“Chlorohydrobenzilate—the people who make it, that is.”
“Chlorohydro … what?”
“Chlorohydrobenzilate,” growled the lawyer. “It’s the active ingredient in a pesticide used to stop fruit flies. Not used much in the U.S. because it’s most effective on the Mediterranean fruit fly … never been registered under FIFRA … still under the original submission … manufactured in Texas by a subsidiary of JAFFE, the French metals and chemical combine … patent’s expired.”
“Let me guess,” interrupted McDarvid. “Some other manufacturer wants to register it, but DEP is going to propose an RPAR—excuse me, a special review—that will lock up the market for two years.”
“How—”
“It’s an old trick to extend a pesticide patent.”
“That’s not the problem, Jack,” growled Larry.
“Sorry.”
“The problem is that we don’t have a client. But we might.” Partello unwrapped a long crimson and green cinnamon stick—his substitute for the cigars he had relinquished all too regretfully. He held up his right hand, the one without the candy. “JAFFE may be looking for U.S. environmental counsel. I need to know what their problems will be.”
McDarvid pursed his lips. “It won’t stop at pesticides. More likely that they’ll have bigger problems with something they haven’t thought about. What sort of operation do they have in Texas? Manufacturing or just formulation?”
Larry broke off the end of the cinnamon stick and popped it in his mouth. “I don’t really know. That’s why you’re here. They didn’t say. But it’s not all done in Texas. They have facilities in Georgia and California, plus a few other places. You probably need to make a list.”
“What sort of interests do they have beyond chemicals?” interjected Jonnie.
Partello smiled and crunched off another chunk of the cinnamon stick, chewing noisily. “Now that you mention it, they’re involved with some specialty metals—chromium and beryllium, maybe cadmium and gallium.”
“Just nice clean high-tech metals,” added Jonnie, the deadpan sarcasm evident only to those who knew him.
McDarvid snorted. “Right. Except you need the stuff for virtually every high-tech defense application known to the military.”
Larry looked from one to the other.
“Larry, do you want to handle someone like that? That stuff is dirty.”
The senior partner grinned. “They’ll pay. Besides, specialty metals are necessary. Even I know that the next generation of high-speed computer chips will use gallium.”
“Money now? We’re actually going to consider making some money?” Jonnie’s voice remained soft.
“I didn’t say that,” corrected Larry. “I said I needed to know what their problems are. Bill the hours directly to me. The sooner you two can find out, the better. Try to keep it under forty for the two of you. Hours, not days. We’re not moving in geologic time here.”
“That’s it?” asked McDarvid.
“For now.” Larry mumbled as he ground down the cinnamon candy and stood up, grabbing the heavy gray coffee mug with the monogrammed JLP on it. The gray stripe on his wide red suspenders matched the light gray wool of his hand-tailored suit.
The two regulatory specialists exchanged glances as the senior partner headed for the kitchen to refill the empty cup—the usual Partello dismissal. They walked back along the corridor, past the larger offices of the partners, and into McDarvid’s office.
“I don’t get it,” McDarvid said. “Larry did water stuff at Natural Resources. That and pesticides are his big things. He wouldn’t know a specialty metal if it bit him.”
“He knows money.”
“Yeah. He does know money.” The older consultant glanced through the narrow window out into the gray afternoon that threatened rain, then back at the three desk boxes filled with papers. “What do you want to handle?”
“The usual. I’ll check the regulatory calendars, talk to Commerce … pick up some background and financials on JAFFE.”
“Have Sallie check the dockets on all four of those—shit.”
“What?”
“You’d better have her check the dockets at OSHA as well. Just for any comments by JAFFE.”
“By the way, Jack, what are we looking for?”
“Money, Jonnie. Money. Regulatory problems that the esteemed firm of Ames, Heidlinger, and Partello can resolve in the most effective way possible.”
“You didn’t mention expensive.”
“Sorry.” McDarvid looked at the piles of paper on his desk. “I shouldn’t have forgotten expensive.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Leave the door open.”
McDarvid looked out the window again. He was going to be late again, and he ought to call Mrs. Hughes, but he didn’t. Instead, he punched out another number at DEP, settling into the battered desk chair and turning the yellow tablet to a fresh sheet.
3
“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK WE WANT ANY PART OF SUCH A CRAZY SCHEME?” The squat, black-haired man crushed his cigarette stub in the ashtray and looked at the strolling shoppers outside the mall eatery.
“C’mon, Boris. I can’t believe that you wouldn’t kill for a chance to monkey-wrench our nuclear industry.”
“You live in the past.” The dark-eyed man laughed. “First, I am a diplomat and engage in no activities incompatible with that status. Second, I do not kill. I do not even know anyone that does. However, in your case it is possible that I will make an exception.” The squat man gave an oily grin and continued in an accented voice, “Amateurs think they have all the answers. The problem with amateurs is they so often believe in violence. That leads to accidents, nasty accidents.”
“Are you threatening me?” The younger man half rose from the plastic seat, his greasy hair bobbing as he moved.
“Your question says much about you. Let me make this very clear. We will not take any action to damage or discredit the American nuclear industry. We are only interested in peaceful cooperation with your country.”
“So all you want is to suck up to Uncle Sam. More interested in trade credits than stopping the military threat to your own country. You still might want to reconsider your position. The problem with amateurs is that if we screw up, we blame other people … and other countries.”
“I advise against such a course of action. Given the new relationship between our two nations, any such accusation may be met by … more … anger from your own countrymen than from mine. We are used to libel. If you are genuinely concerned about nuclear power, then you do not have to worry. Your industry is more than capable of discrediting itself without outside interference. After all, we had nothing to do with Three Mile Island.”
“You really ought to think this over, Ivan,” warned the man in the dirty rawhide jacket.
“I have. We also remember Chernobyl. We do not operate like your spy books say. (We never did.).” The squat man gave one last smile, stood up, and disappeared into the throng of late afternoon shoppers. The coffee he purchased remained untouched.
The remaining man tugged on his scraggly beard before finishing his soda and leaving.
4
AS HE TURNED OFF RENO ROAD and onto Fessenden, shifting from second into third, McDarvid wondered if he shouldn’t have bought a car with more power.
“Washington deserves more…” The radio volume jumped with the commercial, and he thumbed the AM button for the all-news station.
“… news briefs of the day … Intelligence Committee reveals new deficiencies in U.S. cold war intelligence operations … Housing protest marchers descend upon the Capital … Drug enforcement agents make major bust … A new round of antinuclear protests in the making … The Mayor unveils a new snow removal plan … And another drug-related killing, this time almost at the Capitol … But first this message—”
He flicked off the radio. He was almost home. “Commercials…” It had been a long day, especially with Larry’s latest projec
t on top of the Amalgamated Electric case. Best available demonstrated technology, for Christ’s sake. Next, Reid would start denying there was a G.E. precedent on the PCBs. Sure, just dredge up all the contaminated sediments and stir up all those PCBs so they contaminated every drinking water source along the Hudson. McDarvid shook his head. The damned PCBs were safely locked in the clay and sediment, where nothing short of an atomic blast—or a DEP dredge—could dislodge them. Why ask for trouble? As he pulled into the driveway, McDarvid realized that Allyson’s car wasn’t there. More trouble, since he was forty-five minutes late. Had Allyson already gone to the PTA? Or was that tomorrow? He didn’t lock the car, figuring that anyone who wanted to steal one of the cheapest imports ever made deserved it. He should have bought a Japanese car, at least, instead of the cutting edge of Korean technology.
Thenkk. Even the car door sounded tinny. Briefcase in hand, he hurried toward the front door.
“Ohhh…” After catching his balance, McDarvid looked down at the object protruding from the bushes—the handlebars of Elizabeth’s bicycle. His ankle throbbed. “Damn. Why does she always leave it where…”
The front door was locked, as usual. After rummaging through his coat pockets and extracting the keys, the door opened away from him.
“Good evening, Mr. McDarvid.” Mrs. Hughes already had her brown coat on, handbag in hand.
Thoreau the cuckoo clock completed belting out seven o’clock as McDarvid looked tiredly at the sitter. She smiled placidly back at him.
McDarvid didn’t even try to bluff Mrs. Hughes. He just handed her the extra five. Overtime was always in cash. Allyson paid the flat rate by check weekly.
“Thank you, Mr. McDarvid. I will see you tomorrow.”
He stepped aside to let her leave.
“Oh. By the way, Dr. Newsome said that she would also be late.”
“Thank you.”
“Daddy! Elizabeth said a bad word! A real bad word!” screamed Kirsten.
“I said she was an immature imbecile. She is,” affirmed Elizabeth, looking over the top of A Summer Love.
“Dad! What’s for dinner? Do we have to eat that stuff in the ’frigerator?” David’s sneaker laces were untied, and a large blot of chocolate decorated the brand-new green and white University of Miami sweatshirt. He had received it the day before as a belated birthday present from McDarvid’s youngest sister.
“Mother had another emergency,” announced Elizabeth, still slouched sideways on the family room couch.
McDarvid walked to the enclosed side porch that served as a study for Allyson and him, set the briefcase on the floor. Off came his coat, which he laid over the chair before he trudged into the kitchen. Kirsten was sitting on the other side of the counter in the far right-hand stool. David jumped into the one next to her.
“That’s for Elizabeth!”
“I can sit where I want!”
“Kirsten! David! Knock it off!”
Silence descended.
“Did your mother say when she would be home?” He looked at David.
David shook his head. Kirsten shook her head.
“Elizabeth?”
More silence.
“Elizabeth!”
“Yes, Father?” Elizabeth’s voice came from the family room, as though nothing had happened.
McDarvid stopped clenching his teeth long enough to repeat the question.
“Mrs. Hughes said, ‘Tell your father that Dr. Newsome will be rather late.’”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. Please put down the book and join us.” By then, he had the casserole into the microwave and had begun to pour the children’s drinks.
“Elizabeth!”
“You oughtn’t yell, Father.” She took the chair on the end. Since Allyson was going to be late, dinner would be at the kitchen counter.
“That’s mine!”
“You weren’t sitting there, David.” McDarvid set the four water glasses out. Then he took out the salad and retrieved the light Italian dressing from the refrigerator.
“Super tuna gloop and salad, right?” David put both elbows on the counter tile, with his head in his hands.
“Right, old man. Be glad you’ve got something.”
Elizabeth’s eyes rolled, and McDarvid caught himself before he launched into a short statement on world hunger. Local hunger was the real problem he faced.
“Super tuna gloop coming up!” While the casserole steam dissipated, McDarvid finished tossing and serving the salad.
Dinner was silent, or almost silent, except for David’s slurping, and McDarvid only had to motion to his elder daughter once to get her to stop chewing with her mouth open.
“Dishes,” he announced.
“It’s Elizabeth’s turn,” bellowed David.
“I accommodated you last night so that you could watch the football game.”
“Mondays are your turn. It says so on the calendar.”
“David.”
“Yes, Dad.” The redhead picked up the sponge. “It’s not fair. Tuna gloop is messy.”
“You should have considered that yesterday. We always have tuna on Mondays,” announced Elizabeth.
Brinnngg …
He grabbed the wall phone right behind Elizabeth’s back, before she could answer it in the calm superior tone that was so charming the first dozen times someone heard it. “Hello.”
“Jack. This is Jonnie. I’m sorry to bother you at home…”
“What’s the matter?” asked McDarvid. Jonnie almost never called him at home.
“Larry. He was killed in a drug gang cross fire about an hour ago.”
“What? He was going to see the Chairman. Up on the Hill. The Rayburn Building, not southeast. They don’t have drug wars on Capitol Hill.”
“They do now.”
“Larry?” McDarvid mumbled. “The bastard gave up cigars and chewed cinnamon sticks. He installed air bags on the Seville.”
“Daddy! Elizabeth’s using nasty big words again!”
McDarvid motioned Kirsten away. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know. I just thought you ought to know.”
“Daddy!”
McDarvid glared at Kirsten. She didn’t look at him, just pulled at his sleeve.
“Jonnie … I’m a little frazzled right now…”
“Your wife working late?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Jonnie?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Just thought you ought to know before it hit the papers.”
McDarvid hung up the phone. “Elizabeth!”
“Coming, Father. Is the little informer misinforming you?”
He took a deep breath. “Elizabeth Anne McDarvid! Intelligence is no excuse for insolence. You’re still not too big to consider a soap mouthwash. And don’t bother with the stock comment about violence being the last resort of the incompetent.”
His dark-haired daughter looked up at him, almost demurely.
“You can help David by wiping off the counters. You—Kirsten Lenore McDarvid—can empty all the trash in the house, starting with your bathroom.” McDarvid wiped his forehead, ignoring Kirsten’s muttered “See!” Walking out of the kitchen, he picked up the littlest redhead’s backpack, and two jackets from the dining room. Four library books were strewn across one end of the family room couch, with A Summer Love spread open and upside down across the pile.
“Elizabeth? Have you finished your homework?”
“Father, it is ineffably boring.”
“I take that as a no. If you don’t get on it now, all your books go back to the library, and I’ll ground you to your room without them.”
He could feel the sigh that signified reluctant agreement.
“David, you haven’t even opened your backpack. What about that science report?”
“Yes, Dad … I’ll get to it.”
“I hate trash,” announced Kirste
n, dragging a green plastic sack partly filled with refuse down the stairs, one step and one bump at a time.
“Did you separate the metal and glass?”
“There wasn’t any. Mommy took that out this morning.”
McDarvid retrieved the trash bag. “You start your tub.”
“David’s first.”
“You. David hasn’t finished his homework.”
“But…”
“You. Now.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Kirsten trudged back up the stairs.
McDarvid let her trudge as he carried the trash through the kitchen and out into the garage. He shook his head. Larry, for Christ’s sake. How would Larry have gotten involved in a drug shoot-out? Larry didn’t even know what drugs looked like.
And what did that mean for him and Jonnie? The idea of using regulatory consultants as direct support for the law firm had been Larry’s idea. Allyson wouldn’t say anything. She had never wanted him to leave EPA—as if he’d had any choice.
He tied up the garbage and headed back into the house.
5
FORMER JUSTICE OFFICIAL KILLED IN CROSS FIRE
A FORMER ASSISTANT ATTORNEY GENERAL WAS KILLED on Monday night as he stepped out of his car within two blocks of the Capitol, the apparent victim of a cross fire between drug dealers.
In this most recent drug-related slaying, a volley of shots brought police less than a half block from the Library of Congress where they found a body lying on the sidewalk.
The victim, J. Laurance Partello, a partner in the law firm of Ames, Heidlinger, and Partello, was Assistant Attorney General for the Lands and Natural Resources Division of the Department of Justice from 1981 until 1986. More recently, as one of the name partners of the environmentally oriented law firm, he represented such clients as General Electric, Consolidated Waste Disposal, and Western Power Systems.
Partello died on the spot, according to sources at George Washington University Hospital. Police said they knew of no motive for the killing, which occurred about 7:10 P.M.
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