Infamy (10 page)

Karp looked at the others, then nodded. He stood up. “Follow
me, please.”

Karp led Malovo out of his inner sanctum into the reception area. No one else was present. He'd told his receptionist, Darla Milquetost, to take the rest of the day off so that this could all be handled privately.

Karp opened the door to another inner office in the DA suite. A man was seated at the table. “You good with this, Ivgeny?” he asked.

“Yes, Butch, I'll see what she wants.”

Standing back from the door, he let Malovo walk past him. “As agreed, Nadya, you have your requested meeting with Iv­geny, but try to keep it reasonably short, please.”

“Okay, but that's hardly enough time to say hello to a former lover,” Malovo said with a smile, “but a girl has to take what she can under these circumstances.”

“We'll be in the conference room,” Karp said, and closed the door.

About twenty minutes passed and Karp stood up about to knock on the door when it opened and Malovo appeared, followed by his cousin. For once she seemed somewhat subdued, and Karp wondered what had transpired between the two Russians. But he doubted they'd tell him and decided not to ask.
“Can you let yourself out, Ivgeny?” he asked.

“Yes, Butch,” Karchovski said. “I have a car waiting for me outside.” The former Red Army colonel–turned–American gangster reached out and touched Malovo on the shoulder. “Do the right thing,
dorogoy
, and perhaps we will meet again.”

“It is enough to hear you call me ‘darling' again,” Malovo replied. She turned to Karp. “I'm ready to talk to you, Butch.”

10

A
S THE TWO WOMEN WALKED
across the tree-shrouded lawn of the West Point Cemetery, the taller one reached over to touch her friend's arm. “Thanks for driving, Marlene,” Ariadne Stupenagel said. “I didn't want to take a taxi. And to be honest, I wanted your company.”

“You bet. That's what besties are for,” Marlene Ciampi replied. “I'm sorry for your loss. It seems like we were just burying Sam Allen, and now your friend Mick.”

The friends continued on in silence in the heat of the late afternoon toward the knot of people gathering around a fresh grave. “I guess this is what happens when you get older,” Stupenagel said. “You start losing the people you created the memories of your
youth with; it makes me feel old. I have so many recollections of the three of us, and more and more keep flooding into my mind. I think those were the best years of my life.” She squeezed Marlene's hand. “Except maybe the years we were roomies in college.”

“Hold on to those memories,” Marlene said. “As my hubby's mom said, so long as the people we loved remember us, we will live forever.”

Stupenagel nodded and again fell silent, looking around at the white marble headstones. Some of them marked the final resting places of soldiers dating back to the Revolutionary War—even before there was a United States Military Academy at West Point. “I wonder why he chose to be buried here instead of Arlington,” she said. “It was the same with Sam.”

Marlene pointed over toward the Hudson River. “Maybe that's the reason. Arlington's beautiful, but it doesn't have that million-dollar view. Somehow it seems more peaceful here, too, maybe because there are fewer visitors. I think only graduates, their immediate families, and staff can be buried here.”

“That's right,” Stupenagel said. “And they both loved West Point. Even when we were tearing it up in Southeast Asia and Latin America, this was one memory only the two of them shared. Maybe they just wanted to be here with all the rest of these American heroes who had this place in common.”

They walked the rest of the way without speaking until they came to the outer edge of the large gathering of mourners. Most of the men in attendance were in uniform, though some of them appeared to have dug their clothes out of mothballs. The women, even Stupenagel, were in black. An honor guard of cadets in the gray uniforms of the academy stood off to the side with their rifles, while a bugler waited.

During the ceremony, Stupenagel watched Sasha, who was seated and wearing her dress uniform. Although the young woman's face was ashen, she didn't appear to be crying. But as the bugler played “Taps” and a cadet officer brought her the American flag that had rested on the casket and was then folded into a neat triangle, she buried her face in the cloth and sobbed.

Stupenagel covered her mouth to stifle her own sob, then flinched when the honor guard discharged the first of three volleys in a twenty-one-gun salute. Marlene held onto her arm and leaned against her.

When the services were over, Marlene asked, “Do you want to say anything to Sasha now? Were you going to ask her about MIRAGE?”

Stupenagel shook her head and wiped at her tears. “No, it's too soon. I wasn't invited to this, and she might blame me. I was
the last person to talk to him, and maybe even mixed up in the reason he was killed. I'll call in a few days and see what she says.”

They were walking away when a female voice called out from behind them. “Hello. Ariadne Stupenagel?”

Sasha Swindells was walking across the lawn toward them. Behind her the crowd of mourners looked confused, concerned.

“Yes?” Stupenagel said.

“What are you doing here?” Sasha demanded.

“I came to pay my respects. Your father was a good friend for many years.”

“Not because of what you wanted to talk to him about before he was killed?” the young woman asked accusingly.

Stupenagel's eyes filled with tears. “That's not why I came. But I admit that I would like to talk to you at some point about that,” she said. “I may be able to help the people who are trying to get to the bottom of his murder.”

“What people?” Sasha spat, balling her hands into fists. “The same people in charge of the government he risked his life for from Vietnam to Afghanistan? The people who betrayed him?”

“No,” Stupenagel replied, feeling the tears leak down her cheeks. “As a matter of fact, the district attorney of New York, Butch Karp. This is Marlene Ciampi, she's my best friend, but she's also the DA's wife, though she's just here to support me.”

“I already told that detective I wasn't interested in talking to the district attorney,” Sasha said. “I told that other guy, too. The big guy, William somebody, said he worked for a counterterrorism agency. Creepy asshole wouldn't take no for an answer. But I don't trust any of you. This isn't about some crazy soldier having a beef with his former commanding officer, but now the real reason is going to get swept under a rug. Well, I'm not helping you with your little cover-up. I'll get to the bottom of this, and when I do . . .”

“I understand,” Stupenagel said. “I feel the same way. Did you know your dad's friend, Sam Allen?”

Sasha's eyes narrowed. “Yes. Murdered by the same people. The district attorney made scapegoats out of those two guys, but the real power is still in place.”

“The president's national campaign manager, Rod Fauhomme, and the president's national security adviser were no scapegoats. They were major players behind the scenes and Mr. Karp went after them,” Stupenagel said. “They planned the murder of General Allen because Sam was about to expose them and the corruption that goes all the way up to the administration. That took some guts on the DA's part. He can't do it all without help, but I'm sorry I came. Today I just wanted to say goodbye to an old friend, not dig into a conspiracy, or cause you more pain.”

With that, Stupenagel and Marlene turned to go. They'd walked about ten yards when Sasha called out again. “Wait.”

The young woman approached. Her face had softened and was wet with tears. “I loved my dad very much,” she said. “I never had enough time with him; he was married to this damn uniform.” She looked around. “To this damn place. But I loved him anyway, and I need to follow through on the last thing he asked me to do.”

Sasha fished her cell phone out of the pocket of her dress slacks and tapped on the screen. “I haven't shown this to anyone else. It's a text he sent to me right before he was shot.” She handed the phone to the journalist.

Stupenagel read the text out loud. “ ‘If something happens to me, please give my copy of the Gold Book to the woman you just met. I love you forever, Dad.' ”

Handing the cell phone back, Stupenagel looked confused. “The Gold Book?”

“Basically, it describes the code of ethics and responsibilities every cadet is expected to internalize so that upon graduation each newly commissioned officer is, and I quote, ‘committed to the values of Duty, Honor, Country.' It's about living honorably at all times in all environments. Now incoming cadets receive the book as a PDF computer file. But Dad, who was going to be
teaching a course in professional military ethics, had his original Gold Book he got in the 1960s printed and bound in a leather case. He didn't say why he wanted you to have it, but he went to the trouble of texting me that message, so it has to be important.”

Sasha Swindells looked back at the crowd of mourners, most of whom were watching her. “We're having a little get-together at the reception hall,” she said, “and I have to attend. But please join us, and we can get the book after that. It's at his place on the grounds.”

Two hours later, Sasha broke away from the crowd of well-wishers and found Ariadne and Marlene waiting in the back of the hall. “I think it's okay for me to leave now,” she said. “You have a car? It's a little bit of a hump and it's getting dark.”

“A truck,” Marlene said. “We can all pile in the front.”

As they wound their way in Marlene's truck toward staff housing over near the cliffs that rose above the Hudson River, Sasha apologized for her earlier outburst. “Dad didn't tell me much about what he was doing,” she said. “I think he was trying to protect me. But I knew it had to do with one of his last postings overseas. Something was troubling him and he was looking into it. That's about the extent of my knowledge.”

“I understand the anger and suspicion,” Stupenagel replied.
“These people seem to be good at sowing both, even among friends.”

“Divide and conquer, I guess,” Sasha said as they pulled onto a street that was mostly dark and empty except for the streetlights. “It's summer break and a lot of the faculty are gone. Dad's place is up ahead.”

Approaching the house, Sasha suddenly tensed. “Keep driving,” she said. “I think I saw a light moving around inside. No one is supposed to be here.”

Marlene kept rolling and pulled over half a block farther down the street. She reached under her seat and pulled out a .380 handgun. “Call the police, or MPs, whoever responds at West Point,” she told the other two. “I'm going to go check it out.”

“Marlene, stay here,” Stupenagel said. “Let the police handle it.”

“I'm just going to make sure they don't slip out the back when the cops arrive,” Marlene said. “You two stay here.”

“You're ordering a commissioned officer in the United States Army to stay out of the fight?” Sasha said. “Not on your life, and not at my dad's house.”

Marlene looked at the young woman's determined face and nodded. “Okay, but we're just going to keep an eye on them until the cops show. No heroics. Stupe, tell them I'll be around back and not to shoot the female civilian with the gun.”

Running from shadow to shadow across the lawns, Marlene and Sasha arrived at the bungalow. Creeping next to a back corner of the house that Sasha indicated was where she'd seen the light, they could hear someone moving around inside, apparently trashing the place as he looked for something.

“The son of a bitch, he's in Dad's library,” Sasha whispered, and started to move.

Marlene grabbed her arm. “Remember, we're going to let the cops handle this,” she cautioned in a hushed voice. “We don't know if he's armed or if there's more than one. You keep a lookout here while I work my way over to the other side so I can cover the back door.”

Leaving Sasha in place, Marlene ran to a small wall beyond the back patio and knelt with her gun out, pointed at the back door. Suddenly, the night air was disturbed by the sound of an approaching police siren. Cursing that the element of surprise had been lost, she readied herself.

As expected, the back door opened and the dark silhouette of a large man appeared in the doorway. “Stop right there or I'll shoot,” she shouted, rising from her position behind the wall.

The man hesitated and began to raise his hands. But at that moment, Marlene heard a sound behind her and whirled just in time to miss being stabbed by a man wearing a dark ski mask.
She didn't have time to shoot before he kicked the gun from her hand and charged into her, knocking her to the ground and landing on top of her. “Take off, sir, I'll handle the bitch,” her assailant yelled to the man in the doorway.

Instinctively, both of Marlene's hands went immediately to the attacker's arm that held the knife as he tried to press the blade home. She was strong, but he was stronger, and she knew she was about to lose the fight when the man was knocked off of her by Sasha, who flew in and tackled him.

Marlene scrambled to her hands and knees and found her gun where it had fallen. About ten feet away, Sasha was struggling with the man. Before she could do anything, there was a cry, and the young woman fell back. The man stood up with the knife in his hands.

“Put it down, asshole,” Marlene demanded.

The man whirled and pretended he was about to drop the knife, but instead he charged, covering the distance between them with alarming speed. Marlene fired twice. The first round caught him in the stomach, doubling him over just a few feet from her. The next entered the top of his head, killing him.

Marlene looked for the second man and just caught a glimpse of him running through the backyard two houses away. She ran over to Sasha, who was lying on her back, her hands over her
stomach. Even in dim light, Marlene could see the dark blood seeping through her fingers.

“I'll be okay,” Sasha moaned. “Go get the book. It's on Dad's desk.”

“I need to get you an ambulance,” Marlene protested.

“If you don't get it now, the cops won't let you get it later,” Sasha insisted, then groaned. “It could disappear.”

The appearance of flashing red and blue lights accompanying the siren convinced Marlene there wasn't any more time. She stood up just as Stupenagel appeared. “Tell the cops that they need to call an ambulance,” she yelled. “Sasha's been stabbed.”

Marlene ran for the house, picking up the flashlight that the first man had dropped when she told him to stop. She quickly made her way to the library. Everywhere she looked, books had been pulled from their shelves, papers were scattered on the floor, and a wall safe that had been hidden behind a painting was open and empty. She went over to the desk and spotted a small booklet bound in blue leather. On the outside, embossed in gold, were the logo of the United States Military Academy and the words “Gold Book.” She picked it up and stuffed it down her pants.

A minute later, Marlene walked out of the house and stopped as she was blinded by a flashlight in her face. “Put the weapon on the ground,” a voice demanded.

Only then did Marlene realize she was still holding her gun. She slowly leaned over and put the gun down.

“It's okay, Officer,” Stupenagel said. “She's the wife of the New York district attorney. She's the one who stopped the guy with the knife.”