The Whole Truth (21 page)
He intended to savor it for as long as he could. For Creel well knew that tomorrow all of that could change.
A smart man understood that victory was not inevitable. An even smarter man knew that defeat was never really total if you figured out how to handle the aftermath with skill and just the right spin.
And the smartest men of all, even when they lost, they actually won.
Nicolas Creel had always considered himself to be just such a man.
W
HEN KATIE STEPPED OFF THE ELEVATOR
and onto the eighth floor a large hand immediately pressed against her shoulder. Her immediate reaction was to rip it off, but when she looked up into the eyes of the broad-shouldered man with the serious expression she thought better of it.
“Come with me,” he said in a clipped British accent.
“Why?”
The man’s grip tightened on her shoulder. At the same time another man in a suit joined them, even larger and more powerful-looking than the first. He flashed a badge so fast that Katie couldn’t see what it said.
“We have some questions for you,” the second man said.
“Good, because I’ve got some questions for you.”
The pair bracketed her as they strode down the hall. A door opened and Katie was ushered into a small room and told to sit. She remained standing, arms crossed and a defiant look on her face. One of the men sighed.
“We’ll be back in a minute.”
Sixty seconds later they returned with another man, older, bald, and wearing a rumpled suit that needed a good cleaning.
He sat down and motioned Katie to do the same. “You want something to drink?”
“No,” she said as she sat down across from him. “What I want is to see Shaw.”
Frank sat back and studied her. “You mind my asking how you know him?”
“Yes, I do mind.”
He nodded at one of his men, who ripped Katie’s purse out of her hand. She clutched at it, but the other man held her back. Her wallet and passport were plucked out and given to Frank.
He perused them for a minute. “Katie James, name rings a bell. Reporter, right? You doing some kind of story on Shaw?”
“No, he’s a friend.”
“That’s funny, because I happen to know all of Shaw’s friends and you’re not one of them.”
“I’m a
recent
friend. And can I see your badge or credentials? I want to get my facts right for the exposé I’ll do on you if you don’t let me the
hell
out of here!”
“How recent?” asked Frank calmly.
She hesitated. “Edinburgh.”
“He never mentioned it.” Frank studied her passport more closely. “So you flew all the way over from New York to see your
recent
friend? Why?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Why are you here?” Frank said again.
“Is he alive or dead!”
“Alive, barely. Now answer my question.”
“I called him yesterday. A woman answered. She said he was in the hospital, that he was in surgery. So I came.”
“I see. And why did you call him?”
“Do
I
get another question answered?”
“Why did you call him?”
Katie glanced nervously around the room. The two other men stared impassively back at her. “Because I heard about The Phoenix Group.”
Frank did not look pleased by this at all. “What about them?”
“Oh come on!” Katie exploded. “I doubt you missed the
massacre
in London.”
“What’s the connection to Shaw?”
“Anna Fischer. And I can see by your expression that you know all about that, so don’t try and bullshit. It doesn’t sit well.”
“How do you know Ms. Fischer?”
“Is she dead?”
“How do you know her, Ms. James?”
Katie debated whether to tell the whole truth or not. She decided on a complete fabrication that would sound plausible. “I was doing a story on The Phoenix Group. I met Anna that way. And through her I met Shaw. We became friends.”
“You said you met Shaw in Edinburgh. How did you know he’d be there?”
“Anna told me.”
“No she didn’t. I can read bullshit as well as you can. Now, you have two options. Either tell me the whole truth, or you can go cool your heels in a French jail as a remand prisoner. And French courts are notoriously slow. You might be in there for a few years before somebody remembers to bring you to trial. And the French aren’t known for the cleanliness of their incarceration system.”
“I know. I did a story on the French garbage cans they call prisons five years ago and won a major journalism award for the effort. By the way, what offense am I being charged with? Because even the French require that before throwing somebody’s butt in jail.”
“How about being stupid and uncooperative?”
“How about taking me to the American embassy? I have the address memorized.”
“We seem to have reached an impasse.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Will you tell me the truth if I let you see Shaw?”
Now Katie sat back, not looking as defiant or as confident. This time she opted for the truth. “Okay, I was in Edinburgh on holiday. I saw Shaw and another man at the chapel at the castle. Something made me suspicious.” She went on to explain what had happened near Gilmerton’s Cove, Shaw saving her life, and her following up the clue Shaw had left at his hotel. And then her meeting Anna that way.
“I’m surprised he didn’t tell me any of this.”
“He barely survived that night. And he didn’t know about my tracking Anna down until very recently. And he wasn’t happy about it. In fact he got quite angry.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“Now you know all.” Katie hesitated hoping against hope. “Was Anna killed?’
“Yes. Along with everyone else in the place.”
Katie looked down at her hands. “Why? They were just a think tank. Anna said no one even paid attention to their work.”
“Apparently someone did.”
“Does Shaw know, about Anna?” She glanced up at him.
“No,” Frank said quietly, not meeting her eye.
“Is he going to be okay?’
“He lost a lot of blood, but the docs say he came through the surgery fine and that he’s out of danger. He’s a tough guy.”
Katie let out a long breath. “Thank God.”
“But when he finds out about Anna . . . ?”
“Someone has to tell him.”
“I’m not sure it should be anytime soon,” Frank said candidly.
“But if he finds out on the TV, newspaper, telephone?”
Frank shook his head. “We’ve got that covered.”
“Won’t he wonder why she’s not here with him at the hospital?”
“I’ll tell him I made her stay away.”
“But he’ll want to talk to her, at least by phone.” She paused. “I never got your name.”
He hesitated. “Frank.”
“First or last name?”
“Just Frank.”
“Okay, Just Frank, they’re engaged to be married. He’s not going to buy for one second that he can’t talk to her or see her.”
“I didn’t say it was a perfect plan, okay!” Frank suddenly exploded. “He asked me to call her when he thought he was dying. And I told him I would even though I already knew she was dead.” He jumped up and started pacing around the small room, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his gaze on his shoes.
“Can I see him? You said if I told you the truth I could see him.”
Frank stopped pacing. Without looking at Katie he gave a curt nod to his men.
As they were escorting her out Frank called after her, “Tell him.”
She turned back. “What?”
“You were right. Tell him about Anna.”
Katie looked stunned. “Me? I . . . I can’t. I . . .”
“You said he saved your life. That you’re his friend. So start acting like it.”
A terrified Katie started to say something else, but Frank slammed the door in her face. A moment later she was walking toward Shaw’s room.
And it felt like she was traveling the last, lonely mile to her own execution.
W
ITH THE AID OF A RED-EYE FLIGHT
on board his private jumbo jet Nicolas Creel had exchanged Los Angeles for Italy and was playing captain today aboard his massive ship,
Shiloh.
The giga-yacht was far longer than a football field with a beam of over seventy feet and boasted nine floors of opulence. Creel’s master suite alone measured five thousand square feet, or far larger than the average
house.
It could carry up to thirty guests in extreme luxury since it also housed an indoor pool, cinema, disco, gym, wine cellar, basketball court, every water toy imaginable, two helipads, several hot tubs, and its very own private submarine with a capacity of forty passengers. The sub exited the ship via the bottom of the hull, so Creel could come and go in privacy. The
Shiloh
also carried a crew of several dozen superbly trained professionals whose only goal was to serve with pleasure.
The
Shiloh
was also a very safe ship with state-of-the-art security, motion sensors, and even a special missile-detection system. And while he was parked here in Italian waters, the Italian government, ever mindful of Creel’s prestige and his humanitarian and political connections in their country, provided a couple of police boats to stand guard.
Despite its gigantic size, it being far larger than many naval vessels, the
Shiloh
could still manage a top speed of twenty-five knots, allowing it to easily outrun any storm.
All in all, Creel had considered it a bargain at a mere $300 million. Of all his residences around the world, he loved the
Shiloh
the best. As a youngster he’d had a secret passion for the sea and a desire, never fulfilled, to join the merchant marine and see the world as a sailor.
In keeping with his nautical surroundings, today he had on a dark blue double-breasted jacket, cream-colored slacks, and a white seaman’s cap. He watched as the chopper headed toward the ship, covering the still waters below at just over a hundred knots. The aircraft slowed, hovered, hit its pad mark, and the blades wound down. Dick Pender stepped off, shrouded in a wide-brimmed hat, large sunglasses, and a long leather coat. He carried a slim briefcase that flapped against his leg from the prop wash.
Creel met him on the aft deck and escorted him down wide polished teak stairs to a large walnut burl–paneled room amidships. Outside the large porthole windows the coastline of Italy was visible across the dark brooding plain of the Mediterranean.
“Is the missus with you?” Pender asked as he removed his hat and coat and threw them over a chair.
“No. The crew enjoys her
nude
sunbathing habit a little too much. She’s in Switzerland at some spa rejuvenating herself. From what exactly I was never clear about.”
Pender glanced at the flat-screen TV on the wall where scenes of the London Massacre were being replayed.
“Quite a mess over there,” Pender said. “You’ve been a busy man.”
Creel had enough information to bury Pender many times over and the man knew it. So he never worried about Pender turning on him. And no one knew Pender was here. He came in secret and he would leave in secret. It was just the way Creel worked. When you basically had your own airline, there was nothing easier to accomplish.
“Let’s get down to it.”
Pender spread out the contents of his briefcase. “I’m assuming the appropriate materials were left behind at The Phoenix Group?”
“Correct.”
“Any indication whether the police have gone over them?”
“It’s early yet, but they’re easy to find. Only a matter of time.”
“You have someone on the inside?”
Creel simply nodded at this question.
“You know when you called and told me what you’d discovered about The Phoenix Group it seemed too perfect.”
“I thought the same thing,” Creel admitted. “But it all checked out, or else I wouldn’t have done it. So tell me the steps you have planned to get our next ‘truth’ out to the public.”
Pender picked up a piece of paper. “For maximum exploitation and dissemination we recommend going to the Web first and letting the mainstream outlets reverse engineer the story. The major networks don’t like to acknowledge the fact but they troll the blog world constantly looking for cutting-edge stories and trends. It’ll make it appear to be more grassroots and homegrown that way. Lends credibility and throws off suspicion.”
Creel nodded in agreement. “So we get the payoff of Phoenix’s true ownership that way, which will segue nicely into the inevitable leak that will come out of what’s discovered in London.”
“That’s how I see it playing out. We have the revelation of ownership and then the really earth-shattering news of the activity having been conducted there coming out. It’ll be disputed, of course,” he added.
“Of course it will, and that will only lend credibility to it being true. If you dispute, you lose.”
“Your boots on the ground worked to perfection.”
“Well, they’re not done yet,” Creel responded cryptically.
“When will the leak come?”
“She is primed and ready. I’ll pull the trigger on that when I deem the time right.”
“And she can be trusted?”
“It’s not a question of trust.”
“And after she’s performed the leak?”
“Then I will decide what to do, Dick.”
“In my experience,” Pender began, before Creel cut him off by lighting a cigar and turning away from him and picking up a decanter.
“A glass of port? I always find port particularly supportive of grand scheme-making.”
“I’m sure your port is better than anyone else’s,” Pender said, smiling.
A ship’s horn sounded.
Pender glanced out the starboard porthole in time to see a twenty-six-foot launch pulling up with about a dozen excited children dressed in shabby clothing on board.
He looked at Creel with an amused expression. “You running tours on the
Shiloh
, Mr. Creel? Earning some extra income from the dirty-faced Mediterranean rabble?”
Creel didn’t return the smile. He rose from the chair and pressed down his sailor’s jacket and reset the cap on his head. This was why he’d worn the uniform today, for the children.
“They’re Italian kids from a local orphanage. They never get to do anything. So when we’re at anchor here I always have them come out. For a good meal, new clothes, toys, and some fun. They’re just children; they should have some fun, Dick.”