The Container Affair Page 7
“Your wish is my command,” she replied. “Just be here when I come back, or I’ll have to drink it.”
Richard thought to himself, Lady, that won’t be a problem.
While she was gone, he played another seven hands and won about $50. He was now well into the black, or so he thought. If he could just stay neutral for the rest of the evening, he would pocket at least $600. Not bad for a day of cards. Just then, the bar girl came back with a healthy pour of Scotch in a short glass. “Looks like there’s an embargo on water in this town,” he said taking the glass from her hand. “Thank you,” he continued as he gave her a $10 chip as a tip.
She smiled and said, “No need for the tip, just keep playing and see what comes up.” She turned and headed to another table.
He exhaled so loudly the guy next to him said, “Yes sir, she’s one special lady, and I think she likes you. Be careful how you play her because you might end up owning the house!” Everybody at the table heard the man’s comments and laughed including the dealer.
Richard watched as she moved from table to table and not noticing he had been paid for a blackjack. “Wow,” he exclaimed, “this must be my lucky night!”
A half hour later, he was still running on house money, still averaging out on most hands when quietly a voice called out to him. “Well mister, you’re still here, and it looks like you’re dry. I guess another Scotch would help your play?”
He glanced at his empty glass and then at the vision of beauty behind him before loudly stating, “Yes, young lady, if you’re going that way, bring me one more and keep my luck rolling.”
She smiled back and said softly in his left ear, “Looks like you are doing well without me, but maybe we can change the odds later?” Quickly she turned and walked to the next table.
He wondered if this was her game or was she truly interested in him.
The dealer, who nodded at him saying, “She rarely speaks to anyone here so maybe she likes you. I wouldn’t get up much hope for the future, but who knows.” He looked down and motioned for the next person for cards. Getting the hit sign, the dealer placed a jack on the person’s hand next to Richard, making the gentleman very happy.
Now it was Richard’s turn. He looked at his hand with sixteen and scanned the dealer’s hand with a face card showing, knowing it was a big chance, he motioned for another card and was relieved to see a five come off the deck. “Whew,” he said, “that was close.” The dealer smiled and moved on to the next person.
The dealer had twenty, and Richard won another $20. He was doing well and feeling warm, maybe from the Scotch or perhaps from the bar girl, either way, he was doing fine and still had the good sense to slow his play and not take any more chances.
Nora wasn’t sure what was going on with her. The man at the blackjack table was handsome but not overly cute. Large arms but without the beer gut which was normal in most of the men she saw in the casino. Also, he did not smoke which she liked. The one thing she hated the most about her job in the casino was the smoke. Every night she would go home and wash her hair; the smell permeated every pore on her body. But this guy seemed different.
She asked Barbara, the bartender, to get her another Chivas on the rocks. Although top-shelf booze flowed freely for high rollers, it wasn’t a normal offering for those playing the low-priced tables. They had to settle for rot gut and Budweiser. Nora did not know why she was paying so much attention to the newcomer, but she wanted to get to know him. Fraternization was deeply frowned upon by management, and she had to play her time well because if security’s “eyes in the skies” saw her spending too much time with one player, she would be called in and possibly fired if anything appeared out of the ordinary. She could ill afford to lose her job, so she had to be careful. Maybe this guy was gay or married and not worth the effort. But she decided to see what sparks might fly if prompted. Here goes nothing, she thought as she picked up his drink and worked her way through the jungle of tables picking up new orders along the way. Finally, she closed on his table and moved within his line of sight to see if he acknowledged her appearance.
He noticed her picking up drink orders several tables away. He watched her move effortlessly through the crowd, while he kept playing his hands, being wary of stupid mistakes. He was much more interested in her than the game and knew he was now playing for much larger stakes.
She dropped off his drink and picked up the empty glass. He smiled at her and she whispered, “I’m off at ten. There’s a Waffle House next door, meet me there or not.” She turned and walked toward the craps tables without looking back. He knew she couldn’t linger for fear of her job. He knew how controlling companies could be and fraternization, as the military called it, could kill a career. At 9:30 p.m. he left the table and headed for the men’s room to freshen up before ordering breakfast. He wondered if there was such a thing as dessert with breakfast in the deep south.
*****
WASHINGTON, D.C. The Attorney General of the United States, Todd K. Sumerstone, examined the folder and removed his glasses. He had read it several times and knew all too well what it contained.
“The SOB is trying to bury me,” he said out loud, “and I don’t know why!” He picked up The New York Times from his desk and stared again at the picture of Joan White and thought of those days so long ago when they had spent many days and evenings in the mountains of Colorado. She was still a looker and even looked better than he remembered her. Must have been the money she had gotten from whoever to drag her into this mess.
“Damn!” he said loudly as he looked at the article in the paper and re-read her comments and accusations about how the attorney general of the United States had for three years conducted a wild and passionate affair with Ms. White. He was a married man and at the same time a member of Congress from the State of Georgia. She had come forward, the article said, to uncover this liar and fraud who had promised to divorce his wife and run away with her. The article went on to say after nearly four years she hated to see him with his wife because she knew he loved her and because he was lying to the American people just like he lied to her.
Just then a knock on the door broke his thoughts and he uttered, “Come in.” He knew who would be walking through the door.
“Well, Mr. Attorney General, how can I be of service to you on this fine-looking day?” The question was phrased in a wonderful cadence sounding Irish or Scottish, and it invoked the kind of response Todd often used.
“Damn it. You know it’s not any kind of day except a shitty day!”
The gentleman spoke softly, “Todd, I have known you for many years, and I know this is a real pile of dog do-do you’re facing, but I think we can get you through it with at least some of your honor intact.” The man sat down and faced the attorney general. His name was Matt Lewis, director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He had spent time as a United States Attorney General for the State of New York, been appointed to several presidential commissions, and had served as the assistant director of the Central Intelligence Agency before being named as the director of the Bureau.
Matt had known Todd for fifteen years, and his association went deep into his personal life. He knew of the affair and had helped Todd and his wife Serena manage through the ordeal. He had known Todd’s late father when he was a congressman and later in his career as governor of the State of Georgia, and he also knew Todd looked to him as a father figure. Todd was strong and pig-headed when he needed to be but was also open to wise counsel and looked to Matt to provide direction in tough times.
Todd spoke first. “Okay, Matt, I think you know this is going to kill me politically and I have already told the president I’ll resign if he so desires. Also, Serena wants me to do a press conference with her by my side and answer questions. She is more pig-headed than I am.”
Matt looked at his young friend and slowly framed a query. “So, you want to quit and let the SOBs who dug this up get away with it? No, I don’t think your late father would appreciat
e that, nor do I think the president wants to let you go. I’ve already had a chat with him, and he agrees with me this entire story is staged by someone who wants to slow down the administration.”
Todd looked at Matt and nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, that’s what I think too. When did you go over my head and talk to the president?” He smiled and waved his hand not to answer the question.
He looked at the article and then calmly continued, “The story is old and has come up before but never with the star witness in attendance. The damage is heavy, but I want to know why I’m the target? Who’s setting this up? Who’s paying a lot of money to get her to damage me? What do they hope to gain by doing this?” He shook his head in bewilderment.
The FBI director spoke in his best bureau voice. “Todd, I don’t know who is behind this, but I have suspicions it involves the big money guys who don’t like all of the investigations you’re running. I think the money is coming from all over and no one will be able to track it down in the near term. But eventually we will, and then we can nab somebody for this.”
The director looked up towards the ceiling and then looked right at the attorney general, “What concerns me is what you said earlier about the price they want you to pay. You are the target and their actions, whoever they are, will be found out eventually. So, they’re going to pay a big price for their activities which may be very harsh. What concerns me is who has the balls to take on the attorney general of the United States? Who’s willing to risk so much and for what?”
Todd looked at his friend and wondered the same thing. “I feel the same way,” he said. “How do we go about getting to the bottom of this? I have the feeling this is just the opening act and it will get much more serious than my old affair. Who else might they target and for what reason?”
Matt agreed. “We need to get going on an investigation, but it must be very quiet from our side. I have already talked to my top assistant, John Norris, and he’s recommending one guy to lead the team. He has organized crime, national security, and financial forensics experience, which I think this entire thing is going to require. We can get him on this in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Good,” Todd murmured as he again looked down at the photo of Joan White in the Times. “Who’s your man?”
“His name is Brad Bayle, and he’s out of the Chicago office. I think we want to leave him there and run this from Chicago, so we don’t give the appearance of doing anything out of the ordinary. A small team of agents with John Norris providing cover can do wonders in a short time.”
Todd again looked at the director and almost whispered like a conspirator, “All right, let’s keep this low profile. Have this agent Bayle get moving with all possible speed and make sure he knows he’s responsible to you and Norris only.”
Matt looked at the attorney general as he stood, smiled, and walked out the door.
When he got to his car, he picked up a secure phone to alert Norris of an unscheduled meeting that would be called as soon as he got back to the office.
*****
CHICAGO The city was up early this morning Brad thought as he headed into his office. He got going early to beat the traffic. Leaving home from the Schaumburg area by 5:30 a.m. made his drive into downtown easy. Getting home was another issue entirely.
As he left this morning, he was sure to turn the coffee pot on for his wife. He also cleaned up the cat’s litter box so his wife wouldn’t have to face the early morning leftovers from two cats. The cats got up often in the night to deposit something special for him, which he did not appreciate. Saving his wife from at least one or two little chores, he knew, made her life a bit more livable.
Marla would get Dora up by 6:30 and to the school bus by 7:40. Then she would get herself fixed up for the drive to the rehabilitation hospital where Robert received treatment. For over two months now, his son was in a semi-vegetated state. He would drift in and out of consciousness, and his muscles were atrophying at an astounding rate. Marla would go there every day and work with him, then chide the hospital staff to try new therapies and technologies to improve his condition. The doctors held out hope and said Robert’s mind was fixing itself, and activity levels in the brain were increasing. It would just take more time. Brad had asked the lead neurosurgeon how long and received an “I’m not sure” answer which was honest but not hopeful.
As he drove down the expressway into downtown his mind slowly shifted to FBI work. He had several major cases and his teams were making progress on most of them. The rise in bank robberies was not his area of utmost concern, but much of the office had to move back and forth across the Northern Illinois area to investigate more and more small-time crooks. These fools were taking advantage of branch banks which seemed to be more like ATMs for the criminal element in society. He smiled thinking about this and thought back to his observing of a suspect who was apprehended within thirty minutes of a heist in Des Plaines. The future big-time player had pulled a gun and told the clerk to put money in a garbage bag. The clerk put the money in the bag along with a color bomb which would explode and shower the contents of the bag and anyone stupid enough to be nearby with indelible red ink. The would-be Jesse James looked like a fat flamingo when he was interrogated.
When he pulled into the parking lot of the Dirksen Federal Building on Dearborn Street, he noticed available spots were minimal. Guess, he thought, most people are tired of fighting traffic in the morning commute.
When he got off the elevator on the FBI’s floor, he punched in the security code which allowed him access to the secure area of the office. He immediately went to the coffee bar to see if there was any hot coffee. Thankfully, someone had made a new pot. There was always someone in the office 24/7 because this was the nature of the job these days. As special agent in charge, he didn’t have to pull the night shifts or weekend shifts, but as a younger agent he had pulled enough of this duty to know what it was like to do an all-nighter. Even with his seniority, he often worked late into the evenings and weekends whenever he was working a major investigation.
With coffee in hand, he walked to his office taking time to wave at staff and stopping by a few cubicles to check on pending cases. Finally, after ten minutes of his journey through the cubes, as he called it, he came to his office. When he opened the door, he immediately noticed someone sitting in his chair with his feet up on the desk. Brad quickly smiled and asked if his guest was comfortable.
“Hell, Brad, we need to get you some better furniture. This stuff was old when Everett Dirksen was a new senator. How do you get comfortable in this thing anyway?”
“Well, Mr. Assistant Director, we peasants in the field don’t have the budgets offered to the esteemed few who live in the center of the universe known as D.C.”
John Norris looked at his young protégé and smiled. “Well if you would move to D.C., I could get you a nice desk, a great chair, and maybe even a couch. You would look so good in Washington, working with me and the other swells up there. You could meet new friends on the Hill and perhaps go to the Kennedy Center and watch ballet with all of the congressional pages.”
Brad laughed at the mere mention of the pages. He had been called to help in an early investigation of impropriety on the part of certain members of Congress in their dealings and associations with these fine young people. “No, John, I think I would rather hunt down bank robbers or swindlers here in Chicago, but thanks for the offer.”
John stood and firmly shook Brad’s hand. John pulled back a bit then asked, “How’s Robert? Any progress?”
Brad looked at his mentor and shook his head. “Nothing new—good or bad. It’s eating up Marla, and the pressure has been extreme for everyone. I wish I had a better report to give you, but thanks for asking.”
John had kept close tabs on the situation since the accident, and he had regular reports sent to him by other members of the Chicago team about all issues concerning Brad and his family. He was a friend to Brad, maybe even more than that, but he h
ad the responsibility of making sure things got done. The assistant director firmly believed no matter what the personal challenges and issues his senior agents faced, nothing could get in the way of the FBI’s business.
Brad’s eyes shared his reluctance to ask the obvious question. “So, John, why didn’t you tell me you were coming to see me or is this an unofficial visit?” He was inclined to think this wasn’t an ordinary visit.
John Norris liked Bayle a lot, not just for being a nice person, a good family man, but above all else a great agent. No, he liked him because he got down to business fast and did not require a lot of bull shit.
“Sit down, Brad.” He motioned to Brad’s chair at the desk. “I want to tell you a story, and I want you to know who knows I’m here.”
Brad sat down and looked anew at the assistant director of the FBI. This can’t be good, Brad thought.
John Norris sat down opposite Brad and began, “First, Brad, I was not here today to talk to you about anything except how your family is doing. Okay?”
Brad nodded affirmatively.
“Good. Next what I am about to tell you involves only two other people, and only I will be your primary contact. Is that also understood?”
Brad again motioned his head up and down, asking, “Who are the other two people?”
Norris slowly and with great emphasis said, “The other two are the director of the FBI and the attorney general of the United States. You will not call them unless I tell you to contact them.”
Bayle looked at Norris and again nodded his head. His mind took off at an alarming rate of speed. What the hell is going on and why the hell am I getting involved in this? Sounds like some sort of clandestine operation about politics again. He looked at Norris, his eyes asking for more information.
“Now that you know who’s involved, and secrecy is critical, let me tell you what we want you to do. And by the way, the director asked specifically for you, so I doubt you will be able to back out of this.” Norris finished with a sly grin.