gave her a presence no human being could ignore. People were drawn to her – in sympathy, in respect, in admiration, in awe and he knew,
he knew
that
they were only days from consolidating their unquestionable authority, and only months from taking over the government of the greatest country in the world.