"Could I see them, please?"
"Sure." Stephano pulled them from his perfectly organized briefcase, and slid them down the table. The first was a shot of Lanigan in a crowded market, obviously taken at long range. He wore sunglasses, and was holding what appeared to be a tomato. The second was taken either a moment before or a moment after as he walked along a sidewalk with a bag of something in his hand. He wore jeans and looked no different from any Brazilian. The third was the most telling; Patrick in shorts and a tee shirt washing the hood of his Volkswagen Beetle. The license plates could not be seen, nor could much of the house. The sunglasses were off, and it was a clear shot of his face.
"No street names, no license plates," Oliver said.
"Nothing. We studied them for hours, but found nothing. Again, as I said, there was a brain at work."
"So what did you do?"
"Agreed to pay the million dollars-"
"When?"
"In September. The money was placed in escrow with a trust agent in Geneva, to be held until both sides gave notice to move it. Under our deal, their client had fifteen days to give us the name of the town, and the street address where he lived. We chewed our nails for the entire fifteen days, then on the sixteenth, after verbal warfare, they came through. The town was Ponta Pora, the street was Rua Tiradentes. We raced to the town, then sneaked into it. We had great respect for Lanigan by now, and we figured he was brilliant at moving forward while watching his back. We found him, then watched him for a week just to make sure. His name was Danilo Silva."
"A week?"
"Yeah, we had to be patient. He picked Ponta Pora for a reason. It's a wonderful place to hide. Local officials are cooperative if the money is right. The Germans discovered it after the war. One bad move, the cops get tipped, and they step in to protect him. So we waited and schemed and finally grabbed him outside of town, on a small road with no witnesses. A clean getaway. We sneaked him into Paraguay to a safe house."
"And there you tortured him?"
Stephano paused, took a sip of coffee, and stared at Oliver. "Something like that," he said.
Chapter 27
PATRICK PACED and stretched at one end of the doctors' conference room while Sandy sat and listened and doodled on a legal pad. A nurse had brought a tray of cookies, still untouched. Sandy admired the cookies and asked himself how many capital murder prisoners got cookies delivered to them? How many had their own team of bodyguards lurking nearby? How many had the Judge stopping by for pizza?
"Things are changing, Sandy," Patrick said without looking at him. "We have to move fast."
"Move where?"
"She won't stay here as long as her father is miss-ing."
"As usual, I'm thoroughly confused. The gaps are getting wider and the two of you speak in tongues. But I'm just the lawyer. Why should I know anything?"
"She has the files and records, and the story. You have to go see her."
"I just saw her last night."
"She's waiting on you."
"Really? Where?"
"There's a beach house at Perdido. She's there."
"Let me guess. I'm supposed to drop everything, and race over right now."
"It's important, Sandy."
"So are my other clients," he said angrily. "Why can't you give me a little notice here?"
"I'm sorry."
"I have court this afternoon. My daughter's got soccer. Is it asking too much for some warning?"
"I couldn't anticipate a kidnapping, Sandy. You've got to admit the circumstances are somewhat unusual. Try and understand."
Sandy took a deep breath and scribbled something. Patrick sat on the edge of the table, very near him. "I'm sorry, Sandy."
"What might we discuss at the beach house?"
"Aricia."
"Aricia," he repeated, then looked away. He knew the basics, at least what he'd read in the papers.
"It will take some time, so I'd pack for overnight."
"Am I expected to stay at the beach house?"
"Yes."
"With Leah?"
"Yes. It's a big house."
"And what exactly am I supposed to tell my wife? That I'm shacked up in a beach house with a beautiful Brazilian woman?"
"I wouldn't. Just tell her you're meeting with the rest of my defense team."
"That's nice." "Thanks, Sandy."
UNDERHILL joined Oliver after a coffee break. They sat next to each other with the video camera behind them, all eyes aimed down the table at Ste-phano.
"Who interrogated Patrick?" Underhill asked Ste-phano.
"I'm not required to give the names of my associ-ates."
"Did this person have any experience with physical interrogation?"
"Limited."
"Describe the means used."
"I'm not sure-"
"We've seen the photos of the burns, Mr. Stephano. And we, the FBI, have been sued for injuries inflicted by your men. Now, tell us how you did it."
"I wasn't there. I didn't plan the interrogation because I have little experience in that field. I knew in general terms that a series of electrical shocks would be applied to various points on Mr. Lanigan's body. That is what happened. I had no idea it would cause serious burns."
There was a pause as Underhill glanced at Oliver and Oliver glanced at Underhill. Blatant disbelief. Stephano simply sneered at them.
"How long did this go on?"
"Five to six hours."
They looked at a file and whispered something. Underhill asked him some questions about the identification process, and Stephano described the fingerprinting. Oliver struggled with the time sequences, and spent almost an hour pinning down exactly when they grabbed him and how far they drove him and how long they interrogated him. They grilled Stephano about the trip out of the jungle to the airstrip at Conception. They probed and fished and covered everything else, then they huddled for a moment and returned to the crucial question.
"During the interrogation of Mr. Lanigan, what did you learn about the money?"
"Not much. He told us where the money had been, but it had been moved."
"Can we assume he told you this under extreme duress?"
"Safe assumption."
"Are you convinced he didn't know where the money was at that time?"
"I wasn't there. But the man who conducted the interrogation has told me that, without a doubt, he believes that Mr. Lanigan did not know the exact location of the money."
"The interrogation wasn't recorded either by video or audio?"
"Of course not," Jack said, as if he had never thought about it.
"Did Mr. Lanigan mention an accomplice?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"What does that mean?"
"Means I don't know."
"How about the man who conducted the interrogation? Did he hear Mr. Lanigan mention an accomplice?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"So, as far as you know, Mr. Lanigan never mentioned an accomplice?"
"That's correct."
They shuffled files again, and whispered between themselves, then took a long pause, one that became profoundly unsettling for Stephano. He had told two lies in a row-no recording and no accomplice-and he still felt safe with them. How could these guys know what was said in the jungles of Paraguay? But they were the FBI. So he fidgeted, and waited.
The door opened suddenly, and Hamilton Jaynes walked through it, followed by Warren, the third interrogator. "Hello, Jack," Jaynes said loudly as he took a seat on one side of the table. Warren sat near his buddies.