by Allan Topol
Moving fast, Alex stuffed some clothes, along with his laptop, into a duffel that fit into the holder on the back of his motorcycle. Out in the hall he waited for the elevator to come. When it didn't, he yelled, "Fuck," and raced down twelve flights of stairs with the duffel in one hand and his helmet in the other.
From the doorway of his apartment building, he looked up and down the street.
Nothing suspicious.
He breathed a sigh of relief. You guys gotta get up early to catch Alex Glass, he thought, feeling a surge of renewed self-confidence.
Taking personal risks for a good story was what journalism was all about. He would make it to Buenos Aires. He would find out whom Sato met with on August 28 at the Alvear. His story would earn him a Pulitzer.
Alex hurried toward the shed that held his Kawasaki. His adrenaline was flowing. He'd fly to the airport.
He looked around again as he stuffed the duffel into the holder on the back of the bike and strapped on his helmet. Buenos Aires, here I come.
He jumped on the seat and turned the key to start the powerful engine. It began to rev up, but didn't kick over. Shit, he thought, that never happened before.
He pressed down hard, igniting the engine. This time it didn't die on him, but he heard an unusual click. "What the hell's that?"
Then a huge explosion.
It was the last thing Alex ever heard, because suddenly fragments of his body and the disintegrating motorcycle were being hurled through the flimsy wooden roof of the shed high into the cool morning air.
Chapter 15
"We creamed 'em," an ecstatic Kendrick shouted to Taylor on the phone.
She had arrived at her office at the law firm with a stack of newspapers from different cities that she had picked up at a newsstand in the National Press Building, but she hadn't opened them before the phone rang. "Which polls have you seen?" Taylor asked.
"New York. Washington. Chicago. L.A. And Denver. A clean sweep. Webster is finished."
Taylor was dumbfounded. After watching the debate last night, the most she had expected was a narrow victory. "People really reacted that way?"
"Damn right, and you know what?"
"Tell me."
"Now it's ours to lose. All we have to do is keep the senator out of trouble and we're home free."
Taylor was glad they weren't having this conversation in person, so Kendrick couldn't see the pained expression on her face. She knew that she should tell him about Cady and the investigation, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. It was as if not talking about it would make it go away.
"I'll go out and get a stepladder," Taylor said.
"Why a stepladder?"
"So we can tear down the goalposts." She was trying to fake the enthusiasm Kendrick expected, though C. J. Cady and his investigation had taken over her mind. If something happened on that front today, she'd have to reach Boyd. "Where are you guys now?"
"On the campaign plane, touching down in Miami in about twenty minutes. Morning meetings with big donors and some other stops in the area. Luncheon at the Omni downtown. Then we're off for Tampa and St. Pete. See you."
Putting the phone down, Taylor winced, thinking about Kendrick's words, "It's ours to lose." Unless she found a way to block Cady's investigation, they would lose.
Taylor was buried in the newspapers, in which the pundits confirmed Kendrick's analysis, when the intercom rang. "Shawn Emerson from the New York Times's Washington bureau on line one," Kathy said. "Are you in or out?"
Shawn might be calling to talk about the debate. Hopefully he hadn't found out about Cady's investigation. If he had, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to spin the news for damage control. "Morning, Shawn. I hope you enjoyed the debate last night."
"Actually, I did. Your guy did okay, but that's not why I'm calling."
Oh, Christ, she thought. He's heard about Cady's investigation. "What's up, then?" She held her breath, while grabbing the bottom of her desk chair.
"There was an accident," he said in a somber tone. "In Tokyo. Your friend Alex Glass was killed in a freak accident with his motorcycle."
"Oh, God, no!" Taylor's voice quavered. "I remember that thing. Alex got me on it once—only once. That was it. I wouldn't do it again. He rode so fast, I've never been as scared in my life. When it was over I pleaded with him to give it up."
"And he laughed at you."
"How'd you know?"
"He laughed at all of us when we told him that. He loved that damn bike. Said it was the only way to get around Tokyo. But here's the strange part. He wasn't in an accident. Somehow it exploded outside his apartment building when he started the engine."
"But that doesn't make sense. He—" She stopped in mid-sentence. Her blood ran cold. Alex had been digging into Sato's life in his coverage of the Japanese candidate for prime minister. Sato had a reputation for surrounding himself with Yakuza thugs. Had Alex pushed too far and offended Sato or one of his people?
"Thanks, Shawn. This is really awful."
As soon as Taylor hung up, she called the New York Times's Tokyo office. The receptionist put her through to Don Berry. "I just heard about Alex," Taylor said.
"We're all in a state of shock." Don's voice was heavy with grief. "Alex wasn't just our star reporter. Everybody in the office loved him. He was a real character."
"What happened?"
"Nobody knows. The Tokyo police are investigating. Apparently Alex started up the bike, and it just exploded."
Taylor wasn't buying it. "That doesn't make sense. Alex spent so much time taking care of that bike. He called it his baby. It was always in perfect shape. It couldn't just explode."
"I know what you mean. That's what I told the police."
She tried to conceal the edge in her voice. "Well, what do they think?"
"At this point they don't have any idea. Or if they do, they're not telling me."
"Listen, Don, if you hear anything, will you let me know?"
"Absolutely. The Kyoto conference was before I got here, but I've heard about you two. I'll keep you posted."
Suddenly Kathy opened Taylor's door. "There's a United States marshal here to see you."
"Oh, shit." Taylor groaned, knowing why he was here. She quickly wrapped up the call with Don.
The marshal was a polite young man, short and squat, built like a tank, with a blond crew cut. There was no point getting angry at him when he handed her the grand jury subpoena. It called for Boyd to testify tomorrow morning at ten.
"I have to ask you," he said, "if you'll accept service for Charles R. Boyd."
"I will."
"Then please sign the return." She scrawled her signature. In addition to the subpoena he handed her a white business envelope with her name on the front. Inside there was a typed note:
Taylor:
I've decided to proceed this way. Regrettably, I had no choice.
C. J. Cady
She picked up the phone and pounded her fingers hard onto each button as she dialed Cady's number.
Margaret answered. "I'll get him right away," she said when she heard it was Taylor. "He's expecting your call."
"I'll bet."
In an instant Cady was on the line. "I'm sorry. Really, I am."
"Ah, c'mon. You're not sorry at all. You went to McDermott, and he told you to do it."
"I haven't been near McDermott."
"Then Doerr went to McDermott."
"Truthfully, I don't know what Doerr's done. So far I've been running the case myself. Doerr hasn't given me a single order."
"Next you'll try to sell me the Brooklyn Bridge."
Her response was what Cady had expected. Still, he wanted to convince her that he was behaving decently. "I'm doing everything humanly possible to keep this confidential and out of the press. Nobody has to know about it."
"This could cost you your job and any chance of a career you think you have at DOJ."
"No doubt it will if Senator Boyd gets elected president.
"
"He is going to be elected."
* * *
Taylor called the senator's campaign office at the Omni Hotel in Miami. "Bad news?" Boyd asked as soon as he heard her voice.
"Bad is an understatement. Try horrible. The other shoe fell in the matter we've been discussing."
"You need me back in Washington?"
"Tell Bob to change the schedule and get you back here late tonight. I'll be at your house about seven tomorrow morning. We can take it from there."
"What explanation do I give him and the others?"
"You think you're coming down with the flu. You want a day of rest to get your energy back."
"I'm ready to do battle with this prosecutor."
"It'll be tough."
"Don't worry about me. Nobody's going to force me out over some trumped-up charges."
If Taylor were betting, she'd put her money on Boyd. He hadn't done anything wrong. He was articulate enough to persuade Cady and the grand jury of that fact.
Cady had told her that he would take the case to a grand jury only if he had something more than Azziz. What did he have?
She picked up the phone and called Mark Jackson, the P.I. "Any word on Gladstone?"
"Seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth. One of my people made such a pest of herself that Mrs. Gladstone chased her away with a garden hoe."
"Is it possible that the prosecutor brought him to Washington and has him hidden here? That's why we can't find him?"
"Definitely possible. You want me to check D.C. hotels the Bureau uses for witnesses?"
"Do it and let me know. But don't talk to him if you find him."
"Will do, but I'm not optimistic. As far as Azziz goes, the man's a real slime. A couple of prior convictions. He must have had friends in high places or he'd have done some serious jail time. You'll easily be able to discredit him."
That was comforting news, but Taylor was still worried about Gladstone.
She headed down the hall to Harrison's office. Without saying a word, she handed him the subpoena.
"I'm not surprised," Harrison told her after he looked it over. "I thought it was inevitable. I made my own quiet inquiries around town about C. J. Cady. He's not the type to back off."
"I have to let the senator testify."
"You sure you don't want to run that decision by Ken?"
"C'mon. It's a no-brainer."
Harrison locked eyes with her. "Since you asked my opinion, the way I see it is, if he's innocent he tells his story to the grand jury and you do damage control. If he's guilty or so close to the line that there's a risk he'll lose, he shouldn't waste his time taking the Fifth. He should use the leverage he has as a candidate and have you broker a deal with Cady. He drops out of the presidential race. In return they don't prosecute."
Taylor looked bewildered by these options.
"I'm speaking in plain English," Harrison said gruffly. "What part of that didn't you understand?"
"The senator's consistently told me that he didn't do anything wrong. Now you're talking about a deal."
"Telling you is one thing. Telling a lie to a grand jury under oath is another. That's the worst of all worlds."
"You think I'm wrong to believe the senator. Don't you?"
Harrison shoved a plastic cigarette into his mouth, rolled it around for a few seconds, and pulled it out. "Let me put it this way: I think you're awfully close to your client in this case."
She pounded her fist on his desk. "Don't play games with me. I can't handle that right now. I want to know if you think he's guilty."
Harrison ran his fingers through his unruly hair. "How the hell do I know? I'm not God. I wasn't back in Napa twelve years ago or whenever this stuff happened. I haven't spent enough time with your senator to judge him. I've got strictly a selfish interest in all of this."
"Selfish?"
"Yeah, when the dust clears, I want my partner and friend Taylor Ferrari, whom I have come to value and respect, on her feet and still practicing law."
Chapter 16
Taylor hated grand jury proceedings. Smacking of the old British Star Chamber, they were the most undemocratic institution in the American legal system. The objective in theory made sense: to determine whether enough evidence existed to indict an individual and thereby force him to plead guilty or to defend himself in a public trial. But grand jury proceedings were conducted in secret, and not susceptible to public viewing. Even the transcript of the proceedings was sealed. Present in the grand jury room were the members of the jury, generally around twenty, the prosecutor, and the witness. Lawyers for the witness were barred from the room, though the witness could, at the risk of creating a bad impression, ask for a recess to consult with counsel outside. There was no opportunity for the witness to confront his accusers, and no restraints on what the prosecutor could do. In the end, on the issue of whether or not to indict and thereby force the accused to endure a costly public trial, the grand jury did little more than rubber-stamp the recommendations of the prosecutor.
All of this Taylor explained to a grim and somber Boyd as the two of them huddled behind a closed door Wednesday morning in the den of his Georgetown house.
"Can they force me to testify?" he asked.
"The answer's yes and no."
"Typical lawyer's double-talk response," he said in a sharp tone.
Her own nerves were frayed, her spirits sagging. "Look, Charles, please don't take it out on me. I'm trying to help you."
He groaned. "Sorry. It's just a little frustrating. To get so close and have this come flying in from God knows where. Some fucking bogus charge."
"I know that. I wish I could make it go away, but I can't. So let's come back to your question. The only way you can avoid answering Cady's questions is if you take the Fifth Amendment in response to every question. You have to respond each time, 'On the advice of counsel, I refuse to answer on the grounds that the answer might tend to incriminate me.'"
"And to a nonlawyer, that says I'm guilty as hell."
"Unfortunately, that's right."
"So that's not an option."
She remembered Harrison's advice yesterday. If the senator needed to cut a deal, she would lay that option out for him. She waded in slowly. "But if somebody called to testify before a grand jury knows that he violated the law, then he's better off taking the Fifth and forcing the government to build its case, if it can without his testimony. The worst is to testify and lie. Then a witness ends up with a perjury charge on top of all of his other troubles."
She looked up to find him staring hard at her. "What are you trying to say?"
She paused and took a deep breath. "Is the story you told me Saturday at St. Michaels about your sale of Mill Valley completely true?"
"Absolutely," he said, offended. "Don't you believe me?"
"Of course I believe you. Every good lawyer has to make that one final check before he lets a client testify before a grand jury."
"Is that your guys' version of CYA?" he asked belligerently.
"No, it's called good lawyering."
"Do you have any idea what this prosecutor, what's his name...?"
"C. J. Cady."
"What does he have on me?"
She ran through the Azziz version Cady had shown her Monday.
"Azziz is lying," Boyd said.
"Did you ever meet the man?"
"Never."
"So why'd he say it?"
He shrugged. "They're using him to frame me."
"I thought of that, too. Azziz is a convicted felon for a Securities Act violation."
"That's a hell of a note. In our legal system a criminal can destroy an innocent man."
"I don't know what else, if anything, they've got."
The phone rang. Sally was in Los Angeles with her Italian painter friend, introducing him to some of the gallery owners out there. Taylor and Boyd waited for Donna, Boyd's housekeeper, to answer. Moments later she appeared in the doorway.
She was flustered. "It's a Mr. Cady for Miss Ferrari. He says it's very urgent."
Boyd glanced at Taylor. "Maybe he's decided to fold his hand."
"Don't bet on it."
She picked up the phone. "What's up?"
The sigh that she heard warned her there was more trouble. "Listen, Taylor, there's been a leak. I just wanted to tip you off. I swear I had nothing to do with it."
"A leak!" she said, seething. "You son of a bitch. What kind of leak?"
"I wasn't the source."
"What kind of leak?" she demanded.
"CBS News has gotten word of the grand jury investigation," he said wearily. "They're going public with it on the eight-o'clock news this morning."
"It had to come out of your office. We sure didn't do it."
"It didn't. I swear."
"Then it was McDermott. I'll make sure the Democrats on the Hill fry his ass and yours in the same pan."
"I'm really sorry about this. I'm calling to try to help you out."
Listening to him, she was convinced that he was sorry about what had happened. Still, he was the cause of all of this misery by not backing off on the investigation. "What can you do about it now?" she said bitterly.
"I'll be down at the freight entrance at the rear of the building at ten minutes to ten to help you get him in. That's not much, but it's something."
"Bullshit," she shouted. "The senator goes in the front door with his head held high. I'll be with him. You can be sure that I'll have some choice things to say to the press about abuse of the legal process. We'll bury you before this is over."
"Fine, then, Room two-oh-eight at ten o'clock."
She slammed down the phone and dialed Kendrick at home. "You'd better get over to the senator's house ASAP. Pick up Governor Crane on the way. Tell him this is more important than anything he's doing."
"What happened?"
"We'll talk when you get here. But do yourself a favor. Don't listen to CBS news on the hour."