The Bonaparte Secret by Gregg Loomis Read Free Book Online Page B

took a pen from a cup filled with them. “Just who are these elders?”
    “Well, there’s Jamie Shaw . . .”
    Lang put the pen down. “Your son-in-law.”
    And so far, unindicted coconspiritor.
    “And Lewis Reid.”
    Nephew.
    “And, of course, Lois.”
    Wife.
    Lang leaned back in his chair. “The government will contend since the elders are all family members, you don’t have to meet at million-dollar homes in resort areas. How many times a year do you, personally, use those facilities?”
    “A man under as much pressure as I am deserves an occasional long weekend away some place.” He smiled. “Besides, I’ve composed some of my best sermons at the beach.”
    “It might be a little better if the beach to which you refer wasn’t at Sag Harbor in Long Island’s Hamptons. That’s pretty high-octane real estate. And it doesn’t help that you arrive there in a private jet.”
    “We simply charter the airplane.” Bishop Groom looked offended.
    “Actually, if I recall, the church purchased a set number of hours on a Citation for the last four years.”
    “Tending to a flock as large as mine requires transportation.”
    Lang shook his head slowly. “You have members of your congregation in places other than metro Atlanta?”
    “We are always looking to expand the word of the Lord.” The bishop slid forward, sitting on the edge of his chair. “Mr. Reilly, you sound as though you think I’m guilty as charged. That’s not the attitude I want in my defense counsel.”
    Lang didn’t think his client was guilty; he knew it. That was not the question. The issue was whether the assistant United States attorney could convince a jury of it beyond a reasonable doubt.
    Lang picked up the pen and walked it between his fingers. “Bishop, you didn’t hire me for my opinions, nor did you retain me to prove you innocent. Only not guilty. There’s a huge difference.”
    The bishop thought this over for a moment. “Any chance of a deal?”
    Lang shrugged. “There’s always a ‘deal.’ Whether you find it acceptable or not is the question. So far you haven’t authorized me to ask. Shall I?”
    Groom gave this some thought also. “I’ll pray over it and let you know.” He stood, extending a hand. “I find things come easier to me if I take them to the Lord.”
    “Let’s hope this is no exception,” Lang said dryly.
    Lang stood at the door between the outer office and the building’s hallway and bank of elevators, watching his client’s departure.
    “I hope you checked to make sure you still have your watch on your wrist,” Sara snorted from her desk.
    Lang closed the door. “That’s no way to talk about a man who dropped a hundred big on us.”
    Sara swiveled in her chair to face her computer monitor. “A million dollars wouldn’t make him any less of a thief, a liar and a . . .” Her expression indicated she was trying to think of an acceptable phrase to describe the man’s sexual exploits. Her strong disapproval of anything not condoned by the Southern Baptist Church restricted both her world-view and vocabulary.
    She settled for adulterer.
    “He may be all that but he sure had his fun while it lasted.”
    Lang didn’t have to look at her to see her bite back a sharp reply.
    “I’m about to improve the moral quality of my companions. I’m having lunch with Father Francis.”
    As he shut the door to his office, he heard her mutter something like “It’ll do you good!”
    Forty minutes later
    The Capital City Club is the last remnant of what once was the heart of Atlanta’s business, financial and legal communities before flight farther north abandoned the central city streets to winos, beggars and the rare tourist unfortunate enough to lose their way between the Georgia Aquarium and the Martin Luther King Jr. Historic District. Housed in downtown’s sole remaining private clubhouse, a veranda-fronted, tree-flanked, four-story anachronism, it squats between towering skyscrapers. Even though