I went downstairs to the business center and called Chris Corsini. "It's me, Max." "Why are you bothering me? I thought we had an agreement that you got your last favor."
"Here, take down this number." I read off Webber's cell phone number, the one he had given me my last day at headquarters, the same one I'd already given Chris to get Webber's calls. "Do a quick credit check on him. Call me back with his bank and bank account number." "This isn't legal, is it?"
"It's okay. I owe the guy money and I lost his financial coordinates. If I don't make the transfer today, I'm cooked." "Right. I think I've heard that before, too." But Chris called back right on cue, ten minutes later. "Whoever Webber is, he has only one bank account, domestically and
in his name at least: the Bank of America in Falls Church." He gave me the number.
"One more favor, Chris. I'm running out of time. Look up the IRS's fax number in Philadelphia."
"Jesus, Max, what are you up to?"
"You don't-"
"You're right. I really don't." Happily, he seemed to have the IRS number on his Rolodex.
As soon as I hung up with Chris, I pulled out a three-by-five card I'd grabbed at the last minute from Michelle Zwanzig's office: the pin code to her UBS account. It had been taped to the inside of the safe door. Using it, I logged onto her account and transferred twelve million dollars from David Channing's Morgan Stanley account to Webber's checking account at the Bank of America in Falls Church, Virginia. I printed a copy of the transfer and faxed it to the IRS.
Next, I called John O'Neill, hoping he, too, was still speaking to me.
"Can I get back in?" I asked him. "I gotta see you now."
"JFK okay?"
"I'll see you there."
"I won't be at the airport. A friend, though."
"Okay. But this can't wait."
"One other thing: I got you immunity."
"What for?"
"You know. Millis. But that doesn't mean they can't tag you. If there's any chance of cleaning up your act, do it now."
Too late for that.
"John-"
"Oh, no…"
"One last request ever."
"I mean it. You're like the clap, like some herpes virus. You just keep mutating and erupting all over the place."
"I need a meeting. Justice. CIA. FBI. Set it up, will ya?"
"Fucking nuts," O'Neill said as he hung up.
I'd lied to Frank; I hadn't e-mailed Danny Pearl anything. But I did now. David Channing's options buys. Not enough to write a story, but if anything happened to me, Pearl would never let the story go.
When I got back to the room, India's bag was waiting by the door, but she was gone. I was lying on the sofa two hours later when she let herself back in. She looked as if she'd been crying for days.
"I have to leave."
"I know," I told her. I tried to put my arms around her, but she backed away. "Our flight's in-"
"Now, Max. Now. I can't stay here anymore."
"What did he say?"
"A lot. He's giving me forty-eight hours to get my things out of the house."
"It's time for you to move out, anyhow."
"Yeah, but not this way."