Shadow Account (15 page)

“Why would the president defy the party?”

“To get elected. He’s figured out that Americans have had it up to their eyeballs with these corporate bigwigs raiding 401K plans to build castles, buy personal jets, and keep wives and girlfriends in mink stoles. Had it up to their eyeballs hearing about how investment bankers play with a marked deck and how accountants will bless any number you ask them to as long as you throw them a bunch of options. How the whole thing is nothing but an insider’s game where the rich get richer. A game people like you and me don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of playing.

“And the president wants another four years more than he wants his next breath,” Cheetah continued. “He lives for the power and the glory, and he can’t stand the thought of losing all that before his time. His ego is too fragile. He’ll do anything to make the history books read that he had two terms.

“The problem with Project Trust is that it’s the last thing party leaders really want. The money men, men like Sam Macarthur, will switch parties quicker than you can say ‘campaign contributions’ if they think Project Trust has any teeth. The money men don’t want to see the system change. Which means party leaders don’t want to see it change. Oh, sure, they talk a great game about implementing regulatory reforms to help the little guy, but they don’t really mean it. Change for them isn’t good because the fallout can be disastrous. Lots of opportunity for redistribution of wealth before things get back to normal. If things ever do.”

Lucas cleared his throat nervously. “You’re implying that Franklin Bennett isn’t using me to
protect
the president. That, in fact, he’s using me to
bring down
the president.”

“That’s not what I’m implying, Lucas. That’s what I’m
saying
. And you may not be the only one he’s using. He may have set up other cells that are also searching for information to use against the president under the guise of getting their hands on it first to subvert it.”

“The president’s chief of staff turning traitor,” Lucas murmured, as though he were trying the sound of it out on himself.

“The
entire party
turning traitor,” Cheetah said, gazing at Lucas intently. “At least from the president’s perspective. From their own perspective, they’re simply doing what’s best for the party. And themselves.”

“That’s too much for me to accept.”

“Why?”

“Entire political parties don’t turn against their leader.” Lucas realized how naive he sounded even before he finished speaking.

“Does the name John F. Kennedy mean anything to you?” Cheetah asked.

“Here we go,” Lucas said, rolling his eyes. Trying to seem unconcerned—even though he was starting to think what Cheetah was saying might not be far-fetched. “Who do you believe really killed JFK? The Cubans, the CIA, the FBI, the mob, or the military establishment?” he asked cynically. “Or was it really Oliver Stone himself?”

“I have no idea who killed JFK,” Cheetah answered, taking no obvious exception to Lucas’s sarcasm. “You see, it doesn’t matter
who
killed him. What matters is what happened after he died. The country recommitted to the Vietnam War just as it was about to pull out of Southeast Asia. Bobby Kennedy’s war against the Mafia stalled, and then he was executed. Civil rights were no longer a high priority in the West Wing. Things got back to normal at home. A drastic step was taken because there was no other choice. But in this situation, there may be an alternative.”

Lucas shook his head wearily. “Why are you telling me all this? Bennett’s the one who put the two of us together and gave you the opportunity to earn a quarter of a million dollars in the next ninety days.”

“Because of exactly that,” Cheetah said firmly. “I’ve never had the opportunity to earn anywhere near this kind of money in such a short time. And I’ve never been paid by Sam Macarthur. It makes no sense to pay me this much to keep something
hidden
. But it does if they want to find it fast and use it. And they involve Macarthur only on very important projects.”

Which hadn’t been lost on Lucas either. He gathered himself in his chair, wishing what Cheetah was saying didn’t sound plausible. “Why do you care? Even in the one-in-a-million chance that what you’re saying turns out to be true, why not just earn your two hundred and fifty grand and say nothing?”

“Because you and I would be finished.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me lay out a scenario for you,” Cheetah suggested. “Let’s say you find out something nasty about Sheldon Gray, that son of a bitch at the State Department who has enemies all over Washington because he’s such a cocky A-hole and he’s screwed so many people on his way up. Let’s say that while he was CEO of Enterprise Information Systems he defrauded the company of twenty million dollars, then dumped the money into numbered accounts in financial black holes like Antigua, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein. Gray was clever about hiding the money, but somehow you pick up his trail. Maybe because you know a man like me who has a network of informants trained to find things like that. Because you can’t ever really hide your financial tracks. Not from people like me.

“You go running back to Franklin Bennett with the information I’ve uncovered about Gray, and Bennett cracks the first real smile you’ve ever seen. Says he’s proud of you and now that he knows about it, he can protect Gray and, by extension, the president. Tells you to lie low and keep doing what you’re doing. You feel pretty damn good about yourself because even though you’ve found out that Sheldon Gray is a thief, you’ve helped the party and you’ve kept your eye on the bigger picture. The president will stay in power. He’ll win a second term because of what you’ve done, and that’s the most important thing. Yeah, you feel good about yourself until you pick up the
Washington Post
one morning a couple of weeks before the election and read about the whole thing right there on the front page. ‘Sheldon Gray defrauds EIS of millions’ the article reads. You can’t believe it. ‘What the hell is going on?’ you demand. ‘How can this be?’ The answer is, you and I have been set up. Bennett’s real agenda has just come to the surface—like a geyser.

“Sheldon Gray resigns immediately and the president starts backpedaling. The initiative against corporate America and Wall Street is completely undermined. Project Trust becomes Project Bust. You can already see the headlines, can’t you? Suddenly the president is as guilty as everybody else because his secretary of state, one of the highest ranking administration officials and a man who knows all our national secrets, is one of the worst offenders of all times when it comes to defrauding the financial system. A man who stole twenty million can’t be trusted. The press implies that other senior members of the administration have skeletons, too. The initiative that was going to push the president over the top suddenly becomes the anchor that drags him down. He loses the election.

“Now there’s hell to pay. Party leaders claim they’re furious. They launch an investigation, and they,” Cheetah paused, making quotation marks with his fingers, “ ‘uncover’ a rogue operation within the party. A couple of people who are expendable: i.e., you and me. That’s why I asked earlier if you were close to Bennett. If you were, I’d feel a lot better because at the end of the day, he is a loyal man. He wouldn’t set up someone he was close to. Anyway, when they call you in for the interrogation, you swear Franklin Bennett was behind the whole thing. But they don’t listen. And the most maddening thing about it is that they don’t even come up with an explanation for why you would have done this on your own. Done it at all, in fact. Somebody in the background mumbles something about you being a mole for the other party, but they don’t even bother setting up a false money trail leading to the other party. It isn’t necessary. The damage is done. The objective has been achieved. The president is out on his ass, and now the party can turn off the reforms. All the drastic initiatives against Corporate America and Wall Street die on the vine, and things get back to normal.

“They aren’t worried about you saying anything either, because they know that nobody’s going to listen. You’re nothing but a pawn and pawns don’t get headlines without proof. Which you won’t have. The only thing you
will
have is a black mark that will follow you until the day you die. You won’t even be able to hold a job flipping burgers at McDonald’s for more than a couple of weeks before the night manager taps you on the shoulder and tells you that you’ve been fired for some absurd reason. They’ll follow you forever, Lucas. They do it to people all the time. They get off on it. I know. I used to be one of them.”

“But Bennett would be finished, too,”
Lucas protested. “What would he do?”

Cheetah eyes narrowed. “He slips back into the private sector, probably working for Macarthur. Earning twenty times what he’s making as the president’s chief of staff. Or he retires on some beautiful estate all paid for by someone else. By one of the money men. The party takes care of him because he’s in the club, but I’m a black sheep in the intelligence business forever because Bennett puts the word out on me. And you’re finished, too. Believe me, Bennett can and would do it. Without a second thought. And, Lucas, the intelligence business is the only business I’ve ever known.”

“So you’re telling me all of this out of self-interest.”

“Absolutely,” Cheetah agreed, standing up. “I don’t do anything in this world for any other reason.”

Which didn’t make Lucas feel any better.

“All I ask is that you consider what I’ve just laid out,” Cheetah said. “I know you don’t put much stock in it right now. You can’t. You just heard it. But I’ve been around too long, and too many things triangulate to what I’ve just described.” He pointed at Lucas. “The moment you sniff anything that smells remotely like this, you must let me know so we can take immediate steps to protect ourselves. Do you understand?”

Lucas didn’t react. He was thinking about what a Wall Street career would have been like. Lots more money without anywhere near this kind of pressure. But Wall Street wouldn’t hire him. They didn’t want a runt. They wanted a Phi Beta Kappa quarterback captain like the one who had stolen Brenda. Lucas hadn’t told his mother about all the Wall Street rejection letters he’d gotten senior year, but perhaps somehow she’d known. Perhaps that was why she’d allowed him to enter politics without any complaints. She’d realized there was nothing else.

He sighed. Maybe it was time to go for a long drive, or buy a one-way ticket on a westbound plane. And end up at Wrigley Field on a clear sunny day and maybe catch a foul ball.

Cheetah hesitated at the door. “Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you a homosexual?”

“What?”

Cheetah held his hands out. “What a man does in private is no business of mine. But we’re in this operation together, and I need to understand how you could be manipulated.”

“I’m not gay,” Lucas said firmly.

Cheetah nodded. “Call me when you need me.” And he was gone.

Lucas stared after him. Worried that what Cheetah had suggested about Franklin Bennett might be true. He’d met Cheetah only yesterday. He couldn’t trust him at all. In fact, the whole thing could be nothing more than a loyalty test, set up by Bennett to see how Lucas would react. Lucas shook his head. But Cheetah had that air of credibility about him. As did the theory, he hated to admit.

Slowly Lucas allowed his head to sink to the desk. He was so damn tired.

There was a soft knock on the office door. “Mr. Reed?”

His alias. “Yes?” Lucas asked, raising his head quickly off the desk. Berating himself for not remembering instantly that he’d given the analysts the false name. Even the slightest hesitation in responding to the name Reed could give him away. “Yes?” he repeated, gazing at the young woman in the doorway. “What is it?”

“I think I found something.”

Lucas gazed at the young woman. And it was just the first morning.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in New York. The sky over Central Park was a deep, cloudless blue and the air was warm but not humid.

“This is fun.”

“Hey, every once in a while I get a good idea.” Conner handed Amy Richards the diet Coke he’d just bought from the street vendor. “You sure you don’t want anything else?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

Conner pointed toward a softball game. “Want to go over there and watch for a while?”

“Sure.”

He glanced over at Amy as they walked side by side. Her long blond hair was down about her shoulders, and she wore a loose cotton shirt and jeans. “You look nice.”

She smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

He’d called her this morning while he was eating breakfast at a diner near Gavin’s apartment. Her mother had answered the phone and wasn’t very friendly. But Amy had been her old self when she picked up, and they’d agreed to a casual day in the park.

“I was so happy this morning when it was you,” she murmured as they reached a fence running down the left field line. “I was sure you wouldn’t call. Especially after the way I acted on the street the other night. God, that was terrible. I’m sorry.” She hesitated. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Conner leaned on the fence, feeling guilty. He’d called Amy so he could try to figure out why she’d appeared again so suddenly. Just as everything else was exploding. Convinced there was more to what was going on with her than met the eye. Now he felt terrible. After spending an hour together, he’d come to the conclusion that there was nothing suspicious going on at all. That their two encounters over the past few days really had been coincidental—and that it hadn’t been her in front of the Merrill Lynch building. She’d explained that she worked a ten-hour lunch and dinner double shift Thursday that hadn’t ended until eleven o’clock. She’d gone into great detail about one particularly irritating customer who’d sent his meal back three times, then refused to pay. So it couldn’t have been her in front of Merrill. Just his imagination playing tricks on him.

“Conner?”

“Mmm?”