The Whole Truth (28 page)
“If I tell you, you can never repeat it, to anyone, anywhere, including in print. Those are my terms. Take ’em or leave ’em.”
Katie hesitated for an instant and then nodded. “Deal.”
“They found evidence inside the building that purportedly shows The Phoenix Group was behind the Red Menace campaign.”
Katie sprang out of her chair. “What? You’re sure?”
“Sure the evidence was there? Yes. What it really means, I don’t know yet.”
“And my eyewitness also overheard the killers saying they were there on orders from Gorshkov.”
“Damn it, why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Look who’s talking about holding things back? Like you, I tend to keep things close to the vest. But if The Phoenix Group was involved in putting together the Red Menace campaign, that would explain why the Russians on orders from Gorshkov attacked the place.”
“But it’s
not
true. The Red Menace stuff was planted.”
“How can you be certain about that? I
did
see those materials in Anna’s office. Maybe she wasn’t researching it. Maybe she was doing it.”
“And just left the stuff lying around for you to see while the whole world is trying to find out who’s behind it?” he said incredulously.
Now Katie looked unsure of herself. “I guess that doesn’t make sense, but where does the world war thing come in? I must have missed that.”
“Gorshkov has pledged that whoever was behind the smear would open itself up to attack.”
“The Phoenix Group was attacked, not a country.”
Shaw took a deep breath and said, “The Phoenix Group is run by the Chinese, or at least has deep ties to them.”
Katie exclaimed, “The Chinese? You’re sure?”
“Yes. I met with one of the owners. He confirmed it.”
“But do you seriously believe Russia will attack China?”
“Who knows? But the last thing we need to find out is that the answer to that question is
yes
.”
“But if the Russian government sent their killers in as retribution against The Phoenix Group,
and
they know about the Chinese connection, then that seems to be an act of war right there. I’m actually surprised Gorshkov hasn’t gotten on the world pipeline and told everyone he did it.”
“He can’t. Most of the people killed were British citizens. Blowing up a bunch of Taliban in the mountains of Afghanistan is one thing. But you don’t waltz into London and wipe out nearly thirty of their people and then start bragging about it. I don’t care if you are Russia. The Brits have nukes too. And their closest ally is America. And not even Gorshkov wants to take on that eight-hundred-pound gorilla. And we don’t know for certain that the Russians
are
aware of the Chinese connection.”
“But nothing you’ve told me is a reason not to write the story. An eyewitness says some Russians in Gorshkov’s pay did it. I’ll say nothing about the Red Menace stuff or the Chinese connection because I told you I wouldn’t. But the fact that the Russians hit that building came from my source and is a story the world needs to know.”
“Come on, who can’t read between those lines! And if the Chinese think that the Russians took out one of their offices?
They
might retaliate against Moscow.”
“But even you said the Red Menace stuff was bull crap. It was planted. The Chinese weren’t behind it.”
Shaw shook his hands in exasperation. “Exactly, Katie. Don’t you get it? The Russians wouldn’t have planted that stuff, especially if they knew of the Chinese connection. What would have been the point? They wouldn’t go out of their way to pick a fight with China by framing them. The two countries are too evenly matched militarily. If they were going to pull a stunt like that they would’ve chosen a country a lot easier to blow out of the water. Hell, start with the A’s and nail Albania. That war would be over in twenty-four hours. But China? They have three soldiers for every Russian grunt. And they have nukes too.”
Katie looked confused. “So what exactly are you saying?”
“That the Russians
didn’t
do it. And The Phoenix Group
isn’t
behind the Red Menace and neither are the Chinese.”
“Okay, then
who is
behind it all?” she said doubtfully.
“There’s a third party involved. A third party that is playing a game I don’t completely understand, but that I know is somehow designed to pit Russia and China against each other.”
“So you’re saying my source is lying about the Russian involvement?”
“If he said he overheard people speaking in Russian who said they worked for Gorshkov, then, yeah, I think he might be lying, because I don’t believe the killers were working for Russia. Or else, and it’s a real stretch, they somehow knew he was in the building and let him live so he could tell what he’d heard, or what they
wanted
him to hear.”
She snapped her fingers. “He did say he overheard the Russians, or according to you, the fake Russians talking about someone else being in the building. If they were watching the back of the office they would’ve seen him go in. But they didn’t do another search because a window was broken and a woman was screaming out of the office and they were afraid the police would show up.”
Shaw’s expression grew clouded. Katie said, “Did that happen?”
He nodded slowly. “The woman was Anna. She broke her office window, tried to get out that way, but was killed before she could.”
“How do you know that?”
“The street camera recorded it.”
“My God, you saw it happen?” She put a hand over his. “Shaw, I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you won’t write the story.”
“I can’t do that. The world deserves to hear it.”
“Really? Even if it’s all lies? Or maybe Katie James believes she deserves to get back on top, any way she can? Even if it means the end of the world as we know it?”
Katie’s face flushed and she drew away from him. “That is not why I’m doing this!”
“Then tell me why you are doing it.”
“I’m a journalist. I have a story. A story of the decade! I can’t just sit on it because you have a bunch of pet theories, or because you say the world
might
end.”
“And what if I’m right? Are you prepared to deal with it?”
“Yes,” she said, but her voice shook slightly.
“Then we have nothing else to talk about.” He rose and held the door open.
“Shaw, please don’t do this.”
“We have nothing else to talk about,” he said more firmly.
She slowly walked past him and he slammed the door shut behind her.
N
ICOLAS CREEL’S TRIPS
to China and Russia had been successful. No firm deals had been announced, but he had laid the groundwork for that to almost certainly happen and soon. When the “real” truth of The Phoenix Group came out—and Creel expected Katie James to publish it anytime now—the dynamic between China and Russia would quickly change from regional competitors to that of absolute enemies. And the trillions of dollars would begin flowing his way.
Yet with that triumph just behind him, he still had a problem.
He once more sat on the top deck of the magnificent
Shiloh
, one of the world’s greatest super-yachts, while his ditzy wife lay sprawled naked on a plush chaise longue on the foredeck. Creel had finally gotten fed up and demanded that she put
something
on. She flatly refused, claiming that even a string bikini would unbalance her tan.
She’d told him in a pouty voice, “My body is perfect. No tan lines. No lines, Nicky! You can’t make me.”
How could one respond to such stark logic, to such earnest narcissistic proclamations? Creel had almost laughed, as he would’ve when a child had done something silly. No, this marriage was clearly not going to last. His ship phone rang. It was the captain. Mrs. Creel had finally fallen asleep.
“Then put a damn blanket over her, neck to toes,” Creel instructed and hung up.
The woman he’d met in L.A. when he’d been given the philanthropic award was an art curator at the Met in New York. With multiple degrees from Yale, she was stunningly intelligent, world-traveled, attractive, nicely built, and he seriously doubted she would have been the least concerned about tan lines across her ass. He’d had a wonderfully fascinating evening with the woman that had involved no physical contact at all. He’d have his attorneys draw up the divorce papers when he returned home.
But that looming domestic change was not the problem Creel was troubled by.
He stared down at the photo of the man with Katie James. James had left Shaw’s hotel in tears, Creel had been told. Was the man going to screw this up? He wanted revenge. He was highly skilled. Yes, a potential problem. Shaw’s days were probably numbered. But then what was one more?
Creel gazed out onto the calmness of the Mediterranean where a hot sun slowly burned its way downward to the lazy shimmer of sea. Despite selling the best military hardware on earth, he was a peaceful man. He had never struck anyone in anger. He had, it was true, ordered the deaths of people, but it was never done with malice.
Yet from the first club wielded in anger to an A-bomb that wiped out six figures’ worth of people in a few ticks of the clock, physical conflict was an essential part of humanity. Creel knew this, just as he knew that war had many positive attributes. Most significantly, it made people forget the frivolous and bond together for the greater good.
He certainly felt guilt for what he’d done. In fact he’d already pledged ten million dollars to a fund set up for the families of the victims of the London Massacre. It was the least he could do, he believed. And while across the Atlantic in England people were trying to make sense of what seemed senseless, he had gotten down on his knees in his $175 million aircraft, and asked his god, who surely couldn’t be that much farther above him, to forgive him. And when Creel rose off that wool-carpeted floor and got back into his luxurious bed and turned off his ten-thousand-dollar designer lamp, he was reasonably certain his god had accommodated him.
While Pender was busy manufacturing something and selling it to everyone as the truth, Creel clearly knew what “real” truth was.
The world is a much safer place when the powerful actually use their power and much less safe when they don’t.
The United States could wipe out the problem in the Middle East in days. Certainly there would be innocents who would die. But what was the difference between millions killed in ten minutes or ten years? They’d still be dead and you would have avoided a decade of misery and uncertainty. And Creel would gladly provide every weapon needed to extinguish the savages. It really was all about us versus them. And only the strong survived.
“And the weak perish,” he said to the setting sun as it colored the water and the Italian coast a noble burgundy. The weak always did die. It was the natural order.
If Creel has his way the big boys would be back in control. Mutually assured destruction, or MAD, was a term from the cold war and the subject of much fear, all of it misplaced. MAD was actually the greatest stabilizing force in history, though so many people, ignorant of how the world really functioned, would be appalled by such a statement. MAD provided certainty, predictability, and perhaps annihilation of certain elements of humanity for the greater good.
He walked to the upper deck railing and looked down at his sleeping wife. She was an idiot, like most people. They were blind to everything but themselves. No vision. Simple, weak, lazy. He gazed once more at the photo of Shaw. He didn’t look simple, weak, or lazy. Because he wasn’t.
It would be a pity to have to kill him. Yet Creel would, if necessary.
He lifted the ship’s phone. The
Shiloh
’s captain, a man with thirty years’ experience on the open seas serving a variety of rich masters, answered in a brisk positive tone.
Creel said, “Arrange to bring
all
the children out tomorrow. Take in the sixty-footer to get them. And bring the mother superior. I want to give her a check.”
“Very good, Mr. Creel. Will you want to launch the submarine again? The kiddies certainly enjoyed it last time.”
“Good idea. Have it ready. And have the chopper prepped to take Mrs. Creel to the small jet. She’ll be going to the South of France in the morning. And have her maid lay out some suitable clothing. The
more
the better.”
“Right you are, sir.”
Creel hung up. The good captain might not have been so pleasant had he known what Creel had done. The captain was British, London born and raised.
But the children would come tomorrow. Creel’s life had become a series of balances. One bad deed weighed against one good one. Yes, he very much looked forward to the children coming tomorrow.
And to building them a brand spanking new place to be orphans in.
T
HE STEEL BED ROLLED OUT
with a clanking sound that Shaw felt down to his toes. The place smelled of chemicals and urine and other things he didn’t want to think about.
Frank stood next to him.
“Look, Shaw, you don’t have to do this. In fact I’m thinking you shouldn’t be doing this. Why remember her like this? In this place?” He waved his hand around the antiseptic space.
“You’re right,” Shaw said. “But I still have to do it.”
Frank sighed and nodded at the attendant.
For an instant, as the man’s fingers clutched the sheet, Shaw wanted to run, run to daylight before it was too late. Instead, he simply stood there as the sheet was lifted up and Shaw stared down at Anna. Or what was left of her.
He tried to avoid staring at the wound in the middle of her forehead, or the V-shaped suture tracks where the medical examiner had cut her open looking for helpful clues as to what had killed her, or at the twin bullet holes that had erupted through her chest. Yet he found that was all he could look at, the absolute destruction of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He didn’t even have the gentle embrace of her green eyes, since they were closed forever.