John Grisham The Broker

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

inspection of the paperwork, and the y might actually take a look at you.
Probably not. We'll be at a US. militar y base, and soldiers come and go all
the time. I have a passport for you. I'll d o the talking with the Italians,
then you'll be taken by ambulance to th e hospital.
"
"Italians?
"
"Yes. Ever hear of the Aviano Air Base?
"
"No.
"
"Didn't think so. It's been around in US. hands since we ran the Germans of f
in 1945. It's in the northeast part of Italy, near the Alps.
"
"Sounds lovely.
"
"It's okay, but it's a base.
"
"How long will I be there?
"
"That's not my decision. My job is to get you from this airplane to the bas e
hospital. There, someone else takes over. Take a look at this bio for Majo r
Herzog, just in case.
"
Joel spent a few minutes reading the fictional history of Major Herzog an d
memorizing the details on the fake passport
Page 19
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
.
"Remember, you're very ill and sedated," Gantner said. "Just pretend you'r e
in a coma.
"
"I've been in one for six years.
"
"Would you like some coffee?
"
"What time is it where we're going?
"
Gantner looked at his watch and did a quick calculation. "We should lan d
around one a.m.
"
"I'd love some coffee.
"
Gantner gave him a paper cup and a thermos, and disappeared
.
After two cups, Joel felt the engines reduce power. He returned to his bun k
and tried to close his eyes
.
As the C-130 rolled to a stop, an air force ambulance backed itself close t o
the rear hatch. The troops ambled off, most still half asleep. A stretche r
carrying Major Herzog rolled down the gateway and was carefully lifted int o
the ambulance. The nearest Italian official was sitting inside a US. militar y
jeep, watching things halfheartedl y
and trying to stay warm. The ambulance pulled away, in no particular hurry,
and five minutes later Major Herzog was rolled into the small base hospital
and tucked away in a tiny room on the second floor where two military
policemen guarded his door.
Fortunately for Backman, though he had no way of knowing and no reason to
care, at the eleventh hour President Morgan also pardoned an aging billionaire
who'd escaped prison by fleeing the country. The billionaire, an immigrant
from some Slavic state who'd had the option of redoing his name upon his
arrival decades earlier, had chosen in his youth the title of Duke Mongo. The
Duke had given trainloads of money to Morgan's presidential campaign. When it
was revealed that he'd spent his career evading taxes it was also revealed
he'd spent several nights in the Lincoln Bedroom, where, over a friendly
nightcap, he and the President discussed pending indictments. According to the
third person present for the nightcap, a young tart who was currently serving
as the Duke's fifth wife, the President promised to throw his weight around
over at the IRS
and call off the dogs. Didn't happen. The indictment was thirty-eight pages
long, and before it rolled off the printer the billionaire, minus wife number
five, took up residence in Uruguay where he thumbed his nose north while
living in a palace with soon-to-be wife number six. Now he wanted to come home
so he could die with dignity, die as a real patriot, and be buried on his
Thoroughbred farm just outside Lexington, Kentucky. Critz cut the deal, and
minutes after signing the pardon for Joel Backman, President Morgan granted
complete clemency to Duke Mongo. It took a day for the news to leak-the
pardons, for good reason, were not publicized by the White House-and the press
went insane.
Here was a man who cheated the federal government out of $600 million over a
twenty-year period, a crook who deserved to be locked away forever, and he was
about to fly home in his mammoth jet and spend his final days in obscene
luxury. The Backman story, sensational as it was, now had serious competition
from not only the kidnapped Danish tourists but also the country's largest tax
cheater. But it was still a hot item. Most of the major morning papers along
Page 20
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the
East Coast ran a picture of "The Broker" somewhere on the front page. Most ran
long stories about his scandal, his guilty plea, and now his pardon. Carl
Pratt read them all online, in a huge messy office he kept above his garage in [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Linki