Now it was Justin’s turn to look shocked. “You’ve known this?”
“Not all of it, not by any means. I’m extraordinarily impressed with some of the things you’ve come up with, because my team and I have been working on this from the very beginning and you got things we didn’t. You also took them a hell of a lot farther than we’ve been able to. And you’ve filled in some gaps, clarified some motives, certain actions. Just so you know, I’m not convinced that President Anderson knows anything about this. And you haven’t given me any new facts to convince me that he does. I think he’s been manipulated and lied to. But I am damn sorry to say I’ve had a very quiet investigation going on to look into the vice president. Jesus, it makes me sick to even say that out loud.”
“I understand that,” Justin said.
“I don’t know if you can. I’m close to Phil Dandridge. In many ways, he was my mentor. But the things we’ve uncovered are not so far off from the story you presented. I believe you.”
“And Stuller?”
“We’ve been closing in on Jeff, too.” Ackland started to say more. Seemed to be unable to speak, so he just shook his head from side to side. “My problem now,” he finally said, “is that I feel a little bit like I’m in the middle of the Caine Mutiny. I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know who I can go to who’s above me and I don’t know who I can go to who’s below me. You’re saying even top FBI agents are involved in this.”
“Working under Stuller’s orders. I suppose it’s hard to turn down an order from the attorney general.”
“I’ve even fed Stuller information. When I began investigating. Before I began to suspect that he was involved.” Ackland rubbed his eyes. “Are you sure about Hubbell Schrader?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve worked with Hubbell. I’ve worked with Hubbell on this case. He’s been privy to. . Goddammit.” Again, Ackland didn’t seem to know what to say. He began pacing again. When he stopped, he said, “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen when this becomes public?”
“Some.”
“But you don’t care.”
“No, I don’t,” Justin said.
“I don’t either,” Ted Ackland said. “Not anymore. Wanda said you’d have something specific in mind. I don’t mind saying that I will gladly take any suggestions you’d like to give.”
“Mudhi al Rahman,” Justin said. “I want to pick him up.”
“Pick him up, hell,” Ackland said. “I want to kill the son of a bitch.”
“And I’ll help you pull the switch. But not yet. For one thing, he might be the only witness we can find out of this thing. If they move him out of the country-”
“-we’ll lose our proof. Do you know that he’s still here?”
“No, I don’t. It’s just my hunch.”
“Can you get him?”
“If he’s still here, I can get him.”
Ackland poured himself one more stiff scotch, took a healthy swig. “Wanda Chinkle says you’re a hell of a cop.”
“I’m glad she thinks so.”
“Tough guy, huh?”
“Not that tough.”
“Just tough enough?”
Justin nodded. “As tough as I have to be.”
“You know,” Ackland said, and Justin thought the scotch was beginning to get to him. “I’ve spent a lifetime in law enforcement. I was a pretty tough guy, too. But I knew how to put a good face on it. I tried to be fair. Tried to see different points of view. It’s how I got to the position I’m in.” He started to put the glass to his lips again, thought better of it, and put it down on the glass coffee table in front of the couch. “You know Phil Dandridge put me in the mix to be on his ticket.”
“I’ve read that.”
“Not bad for a cop from Wisconsin.”
“No, sir. Not too bad.”
“I guess I can forget it now, can’t I?”
“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”
Ackland picked up his glass again, took one more drink. “What the hell,” he said. “How about we both show how tough we are. How about you do your job and I’ll do mine.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Justin said.
He turned and left the assistant attorney general of the United States. Before Justin walked out of the room, he glanced back to see Ted Ackland staring out the hotel window, looking lost and confused and a little bit desperate.
Justin didn’t blame him one damn bit.
35
The mansions on Gin Lane in Southampton reminded Justin of his childhood in Rhode Island. The rich people in Newport, where his parents had a second home, lived like this. On a different, almost unimaginable scale. In a pristine location. Isolated. Unaware that outside their gates and away from their manicured lawns, the real world was lying in wait.
Justin felt very much a part of the real world right now.
And he’d never been quite so anxious to bring this reality behind those electric gates.
It was eleven-thirty at night. He was on foot, walking beside Reggie. They’d driven separately; Justin had her meet him two blocks from the house they were now heading toward. He’d told her to just park on the grass shoulder of the road and wait for him. As he drove the last few miles into Southampton, he’d noticed a car that had been behind him for several turns. He made a point of going past his destination, taking a winding road that led into the local college. That campus was a flat expanse, and as soon as he made the turn he accelerated, heading straight south to the Old Montauk Highway. He crossed over, hit eighty on the speedometer, made a quick left turn, and waited. If anyone had followed him, he’d gotten clear. He forced himself to sit for another three minutes, then wended his way back to his original destination. There were no headlights behind him. It had probably been nothing, but Justin was not in the mood to take chances.
He and Reggie walked past the golf hole that Justin had been told about. It was a respectable par three that led straight to the ocean.
“Isn’t there a lot of security for these houses?” Reggie whispered.
“Sure,” Justin said.
“So do we have a plan to get into this guy’s place?”
“We do.”
“What, we just walk in the front door?”
“The back door,” he said.
They were at the house.
“Follow me,” Justin told her. He didn’t turn at the front gate that was meant to keep out cars, instead kept around the block toward a side entrance of the house. Running along that side of the property was a low brick wall, just three or four feet high. He pulled himself up to the top of the wall, reached down to give her his hand. She waved him away and easily pulled herself up beside him. A quick hop down and they were both in the vast manicured yard that belonged to Mishari al Rahman.
“Can’t be this easy,” she muttered.
“Getting into these places isn’t usually all that hard,” he said. “It’s getting out. If you can’t get a car up the driveway it’s difficult to carry out anything too large. So they mostly care about guarding the driveway. Besides, there’s a state-of-the-art alarm system. Anyone goes in the house the police are here in about three minutes.”
“And you’re brilliant enough to know how to disable the alarm?”
“Already been disabled. Didn’t take brilliance. Just took a call to the Southampton police and the security company that installed it.”
“So we can just waltz right in?”
“Pretty much,” he said. “But I’d pull your gun now. In case our guy’s not in a real dancing mood.”
Although guns were not standard issue for the East End PD, Reggie had a registered firearm. She had told him she was not a bad marksman, which was the main reason he’d called her instead of one of the kiddie cops populating the East End station. She told him she’d never fired the gun in real-life action but she was good on the range. He figured it was the best he was going to do. They both had their pistols in their hands when they reached the back door. He turned the knob, but the door was locked.