“Do you think your mother and Carter Emerson will cooperate?” Kohl asked.
“For immunity, yes,” Wilson said, just as Carter and he had discussed.
“That can be arranged,” Kohl said, without even a hint of hesitation.
It had probably been pre-approved, Wilson thought to himself. It was almost as if she’d been working on the case for months. The surprise on his face must have been apparent.
Kohl continued. “We’ve known about Tate and Kamin for a couple of weeks. David Quinn blew the whistle on them. Arrest warrants and subpoenas had already been issued when Quinn died, and our case along with him. We’re still not sure his death was a suicide. His wife’s death is also in question,” Kohl said. Then she added, “Wasn’t he a client of yours?”
“Yes,” Wilson said as he sat back on the sofa, reflecting on David Quinn and his resistance to breaking up the J. B. Musselman Company. “He didn’t want to listen to us. He was too sure of himself. I’m not surprised that Tate got to him. Desperation seems to open the door to manipulation.”
“His disclosures have allowed us to mobilize resources faster than usual,” Kohl returned.
Wilson nodded at the strange irony before turning his attention back to his family. “My mother has been out of the loop for several years and I would like to keep it that way,” Wilson said, feeling new empathy for her.
Kohl and Johns exchanged looks to confirm their agreement. Again, it was Kohl who responded, “We will honor that request as long as Mr. Emerson is willing to cooperate fully.”
“He will,” Wilson said.
“How soon can we see him?” Kohl asked.
“As soon as the immunity guarantees for Carter and my mother are in place,” Wilson said.
“We can have the necessary assurances in writing by mid-morning tomorrow,” Kohl said.
“You’re welcome to call Carter from here if you’d like, the phones at both ends are clean,” Wilson said, glancing at Hap to confirm.
Hap nodded, “All signs of surveillance have disappeared. They appear to have backed off completely, at least for the moment. My guess is it’s an attempt to make Wilson feel more comfortable.”
“We’d like you to arrange it,” Kohl said, her blue green eyes drilling Wilson.
“Why?” Wilson asked.
“We also want assurances,” Kohl said, hesitating for a moment. “It might be good to advise him of that before we make contact.”
“What sort of assurances?” Hap asked, surprised.
Kohl sat back on the black sofa and waited a moment. It was clear that this was her turf. She began calmly. “Full cooperation. Names, files, recorded conversations, testimony, and entrapment, if we request it. And of course, an ongoing commitment.”
“Commitment?” Wilson said, eyebrows raised.
“Commitment that he will in no way use his knowledge of manipulating capital markets in this country or elsewhere in the world at anytime in the future.”
Wilson eased back into the sofa, debating whether to probe further or simply agree to call Carter. “Are you more concerned about the cooperation or the abstinence?” Wilson asked.
This time Johns responded, “Any individual capable of such abuses could do it again, without anyone knowing.”
“The whole point of their ten-year gambit was to make sure this sort of abuse never happened again,” Wilson said with an unexpected flare of emotion.
“We only want assurances, Wilson. Sometimes people change when their circumstances change,” Kohl responded.
Wilson picked up the phone from the table and called Carter, who picked up on the first ring as if he’d been waiting by the phone. Wilson informed him of the FBI’s demands and their plan to deliver immunity guarantees by mid-morning to his office on campus.
“This is a little earlier than expected, but I’ll be ready for them,” Carter said calmly.
“Any concerns?” Wilson asked, surprised by Carter’s calm. Was this exactly what Carter expected me to do? Wilson reminded himself that Carter had been preparing for this moment for years.
“None,” Carter said.
“Anything else?” Wilson asked, sensing that Carter had something else he wanted to say.
“So what was it that finally convinced you that the government wouldn’t botch this?”
“Reading your eight volumes of history,” Wilson said without hesitation.
“For what it’s worth, they would have convinced me too, had I been in your shoes,” Carter said. “What about Emily?”
“If we don’t find her by tomorrow afternoon, the FBI will put the stranglehold on Tate, Swatling, Kamin, and Malouf,” Wilson said, glancing at Hap and then at Kohl and Johns. All of them were nodding their agreement.
After Wilson hung up the phone, the FBI bosses stood up and began walking to the door. Kohl reassured Wilson that he’d done the right thing by bringing them in. “The FBI won’t disappoint you, Wilson,” she said.
Her eyes communicated more than her words, Wilson thought. Apparently Hap had told them about his earlier misgivings. But now he felt relieved the FBI was involved-Kohl seemed to be signaling that rescuing Emily was her first priority. “I believe you,” Wilson said.
As Kohl and Johns turned to leave, Hap reiterated his concern about leaks, reminding them of the partnership’s track record of surveillance and manipulation.
Kohl assured him that the FBI would be taking every precaution possible. Her next statement had the ring of a declaration of war: “The FBI will not allow this sort of financial tyranny to manipulate the American people ever again.” Wilson noted that even Johns seemed surprised by her barely masked passion. Hope does spring eternal, he thought.
51
Emily — Teterboro Airport, NJ
She could smell them before they touched her. Two sweaty men with strong hands and arms quickly removed the bands from Emily’s legs and arms, lifting her from the cot. Her blood ran cold. When they began to slowly rub their hands along her body, she recoiled in disgust. Enraged. Now is not the time to fight, she told herself, although it may come to that, especially if they’re moving me.
The two men hurriedly escorted Emily into what seemed like the same truck as before. Once again she was forced to lie on the hard bench where she was strapped down.
“Don’t be frightened. We’re just moving you to another location,” the woman’s automated voice said into her earphones.
Oh God, Emily said to herself. If I leave Teterboro Airport, Wilson will never find me. She quickly turned her panic to resolve. No more fear. It had been pure luck or providence that she’d found the folded matchbook wedged between the floor and the toilet. She couldn’t let it be for naught. As she racked her brain for a way to let Wilson know, she felt the needle enter her arm.
The truck began to move. She didn’t have much time before the unconsciousness set it. It’s now or never, she said to herself. Emily began to convulse violently. Using every bit of her strength and determination, she twisted and turned her body like a trapped snake. When she started slamming her head up and down against the metal bench with saliva drooling out of her mouth, the truck finally stopped. Within seconds, she could feel the agitated commotion around her. Then came the crushing blow to her face. Pain surged through her head and neck before she lost consciousness.
From the moment the two in-flight service trucks stopped on the tarmac access road, three of Hap’s operatives trained their night vision scopes on their every movement. Two men from the cab of the second truck hurried to the back of the lead truck and lifted the roll-up door. Before the door closed, Hap’s men identified the woman struggling on the bench as Emily.
“It’s her!” one of the operatives whispered urgently into the microphone.
“Got it,” Driggs said calmly as he studied the monitor receiving video feeds from each man’s scope. “Tag it. Twice,” he said.