Stephen Frey (16 page)

Bo nodded. Jimmy Lee had mentioned this on his deathbed. “So?”

“A couple of nights ago we lost contact with him.”

Bo stared at Laird for several moments. “What are you telling me, Counselor?”

“I'm telling you to watch your back.” Laird raised his chin as though he found what he was about to say distasteful. “I'm not a man who lets his imagination get the better of him. You understand that I pride myself on being rational and dealing only with facts. For all I know, the Hazeltine operative will turn up drunk in a jail somewhere. That's how these things go sometimes. The type of guy who'll spend a year in Montana jerking off isn't necessarily the most reliable person out there. We do our best to hire good people, but it doesn't always work out the way we plan. . . .”

“But . . . ,” Bo said, prompting Laird to go on.

“Like I said, watch your back.”

“You must have some reason for—”

“No.” Laird held up his hands and stood. For a moment he thought of telling Bo about Teddy, but didn't. That was a family member's job. “I will take care of J. L.'s funeral arrangements,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

Ten minutes later Bo and Meg were sitting side by side in the back of a Hancock limousine headed out of New York City toward Connecticut.

“Are you all right?” she asked, slipping her hand into his.

“Fine,” he assured her, smiling. “Just thinking.”

“What about?”

He would tell her that he was adopted later, when he'd had a chance to come to grips with it himself. “Nothing too important.” Right now he was thinking about the strange telephone call Bruce Laird had received in his study. Although Laird had tried to cover the caller identification screen, Bo had seen the numbers long enough to identify the call as coming from Catherine's cell phone. As far as he knew, Catherine disliked Laird intensely. And then there was Laird's warning. “I should be the one asking you if you're all right,” Bo said good-naturedly. “You took a rough fall when I pulled you out of the way of that cab this afternoon.” He and Meg hadn't discussed the incident in any great detail during the cruise around Manhattan. It had been a lovely, romantic evening, and he hadn't wanted to give her the opportunity to ask why he had taken off across Thirty-fourth Street like a wild man after a platinum blond.

“Yes, I did.” She squeezed his hand. “You know, it's the strangest thing.”

Bo cringed, waiting for the question about Tiffany, wondering at the same time if Laird's warning was in any way related to her eerie appearance on Thirty-fourth Street. To the inexplicable performance he had witnessed. A man chasing her, then, only moments later, standing next to her at the corner as if they were working together. “What's strange?”

“I don't want to alarm you,” she said quietly.

“Tell me,” he urged.

“I was thinking about that whole crazy thing in front of Grand Central while we were on the boat tonight.”

“Yes?”

“It all happened so fast I didn't have time to think about what was going on at the time.”

“Tell me,” Bo demanded, certain of what she was about to say.

“I'm pretty sure someone pushed me in front of that cab.”

Bo turned on the seat to look at her. “What?”

“Yes, and it almost looked like the cab veered toward us as you dragged me out of the way. I know that sounds—” But her words were cut off by the signal of Bo's cell phone.

He yanked it from his coat pocket. “Yes?”

Meg watched as Bo's expression drained of emotion. “Who was that?” she asked, tugging at his arm as he ended the connection. She saw that he was battling tears. “Bo!”

“It was Paul,” he answered, his voice gruffer than normal. “Teddy and Tom Bristow are dead.”

S
cully motioned for Dr. Silwa to follow him down the long corridor, but Silwa hesitated, uncomfortable that the unoccupied hallway seemed progressively dimmer the farther down it he looked.

“Come on,” Scully called reassuringly. “It'll be fine.”

“Where are we going?”

“To my office. It's at the end of the hallway.”

Silwa took a couple of indecisive steps, then shuffled along behind Scully, head down, resigned to whatever was about to occur. They had him and that was that.

“This way,” Scully directed, holding open a door, nodding as Silwa passed by him. “Have a seat over there,” he said, indicating a guest chair on the far side of a desk as he locked the door.

Silwa cleared his throat nervously. “Why did you need to see me?”

“I have a few questions,” Scully replied evenly, sitting down in the desk chair and leaning back. He could easily cut off Silwa's escape from here. “Nothing you need to be overly concerned about.”

“Okay.” Silwa sat on the edge of his seat, rocking back and forth. “Anything you need, just ask. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. You know I'm cooperative. I've always been cooperative, right? I've always done exactly what you've asked.”

“Uh-huh.” Scully pulled out a manila folder and scanned the first page inside. “It says here that Jimmy Lee and Bo had a conversation immediately preceding Jimmy Lee's death.” Scully looked up. “Is that true?”

Silwa cleared his throat again.

“Don't stall, Dr. Silwa.”

“No, that is not possible. Mr. Hancock was under heavy sedation. There was no conversation with Bo.”

“Silwa,” Scully snarled, slamming the folder down on the desk. “I want the truth. There was a nurse in the observation room with you.”

Silwa nodded rapidly, understanding that Scully had probably questioned the nurse. “Yes, yes. I'm sorry. I'm confused. Sometimes it's hard to remember everything. The days are so hectic.”

“Then there
was
a conversation.”

“Yes.”

“What was said?”

Silwa glanced down. “I don't know,” he said softly. “I was monitoring the vital signs. I knew Mr. Hancock was close to death.”

“How in the hell could you let that happen? You knew what you were supposed to do. You were supposed to give him enough of the sedative so he couldn't talk. We don't know what he said to Bo.”

“I gave Mr. Hancock more than the prescribed dosage,” Silwa pleaded. “He shouldn't have been able to speak, let alone move,” he said, remembering the way Jimmy Lee had grabbed Bo's shirt. “Any more and I might have killed him.”

“You should have given him more. You should have given him whatever it took to keep him unconscious. I gave you strict orders.”

“It is as I told you. There are prescribed dosages based on weight, age, and other factors. If there had been any significant deviations, I could have ended up in very bad trouble.”

“Worse than you are now?”

Silwa stopped rocking. He knew it had been a mistake to come here. Somehow they had uncovered the fact that on three separate occasions he had smuggled cocaine out of the hospital and sold it, and they had threatened to expose him. He couldn't afford that at this point in his life. His oldest daughter was in medical school and he had two more in college. Besides the public embarrassment and the possibility of criminal charges if he were exposed, he would quickly go bankrupt because the school tuitions had drained his savings. He was living on credit at this point. They knew that too. They seemed to know everything about him.

“What do you mean?” Silwa whispered, terrified that he was staring into the face of death.

Scully shook his head, recognizing the mortal fear in the other man's eyes. “Don't worry, Dr. Silwa. You will walk out of here.” Scully had permission to kill as he saw fit, but he had never been one to use that power indiscriminately. Not the way whoever had killed Teddy Hancock and Tom Bristow had used it. “I need you for other things.”

Silwa held up his hands. “No, please. Nothing else.”

“Yes,” Scully said.

Silwa stood up to go. “No.”

Scully rose too. “Your daughter will—”

“You leave my daughter out of this!” Silwa screamed, bolting around the desk and lunging at Scully.

Scully blocked the smaller man's attack easily, then hurled him to the floor. He was on the doctor instantly, a knee on his chest and a viselike grip constricting his throat. Silwa tried to pry Scully's hand away, but it was useless.

Just as the doctor began to pass out, Scully eased off. “Bad news, my friend,” he hissed as Silwa fought to regain his breath. “Your daughter can't cut it at Harvard Medical School. She's paying a teaching assistant to provide her with advance copies of exams.” Scully could see that Silwa knew this was true. He'd probably suspected it all along. His daughter wasn't that bright, and Silwa had needed to pull many strings just to have her admitted to the school. “We noticed unusual activity in her checking account, some very large withdrawals for a student. We figured out quickly what was going on.” Scully smiled. “Point is, Silwa, if we relay what we know to the dean, she'll be kicked out and branded a cheat for the rest of her life. Then the little apple of your eye turns rotten.” He paused. “So you will raise no objections and continue to do as I tell you.
Comprende?”

Silwa nodded slowly.

“Good.” He chuckled to himself. RANSACK had proved its value again. It was working more perfectly than any of them could ever have imagined.

CHAPTER 10

B
o hurried through the Waldorf's Park Avenue entrance, up a flight of marble steps, past two massive flower arrangements, and into the hotel's ornate lobby. He immediately spotted Michael Mendoza sitting in a wing chair to the left of the large room. “Hello, Michael,” he called.

Mendoza waved. His expression was somber as he rose to greet Bo. “I'm sorry about Jimmy Lee,” he said, embracing him. It was a reflex action, not the strong handshake that was their typical greeting, but it seemed appropriate today.

“Thanks.”

Mendoza had called the previous night to say that he was headed to New York from the Wyoming conference and to ask if they could meet. Bo had agreed immediately. “Jimmy Lee and I made our peace before he died.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I'm glad we had the chance to clear the air. He said some meaningful things to me. I was the last member of the family he saw.”

“He always loved you, Bo,” Mendoza said, putting a hand on Bo's shoulder. “He just never knew how to show you.”

“I know,” Bo said softly. “I assume you heard about Teddy and Tom Bristow.”

“It's been a terrible few days for your family.”

“Yes, it has.” Bo saw tears welling in Mendoza's eyes.

“How is Catherine?” Mendoza asked, his voice hoarse.

“I'm seeing her after we finish here. I spoke to her briefly and she sounded strong. I'm glad, but frankly a little surprised too. Normally she doesn't hold up in bad situations.”

“She was always fragile,” Mendoza agreed, sitting down.

“Very.”

“Well, please give her my condolences when you see her.”

“I will,” Bo promised as he sat down beside Mendoza. “I'm glad we had a chance to get together again so soon,” he went on. “We didn't see each other for a year, now it's been twice within a few days. It's nice to have you around in a difficult time too. I've always depended on you.”

Mendoza patted Bo's knee paternally. “I'm glad to be of help. How are you?” he asked, settling into the chair.

“All right, given the situation.” Bo glanced around the lobby. “I went into Warfield yesterday and had it out with Frank Ramsey,” he said, his voice dropping. “I told him I'd be coming back full-time. I said I'd be starting today.”

“I suppose that conversation was inevitable. How was he about it?”

“Arrogant as hell, and very confident that I wouldn't be around Warfield for very long.”

“Oh?”

“I found out later why he was so confident.”

Mendoza's eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“A few months ago Jimmy Lee executed a new general partnership agreement for Warfield. Bruce Laird told me. There is now an executive committee of my generation, chaired by Paul, responsible for major decisions. Majority rules.”

Mendoza gave a low whistle.

“Obviously Ramsey knows about the agreement and believes I will be outvoted in my bid to return to Warfield.”

“Obviously.”

“I assume from your reaction that you weren't aware of this new agreement?”

“No.” Mendoza shook his head quickly. “I wasn't.”

“I thought you might have known because Dad sought your counsel on so many issues.”

“Not on this one,” Mendoza assured Bo. “He probably didn't want anyone finding out before he died. You know how he was about secrecy.”

Bo removed a cigarette from a pack in his shirt pocket and put it in his mouth without lighting it. For a moment he thought about asking Mendoza why Jimmy Lee had denied speaking to him on the plane out to Wyoming from Washington. But it was probably as Dr. Silwa had said. Jimmy Lee was delirious from the drugs and simply didn't remember the conversation. “Did you know that I was adopted?”

Mendoza's eyes flashed to Bo's. “What?”

“Come on, Michael,” Bo said firmly. “I've seen that stalling-for-time expression on your face before. You're a damn good card player, but I've known you too long to be fooled.”

Mendoza looked away.

“Michael.”

“Yes, I knew,” Mendoza admitted. “Did Laird tell you that too?”

“Laird confirmed it for me last night, but Paul was nice enough to be the first to break the news.”

“When?”

“At the hospital just before Dad died.”

Mendoza shook his head.

Bo removed the cigarette from his mouth and passed it under his nose, taking a long whiff of tobacco. “Will Paul win the nomination?”

Mendoza let out a long breath as he thought through his answer. “According to my information out of Washington he'll win unless he does something very stupid. Ron Baker doesn't have the firepower with the superdelegates and Reggie Duncan is too far behind, even though he's gaining popular support. The American people just aren't ready for a black president. It's as simple as that and it's too bad, because Duncan is a good man.”

“I'm surprised. It's almost as if you'd rather see Duncan in the White House than Paul.”

Mendoza held up his hands. “Don't get me wrong, Bo. I am supporting Paul in public and remaining loyal to the Hancock family even with Jimmy Lee gone. But I don't appreciate the way Paul treats people, including you. He's a user, plain and simple.”

“He's got to win the election.”

“I can't believe you can be so supportive after the way he's treated you over the years.”

“It's what Jimmy Lee wanted,” Bo said. “He made it very clear on his deathbed that I was to do all I could to help and protect Paul. I made a promise and I don't break my promises.”

“No, you don't.” Mendoza shook his head. “You're a good man, Bo. I don't think I could conjure up such positive sentiments about a brother like yours.”

“You once thought about running for president, didn't you Michael?”

Mendoza flicked a piece of lint from his dark gray suit. “What are you talking about?” he said.

“I overheard you and Jimmy Lee discussing it one day at the estate. It was probably six or seven years ago. You asked him for his advice, and his help.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Whatever happened?”

Mendoza folded his arms across his chest. “Your father was very supportive regarding my ambition, but the opportunity never materialized. With something as huge as that, all of the planets have to align, and they didn't for me.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't, but life has worked out pretty well. I'm a senior senator of the United States of America. Without your parents' support so long ago, I'd probably be a common criminal, and that's the truth. I'll never forget what Jimmy Lee and Ida did for me.”

Bo put the cigarette in his mouth for a moment, then quickly removed it. “Why would Catherine talk directly with Bruce Laird?”

“Excuse me?” Mendoza said.

“Catherine called Laird last night while I was at his apartment. I saw her cell phone number on the caller ID screen. I've been trying to figure out all day why she would call him.”

“I don't know,” Mendoza answered. “Why are you so concerned?”

Bo started to answer, then held back.

“Do you think Catherine is having an affair with him?” Mendoza asked.

Bo waved the question away. “No. I mean, it seems unlikely, don't you think? In the first place they aren't compatible physically.”

Mendoza reclined in the chair. “It's never been my impression that Catherine cares much about physical compatibility.” He chuckled. “If she did, I doubt she would have married Tom Bristow, God rest his soul.”

“You and I both know that marriage was arranged by the families.” Bo was silent for a few moments. “I'm very worried about the picture you showed me in Wyoming,” he said, his mood turning dark as he recalled the image of Tiffany on top of him. “The one of me with the stripper.” He was about to tell Mendoza how he had seen Tiffany outside Penn Station yesterday, but he stopped himself. For some reason he didn't want to relay that information yet. “And I'll bet there are more. I don't know what I'd do if Meg saw them.”

“You might have thought of that before you—” Mendoza interrupted himself. “I'm sorry, Bo.”

“I'll admit that it was stupid of me to let the woman in my Jeep, Michael, but I swear to you it was completely innocent. As I told you in Wyoming, I was just having a little innocent fun.”

“I'm sure you were.”

Bo's look turned distant. “Someone is planning to use those pictures against me.”

“But who?” Mendoza asked.

“I wish I knew.” Bo looked up at Mendoza. “It would kill Meg if she saw those things. She's fought through the stories all these years.”

“I'll do some checking, Bo,” Mendoza volunteered. “I can call some friends of mine over at the Bureau. They'll be quiet about it.”

“Thanks.” He'd been waiting for that offer. “Once again you're taking care of me.”

“And it's a job I enjoy, Bolling.” Mendoza watched Bo turn the cigarette over and over in his fingers. “Along those same lines of taking care of you, do you think it's a good idea for you to go into Warfield right away? Maybe you should ease back into things. My God, you've lost Jimmy Lee and Teddy on the same day.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Sometimes people don't sense the emotional pressure they're under and they need others to point it out to them. You look very tired, Bo,” Mendoza said. “This is one of those times. Why don't you wait another week before you start?”

“I told you, I'm all right.”

“The place has survived a year without you,” Mendoza pushed. “I'm sure it will be okay for one more week.”

“What's your problem, Michael?” Bo asked, irritated. “Why don't you want me to go in there?”

“You and Ramsey can't stand each other,” Mendoza replied calmly. “That and the responsibility of managing billions of dollars will be very stressful for you. That's all.”

Bo stared at Mendoza for several moments. “Uh-huh.”

“I'm looking out for you, Bo.”

Once more Bo thought about pressing Mendoza on the conversation he had claimed to have with Jimmy Lee. “You know, Ramsey couldn't handle a market attack if it came.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Warfield has plenty of enemies.”

Mendoza's baritone laugh rolled out into the lobby. “We all have enemies,” he said, passing a hand through his silver hair.

“But with Jimmy Lee gone, Warfield is vulnerable to those enemies,” Bo said quietly. “Before, they couldn't touch us. Now they can.”

The smile faded from Mendoza's face as he straightened in his chair. “Why?”

“Jimmy Lee's network of contacts was immense. No one would have dared attack us while he was alive. If he ever found out who launched an attack, he'd crush them. I watched him do it a couple of times. He was vindictive as hell.”

“What do you mean by ‘attack'?”

“The Street can figure out pretty easily if you've got a significant position in something, say a particular stock, bond, or commodity.” Bo thought about the night a year ago when Fritz and Teddy had been so worried about the gold position. Someone out there had found out about their situation and tried to hurt Warfield, but hadn't had the strength. “By working in concert, they can hurt you by artificially driving the price down until you have to sell, or simply not trade with you and force you to get out at a loss.”

“But Warfield Capital is so big. You would be able to withstand something like that.”

“We're a hedge fund and we use massive amounts of debt to leverage our investments. If the value of something in our portfolio drops hard and fast, our equity is quickly eroded and the banks and the insurance companies come looking for their money, just as they do with individuals on margin calls.”

“You have your own network,” Mendoza pointed out.

“Mine's stale, and it's nothing compared to what Jimmy Lee's was.” Bo pursed his lips. “If Ramsey has been irresponsible with the portfolio, the Street will find out and our enemies will strike. It could be a bloodbath. That's why I have to get in there quickly. I have to be able to dig through the portfolio.”

Mendoza rubbed his chin. “Have you been able to get in touch with Ashley?” he finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I'm sure you've tried to call her.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“You and Ashley were always very close. I'm certain she would be on your side concerning any vote of Warfield's new executive committee. Now that Teddy is gone, that would give you no worse than a deadlock on anything you brought to a vote. You need to find Ashley now and get her home.”

R
on Baker relaxed into his huge black leather chair, surveying the glistening skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles from his top-floor office. “I'm very busy.”