Authors: Joseph Badal
Gold grimaced. “Without testimony from that customer, you got zilch.”
“Ask yourself some questions. ‘How did a Colonel from a dirt-poor family amass that kind of wealth?’ Oh, and don’t forget Bishop has not paid taxes on that money, on the original amounts or on the earnings. I suspect he’s used some of that money to make large cash
political
contributions. Unfortunately, I have no proof of that, either.”
“You’ve told us you’ll turn two killers loose and you won’t reveal who bought narcotics from Bishop,” Gold said. “How do you justify these decisions?”
Peter answered this time. “Don’t get us wrong. We’ve agonized about it. But Bishop has to be stopped now. He can do a lot of harm while the authorities plod through the legal system and investigate our accusations.”
“If they investigate your accusations,” Gold said.
“There’s that,” David said.
“With his resources, he could have every person who represents a threat to him wiped out,” Ramsey said. “He’s already proved himself capable of doing that. By the time the legal system dealt with Bishop, there would be no witnesses left to testify against him.”
“I can’t write a story about Bishop based on innuendo and conjecture,” Gold said.
David said, “I understand that. But you
can
write a story about what happened at The Plaza Hotel tonight. And you
can
publish the claims made on that video. It wouldn’t be the first time your paper put out a story based on fluff. And you know damned well there’s more than fluff in this case.”
Gold smiled. “I’ll give you that, Mr. Hood.”
He turned to Gallagher and told him to write a rush story for page one of the next day’s edition. He then called down to the pressroom. “Stop the presses!” he barked. Then he turned to Gallagher and said, “You’ve got three hours.” He looked at David. “I’m going to ask you a bunch of questions. Your answers will, hopefully, flesh out Mr. Gallagher’s story.”
The question-and-answer session continued for hours. Gold took notes for a follow-up story. It was nearly 3 a.m. when he finally relaxed and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Gallagher, who had long since joined them again, and asked if he had any questions. The reporter shook his head. Gold then turned to the others in the room. “So, where do we go from here?”
“That video has made every one of us a target,” David said. “Even though my dad wasn’t in the video, he’s too close to me to be safe. And Detective O’Neil’s role in this mess—maybe Detective Ramsey’s, too—is now common knowledge, so they’re in just as much danger as the rest of us. We can’t go back to our homes. I think we need to vanish for now.”
“I know where you guys can stay for a few days,” Gold said. “Why don’t you let me make some arrangements? I’ve got a place—”
David held up a hand. “You might be adding your name to the hit list.”
“Let me worry about that,” Gold said.
David looked at the others and saw no disagreement. “Sounds great,” he said. Then he turned to look at Segal and Toney. “As much as I hate to do this, you guys are free to go.”
They didn’t make a move, as though they couldn’t believe David. It took about five seconds for the reality to hit home and then they bolted out of their chairs and out of the conference room. Toney shouldered Segal out of the way and took the lead to the bank of elevators. They both looked back several times, as though they expected to be pursued.
Peter stood up and moved to the conference room windows.
“You okay, Dad?” David asked.
Peter waved off David’s concern. “Back’s just a bit stiff from too much sitting.”
Peter looked out the window, down at the street in front of the building.
He heard Gold ask, “Where do you think those guys will go?”
“Toney may be able to find cover for a while,” David said. “But probably not for long. Segal will more than likely skip the country. He must have money put away.”
Peter stared down at two taxi cabs parked in front of the building while the conversation at the table behind him became just so much background noise. He saw two men rush from the front of the building. Despite the twenty floors between him and the street, Peter was sure it was Toney and Segal. The difference in the sizes of the two men was obvious and telling.
He watched Segal dive into one cab; Toney entered the other.
Then four men appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The men split up; two got into each of the cabs.
Peter sighed with satisfaction. Joey Cataldo had come through. Peter didn’t feel bound by his son’s commitment to Toney and Segal. It was Old World vengeance, without New World remorse.
“Rolf Bishop is about to be dog meat,” Gold told David. “He won’t be able to hide anywhere. The media won’t give him a moment’s peace.”
O’Neil snorted. “Anyone with the kind of money Bishop has can do just about anything he wants.”
David chuckled. “I didn’t tell you my banker friend in Zurich froze all of Bishop’s accounts on the suspicion the money there was from narcotics. By now, he’s probably already informed Interpol and the American and Swiss authorities. Rolf Bishop will never see any of that money.”
CHAPTER 53
The impact of the stories in
The New York Times
and in other media was spectacular. Despite the sterling reputation Bishop had built, there was so much cynicism around the country about the nation’s political and governmental leaders that it was easy for everyone to believe the worst about him. The discovery of the body of Bishop’s driver drove the final nail in the coffin of the man’s reputation.
David Hood went from relatively unknown businessman to folk hero.
News commentators raised questions about the President and his administration.
David, Peter, Jennifer, and Dennis holed up at Irving Gold’s beach house on Long Island. When Peter heard about Bishop’s driver’s murder, he noted that, according to the Medical Examiner’s time-of-death estimate, it must have happened shortly after the State dinner ended.
“I’ll bet Bishop killed the driver because the CIA had ordered the driver to bring Bishop back to D.C.”
“I don’t think so, Jennifer,” O’Neil said. “Bishop’s going to ground. He needed the car because he couldn’t take the chance a cabbie would recognize him. He had to assume he would be big news very quickly. He’s probably holed up somewhere and has already dumped the government car.”
Ramsey said, “Let’s assume he dumped the car very quickly after he murdered his driver and he’s somewhere in the city, say, within one mile of his ultimate destination. It’s unlikely he left himself too long a walk to wherever he’s holed up, especially late at night in New York City.”
Peter looked skeptical. “Okay, if you’re right, and if the car is spotted, then all the cops have to do is draw a one-mile radius around the car. Bishop should be inside that radius. The problem is that in New York, there could be hundreds of thousands of people inside a circle with a one-mile radius. And what if he left the vehicle two miles away from his safe house?”
“But why would Bishop hide out in New York when he should get out of the city and the country as fast as he can?” David asked. “He’s a marked man as long as he stays in the States. And there won’t be many places he can go outside the U.S. where he’ll be welcome. He’s got to buy his way to some third-world country with which we don’t have an extradition treaty.”
“But how can he do that if all of his assets are frozen over in Switzerland?” Peter asked.
“That’s it, Dad!” David shouted. “That bastard must have other assets hidden away somewhere. He’s too smart to put all his eggs in one basket. He must have other accounts. Or a safety deposit box.”
O’Neil finished David’s thought. “And at least one of those accounts or safety deposit boxes could be here in New York. He might be hiding out here until the banks open on Monday.”
“Gotta be a safety deposit box,” Peter said. “Activity in a bank account is too easy for the Feds to track.”
After a prolonged silence, David said, “Well, that was fun. Now what do we do? The police, even if they buy it, can’t watch every bank in the city. Oh, and by the way, we haven’t heard anything about charges being brought against Bishop yet, so the cops won’t even get involved until that happens.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Ramsey said. “If the local police find the car, we might hear about it on the police scanner here in Gold’s house. Once we know where the car is, we can get on the Internet and pull up a map of all the bank branches within eight blocks or so. We could split up and watch at least some of them.”
“That could be a huge waste of time. What if your eight-block assumption is off?”
“What the hell,” David said. “They’ll probably never find the car anyway. But it’s still worth a try.”
CHAPTER 54
Ramsey and O’Neil watched a baseball game on Sunday afternoon when it was suddenly interrupted. A well-known national television commentator announced that the U.S. Attorney General had authorized the appointment of a Special Counsel to investigate accusations against CIA Deputy Director Rolf Bishop. Also, the city of New York had issued an arrest warrant for Bishop in connection with his driver’s murder. They cheered the news so loudly David and Peter ran in from the kitchen.
The ringing telephone interrupted their reverie. David grabbed the receiver, but before he could say anything, Irving Gold yelled, “Did you hear the news? The heat’s been brought down on Bishop.”
“We heard,” David said.
“The whole town’s crawling with cops. Every one of them wants to be the guy to find Bishop.”
“Our theory,” David said, “is Bishop’s holed up somewhere until the banks open tomorrow morning. He may not know his Swiss accounts are frozen, but we think he must have an account and/or a safety deposit box in the city.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Gold said. “But there must be hundreds of banks in Manhattan alone. How the hell can Bishop be tied to one particular bank?”
“I don’t have a clue,” David said.
APRIL 30
CHAPTER 55
David was too hyper to go to bed until nearly 3 a.m. And even then he slept fitfully. He dreamed of Carmela and the kids, something he’d done many times since they’d been killed. In these dreams they were either on a beach or in the family room in the Bethesda house. Carmela laughed while the children played. They seemed happy together, but David always woke from these dreams drenched in sweat. And the lingering memory was that the dream never included him.
Bishop also invaded his subconscious. In another dream that never varied, Bishop chased his family and he chased Bishop, and the longer the dream went on the closer Bishop got to Carmela and the kids. The scene was in dark, sinister woods and dozens of pairs of yellow eyes dispassionately watched the chase. The aftermath of this dream was even worse than the other.
At 5:15 a.m., David awoke in a panic, soaked in sweat. He felt as though he’d lost his family all over again. His heart raced. And in that moment of fear, a thought struck him with such clarity he was amazed he hadn’t considered it before.
He rubbed sleep from his eyes and crossed the room to where his briefcase lay on a chair. He retrieved a legal pad from the case and found Willy Muther’s telephone number in Zurich. After only two rings, a woman answered. “
Guten Morgen. Banque Securite Swisse. Kann ich Ihnen helfen?
”
“
Herr Muther, bitte.
”
“
Einen Augenblick, bitte.
”
David waited while the receptionist connected him to Willy’s office.
Willy’s secretary picked up the phone. “
Herr Muther’s Buro hier.
”
“Hedwick, it’s David Hood.”
“Ah,
Herr
Hood, it is good to hear from you. Are you in Zurich?”
“No, Hedwick. I’m in the United States. Is
Herr
Muther in? It’s vital I talk with him.”
“
Ein moment, bitte. Ich verbinde Sie
.”
Muther came on the line almost immediately. “David, it’s good to hear from you again so soon.”
“It’s my pleasure, Willy. I only wish I could be with you in your lovely city.”
“Well, when you do get to Switzerland you must allow me to treat you to dinner. The information you shared with me about
Herr
Bishop was quite useful. From the news on CNN, it looks as though your CIA Deputy Director is in real trouble. But why didn’t you tell me about your family? I am so sorry.”
“Thank you, Willy,” David responded. “
Herr
Bishop is, as we say in the U.S., going down for the count.”
“That is good news, David. Because of the information you gave me, I reported to our Swiss banking officials that I suspected the monies in Bishop’s account came from criminal activity. The authorities have concurred in freezing the account. If an investigation proves that Bishop’s money was earned from the drug trade, you will receive a five percent reward.”
David was surprised. “That’s great news, Willy. But if you don’t mind, I need your help on another matter. And I need you to put a rush on this, too.”
“Of course, David.”
“Remember, you told me in addition to the original deposits made to Bishop’s account back in the early ‘70s, there were also a number of more recent fund transfers?”
“That’s correct, David. More than forty such transactions occurred. The first one in 2007.”
“Can you tell me what banks those monies were transferred from—begin with the most recent and work backwards?”
“Absolutely!” Muther said. “Hold on for just a minute.”
Muther came back on the line. “We have the information. I’ll send it to your email address.”
A few minutes later, Muther’s message hit David’s email account. It included dates of wire transfers into Bishop’s account in reverse chronological order, along with the amounts of the transfers and the originating banks. The banks were all located in large money-center cities. The first six transfers originated in Atlanta, Dallas, San Francisco, London, Munich, and Bangkok. David wondered what businesses had generated the cash in these transfers. More for the Attorney General to look into. A New York bank—Manhattan Merchants Bank—handled the seventh transaction back. David read down the rest of the list. Manhattan Merchants Bank was the only New York bank from which transactions had occurred. There had been three earlier transfers through that bank in the past seven years.