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Just as Casey was about to call her findings in to Ryan, Morano’s cell phone rang. Not the one on his desk, but another one, which he yanked out of his pants pocket.
“Yeah,” he answered. He went rigid. “What do you mean, he’s on his way home? How the hell did he get out of there so fast? And how did he put the pieces together?” A pause. “Shit. He’ll be flying straight to JFK. That’s just thirteen hours in the air. Which gives me one fucking day. How do you suggest I pull this off?” He stood up and began pacing, so agitated that he looked as if he might kill someone. “Okay, good. Just have him stopped. I need a little more time. I know, I know. Just buy me a couple of days.”
He punched off the phone. “Shit!” he shouted at the empty room. “Shit, shit, shit!” He picked up a mug and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into fragments. Then, he sank down at his desk, dragging an arm across his sweating forehead. Whatever he had to accomplish, it was big. And it was in the process of being compromised.
A myriad of thoughts flooded Casey’s mind.
The person Morano was referring to had to be Paul Everett. And Morano himself was in this as deep as Fenton. Maybe more so, if he were part of the mob.
Without further speculation, Casey punched Ryan’s number on speed dial. “Are you behind the wheel?” she demanded.
“Nope, a passenger,” he replied. “I just switched off with Claire, since I’ve been driving since last night. I needed to take a break.”
“Well, don’t. Tell Claire to pull over to the side of the road. All three of you get in the back of the van. Rewind the transmission from Gecko about three minutes. Then, watch.”
“Done.” Ryan didn’t ask any questions. He just acted.
While Casey stayed on the phone, she could heard a mingle of voices and a rush of activity. Then some slamming car doors and shuffling around.
“We’re all back here,” Ryan said. “I’m putting you on speaker, and putting down the phone so I can rewind the video feed.”
Casey waited impatiently while Ryan reversed the feed and backed it up about three minutes. Then, he shifted back into play mode.
“Yup, that’s Morano,” Marc identified. “Sitting at his desk.”
“Keep watching,” Casey instructed. She listened as her other team members watched and heard what she had.
“Holy shit.” Ryan reacted first. “I thought Morano was a victim. That must have been a setup. He’s one of them.”
“One of whoever’s keeping Paul Everett away,” Marc clarified. “It could be the mob. It could be law enforcement. We just don’t know.”
“We do know that it’s Paul Everett on a flight,” Claire inserted. “His energy has been in transition since I got to Amanda’s. I kept walking around her apartment, going from room to room, trying to understand what I was sensing. But this is it. He’s on his way home.”
“Which means he’s flying into JFK from somewhere,” Casey said. “We don’t know where and we don’t know when. All we know is that it’s a thirteen-hour flight, that it’s landing at JFK sometime today, and that whoever they are, they intend to stop him from getting to Amanda and Justin.”
“We might not know any of the details,” Marc said in a hard tone. “But Morano does. We could confront him. But that would only backfire. He’d shut down and refuse to tell us a damned thing. We’re better off sticking close by and monitoring him. Eventually, he’ll be having a follow-up chat.”
“I agree,” Casey said. “You three stay out there and keep a close eye on Morano. Call me ASAP if you see or hear anything before I do. I’m contacting Patrick and getting him to call in security relief. I want him at JFK’s International Terminal. Thirteen hours means the flight is originating overseas. Marc, you’ve done the most international traveling. Come up with a list of potential origins. In the meantime, Ryan, you search for flights about thirteen hours in length that are landing at JFK. The two of you compare notes to find the most likely time and terminal.”
“Done,” Marc said.
“In the meantime, Patrick can pick me up and we’ll go to JFK together. Two sets of eyes are better than one. Until we get your text, we’ll check out the arrival schedule and figure out some possibilities on our own. And, if either one of us spots Paul Everett, or anyone tries to detain him, we can act.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The large fifth-floor conference room at FBI Headquarters was filled to capacity.
Patricia had met with the team from the New York Field Office, together with the Assistant U.S. Attorney, before Richard called the CUORC meeting to order.
CUORC consisted of Richard, the Committee Chairman, plus a dozen FBI Section Chiefs and an equal number of Unit Chiefs spanning every division of the FBI, in addition to a Department Of Justice Director and a dozen DOJ division chiefs. It was up to CUORC to assess the benefits and the risks of the Undercover operation and the sensitive circumstances that existed.
Waiting in the wings to answer any questions their respective Section and Unit Chiefs might have during the meeting were SSA Robinson of the Public Corruption squad and SSA Camden of the Vizzini family Organized Crime Squad, along with the Assistant U.S. Attorney who was working with the New York Field Office.
Frank Rodriguez, Section Chief of Integrity in Government, spoke first.
“This investigation was initially ours. It began over a year ago. The Long Island Resident Agency got a tip from the original owner of beachfront real estate on Shinnecock Bay. He wanted to build a hotel to capitalize on the business opportunity created by the construction of the nearby Shinnecock Indian Casino. He sought all the appropriate permits from the Town of Southampton. Evidently, Lyle Fenton, using his position on the Town Board, was extorting him by withholding permits, zoning variances, road improvements, environmental approvals—you name it—unless he was guaranteed a portion of the hotel profits. Fenton was already on our radar, and we had reason to believe the corruption extended beyond Southampton to Washington, D.C.”
“Are you speaking of Congressman Mercer?” Richard inquired.
