“We only want assurances, Wilson. Sometimes people change when their circumstances change,” Kohl responded.
Wilson picked up the phone from the table and called Carter, who picked up on the first ring as if he’d been waiting by the phone. Wilson informed him of the FBI’s demands and their plan to deliver immunity guarantees by mid-morning to his office on campus.
“This is a little earlier than expected, but I’ll be ready for them,” Carter said calmly.
“Any concerns?” Wilson asked, surprised by Carter’s calm. Was this exactly what Carter expected me to do? Wilson reminded himself that Carter had been preparing for this moment for years.
“None,” Carter said.
“Anything else?” Wilson asked, sensing that Carter had something else he wanted to say.
“So what was it that finally convinced you that the government wouldn’t botch this?”
“Reading your eight volumes of history,” Wilson said without hesitation.
“For what it’s worth, they would have convinced me too, had I been in your shoes,” Carter said. “What about Emily?”
“If we don’t find her by tomorrow afternoon, the FBI will put the stranglehold on Tate, Swatling, Kamin, and Malouf,” Wilson said, glancing at Hap and then at Kohl and Johns. All of them were nodding their agreement.
After Wilson hung up the phone, the FBI bosses stood up and began walking to the door. Kohl reassured Wilson that he’d done the right thing by bringing them in. “The FBI won’t disappoint you, Wilson,” she said.
Her eyes communicated more than her words, Wilson thought. Apparently Hap had told them about his earlier misgivings. But now he felt relieved the FBI was involved—Kohl seemed to be signaling that rescuing Emily was her first priority. “I believe you,” Wilson said.
As Kohl and Johns turned to leave, Hap reiterated his concern about leaks, reminding them of the partnership’s track record of surveillance and manipulation.
Kohl assured him that the FBI would be taking every precaution possible. Her next statement had the ring of a declaration of war: “The FBI will not allow this sort of financial tyranny to manipulate the American people ever again.” Wilson noted that even Johns seemed surprised by her barely masked passion. Hope does spring eternal, he thought.
She could smell them before they touched her. Two sweaty men with strong hands and arms quickly removed the bands from Emily’s legs and arms, lifting her from the cot. Her blood ran cold. When they began to slowly rub their hands along her body, she recoiled in disgust. Enraged. Now is not the time to fight, she told herself, although it may come to that, especially if they’re moving me.
The two men hurriedly escorted Emily into what seemed like the same truck as before. Once again she was forced to lie on the hard bench where she was strapped down.
“Don’t be frightened. We’re just moving you to another location,” the woman’s automated voice said into her earphones.
Oh God, Emily said to herself. If I leave Teterboro Airport, Wilson will never find me. She quickly turned her panic to resolve. No more fear. It had been pure luck or providence that she’d found the folded matchbook wedged between the floor and the toilet. She couldn’t let it be for naught. As she racked her brain for a way to let Wilson know, she felt the needle enter her arm.
The truck began to move. She didn’t have much time before the unconsciousness set it. It’s now or never, she said to herself. Emily began to convulse violently. Using every bit of her strength and determination, she twisted and turned her body like a trapped snake. When she started slamming her head up and down against the metal bench with saliva drooling out of her mouth, the truck finally stopped. Within seconds, she could feel the agitated commotion around her. Then came the crushing blow to her face. Pain surged through her head and neck before she lost consciousness.
From the moment the two in-flight service trucks stopped on the tarmac access road, three of Hap’s operatives trained their night vision scopes on their every movement. Two men from the cab of the second truck hurried to the back of the lead truck and lifted the roll-up door. Before the door closed, Hap’s men identified the woman struggling on the bench as Emily.
“It’s her!” one of the operatives whispered urgently into the microphone.
“Got it,” Driggs said calmly as he studied the monitor receiving video feeds from each man’s scope. “Tag it. Twice,” he said.
Another operative squeezed the trigger of his Barrett M-82A1, firing a tungsten-tipped microchip into the spare tire attached to the truck’s undercarriage. He squeezed again, firing another round just as the two men lifted the roll-up door from inside and quickly returned to the second truck.
“Tracking,” Driggs said into his headset as the two inflight service trucks sped away.
It was five o’clock in the morning when Driggs called Hap. “We found her, but she’s under heavy protection and they’re moving her. We’re in pursuit.”
“They must have pieced the puzzle together just like we did. Or there’s been a leak at the FBI. Whatever you do, don’t lose her,” Hap said.
“We were able to tag the truck when it stopped,” Driggs said. “They’re traveling in two Rudy’s In-flight Cabin Services trucks on runway access roads to the other side of the airfield. We began seeing dozens of in-flight trucks about twenty minutes ago. She must have done something to make them stop the truck. If they hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t have identified her.”
“Make sure she hasn’t been seriously harmed and then maintain visual surveillance until we extract her. If she’s in jeopardy, you know what to do,” Hap said, worried about why she was being moved. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t good.
Hap strode briskly into Wilson’s bedroom to report the news. “They found her,” Hap said, leaning over Wilson who was half asleep.
“Thank God,” Wilson jumped to his feet.
“She’s en route at the moment.”
“What? They’re moving her?”
“We have a tracking device on the truck. The team will use a thermal imaging camera to verify she’s unharmed. We’ll extract her at the first hint of danger.”
“Why are they moving her?” Wilson said as emotions welled up inside him.
“They’re clearly taking precautions. The fact that she hasn’t called again suggests they may have deciphered her clues. Just like we did.”
“How long does the FBI expect us to wait?”
Hap looked at his watch. “Simultaneous arrests are set for forty-eight hours from right now.”
“Have you talked to Kohl?”
Hap nodded slowly. “Her position is unchanged. If we extract Emily now, every member of the secret partnership will go into hiding. FBI surveillance will stop some, but not all. But she said it’s your decision.”
“I’m not sure I can wait that long.”
Three hours after Hap had awakened him with the news about Emily, Wilson sat in a meeting with Fielder & Company’s six vice presidents to launch the two-week transition period for establishing Malouf & Company as an independent firm. The mood among the vice presidents was somber, yet upbeat. They were finally taking action on a problem that had been tolerated for much too long; the remaining vice presidents seemed relieved that Malouf and Tennyson were leaving.
But Wilson barely noticed the nuances, his thoughts and emotions consumed by what was happening to Emily. Ever the consummate professional, he managed to go through the motions until all the major transition issues had been addressed and resolved. They agreed to reconvene again tomorrow.
By noon, Wilson was alone in his father’s office, pacing back and forth along the wall of windows. The last time he’d heard from Hap was over two hours ago. Emily had been taken to a warehouse near Princeton, New Jersey. Suddenly Hap marched into the office unannounced. Anne had become accustomed to the routine. “Emily’s fine,” Hap said in a high-energy voice. “She’s got a slightly overheated right cheek, but there’s no other indication of trauma.”
“Fucking bastards. What did they do to her? If we have the slightest indication that she’s being mistreated, I want her out,” Wilson said, eyes blazing.
Hap nodded his agreement. “We now have three teams, a total of twelve people, keeping her under surveillance. The number of people guarding her has increased from four to seven—three armed guards outside the warehouse, three inside, and a woman. They’re in constant contact with somebody. As of yet, we haven’t been able to decode their encrypted communications. But we remain confident that we can free her at any moment. We’ve also added another team to Brattle House and doubled the protection on your father.”
“What’s the absolute minimum time we have to wait?”
“After what Carter Emerson told the FBI this morning, I don’t think she’ll have to remain in custody for more than twenty-four hours.”
“Any change in her condition?” Wilson asked, incensed by the thought of her mental and emotional torment, not to mention the blow to her face.
“She’s tied down to a cot, blindfolded, and wearing earphones. She’s being fed regularly and has the opportunity to walk around every time she uses the bathroom.”
Wilson pressed his fingers into his scalp, trying to alleviate his splitting headache.
Hap waited a moment before responding. “My men already have orders to free her the minute they anticipate any mistreatment,” he said slowly and deliberately.
“And what about the mistreatment we can’t see? Goddamnit, Hap, we’re asking too fucking much of her.”
Hap waited a moment before responding. “I understand completely,” he said slowly. “Give me the word, and I’ll have her freed immediately.”
Wilson stared at Hap and then walked to the windows overlooking the Charles River. Emily’s words “never fear” from the voice message to her parents stuck in his head. Those words were meant for him and he knew it. She’d become more determined to fight than he was. If only I could talk to her right now, what would she say? Would she want to be freed immediately? Or wait for the FBI to capture its prey? It was an impossible dilemma, he thought. Risking another’s life, not to mention the life of the woman I love, based on what? Stratagem? Suddenly, it pierced him, as if Emily had spoken it herself. Destroy the bastards. “I want her rescued at the first sign of anything unusual, and I mean anything. And, I don’t want her moved again.”
Hap nodded, “You got it.” He immediately got on his cell phone to Driggs and relayed Wilson’s instructions.
When Hap was finished, Wilson asked, “What happened this morning with Carter?”
“At nine o’clock in William James Hall, room 105, after Federal couriers delivered the necessary assurances of immunity, Carter began briefing the FBI, the SEC, the Justice Department, the NSA, the CIA, partners from Ernst & Young and Booz Allen, and a few others no one would identify. The FBI had the place completely sterilized, but there wasn’t a hint of surveillance,” Hap said admiringly.
“Is this really going to work?” Wilson asked as he sat down in his father’s chair at the end of the gray stone table.
“Yesterday I wasn’t sure. But what happened this morning convinced me. The FBI performed brilliantly. I thought I had seen everything, but this tops it,” Hap said. “Even the guards in the hallways were dressed like grad students.”
“How many people?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“How did they arrange the meeting so quickly?”
“I asked myself the same question. They must have been scrambling all night.”
“Why Ernst & Young and Booz Allen?”
“Beginning tomorrow, those two firms will deploy approximately six hundred auditors and consultants, working around the clock, to verify Carter’s records and independently document eight years worth of stock market manipulations.”
“Why so many if they’re trying to keep things under wraps?”
“Only six seasoned project leaders know the full picture. They were the ones at the briefing. The work will be parceled out in segments to minimize leaks,” Hap said, his eyes dancing. “The more people involved, the harder it will be for anyone to see the full picture before the partnership is totally exposed. The FBI has done their homework on this one. They want to make sure an independent verification of Carter’s records is underway when they start asking federal judges to issue arrest warrants.”
“How did Carter react?”
“Brilliantly. He lectured for an hour and a half and then fielded questions for another two hours. Needless to say, the audience was spellbound. This was definitely the lecture of the millennium. I don’t think Carter has any more worries about whether his disclosure will bring a revolution.”
“Where is he now?”
“On an airplane.”
“What?” Wilson asked, stunned by the words. Carter was still at it.
“Somewhere outside the U.S. It was part of his immunity package. I assumed you knew?”
“Hell no!” Wilson said, feeling stupid for being blindsided yet again. “Things must be worse than we think if the person who most wanted to see this is fleeing the scene.”
“Given the FBI’s lightning-fast response, he could be anywhere by now.”
“That’s why Elizabeth wasn’t home,” Wilson said, trying to think of what else he may have missed. “What’s his cover?”
“A history conference at Stanford University. There’s an undercover agent disguised as Carter who’ll be arriving in San Francisco in a couple of hours.”
“Does Tate know about the conference?”
“Carter said he told him about it.”
“Did he leave a message for me?” Wilson asked, his anger spiking.
“Not to panic.”
“What?”
“He said not to panic. He would be in touch.”
“Well, he’s done it again, hasn’t he?” Wilson said.
“After what he did this morning, he didn’t have much choice, Wilson.”
“What about us?”
“Unless you want to call it quits, we’re scheduled for another debriefing at the apartment tonight with Kohl, Johns, and whoever else they’re bringing.”
“Who else?” Wilson asked, pissed off about what else he didn’t know. He’d been so preoccupied with Emily that he was no longer thinking clearly or acting smart.