Tarnished Image (22 page)

“Yes.” Calvin said flatly. “It’s not beyond reason to think that David’s office is bugged with listening devices. I’ve arranged to have the office swept while we meet.”

“Swept?” Kristen said.

David answered. “Calvin has asked a private security firm he knows to do an electronic sweep of my office, your office, my apartment, and a few other areas to see if there are any electronic bugs.”

“How do we know that Mr. Barringston’s office doesn’t have listening devices?” Kristen said.

“We don’t,” Calvin replied. “I’m playing the odds. He or she or they, whoever it is, can’t bug the whole building. Of course there are other ways.”

“Such as?” Barringston asked.

“In rooms like this with large windows nearby, an experienced operative can, using a special electronic device, listen to our conversation through the window. The glass vibrates with each word spoken. That vibration carries our words.”

“That’s why you insisted on having music playing?” Barringston said as he looked at the portable boom box near the floor-to-ceiling window in his office. The speakers of the radio were directed at the window. It was playing Beethoven’s sixth symphony.

“Yes,” Calvin answered. “Even the White House, in certain rooms, pipes music at the windows. The window then vibrates to the music and not to the voices inside.”

“Well, there’s one good thing about these pictures,” Kristen said. “It sure proves David’s innocence.”

“Not in the eyes of the law,” Calvin said. “We still have a long way to go on that. I took the actual photos to the FBI this morning and had a talk with Agent Hall. He wasn’t impressed, but he agreed to send them to the lab. I even got him to put a rush on it. I’ve also notified the local police, but there’s not much they can do at the moment.”

“Does Agent Hall really think I manufactured the photos?” David was incredulous.

“He didn’t say as much, but I suspect that’s his thinking.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To throw suspicion off yourself,” Calvin answered flatly. “He doesn’t like you. He’s not all that crazy about me either. He thinks I sold out the bureau when I left to practice law.”

“So what do we do now?” Barringston asked.

“Let’s talk security,” Calvin said, opening a brown file folder and setting it on the edge of Barringston’s desk. “Kristen,
I think it’s best for you and Timmy to remain in this building as much as possible. Also, we need to bolster the security in the building, especially on Barringston Relief floors. Can you limit the people who go up to your floors?”

David nodded. “Our employees use a special set of elevators. Right now they operate like any other elevators. They are equipped to read magnetic cards. The cards carry a code that takes the employee to his floor, but they can be bypassed by pressing the floor button. That’s so workers can go between floors and also so delivery people can have access to the offices.”

“Delivery people like the person who delivered the tape to Kristen?” Calvin asked.

“Yes,” David felt a wave of fear wash over him. The thought that someone could walk into Kristen’s office at any time stunned him. “However, we can set the elevators so that only those with cards can use them.”

“Do that,” Calvin said. “Anyone else should be escorted by security. We should hire a security firm to augment the small force you have now. How much training does the building security have?”

“Not much,” Barringston admitted. “Mostly they’re retired men who keep an eye on things and report any trouble to the police.”

“We need more than that,” Calvin said. “I know a good local firm. They do a lot of work for the defense and aerospace industry. They can have a bonded and trained crew here within a day.”

“Do you think it’s really that bad?” Kristen asked.

“I doubt you’re in any real danger at the moment, but harming you could be part of a backup plan. I just don’t think we should be taking chances.”

“Backup plan?” Kristen repeated.

“I think the goal is to discredit David, not to harm you or Timmy. Whoever is doing this wants to influence David. That’s the meaning of the note’s
Be careful what you say.
The photos and note arrived shortly after the decision to hold a news conference. That’s the second part of the note,
Confession is good for the soul.
They want David to confess at the news conference.”

“But why?” Barringston asked. “What’s the point?”

“Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it?” Calvin responded. “David, right after your arrest I asked you to think about who might want to frame you. Have you done that?”

David shook his head, “I’ve tried, but I can’t come up with anyone who would go to such lengths to hurt me. There are a few people in foreign countries that object to our work, but none are capable of doing this. At least, none that I can think of.”

“Someone has motive and means.” Calvin turned to his notes. “I’ve been reviewing the charges against you, David. They fall into two categories: embezzling and smuggling aliens into the country. The embezzling will fall by the wayside when the Justice Department does an audit of the books. I doubt that our mystery person could arrange for Barringston Relief monies to be transferred to an offshore bank. Not unless they had someone on the inside—something we can’t discount—or electronic access to your accounts.

“The thing that bothers me is the alien connection. They’re saying that you arranged for the smuggling of foreign nationals from …” Calvin looked at his notes. “From Honduras, Guatemala, and Belize.”

“What bothers you?” David asked.

“Guatemala and Belize border Mexico. Wouldn’t it have been easier to cross Mexico on land and cross the border into Texas, New Mexico, or Arizona? Why offload them in San Diego? The odds of being caught doing that are very high.”

“People are smuggled in by ship all the time,” David said. “Thousands of Chinese come to this country illegally each year.”

“But that makes sense, doesn’t it?” Calvin said. “How else would an Asian get to the United States except by ship or air. A ship from Central America could make much shorter trips to Texas, Florida, and other states. Why sail through the Panama Canal and up the Pacific to offload in a highly supervised port like San Diego?”

“Perhaps that was the ship’s scheduled port of call.” Barringston said. “Maybe it was expected to be there and the immigrants were just a side—I hate to say it this way—cargo.”

“I suppose,” Calvin agreed, “but why Belize? How many illegal immigrants come from Belize?”

“I don’t know,” David said. “But that may be the connection. I just returned from Belize a week ago.”

“You did?” Calvin said with surprise.

“Yes. We have a couple of medical clinics in the country. Every month or so, I take a trip to see our field workers. There’s a troublesome disease down there. Our doctors are not only providing medical help to those in the outlying areas, but are doing field research.”

“What kind of disease?” Calvin asked as he took notes.

“Dengue hemorrhagic fever,” David answered. “It’s a nasty disease. DHF is not unusual there or in any tropical or subtropical area. But this version of the disease is resistant to treatment, incubates faster, and has a higher mortality rate.”

“I wonder if that’s the connection,” Kristen asked.

“If so, I don’t see it,” David said. “The only connection is that I was in Belize and that some of the aliens on the ship are from there.”

“What about the disease?” Calvin said. “Could the people framing you have something to do with that?”

“I don’t see how,” David responded. “How does anyone benefit from DHF? I think we’re stretching here.”

“Perhaps.” Calvin rubbed his chin.

“Someone sees a connection,” Barringston said. “Whatever it is, they take it seriously. The photos are proof of that. Whoever sent them is crazy.”

“Crazy like a fox,” Calvin rebutted. “I did some checking on those quotes. A reference book on quotations was all I needed. I was right about the one on Timmy’s photo, the one that read ‘To die will be an awfully big adventure.’ It’s from Barrie’s
Peter Pan.
Act three, to be specific. The other quote—‘Let us go in; the fog is rising’—took me a little longer. Those are reputedly the last words of Emily Dickinson. The words she spoke before she died.”

“I don’t get it,” Kristen admitted.

Calvin looked at her and then the others. “Whoever sent those pictures has a fixation with death. That should make us all very uncomfortable.”

David’s stomach tightened as the elevator began its descent from his fifty-third-floor office to the lobby. It wasn’t the dropping motion that caused the discomfort but the thirty reporters who waited for him in the lobby.

The news conference had been called for two o’clock. It was now ten minutes past that time. David knew that his
being late would not improve his image, but he had wanted to review his notes one more time.

The gathering was taking place in the lobby, which was spacious enough to accommodate up to one hundred people. The lobby was the choice of Calvin, who had been concerned about security. “Anyone can forge a press pass,” he had said. Calvin had also insisted that Kristen, who was responsible for media relations, not go down to the lobby. She chose to go anyway, making it clear that a couple of photos were not going to intimidate her from doing her job.

The elevator doors parted. David took a deep breath. With posture erect, he strode into the lobby like a man without a single care to trouble him. A wood lectern had been placed in the corner of the lobby. It faced out to the fan-shaped seating area of folding chairs filled with reporters. As he walked toward the lectern, Kristen stepped behind the wood stand. David stopped and waited.

“Hey, mister,” a young boy’s voice said. David felt a tug at his suit coat. Looking down, he saw a boy about eight years old wearing a San Diego Padres baseball cap and a dirty shirt. “Hey, mister,” the boy said again. He was holding a brown paper folder.

David smiled and said softly, “What is, son? This is kind of a bad time for me.”

“A man wanted me to give ya this,” the boy said, lowering his voice and holding up the folder. “He gave me twenty bucks to give it to ya. He said he’d give me twenty more if you would open it right now. I need the money, mister. I got a sick mom. Will ya open it? Please? It means a lot to me. Please. I need the other twenty.”

The boy’s voice rose with each plea. Several of the reporters turned to face him.

“OK, son, OK. Just settle down.” David took the folder.

“Go on, open it so I can get my money.”

David glanced around the lobby. He saw only bewildered reporters and a concerned Kristen. He flashed them all a smile and raised his index finger to indicate that he needed a minute.

“All right, son,” David said. “Let’s see what you have here.” The envelope was not sealed. No sooner had he reached in than he knew it was another photo. He could feel its smooth surface and the weight of the paper. His heart sank. Slowly he extracted the picture. Its image made his stomach flip, his heart pound like a kettle drum. David felt the color leave his face and his mouth go dry. Quickly, he slipped the photo back in the folder.

“What’s your name—” David began, but the boy was gone. David turned to Kristen and nodded. He knew her well enough to know that she sensed his distress.

“Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen,” Kristen began drawing the attention of the reporters back to herself. “We appreciate your interest. I know you are busy people, so allow me to introduce to you the head of Barringston Relief, Dr. David O’Neal.”

Kristen stepped away as David took her spot behind the lectern. He set his notes down and took a moment to look at the gathering before him. Men and women sat in metal chairs, many with notepads, many more with small tape recorders held out at arm’s length. At the back of the group were several men with video cameras mounted on tripods. As soon as David looked up, the lights from the video crew blazed on, bathing him in bright, stark white. David could hear the clicking and clacking of camera shutters as they added bursts of light from their strobes to the already overilluminated scene.

The new photo blazed in his mind, demanding attention.

David paused to allow photos to be taken and the video cameras to be adjusted. Then he spoke.

“I wish to add my thanks to that of our public relations officer, Ms. LaCroix. You folks have certainly kept her busy over the last couple of days. I may have to bill your organizations for her overtime.” A light laughter emanated from the crowd.

David wondered what to do. The purpose of the photo was clear. There was no cryptic message this time. Just one line:
Confess or else.

David looked up at the waiting crowd of reporters. Each had fixed his attention on him. He had to say something, but his next words could spell the difference between life and death. The future, his and that of others, was counterbalanced by his next comments.

He tried to weigh the pros and cons, analyze in seconds the potential effects of his next action. His senses became acute. He could hear every foot shuffle on the floor, every note page turned. His heart thundered with explosive beats. His throat seemed to be closing, constricting. He could feel the blood rush through his veins like water through a high-pressure hose.