by Rick Acker
The turmoil and pain gradually drained from Elena as she sat beside Sergei. The weight on her heart slipped off and she felt a deep peace filling her. It was like stepping out of a bitter winter storm and into a warm room with a crackling fire and a comfortable chair waiting. She felt a new and unexpected calm seeping into her soul. Then she suddenly remembered why they were there, and she bowed her head in prayer.
At eight fifteen the next morning, the phone rang in Judge Reilly’s chambers, a half-decorated office down the hall from his courtroom. Boxes of books and memorabilia still sat along the walls and beneath the window that offered a panoramic view of the Chicago cityscape. So far, the only items to make it out of the boxes were some books, Judge Reilly’s law-school diploma, and a trophy naming him Midwest Conference Basketball Player of the Year for 2003. The judge sat behind his desk, wearing a slightly frayed dress shirt and tie. Bert Siwell was in a chair on the other side of the desk. The judge pushed the speakerphone button. “Mr. Corbin?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Ben’s voice was distorted by the poor quality of the speaker. “Thank you for agreeing to hold this hearing telephonically and on short notice.”
“That’s not a problem,” replied the judge. “I understand that there are circumstances beyond your control here. Mr. Siwell is sitting in my chambers. Are you both ready to proceed?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” said both attorneys.
“Okay. Go ahead, Mr. Corbin.”
“Your Honor, due to the circumstances you just mentioned, defendant and counter-plaintiff Gunnar Bjornsen moves to continue the trial date for at least four weeks, preferably more. As set forth in our papers, my wife was brutally attacked in Norway, which caused my son to be born prematurely. Neither of them will be able to fly for at least a month. I would very much like to stay with them until they can return to Chicago. If I do that, however, I will be unable to represent my client at trial. Mr. Bjornsen and I therefore request that the Court continue the trial date for at least four weeks to allow me to be with my family during this time and still be able to spend at least a week preparing for trial when I return.”
“Have you discussed this matter with opposing counsel?” asked the judge.
“I called him yesterday, Your Honor. He said that he couldn’t agree to my request.”
The judge looked at Bert Siwell in surprise. “Counsel?”
“Mr. Corbin may have misunderstood my comments, Your Honor,” responded Siwell. “I couldn’t agree to something as significant as a trial continuance without discussing it with my clients. That’s all I intended to communicate to Mr. Corbin.”
“If that’s what he had said,” replied Ben, “I would not have called Your Honor’s clerk to arrange this hearing, and I would not have stayed up past midnight drafting emergency-motion papers.”
“I apologize if I was unclear,” replied Siwell. “I would never attempt to practice gamesmanship with opposing counsel under these circumstances. But the bottom line is that I have talked to my clients, and they do not object to allowing Mr. Corbin however much time he needs to deal with this terrible situation. We have some concerns about why Mrs. Corbin was at Bjornsen Pharmaceuticals’ Norwegian facility when she was attacked, but I’m sure those will be resolved in due course. What’s important now is that Mr. Corbin and his family have the time they need.”
“I was hoping that would be your response,” said Judge Reilly.
“Incidentally, I noticed that his papers request four weeks,” continued Siwell, “but we would understand if he required more.”
“Mr. Corbin, your papers request at least four weeks. Is that what you would like me to order?”
“Four weeks would probably be enough, if nothing goes wrong either here or in Chicago, Your Honor, but I would prefer six.”
The judge looked at Siwell. “Any objection to a six-week continuance, Mr. Siwell?”
“None, Your Honor.”
“All right, the new trial date is October nineteen. Mr. Siwell, please draw up an order.”
Ben hung up the phone. He looked down at the notes scattered across his hotel room desk. Bert Siwell had been surprisingly accommodating just now and had completely reversed the position he’d taken just the day before. Why?
Maybe they really had misunderstood each other on the phone last night. Maybe, but Ben doubted it. Siwell had clearly known about the attack before Ben called and had asked several questions about what exactly Noelle had been doing at Bjornsen Norge when she was shot. Ben had refused to answer, and Siwell had refused to agree to a continuance—or at least that was the impression Ben had been left with when he got off the phone with his opponent.
Even if it was a misunderstanding, why would Siwell volunteer to give Ben more time than he had requested? There were some lawyers Ben knew who would bend over backward for a colleague going through a personal crisis, but Bert Siwell wasn’t one of them. So why was he doing this?
Because Karl had told him to, Ben realized. After Ben had called Siwell last night, Siwell must have called his client and been told to reverse himself. Karl Bjornsen wanted some extra time himself before the trial started. Ben swiveled around in his chair and looked out the window at the busy downtown street outside his hotel. Karl is up to something, but what?
If Ben had been looking through binoculars, he might have seen Karl Bjornsen for a few seconds on the sidewalk about two blocks away. The big Norwegian was heading north, away from Ben, toward an upscale residential area of Oslo. After several blocks, he turned left and disappeared onto a street lined with trendy, recently renovated apartment buildings.
Karl had arrived in Norway that morning on an overnight SAS flight. He had bought his ticket in person and had paid cash—which made the SAS security personnel uncomfortable, but made it much harder to track the purchase electronically. He also used cash to pay for all his other travel expenses. To his secretary’s consternation, he’d sent no e-mails mentioning this trip or even announcing that he would be out of the office. Instead, he left it to her to cover for him until he got back. He also didn’t take his cell phone. He had a satellite phone with him, but he did not plan to turn it on until he needed it.
He stopped in front of an apartment building, glanced at a scrap of paper in his hand, and went in. He found himself in a small, well-furnished lobby facing a locked inner door with an intercom box next to it. He sat down in a comfortably overstuffed armchair in a corner with a good view of the interior door, took out a copy of Dagens Næringsliv, Norway’s equivalent of the Wall Street Journal, and waited. If Alex Geist was right, Berit Lundgren would walk out of that door in about fifteen minutes to go to a yoga class at a downtown gym.
Sure enough, a young woman matching Berit’s description and the photo Geist had sent emerged fifteen minutes later. She was pretty, blonde, and healthy looking—hardly what Karl expected a cocaine addict to look like. She was dressed in workout clothes and was carrying a gym bag and water bottle. Karl smiled and stood up. He folded the newspaper under his arm and walked over to intercept her, reaching the door in time to open it for her. “Takk,” she said automatically. Then she glanced at him and froze in recognition. “Mr. Bjornsen?”
His smile broadened. “And you must be Berit Lundgren,” he replied in Norwegian. “Pleased to meet you.”
“I . . . I recognized you from your picture. Were you waiting for me?”
“I was. I was in Oslo and thought I would stop by and talk to you informally. Do you have a few minutes?”
“I was on my way to the gym,” she said, looking up at him uncertainly, “but, uh, of course I would be happy to talk to you.”
“Good. I saw a park down the street. What do you say we go for a walk?”
“Sure.”
They stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned toward the park. “How long have you been with the company, Berit? About three years?”
“Three and a half. Ever since I graduated.”
“How do you like it?”
�
��I really enjoy it. Bjornsen Norge is a great place to work.”
“And you’ve been a good employee. I’ve seen your performance evaluations.”
“Thank you.”
They left the sidewalk and entered the wide green spaces of the park. Yelling children and chatting mothers packed a playground about fifty meters away, but otherwise there were few people nearby—and none within earshot. “Sometimes even good employees make mistakes, Berit.”
She looked at him nervously. “I—I—” she stammered.
“Sometimes they use cocaine,” Karl continued. “Sometimes they do worse things, like give confidential information to outsiders. Sometimes they even get mixed up in arson and attempted murder.”
She stopped and stared at him with round, terrified eyes. Her face was white beneath her tan. “That wasn’t me! I—” She snapped her mouth shut.
“But you know who it was,” said Karl, “or at least you can make an educated guess. You have been calling and e-mailing some people in Russia on a regular basis. Dangerous people. Maybe they were paying you for information, or maybe they were blackmailing you. It doesn’t matter now.
“One day, you found a piece of information that would be especially valuable to them—you discovered that someone had been going through their files. And then you told them, right?”
She nodded and looked down. “I don’t know how the Russians found out about me, but they said they would tell the company and the police about my . . . my bad habits if I didn’t give them information and documents. But that’s all I did. I swear it. I had no idea they would try to kill anybody.”
Karl stopped and grabbed her arm—not violently, but with great strength. “What did you think would happen? What did you think your Russian friends would do when you told them someone was looking at those records?”
She looked up at him and started to shake. “I . . . I don’t know. I just thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. It was a terrible mistake and I’m very sorry.” She paused and licked her lips nervously. “Have you told the police?”
“Not yet,” replied Karl. He felt a surge of pity for her as she stood there frightened and quivering. “But they will have to know soon. In the meantime, you may be able to help clean up this mess.”
“That would be great. I really appreciate this opportunity, Mr. Bjornsen. Just let me know what I can do to help.”
“You can start by telling me everything you know—your contacts, exactly what information you gave them, and so on. And Berit—”
“Yes, Mr. Bjornsen?”
“Do not lie to me or hold anything back. If you do, I will find out and things will go badly for you. Very badly. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Bjornsen.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WITNESSES
It had now been six days since the telephonic hearing, and Ben felt that he couldn’t wait any longer to talk business with Henrik Haugeland. He hadn’t heard any definitive news about Einar’s condition, but he needed to start planning for trial. If he was going to have to try this case without Henrik’s testimony, he needed to know now.
He knocked on the door to Einar’s hospital room, and Henrik opened it. He looked tired and pale, but he smiled and his voice was lively. “Good afternoon, Mr. Corbin. How are Noelle and the baby?”
“They’re doing well. Noelle will be on crutches for a few weeks, but she should make a full recovery. The doctor says she can be discharged in a day or two. Eric is doing well too, but he’ll need to stay here for about three more weeks. How’s Einar? We’ve been praying for him.”
“Thank you,” replied Henrik. “God has answered all our prayers. Einar will live, and he has no brain damage. He does have damage to several bones and internal organs, so he will be in the hospital for several months and will have certain permanent problems. But he is in good spirits, and we are all very happy with his progress.”
“That’s great. I’ll let you get back to him, but when you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you about something else.”
“We can talk now if you like. Einar just went to sleep, and his mother and sister are with him.”
“Okay, can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?” offered Ben.
“I have already drunk five cups today, but I would enjoy a short walk. I have sat in a chair for most of the day.”
“A walk it is, then.”
Five minutes later, they were strolling along a well-kept path that ran through a small glade of pine and birch trees behind the hospital. “What was it you wanted to discuss?” asked Henrik.
“Your testimony at the trial. I assume you’ll want to stay in Norway until Einar is better, but if you have the time and inclination, I’d like to videotape your testimony so that we can play it for the jury. That’s completely your decision, though. I’ll fully understand if you’d rather focus on more important things, and I’m sure Gunnar will understand too.”
“Would it be better for you if I came to America to testify?”
“I’m not asking you to do that,” replied Ben. “I just—”
Henrik smiled and held up his hand. “I know you are not asking me to do it. I am asking if you would have a better chance of winning if I did.”
“Well, yes.”
“Then I will come.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I want to. You believe Karl Bjornsen was responsible for the attack on my son and your wife, yes?”
Ben pressed his lips together and looked Henrik in the eye. “Yes. I think he either ordered the attack himself or knows who did.”
Henrik returned Ben’s gaze, and there was a grimness in his face that Ben hadn’t seen before. “So do I. I will do everything I can within the law to make sure he hurts no one else. Removing him from control of Bjornsen Pharmaceuticals will make him much less powerful, and hopefully much less dangerous. I will come to America to testify.”
Two days after Noelle left Rikshospitalet, she and Elena went for a walk in the Vigeland sculpture garden in Frognerparken, home to the granite and bronze “no-waist nudes” that grace many postcards from Oslo. Noelle was still on crutches, so Elena had suggested that they visit someplace where they could sit down. But Noelle said she had done plenty of sitting over the past week and a half and would really like to get off her rear end, which she was convinced had grown significantly during her involuntary inactivity.
So Elena walked and Noelle hobbled along the wide, crushed-rock paths of Frognerparken. It was a very public place with crowds of tourists and a significant police presence, but a pair of armed undercover officers accompanied them nonetheless, strolling watchfully a few feet on either side of them.
They walked slowly and stopped frequently, both because of Noelle’s condition and because it was a hot August day. Their conversation drifted fitfully among various banal topics—the statues they walked past, the weather, the relative merits of Norwegian and American ice cream. Noelle got the distinct impression that Elena wanted to talk about something but was having trouble coming to the point, so Noelle did it for her. “So, by this time tomorrow, you’ll be back in America,” she said as they sat down on a well-shaded bench. “Looking forward to it?”
Elena stretched out her long legs and leaned back against the warm concrete of the bench. “Yes, I guess so. I don’t want to leave you and Ben in the lurch, but things are piling up back at the Bureau and I can’t keep asking people to cover for me.”
“We’ll be fine,” replied Noelle. “But it will be a while before you and I see each other again. Was there anything you wanted to talk about?”
“I . . . Well, yeah,” Elena admitted. Her tan face grew grave and she sat forward. “I wanted to let you know how sorry I am about all this.” Noelle opened her mouth to protest, but Elena hurried on. “No, wait. Just let me get this off my chest. I know you don’t blame me, but I blame myself, okay? I blame myself for not spotting that guy in the parking lot. I blame myself for going shopping while you gu
ys were busy making copies and stuff. I blame myself for not getting permission to bring a gun. I’m sorry and I wanted to tell you before I left. That’s all.”
Noelle realized that it would be useless to try to argue Elena out of her guilt. She patted her friend’s arm reassuringly. “You’re right. I don’t blame you. Neither does Ben. And even if there is something we should blame you for, we forgive you. So don’t worry about it—or try not to, anyway.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. I really do. Einar and Henrik said pretty much the same thing when I talked to them. Everyone’s being so nice about this, so understanding.” She sighed and smiled. “It almost makes it worse.”
“Okay, then I take it back,” replied Noelle with a wink. “I hate you and never want to see you again. Better?”
Elena laughed. “Much, thanks. Seriously, you’ve been a real friend about this. I won’t be able to be here with you after tomorrow, but I, uh, I’ll be praying for you.”
Being back in LA felt so good that even the rush-hour traffic didn’t bother Kim. She was heading west on Highway 10 and the traffic was completely gridlocked due to construction. She watched the sunset and sang along with the car stereo. Chicago had been a lot of fun, and working at Bjornsen Pharmaceuticals had been a great experience, but it was wonderful to be home. She had missed it more than she realized.
It also felt good to be driving to David’s apartment. When she’d left for the summer, she had been a little worried about what would happen to their relationship. It was the first time they’d been apart for longer than two weeks, and she had heard stories about how the younger nurses went after med-school students interning at the hospitals. But David had remained true. He had continued to seem a little odd even after he had gone off the Neurostim, but she hoped that was just a result of the strain of having been apart for so long.