The Insiders

Pages:

1

Date:

April 4

To:

Wilson Fielder, Hotel San Fantin

Fax #: 041-523-1401

From:

The Fenice Partnership

Subject:

Mutual Benefit Insurance

Comments:

She’s gone. The getaway’s over. Go home.

She’ll be safe as long as you don’t do anything stupid.

We’ll be in touch.

Wilson exploded with pain. He ran from the hotel lobby with Mike behind him, across the Piazza, up three flights of stairs, and into the apartment. Emily was nowhere to be found. Mike ran back down to the second-floor apartment where he found Pat Savoy lying in a pool of blood, with a bullet hole in his forehead. They frantically searched the apartments again, including the empty apartment on the first floor. Then they called Hap.

Hap’s voice was even and collected, despite his obvious anguish over Emily and Savoy. He urged them not to panic. “They won’t keep her in Venice. If they wanted to kill her, she’d already be dead. They’ll want her close by to control the situation and make sure they use her to blackmail you into cooperating. They’ll expect you to go back to Fielder amp; Company.”

“Can the FBI or CIA stop them from leaving Venice?” Wilson blurted.

Hap immediately warned Wilson not to go to the FBI, the Italian authorities, or the U.S. Consulate. “They can’t afford to have word of her kidnapping get out anymore than we can. It would only increase the probability of her death and their exposure. This is about manipulating you, Wilson. They’ll want her to talk with you, sooner rather than later, to reassure you that she’s fine and will remain fine, as long as you cooperate. When she does talk to you, we’ll need to listen for any piece of information that will help us locate her. She’ll be thinking the same thing. You need to get back here as soon as possible. We’ll prep you when you arrive,” Hap said confidently.

Then he instructed them to find the first plane back to Boston. Hap and the rest of his people would be checking all the airports along the Eastern seaboard for private jets arriving from Europe. They arranged to meet at the Back Bay apartment as soon as Wilson and Mike got in. “Leave everything where it is. Don’t pack your bags and don’t move anything. Lock the apartments and leave. I’ll take care of bringing Pat home.”

“How can you be so sure of everything?” Wilson asked, trying not to hyperventilate.

“I’m not sure, Wilson. It’s just experience and calculated judgment,” Hap said firmly.

Wilson remained silent. What Hap said made sense. What good would it do to stay in Venice? The secret partnership would want him back at Fielder amp; Company, so they could force him to do their bidding. Emily would be kept somewhere near Boston or New York, just in case they needed her to do some extra persuading. But that wouldn’t be necessary; he would do their bidding.

By the time Wilson hung up the phone and regained some semblance of control over his anguish, Mike had already booked two first class seats on a Delta flight to JFK, with a connecting flight to Boston. The flight left in two hours. They locked the apartments and exited the building, leaving everything as it was, just as Hap had instructed.

Wilson cursed himself repeatedly for leaving Emily alone in the apartment. His father’s godforsaken insider’s club was now his eternal enemy, and he would not stop until they were utterly and completely destroyed. But first he had to find Emily. Before they killed her.

39

Tate — JFK Airport, NYC

From behind a pair of slightly tinted sunglasses and an outstretched copy of The New York Times, Wayland Tate watched as Wilson Fielder exited customs at JFK and then rechecked his bags onto a connecting flight to Boston. Like a chameleon, Tate was in disguise-mustache, white-blonde hair, and earrings-using a false identity. He’d risked reentering the U.S. for only one reason, and that was to deal with Wilson personally. He knew Wilson would be tormented, but he wanted to judge for himself just how vulnerable or volatile Wilson had been rendered.

For the past twenty-four hours, Tate had been studying Wilson’s behavior and mannerisms on digital video, downloaded from one of Tate’s many private contractors. Reading another human being by the set of the mouth, look of the eyes, wrinkles on the forehead, speed of facial movements, and any other idiosyncratic gestures, had become integral to the art of manipulation for Wayland Tate. He now recognized Wilson Fielder’s most common mental and emotional states-tranquility and contentment, anger and hate, commitment and resolve, uncertainty and fear, and curiosity and discovery.

Unfortunately, what he saw on Wilson’s face as he exited security was not a welcome sight. Tate followed him to his connecting gate just to make sure, but there was no mistaking the combination of anger and resolve on Wilson’s face. Tate had hoped for uncertainty and fear, or at least a combination of anger and fear, but that was not the case. He returned to the main terminal before calling Morita, who was now in the New York offices of Tate Waterhouse.

“Plans have changed,” Tate said. “I’m going to Boston for a few days.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Morita asked, her voice filled with concern.

“I’m still traveling in disguise just to make sure,” Tate said. Then he added, “We need to take a different course with Wilson Fielder. If I’m wrong about our ability to influence him, I want to be close enough to adjust things quickly. Can you find me a suite at one of the larger hotels, the Westin or Marriott in Copley Square? I’m traveling under the name of Marsden Welker. You have the account numbers. Tell Swatling to meet me for breakfast tomorrow morning in my room-six o’clock,” Tate said, knowing that either one of the hotels near the Copley Place Mall would provide him with sufficient cover.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“One more thing. Who was handling surveillance in Venice?”

“Sutton and Turley.”

“Did they arrive on the same flight as Fielder?”

“Yes.”

“Tell them I want to see them tonight. Looks like the shuttle is light; I should be there within two hours. Have them meet me at Bar 10 in the Westin Hotel.”

“Anything else?”

“How’s the press handling Quinn’s death?”

“There was a lengthy obit in the Chicago Tribune. Fortunately, the article focuses on Quinn’s legacy, which was what he always wanted anyway. It concludes with a few details of the double suicide. None of it is negatively affecting publicity or customer visits, thanks to the twenty million new customers who went to the America’s Warehouse grand opening,” Morita said.

“Most people seem to delight in stories of the rich and famous failing in their personal relationships-makes them feel less envious and more satisfied with their economic status. Quinn’s death may actually increase customer visits,” Tate scoffed.

“I think it already has. The President even commented on the marketing campaign during a press conference on the economy. He said America’s Warehouse symbolized the American spirit and corporate renewal at their finest. I’ve ordered a transcript.”

“Poor Quinn, if he’d only learned to enjoy the ride. How’s his replacement doing?”