Private Dublin

Chapter 95

The hubbub of conversation, chime of cutlery against dishes, and tinkle of glasses meeting in toasts rose above the sound of the Pacific waves rolling against the Malibu sands.

Geoffrey’s was busy, and Sci, Mo-bot, Justine and I had a table for four on the terrace near the low glass barrier that fronted the water. Every other table was occupied by Tinseltown folk or well-heeled locals, a few of whom I recognized from the silver screen, small screen or gossip sites.

“Nerves of steel,” Sci remarked, tucking into his steak. “That’s what you’ve got, Jack.”

“Takes guts to face down people like Lawrence Finch and Raymond Chalmont,” Mo-bot agreed. “Zealots with money are so dangerous.”

A server poured Justine another half-glass of champagne, and she raised it in salute. “To bravery.”

“To recovery,” I added, lifting my own glass.

“To bravery and recovery,” Mo-bot and Sci said, and we all drank to those sentiments.

My phone rang. I would normally have ignored it during a meal, but so much had happened in the past few weeks, I couldn’t afford to miss anything important.

“Excuse me,” I said, taking my cell from my jacket pocket.

I was glad I had because I saw the call was from Secretary of Defense Eli Carver.

“Eli,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, Jack,” he replied. “You’ve already done more than enough. I wanted to let you know Raymond Chalmont is trying to cut a deal with the Justice Department. He’ll name every member of Propaganda Tre and give us the details of their money flows and power structure, in exchange for a reduced sentence in a medium-security federal prison. Minimum of twenty-five years. I just wanted to run it past you, Jack. After what he did to you and Justine.”

“Twenty-five years, medium-security,” I said to Justine. “In exchange for giving up the whole organization.”

“Twenty-five years is still hard time, wherever it’s served,” Justine responded. “And if it means we can sleep easily, I’m all for it.”

I nodded.

“It’s fine with us,” I told Carver.

“Lawrence Finch is trying to cut something similar in Ireland, so we’ll be able to cross-check what they tell us and play one off against the other, to ensure we get the whole picture,” Carver said.

“That works,” I remarked.

“Thanks, Jack,” he said. “I have a personal interest in seeing the demise of this group.”

“I can understand that,” I told him. “Let me know if there’s anything you need from Private, Mr. Secretary.”

“Don’t start that again, Jack. It’s Eli to you,” he insisted. “Look me up when you’re next in DC. And give my thanks to your people. You all did an amazing job again.”

“I will, Eli,” I assured him. “On both counts.”

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up.

“Sounds like that’s the end of Propaganda Tre,” Mo-bot said.

I nodded. “He said you all did a great job and to send his thanks.”

“Hush now,” Sci replied. “You’ll make me blush.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mo-bot said. “I live for praise.”

I smiled and raised my glass again. “To justice,” I said.

They lifted their own glasses and responded in unison. “To justice.”