The Brethren

"If it’ll make matters easier, these gentlemen will agree to leave the country for at least two years."

"Why?"

"It might look bad if they return home. Folks will know that they somehow got out early. This can be kept very quiet."

"Did the judge from California pay the taxes he tried to evade?"

"He did:’

"And did the guy from Mississippi repay the money he stole?"

"Yes sir."

All the questions were superficial. He had to ask something.

The last favor had dealt with nuclear spying. The CIA had a report documenting widespread infiltration of Chinese spies in and through virtually all levels of the US. nuclear arms program. The President learned of the report just days before he was scheduled to visit China for a highly touted summit. He asked Teddy to come have lunch, and over the same chicken and pasta he asked that the report be held for a few weeks.Teddy agreed. Later, he wanted the report modified to place more blame on prior administrations. Teddy rewrote it himself. When it was finally released, the President deflected most of the blame.

Chinese spying and national security, versus three obscure ex judges. Teddy knew he would get the pardons.

"If they leave the country, where will they go?" the President asked.

"We’re not sure yet."

The waiter brought coffee. When he was gone, the President asked, "Will this in any way hurt the Vice President?"

And with the same expressionless face, Teddy said, "No. How could it?"

"You tell me. I have no clue what you’re doing."

"There’s nothing to worry about, Mr. President. I’m asking for a small favor. With a little luck, this will not be reported anywhere."

They sipped their coffee and both wanted to leave. The President had a full afternoon with more pleasant matters. Teddy needed a nap. The President was relieved it was such a benign request. Teddy was thinking, If you only knew.

"Give me a few days to do the background," the President said. "These requests are pouring in, as you might guess. Seems everybody wants something now that my days are numbered."

"Your last month here will be your happiest;" Teddy said with a rare grin. "I’ve seen enough Presidents to know"

After forty minutes together, they shook hands and promised to talk in a few days.

There were five ex-lawyers at Trumble, and the newest one was using the library when Argrow entered. Poor guy was up to his elbows in briefs and legal pads, working feverishly, no doubt pursuing his last feeble appeal.

Spicer was rearranging law books and managing to look sufficiently busy. Beech was in the chamber, writing something.Yarber was absent.

Argrow removed a folded sheet of white paper from his pocket, and gave it to Spicer. "I just saw my lawyer," he whispered.

"What is it?" Spicer asked, holding the paper.

"It’s a wire confirmation. Your money is now in Panama."

Spicer looked at the lawyer across the room, but he was oblivious to everything except his legal pad. "Thanks;" he whispered. Argrow left the room, and Spicer took the paper to Beech, who examined it carefully

Their loot was now safely guarded by the First Coast Bank of Panama.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Joe Roy had dropped eight more pounds, was down to ten cigarettes a day and averaging twenty-five miles a week around the track. Argrow found him there, walking and pacing in the late afternoon heat.

"Mr. Spicer, we need to talk," Argrow said.

"Two more laps," Joe Roy said without breaking stride.

Argrow watched him for a few seconds, then jogged fifty yards until he caught up. "Mind if I join?" he asked.

"Not at all."

They went into the first turn, stride for stride. "I just met with my lawyer again,"Argrow said.

"Your brother?" Spicer asked, breathing heavily. His paces were not nearly as graceful as Argrow’s, a man twenty years younger.

"Yes. He’s talked to Aaron Lake."

Spicer stopped as if he’d hit a wall. He glared at Argrow, then looked at something in the distance.

"Like I said, we need to talk."

"I suppose we do," Spicer said.

"I’ll meet you in the law library in half an hour;" Argrow said, and walked away. Spicer watched him until he disappeared.

There was no Jack Argrow, Attorney-at-Law, in the Boca Raton yellow pages, and this initially caused concern. FinnYarber frantically worked the unsecured phone, seeking directory assistance all over South Florida.When he asked for Pompano Beach, the operator said, "One moment, please," and Finn actually smiled. He scribbled down the number, then dialed it. A recorded voice said, "You’ve reached the law offices of Jack Argrow. Mr. Argrow keeps hours by appointment only, so please leave your name and number and a brief description of the real estate you’re interested in, and we’ll get in touch with you." Finn hung up and walked quickly across the lawn to the law library, where his colleagues were waiting.Argrow was already ten minutes late.

A moment before he arrived, the same ex-lawyer entered the room carrying a bulky file, evidently ready to spend hours trying to save himself. To ask him to leave would cause a fight and create suspicion, and besides he wasn’t the type who respected judges anyway. One by one – they retired to the small conference room, where Argrow joined them. The room was cramped when Beech andYarber worked there, writing their letters. With Argrow as the fourth man in, and bringing no small amount of pressure, the room had never felt so crowded. They sat around the small table, each able to reach and touch the other three.

"I know only what I’ve been told," Argrow began.

"My brother is a semiretired lawyer in Boca Raton. He has some money, and for years he’s been active in Republican politics in South Florida.Yesterday he was approached by some people who work for Aaron Lake. They had investigated matters and knew that I was his brother, and that I was here in Trumble along with Mr. Spicer. They made promises, swore him to secrecy, and now he’s sworn me to secrecy. Now that everything is nice and confidential, I think you can connect the dots."

Spicer had not showered. His shirt and face were still wet, but his breathing had slowed. Not the slightest sound from either Beech or Yarber. The Brethren were in a collective trance. Keep going, they said with their eyes.

Argrow looked at the three faces, and pushed onward. He reached into his pocket and removed a sheet of paper, which he unfolded and laid before them. It was a copy of their last letter to Al Konyers, the outing letter, the extortion demand, signed by Joe Roy Spicer, current address of Trumble Federal Prison. They had the words memorized, so there was no need to read it again. They recognized the handwriting, that of poor little Ricky, and they realized that it had now come full circle. From the Brethren to Mr. Lake, from Mr. Lake to Argrow’s brother, from Argrow’s brother back to Trumble, all in thirteen days.

Spicer finally picked it up, and glanced at the words. "I guess you know everything, don’t you?" he asked.

"I don’t know how much I know"

"Tell us what they’ve told you:’

"You’re running a scam, the three of you. You advertise in gay magazines, you develop relationships with older men, by mail, you somehow learn their true identities, then you extort money from them."

"That’s a pretty fair summary of the game;" Beech said.

"And Mr. Lake made the mistake of answering one of your ads. I don’t know when he did this, and I don’t know how you found out who he was. There are some gaps in the plot, as far as I’m concerned."