Gus Swanson couldn’t recall a more stressful time in his twenty-five years with the Bureau. The fireworks had started with Harvey’s call from La Guardia Friday morning. Then Lamp’s Supreme Court nomination had been announced, and in its wake, the revelation that another Lieber Allen associate had disappeared. “What did you do?” Harvey toasted their good fortune. “Rub Aladdin’s lamp?”
“Lamp,” he gloated. “Has a nice ring, doesn’t it? He connects Rogers and Mendelsohn. Now we must wait for Corelli’s call, and it’ll come. We’re all she’s got.”
“Not anymore. Another Lieber Allen associate vanished at Logan this morning. Name’s Waddill. We can assume if he’s lucky enough to get out of Boston, he’ll meet her down south.”
That afternoon, Gus had gotten a tip about another Georgetown meeting, then dedicated the evening to its usual documentation. On the way home he’d been so absorbed with the day’s developments, he failed to pick up the headlights in his mirror until reaching his driveway. He’d hurried inside to catch a car glide down to his mailbox then quietly slip away. He’d been seen at the Lakeland home! Sick with fear, he’d crawled into bed which he knew held no sleep. Was the investigation lost, or could swift damage control save it? What steps should he take? He took the first when talking to Jean later that morning. “Why don’t you and the kids leave for the farm this weekend? I’ll join you for Thanksgiving.”
“But they have school through Wednesday,” she said. “Gus, is something wrong?”
“No, I just think it’d be nice for you to have some extra time with your family. Billy loves to help your dad around the farm. And Sally can ride the chestnut filly with her cousins.”
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt the children to miss a few days from school,” she nodded finally.
By two, the plans had been made and the car packed. “You’ll make it by Tuesday?” she asked.
“Yes.” He waved to the kids. “Give your folks my best, and don’t forget to call when you arrive.”
Standing in the driveway until the Explorer disappeared around the bend, Gus wondered if he’d ever see them again.
Unable to reach Harvey, he plunged ahead with plans that had crystallized in the last few hours. He removed his precious records from the basement cabinet and lugged them out to his car. The thought of their destruction sent chills up his spine, yet he’d never taken the time to copy them. That time had come. He dropped behind the wheel and hurried away.
Paranoia crept over him. Was he being watched? Anxiously his eyes roved the busy streets, jumped to the mirror at every intersection. By the time he reached the mall, he was sweating profusely. Lugging the first box inside, he hurried down to Quick Stop Copy, claiming a corner machine. With one eye on the crowded promenade, he copied, collated and stacked. Finishing, he lugged the box back to the car and returned with the second box. If anyone was watching, he’d know soon enough. They’d never let him leave with his copied records.
He’d almost finished the second box when the copier broke down. Forced to wait for another, he dug out his cell phone and again tried Harvey without success. Was something wrong? Had last night’s disaster rumbled as far north as New York? Grabbing the next open copier, he finished the second box and headed out for the last. Finishing it quickly, he returned to the car. It was getting dark as he locked the trunk and left. He stopped next at Atlantic Express, arranging for overnight shipment of the copied records to Harvey. Finally he relaxed. If he was being watched, they’d never have let him ship his records. Perhaps they didn’t consider him a threat. And why should they? Who would listen? Then again, how did he even know that last night’s tail had begun at the Lakeland home? He hadn’t picked it up until reaching his driveway. It wasn’t unusual for agents to be tailed by paranoid criminal elements who were investigation-shy.
Turning into Jack Rabbit Storage, he leased a unit in one of the rear buildings, then dumped his records and left. He arrived home at ten and after dinner tried Harvey. Where the hell was he? He must be alerted to last night’s disaster and the records’ shipment. And there was a new strategy to conceive. They couldn’t throw in the towel now, not with potential allies and the connection between Mendelsohn and Rogers established.
He’d just dropped in front of the TV when Harvey called. “Ben, where the hell have you been?”
“I could ask the same question,” Harvey sighed. “Between my visitation with Jimmy and a stop by the office, I’ve spent most of the day trying to reach you. Finally Medfield called and asked me to meet him out at Kennedy. He was about to crap in his pants over the arrival of some of the Salendez’s purest powder. Only his great tip turned out to be a hoax, which didn’t surprise anyone but him. I just got back and figured I’d try you again. Gus, I’ve got great news.”
“I have terrible news.” He now revealed his exposure and the precautionary steps taken, including the records’ shipment to the dummy P.O. Box in Queens.
“The only thing you’ve done so far that makes any sense,” Harvey snapped, “is getting your family out. Now pick them up and catch the first flight out of the country, preferably to some South Pacific island.”
“Ben, I can’t do that. The investigation...”
“Screw the investigation! We’re talking about your life!”
“But how do we even know it was Leopold’s tail last night? Remember when that Atlanta drug ring shadowed Roger Austin?”
“Come on, Gus, who are you fooling? These guys are serious!”
“I’ll get away, Tuesday at the latest.”
“Tuesday hell! We’ll be planning your funeral by then.”
“Ben, I’m safe as long as I have the records.”
“Those records don’t say shit!”
“They don’t know that.”
“They know everything, Gus. Don’t you realize that yet?”
“Ben, pick up those records first thing in the morning. Don’t forget. Now what’s your great news?”
“The kids called me today from a Naples, Florida hotel.”
This was great news. “Why Naples? They have a lead?”
Harvey told him about the promising Crenshaw case. “Don’t you see, Gus? With our focus shifting to Florida there’s no reason to stay in Alexandria. There won’t be anymore leads to follow with your cover blown.”
Left unspoken was the reality that his Bureau career was over. “It sounds like the kids are on the right track, but I doubt it ends in Naples. Likely the real dirt exists in Tennessee or Minnesota, if Mendelsohn’s activities there are related. Maybe...”
“Forget it, Gus. The minute you show your head in Tennessee, they’ll shoot it off. If anyone goes, it’ll be me.”
“Ben, you can’t go running off to Tennessee. We can’t have your cover blown, too.” Already his mind was moving forward. He could leave tonight. He just had to pack, and then have Jean sit tight until his return. “What county was Crenshaw ‘lord and master’ over? Did the kids say?”
“Forget it, Gus.”
It could be easily traced through the government archives in Nashville. “Ben, we need to discuss strategy.”
“The only strategy I’ll discuss is getting you out of Alexandria.”
“Okay, I’ll leave. But don’t forget those records.”
The instant he hung up, the phone rang again. “This is Don Prillaman at Atlantic Express. You’re the Swanson who shipped those three boxes this evening, right?”
An undefined alarm crept over him as he glanced at the clock. The shipment should be well on its way to New York by now. “Yeah, that was me. Is there a problem?”
“You could say that,” Prillaman replied. “Federal agents were waiting with a search warrant when my driver pulled into the Queens station. They not only seized your boxes but took him in for questioning. Then just now, I got a call saying that agents are on the way over to question me about how the boxes got on our truck. You better know I plan to tell them. And listen, buddy, while I have you on the line, I don’t appreciate being used as an instrument in your criminal enterprise!”
Shattered, Gus hung up. They’d been watching the whole time. They’d seen him copy the records, ship the reproduced set, and then they intercepted it in Queens! A cold sweat sprouted on his forehead. If they had the copies that meant — Oh God! In a panic, he dashed out to the car and streaked off. The tables had suddenly turned — ghosts he’d been chasing for so long were now chasing him.
In a fog, he covered the dark streets, racing against time he might not have, against enemies he couldn’t see. Skidding into the Jack Rabbit, he burst down the alley to his compartment. Jumping from the car, he opened the compartment and jerked a flashlight from one dark, empty corner to the next. The records were gone. Two years of carefully documented investigation, the long nights parked outside the Lakeland home, the lies he’d been forced to tell Jean. It had all been for nothing.
He returned home, exhausted. Reaching the drive, he gazed desperately at the dark house. What should he do? Go to Tennessee in search of fresh hope, or flee to Rockbridge?
It hit him as he crawled from the car. Something had been missing at Jack Rabbit when he’d grabbed the flashlight. In a panic, he jerked open the glove compartment. His .45 was gone! As he hurried inside, the phone was ringing. The recorder switched on and his own, crisp voice drifted down the hall. An anxious Harvey then came on the line. “Gus, where the hell, are you? Call me the second you get in!”
Harvey had talked to the kids again. Was good or bad news responsible for his agitation? “Max?” he said, drifting down the hall. “Where are you, boy?” Flipping on the den light, he gasped.
“Don’t worry about the shepherd.” Leopold looked up from the desk typewriter. “He’s enjoying a nice, medicated sleep in the basement, but he’ll be fine. That’s more than I can say for you, I’m afraid.”
A second intruder emerged from the shadows: sandy-haired, medium-size and build. “Ordinary looking,” as in Leopold’s ordinary blond companion at Lake Witteoka. “Gus, you remember Frankie.” Leopold introduced the man. “You put him in Leavenworth. But that’s ancient history, right Frankie?”
“Sure, Arch,” the gum-popping stooge grinned. “Let bygones be bygones.”
The hall creaked as a third intruder now appeared, his eyes cold and emotionless, the revolver steady in his hand; it was the “ordinary” dark companion at Lake Witteoka. “George George,” Leopold nodded. “Can you believe anyone would name their kid that? George hasn’t smiled much since San Quentin. Doesn’t say much either, but he’s awfully good with that piece in his hand.”
“Did he kill Mendelsohn?” Gus asked. “Or was that your work?”
“I think you’re confused, Gus. Corelli murdered the Jew lawyer. The cops are pursuing her and Waddill hot and heavy, as I understand.”
“Cops? Don’t you mean Harrington’s God Squad?”
Frankie snickered, an insolent lapse that drew Leopold’s scowl. “Gus, where you’re going, now isn’t the time to desecrate holy men. Instead, why not tell us what has Harvey so agitated? I hope he’s not waiting on your record shipment.”
“Harvey’s not involved in this. He’s upset over some personal things happening in his life.”
“Gus, those records were intended for someone. If not Harvey, who?” When he didn’t answer, Leopold nodded, “We’ll find out one way or the other. The important thing is they don’t have the records.” Proofreading his letter, he then passed it across the desk to Gus. “Your suicide note - a real tearjerker.”
Gus sensed he wouldn’t leave this room alive or ever see again the family smiling in the desk pictures. The letter, addressed to Jean, read:
I know what I’ve done is wrong, but the money was just too great to resist. I wanted things, not so much for myself, but for you and the children — things we couldn’t afford on my salary. At the time, it seemed easy to give those Bureau records to the criminal elements willing to pay so much. How could I get caught? But I did, this very weekend, when agents seized the records I had shipped to Queens and also the originals stored at the Jack Rabbit. They have me, Jean, and as I sit at the typewriter, I see only this black void that once held our future. Both my Bureau career and our life together are over. Prison looms, a prospect I can’t face anymore than the pain I’ve brought you and the children. Please, Jean, forgive my crimes, and also this last desperate act. Love always, Gus.
His eyes lifted. “You expect me to sign this?”
Leopold nodded. “Unless you can improve it.”
“I’m not very good at embellishing lies, I’m afraid.”
“What lies, Gus? Your disregard of Chapman’s warning to back off the Rogers investigation was tantamount to suicide. And weren’t you caught today in the unauthorized dissemination of Bureau records?”
“The letter also references a big payoff,” Gus pointed out.
Leopold shrugged. “If you cracked the case, you would’ve appeared on Oprah and Larry King Live to boast about it. And there would’ve been a book, of course. You’d have become rich and famous. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about that.”
“Prison.” Gus glared at him icily. “A savage beating. Religion. Nothing works with you, does it, Leopold? You’re still scum and always will be.”
Frankie and George gaped at Leopold as if expecting a bomb to go off. Leopold limped around to snatch the letter. “That prison beating, Gus, robbed me of an eye and shattered my teeth. It also left me with a steel cord in my jaw, a rubber leg, and this grotesque face that guarantees me work as a freak in some circus sideshow. Not a minute passes that I don’t feel either pain or humiliation. But I no longer harbor ill feelings for those responsible for my suffering. As a Christian, I’m required to forgive you and Murphy, just as the Lord forgives you.”
“Praise the Lord!” Frankie refrained.
“Yes, praise Him for cleansing my wicked soul.”
Soul? Gus peered into Leopold’s eye. None existed that he could see. Just a moron inside a huge body that had been perverted to suit the evil purposes of Seth Harrington.
“Gus, if your death is necessary, it brings me no personal satisfaction,” Leopold said now. “If anything, I feel grief that you won’t take part in the Great Christian Renaissance that is almost upon us.”
“Praise the Lord!” Frankie popped his gum.
“What Lord?” Gus scoffed. “And why praise Him for transforming his followers into cold-blooded killers?”
Leopold nodded patiently. “It’s regrettable that lives must be sacrificed in the struggle between good and evil. Doesn’t the Bible bear grim testament, documenting the countless slain - both the wicked and the righteous? No one said that service of the Lord is easy. The road to salvation is fraught with obstacles, unpleasant tasks and regrettable tragedy. But the journey must be completed and the world prepared for the Lord’s return. That means the eradication of the godless behavior now celebrated in a world run by atheistic liberals. And if lives must be sacrificed, those in the Lord’s service must be equal to the task.”
“So far, those sacrificed are Chief Justice Rogers and Morris Mendelsohn,” Gus said. “How many more are required? Or does it matter?”
“What matters, Gus, is that no one undermines the Lord’s mission. Not the two you mentioned, those foolish young lawyers, and, as I’m afraid you must learn, not even you. Now please sit down and let’s get this over with.”
Gus found his .45 next to the typewriter. Was it possible that in seconds an exploding shell would spill his brains out on his grandfather’s cherry desk? “And if I refuse to participate in this travesty?”
Leopold sighed. “Even if you’ve shown a disregard for the Lord’s mission, at least you’ve demonstrated a Christian love for your family. Don’t screw that up now.”
“Then you’d actually murder my family?”
“No Gus, you would, by disobeying the Lord.”
“Rockbridge is just a few hours away,” Frankie said. “We can finish business and still catch that noon flight out of Dulles. Man, I can’t wait to hit that Naples beach!”
“You’ll be too busy to waste time on the beach,” Leopold scowled. “And that Rockbridge detour won’t be necessary... will it, Gus?”
Harvey had been right. They did know everything. “Just tell me this — does the conspiracy reach into the Oval Office?”
Leopold glanced at Frankie, then the taciturn George.
“Come on, you want me to sign this trash. At least tell me if Longbridge knows who killed Rogers and Mendelsohn.”
Leopold sighed again. “Gus, you’re hardly in a position to negotiate.”
“What’s the harm? It’s not like I’ll be telling anyone.”
“Gus...”
“All right.” He dropped at the desk. Grabbing the pen, he quickly signed the letter. Jean would know this wasn’t suicide, that he couldn’t be bribed, that these weren’t his words.
“Now pick up the gun,” Leopold ordered. “Once the trigger’s squeezed, you won’t feel a thing.”
He looked up, astonished. Did they actually expect him to put the bullet in his own brain? “The secret Mendelsohn was killed to protect — would its exposure have kept Lamp off the Court?”
Leopold frowned. “That secret, Gus, if it got out would do far more than keep Lamp off the court. It would destroy the CMA, the Longbridge administration and the Lord’s mission. Now please...”
“The administration,” Gus persisted. “Then Longbridge is involved?”
Wrapping his handkerchief around the gun, Leopold lifted it carefully. “Take it Gus, and squeeze the trigger - quick, simple, painless.”
Gazing at the gun, his eyes slowly lifted. Would they laugh if he dropped to his knees and begged for his life? “The secret...”
“No Gus, the gun.”
“Mendelsohn knew it before he died. Am I not entitled to the same privilege?”
“The greedy Jew took it to hell with him. Let’s pray you’re going somewhere else.”
“What if I swore to forget all I know?”
“Gus, we both know it’s too late for that. Now you can handle this yourself or be a coward and have us do it. But then you’d be taking your family, too, and no one wants that.”
No, he wouldn’t take his family. His eyes fell now as urine flowed uncontrollably, soaking his pants and socks. Humiliated over the mess he’d made, Gus began to cry.
Frankie snickered at the puddle spreading across the floor. “Look Arch, he’s pissing all over himself!”
“Take the gun.” Leopold grew impatient. “What follows couldn’t be any worse than sitting in your own piss.”
“He ain’t gonna do it,” Frankie whined. “You might...” He stopped as the condemned man put the gun to his temple.
Offering a final prayer that his family wouldn’t discover his splattered brains on the desk, Gus clamped his teeth and pulled the trigger.