“Miss Moreno?”
“Yes, what?”
Another agent was flashing a badge at her now. “We’re taking you out of here.”
She nodded remotely. They led her to a rear exit. Six of them were crowding around her now, and she still didn’t feel the slightest bit safe. They walked outside quickly. Half a dozen police cars had blocked off East Allen, and the gawkers were everywhere. Alex walked in the middle of the small group and felt dizzy. She still didn’t feel entirely sure of what had just happened.
A limousine was waiting. An agent opened the back door and ushered her in. Another entered from the other side and sat next to her. The doors were closed, and then the limo was moving.
“Good to meet you, Miss Moreno,” said the man. He was in a navy blue suit, white shirt, red-diamond-patterned tie. He wore glasses and was balder than a cue ball. “John MacDowell, FB—”
“FBI, right,” she said, angry now. “If I see one more badge, I’ll throw up. Are you the one who’s finally going to tell me what’s going on?”
He nodded and looked to the front. The partition between them and the driver was darkened and impenetrable to the eye.
“A man just tried to kill you, ma’am. We don’t know his name or who may have been accompanying him. You’ve been under surveillance by a number of our agents since your arrival here this afternoon. Apparently we weren’t the only ones who were watching you.” He adjusted his glasses. “We first noticed the man outside. When he entered the building, we had two agents watching him. He was shadowing you and moving very cautiously. We needed him to try something before we could act. When he reached for the weapon, we moved. You’re very fortunate.”
“You don’t know who he was?”
“Unfortunately not. Obviously it’s related to the Jacobs probate. We’ve connected two murders to it so far and suspect as many as five more.”
“Why am I under surveillance?”
He crossed his hands on his stomach. “We needed to speak with you after the hearing.”
“Fine. Why don’t you start by giving me some answers first. I want to hear about your leads in these murder investigations, specifically those focusing on Rose Penn and the Von Rohr brothers.”
“I personally have no involvement in those, Miss—”
“Then you can let me out of this car right now, Agent whatever-your-name-is. I don’t have anything to add to your investigation. Everything I know is in the probate file. I’d like to be dropped off at a taxi—”
“That’s not going to happen, ma’am,” said the agent, adjusting his cuff links. “I’ve been instructed to bring you to FBI headquarters in Albany.”
She recovered after a moment. Her eyes narrowed. “Am I under arrest?”
“Consider it protective custody. You’re about to meet some very important people, Miss Moreno.”
At ten minutes to five, four agents came for him. Nick was handcuffed and taken to the elevators. The five of
them descended to the lower parking garage and met with another group of agents. They led him to two heavy looking prisoner transport vehicles and made him wait there. Two tinted-glass limousines quickly pulled up in front of them. One of the agents walked behind Nick and removed the cuffs. Nick scanned their faces.
“Where are we going?”
“Manhattan office,” replied an agent, opening the back door. “Get in the car.”
Nick slid in. Someone was there waiting for him.
“Nicholas Merchant,” the stranger said with notable satisfaction. “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”
Nick instantly recognized the face. He had seen it before in the newspaper, on television, in magazines. With his cotton-candy white hair and wrinkled-leather face, Arthur Gordon looked more like a grandfather than the director of the FBI. Nick could only stare at him.
“Been quite a week, hasn’t it, Nicholas?” said Gordon as the limo moved up the ramp leading outside. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I don’t feel very lucky under the circumstances,” said Nick, still slightly dumbfounded by his company.
“We have quite a bit to discuss. Do you mind answering a few questions?”
Nick shrugged his approval and waited.
“I appreciate it. There are several things I’d like to go over regarding this Jacobs business.” He took a deep breath. “First of all, let me ask you: Deputy Director Arminger showed me the photographs you were carrying when you were arrested. What exactly is the significance of those?”
Nick paused but saw no real reason not to answer him. “They’re part of a report I’ve put together which proves who Gerald Jacobs really was. I assume you already knew this, being that you placed him in your protection program. Or did Newland lie to the FBI all along? I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.”
“How did you manage to assemble this report of yours?”
“Research. Does it really matter how it all came together, sir?”
“Unfortunately it does matter, Nicholas. Now tell me—I read your court petition the other day. Who exactly is Ludwig Holtzmann?”
“What?”
asked Nick, confused. “You have to know who he is—you
placed
him.” Nick studied Gordon’s expression. “Oh my God—Newland did lie, then. Of course! You never would have touched this if you had known.”
“What makes you think Jacobs’s true name is Ludwig Holtzmann?”
“I don’t
think
it, sir—I
know
it. You need to read my report.”
“When might I see this report?”
“Today. I sent a copy to FBI headquarters in Albany, same-day delivery.”
“And is the FBI the only organization privileged enough to receive this?”
“No, they’re not.
The New York Times
and
The Washington Post
will get their copies. There are half a dozen other people on my mailing list too.”
“Perhaps if this is so shocking we should have been the only ones to get a copy.”
“Perhaps that might have happened if you people weren’t so busy trying to arrest me for a crime I didn’t commit.”
Gordon frowned and turned to the scenery outside his window. Nick looked back through the rear windshield. Two agents were following them in a gray Cavalier, and an unknown number were behind them. They were on Highway 87 heading . . . north? Nick leaned forward and caught a road sign. If the destination was Manhattan, they were taking an awfully strange route.
“Another point,” continued Gordon. “It’s not very relevant, I suppose, but it astounds me that you didn’t simply
back off. I don’t see any amount of money being worth all this trouble.”
“I had no choice, sir. You may not buy that, but it’s true. My secretary was murdered the night my home was blown to bits. People have been trying to kill me left and right ever since. From your vantage point, it may have seemed like a simple decision, but you weren’t the one being tracked and chased by men with guns.”
“What confuses me, then, is why you never went to the police. Or us.”
“The police? Come on, Mr. Gordon—what could they have done? I needed to find out what was going on, and you people certainly weren’t going to tell me anything. I had no choice but to stake out on my own.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You did have choices and you made some very poor ones. Starting with that break-in up in Hudson.”
Nick shook his head in frustration. “That may be true, sir, but what about the FBI’s poor choices? You people put all this time and effort into hunting me down when there’s been a pack of murderers running around killing completely innocent people. But I realize I must have been convenient for you in the end. A nobody, just an insignificant nothing PI who was unlucky enough to stumble onto this. Well, it’s going to be very hard sticking this entire Holtzmann mess on me. If that’s your intention, I can’t see anyone buying it.”
“That’s not our intention. We’ve begun a quiet investigation into the Von Rohr murders, as well as the double slaying in Los Angeles. I suspect we’ll link even more victims to this as the investigation progresses. We will piece this together, I assure you.”
“I think my research will point you in the right direction. Or does the FBI plan on just disregarding it?”
“I’ll give it a look,” Gordon admitted. “If this wonderful report of yours ever surfaces.”
Nick looked out and caught a road sign flying by.
S
ARATOGA
S
PRINGS
N
EXT
E
XIT
. They were twenty miles north of Albany now and not getting any closer to Manhattan.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked.
“We’re almost there. Another ten minutes.”
They sat in silence then. The prior week replayed in Nick’s head. He thought of Rose, of Alex, of Doug. He thought of all the choices made, right and wrong. The decision to bribe Lloyd Koenig, to enter Jacobs’s house, to send Rose to his apartment. Above all others, the decision to carry on what his father had begun. Every choice he had made in life had somehow led to this end. His father must have been shaking his head at that moment, looking down from some shunned corner of heaven where everyone was an heir and the bars never stopped serving.
After a long period of silence, Nick finally spoke. “So what did you give Doug Spinetti?”
Gordon tilted his head and frowned. “I don’t understand your question.”
“What did you give him? To turn me in. Did you bribe him, threaten him, what? I can’t help but be curious.”
Gordon brought his hand to his chin. “What did Director Arminger tell you?”
“He said Doug led you to me.”
Gordon looked slightly surprised by this. He finally turned to the road and shook his head slowly back and forth. “Deputy Director Arminger is a pain in the ass. He’s the only—” He stopped himself, not wishing to reveal any more genuine feelings. “Spinetti didn’t have a damn thing to do with this. Not directly anyway. If anything, it was the opposite. Your attorney charged a flight ticket to JFK but never showed for the flight. Clearly his goal was to draw us to JFK in hopes he could pass through Albany airport
undetected. Not much of a plan, but probably all he could think of under such short notice. Naturally we had coverage at all the local airports. We didn’t take him in Albany because we had our eyes on a bigger target.”
“So you tailed him, then. Followed him to me . . .”
Gordon nodded. “Suffice it to say we discovered some of his past travel preferences. Avis rental cars seemed to be the company of choice. A special car was reserved for him and the rest was simple.” He looked at Nick. “Forget what the deputy director may have said. Spinetti didn’t betray you. He had no idea he was leading us to you.”
“Has he been arrested?”
“He’s being detained at the moment. Director Arminger is looking to charge him with an entire list of crimes, including conspiracy and aiding and abetting. He’s very enthusiastic about that.” He turned back to Nick. “I have a different plan. I intend to have him released shortly. I don’t see a point in pursuing a case there.”
Nick leaned his head back and let out a slow breath as a weight lifted from his shoulders. His sense of relief was almost as great as the shame he felt for doubting his friend. Doug had made the right choice. He had remained true until the very end.
They took the Glens Falls exit and headed west. The turnoff wound through thick forestland, and Nick could now see that four other cars—one in front, three in back—were in the convoy. Gordon sat silently, content to watch the scenery. There was little to see—forestland, an abandoned gas station, a few dirt roads disappearing into the hills. Nick sat back and waited.
After several minutes, the caravan took a gravel road up a slight hill that opened into a small circular lot surrounded by trees. One by one, the cars eased to a stop. Gordon turned to Nick.
“Listen closely—I’ll make this quick. If we take you
back to the city and lock you up, you’ll face a long list of very serious charges. If we choose to do that, Nicholas, I feel confident you will serve at least twenty years in a penitentiary. Frankly, after the headaches you’ve caused us, I wouldn’t mind that in the least. Not one little bit, my friend. You’re not half the victim you make yourself out to be, and these half-baked stories of yours don’t win you any points in my book. Due to some very unusual circumstances, however, you’re getting one final option, and you better be damn thankful for that. Now step out of the car.”
Gordon grabbed the door handle but felt a hand close powerfully on his arm.
“I’d like to say something now, sir,” said Nick, his cheeks feeling as if they were on fire. “I never wanted to be a part of this. You talk to me about choices I should have made—well, let me tell you about the ones I didn’t make. I didn’t choose to have my home destroyed, I didn’t choose to see my friend and a client who trusted me murdered, and I didn’t choose to have you people in my life. You say I’m no victim, but I’m no criminal either. And speaking of criminals, maybe the FBI should take a long, hard look at itself before it starts pointing fingers, because I wasn’t the one who closed my eyes to this and hid this Jacobs bastard in the first place. Take a good hard look, Mr. Gordon. I’m not sure you’ll like what you see.”
He removed his hand but not the stare. Gordon looked as if he was about to reply, but instead he simply nodded slowly, almost as if he accepted this. He turned and opened his door.
“Step out of the car, please.”
Nick did as he was told. The other agents were out now as well, standing around looking sheepish. Deputy Arminger stood by himself and scowled. Nick looked at each of them slowly. Something was afoot here, and he was clueless.
“Nick!”
He couldn’t believe it was her. Alex was halfway out of the back of the other limo. She ran to him, and he caught her in a tight embrace. He stared over her shoulder at Gordon.
“What the hell is this?”
Gordon gave a nod to one of the agents, who removed a wallet.
“Give us a minute alone,” he commanded his troops.
The agents distanced themselves. Arminger was the only one who didn’t flinch.
“Alone,” repeated Gordon, his cheeks flushing.
Slowly, Arminger backed away. He gave Nick a final glare before turning and walking off with his men. Nick nodded at Alex and followed the director. When they were alone, Gordon spoke quietly.