“I’ve got a bus coming,” Greg called out then knelt next to Rosewood and put pressure on the wound. “Get somebody outside to flag it down and lead it here.” Franks waved at one of his agents who ran toward the front gate. “And do me a favor and hook that guy up.” Behind him Greg heard the sound of cuffs clicking closed.
“Royatt,” Franks called to one of his men and pointed at Danny. Reluctantly Kane let the FBI agent take over first aid. “Are you hurt?” Franks asked once Kane was back on his feet.
“I’ll be all right.” Greg looked around the room in a daze. “That’s Munroe over there.” Franks looked at the body then back at Kane. “The kid shot him dead. Saved my life.” Greg turned his gaze to Bellingham. “That’s the bastard who’s behind all this.” Kane walked over and the professor took a step back.
“I’m invoking my right to be silent.”
“Fine. Just listen. Right now, right this minute, you’re at a fork in the road. If you pick one path you can have a show trial, give interviews, and tell the world everything you were trying to accomplish.” Bellingham tried to keep a poker face but Kane saw a hint of smile creep across his lips. “The other choice is a trip to Gitmo and solitary confinement.”
“You can’t do that!”
“You were going to manufacture a weapon of mass murder. That makes you a terrorist.”
“I’m an American citizen. I have the right to a trial. I have–”
“The right to be silent so shut up. Here’s the deal. You make one phone call and you get the interviews and the show trial. You don’t and you’re going to find out a lot more about the Patriot Act and solitary confinement than you ever wanted to know.”
“I’m not going to incriminate myself,” Bellingham insisted. Kane laughed.
“Incriminate yourself? That guy,” Kane pointed at Munroe, “was killed in the commission of a crime. That triggers the felony-murder rule which means that anyone who was part of that crime, namely you, is himself guilty of murder. We’ve got you dead-bang on murder right here. Then there’s my kidnapping and attempted murder. Then there are your phone calls with Munroe. You’ve got them on tape, right?” Kane asked Franks.
“The wiretap went active today.”
“It was a–” Bellingham started to say then shut his mouth.
“A burner phone?” Franks finished the professor’s sentence for him. “We were set up outside your house and recorded both ends of your conversations. How do you think we knew you had Kane locked up here?”
Bellingham tried to look unconcerned but failed miserably.
“Well, there you go, not that we need all that other stuff. My testimony alone is enough to send you to a federal prison for the rest of your life. So, you’re toast no matter what you do or you don’t do. This is your fork in the road and you need to ask yourself if protecting your snitch is worth keeping the world from hearing your message. Well, is it?”
* * *
The barely audible buzz began just as he was pouring his first cup of coffee.
“What’s that?” Susan asked.
“Work.” His suit coat was draped over one of the dining room chairs and he pulled the cell from the inside pocket on his way out of the room. His wife had long ago become accustomed to calls at odd hours and turned back to her breakfast of oatmeal and herbal tea.
“Yes?”
“We’re OK,” the professor said. “We questioned Kane and he’s got nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
“No man lies under that kind of pressure. Farber is our only loose end. My man will silence him tonight.”
“Any idea how he found out about you?”
“No, but after tonight it won’t matter.”
“What about Kane?”
“He’s dead.”
“Dead!” he hissed. “You were only supposed to find out what he knew!”
“And we did. Did you think we would kidnap and torture a federal agent and then just let him go?”
“I never agreed to anything like that.”
“Please. You knew we killed Brownstein. You knew what was going to happen to Kane when you gave me his home address.”
“Jesus!”
“Farber will be the last one, then it’s smooth sailing. I’ll tell you what. You keep a close watch on your people and let me know if they find out anything about Farber and I’ll give you a five million dollar bonus when we go into production. And that’s just the beginning. There’ll be more money from this product than you ever dreamed of. Are we good?”
“I’m not a murderer.”
“We’ve only done what we had to do. So, are we good?”
Bellingham heard a sigh then, “Yes. We’re good, but Farber has to be the last one.”
“He’s the final loose end. We won’t need to kill anyone else. Call me at six to confirm that your people don’t have any idea where Farber is.”
“All right.”
The phone went dead. He stared at the display for half a second then went back to finish his breakfast. Twenty minutes later, just as he was reaching for his coat and keys, the doorbell rang. He opened it to find two men in white shirts and dark suits. He knew they were federal agents before they even spoke. They might as well have been carrying a sign.
“Secretary Dawson, I’m FBI Special Agent Ronald Franks. This is Special Agent Amos Royatt.”
“Would you like to come inside–”
“Please place your hands on the wall and spread your legs,” Franks ordered. Dawson just stared at Franks as if he had started speaking in pig Latin. Franks pulled Dawson through the doorway, spun him around and pushed him against the wall.
“What’s this all about? I’m–”
“Roger Dawson, you are under arrest for the murder of a federal official, conspiracy to murder a federal agent, kidnapping of a federal agent and conspiracy to kidnap a federal agent,” Franks patted Dawson down for weapons. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. . . .” Franks’ voice seemed to fade away and then, as if someone else had taken control of his body, Dawson was wracked with sobs.
With snot dripping off Dawson’s chin, Franks cuffed his hands behind his back and he and Royatt half led, half carried Roger Dawson to their car.