The Power Broker

by Stephen Frey

“I know. That’s why I’m here. Talk to me, partner.”

  He liked the sound of that, someone actually verbalizing their relationship with him. He could see her waiting expectantly for a response, but he said nothing, afraid of the words that might come.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, her aggravation at his stonewalling obvious. “I want to bring you up to speed on the Aero Systems transaction.”

  Allison was leading Everest’s attempt to buy Aero Systems, a big aircraft and auto parts aftermarket manufacturer based in San Francisco. It was the deal she’d been coming back from working on when she’d met Christian and Quentin in Las Vegas. For the next ten minutes she filled him in: They had the inside track to buy the company from the family that owned it; management was with them and they were offering a fair price. But there was an Atlanta conglomerate named Teldex sniffing around that could ruin everything; Teldex wanted to buy Aero Systems, too.

  “Know anyone at Teldex?” Allison asked.

  “A couple of people, including their CFO, but I don’t know them very well. Not well enough to get them to back off with a phone call. I’ll see what I can do,” he added, catching the disappointed look on her face. She was used to him being able to solve all the problems she couldn’t. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t know where to begin,” he said, grinning self-consciously.

  “Come on,” she said, sliding forward on the chair, flipping her long blond hair back over one shoulder, then resting one elbow on the desk, her chin in her hand. “What is it?”

  Christian took a deep breath. “Jesse Wood asked me to be his running mate if he wins the nomination at the Democratic convention.”

  Allison stared at him, eyes unblinking, lips mouthing words that wouldn’t come. “What?” she finally asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She shook her head, then broke into a huge smile when she was certain he was serious. “Oh my God, Christian, that’s incredible. Did you accept?”

  “I took the first step.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m going to sit down with Jesse for a day and get to know his platform before I commit, but right now it looks like I’ll be his vice president if he wins.”

  “That’s fantastic.” She clasped her hands together tightly and put her head back. “And Jesse Wood is going to win the Democratic nomination. I don’t think there’s any doubt.”

  “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

  “The hell I can’t. I’m calling The Wall Street Journal as soon as I get out of your office.”

  Christian pointed a warning finger at her. “Allison, you can’t do—”

  “Oh, keep your boxers on, I’m not going to say anything to anyone. Wow, that’s great.” She raised one eyebrow. “And as a Democrat. Huh.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Wasn’t your father a Republican?”

  “One of the few from California,” Christian confirmed.

  “That’s what I thought. People will be surprised.”

  “Very surprised, but it doesn’t seem to bother Jesse.”

  “So, who’s going to be the new chairman of Everest?”

  Christian broke into another grin. Just like her, getting right to the point. But that’s why he loved her being his partner. She was as efficient as anyone he’d ever known, even Quentin. Right down to business right away. Now, if he could just figure out her loyalty.

  “Are you going to make Nigel chairman?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  She looked up. “Why not?”

  “I’m thinking about making you chairman.”

  Allison sat slowly back in her chair, a stunned expression on her face. “Really?”

  As if she hadn’t expected it. There was no way she could have faked that reaction. “Well, chairwoman.”

  “All the other managing partners except Quentin have been here longer than me.”

  “I know, but, frankly, they don’t have your drive. Or your connections. They’re good, very good, all of them, but not like you.” He hesitated. “You’re something special, Allison. I’d have complete confidence in you, and our investors would love you.” He’d never said that to a direct report before. “Would you be interested?” he asked.

  She might not. If she went back to Chicago, she’d be running almost as much money as she would here, and there it would be all hers. Of course, it wouldn’t be as fun, not nearly. Most of the Wallace money was invested in boring stuff like bond and money market funds or it was with professional equity managers who were the ones who actually decided which stocks to buy. Running the Wallace Trust would be more administrative than anything—checking to make certain the returns on the many different funds they were involved with were in line with industry averages. She wouldn’t be chairing outside boards, making major decisions for huge companies, constantly interacting with some of the biggest names on Wall Street and in Washington. “I guess I need to ask you that first.”

  “I’m definitely interested,” she spoke up.

  Christian could see she’d just gone through the same analysis. Gordon Meade was doing a fine job overseeing the Wallace Trust. Running Everest Capital was the opportunity of a lifetime, even for her. “Good.”

  She brought her hand to her chest. “Jesus, me running Everest Capital.”

  “But I’m not even going to consider you if you’re really going back to Chicago when we’re through investing this fund,” Christian warned. “Like Gordon Meade seems to think you are. I need to know that you’re willing to stick around permanently before I take that step, before I could even consider you for chairman. We’re going to be revving up soon to raise the next fund, and I can’t have you leave in the middle of that.”

  “Tell me the truth,” she said. “Who would you name as chairman, Nigel or me?”

  “Honestly, I haven’t decided, but it’s between the two of you. That’s it.”

  “What if you knew I was a hundred percent committed to Everest Capital?”

  “I don’t know that—you haven’t given me your answer yet.”

  “But what if you did know?”

  “I’m not going to operate in a hypothetical—”

  “Have dinner with me,” Allison interrupted. “Tonight. I’ll give you my answer then.”

  He was supposed to have dinner with Faith tonight. “What about tomorrow night?”

  “No. I may have to go to San Francisco. I don’t want to wait.”

  Dinner with Allison was going to be tricky no matter when it was. He’d been thinking a lot about her lately. “How’d you know I wore boxers?”

  She cocked her head to the side and gave him a sly look. “I knew the first moment I laid eyes on you that you were a boxers kind of guy. You’re too sophisticated to wear jockeys, and you’d never do anything that might keep you from being able to carry on the family name.”

  “What?”

  “Jockeys can cause your sperm count to be low.”

  Christian rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Oh, Jesus.”

  “‘Oh Jesus’ me all you want, but it’s true and someday you’ll want to have a boy, a little Christian. I know what you’re thinking.”

  He shook his head. “No way.”

  “Yes way. You just haven’t hooked up with the right woman yet.” She rose from the chair and headed for the door. “See you tonight at Grand Nuit. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  Christian stared at the door for several moments after Allison was gone. She’d just assumed he’d be there tonight at eight, assumed he’d move anything else he had on his schedule to be able to show up. He put his elbows on the desk and rubbed his eyes. Bad thing about it? She was right.

  IT WAS THE FIRST TIME Hewitt had ever met with Dahl anywhere but on Champagne Island. Dahl was an active soldier, a current member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and easily recognizable around Washington. Their being spotted
together would be a risk. But these were desperate times.

  “What is it, Samuel?” Dahl muttered. “What’s so damn important?”

  They were on the Washington Mall, secluded in a small stand of trees a few hundred yards from the Vietnam Memorial. Dahl was wearing street clothes—as Hewitt had told him to—so he wouldn’t stand out.

  “Two more of us were murdered.”

  Dahl’s steely dark eyes flashed to Hewitt’s. “What? Who?”

  “Laird and Massey.”

  “My God. How?”

  “Laird was killed coming out of a jewelry store by a hit-and-run driver in northern Virginia. Massey was found dead in a lake outside Oklahoma City. He was fishing.”

  “Are you sure they were murdered?”

  “Both of them dying on the same day?” Hewitt shook his head. “Come on.”

  “Are the local law enforcement people calling the deaths murders?”

  “Well, they’re calling Laird’s death manslaughter,” Hewitt admitted. “They’re saying whoever hit him didn’t mean to, got scared, and drove off. They’re saying they’ll probably never find out who did it. As far as Massey goes, the Oklahoma cops haven’t closed the book on his death yet. But it’s clearly not a simple case of drowning.”

  “Why not?”

  “There was no cause for the drowning. Massey didn’t have a heart attack or a stroke. The lake bottom wasn’t steep, so there’s no way he could have fallen off an underwater ledge or anything, and the weather was perfect. And it looks like Massey fought with somebody.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Two fingers on his right hand were broken.” Hewitt watched Dahl struggle to accept the truth. Obviously, Dahl wanted the deaths to be accidents. The implications of murder were terrifying, even for a senior military man. “He was defending himself.”

  “Someone’s trying to knock us all off,” Dahl whispered.

  Hewitt hesitated. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re right. There’s no proof, but we’d be crazy to stick our heads in the sand and chalk all this up to coincidence.” He glanced out through the trees onto the Mall, looking for anything suspicious. “Dick, I asked you to meet with me because I trust your instincts. I thought you might have some ideas about what we could do to protect ourselves.” Hewitt motioned toward a man standing by the sidewalk fifty feet away. “I’ve hired bodyguards, but I’m not stupid. I know that’s not enough to protect me from someone who knows what he’s doing.”

  Dahl followed Hewitt’s gaze. “Who the hell could it be? How would anyone know who we are?” He snapped his fingers. “Roth,” he hissed. “It’s gotta be him.”

  “It’s not Roth.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I’ve had my boys watching him. Roth’s been on the island or in town, that’s it. He hasn’t come to D.C., hasn’t flown to Oklahoma.”

  “Maybe he’s got friends doing it for him.”

  “Where would he have friends like that? Miami? I don’t think so, Dick. That’s why he left Florida. He doesn’t have any friends left down there.”

  “So what do you think?” Dahl asked anxiously. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, but…” His voice trailed off, like he didn’t want to say what he was thinking.

  “Come on,” Dahl urged. “What is it? What’s your gut tell you?”

  “It might be one of us.” Hewitt’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe two of us.”

  “DIDN’T YOU SAY you were going to bring somebody else with you?” Roth asked as Harrison stepped off the boat onto the pier.

  “I did bring somebody.” Harrison pointed out to sea. “He’s out there in another boat. He followed us from town.”

  Roth looped the bowline of Harrison’s boat around a piling. “What’s going on here?” he asked suspiciously, standing up and peering out at the ocean. There was nothing in sight, and he hadn’t seen anyone follow them out of the harbor. “Why’s he waiting out there for you? What, you don’t trust me or something?”

  “I trust you.” Harrison glanced toward the island. “Where’s your wife?”

  “Not around.”

  Harrison hesitated. “Look, I’m just being careful. There’ve been a lot of weird things going on lately.”

  “Like what?” Roth demanded.

  “Like an old man coming up to me in a bar and telling me an effed-up story about a haunted island, then disappearing and nobody in town recognizing his picture.” Harrison shaded his eyes against the rays of the afternoon sun glimmering off the water. “Like he’s a ghost or something.”

  “Well, we’ve—”

  “Like one of my friends being pretty sure somebody broke into his apartment the other night.”

  Roth bit his lower lip. Hewitt must have arranged that. “You got that picture of the old man with you?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I got it.” Harrison patted the backpack he’d brought with him from the boat. He wasn’t going to let it out of his sight. He’d caught Roth taking a long look at the registration number on the bow, and suddenly he was feeling vulnerable.

  “Can I see it?” Roth asked.

  “Let’s take a look around first.”

  Roth shrugged and exhaled heavily, then gestured back down the pier. “Come on.”

  First they toured the grounds outside the lodge.

  “Pretty secluded here in the middle of the island,” Harrison observed as they reached the lodge. It was quiet, too, now that the sounds of the ocean were almost gone.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s tough to see the ocean from in here, which means it’s hard to see this place from the ocean.” Harrison made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “The lodge is built in kind of a natural depression, and the trees are really dense around it, denser than in any other spot on the island. You can see that from the ocean when you’re coming up on the island. It’s almost like the people who built the lodge were trying to hide it.”

  Roth shook his head. “You got quite an imagination, pal.”

  “Yeah, sure I do.”

  As they reached the northeast corner of the lodge, Harrison saw instantly what George Bishop had meant about the lack of windows here. There weren’t any for twenty feet all the way up this side. He moved back so he could see around the other side. Same thing—no windows for about twenty feet. There were windows all around the rest of the house, close to the other three corners but not close to this one.

  “What is it?”

  Harrison glanced over at Roth. Roth must have noticed him checking it out. “Nothing. Let’s go inside.”

  For the next fifteen minutes Roth gave Harrison a tour of the inside of the lodge. Finally, they reached the third floor.

  When Harrison made it to the last door down the hallway, he tried to turn the knob, but it was locked. And, unlike any of the other doors on the hallway, this one was closed. This was the corner of the lodge where there weren’t any windows, he realized. Another odd thing about this spot: a distinct smell of mildew. “What’s in here?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light, rapping on the door with his knuckles.

  “Don’t know. They keep it locked all the time.”

  “You don’t have the key?”

  “Nope.”

  “Never asked them for it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Never asked them what’s in there?”

  “Nope.”

  “Aren’t you curious about what’s in there?”

  “Nope.”

  Harrison ran his fingertips gently down the door. “What really happened in Miami, Don?” He watched Roth’s eyes narrow, sensed Roth quickly putting up shields.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Were you doing something you shouldn’t have been doing down there?” Harrison saw Roth glance suspiciously at the backpack. “There’s nothing in there you need to worry about,” he assured Roth. “No wire, no camera, nothing like that.” He tossed the bag back down the hallway toward the steps. “Satisfied?”
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  Roth said nothing, just eyed the bag now lying in a heap on the long narrow rug that extended the length of the corridor.

  “Nothing on me, either,” Harrison continued, unbuttoning his shirt to his navel, then spreading his arms. “Go ahead, check me. My cell phone’s back in the boat. Wouldn’t do me any good if I had it anyway. Lost my reception halfway out here.”

  Still, Roth remained quiet.

  “I know you want to tell me something,” Harrison pushed gently, letting his arms fall back to his sides, “otherwise you wouldn’t have met me in town. And you almost told me something that day. We both know you did. Come on, maybe I can help.”

  Nothing.

  “What happened in Miami, Don?” Harrison asked directly. “Were you run out of there because you were giving a gang protection? Is that why these guys at this place like you, because they can manipulate you? Do they know something about you that you don’t want the rest of the world to know?” He watched Roth swallow hard. He’d hit a nerve, he was positive.

  “It doesn’t matter what happened in Miami,” Roth finally muttered, teeth clenched. “You found the articles on the Internet. Make up your own mind.”

  “Where’s your wife, Don?”

  “How do you know I even have a wife?” Roth snapped.

  “The clerk at the hardware store in Southport told me.” Roth seemed ready to open up. Harrison had interviewed lots of people who wanted to talk about something they were hiding—he could read the signs. “Where is she?”

  “In town. I dropped her off earlier, then came back out to meet you. She’s spending the night with a girlfriend she met a couple of months ago while she was shopping for linens. I’m picking her up tomorrow.”

  Too much information, too many details. Roth didn’t usually give long answers like that. Harrison shrugged. But you could only push a person so hard before he clammed up for good, especially a guy like Roth. Harrison didn’t want that to happen. Well, he’d learned to be patient, too. Maybe at some point Roth would open the spigot and it would all come pouring out. Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to have a lot of opportunities. Maybe it was time for the good cop. “That sounds like fun. Probably nice for her to get off the island every once in a while.” Harrison realized how that must have sounded. “Not that I meant she needs to—”