Deceived (9 page)

The official version in the National World War II Museum credits Hutchenson as the design leader. Hutchenson and Bartholomew had the capital to produce the test hulls; Westerfeld had the government connections to secure the contracts. Morrissey was also involved. In fact, in 1935, when the company was formed, it was called HBW&M. Morrissey was a self-taught boat building genius with an aptitude for designing boats that fulfilled various functions. He was given a share in the company to keep other contractors from stealing him away. The M was dropped after Morrissey was convicted.

“If your grandfather’s ownership interest hadn’t been taken away, there would still be a Morrissey on the board.” She thought about Brandon’s tattooed bicep that she had viewed earlier in the day and contrasted that with the country club, conservative look that the three existing members of the board shared. “That would certainly make it a more interesting board.”

He chuckled. “We’ll never know, will we?”

Her eyes followed Brandon’s, back to Lisa’s words.

In the official version, none of the ingenuous innovations, such as the ramp in the bow that enabled men to walk out of the boat, rather than climb out, are credited to Morrissey. The design drawings that have been made public in the National World War II museum are signed by Hutchenson, and Morrissey receives no credit for the design. If Morrissey did not participate in the design, how is it that he knew enough to sell the design to the Nazis?

“My father had Benjamin’s drawings,” Brandon said. “Benjamin designed the boat, according to those drawings. Not Hutchenson.” He shot a questioning glance at Taylor. “Does the corporation have the original documents?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I’ve never looked for the original design drawings, but there’s a private library at corporate headquarters, and my father has an extensive collection of historic documents at his home. The documents could be in either place.”

If Morrissey had let Hitler’s spies know in 1940 that the United States had plans to build more than 20,000 of the Hutchenson Landing Craft, the strategy of our enemy would have been different. The World War II Museum has excerpts of memoirs of Phillip Rorsch, one of the lead U.S. Government agents whose undercover work led to Morrissey’s arrest. Did Rorsch testify at trial? Is there a more complete collection of his notes? Did he publish memoirs?

They had reached the last of the text on the jump drive. Taylor looked at Brandon. “How far did Lisa get with her conclusions?”

“I don’t know. Remember, I talked to her briefly about this when we first met, then didn’t talk to her at all until two weeks ago, and then we only talked about Michael. I’m pretty sure, though, that her pregnancy derailed her efforts. She sat out last spring, but she hoped to have her dissertation complete this November. She was due for a preliminary presentation sometime this summer.”

“This subject matter has been reviewed, time and time again,” Taylor said. “Where was she going with it?”

“It sounds as though she was making a case that Benjamin wasn’t the person who tried to sell the design.”

“If your grandfather didn’t do it, then who did?” As soon as Taylor asked the question, she realized the most likely answer. If Morrissey didn’t do it, the obvious answer was one of the other three original founders of HBW did it, or maybe all of them.

***

At one in the morning, when the lights in Collette’s bedroom went out, and Andi’s car remained parked in the driveway, he gave up on waiting for Andi to leave Collette’s house. His plan was Collette first, then Andi. He hadn’t come up with a plan to kill them together and, for the moment, he was too tired to be flexible. He wanted to go to Lisa’s house, anyway, and make certain that last night he had uncovered all of the research that would help him destroy HBW.

Brandon’s car was in front of the house. Taylor’s white convertible was there as well. Lights were on. He parked on the street behind Lisa’s house, and walked through the neighboring yards. Lisa’s house was so close to her neighbor’s house that the width of the path between them could not have been to code. He’d been in tighter spots, though. Staying still and silent was a skill that he’d had since childhood. He stood at an angle. He allowed himself only short glimpses. It wasn’t the first time that he had watched Taylor through a window.

It was, however, the first time that he had watched her with Brandon. Their backs were to him. He watched Brandon reach into the ottoman. His pulse quickened. He hadn’t realized that Lisa had used the furniture as storage. Fuck. He almost panicked, worried that there could be a duplicate of the Hutchenson letter in the ottoman. He didn’t know what Brandon would do with the letter if he had it, but he damn sure would bet it wasn’t going to be something that he’d like. The letter could not become public before the HBW Board paid him. It was only worth twenty-five million dollars if they believed they could keep it quiet. Son of a fucking bitch. As Taylor and Brandon read, they were interested, but, judging from their reactions, the material didn’t seem earth-shattering. He breathed easier. Brandon would have visibly reacted to the Hutchenson letter.

He had expected challenges. Every project had obstacles, but he hadn’t expected that Taylor and Brandon would join forces. Whoa. Whoa. Do not jump to conclusions, he told himself. Taylor and Brandon were on opposite sides of history. Their interests were diametrically opposed.
They couldn’t join forces.
He quieted his instincts and forced himself to think.

Think. Think rationally.

He turned back to the window and watched.

Chapter Six

“If your grandfather didn’t do it, then who did?”

Brandon wondered if she was serious. He answered her question anyway. “The most likely suspects are Hutchenson, Bartholomew, or Westerfeld. Maybe all three conspired against my grandfather, the least sophisticated of the four.”

“Why would they sell secrets to the Nazis?”

“Money,” he said. “Why else? Unless they were Nazi sympathizers, but I doubt that. Even my father didn’t suggest that.”

“But they were getting money from the United States government,” she said. “They didn’t need to get it from the Nazis.”

“You’re right,” he said, “but my father’s theory, which he told me again, and again, and again, was that the United States hesitated on the contracts. Hutchenson, Bartholomew, and Westerfeld had high lifestyles. When they first would have come up with the idea to sell it to the enemy, the landing craft wasn’t the great military secret that it ultimately became. They had spent a lot of money and effort on research and development, and for a while it looked like no one was going to order their product. Economic times were tough. Then, when the government placed the orders, it was a really bad idea to be selling the idea to the Nazis. So whoever had initiated the contact, they, or he, blamed it on my grandfather. They used my grandfather’s mind to design the perfect boat, and his skills to work out the kinks, then they accused him of treason.”

“I’m not buying it. Not one bit. Your grandfather was tried by a jury. He was convicted.”

“Juries are fallible. Sometimes they get it wrong. That’s why we have appeals courts.” Brandon said, wondering whether Taylor had yet, in her short legal career, witnessed a case where a jury got it wrong. “When the world wants to punish bad guys,” he shrugged, “it is easy to find a man guilty. Think of today’s current concerns about terrorism. Our jury system has safeguards. Hell, even the international tribunals have safeguards, but one of the reasons that they’re so damn scary from the viewpoint of a defendant is the finality of their decision.”

He was referring to the tribunals where countries joined forces to try criminals whose crimes threatened world-wide security. As a recent law school graduate, he knew that Taylor was aware of the tribunals. He had twice represented defendants in tribunal cases. They’d been the most difficult cases of his life.

“In 1944, when my grandfather was tried, the world was at war. People were scared, and that includes the people on the jury,” Brandon shrugged, “hell, even the judge. They’re people. People make mistakes. The jury in my grandfather’s case may have gotten it wrong. In his appeals, the judges may have gotten it wrong.”

“That’s a theory. Your father’s theory. Maybe it was Lisa’s theory,” Taylor said. “But we’ll never know, really, unless we manage to piece together her research, and,” she lifted her hand and gestured to the room, “even then, this is all hypothetical, unless Lisa uncovered cold hard evidence.”

Brandon put his laptop to the side, lifted the stack of material that had been in the ottoman, and found three more jump drives. He downloaded each onto his laptop, then scanned the contents.

“Let me see,” Taylor said, attempting to turn the screen so that she could see it.

Brandon held the computer firm, studying her, wondering if she had heard enough to make her worry that maybe, just maybe, there was legitimate doubt regarding his grandfather’s conviction. “Don’t trust me?”

Taylor shrugged, but her hands remained on his laptop. “If you’re going to insinuate that my grandfather could have been involved in treason, I need to be aware of what Lisa uncovered.”

“I’m not hiding it,” he said, and turned the laptop to Taylor. “We’re on the same side when it comes to finding Lisa’s murderer. Right?”

She arched an eyebrow and shook her head. “How can this possibly be related to her murder?”

“I don’t know, just like I don’t know whether Marvin’s efforts will uncover anything, but I don’t want to rule it out. So,” he said, “getting back to my question. If Lisa’s research is related to her murder, are you and I on the same page?”

“Meaning?”

“Expose the truth at all costs.”

She hesitated for a second too long. He had no real reason to think that she’d be as interested in the results of Lisa’s research as he was. After all, her family was on the hero’s side of history. “I’ve got to do this, Taylor, for my son. I’ve got to make sure the murderer is caught. History, and what Lisa was researching, is collateral to the end goal, but I’ve got to consider everything. I’m not sure whether you care as much as I do about finding her murderer,” he said, “and I’d understand if you didn’t. It’s late. This isn’t your worry.”

She drew a deep breath, held his gaze, and squared her shoulders. “You brought me in here because you felt bad about what happened at Marvin’s house. Please don’t shut me out now, right when it’s really getting interesting. To answer your question, if the historical truth differs from what is regarded as historical fact, and if the truth is related to her murder,” Taylor held his gaze, “of course it should be exposed.”

Well, he thought, maybe she’d been straight-to-the-gut sincere, earlier, when she’d thrown out her line about wanting to make the world a better place. He had ridiculed her comment as a sound-bite from a beauty pageant. As he studied her, he decided to test her. “The truth should be exposed, even if the truth is related to our history and it exposes your grandfather’s involvement in treason?”

Taylor shook her head. “Exposing my grandfather as such is not likely, and you know it.”

“But even if?”

“Your A doesn’t lead to B,” she said. “You’re not being logical.”

“A, if Lisa’s research revealed that your grandfather, George Bartholomew, Sr., was the person who committed treason, or one of the other founders of HBW, then he or they covered it up by blaming my grandfather,” as Brandon said the words, he was met with a stoic and beautiful wall of skepticism, yet he continued, “and our current-day murderer killed Lisa because he didn’t want that secret exposed, then B, finding our current day murderer could expose the original traitor, who could be your grandfather. How is that not logical?” He drew a deep breath, hating that he had said those words aloud, because he suddenly sounded like his father.

Taylor frowned. “There are too many unknowns in what you’re saying. Besides, if Lisa had proof of your grandfather’s innocence, wouldn’t she have told you?”

“No. I made it clear to her that I didn’t want to talk about anything having to do with my grandfather’s treason case.”

He gave her the laptop. “It’s been over seventy years since my grandfather was convicted in 1944. I don’t believe that anyone will ever prove that my grandfather was falsely convicted. Lisa could have made a case of plausible doubt, but I don’t think she would have changed the history books. I do think, however, that if someone killed Lisa based upon what she knew,” he paused, “and that’s a really big if, then I need to figure out what she knew. Joe and Tony won’t figure this out. It’s too speculative. They don’t have time, especially when Lisa’s murder could have been exactly what they suspect — a random act of violence. They’ll impound all of her work, and it will sit in some office, and weeks and months will go by. If there’s anything there and we leave it up to them, we’ll never know.”

Taylor didn’t argue. He watched her attention turn to the laptop. After a minute, she said, “There’s only a small bit of material on each of the drives, and most of it seems to be class notes.”

Brandon stood. He walked into the room that doubled as the baby’s room and study, where earlier in the day he had knocked over the stack of boxes that had seemed lighter than he remembered. He turned in the tight space between the crib and the changing table. Each box was sealed, as the boxes had been on Tuesday evening, and each box was labeled research. On Tuesday, he remembered that the boxes were heavy, as though packed full. Tonight, he lifted each box and carried them to the living room. They were lighter than he remembered, but then again, Lisa had been home on Wednesday. Maybe she had reorganized the material.

He sliced through the tape with his knife. The first box that he opened contained binders that were labeled research, but there was no material in them. Lisa had been a student, with a baby, on a tight budget, and she was supremely organized. The fact that she had packed empty binders in a moving box seemed odd. The next two boxes were mostly empty, containing only a few notebooks and loose papers. Taylor placed his laptop on the couch, stood, and said, “The first jump drive that you had contained information on her World War II project. The other drives have unrelated information.”

“There should be more here than what I’m finding,” Brandon said. “I’m not even finding hard copies of documents, references, or notes.”

“Maybe she stored everything on her laptop,” she said. “People don’t hit the print button as much as they used to. I took entire law school classes without one piece of paper to show for them.”

He thought about his days in law school, more than fifteen years earlier, with each class producing thick binders of lecture notes. “You’re making me feel old.”

“Paper addiction is inconvenient,” she shrugged, “and ink is expensive.”

He nodded. “Those law school classes with no paper notes. How much back-up did you have?”

“Lots,” she said. “Jump drives that were transportable and external drives that I left at home.”

“Then that’s what we should be finding.” Brandon opened desk drawers, while she moved around the room. He had left his knife open on a box. She lifted it to cut through tape on other boxes. “Be careful, it’s sharp.”

“You’re not kidding,” she said, as the blade easily sliced through tape and cardboard. She opened boxes and sifted through the contents. “There’s no back-up here,” she said, “but I found a few onesies that you might want to take home.”

“Excuse me?”

She held up a tiny piece of pale yellow fabric. “Don’t you know what this is?”

“Clothes. Sure.” But he didn’t know. Good God. Her show and tell reminded him that he had a baby to care for. A child to raise.

“Are you okay?”

He shook off the in-too-deep feeling that had been clawing at him ever since he had realized that Lisa was gone.
All good
, he reminded himself. He could handle this. “Yes.”

She opened another box. “More clothes for Michael. Wait.” Taylor reached deep into the box. “I feel hard plastic, like an external hard drive.” She pulled out a box of baby wipes and frowned. “Nothing.”

“She was organized. I don’t think she’d have put a hard drive in things for the baby.”

“Unless she was trying to hide it.”

He nodded. “Good point.”

Brandon’s cell rang. He recognized Sebastian’s phone number. “If you’re calling this late,” Brandon said, “it can’t be good. Are you at home?”

Sebastian had been working in Europe for two months. Brandon didn’t know details of Sebastian’s most recent job, but an international tribunal had recently announced a decision in a terrorism case, and Brandon guessed that Sebastian’s job was related to the case. The tribunals were secret while in session, but given the high profile subject matter of the trials, security was of paramount importance, and Black Raven was often hired to provide security.

“Yes. I just returned to Denver,” Sebastian said, “Sorry I missed your birthday dinner.”

“Make it up to me next time you see me.”

“Look, I talked to Ragno, and I’ve made some inquiries of my own in the last few days, based on what she uncovered. I thought that you’d want to know as soon as I knew.”

“Bad news?” It had to be bad news, because otherwise Ragno would be providing the information. Instead, his best friend was calling with it. Brandon walked out of the study and over to the couch, where he sat and mentally braced himself.

“Analysts are still looking at financial data,” Sebastian said, “but indications are that Victor is dead.”

Brandon let out a long breath. He leaned back, rested his head on the back of the couch, shut his eyes, and asked, “When?”

“My intel tells me six weeks ago. A couple of weeks before you asked Ragno to find him.”

“What happened?”

“He worked for Ali bin Laden, part of Osama’s surviving family, in Pakistan. Ali’s complex was bombed. Your brother, Ali, and others died in the explosions. The place, and the people in it, were incinerated. An Egyptian group claimed credit. Ali’s list of enemies includes some of the more notorious al Qaeda splinter groups. It’s a quagmire, one not easily unravelled.”

Brandon provided legal advice to Sebastian on Black Raven’s contracts and knew the intricacies of Sebastian’s business. His friend’s current reality was worlds removed from the days when they had worked together on the New Orleans police force.

Sebastian continued, “I think the financial data will confirm that Victor is dead, but Ragno is only now getting started with those searches.”

“So why are you sure that he’s dead?”

“I’ve hired two people who previously worked with Intrepid, the firm that Victor worked for before he left and went to work for Ali bin Laden,” Sebastian said, “Your brother left Intrepid and started working for Ali about a year ago. These two guys were shadowing Victor at the time of the explosion.”