USA: Chapter Twelve A

Instead of the seven hours it took me to get to Montana, the trip home seemed like seventy hours. A few minutes out of Chicago the events of the past couple days caught up with me. The flight was not particularly crowded and the seat next to me was empty. I was bone tired, so I spread out as best I could, put my chin on my chest and dozed off. I was just tumbling into darkness when the image of the fireball enveloping the Shah's jet flashed in front of me. I awoke with a start, shivering - a feeling of ice water coursing through my veins. I sat there rigid, eyes wide open, thinking about the people that had died and, even scarier, the number of times I could have been killed. I had been very, very lucky! I forced myself to think about the happy prospect of going home.

Before leaving Miles City I called Suzy to tell her when my flight was due in Philly; I needed a ride home from the airport. She said she and Ben would meet my plane. Between bouts of sniffling and blowing her nose she said this was the happiest day of her life, because she loved me and she knew I loved her, and I was alive and well! She had convinced herself that I'd never return from Montana. I didn't tell her, but yesterday I'd shared those sentiments.

The lights of Philadelphia never looked so beautiful - I was home at last. Suzy was waiting in the terminal and she had brought Ben along with her. After lots of kisses and hugs from Suzy, which I returned, and hugs and backslapping from Ben, which I also returned, we found Ben's car and headed for home. On the way they must have asked me a million questions. I gave them a synopsis of everything that happened, but I didn't mention killing Karl Seitz. I also didn't mention Angelo, or what he did to the Shah's plane. I did tell them that I had seen and spoken with the notorious M. R. Shaw, in fact had spent some time in his company and, without any doubt whatsoever, became totally convinced he was the former Shah of Iran. I also told them the Shah is now really dead, at least to my satisfaction, because I had witnessed his death first hand. Ben wanted to know if I had killed him. I told him no. He also wanted all the details and asked me to meet with him as soon as we reached my office. It was almost six o'clock and Suzy insisted I come to her place for a home cooked dinner. I politely refused both.

"Thanks guys," I said. "Just drop me at my place. I'm gonna take a long hot shower, have a peanut butter sandwich, washed down with about four fingers of Southern Comfort, and go to bed. I may sleep for a week, so expect me at the office when I get there.

"I do have a question, Ben," I added. "I was told somebody labeled me a ?missing person' with the Montana Attorney General's office. They dispatched the Highway Patrol to the Shah's ranch looking for me. That set off a whole chain of events - which I won't go into now. Any idea who contacted the A.G.'s office with that phony tale? Could his initials have been Benjamin McQuaid?"

"Of course it was me, Cole. Suzy called me very, very upset. She knew where you were supposed to be and, even though it was hours before you were supposed to call her, she had a premonition that you were in great danger. I initially refused to do it, but she kept badgering me - must have called me four or five times. I gave in when I remembered that I went through law school with one of the Montana A.G.'s assistants. I called her. I guess you know the rest."

"O.K., Ben." I said. "The way things played out I guess it helped save my life."

I didn't make it to the office until almost noon the next day. After I had showered and dressed Mrs. Tomasello made me a huge breakfast of eggs, bacon, her special home-fries and wheat toast with honey. Between that and about twelve hours sleep I felt almost human again. When I sat down at my desk I realized it was a lot less cluttered than when I left; good old efficient Nancy at work. All she left for me was a small pile of mail, a few letters to sign and about a half-dozen calls to return. I finished all of it in less than an hour and was on my way to Joe Mancuso's office when Suzy stopped me.

"Cole," she said. "I don't want to know all the gruesome details, but I think you should tell me what happened in Montana. I've planned a real nice dinner for this evening - one of your favorites - and it'll just be you and me; Julia's baby sitting. I need to be with you and I am curious about how you knew it was the Shah. Please don't say no!"

"Dinner sounds great Suzy. I want to be with you, too. As far as Montana is concerned it was one crazy trip. Parts of it seem to be nothing but a bad dream, a real scary nightmare. Why don't we go home together after the office closes. I'll help you fix dinner and we can talk then."

"I'm looking forward to tonight," she said. "Do you think the whole unbelievable mess with the Shah and all the killing is finally over?"

"I really do, Suzy. There may be some loose ends to tie up - like what's going to be done with the Montana ranch, and will the Tampa office continue to exist - things like that. Also, since his bank is sitting on a big pile of the late Shah's money, I imagine Alex Trimble will be involved in some way, too. Which reminds me, it's probably too late today, but first thing tomorrow I've got to call Alex."

About an hour later I was sitting in Joe's office going over some estimates with him when Nancy beeped me and said I had a call on line two from a guy named Angelo. He said it was important that he talk with me. I told her I'd take the call in my office. I only knew one Angelo and I'd assumed I'd never hear from him again. The sound of his name brought a flood of bad memories.

"Cole McQuaid," I said, when I picked up the phone. "What can I do for you?" I asked.

"Cole, this is Angelo. Do you recognize my Montana accent?" he asked.

"You don't have a Montana accent, and I only know one Angelo, so what do you want?"

"There are a few things we have to tidy up before we can close the book on Montana," he said. "We need to talk - and by ?we' I'm referring to you, me and my boss. We must meet with you personally. Before you object, let me emphasize three things; first, this is a national security matter - we represent the executive branch of the government - so this meeting will take place, forcefully if necessary; second, we are all on the same side so you will be in no danger; and third, as an accommodation to you we will meet in Philadelphia - instead of our headquarters - tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock. I will give you the address of a condominium in the Society Hill section of the city. One other thing; you must come alone. Will you cooperate?"

"I sure as hell don't want to, but you've made it sound like I really have no choice. I just want to put everything that's happened behind me and get on with my life. Is this meeting really necessary? Can't we do what you want on the phone?"

"I'm sorry Cole, but that's not possible. As I said, this is a national security matter. We must also discuss the shooting death of Karl Seitz. You were responsible for that - regardless of justification - and I'm sure you don't want your involvement to become public, if you know what I mean. So, you'll be there tomorrow? If you've got a pencil and paper I'll give you the address. Are you familiar with Society Hill?"

I assured him I was, and wrote down the address he gave me.

"Remember Cole, two o'clock sharp - please don't be late - and make sure you come alone. And no wires, you'll be thoroughly checked when you enter the building."

After we hung up I sat at my desk for a while trying to figure out what information I had that could be so important to Angelo and his boss. Hell, Angelo worked on the ranch. He probably knows everything that's happened there since the day he arrived.

I decided not to mention tomorrow's meeting in Philly to Suzy. I didn't understand why they wanted to talk to me and I knew Suzy wouldn't either. She's had more than her share of worry about me.

Dinner at Suzy's was delicious as usual. I made the salad and cooked the blackened salmon, while she did the garlic mashed potatoes and green beans. I opened a chilled bottle of dry white wine that nicely complimented the salmon. After a relaxing leisurely dinner we took our coffee into the living room and spent the next hour discussing my odyssey in Montana. I told her everything except the part about Angelo riddling the Shah's plane with gunfire. I lead her to believe the crash was caused by the weather. I also didn't mention the call from Angelo today and the meeting in Philly tomorrow.

"I've heard enough, Cole," she said. "It's very depressing and I'm sure you went through hell. I'm so thankful you're safely home - please stay here tonight, I need you close to me."

We left the front light on for Julia and went to bed early. I don't know if I disappointed Suzy, but I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. With Suzy's naked body entwined in mine I slept better than I had in quite a while.

I was in the office the next morning by eight. The first thing I did was call Alex in London. I was surprised to hear him say that Tampa had called him yesterday and told him that a tragedy had occurred in the organization and he was to cease all financial dealings for the client until further notice. They refused to give him any further information.

I started to give him a rundown of my Montana trip, when it crossed my mind that maybe I shouldn't say too much on the phone. Trying to be cryptic I said that my earlier guess about the client's identity was right on the money. Before I could say any more Alex interrupted.

"Cole, please - I don't think it prudent to discuss this matter on the telephone. I'm extremely interested in what happened, but we must find another way to converse. Just answer one question: Will it be possible for us to discuss future business directly with the client?"

"No, Alex, it won't."

Alex was quiet for so long I thought our connection was broken.

"Alex," I almost yelled. "Are you still on the line?"

"Yes, Cole, I'm still here. I find what you just told me very distressing - an enigma; good from the standpoint of morality, but probably ending the likelihood of any future dealings with the client. Please let me ramble on for a few minutes - since David's death you probably have been closer to this situation than anybody, myself included. If there is anything left to salvage - and at this point there may not be - do I need to take action quickly to protect the bank's interests? But, before I can make that decision, I need the benefit of your advice and the information you obtained during your recent trip. I believe we must meet in complete privacy, away from any prying eyes or ears. How soon can you come the London again? And please Cole, this time I insist on paying your expenses. We cannot impose on you further."

My initial reaction to his request was to refuse, but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. There were a lot of loose ends that did need to be tied down - and I still wasn't convinced that Alex didn't have a mole working under cover in his bank.

"I can't give you an answer right now Alex, but I agree that we need to talk. I'll get back to you tomorrow and let you know when I can come. Oh, and by the way; I agree, this trip will be on your dime."

I had another thought rattling around in my head that I'd been kicking around for weeks now. Maybe another trip to England would provide the opportunity for me to resolve that issue too.

When I drove to Philly that afternoon I had no trouble finding the address Angelo had given me. I did have to drive around the neighborhood for almost fifteen minutes trying to find a parking place. Life in the big city. I used the brass door knocker to announce my presence and a big guy in jeans and a plaid shirt let me in. He told me to remove my jacket and kept me in the foyer while he patted me down for a weapon and a wire. Satisfied that I had neither, he lead me up a flight of stairs to a mezzanine level and then through to a rear room furnished like a family room. The room had nothing but artificial lighting because there were no windows or skylights. A man I had never met sat at one end of a large leather sofa. Angelo sat opposite him in an overstuffed chair. Angelo spoke first. "Cole," he said. "This is George - we don't use last names. George is my director and he has some questions for you. Please sit down."

"That's fine," I said. "But I won't answer any questions until you tell me who you are and who you work for. Are you FBI, CIA or what? And, Angelo, what the hell were you doing working as a chauffeur at the Montana ranch?"

George stood up and moved in front of me, looking down. "Mr. McQuaid," he said. "We normally do not divulge any information about our personnel or our activities - except on a need to know basis. Therefore, we may answer your questions, or we may not; and I will decide whether we do or don't. Just remember that you are here as an accommodation to us, and your full cooperation with us is required . . . and will be given - as I believe you will come to understand in the next few minutes.

"It is reasonable to say that we know everything about you, and you know absolutely nothing about us. We are not FBI and we are not CIA. And we do not answer to either of those agencies. We are a small group who reports only to the executive branch of the government. We are known as ES, which stands for ?Executive Solutions'. We deal solely with anti-terrorist issues, communication and liaison with friendly and unfriendly dictatorships and, on occasion, elimination of individuals deemed dangerous to the interests of our government.

"To be more specific, we have monitored the Shah and the activities on the Montana property since it became his permanent home in the late 70's. At that time the Shah had very powerful friends in this country, and the CIA was given carte blanche to covertly assist him during his reign in any way they deemed appropriate, up to and including elimination of anyone who got in his way. The CIA agent responsible for all of this was a senior operative by the name of Rexton, who ultimately served for decades as the Shah's advisor and liaison. They formed a very strong friendship, so strong in fact that Rexton's superiors suspected him of manipulating the Shah to suit his own purposes. Much later, when the Shah's political problems began to escalate, Rexton tried to convince his superiors to bring the Shah to this country. But political sentiment in this country was also changing and Rexton was told that his proposal was rejected and he was being transferred back to CIA headquarters. The Shah, in effect, was going to be hung out to dry. But this did not deter Rexton. He immediately resigned from the CIA and went back to Tehran. Shortly after, the Shah wound up on the ranch in Montana - and Rexton wound up a very rich man."

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "How did you get all this information, and if the Shah wasn't welcome here how did he get away with it all these years? It doesn't make sense!"

"Mr. McQuaid, I've given you this background only to convince you that we know the entire history of this situation, including your involvement during the past few months. We have operated for many years with instructions to do whatever is necessary to keep the Shah's presence in this country from the public. He was to be eliminated immediately if it appeared that he was attempting to permanently flee the ranch. Angelo was our eyes and ears at the ranch, and did exactly what he had been instructed to do when it appeared the Shah was attempting to leave. If the Shah succeeded in going elsewhere and his existence became known, the impact on Washington, both past and present, would be devastating. That is all I will tell you."

"O.K. George, I understand your concern, but why am I here? I had hoped this whole crazy affair was ended. I want nothing more than to run my business and live my life, and that picture doesn't included any further involvement with you guys. Understand?"

"Exactly, Mr. McQuaid. The purpose of this meeting is to impress on you the extreme importance of total silence on your part with regard to the late Shah. As far as you're concerned it never happened; it was nothing more than a bad dream. And if you refuse to cooperate, we'll have our psychiatrist attest to your delusional behavior and then be forced to assist the authorities in prosecuting you for the unwarranted murder of Karl Seitz, a security guard working for M. R. Shaw, when he caught you rifling Mr. Shaw's desk, and later causing the crash of Mr. Shaw's private plane, killing four more people. These pictures will help prove our charges."

With that he handed me a manila envelope containing about a dozen eight by ten black and white glossy prints. I was in every one. They obviously had been made from security camera film. Most appeared to be legitimate, but a few had been doctored to make me look like a nut on a killing rampage.

"So, George, all I have to do is keep my mouth shut about the Shah and these pictures will go away? What are you going to do about silencing all of the other people who must have had knowledge of the Shah's existence?"

"You let me worry about that Mr. McQuaid. Other than you, nobody had direct knowledge or any reason to suspect that M. R. Shaw was in fact the Shah. Certainly none of the people working for him at the ranch or in the Tampa office did. Have I made my point Mr. McQuaid; will you cooperate with us?"

"Absolutely, George," I answered. "As I just said, I have my own priorities in life, my own agenda, and they don't include Shaw, Shah, Tampa, you, or anything sounding even remotely like a government agency. So, you have nothing to fear from me. Understood? Now, if you don't mind, I'm leaving - and I know where the door is."

"Thank you for meeting with us Mr. McQuaid - and for you cooperation. Follow my instructions and you will not see us or hear from us again. Goodbye."

Angelo wouldn't look at me as I walked past him on my way to the door.

CHAPTER TWELVE A

Instead of the seven hours it took me to get to Montana, the trip home seemed like seventy hours. A few minutes out of Chicago the events of the past couple days caught up with me. The flight was not particularly crowded and the seat next to me was empty. I was bone tired, so I spread out as best I could, put my chin on my chest and dozed off. I was just tumbling into darkness when the image of the fireball enveloping the Shah's jet flashed in front of me. I awoke with a start, shivering - a feeling of ice water coursing through my veins. I sat there rigid, eyes wide open, thinking about the people that had died and, even scarier, the number of times I could have been killed. I had been very, very lucky! I forced myself to think about the happy prospect of going home. Before leaving Miles City I had called Suzy to tell her when my flight was due in Philly; I needed a ride home from the airport. She said she and Ben would meet my plane. Between bouts of sniffling and blowing her nose she said this was the happiest day of her life, because she loved me and she knew I loved her, and I was alive and well! She had convinced herself that I'd never return from Montana. I didn't tell her, but yesterday I'd shared that same concern. The skyline of Philadelphia never looked so beautiful - I was home at last. Suzy was waiting in the terminal with Ben and, after lots of kisses and hugs from her, which I returned, and hugs and backslapping from Ben, which I also returned, we found Ben's car and headed for home. On the way they must have asked me a million questions. I gave them a brief synopsis of everything that happened, but I left out the shooting of Karl Seitz. I also didn't mention Angelo, or what he did to the Shah's plane. I did tell them that I accomplished what I set out to do - I had seen and spoken with the notorious M. R. Shaw, and knew, without any doubt whatsoever, that he was the former Shah of Iran. I ended by saying that the Shah was killed yesterday and I had witnessed his death first hand. Ben wanted to know if I had killed him. I told him no. He also wanted all the details and asked me to meet with him as soon as we reached my office. It was almost six o'clock and Suzy insisted I come to her place for a home cooked dinner. I politely refused both. "Suzy," I said. "I'd like nothing more than to have dinner and spend the evening with you, but I'm so exhausted I can't think straight. I'd be lousy company. Ben, please just drop me at my place. I'm gonna take a long hot shower, have a peanut butter sandwich, washed down with about four fingers of Southern Comfort, and go to bed. I may sleep for a week, so expect me at the office when I get there. "Ben, the details can wait 'til tomorrow, but I do have a question for you," I added. "I was told somebody labeled me a 'missing person' with the Montana Attorney General's office. They dispatched the Highway Patrol to the Shah's ranch looking for me. That set off a whole chain of events - which I won't go into now. Any idea who contacted the A.G.'s office with that phony tale? Could his initials have been Benjamin McQuaid?" "Of course it was me, Cole. Suzy called me very, very upset. She knew where you were supposed to be and, even though it was hours before you were supposed to call her, she had a premonition that you were in great danger. I initially refused to do it, but little miss Suzy here kept badgering me - must have called me four or five times. I gave in when I remembered that I went through law school with one of the Montana A.G.'s assistants, a very tough lady prosecutor. I called her and explained the situation to her. She surprised me when she said that the A.G. had been trying for some time to justify a search of Shaw's ranch. Seems they've heard more than a few strange stories about the place - so, she set the wheels in motion for the Highway Patrol." "O.K., Ben." I said. "The way things played out I guess it helped save my life."

I turned on the TV in my bedroom and was channel-hopping while I ate my peanut butter sandwich and finished my drink. I was just about to shut it off when one of those 'late breaking news' stories interrupted the programming. It seems a series of violent underground explosions ripped through a large ranch south of Miles City, Montana, sometime last night. A corporate jet had apparently crashed on a ranch landing strip and four bodies were found in the wreckage, all burned beyond recognition. Authorities were investigating the crash and the other blasts but had not determined if they were related or whether there were any other injuries or fatalities. I guess Angelo's warning to Alex was right on the money. I didn't make it to the office until almost noon the next day. After I had showered and dressed Mrs. Tomasello made me a huge breakfast of eggs, bacon, her special home-fries and wheat toast with honey. Between that and about twelve hours sleep I felt almost human again. When I sat down at my desk I realized it was a lot less cluttered than when I left; good old efficient Nancy at work. All she left for me was a small pile of mail, a few letters to sign and about a half-dozen calls to return. I finished all of it and was on my way to Joe Mancuso's office when Suzy stopped me. "Cole," she said. "I don't want to know all the gruesome details, but I'd love to hear what happened in Montana. I'm particularly curious about how you knew it was the Shah. Can we go somewhere and talk, someplace where we can be alone . . .I missed you so much." I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her. "Suzy, I can't tell you how much I missed you, too. There were a few times when I didn't think I'd make it back here, and the thought of you was all I had. You can't imagine how much you helped me. I want to be alone with you, too, so if you'd like, we can grab a pizza on the way home tonight and go to my place. We can talk about my trip then. O.K.?" "That's fine, or we can go to my place - it'll just be you and me; Julia's baby sitting. To be honest, I guess I don't need to know about Montana as much as I just need to be with you tonight. I need to see you and know you're with me, to touch you and feel you next to me. Do you understand?" "I do, Suzy, I really do. I'm looking forward to having you all to myself." "Just one question, Cole, do you think the whole unbelievable mess with the Shah and all the killing is finally over - really over?" "I do, Suzy. There may be some loose ends to tie up - like what's going to be done with the Montana ranch, and will the Tampa office continue to exist - things like that. Also, since his bank is sitting on a big pile of the late Shah's money, I imagine Alex Trimble will be involved in some way, too. Which reminds me, it's probably too late today, but first thing tomorrow I've got to call Alex."

About an hour later I was sitting in Joe's office going over some estimates with him when Nancy beeped me and said I had a call on line two from a guy named Angelo. He said it was important that he talk with me. I told her I'd take the call in my office. I only knew one Angelo and I'd assumed I'd never hear from him again. The sound of his name brought a flood of bad memories. "Cole McQuaid," I said, when I picked up the phone. "What can I do for you?" I asked. "Cole, this is Angelo. Do you recognize my Montana accent?" he asked. "You don't have a Montana accent, and I only know one Angelo. I thought our business was finished. What do you want?" "There are a few things we have to tidy up before we can close the book on Montana," he said. "We need to talk - and by 'we' I'm referring to you, me and my boss. We must meet with you personally. Before you object, let me emphasize three things; first, this is a national security matter - we represent the executive branch of the government - so this meeting will take place, forcefully if necessary; second, we are all on the same side of this issue, so you will be in no danger; and third, as an accommodation to you we will meet in Philadelphia - instead of our headquarters. The meeting will take place tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock, and will require about two hours of your time. I will give you the address of a condominium in the Society Hill section of the city. I can also assure you that if you cooperate, tomorrow's meeting will be the last contact you will ever have with us. And one other thing; you must come alone - and you will be monitored, so I urge you not to try anything cute. Will you cooperate?" "I sure as hell don't want to, but you've made it sound like I have no choice. I just want to put everything that's happened behind me and get on with my life. Must we meet in person? Can't we do what you want on the phone?" "I'm sorry Cole, but that's not possible. As I said, this is a national security matter. Among other items on tomorrow's agenda is the shooting death of Karl Seitz. You were responsible for that - regardless of justification - and I'm sure you don't want your involvement to become public, if you know what I mean. So, you'll be there tomorrow? If you've got a pencil and paper I'll give you the address. Are you familiar with Society Hill?" I assured him I was, and wrote down the address he gave me. "Remember Cole, one o'clock sharp - please don't be late - and make sure you come alone. And no wires, you'll be thoroughly checked when you enter the building." After we hung up I sat at my desk for a while trying to figure out what information I had that could be so important to Angelo and his boss. Hell, Angelo worked on the ranch. He probably knows everything that's happened there since the day he arrived. I decided not to mention tomorrow's meeting with Angelo and his boss to Suzy. I didn't understand why they wanted to talk to me and I knew Suzy wouldn't either. She's recently had more than her share of worry about me. Suzy convinced me that it would be easier for me to spend the night with her, so we picked up a pizza and a bottle of red wine and headed to her place. After finishing off the pizza and the bottle of wine we took our coffee into the living room and spent the next hour discussing my odyssey in Montana. I told her about Jerry and about being taken prisoner. I also told her of my encounter with the Shah and how I happened to shoot Karl Seitz. I don't know why exactly, but I minimized the involvement of Angelo, including the part about Angelo riddling the Shah's plane with gunfire. I told her the plane crash was caused by the weather. She hadn't seen it so I also told her about last night's TV news about the explosions at the ranch. "I've heard enough, Cole," she said. "It's very depressing - you must have gone through hell. I'm so thankful you're safely home - let's go to bed, I need you close to me." We left the front light on for Julia and went to bed. We made love until well after Julia came home and we heard voices and laughter coming from the TV in her bedroom. I was still wrestling with memories of Montana, but with Suzy's naked body entwined in mine I slept better than I had in quite a while.

I was in the office the next morning by seven. The first thing I did was call Alex in London. I was surprised to hear him say that Tampa had called him yesterday and told him that a tragedy had occurred in the organization and he was to cease all financial dealings for the client until further notice. They refused to give him any further information. I started to give him a rundown of my Montana trip, when Angelo's warning came to mind. For now I had to be careful not to say too much on the phone. Trying to be cryptic I did tell him my earlier guess about you-know-who's identity was right on the money. Before I could say any more Alex interrupted. "Cole, please - considering what Tampa said about some sort of tragedy, and their instructions about ceasing operations, I don't think it prudent to discuss this matter on the telephone. I'm extremely interested in what happened, and I want to hear all of it - so we must find another way to converse. But before we do that I need to know two things; is the client still able to conduct future business, and will my bank continue to engage in business with him?" "Alex, the answers are; absolutely not, and probably not - in that order." Alex was quiet for so long I thought our connection was broken. "Alex," I almost yelled. "Are you still on the line?" "Yes, Cole, I'm still here. I find what you just told me very distressing - an enigma; good from the standpoint of business ethics, but probably ending the likelihood of any future dealings with the client. That could be financially significant to my bank, even though we have on deposit a substantial amount of his working capital, those funds could now be withdrawn with little or no notice. And, if there is anything left to salvage after the dust settles, I may need to take further action to protect my bank's interests. However, before I can make any decisions, I'll need the benefit of your advice and the information you obtained during your recent trip. I hope you'll agree that we must meet, and it must be in complete privacy, away from prying eyes or ears. How soon can you come to London again? And please Cole, this time I insist on paying your expenses. We cannot impose on you further." My initial reaction to his request was to refuse, but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. There were many loose ends that did need to be tied down. "I can't give you an answer right now Alex, but I agree that we need to talk. I'll get back to you tomorrow and let you know when I can come. Oh, and by the way; I agree, this trip will be at your expense." I had another thought rattling around in my head that I'd been kicking around for weeks now. Maybe another trip to England would provide the opportunity to resolve that issue too.

When I drove to Philly that afternoon I had no trouble finding the address Angelo had given me. I did have to drive around the neighborhood for almost fifteen minutes trying to find a parking place. Life in the big city. I used the brass door knocker to announce my presence and a big guy in jeans and a plaid shirt let me in. He told me to remove my jacket and kept me in the foyer while he patted me down for a weapon and a wire. Satisfied that I had neither, he lead me up a flight of stairs to a mezzanine level and then through to a rear room furnished like a family room. The room had nothing but artificial lighting; there were no windows or skylights. A man I had never met sat at one end of a large leather sofa. Angelo sat opposite him in an overstuffed chair. Angelo spoke first. "Cole," he said. "Thank you for coming. This is George - we don't use last names. George is my director and he has some information and questions for you. This will take a while, so please sit down and get comfortable. Would you like coffee?" "No thank you," I said. "I just want this over as quickly as possible." I sat in another overstuffed chair where I could watch both of them. "I'm here," I said. "But I don't intend saying a word until I know why I'm here and who I'm talking to. Just who the hell are you and why are you involved in this? Are you FBI, CIA or what?" George stood up and moved in front of me, looking down. "Mr. McQuaid," he said. "I will answer your questions shortly, but understand one thing; any information I give you comes with a price - your compliance with certain conditions." "And what might they be?" I asked. "Before I tell you, I want you to understand that this meeting is unprecedented - we have never before had a problem like this. And we certainly have never divulged information to a civilian about our personnel or our activities. I will answer your questions, at least to the extent I deem necessary. I'll also provide you with sufficient background data that hopefully will satisfy your insatiable curiosity about the Shah and how he got to Montana. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, but I won't commit to anything until I hear your conditions." "Very well. The first is that you never discuss, either privately, publicly, and most importantly with the media, anything you saw or heard in Montana relating to the Shah. As far as you're concerned it never happened; it was nothing more than a bad dream. The second condition is that you and your associates cease all further investigation of the Shah's life in this country, and the murder of David Nesbitt in Atlantic City." "So you want to muzzle me. But, based on what happened in Montana I don't see the need for that. Who can prove the Shah was ever in Montana? He's dead, it's over. He can't embarrass you now." "We have our reasons McQuaid, believe me. Most important is damage control. If this business with the Shah ever gets out it'll make Watergate look like a Halloween prank. A couple of dead presidents will turn in their graves, and a couple of live ones will wish they were dead." "George, let's consider alternatives. What happens if I refuse to accept your conditions? It seems to me that a lot of other people also are aware of what's been going on - like employees at the ranch, and maybe people in Tampa. How do you silence them?" "McQuaid, there are surprisingly few people who know about the Shah. Besides, they are our concern - not yours, and we have ways to handle them. On the other hand, we are fully aware of the extent of your involvement in this. The snooping you and your brother have done during the past few months, your encounters with Mousa Muzzadin and his stooge Salemi, and certainly your trips to London and Tampa, compounded by your visit to Montana. All of which combine to create a potentially embarrassing and harmful situation for my group. In plain English, McQuaid, you know too damn much and you've become a major pain in our ass! In fact, so much so that you gave me two choices; either eliminate you permanently or find some other way to ensure your silence. I decided against the first option, but only because it would have triggered even more investigation and further delayed closure of the case. You're a very intelligent individual McQuaid, so I decided to try reasoning with you - to give you a choice - and that's the only reason for this meeting. But know this; if you refuse to cooperate with us now, I would be forced to reconsider option number one. Understood?" "Perfectly," I answered. I've seen at least one of these guys in action and that word elimination scared the hell out of me! "George, as I told Angelo, I have no desire to pursue this further. I've accomplished what I set out to do, and now I want it ended, for no reason other than to get my life back to normal. I want nothing more than to run my business and live my life, and that picture doesn't include Shaw, Shah, Tampa, Montana or any of you guys - whoever you are. I do have one condition of my own however; I was brought into this crazy mess by David Nesbitt and his boss Alex Trimble. I'm sure I don't have to explain to you the long-standing relationship between my company and their bank. I'm also sure you are aware that we have legally severed our ties with their bank; we will engage in no future business with them. But you must understand that I am obligated to give Trimble a final report on what has happened. He is no dummy, so you should also understand that given the millions of dollars of the Shah's funds held by Trimble's bank, he has nothing to gain and everything to lose by disclosing the Shah's identity. Another factor is something nobody can yet predict, probably including you; and that is what's going to happen to the Shah's billion dollar empire now? How long will it take before the vultures begin circling? And, speaking for my company and myself, we have no intention of talking publicly about the Shah, or doing any more snooping into David's death. So, other than my report to Trimble, I have no problem accepting your conditions. But, looking at alternatives again, how can you be sure I won't leave here and head straight for a newspaper or TV station?" "Because, McQuaid, you claim Trimble is no dummy and I know you aren't either. I have no objection to you making a final report to Trimble, as long as it is done verbally and discreetly. As a matter of fact I want you to tell Trimble exactly what I am now telling you. I want you to impress on him the need for total confidentiality and the consequences he and his bank will suffer should he elect not to cooperate with us. Tell him his wife will become a widow, his name will be disgraced, and his precious bank will be shut down within a week. And as far as your silence is concerned, you've seen first hand what we are capable of doing. You know you could be dead before you ever make it back to your office today. But, knowing that, I admit that even if you agree to silence, I'm still not completely convinced you'll keep your mouth shut - so we do have an ace in the hole. It's in this envelope." With that he tossed a large manila envelope to me. I opened the flap and pulled out about a dozen eight by ten glossy prints. I appeared in every picture. They were grainy and apparently had been made from security camera film. Most appeared to be legitimate, but a few had been doctored to make me look like a nut case on a killing rampage. Karl Seitz's lifeless body appeared in four of the pictures. "So, McQuaid, if you choose to ignore our agreement you will be arrested and charged with five counts of first-degree murder. A psychiatrist will attest to your delusional behavior and assist in prosecuting you for the murder of Karl Seitz. The scenario will be that Seitz was a security guard working for M. R. Shaw, and you shot and killed him when he caught you rifling Mr. Shaw's desk. A short time later you single-handedly caused the crash of Mr. Shaw's private plane, killing four more people. We could also arrange to have you accused of killing David Nesbitt. It can all be documented on film, as you can see on the photos you have in your hand. We'll convince the jury that you are a dangerous sociopath, a walking time-bomb. Believe me when I say that you'll be found guilty and, at best, you'll spend the rest of your life in prison." "O.K. George, you've left me with no choice - you have the upper hand but, bottom line, it's not necessary. As I said a minute ago, I have no intention of publicly discussing what I know, so I accept your conditions. I just want this ended - it's taken over my life and I've had it. I don't know what more I can say to convince you, so why don't you answer my earlier questions and I'll get out of here." "We're going to hold you to that McQuaid, but don't be too hasty about leaving; I promised you some background information on how the situation with the Shah evolved. I'm going to give you that information for one reason; the more you know about how and why the Shah wound up in Montana, the less likely you and Trimble will be to continue snooping. The same logic applies to your probing the death of David Nesbitt. When you walk out of here I want your curiosity satisfied - permanently! The story you're about to hear is a biography of diabolically clever, sinister and evil people; people with unlimited resources, fueled by greed and self preservation. In my opinion the entire conspiracy is historically significant. It is fact, not fiction. You may agree or disagree with my opinion but, regardless, if you're as intelligent as I think you are you'll realize just how incredulous the story is - probably one of the top ten news stories of the century - yet totally frustrating to both of us because we can't reveal any of it. You are between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Why? Your choice is either total and permanent silence or life in prison or death! I can't put it any plainer than that." "George, I do want to hear how the Shah got to Montana, but first I'd like to hear about this group of yours. Who the hell are you and how long have you been involved in this business with the Shah?" "For starters, McQuaid, when somebody like you is rocking the boat, we make it our business to know everything about you, while making sure you know absolutely nothing about us. We are not FBI and we are not CIA or the Secret Service - and we do not answer to any of those agencies. As a matter of fact, on occasion we serve as the watchdog of those three agencies for the White House - just more checks and balances. Compared to the bureaucracy of those agencies we are very small, but individually and collectively we carry the highest security classification of any agency in the country. We are the brainchild of - and exclusively serve the executive branch of our government. And in case you have some wild ass idea about exposing us, just remember this; no one outside the White House knows we exist. We do not have an official name - not even an acronym. We are funded through an obscure line item in the defense budget, and operate with the advice and consent of the President and the National Security Adviser. Other than those two, nobody, and I emphasize nobody, knows who we are, where we are, or what we are doing at any point in time. We do not have permanent headquarters, but operate from a series of safe houses in different parts of the country, which we change frequently. In a nutshell, McQuaid, you could never charge us with wrongdoing because you'd never find us. We are invisible; phantoms who do not exist. "What do we do to justify our existence? Well, we do a lot of things, including cleaning up messes made by stupid people - mostly Washington politicians. But we deal primarily with anti-terrorist issues - mostly infiltration of those groups, to determine which individuals are just outspoken freedom fighters, who are usually harmless, trying to non-violently foster their cause - and which are the suicidal mad bombers waiting blow up an embassy or a bus. Sometimes the most difficult part of our job is trying to distinguish between the two. History tells you that our judgment is far from perfect - you see the explosive results of those mistakes on TV and in the newspapers. We also maintain covert communication and liaison with friendly and unfriendly dictatorships. And, when all else fails, we plan and carry out the elimination of individuals deemed dangerous to the interests of our government." "Hold it George," I said. "I heard what you said about satisfying my curiosity, but if your organization is as nebulous and secretive as you claim, don't I become an expendable security risk as soon as I hear what you have to say? If so, I don't want to hear any of it. I'll get up and leave right now." "No, McQuaid, as long as you keep your mouth shut you are in no danger - you have my word on that. Besides, when you think about what you heard here today, you'll realize it was nothing more than a history lesson, and as far as my group is concerned, nothing tangible - no names, no places, no accountability - absolutely nothing that you could use to track us down. Just smoke and mirrors." "What I really want to know, George, is how the Shah turned up here, alive and well, when dozens - if not hundreds of people witnessed his death - and then how he succeeded in staying under cover for so many years?" "It's a very long story, McQuaid. I'm going to skip through many of the details, but I think you'll hear enough to put together a pretty good picture of how it all happened. "Suffice it to say that the story really began back in Persia in the 30's when the Shah was a young boy. The Shah visited his uncle's farm each summer where he became quite close to one of his cousins. The cousin's name was Achmed Kabojian and, while he was slightly older than the Shah, they looked enough alike to be identical twins. It's reported that Achmed became indebted to the Shah when the Shah rescued him from an avalanche and saved his life." "Can I assume that this Achmed was the brother of Irena and her siblings?" I asked. "Yes, Cole, that's exactly who he was, but please save your questions until I finish." "Sorry, George, go ahead." "What happened over the ensuing years, until the Shah succeeded his father in September of 1944 as the leader of Iran, really has little bearing on what happened later. All through World War II the OSS - which I'm sure you know became the CIA after the war - covertly orchestrated the Shah's reign. During the war the head of the OSS, General Bill Donovan, assigned one of his hand-picked lieutenants, an agent by the name of Jonathan Rexton, to serve as liaison between Tehran and Washington. By the end of the war Rexton had become the Shah's closest friend and advisor and knew more about the politics of Iran, friend and foe, than any other individual on earth - including the Shah. Rexton directly or indirectly manipulated or disposed of many of the Shah's enemies - some even the Shah wasn't aware he had. "Up until 1953 the Shah's primary goal was to build and maintain his power base and strengthen the Pahlavi monarchy - both his own and the future legacy he hoped to pass on to his son. He truly believed ruling Iran was the Pahlavi destiny, and to accomplish his goal of total power he knew he needed unlimited wealth. About a year earlier, with the Shah's blessing, Rexton concocted a grand master plan to slowly but consistently deplete Iran's treasury; usually under the guise of 'tributes to the Shah'. With Rexton's assistance the Shah stockpiled U.S. currency, gold bullion, silver, rare art treasures, valuable gemstones and diamonds; some secreted away in basement vaults at the palace, some in interest bearing accounts in a number of European banks, and all the larger items in a rented warehouse in Milan, Italy. Rexton calculated the Shah's personal fortune in early 1953 to be worth about $500 million in U.S. currency." "George," I interrupted. "If I remember my history correctly, wasn't the Shah forced into exile in 1953? I believe there was some kind of coup, led by his Prime Minister, I don't remember his name." "Yes, McQuaid, his name was Mossadegh, but nine days later he was overthrown and the Shah returned, supposedly in triumph. And guess who orchestrated Mossadegh's defeat - our friend Rexton. But Rexton's involvement didn't go unnoticed by the Iranians and, as a result, the Shah's return to power was marred by bloodshed, massive discontent and the belief that the Shah was a puppet of the CIA. So the political climate hadn't really changed. One thing that did change was the Shah's fortune - it was growing. Some time before the Mossadech incident Rexton convinced the Shah to start investing for the future; acquisition of real estate, buying up highly profitable existing companies, creating businesses specializing in emerging technology, purchasing financial institutions, and the like. Never a merger or partnership; always full acquisition and total control. The wheeling and dealing, always by Rexton, continued for many, many years and, by early 1972, Rexton had made the Shah a billionaire. But I'm getting ahead of myself. "Even though the Shah refused to believe his reported loss of popularity, Rexton knew differently - he saw the handwriting on the wall. In addition to the business ventures, the investments Rexton had made in banks in Milan, Geneva, London and the Bahamas were earning significant interest. The Shah's assets were now growing exponentially, and our friend Rexton was in the catbird seat - the Shah had given him lone signatory power in the handling of his personal financial affairs. Even though he gave the Shah weekly statements on the status of the growing fortune, the statements were usually doctored, and Rexton alone knew the true locations and the amounts on deposit. The Shah never suspected that his trusted and loyal friend was misappropriating considerable sums to Rexton's accounts in a number of banks in this country. We estimate that by the time the Shah came to this country Rexton had siphoned off almost $8 million of the Shah's fortune. Jonathan Rexton had his own 'grand master plan'. "The Shah was a very patient man. As long as his fortune was growing - and he and his family were in no apparent danger, he accepted the status quo. Rexton, however, was getting more impatient by the day. It had been years since he started accumulating his own fortune, and he was becoming convinced he would die before he could enjoy any of it. In addition, he was spending too many hours every week managing the Shah's finances. After complaining to the Shah about it in the fall of 1956 he was surprised when the Shah told him a few weeks later that he had arranged for the Shah's cousin, Irena Kabogian, to come to Tehran to assist Rexton. She was single, was schooled as an accountant, and had been managing the financial affairs of the family farm for years. Even though he wanted help, Rexton was lukewarm to the idea. He didn't want anybody that close to the Shah scrutinizing the Shah's books. "When Rexton saw Irena for the first time he knew why she was still single - she not only had a sour disposition and a perpetual frown - she was overweight and flat out homely. For the first few weeks after Irena arrived, Rexton spoon fed information to her about the Shah's investments. It worried him when she insisted on reviewing his old ledgers and financial statements, and even more when she began asking some very pointed questions. The payoff came when he caught her, ledgers in hand, reviewing some of the older accounts directly with the Shah. Rexton knew that he had to get her away from the palace - and quickly. "But another unlikely problem developed; Irena met and fell in love with a palace guard, who also happened to be a member of the Shah's secret police - the Savat. This individual was some years younger than Irena and he had only one burning desire; he wanted authority and power. He dreamed of becoming a major player in the Savat hierarchy, part of the Shah's inner circle, and was willing to do anything to achieve that dream. He had no romantic interest in Irena at all, and in fact found her quite repulsive, but he was smart enough to realize that Irena could be the stepping stone he needed to accomplish his goal. So he became her lover and played her like a violin. And, McQuaid, when you hear his name I know it will tie up many of the loose ends still floating in your head. His name was Mousa Muzzadin." Muzzadin! Instantly all the gears in my head starting to mesh. "My god George, since my first encounter with him I've been trying to figure how he fit in the puzzle. How many killings was he responsible for? Was he the Shah's hit man?" "No, McQuaid, he wasn't the Shah's hit man, but he was responsible for the last three killings, including your friend Nesbitt. Irena was involved in the last three as well." "But why, George," I asked. "What the hell did they hope to accomplish by killing people? It seems to me that Irena had nothing to gain and everything to lose. If it was money they were after she had all the information on the Shah and his fortune right at her fingertips." "Ah, but she didn't, McQuaid. Let me finish explaining and you'll understand why. "Rexton came up with a plan that he thought might kill two birds with one stone. For some time he had considered the benefits of opening an office in the United States. He had suggested this to the Shah on previous occasions, but the Shah always refused, expressing concern about who could be trusted to manage the office and maintain complete secrecy about the company's ownership. Irena's training and background, not to mention her familial relationship to the Shah, should alleviate all of those concerns and give Rexton the opportunity to get her away from the Shah - and give him a reason to spend more time in the States, which he desperately wanted. "Rexton was born and raised in Tampa. He knew from the beginning that Tampa would be an ideal location for the Shah's office in this country. With Irena in the picture as the figurehead in the new office, the Shah's concerns about trust and confidentiality should be totally alleviated. So Rexton outlined his scheme on paper and, considering the Shah's past fear of change, was more than a little surprised when the Shah immediately approved it. The Shah's only conditions were that Irena agree to move to Tampa and that she be properly compensated. "Rexton put together a proposal he knew Irena would not refuse. It included a six-figure salary, a generous housing allowance, a share of the new company's profits, and a promise that she would organize and manage the new office. What he didn't mention was that she would do most of the initial leg-work, but he had no intention of letting her run the office. He knew if he did, Irena would bypass him entirely and deal directly with the Shah. Rexton couldn't afford that. He had already talked to a long time friend, Arnold Bryson, another CIA buddy who had retired from the agency ten years earlier, and who recently had managed a CPA firm in Tallahassee. To cover his tracks Rexton arranged for a local employment agency to actually seek out and hire Bryson. The deal between Rexton and Bryson was that Bryson would be the CEO of the new company and would be Rexton's eyes and ears, at all times keeping him one step ahead of Irena. Rexton told Bryson everything he needed to know about the new M. R. Shaw organization, except who owned it. They also agreed on a smoke screen to cover Bryson's employment, in case Irena made an issue of it. "Rexton then met with Irena to review his proposal. Her eyes lit up when she heard the salary and housing allowance and she accepted even before he finished reading the details. "Rexton knew that Irena would be furious when she found out about Bryson, but he also believed he could handle her. And if he couldn't - there was always the extreme sanction. And so, McQuaid, after your long talks with Maria Sippano I'm sure you know the rest of the Tampa story." "I think I do, George. Was Carlton Alverez, who replaced Bryson when Bryson retired, also a hand-picked stooge of Rexton's?" "Absolutely, McQuaid. Although Alverez was never employed by any government agency, he was a personal friend of Rexton's, and was a CPA, but was crooked as a snake. He also never knew anything about the Shah." "Another question, George. Until now I've never heard of Jonathan Rexton, and I find that very odd, because it sounds to me like he was running the whole show. Where the hell is he now?" "He's dead, McQuaid, but be patient, you'll hear more about him in a minute." "George, I've been very patient. I don't need to hear all of this history. I didn't expect to be here all afternoon." "McQuaid, I told you when you arrived that I'm going to tell you everything I want you to hear. So, the less you interrupt the quicker you'll be out of here. Understand?" "O.K., George, get on with it." "Rexton worked with Irena for almost two months going over his game plan for Tampa. He wanted to be absolutely certain she understood the dozens of details he had worked out on paper. He also brought in a tutor to polish her English speaking skills, particularly American slang. "Within a month after arriving in Tampa, Irena had the new office open, and with Bryson as the CEO - much to her displeasure. She bitched endlessly to Rexton, and he finally tired of it and gave her an ultimatum; either shut up and be the highest paid flunky in the world or he'd ship her back to Isfahan. She shut up and stayed. "Meanwhile, problems in Iran continued to mount. After so many years of growing political unrest, getting worse day by day, the Shah finally conceded that his monarchy was crumbling around him. The Shah asked Rexton to come up with a plan to find safe passage out of Iran for him and his family. For weeks they considered and discarded dozens of schemes. They just couldn't agree on where the Shah could go, a place where he would be publicly welcomed and be able to move around with some degree of safety. It became obvious that there was no such place, and Rexton knew the only solution was to engineer the Shah's disappearance. When Rexton suggested this to the Shah, the Shah flew into a rage. He furiously objected to going into hiding - after all, he was a world leader! He still refused to accept the fact that Iran could survive without the Pahlavi family dynasty and that the vast majority of his countrymen were unhappy with his regime. As he had so many times in the past, he did a one-eighty and insisted that all he needed was more time. "Rexton knew this was foolish optimism. He also knew that the Shah needed him, so he ran a bluff by threatened to return to Washington unless the Shah agreed to leave Iran as soon as possible. "The Shah was bullheaded stubborn, but so was Rexton. Months before, after telling the Shah he was going to Italy and England to meet with their bankers, Rexton instead flew to Washington to try to convince his CIA superiors to orchestrate the Shah's disappearance and bring him to this country. After all, the Shah had many influential friends here, both in and out of government. Rexton was shocked and angry when he was told that political sentiment in this country was changing and that his proposal to bring the Shah here was rejected. The reason he was given was that the Shah was becoming an embarrassment to Washington. Rexton was even angrier when less than an hour later he was told he was being transferred back to CIA headquarters, effective immediately. What Rexton didn't know was that his control officer, a deputy director, was extremely jealous of Rexton's close relationship with the Shah. So, Rexton and the Shah, in effect, were being hung out to dry. "Rexton knew that if he accepted reassignment back to headquarters he'd be given a ten by ten cubicle and would push paper until he either retired or died. As furious as he was, the more he thought about his predicament the more that pot of gold at the end of the Shah's rainbow glittered in his mind. The hell with the CIA - no way would he walk away from that much money. "Our informants told us that Rexton came up with a number of schemes for the Shah's disappearance, but none of them provided a foolproof ending. The conclusion he apparently reached was that regardless of which plan he and the Shah chose, he was going to need help carrying it out. The next morning Rexton called a number of people he knew; all past or present agents in the CIA, the FBI, and Immigration, field people he had worked with previously; people he knew he could trust, and who would do almost anything for a price. He told them he was leaving the agency. He also told each that he wasn't getting out of the business, and might be in need of their professional services in the near future. Without divulging who they'd be working for, or what they might be hired to do, he asked if each would be interested in doing some 'special field work' for him if he needed their services. They would be paid handsomely and, obviously, would be sworn to total secrecy. All but one agreed. What Rexton didn't know was that one of the FBI friends he called was actually a double-agent who worked for us. In addition, the husband of one of his CIA friends - and Rexton had never met the husband - was an agent who also worked for us. That husband is sitting across from you - the guy you know as Angelo. "So, McQuaid, to answer one of your earlier questions, our mole in the FBI, together with Angelo and his wife, gave us all the information we needed to know about the comings and goings of Rexton and the Shah. "Later that day Rexton went back to CIA headquarters and resigned. That evening he was on a plane heading to Tehran." "Wait a minute," I interrupted. "You say the Shah wasn't welcome here, so with Angelo and the other agents providing you with so much information, why didn't you stop him before he came here - I'm sure you had the resources to do that. On top of that, since he supposedly died back in 1980, how the hell did he rise from the dead and get away with living in Montana all these years, particularly since you knew who and where he was? You've got me totally confused!" "Because, McQuaid, we screwed-up - royally! It's embarrassing to admit, but we were watching the wrong Shah. We were watching an impostor! We didn't know that the real Shah was in Montana. As a matter of fact, we didn't know the ranch in Montana existed. All of our double-agents and contacts thought that the ranch was just another investment in the Shah's portfolio. "Knowing how much the Shah loved horses, cattle and open spaces, and confident that sooner or later the Shah would agree to leave Iran permanently, Rexton, a few years earlier in 1972, instructed Walter Hammil and Trimble's bank to acquire the ranch property. The project took more than two years to complete, and it was in move-in condition long before the Shah knew it existed. It was a very sophisticated and complicated project, with as many facilities below ground as there were above. It had bomb-proof and fire-proof bunkers, self-contained underground living quarters for the Shah and his staff, and state-of-the-art communications and security systems. By comparison it made Buckingham Palace look like a summer cottage. As a test of their skills, Rexton brought the Tampa office in to manage construction. It was their largest project to date and they apparently impressed Rexton with their performance. But Rexton was the brains behind the entire project. He made it work and he did it brilliantly. "So, it was. . . " "Hold it, George," I interrupted. "A guy by the name of Stiebris disappeared shortly after they started construction at the ranch. Was that coincidence or was it done on orders from Rexton?" "McQuaid, for the record, Stiebris, then Matthews, Myers and finally McNaughton in 1983, were all people who either would not take no for an answer, or threatened to embarrass or shake down Rexton, and unknowingly the Shah. Rexton could not risk any exposure, so in each case he made a phone call to one of his ex associates - his hired guns. In a matter of a few hours each problem went away. And yes, McQuaid, all four are dead. We know for a fact that Stiebris is part of one of the concrete tunnels at the Diamond 27. "I'm sure you know that Muzzadin didn't come to the States until 1989 - and that's been verified. We've been told that between the death of the bogus Shah in 1980, which of course Irena believed was the real Shah, and the arrival of Muzzadin in 1989, her mental state declined. She suffered long episodes of extreme depression mixed with a simmering hatred for the Shah. Her anger toward the Shah started much earlier when Bryson was hired and became her boss. Her hatred festered even more when Carlton Alvarez was brought in as the new CEO to replace the retiring Bryson. She was livid and swore vengeance on the Shah and Rexton. But the Shah was dead, and as much as she detested Alvarez and Rexton, she was absolutely terrified of both. She was convinced that if Rexton considered her a threat to his covert role in the long-standing operations in the States, or if she publicly identified the late Shah as the owner of the whole operation - or even threatened to do so - she wouldn't live to see the next sunrise. "As knowledgeable as she was about the Tampa office and their multitude of projects, Rexton made sure that she was never able to gain access to any of the multitude of bank accounts holding the Shah's liquid fortune. She knew that Rexton had the bulk of the Shah's fortune on deposit in dozens of banks in Europe, the Caribbean and in this country, but, regardless of what ploy she used, she failed to get a single account number. And, I'm sorry to say, realizing that Nesbitt was probably her last hope is the reason they were so brutal in torturing and killing him . . . but I'm getting ahead of myself again. "Because of Rexton's inherent distrust and dislike of Irena from the day she first set foot in the Shah's palace in Tehran, he had instructed Trimble's bank to deal with no one in Tampa other than Carlton Alvarez or Maria Sippano. But it made little difference - Rexton was the only person on earth who had the account numbers and knew where all the money was stashed. Irena became angrier and more frustrated as time passed and Rexton threw more and more obstacles in her path. "But her outlook changed in 1989 when Muzzadin arrived in Tampa. After renewing their one-sided love affair, she explained to Muzzadin that she wanted to relieve the Shah of a hefty chunk of his fortune and then take off for South America. Muzzadin had no intention of getting involved in a long-term relationship with Irena, but he immediately saw the potential for instant wealth. For the next few nights, using information from the Tampa office files, he and Irena put together a plan of action. It was based on which of Tampa's clients would most likely have the information they needed. And each night, after hours of drinking, he would grit his teeth and make love to Irena." "George," I said, my mind's eye focusing on David's green leather attaché case. "I've known for some time that Muzzadin and his goon killed David. Were they also responsible for the deaths of Durwood and Byrnes? And another thing; Irena knew that Rexton held the keys to the Shah's fortune, so why didn't she have Muzzadin go after Rexton? If I was in her shoes that's exactly what I would have done." "Yes," George replied. "Durwood and Byrnes had just completed deals with the Shah, each resulting in a number of bank transactions and a huge paper trail. Irena hoped that one of them could provide what she was looking for, but none of them did. As far as going after Rexton is concerned, it was her fear not only of Rexton, but his alliance with god knows how many killers. She knew what they were capable of and it terrified her. If anything happened to Rexton she believed they would immediately come after her." "O.K., George, let's get back to the Shah." "Shah the impostor did die in 1980, and by the time we found out, the real Shah had been living comfortably for some time at his new ranch in Montana. Thanks to Rexton, we were bamboozled, pure and simple! It was dumb luck and pure circumstance that led us to the real Shah years later. Once we knew, and did some investigating to confirm his identity, we learned how he got to Montana and how he avoided exposure. My group was then instructed to do whatever was necessary to keep the Shah's presence in this country from the public. We were given authority to eliminate him if we suspected he was attempting to reveal his identity or to permanently move elsewhere. As it turned out, he unknowingly helped us by rarely leaving his beloved ranch. And the few times he did, it was by limo - with Angelo at the wheel. We got a break there too. The Shah's previous chauffeur died of a heart attack - never knowing who his boss really was. Spreading some major money in the right places, specifically the ranch manager, enabled us to get Angelo the job as his replacement. Angelo became our eyes and ears at the ranch. And, at the end, Angelo did exactly what he had been instructed to do when it appeared the Shah was attempting to leave. If the Shah succeeded in going elsewhere and his existence became known, the impact on Washington, both past and present, would have been devastating." "So, George, I assume Rexton was the one who engineered the Shah's move to Montana. How did he do it?" "I'm almost there Cole, please don't interrupt! We still don't know all of the details but, based on what our informants told us, Rexton racked his brain for weeks trying to come up with a workable plan - to no avail. But as it turned out, the answer fell right in his lap. The Shah threw a lavish party at the palace to honor the birthday of his cousin Achmed Kabojian. Achmed was there, together with family members. When Rexton saw Achmed he knew exactly how he could engineer the Shah's disappearance - and rebirth. Achmed looked so much like the Shah it was uncanny - same height and build, same facial features, he even walked like the Shah. He couldn't have looked more like the Shah if he had been an identical twin. Achmed would be the Shah's ticket to the United States! "Achmed and his family departed for home the following morning. After spending most of the day fine-tuning his plan, Rexton presented it to the Shah. It was the first time that the Shah knew of the existence of the 'Diamond 27' ranch, even though at that time it had yet to be named. Rexton referred to it as simply 'the ranch'. The Shah was very impressed with Rexton's description of his dream home, yet Rexton's plan worried him. So many things had to go exactly right for it to succeed. He knew his future in Iran was filled with uncertainty and personal danger, but he still objected to giving up his throne and his persona as a world renowned leader. He also thought it would be unfair to subject Achmed to future embarrassment and retaliation should the deception be uncovered. "But Rexton was relentless; he bluntly told the Shah to be realistic and accept the fact that his reign was quickly coming to an end. Rexton pointed out that Achmed would be free to leave Tehran if the political climate got too hot. Furthermore, Achmed had never married and had spent his entire life farming and raising sheep; certainly not a glamorous life. At the palace Achmed could live like a king, even if it lasted for no more than a few months. The Shah finally agreed to go along - but only if Achmed agreed to the plan. "The next morning Rexton flew to Isfahan. After Rexton presented his plan, Achmed enthusiastically jumped at the chance to participate. Rexton returned with Achmed to Tehran and timed their arrival so they entered the palace in the middle of the night. Achmed was placed in a large apartment on the top floor of the palace. For the next three months Achmed's food and all of his personal necessities were delivered in a dumbwaiter. No one was permitted on his floor, other than the Shah and Rexton. "After a few weeks of coaching, Rexton and the Shah felt that Achmed was ready, so the switch was made. Achmed had no trouble handling the Shah's daily routine, while the Shah stayed in his private quarters with his wife and son. The clincher came when the palace barber didn't know he was shaving Achmed and not the Shah. "At Rexton's insistence the Shah grew a close-cropped beard and dyed his hair dark brown. Rexton also bought a complete new wardrobe of casual and semi-casual clothes for the Shah. With the addition of dark sunglasses and a baseball cap his appearance changed dramatically. Rexton then obtained phony passports and other ID for himself and the Shah. The Shah would travel under the name of M. R. Shaw. Rexton would use one of his many aliases; James Riley. "The day before their departure Rexton met at the airport with the Shah's personal pilot. He told him to file a flight plan to Paris, leaving at 4:00 a.m. the following morning. There would be two passengers; a friend of the Shah and Rexton. This was a business trip, and they would be in Paris about a week, so the pilot could return immediately to Iran. He would be summoned when they were ready to return." "George," I said, "The Shah agreed to leave without his wife and son? Why did he do that?" "Two reasons, Cole. First, Rexton wanted the Shah's wife and son to appear in public and at palace functions with the fake Shah - just to strengthen his role playing. Of course the wife and son knew what was going on. They were to join the real Shah in Montana as soon as Rexton felt it was safe for them to travel without attracting attention. Taking the wife and son with them would potentially double the risk of disclosure. The second reason was Rexton's concern that he and the Shah travel light and get to Montana as directly and quickly as possible. "Irena was purposely not told that her brother and the Shah had switched places. What she and the rest of the Kabojian clan were told was that Achmed had been recruited by the Shah to serve as his Minister of Agriculture, responsible for agrarian reform. Less than two months after he brought Achmed to Tehran, Rexton returned to the Kabojian farm and told the family that he was the bearer of bad news. Sadly, he explained, Achmed was on his way to a meeting with a group of farmers when his car was rear-ended by a large dump truck. The car's gas tank was ruptured and exploded in flames. Both Achmed and his driver were trapped in the car and were burned beyond recognition. He then showed them pictures of the charred remains of somebody's car, taken at a local junkyard, and presented them with an urn supposedly containing Achmed's ashes. He also presented them with a $100 thousand check, which Rexton said was a token of gratitude from the Shah for the service that Achmed had performed for his country. The entire Kabojian family, except for Irena, who was in Tampa, tearfully accepted Rexton's explanation of Achmed's death. Rexton was now confident that, at the very least, no member of the Kabojian family could question the whereabouts of Achmed. "Later that day Rexton called Irena in Tampa and gave her the same story. She listened, but gave Rexton the distinct impression that she couldn't care less about brother Achmed or, for that matter, the rest of her family. Her sole concern was the life and times of Irena - screw everybody else! Nor did she have any idea that the real Shah was hale and hearty, and enjoying life at his new ranch. "After the bogus Shah died of cancer in 1980 Irena could not understand why Rexton still came frequently to Tampa, playing his mysterious cloak and dagger games with Carlton Alvarez. Because of her loyalty and service, and the fact she was one of the Shah's few living blood relatives, she had always assumed that when he died she would inherit a significant piece of his fortune. She questioned Rexton about this every time he came to Tampa, but he always gave her the same answer; the Shah's will was very complex and was in the hands of the widow's attorneys. Rexton finally tired of Irena's incessant questioning and told her that before the Shah died he revised his will and left his entire estate to his wife and son. The reason for this was he hoped that some day his son would return to Iran and reclaim the Pahlavi throne, which the Shah knew would probably result in civil war. Regardless, it would cost a fortune - his fortune. To accomplish this, Rexton claimed that the Shah had empowered him to continue business as usual. Nothing was to change. When Irena heard this she considered it the final insult and immediately flew into a blind rage. She physically attacked Rexton, tearing at his clothes, spitting on him and slapping his face. Rexton pushed her away, turned and quickly exited the building. She screamed at him that she no longer had any obligation to the late Shah, or her family - none of them. It may take some doing, but she would find a way to get even. She would have her revenge! "Rexton was not amused, to say the least. She had stepped way over the line and was obviously out of control. His first reaction was to make a phone call and have her terminated. But when he calmed down he realized that such a move might be foolish; he couldn't afford to draw attention to the Tampa office, particularly a police investigation, or worse, snooping newspaper reporters. An alternative was to keep Irena on a very short leash, so before he left for Montana he arranged with a local private investigator to have Irena watched 24 hours a day. He also told Alvarez to have both her office and home phones tapped and to make sure she was never in the office alone. After that incident Rexton continued to visit the Tampa office, but on an unscheduled basis, so that Irena would never know when to expect him." "George," I said, "It sounds as though Rexton spent most of his life either baby-sitting the Shah or riding in an airplane. You said earlier that he had his own fortune stashed away, so after he got the Shah to Montana, why the hell didn't he quit and get a life of his own? He must have been getting up there in age." "He was in his seventies, Cole, and he was becoming very impatient. The money he had skimmed from the Shah's accounts had grown to almost $10 million. In addition, the Shah was paying him an annual salary in the mid six-figure range, plus all of his expenses. Rexton still maintained his original apartment, just outside Washington, DC, and he also had a condo on Puget Sound, about 30 miles north of Seattle. He used the condo as a hideaway to fish, eat, sleep and fish some more. He had a passion for fishing; it was his only hobby. Other than my organization, nobody, not even the Shah, knew about Rexton's condo. But as impatient as Rexton had become, he suffered the misconception shared by most wealthy people - you never have enough money." "You mentioned earlier that Rexton is dead. How did he die? If I had to guess I'd say Irena planned it and Muzzadin carried it out." "No, Cole, neither were involved. Rexton went to his condo for a long weekend of fishing and relaxation. The second day he was there he arose before dawn and by first light was in his boat heading toward one of his fishing spots. We don't know all the details, but the autopsy indicated he suffered a massive heart attack. He apparently lived long enough to shut down the outboard motor, but the boat drifted for hours before another fisherman checked out what he thought was an abandoned boat and found Rexton's lifeless body." "How did the Shah react when he heard about Rexton's death?" "About as you might expect - he panicked. After all, Cole, the Shah had done very little on his own for most of his adult life. Rexton did it all. He was the Shah's protector, his advisor, his banker, his friend, really his right arm. The Shah probably shared more personal secrets with Rexton than he did with his wife." "You said the Shah didn't know about Rexton's home in Seattle, so how did he find out that Rexton was dead?" "As crazy as it sounds, Cole, we told him. When Rexton wasn't actually in Montana, he would call the Shah every few days to give him a heads-up on what was going on. When Rexton didn't call for over a week the Shah ordered his office manager to call Tampa and find out if they knew where Rexton was. Angelo overheard the conversation and immediately contacted me. He said the Shah was very upset, so we decided to put together a copy of Rexton's newspaper obituary, a news clipping covering the investigation into his death, together with a photo of his condo. We then mailed all of it to the Shah. "Angelo said that the Shah was even more upset after he got our package. He quickly realized that Rexton was the only one who had a detailed accounting of his world-wide investments. "Rexton had his own office at the ranch. In addition to the usual office furniture, it contained a half-dozen file cabinets and a rather hefty safe. The Shah's security people managed to open the safe, but found it empty. Then, looking for Rexton's accounting ledgers, they proceeded to do a microscopic search of every piece of furniture and every file cabinet and it's contents. They literally tore the office apart. They found nothing relating to the Shah's investments. When the Shah heard this he went on a rampage, trashing everything he could get his hands on. After the reality of his situation sank in, over the next week or so, the Shah alternately fell into fits of depression and bouts of anger and screaming at the slightest provocation. All he had were Rexton's weekly summary reports. The numbers and other data listed in the reports were examined more closely. Hours were spent on the phones seeking verification from banks and brokerage houses all over the world. It turned out that a good half of the accounts listed in Rexton's reports were totally fictitious. The Shah knew that the green accounting ledgers documenting his financial empire existed because he had frequently seen Rexton working on them. But none could be found. The Shah suddenly realized that even if they were found they could be as phony as Rexton's other reports. He knew his trusted and loyal friend had screwed him royally." "Another question, George. You obviously have a ton of background on Rexton, including his west coast condo. How did you come by all that information, like knowing about the condo, when the Shah knew nothing? And I'm sure it was more than coincidence that you happened to have pictures and newspaper articles about Rexton's death. "Also, George, it's obvious that Rexton was the brain trust behind a scam he engineered decades ago. Unless you're exaggerating, he was a master at planning and execution. He not only outwitted the Shah but, as you admitted, your whole organization lost a few Brownie points when he succeeded in getting the real Shah to Montana. So, given all of that, how the hell did you find Rexton?" "Probably because we had the right people in the right place at the right time. After Rexton resigned from the CIA, one of the former CIA agents who now works for us was assigned to Tehran to monitor the Shah and 'Rexton the Renegade', as he was referred to. So we knew about Rexton long before he and the Shah moved to Montana. Rexton got lucky with the Montana move because he knew the role Achmed Kabojian was playing, and we didn't. Most of what we know about the Montana switch came long after the fact - mostly from Angelo. One day Angelo was chauffeuring the Shah and Rexton to a hunting outfitter and arms dealer, about a two hour drive from the ranch. The Shah was interested in buying some of the newer automatic weapons. He overheard the Shah and Rexton bragging about how they pulled off the Tehran-to-Montana switch. "Once we discovered who he was, and the role he played with the Shah, then, later, how he pulled off the Montana switch, we were all over Rexton like ants at a picnic. He was followed and monitored 24 hours a day, seven days a week. We did a thorough background check on him, all the way back to kindergarten. For years now we have electronically recorded all of his phone conversations, and just about every word he spoke otherwise. We had cameras and bugs in his Washington apartment and in his Seattle condo. He had a basement floor safe in the condo, a big one that we opened after he died. We found the Shah's ledgers, and years of Rexton's financial statements, together with dozens of bank books, both his and the Shah's, and five hand-written journals that detailed the money trail and his life story all the way back to the old OSS. When Rexton was at the ranch we had the eyes and ears of Angelo covering him. Most of the remaining people in my group were also tailing and watching Rexton. They thought he was some kind of international criminal and had no knowledge of his involvement with the Shah. Believe me Cole, we had Rexton six ways to Sunday - he couldn't take a leak without our knowing about it." "George," I said. "Once you knew the Shah was in Montana, and his involvement with Rexton, why didn't you simply eliminate one or both of them. Seems to me that it would have ended this whole ugly mess years ago - and probably saved a few lives along the way." "That sounds so simple and easy, but the guy in the White House wouldn't hear of it. He was afraid the whole sordid mess would be uncovered by some hotshot reporter, followed by a media circus that might destroy his administration. We were only following orders. "Cole, I know you're getting antsy, and I've got a plane to catch, so I've got to wrap this up quickly. You should know that the main house, the underground bunker and all of the tunnels at the ranch were almost totally destroyed by explosive charges set by Angelo the day you left. Everything relating to the Shah in those areas was either removed or was incinerated in the explosion and fire. What wasn't destroyed has since been bulldozed. The bodies in the Shah's jet were burned beyond recognition. We removed them in body bags before the locals arrived and later had them cremated. Maybe a bit of overkill - but necessary. The locals are still scratching their collective heads trying to figure out how a plane with nobody in it tried to take off. The crew facilities, the stock, stables, barns, all of the outbuildings and the hanger and airstrip remain intact. The security building and most of the paved roads also remain in place. We ordered Tampa to put the entire ranch facility on the market. I understand they have secured a buyer and are now working out settlement details." "Just curious, George," I said. "Did the name 'Diamond 27' have some meaning, or was the Shah just trying to recreate an image of the old west?" "No, Cole, it had a lot of meaning to the Shah. Many things happened to him - good and bad - on the 27th day of the month. He was born on October 27, 1919. And then, after his father was exiled to South Africa by the Allies because of his benevolent relationship with Adolph Hitler, the Shah succeeded his father on September 27th, 1941. "After 26 years as King, on October 27th, 1967, on his forty-eighth birthday, the Shah was crowned as His Imperial Majesty, Mohammed Reza Pahlavi Aryamehr, Shahanshah of Iran. His third wife, Farah, was crowned as Empress of Iran, and their six-year-old son Reza was declared Crown Prince. It was certainly no coincidence that the Shah arrived at his new Montana ranch on the 27th of the month. And the final irony was almost predictable - the fake Shah, Achmed Kabogian, died from virulent cancer in Cairo, Egypt, on July 27, 1980." "That's almost spooky, George. Even though I knew nothing about Rexton until today, I did think I knew quite a bit about the Shah. Now, after hearing you, I realize I hadn't even scratched the surface. But the more I hear, the more questions come to mind. Questions like who will inherit the Shah's billion dollar fortune, and what will become of Irena and the Tampa office? Also, how come the Shah's heirs didn't converge like vultures after Shah the impostor died in 1980?" "The reason, Cole, is the Shah's wife and son were the only heirs, and also the only ones who knew about the identity switch. The Kabojian clan was thrilled that Achmed was going to serve as one of the Shah's top cabinet members. They were also told that upon the Shah's death they would be remembered and would each receive a generous inheritance. The Shah's wife and son, of course, never hurt for money. They lived quite lavishly on nothing more than the interest from a multimillion dollar trust fund set up by Rexton." "If what you just said is true, and if Irena had been patient, she probably would have wound up with a sizable inheritance - and all the killing and conniving and bitterness wouldn't have been necessary." "You're right, Cole, but unfortunately she had absolutely no patience. She was an embittered old woman, and she wanted a much bigger piece of the Shah's fortune than she thought she would get as an inheritance." "Another question, George. Did the Shah's wife and son ever make it to the Montana ranch?" "No. Even though that was the original plan, the Shah changed his mind. He figured that there was much less chance of the phony Shah being unmasked if his wife and son were seen with him on a regular basis. Even after the phony Shah died, the wife and son lived in seclusion and played the role of grieving family members. "You asked about the Tampa office. As far as we're concerned, it'll continue to operate as a legitimate business enterprise. There has already been a change in top management; a change we engineered just yesterday. First, Carlton Alvarez is out. Alvarez is a brilliant business man. His problem is that he plays both sides of the street. He was doing the very same things Rexton was doing, but on a smaller scale. Problem is, he can't be trusted, so we gave him a choice; resign as COE, with a fat severance check, and get out of Tampa for good - or suffer the consequences. And he knew exactly what we meant. We had accessed his personal bank accounts and showed him some of the evidence we had on him; extortion, bribery, misappropriation of funds - enough to finish his life in prison. "As far as who's going to run the show in Tampa, you'll be happy to hear that the new CEO is Maria Sippano. I know you'll agree that Maria is honest, very intelligent, and knows the business inside and out. She'll do well." "That's great, Maria deserves the job," I said. "But what about old iron-face Irena? Is she still in the mix?" "No, she's gone. We didn't offer her a dime, but we gave her the choice of returning to the family farm in Iran, or staying and facing conspiracy and murder charges, plus a whole string of lesser charges. As with Alvarez, all we had to do was show her the evidence we had accumulated against her. It took her all of ten seconds to opt for Iran. But the greatest irony of all is what she found out after accepting our offer; in his will the real Shah left the bulk of his fortune to his wife and son, in the form of a trust. He also left Irena and all of the other surviving Kabojians - a whopping $10 million each. But, a recent codicil totally eliminated her inheritance - and only hers. She got absolutely nothing. Fortunately, Angelo was able to retrieve most of the Shah's personal papers, including his will, before he set the timer controlling the detonators. I went to Tampa yesterday to confront both Alvarez and Irena. I showed Irena a copy of the Shah's will, hoping she would react as she did. When she read the will and the codicil she turned white as a ghost, then began shaking and mumbling to herself, probably in her native tongue, because we couldn't understand a word she said. She left the Tampa office immediately and went directly home. One of my agents followed her. When he called me later to report, he said she had been in her house about thirty minutes when he heard a gunshot. He forced his way in and found her in her bathroom, laying naked in her bathtub in a pool of blood. She had put the gun barrel in her mouth and pulled the trigger. "So, Cole, that's all I intend telling you. With what you just heard, together with what you discovered earlier on your own, you should have enough pieces of the puzzle to satisfy your curiosity and close the book on the entire episode. This is an issue of national importance, with potential international complications. I know that wars have started over a lot less. Aside from your earlier agreement to do so, I hope you now understand why you must keep your mouth shut. It was just a bad dream. Agreed?" "I do agree, George, but I have one final question; how much of this am I permitted to discuss with Alex Trimble?" "Cole, either he comes to you, or you go to him, it doesn't matter to me. You may tell him everything you just heard, but do it face to face - not by telephone, not by fax, and absolutely nothing is to be put in writing. You also must emphasize to him that he is not to discuss this with anybody, particularly bank employees and his board of directors. Convince him that if he does, he and his wife will never live to see retirement. Do you understand?" "Yes, George, I do. And I have your word that if I hold up my end of our deal, no harm will come to me or my family and friends?" "Absolutely, you have my word." With that, he got up and left the room. No goodbye, no nice meeting you, no nothing - he just left. Angelo then escorted me to the front door and, without any display of emotion, thanked me for coming, shook my hand, closed and locked the door behind me.

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