Ultimate Betrayal (29 page)

Dundee closed the drawer and moved to the office door. He pushed the locking button in the inside door knob, shut the door, and left. Instead of exiting through the lobby, he walked to the end of the hall, went through the emergency exit door, and descended the stairs to the street.

Outside, in a Jeep Cherokee double-parked sixty feet from the hotel entrance, Dundee’s friend and client, Leo Brill, waited with Sol Lesser, an audio/visual and computer expert. Dundee walked down the sidewalk, slipped between two parked limousines, and moved to the passenger side of the vehicle. He tossed the flash drive into Brill’s lap through the open window. Then Dundee passed by the nose of the Jeep and hailed a cab. He ordered the cabbie to take him to the parking garage where he’d left his own car. His back hurt. He would go home, chase a Percocet with a glass of scotch, and try to sleep.

CHAPTER 46

“
Guten Morgen, Banque Securite Swisse
,” a woman said. “
Kann ich ihnen helfen?
”

“
Kann ich Herr Muther sprechen?
” David asked. “
Hier ist
David Hood.”

“
Ein moment, bitte
.”

“David, where are you,” Willy Muther asked with enthusiasm a moment later. “Are you here in Zurich?”

“No, Willy. I’m in New York. How are Inge and the children?”

“Great! Great! Everyone’s fine! How’s your family?”

“Everyone’s fine here, Willy,” David lied. “I need your help and need you to trust me.”

“David, we’ve done a lot of business together. When your company uncovered the embezzlement at my bank, you probably saved us tens of millions of
francs
. Besides, we’ve been friends for years. What can I do for you?”

“Willy, I’ve got a list in front of me with dates and amounts of large deposits made to an account in your bank back in 2003 and 2004. What I don’t have is the account owner’s name.”

Willy coughed. “Listen, David. Our banking laws are strict for a reason. We don’t give out that kind of information to a private citizen—even if he is a friend. You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble for breaking the law?”

“No, Willy, I wouldn’t,” David said. “But if what I suspect is true, every dollar in that account is drug money. If that’s the case, your bank could be in real trouble.”

Willy groaned. “
Gott in Himmel
!”

David waited.

“Give me the account number and a telephone number where I can reach you. I won’t promise to give you the name on the account, but I promise I’ll call you back before the end of the day.”

“It’s Joey calling from New York.”

It took Bobby Galupo a couple seconds to figure out which “Joey from New York” might be calling him. When he suspected it was Joey Cataldo, he said, “Hey, Joey,
come va?
”

“
Bene, e tu?
”

“
Bene
! Listen, I got to ask a big favor. You know that old friend of ours who’s got the market down your way?”

Gino! Bobby Galupo had heard the news on television about Gino’s heart attack. “Yeah, of course. How’s our friend?”

“Pretty damn good,” Cataldo answered. “It looks like he’ll recover. But our friend needs your help. You think you could send a car up here with a couple of your boys. Our friend’s driver tells me you got a guest down there who I need to meet. Maybe you could have your boys escort this guest of yours to my place.”

CHAPTER 47

Leo Brill and Sol Lesser drove to the Cataldo estate. They unloaded a heap of gear from Leo’s Jeep Cherokee and carried it to the mansion’s media room, a thirty-foot by forty-foot windowless enclosure equipped with multiple computers, two large screen televisions, a movie screen and projector, DVD players, and various stereo equipment.

Cataldo ordered Cyril to find David and Peter and their three cop friends and bring them to the media room. Then he picked up his desk phone and called his man Vince and told him, “You and Sylvio bring Manny Segal to the media room. I’ll meet you there.” Cataldo stood up, adjusted his tie, and walked down the hall.

Vince and Sylvio, with Segal in tow, arrived at the room as Cataldo got there. The others were already seated in plush theater seats. A chair sat in the middle of the stage, with a movie screen behind it.

“Put Segal in that chair,” Cataldo ordered.

Vince and Sylvio dragged Segal onto the stage and pushed him into the chair. The assassin appeared to have lost all of his poise, all of his arrogance. One of his eyes was badly swollen. He could barely sit straight in the chair. And he looked scared to death.

Cataldo walked onto the stage and put his hand on Segal’s shoulder. “Hey, all you gotta do is tell the truth. You do that and you can walk outta here. You can go enjoy all the money you got put away.”

Cataldo’s touch, his words, seemed to have a magical effect on Segal. He asked for a glass of water and, after he took a couple of swallows, said, “Okay, guys, let’s get this over with.”

The Manny Segal Show was exactly what Cataldo wanted. The little killer’s words were chilling—made even worse by Segal’s penchant for detail and almost gleeful delivery. When added with David Hood and Dennis O’Neil’s earlier recorded comments, Manny Segal’s testimony became a part of a plan to ruin Rolf Bishop.

Cataldo whispered to Vince, who left the room. Everyone in the room seemed exhausted. Segal had literally taken their breath away. All eyes were on Cataldo, the director of this film extravaganza, who just sat in his chair and ignored the others, one hand stuck in his pants pocket, a cigar in his other hand. He didn’t move until the theater door opened and Vince returned. He nodded at Cataldo and took a seat behind his boss.

The sounds of footsteps came from the hallway. Then three men entered. Peter recognized two of the men: They were part of the armed Galupo crew that hid in his home and captured the guy who came to kill David. Then he muttered, “Oh my God!” when he realized the third man with the two Galupo soldiers was that same assassin. His face was badly bruised and his eyes swollen nearly shut. The big man glanced around furtively. He appeared spiritless and scared witless.

Cataldo announced, “I’d like you all to meet Montrose Toney, the next star of our production.” Cataldo chuckled.

By the time videographer Sol Lesser’s work was finished with Montrose Toney, it was nearly 6 p.m. He’d been at it for almost eight hours and had been rewarded with eyestrain and a killer headache. He handed Joey Cataldo six flash drives, including the original taken from The Plaza Hotel.

“When will the others be ready?” Cataldo asked Lesser.

“By noon tomorrow.”

Cataldo handed him a stuffed zippered leather folio. “Don’t spend it all in one place.” He clapped him on the back.

Cataldo gathered David, Peter, the two cops, Paulie Rizzo, and Leo Brill again in the media room. “Not a bad day’s work,” he said. “I don’t need to tell you what we got here. The video on this drive will raise holy hell. Leo, you take the original flash drive and have your private-eye friend put it back in the hotel office.” Brill immediately left the room with the original flash drive.

Cataldo gave copies of the drive to O’Neil and Ramsey. “If I’m right about what will happen,” Cataldo said, “these drives could be very helpful for you in court—if it comes to that. Remember, you agreed you wouldn’t tell anyone about my involvement in this. If you are asked where you got that flash drive, you’ll say, ‘Someone sent it to me anonymously.’ ” He handed another flash drive to David. “I don’t know if you really want a copy. It’s full of sadness and bad memories.” He shrugged and then turned to Paulie Rizzo. “Paulie, this copy is for Don Bartolucci. Twenty-four hours from now this will all be over as far as I’m concerned. I had nothing to do with any of this and I expect each and every one of you to honor that. Nothing personal, but I don’t expect or want to ever see any of you guys again. I took risks here that could ruin me. I did it out of respect for Don Bartolucci. If I’m ever drawn into the aftermath of this, I will have the person responsible hunted down. Do you understand?”

They all nodded.

“Good,” he said. “It’s been fun. Oh, one other thing. You don’t show those videos to anyone for twenty-four hours.” With that, Cataldo walked out of the room, a smile on his face.

APRIL 28

CHAPTER 48

At a few minutes past 1:00 a.m., Leo Brill met Scott Dundee on the fourth level of a parking garage on Lexington Avenue. Dundee got out of his car and into Brill’s Jeep Cherokee.

“Hey, Scott,” Brill said, “sorry about being so late.”

“I understand,” Dundee replied. “It wouldn’t have been a big deal if my damned back didn’t hurt so bad.”

Brill could tell from the strained look and sweat on Dundee’s face the man was in terrible pain. “Didn’t you take your medicine?” he asked.

“Shit, yes, I took my medicine. If I take any more of those pills I’ll be a zombie. They just don’t ease the pain much anymore.”

“You gonna be able to finish this job?”

“I ain’t ever walked away from an assignment before, and I ain’t about to begin now. Give me that flash drive.”

Despite the late hour, there was still plenty of activity outside The Plaza. Several couples in evening attire climbed into limousines, and dozens more were queued up. Horse-drawn carriages discharged late-night revelers.

A dozen solid-black Suburbans with heavily tinted windows were parked along the curb near the hotel entrance.

“See all those SUV’s?” Dundee said. “They’re Secret Service. With the President and all those foreign guys here, the place is probably infested with Feds. Getting in there is gonna to be trickier than it was earlier, when all the big shots were down at the UN. We gotta tweak the plan a little bit. The offices on the Mezzanine should be closed down. But the lobby will be packed.”

Brill glanced over at Dundee. “What are you thinking, Scottie? I don’t want this thing screwed up. You know what Cataldo will do to me if we mess up.”

“I know, Leo, I know. Drive around the block. Let me think about it.”

Brill found a parking space on 60
th
Street, about three blocks from The Plaza. He and Dundee walked back to the hotel. The walk took a toll on Dundee. The pain in his back had escalated and now radiated down his left leg. He couldn’t fully extend either of his legs, and his normal stride had devolved into little more than a shuffle. It took them twenty minutes to reach the hotel and by the time they climbed the stairs into the lobby, Dundee sweated as though he’d just run the New York Marathon. He grabbed Brill’s arm and guided him toward the bar off the lobby. Dundee chose a table in the darkest part of the room and waved for the cocktail waitress after he slowly eased into a chair.

The waitress came over. Before they could place an order, she said, “This is last call, gentlemen. By all rights the bar should have closed an hour ago, but these government guys do like their toddies.” She looked at Dundee more carefully and added, “You look like you could really use a drink.”

“You got that right, ma’am,” Dundee said. “Bring us a couple double bourbons.”

While the waitress walked away, Dundee looked around the lounge and out into the lobby. The place was packed with Feds—dark suits, military haircuts, ear buds, and lapel pin transmitters. “There must be two dozen agents in this place, Leo.”

“What the hell are we doing in here then?” Brill whispered. His eyes darted around like he was a rabbit surrounded by coyotes.

Dundee laughed and downed half his drink. “I’ll be right back.”

It took considerable effort for Dundee to get up from his chair. He whispered to Brill, who nervously drummed his fingers on the table, “Try to relax. You look worse than I feel.”

Dundee shuffled out of the bar and over to the front desk on the opposite side of the lobby. There was one clerk on duty, a fussy, thirty-something guy with light-brown hair highlighted with blond streaks. He ignored Dundee for several seconds while he typed at a keyboard. When he raised his head to acknowledge Dundee, the clerk wore an officious look he had no doubt perfected on the job at The Plaza. Dundee pulled out his old New York Detective’s gold shield and stuck it under the clerk’s nose.

“I’m with the security detail covering the G-8 conference,” he told the clerk. “I’ve just been instructed to check out a possible security breach. We just received a report someone entered the emergency stairwell on the fourth floor and may have gone down to the Mezzanine level.”

Dundee noticed the desk clerk now at least paid attention. “We know the guy didn’t go up,” he continued, “because there’s a guard stationed in the stairwell on the fifth floor. Whoever he is, the guy is either still between four and the mezzanine, or he walked all the way down the stairs and out of the hotel. Probably nothing to worry about, but we can’t be too careful.”

“So what do you need from me, officer?” the clerk asked.

“I need someone with a pass key to go up to the Mezzanine with me. I want to look into each of the offices up there. Or you can just loan me the key. I’ll bring it right back.”

Dundee hoped the clerk wouldn’t call an in-house security guy to accompany him. The security staff at The Plaza was more than likely loaded with retired New York City cops, including some who might recognize him.

The clerk looked at Dundee as though he were an insect. “I hope you didn’t just suggest I accompany you. I cannot leave the desk uncovered.”

“Listen, mister,” Dundee told the man, “you got the President of the United States upstairs. For all we know, there’s a kook with a bomb in his pocket running around this building. Do you think the best use of my time is to stand here having a conversation with you?”

The desk clerk shot Dundee a worried look and exhaled loudly. “Okay, okay. Here, take my passkey. But make sure you bring it back.”

“You got it, little buddy.” Dundee turned toward the elevators.

Several members of the Secret Service Detachment were assigned to cover the hotel lobby. Each wore communication devices that allowed him or her to stay in touch with all the others at all times. One of the agents, Elise Finch, had watched Dundee shuffle across the lobby from the bar to the front desk. She had watched a couple of hundred other people do the same thing that evening and, in every case, had determined the people were basically harmless and posed no threat to the President. Finch came to the same conclusion about the man with the limp. When she saw the desk clerk hand something to the man, she assumed it was just his room key or a message. Out of habit, Finch made a mental note of the limping man’s clothing, his height, weight, and hair color. While the man approached the elevators, Finch was about to erase all she’d noticed about him from her memory bank. Another agent would take over the observation of this man when he got off the elevator, on whatever floor. But something made her look back at the guy as he limped into an empty. After the door closed, she looked up at the floor indicator above the elevator door and was surprised when it stopped on the Mezzanine level. This was not what she’d anticipated. The offices on the Mezzanine had been vacated hours earlier.