“A Bahamas bank,” Jake said.
“Yes. He builds the apartments—they are quite nice, I understand—repays his loans, and walks away with a nice profit. A very nice profit. The profit is nice because the Bahamas money is buried in the construction. For the money he supposedly puts into them, the apartments should sell for $450,000. But, because he’s not actually repaying the loans, he’s building $550,000 apartments. Nothing else can compare. And they’re snapped up by retirees who can see the deal they’re getting, but which is invisible on paper. He pays his taxes—no state income tax in Texas, remember—and the money is back in the United States, all legal and tax-paid.”
“But they lose forty percent to the feds.”
“Not really. They actually made some profit on the construction. They came out of it with probably five to six million. And then, with a perfectly good development company, and with some experience and a track record, they started doing real projects. They’ve been making money ever since. The vice president is probably worth fifteen million. Maybe twenty.”
“How did your husband know about all the different parts of the deal?”
“He watched the whole thing get set up. There’s a man named Carson, Ron’s boss, he told Ron to keep his nose out of it. That stuff goes on in any big state project. But Ron knew there’d be trouble sooner or later, and he didn’t want to be the one who went to jail, so he made copies of everything. On the sly. Carson’s still one of the big shots at ITEM. He held Sam Landers’s hand through the first couple of apartment projects. And he kept books, on the computer, you know, and Ron made copies. Those are the DVDs.”
They spent an hour sitting on the front-room couch, looking at paper, loading the DVDs into Jake’s notebook, going through the notes, the records, the bank documents, the real estate titles, and tax documents. Altogether, the package was as devastating as advertised. If true.
“If true,” Jake said.
“Well, Al Green said that the thing is, everything here has a public record behind it. Records that the Landerses can’t dodge,” Levine said. “It’s all visible, but nobody could ever tie it together without inside knowledge.”
Jake looked at his watch. “I gotta get you out of here.”
Now she was nervous again. “What’s going to happen?”
“I think, because of what happened in Madison, that you should take a trip,” Jake said. “Do you have any place that you can go? A friend’s, or a sister’s, that’s away from here? Somebody who doesn’t have the same name?”
“I have a sister in Waukesha.”
“Would she put you up for a few days?”
“I’m sure she would,” Levine said.
“Then you should go. Right now—I’ll wait until you’re ready. Leave me a phone number and I’ll get back to you. I’ve got to talk to some people back in Washington.”
“The president?’
“I don’t actually talk to the president that much,” Jake said. “But I’ll talk to some people and see what can be done. If you’ve been straight with us.”
“I’ve been straight,” Levine said. “I knew it was going to cause trouble, but . . . after they took Ron’s pension away, I have no money. I mean, we had some in Fidelity, but it’s mostly gone now. I need to get a job. I can’t work at Wal-Mart, that’s the only thing I can get here, there aren’t any jobs. I might have to sell my house . . .”
Tears were running down her cheeks; Jake wanted to pat her on the shoulder, but he didn’t know quite how to do it. “Let me get you out of here, and get this package to Washington. We’ll figure something out. This is gonna work for you, one way or another.”
She took forever to get dressed and pack: more than an hour, by Jake’s watch. Jake suggested that she call her sister from outside the house.
“You think I’m bugged?”
“I don’t want to take any chances with anything,” Jake said.
When she was ready, she got her dog, a nervous gray whippet, and Jake helped wedge it into a carrying case and carried it down to the tuck-under garage and put it on the front seat of her car.
He carried three more suitcases down, told Levine to give him a week.
“You’ll hear from me, or from somebody with the federal government, in no more than a week. We have to get experts to evaluate the package—you can understand, this is really, really sensitive stuff.”
Jake also gave her a thousand dollars from his stash. “Personal loan,” he said. “Pay it back when you can.”
He followed her out to the Wal-Mart that she didn’t want to work at, watched as she made the call to her sister, then waved good-bye.
The package was in the back of the SUV. He called Gina again and said, “It’d be really helpful if you could get me a ticket back. From Eau Claire, Madison, Milwaukee, or the Twin Cities.”
“Just sit right where you are,” she said. “We’ve got a plane on the way.”
15
On the way to the Eau Claire airport, Jake stopped at a Kinko’s, spent a half hour making a duplicate of the package, and FedExed it to himself in Washington. His next stop was at an OfficeMax, where he bought a cheap plastic briefcase and stuffed the original copy of the package inside. The plane was due at twelve-fifteen; Madison called promptly at noon.
“I talked to the FBI this morning. Your friend Novatny. I didn’t tell them that Howard killed Linc. I was afraid to,” she said. “Although, I think they know. I gave them some names, including Howard Barber’s. I called Howard from a pay phone after I talked to you last night, and told him that the FBI doesn’t know about the package.”
“Okay. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’ve been thinking about it,” Jake said. “Can you come to my place tonight? Bring an overnight bag? I’ve got a guest room.”
“Well . . . Why?”
“I don’t want you staying at your house, alone, but I need you in Washington,” Jake said. “I’d rather explain it to you face-to-face. Try to settle this.”
“Then I’ll do it. What time?”
“I ought to be there by seven or eight. Say, eight o’clock. If I can’t make it, I’ll call you,” Jake said. “Madison: don’t talk about anything sensitive in your living room. Don’t use that phone in the hallway, by the kitchen. Just don’t.”
“You think? I’m bugged?”
“It’s a definite possibility. Keep people around you, don’t get isolated. If you call me, call from a pay phone. When you come tonight, just bump up to the back gate, the way you did last time, and I’ll let you in.”
The jet was assigned to the Department of Homeland Security. It wasn’t fancy, but the turnaround was quick. Jake spent the air time reviewing the package, putting together a presentation. Every once in a while, he’d look out at the countryside below: most of the time, he saw the eyes of Green’s blond secretary.
They flew into National at four o’clock in the afternoon and taxied down to a government hangar. Jake found a driver, from the White House motor pool, waiting on the tarmac, and followed him out to a nondescript Daimler station wagon that smelled of onions and motor oil. He walked into the Blue Room a half hour after the plane touched down.
A navy lieutenant was waiting to escort him up to Danzig’s office. Inside, Gina waved him through.
Danzig was standing beside his desk with his hands in his pockets. He looked like he’d been doing nothing but waiting.
“Did you get it?” Danzig was usually intense; now he was actually vibrating.
Jake nodded, dropped into a chair, his briefcase on his lap. Tired. Stress beginning to bite at him. “The only question is whether it’s real. I’m almost sure it is. I think research will prove it. But I’ve gotten tangled up in a murder investigation, and to tell you the truth, my statement to the FBI and the Madison cops wasn’t exactly complete.”