Inside Out (36 page)

85

Sean showered in Hank's private bathroom. After drying off, she removed the store tags from the outfit she had selected to wear. Hank had sent a female deputy to shop for clothes from a list Sean had furnished covering the items she needed. At Hank's request Sean had made a list of styles, colors, and sizes. After she put on a gray turtleneck and khaki slacks, she turned her attention to the mirror. Her hair looked to her like a baby chicken's that had been rolled in oil-well mud and dried by a high-speed fan. She took the brush from the CVS bag and did her best to straighten it out. After being in spikes since she'd left Hoover's urban nonsense shop, it wasn't going to lie down without a fight.

Her mother's face, so like her own, floated into her thoughts. She missed Olivia. The soft side of Sean, the good parts, had come from her mother's genes and the safe environment she had fought so hard to create for her daughter. From her father, Sean had inherited an ability to see solutions logically, to separate herself from emotion, and to think clearly in stressful situations. She had never once panicked, never been frozen by fear, and that was why she was still alive. She had never been so aware of how fortunate she was in the evolutionary lottery—the Lucky Sperm Club.

She was concerned about Winter and knew that she wasn't alone in that. What she felt for her lost protector was complex, but there was a great deal of affection in the mix.

She was comfortable with Hank Trammel. His initial gruffness had melted away to reveal a rough gentleness. In her mind, his sending someone out for her toiletries and new clothes had been an act of thoughtful generosity.

When she came out of his bathroom, Hank was sitting behind his desk looking over some papers. “We're leaving in an hour,” he said, looking up and smiling at her improved appearance. “To meet Winter.”

“Where is he?” she asked. She felt like jumping in the air.

“New Orleans.”

The two words hit Sean like a blast of arctic air, filling her with dread. “New Orleans?” Her mind fought to understand what this sudden development meant. She fought to mask her feelings.

So, Winter was alive and well. She tried to concentrate on that one fact and not to think about who else was in New Orleans.

She couldn't let on that she was certain that once she got to New Orleans, she wouldn't be leaving again.

86

Charlotte Douglas International Airport

A stainless-steel briefcase waited for Hank Trammel on the table separating two of the facing leather seats in the Cessna Citation III's cabin. Hank sat with his back to the crew, giving Sean the seat facing forward. From across the table, she watched him dial a combination, open the case, and lift out an envelope, leaving a laptop computer and its components inside. Before he broke the foil seal and slipped out a stack of several sheets of paper, Hank put on his reading glasses. While the plane taxied, lifted off, and for the first five minutes of the flight, he studied the documents in silence, idly twisting the tip of his mustache. After finishing, he removed his glasses. The playful light that had been in his eyes before he read the papers Shapiro had sent was out. Clearly Hank was seething, but she couldn't imagine what he had just read that had darkened his mood.

“Is it bad news?” she asked.

“It's sure not good. You know, it's a bit odd that you haven't asked me once why I'm escorting you to New Orleans.”

“You said to meet Winter.”

Hank frowned. “That was as much as I knew until I read this,” he said, putting his hand on the stack of pages. “Remember when I told you Shapiro tracked you to Richmond by setting a net to catch your voice pattern?”

Sean nodded, uncertain where this was going and increasingly unsettled by Hank's chilled manner.

“The NSA generates transcripts of intercepted calls.”

Even before he handed two stapled-together sheets of paper to Sean, panic bloomed inside her.

Verbatim transcription. Call initiated Tuesday 10/22/02 at 22:31:21 hours EST. Phone of origination: Bernhard's Exxon, 221 N. Service Road, Richmond, Va. Number called is a mobile listed to Palma Hamamagian, 221 Norway Street, Chalmette, La. Voice tag positive for subject Sean Marks Devlin. Second subject positive for suspected organized crime figure John Michael Russo known associate of Sam Manelli. Due to continuing request for any call containing individuals listed with Organized Crime tags additional copy forwarded to FBI-OC task force. Call duration 1:21.

Russo:
What?

Devlin:
You tell Sam I didn't know anything about it.

Russo:
Hey, kid, you okay? We were worried you might of got hurt in that mixup. It's cool, I mean, but you need to tell him face-to-face. He knows it wasn't your fault. We're cool, you and me, right?

Devlin:
Mixup? I understand he had to stop him. But they came for me, too. They've tried to tag me twice now. Two were after me tonight. They left a mess.

Russo:
What are you saying? That's crazy talk. You know, this ain't no conversation for a telephone. Face-to-face only, you know that. I'll meet you. Where you at?

Devlin:
You think I'm stupid, Johnny?

Russo:
Nah, kiddo, you sure ain't. It's cool. I swear. There is no trouble from us. We don't know what's happening. Let me help you.

Devlin:
Help by calling them off.

Russo:
Hey, kid, I don't know what you're talking about. Listen, nobody sent nobody to see you. We have to talk this out.

Devlin:
I will talk only to Sam from now on. Where is he?

Russo:
I'll send somebody for you. I'll come personal. We can't ask him to . . . you know . . .

Devlin:
I'm not crazy enough to walk in there to see him or meet you.

Russo:
Give me a number and I'll have him get back to you.

Devlin:
I'll call you back. You have him near your phone tomorrow afternoon. Anybody takes another run at me, all bets are off, Johnny. I haven't done or said anything, so don't make that change.

Russo:
This is all crazy. We'll fix it if we know what's going on. We would never let nobody—

Devlin:
(interrupting) You sounded really surprised to hear my voice. If what you say is true, why is that?

(called disconnect 22:32:42 hours EST)

Russo:
Aw, flying Christ.

(call terminated 22:32:46 EST)

She handed the transcript back to Hank. Her mind felt like it had been deadened with Novocain.

Hank's glare was icy, his facial muscles tense. “See where the FBI's Organized Crime section was copied on this? Both Director Shapiro and the FBI are naturally curious about this call. I have to admit I'm wondering about it myself.” He slammed the transcript facedown on the table.

Strangely, somewhere beneath the fear, she felt relieved that he finally knew. But it didn't alter anything except perhaps to reinforce his opinion that she hadn't been honest with him in his office. She had been as truthful as she could afford to be. “You want to know what, exactly?” she said calmly.

“We are going to New Orleans because the FBI is going to swap Winter for you.” His tone was suffused with disgust.

Being delivered to the FBI was an unpleasant surprise.

“As part of the deal between Shapiro and the FBI, he has expressly ordered me
not
to interrogate you. I suppose the FBI wants to do that themselves. I reckon they don't want us to know what you are going to tell them, which I doubt you would tell me anyway.”

“Okay, so you can't interrogate me. What would you want to know if you could?”

“I'd start by asking how you, someone I honestly believed was as innocent as the driven snow, would know to call a phone number that's listed to whoever this Palma Hamajama is, to speak to this thug Russo about Sam Manelli and what are obviously the attempts on your life. How do I know you aren't lying about what happened in Richmond?”

“That's all true. Everything I've told you is true.”

“Why didn't you level with me? That means you have lied, if only by omission. You are a threat to Manelli, aren't you?”

“The truth is I'm not a threat to him—he's a threat to me.”

“Obviously Manelli thinks you are. And, had I just been interrogating you, you would not have answered my question truthfully.”

“I'm not responsible for what Sam Manelli believes. I
do
want you to believe me, because I am a total innocent in this. I swear to you—that's the truth.”

Hank glanced down at the papers, then back up. “I don't want you to be blindsided by what is going on. Monday morning I showed Winter evidence the FBI had compiled on the assaults. They had proof that Greg Nations sold Manelli the location of the safe house and the time Dylan was being moved.”

“You think that Greg could have done that?”

“Somebody inside WITSEC gave the operation up to Manelli. Shapiro says the FBI was planning to make the case that Winter was in on it with Greg—still can if they want to.”

“I don't understand. How can they say that?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Hank reached into his bag and took out a bottle of water. He offered it to Sean and, when she declined, opened it and drank half of it. “Shapiro's letter says that Winter's home phone records show that he called Cherry Point and then Norfolk Navy Base yesterday. There's no way to know what he discussed. Those calls were followed by an incoming call from a cell phone registered to the shore patrol at Norfolk. Last night, after seven
P.M.,
there was a call from that same cell phone to Winter's cellular. Shapiro thinks that one was Reed giving him the information that we got by FedEx this morning. Worse still, Reed was shot last night while he was driving his car, a few minutes after his call to Winter. He crashed. Military cops found a dart from a gun in his neck. Witness saw a car chasing his.

“Around ten last night, a man showed up at Winter's house and took him away in a car. Winter told his mother it was official business and that he'd be back in two hours. Lydia called me at six this morning because he hadn't returned, so I called Shapiro.”

“Was that man working for Manelli? Did he take Winter to New Orleans?”

“The FBI found Winter in the basement of a building that blew up in New York early this morning. They took Winter to New Orleans because that's where your friend Mr. Manelli is. The FBI has a large-scale operation in motion, built around you.”

“Around me?”

“The FBI assumes you can get them Manelli, so that is why Shapiro could make a deal to exchange you for Winter. They intended to hang Winter for being in a building filled with explosives and weapons and who knows what. They say the place was being used by the Russian bunch that assaulted Rook Island and wiped out your husband's detail.”

She let that sink in. “I'll do anything I can for Winter. But I can't tell the FBI anything about Sam that will help them.”

“That's between the two of you. This transcript makes it clear to them that you can get close to Manelli, and that's what they're going to insist you do. The A.G. has to make sure Manelli pays for all those dead people. You help him and your problems can vanish.”

She laughed, feeling trapped and desperate. “If I get anywhere near Sam Manelli, or Johnny Russo, I'm dead.”

“I doubt the FBI can afford to let anything happen to you.”

“Do you honestly believe the FBI can protect me from Sam Manelli—in New Orleans? Look at the protection Dylan had.”

Hank shrugged. “Nobody can force you to do anything, but if you help the FBI get Manelli, the attorney general will clear you of the federal and state charges. He gave Shapiro his word on it. If you don't, I expect you'll be prosecuted for Richmond at the very least.”

“Won't the ballistic evidence clear me?”

“Ballistic evidence is open to interpretation and the FBI's experts can testify pretty convincingly. They control the investigation, the media spin, witnesses, the evidence. If Winter is right about fabricated evidence on Greg, there's no telling what they can pin on you. Looks like you're going to have to select from a shortlist of nightmares.”

“They're liars,” she said, feeling overwhelmed and lost.

“World's full of liars.” Hank winked at her. “But I don't entirely believe you're one of them. I figure you're as honest as your circumstances allow you to be.”

All in all, Sean thought that was a fair assessment.