The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) (17 page)

Chapter 37

Jack Logan and I arrived at O’Hare at 2 p.m. I hoped the FBI Gulfstream got decent gas mileage because I had a feeling that the taxpayers just blew some good money. We were on our way to interview Mr. Phil Bertone, the best lead we had so far about the strange group we’ve come to know as the NFL. But I don’t think anything is going to happen in this interview.

“Jack, I hope you’re not expecting too much from this guy. I don’t expect him to say anything.”

“You mean you think he’s lawyered up?”

“Well, those of us in the legal profession prefer to think of it as retaining counsel. If he has, and I don’t doubt it, his lawyer is simply going to tell him to shut up. Hell, I could get this guy sprung in five minutes.”

“Well, let’s just hope he hasn’t retained a lawyer as sharp as you, Matt.”

“But any lawyer is going to tell him not to say anything. Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would, but I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Immunity?”

“Why not? I’m not looking to prosecute the guy. I don’t think he’s anybody we want to pursue. Hell, he was just a drunk in a bar when he chatted with Al Yamani about that NFL stuff. No, I don’t think he’s a bad guy, just a guy with information that we need.”

We walked into the lockup at the Chicago FBI headquarters. Typical of the FBI, the place was neat and clean, more like an office, an office with bars on the doors and windows.

Uh, oh, I thought. Bertone’s lawyer was sitting across from him. William Jamison, one of the best criminal lawyers in Chicago. Jamison is a tall black guy, about 6’3” wearing an impeccable gray tweed suit, his hallmark. Bertone looked decidedly Middle Eastern.

“Matt Blake,” Jamison said, “long time no see, my friend. Since when have you been moonlighting for the FBI?”

“Hello, Bill, good to see you. In answer to your question, I’ve been deputized as an FBI agent for a case we’re working on.”

“And I guess that case involves Mr. Bertone here, my new client.”

“Yes it does, Mr. Jamison,” said Jack Logan. “We believe that your client has some important information for us.”

“Well, I’ve advised my client that he should exercise his Fifth Amendment right not to incriminate himself. Therefore I don’t believe you’re going to have a very productive conversation.”

“He can’t possibly incriminate himself, counselor.”

“Do you mean you’re granting him immunity from prosecution?”

“That’s exactly what I mean, Mr. Jamison. Anything Mr. Bertone says will not and cannot be held against him.”

“Well, that’s certainly interesting, Agent Logan, but I’ll see your cards and raise you. I want
unqualified
immunity for anything he says.”

“Excuse us, Mr. Jamison, Matt Blake and I need to confer.”

Logan and I stepped out into the hallway.

“What’s the problem, Jack?” I said, “Why don’t you just give him unqualified immunity? It’s a slight risk. Like you said, you don’t think he’s a bad guy, just a guy with information.”

“Of course I’m going to give it to him, Matt. I asked to step out with you just to convince his lawyer that he won a big point. It’s always easier to deal with someone whose ego has just been stroked.”

I cracked up. I can learn a lot from Jack Logan.

“Jack, you’d be a hell of a lawyer in private practice. If you ever get tired of the FBI, Blake & Randolph would like to have a career chat with you.”

“That’s after I’m done trying to
recruit you
into the FBI, Matt.”

We walked back into the interrogation room.

“Okay, Mr. Jamison, I’ll grant Mr. Bertone unqualified immunity.”

Jamison, always prepared, reached into his briefcase and took out a document of immunity. Then Jack handed him a detailed non-disclosure form. Jamison read it.

“Mr. Jamison, the matter we’re going to discuss concerns highly classified issues of national security. I’m sure you won’t mind signing this agreement not to disclose anything you hear today.”

“Does that include the evening TV news? I’m quite fond of publicity.”

We all laughed. Bill Jamison is also known for his sense of humor. Jack and I sat down across from Phil Bertone.

“Mr. Bertone, I want to let you know that you’re not the target of any investigation, and even if you were, as your attorney here can advise you, I have granted you unqualified immunity for anything that you may say here today.”

Bertone nodded.

“To get right to the point, sir, what can you tell us about an organization that may be known as the NFL?”

Jamison laughed. He played two seasons as a wide receiver for the Bears, and was quite familiar with the NFL.

Jack looked at Jamison. “It’s not the NFL you’re familiar with, counselor. It’s an acronym for
Not For Long
, or at least that’s what we think it means.”

“Yes,” said Bertone, “NFL stands for
Not For Long
. It’s a group of people, a hell of a lot of people, who are dedicated to waging war against radical Islam.”

“How did you come to know about this group, Mr. Bertone?”

“They tried to recruit me. My name, Bertone, is the name of my stepfather. My original father, who died a few years ago, was named Abdalla. On my birth certificate my name was Omar Abdalla. I became Phillip Bertone after my stepfather formally adopted me at the age of five.”

“Are you a Muslim?” I asked.

“No. and since my name change at the age of five, I can’t even say I’m a Muslim in name only.”

“And did there come a time when you were approached by someone from the NFL organization?”

“Yes, about two years ago. A guy called me and asked if we could meet for coffee. He said he was writing an article about the experience of teaching at a university. It seemed like a harmless request, so I met him at a coffee shop on campus. He asked me endless details about my interactions with Islam. I told him, like I’m telling you now, that although I was born Muslim, I never practiced the faith.”

“Then why did he ask you about your interactions with Islam?” Jack asked.

“When I learned about my birth, something my folks never hid from me, I began to have an interest in Islam, not from a religious point of view, but I became fascinated how a theological position could lead so many people to hatred and violence. I wrote a few articles about it. No big deal, just local newspaper feature articles.”

“In your opinion, could your articles label you as a
reformer
?”

“Sure, but since I wasn’t a Muslim, I think it’s more accurate to say that I’m a critic.”

“Did this man indicate how they found you?”

“Yeah, from my articles. He said they also checked my birth records and found that I was born a Muslim. It gave me the creeps to know that my life had been examined under a microscope.”

“Did the man give you any other reasons why he wanted to recruit you into the NFL?”

“Yes, my military background. I was a lieutenant in the Army and served with the Rangers. After a tour in Afghanistan I was assigned to Ranger School as an instructor in advanced weapons. That’s when the guy really started to open up to me about the NFL. According to him I had all the stuff they were looking for—a former or disaffected Muslim, a critic of Islam, and a military man. He was very interested in my Army background. He said that military training was a prerequisite for induction into the upper ranks of the NFL. He said that the organization included hundreds of former SEALs, Marines, and Army Rangers like me. Strict discipline is a key to the NFL. And strict secrecy. After he interviewed me he called a few more times to try to recruit me. He then asked if we could sit down for another meeting. At that time he told me how sorry he was that I didn’t want to join them, and then he gave be a stern no-shit warning. He told me never to divulge what he discussed with me. If I did, I would be ‘taken care of.’ I’ll never forget the look on his face when he said the words ‘taken care of.’ And here I am disclosing everything. Does my face look as scared as my stomach feels?”

Oh my God, I thought. Am I looking at the next guest of the FBI Witness Protection Program?

“Don’t worry Mr. Bertone,” said Jack, “this meeting is absolutely confidential.”

I looked at Bill Jamison. Maybe Bertone shouldn’t be worried, but his attorney sure as hell was.

“Now here’s the big question, Mr. Bertone, can you give us the name of the NFL man who tried to recruit you?”

“Sure, he said his name was Gary Boyle, but I’m sure it’s a made-up name,”

“You’re probably right, but can you tell us any more about him?”

“He was physically nondescript. I think he was about 5’11’—Holy shit, wait a minute.”

“What’s wrong?” I said.

Bertone pulled out his smart phone and started thumbing through it.

“I just remembered that the waitress in the coffee shop is a friend of mine. She’s a nut for snapping photos. Here it is. She emailed it to me after the first time I met with Boyle.”

He held up the photo for us to look at. A perfect side view of the mysterious Mr. Boyle.

“Mr. Bertone, can you email that to me right now, please?” Jack said.

“Just a minute, Agent Logan,” Bill Jamison said, leaning forward in his seat. “I don’t want that photo to be traceable to my client. He’ll email it to
me
and I’ll send it to Agent Logan.”

As I said, Bill Jamison is one sharp lawyer.

“I have one final question. Can you tell us anything about the name from which they get the acronym NFL, the words
Not For Long
?”

“Sure, it means that the days of radical Islam are numbered. We hear all about the Islamic State wanting to establish a caliphate, and even their desire to institute Sharia law in places in America.
Not For Long
is the NFL’s way of saying that they intend to put a stop to radical Islam. And they don’t mean to waste time.”

After our meeting with Mr. Bertone was over, Jack and I sat down for a debriefing. The Gulfstream waited for Jack’s return to New York.

“Today was a bigger success than I could have imagined,” Jack said. “We actually got a photo of the NFL recruiter. When I get back to the office I’m going to have it run through our facial recognition software. I think it’s time to celebrate. Scotch, gin, or vodka?”

“I don’t drink,” I said, “but I’d love a glass of orange juice.”

“You don’t drink? That probably explains why you’re such a sharp attorney.”

“If you saw me in my drinking and drugging days, you wouldn’t think I was so sharp. So, Jack, you’ve gotten your first big lead to this shadowy outfit. Maybe you’ll even be able to infiltrate. But now what?”

“Now what? Matt, you understand that I can’t discuss that with you, but I can make a comment.”

“Go right ahead, Jack.”

“I have no fucking idea.”

Chapter 38

After six weeks of studying entertainment law and the publishing industry, I felt confident that I could represent an author, specifically Dee or Al Yamani. Meanwhile, Dee had plugged in her contacts in publishing, which were quite extensive. I really hoped we could get Al a book deal.

Dee called me from her office at the university.

“Matt, fabulous news. I just got a call from Suzie Cohen (Dee’s agent). She said that Random House is interested in Al Yamani’s new book
My Journey Home.
They love it.”

“Are they just interested or do they want to make a deal?” I said.

“They offered Al an advance of $50,000, a super number for a first timer. I told Suzie that you would be in touch with them.”

***

Armed with my newly acquired knowledge of entertainment law, I picked up the phone and called the acquisitions editor at Random House, as prearranged with Suzie Cohen. Negotiating a book contract is quite different from negotiating a personal injury case. In a PI case, if you’re not satisfied with an offer, you can take the case to a jury. In a book deal, you don’t have that much flexibility, especially with an unknown author. The publisher can simply tell you to shove it. So I politely engaged the acquisitions editor, a pleasant woman named Nancy Bolling. I kept her on the phone for an hour, a tactic I learned from my dad. “As long as they’re talking, they’re willing to deal,” my father would always say.

I had three major demands, which I referred to as “requests” of Ms. Bolling. First, Al’s real name would not be used, rather a pseudonym, George Rudden, his name from the Witness Protection Program. Next, I wanted a higher royalty share, more than the eight percent that they offered. Finally, I wanted to split the electronic rights for an ebook, and I insisted that we get the right to set the ebook price. My study and reading told me that traditional publishers would often overprice an ebook so as not to compete with the hardcover. The result is often tepid ebook sales.

Without boring you with the details of our negotiation, here’s the deal I got for Al (George). They readily agreed to Al’s pseudonym George Rudden. They bumped the royalty by a half a point to eight and a half percent. And they agreed to split electronic sales. They wouldn’t agree to let us set the retail price.

Dee and I called “George” on his secure phone at the WPP house in New Jersey. We were on speaker phone.

“Random House wants to buy your book for $50,000, Al. Sound good?”

“Holy shit,” Al said. “You’re the greatest lawyer in the world, Matt.”

“Hey, Al, Dee had most to do with this. You will be addressed by your pseudonym, George Rudden. Your editor at Random House will be in touch in about two weeks. I’ll send the papers to you and we’ll go over them on the secure line.”

From all of my reading into the culture of writers, including self-published authors, I’m amazed that people actually believe that luck has nothing to do with literary success. Bullshit. Luck has everything to do with it, especially for a first-time author. If Al didn’t have Dee and her agent on his side, he would probably be one of the many thousands of aspiring authors whose manuscripts sit in a “slush pile,” never to be read. Sometimes life isn’t fair. But it was more than fair to my client this time, and that’s all I have to be concerned about. I felt good. Al Yamani, a guy I referred to as a scumbag a few months ago, will soon be a published author.