The Charity (56 page)

His voice was low. Jessica again felt his calming manner. For a moment, she allowed herself to dream.

“What can I expect until we have news?”

“They should keep you here for a temporary confinement. I doubt they would move you to the Charlestown jail. That place is too open, security too lax. If they do transfer you, be very, very careful.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

Shea shifted in his seat. “There have been instances where prisoners have been shot during what was termed ‘escape attempts.’ The officers in charge of the transport line—the line formed by prisoners being led out of temporary holding for transfer to the jail—were considered to be justified in shooting to kill when someone broke that line. Joining it would mean leaving your little cocoon. It exposes you to more risk than either of us are comfortable with.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. Just hang in there a little while longer.”

A sharp knock at the door signaled visiting time was up. They both stood and looked at one another.

Their good-bye was spoken simultaneously.

“Be careful.”

The old man’s hooded eyes made a guarded observation of the police officer assigned to his security detail. It was not a face he recognized and the name on the gold shield was not familiar. He sighed and shifted in his deep leather club chair, causing the leather to give a groan. The sudden noise made the officer look over at his prisoner with a slight bit of interest. Noting nothing of importance, the officer stepped back into the hallway of the mansion. He left the door slightly ajar.

It had been a long day for Magnus and he felt the drain of fatigue pull down on him. His team of attorneys had argued forcefully for his release without bail pending the determination of the grand jury. After all, they said, he is a longstanding member of the community with considerable economic and social ties to the area, was aging and infirm and therefore was not a flight risk. Judge Rivers had set an amount that she thought would keep him home and released on a bail of three hundred thousand dollars. Jumping bail, or leaving town to avoid charges, would mean that he would forfeit that amount of money. Magnus nearly laughed at what an insignificant amount it was and knew it was proof that the court obviously had no idea how very wealthy he was—or where he kept his money.

Grudgingly he admitted to himself that the attorney general was a worthy opponent. Shea argued that the severity of the charges raised this to a level of a capital case and that Magnus’ ties to foreign groups would make it more likely that the old man would try to jump bail. A foolish thought, mused Magnus, but a sound legal argument. When the judge agreed to bail, Shea insisted upon a twenty-four hour watch on him.

But none of that made any difference to Magnus now. At this moment, he was nothing but an old and ailing man looking forward to the arrival of a visitor. He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled over to the wet bar in the far corner of the study. A rich, amber colored brandy swirled along the side of a fine crystal snifter. He leaned back against the finely carved bookcase and took in the room.

What tales these walls could tell, he thought as he looked about with nostalgia. His best and worst moments began and ended here. Now, they would be witness to another of his finest and happiest moments.

The soft chimes of the doorbell could be heard through the thick walls. Smart footsteps clipped dutifully to the front door to let in the expected guest. A short time later, the mahogany doors swung open to allow the visitor to enter. The young police officer barely contained his surprise and made only the most cursory of searches.

Michael Conant looked at the officer. “I won’t be here long. Why don’t you take a break? No one will question your being relieved from your watch by me for a half hour.”

The officer straightened his head. “Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

Satisfied, the officer let the two men be alone.

They stared at each other in silence for a long while. Magnus, suddenly remembering his manners, extended his arm, motioning toward a chair by the fire. “Please come and sit down.”

Michael did as he was told. “It’s been a long time.”

The old man smiled. “Yes. Yes it has.”

“I did not come here to talk business.”

The old man’s mouth twitched into a smile. “No? What else is there between us?”

The study was filled with an awkward silence. The wind blew outside, causing a drift of the past day’s storm’s sugary snow to scratch against the windowpanes. The younger man looked around at the expensively appointed room. “Is this where all of the money has gone?”

“And if I said ‘Yes’?”

“Then I would say that my mother was right. Money and power corrupted you.”

Magnus laughed. “Time has not changed you however, my son.”

“Damn you!” Michael jumped to his feet, restraining himself from pouncing on the old man. “What has happened to you? You used to care about whether or not your homeland was united. You used to take me on your knee and tell me stories of revolutionaries and freedom fighters. You told Liam and me the hopes and promises of one Ireland, free from the British.”

The old man drew in a breath and held it. “I will not have your brother’s name uttered from your lips in this house.” Hurt edged over the old features.

Michael ignored his father’s pain. “You have changed. You started changing when your schemes of raising money for the IRA became wildly successful, too successful to even imagine.”

“I’m not the one who has changed.”

“Don’t. I have spent my entire adult life living up to the standards my mother set. She taught me to use my American born freedoms and the money we raised for the benefit of others. And for what?” He looked around the room with increasing disgust. “It seems like the only groups benefiting from the work of the Charity are those who deal in black market arms.”

“Your mother was a meddling, dimwitted fool. I would prefer to think of your adult life as being spent on maturing into your role as chairman.” The old man smiled and put on a mock air of formality to discharge the tenseness in the air. “Brandy?” He held up his snifter in a gesture of offering.

Michael stared mutely at his father.

Magnus poured a snifter as Michael rigidly stood his ground and continued. “I saw your interview on the news tonight. The reporter, what was her name? Yes, Colleen Shaunessy-Carillo, some combination there, eh? Anyway, she has quite a nose for a story. I had heard that you were doing well, too, but I never imagined things were going that well for you.”

Michael’s mouth set even further into a straight line. “You know I’ve done well.”

“Quite. I understand that over the past few years, numerous mysterious transfers have been made to our friends abroad. I am beginning to think they were from you.”

“Keep out of my affairs.”

“You’ve helped me, you know. By keeping the money flowing, no one ever questioned where
my
money was.”

“I did what I had to do.”

“Listen to me, my son. You know now that you can never escape your duties to the Charity. I have let you play at being a sheriff. It was quite ingenious of you to assume that role as a cover.” He waved his hand to dismiss the amusing thought. “No matter what you do, your destiny will always be with you. Surely the fact that the Charity has never lost a member’s heart cannot be lost on you.”

“You know as well as I do that the only way to leave the Charity is in a hearse.”

Magnus angered. “That surprises you? Don’t be naive!”

“It was Liam who you wanted to follow in your footsteps. He was the first-born son, heir to the fiefdom you created for yourself. He’s the one that carried out your orders, complete with assassinations.”

Magnus did not flinch. The hooded eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “The assassinations were a necessary part of gathering support and credibility for our Charity. Liam was of considerable help to me in that regard. Of course, even then the truly meticulous work was left to my most loyal aid. What do they call him now? Oh yes. John Doe. Liam was a hero and a true follower. The pain of his lack of leadership abilities and death has not faded.” He sadly repeated his request. “Do not talk about your brother in my presence again.”

“Why not? He was behind the Belfast and London bombings. How many people died? He was following your orders to kill.”

“If you only cared about our cause half as much as he did.”

Michael strode angrily around the room. “I
do
care, damn it! I care about the country that is still divided today despite the efforts of thousands of people. That division caused the death of my brother and mother. How can I
not
care?”

“Your brother was a hero and your mother was a fool.” The old man’s anger was growing in its intensity.

“I think it was my brother that was the fool in getting himself blown up.”

“Enough! I won’t tolerate him being spoken of like that!”

Michael yelled. “Don’t you ever tire of manipulating people? Why are you still doing this? History has moved on without you. There is a cease-fire! Your dreams are so close to being fulfilled. Why do you keep destroying lives for a cause you’re so out of touch with?”

“Because I’m building a future for you.”

“For me? Forget it. I don’t want your future.”

“Don’t you? You’ve used the same mechanisms and procedures for moving money that I set up years ago. You have seen what money does. It motivates people and—”

“It
corrupts
people!”

Magnus held up his hand to stop the interruption. “It motivates people and enough of it destabilizes governments. The Charity is a political organization that—”

“It is a
terrorist
organization and nothing you can do can make it otherwise.”

“It is a
political
organization dedicated to the creation, support and funding of groups of people intent upon seeking independence from oppressive governments worldwide.”

“Worldwide? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that the world is changing. While you’ve been gone the Charity has grown beyond your biggest fantasies. These schemes that this Owen Shea says I’m connected to are meaningless. He’s been focused on the details and doesn’t see the connection to the larger picture.” A racking cough stopped his conversation. Michael waited until his father caught his breath. “Your actions have done nothing but help me.”

“So you said, but I don’t see how.”

“Don’t you? The first action of any group that wants to endear itself to any population is to come bearing gifts. Your humanitarian aid was done in the name of the Charity.”

“No. I never used its name.”

“But you never claimed ownership. You did many of the donations anonymously and the Charity quietly went around and took all the credit. You kept the potentially discontented fed and happy. Now, when we take away that aid, unrest will start easily. How could you
not
know that?”

Michael did not answer directly, but said, “The angel of darkness came cloaked as the angel of light.”

Magnus chuckled. “You can say you’re driven by lofty and altruistic goals. But you are as ruthless as I am.”

“And Ireland?”

“Ireland is our history. It is what we cut our teeth on. We learned how to get the attention of the world onto our cause. We learned how a government can be humbled by a well-trained cell of mercenaries. She was only a small introduction to the power and change the Charity can produce. We have time tonight. I’ll tell you about the changes I’ve made.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence after the spate of harsh words. Michael was looking for answers, not a fight. This argument would go nowhere. He tried another angle to keep his father talking. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Are you ever going to tell me why my mother died?”

“She killed herself over dreams crushed because of you. You caused her the greatest amount of pain any son could bring to a mother. Death was her only escape.”

Michael threw down his drink and grabbed his father by the throat. Through clenched teeth he said, “I had nothing to do with her death.”

Magnus released himself from the grip and straightened his clothes. “Tsk. Tsk. You remind me so much of myself when I was your age. Pig-headed. Altruistic.” An old hand raised in a condescending gesture and cloudy eyes misted with memories. “You had everything to do with her death.” His mind wandered backward on a path of visions. A young father looked down into the eyes of his two young sons. “This is your time of learning. Blood ties are superior to love.”

“You let it be told that I was the one who killed Liam.”

“Of course. You earned quite a lot of loyalty when that news got out.”

“And you made sure my mother heard that lie?”

“Yes. And that thought tortured your mother and I could enjoy that small amount of revenge.”

“I asked you a question.”

Magnus brought himself back to the present and snorted in disgust. “And I answered you. Your mother was a fool and killed herself because she learned you killed your brother.”

“Damn you!”