Indispensable Party (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller No. 4)

by Miller, Melissa F.

  “It’s a long story, but the high points are that Leo Connelly’s been taken into federal custody as the result of a multi-agency investigation into a classified national security matter. He needs a D.C.-barred attorney, fast. Someone who has some clearances, or the feds are never going to talk to him,” Sasha explained.

  “Her,” Will corrected her. “Colleen Young-Wetzel fits the bill, and she’ll take very good care of Leo. She’s the best.”

  “Great. Can I get her number?”

  “Let me call her and explain who you and Leo are. I mean, she’s probably heard of you from your past exploits, but if I call I can impress upon her just how important you and Leo are to me personally,” Will said.

  Sasha didn’t think she could feel any lower than she had when she’d talked to Caroline, but, as it turned out, she could.

  “Thank you,” she said simply.

  “You’re more than welcome,” Will replied. “Should Colleen reach you on your cell phone?”

  “Please. And, Will?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry for brushing you off since October. There’s no excuse, I know. I’ve just been struggling—”

  “Sasha, please. No apologies are necessary. You’ve been through a great deal in the past year. You need to deal with that however you can. It’s okay,” Will assured her.

  Sasha felt hot tears stinging her eyes. She’d been operating under crisis parameters: Focus on getting the help Connelly needed. Move forward. Don’t fall apart. But now Will’s kindness threatened to topple her.

  “Thanks, Will,” she said, blinking away the threatened tears.

  “I’ll have Colleen call right away,” he promised before ending the call.

  Sasha drove in silence for several minutes. She needed to call and let Naya know about Connelly, and she also needed to track down Gavin, wherever he was. But she wanted to talk to Colleen Young-Wetzel first.

  She left the phone charging and just drove. She’d gone about five miles down the uninspiring ribbon of highway that cut through Maryland headed for the Pennsylvania Turnpike when her phone came to life. She hit the button to connect the call through the Bluetooth device.

  “Sasha McCandless,” she said to the empty interior of the SUV.

  A female voice, husky but clipped and businesslike, came through the speakers. “Sasha, this is Colleen Young-Wetzel. May I call you Sasha?”

  “Of course. Thanks for reaching out to me so quickly,” Sasha said.

  Colleen brushed off her gratitude. “Listen, I’ve known Will Volmer since his sons were in short pants. Will said you need the best criminal representation available in D.C. and you need it now. So, you’ve got it.”

  Colleen’s voice oozed competence and confidence. Sasha felt her shoulders relax.

  “Okay, how much did Will tell you?” Sasha asked, searching the road ahead for a convenient place to pull off the road.

  She didn’t want to split her attention between the road and this conversation. A green milepost sign informed her that Frederick, Maryland sat at the next exit. She and Connelly had stopped in Frederick once before. There was a diner that served breakfast all day. She had no appetite, but this wasn’t the time to let her energy flag. She eased the car into the far right lane.

  “Will said that your friend is a former federal air marshal who had been assigned to an internal affairs role within the Department of Homeland Security until October, when he left to take a position as the chief security officer for a pharmaceutical company. As I understand it, this morning, he was taken into custody in conjunction with a coordinated, cross-agency national security investigation. That’s what I know.” Colleen recited the background in a brisk, dispassionate voice.

  “Before we get into the details, would you just confirm that I can tell you this stuff without breaching any government secrets?” Sasha asked, as she slowed and took the exit ramp toward Frederick’s business district.

  She navigated by memory to the diner, which stood at the foot of a mountain.

  Colleen answered, like any good lawyer, with a question of her own. “Your friend has, or had, security clearances, I’m sure, but do you?”

  “No.”

  Sasha brought Connelly’s SUV to a stop in a parking space near the diner’s door. Judging by all the empty spaces, she’d hit that sweet spot between the breakfast rush and the lunch crowd. She killed the engine.

  “Well, in that case, nothing the government told you is classified. If, hypothetically, Leo came into possession of classified information, he may have breached security by telling you. Too bad you aren’t married.”

  “Excuse me? Oh, spousal privilege?”

  “Right, I mean, it’s still a crime to share the information, but you couldn’t be compelled to testify against him. But, listen, at this point, that’s the least of your worries. We’ll proceed as though this is a privileged and confidential conversation between the two us, okay?” Colleen sounded impatient to cut to the chase.

  “Okay. Well, the first bit I know because I am—or, I guess, was—representing Connelly’s employer in a civil matter. Serumceutical has a government contract to deliver a killer flu vaccine. An employee who falsified her references disappeared along with more than twenty-five hundred doses that were supposed to be sent to the government stockpile. The company believes a competitor called ViraGene was behind the theft. My primary responsibility was to file a temporary restraining order against ViraGene. But I was also counseling my client to self-report the theft of the vaccines and the breach of the supply contract that resulted from that theft to the government.” Sasha paused to give Colleen a chance to ask any questions she might have.

  “Go on.”

  “Over the weekend, Connelly learned that the mutated killer flu virus had been stolen from a French research facility, one of the French researchers had been killed, and our government believed the stolen Doomsday virus was either en route to the U.S. or already within the borders.”

  Colleen let out a long, low whistle, then she said, “I take it Mr. Connelly learned that information on a confidential basis?”

  “Right,” Sasha confirmed. “He didn’t name his source, and I didn’t ask. He did tell the Serumceutical Board of Directors that there was a threat, but he didn’t go into any details. We wanted them to agree to let us share information with the ad hoc task force that had been created to deal with the theft of the killer flu.”

  “There’s always a task force,” Colleen observed.

  “Apparently. Anyway, we met with the task force yesterday morning. We told them about the stolen vaccines and that Serumceutical had filed a TRO against ViraGene. Lawyers from several agencies were present at the meeting, and no one raised any objection to the TRO. After the meeting, though, I got a call from the federal district court, scheduling the hearing for that same day.”

  “Let me guess. Some government attorney showed up, claimed the feds were an indispensable party, refused to waive immunity, and mentioned national security implications. In response, the judge folded like a cheap suit and kicked your case. Off the record, of course. How’d I do?” Colleen asked in a tone that was at once jaded and outraged.

  “Nailed it.”

  “Okay, so, what happened this morning?”

  “We were headed into the Serumceutical campus and ran into a road block. An FBI SWAT team was in position waiting for us. They took Connelly into custody, a female agent patted me down, but it was really cursory, and they searched Connelly’s SUV. I am told they received a tip from an anonymous caller that Connelly had a bottle of the stolen H17N10 virus in his desk drawer. They checked it out, and found a vial.”

  “So, your working theory is Leo was framed?”

  “Definitely,” Sasha said.

  “Do you think it was an inside job?” Colleen asked.

  “I honestly don’t know. Connelly’s office door is locked and can be opened only with his personal key card. I don’t know how the virus got there, but I know Connelly
didn’t put it there.”

  Colleen was silent.

  Sasha waited a moment then said, “And, it’s hard to explain, but I got the sense that, despite the display of power, with the SWAT team and everything, that nobody was all that concerned about Connelly. I mean, if they really, truly believed Connelly was responsible, they should have impounded his car, right? And done a more thorough search of my person and my bag? The whole thing felt … superficial, like they were just going through the motions.”

  “Hard to say,” Colleen cautioned her. “It could be that they didn’t want to deal with the maelstrom of grief an attorney could bring down on their heads if they were aggressive with you. Or they may be according Leo some professional courtesy because he’s a former Homeland Security agent. Or your instincts are right and the whole scene was just security theater. I’ll have a better sense after I talk to someone associated with the task force and see how much they push back about getting me access to Leo. Who are the lawyers involved?”

  Sasha thought for a minute then said, “There are a bunch of them, but take a run at Anthony Washington from the Department of Justice. He seemed like the most reasonable.”

  “Washington, DOJ. Okay. Now, you hold tight. I’ll call you later today.”

  “Thank you, Colleen. Oh, we didn’t talk about your fees. You can bill me directly whatever your standard rate is for this sort of work, seeing as how Connelly isn’t going to be getting a paycheck until this gets cleared up,” Sasha said.

  “Don’t worry about the fees,” Colleen said. “I owe Will a favor, and I understand he owes you one.”

  “Well, we can work it out later,” Sasha said, hesitant to let the woman handle the matter without compensation.

  Sasha ended the call and sat looking out over the parking lot. She took several deep, slow breaths.

  Colleen had relieved a lot of the tension that had been building in a band behind her eyes. She was still worried about Connelly, but she trusted Will’s friend to get a handle on the situation. She would grab a quick bite and get some badly needed coffee, then she would deal with the other man in her life who was contributing to her tension headache—Gavin Russell.

  CHAPTER 34

  Leo rubbed his forehead with one palm. He was tired. He was a little bit sore from being thrown to the frozen ground by an overenthusiastic rookie agent. He was worried that whomever had hid an ampule of the Doomsday virus in his desk drawer was out there, in the fading winter light, rolling a vial along a Metro car or leaving one casually propped against a display in one of the Smithsonian buildings.

  And every minute that he sat here in stony silence staring down an interrogator was just more time the government was wasting not finding the guy who had the virus.

  He sighed heavily. But, he had promised Sasha he wouldn’t talk. So he continued to clamp his jaw tightly closed and look wearily at Hank Richardson.

  “Leo, give me something,” Hank pleaded.

  Leo felt almost worse for Hank than he did for himself.

  Hank had made a show of pulling all the strings. Leo’s handcuffs were removed, he’d been offered food, drink, and dry clothes, but still he refused to speak.

  Leo merely repeated the one sentence he’d said to each of the agents who’d cycled through the interrogation room, “I want a lawyer.”

  Hank rubbed his own temple, mirroring Leo’s movement—whether he did so out of a shared sense of frustration or a deliberate attempt to create the illusion of a bond, Leo couldn’t tell. Leo shifted his attention away from Hank to focus on a crack in the corner of the ceiling that was spidering down the side of the wall. It was the extent of the windowless room’s decor.

  “Son, you may have gone over to the private sector, but you’re not fooling me. You’re still one of us. You want to catch this nasty piece of work just as badly as I do. That’s why you came in to talk to us yesterday. Now’s your chance. But, you know the clock’s running on this. Help me.” Hank finished his speech and leaned forward on the gray metal table, staring at Leo.

  Leo did want to talk to Hank; he did want to help. Not because of Hank’s somewhat heavy-handed and clichéd appeal. But, because he’d been yearning to jump in and start digging from the minute he heard about the investigation.

  But he wasn’t going to talk to anyone until they let him speak to the lawyer he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt had to be sitting out in a waiting room somewhere. There was no chance Sasha hadn’t gotten an attorney for him within minutes of her leaving the campus.

  Delaying—not denying, but delaying—a suspect access to his counsel was a time-honored law enforcement strategy. He knew it. Hank knew it. The task force was in for an awakening, though, if they thought they could out wait him, Leo thought.

  Now he mirrored Hank’s posture, leaned forward over the table, and said, “Lawyer, Hank. Let me talk to my lawyer.”

  They locked eyes. After a long moment, Hank shook his head, sadly, almost imperceptibly. “I’ll send her in.”

  He pushed back his metal chair from the table, its legs screeching against the gray-green floor tile. He walked out of the room without a backward glance at Leo.

  Leo figured his attorney, who had no doubt been kept waiting with a series of excuses, would walk in the door within three minutes of Hank’s departure. He started to count off the seconds in his head, as his watch had been confiscated along with his Glock and his phone.

  He made it to a hundred and forty before the door opened. A junior agent ushered a woman through the door. She wore square-rimmed glasses with black frames, which matched her short, neat hair and her black, tailored pantsuit. A large, turquoise-beaded necklace added a splash of color to her otherwise severe image. Then she smiled, a broad, open smile, and the room lit up.

  He felt himself exhaling. He didn’t know where Sasha had found this woman, but he already felt better.

  “Thanks, Agent Tortetta. I’ll take it from here,” she said in a firm but friendly voice to the agent, who was lurking in the doorway.

  He dropped his gaze to the floor and shuffled out into the hallway.

  She waited until the door shut with a loud click. Then she crossed the room toward Leo, holding up a piece of paper that had been ripped from a legal pad. In large, looping letters, she’d written: Assume they’re listening in.

  Leo nodded. He didn’t have to assume. He knew for certain that somewhere deep within the maze of the FBI building a cluster of representatives from various agencies were huddled around a speaker, waiting to hear what he and his attorney said to one another.

  “Hi, I’m Colleen Young-Wetzel,” the woman said, extending her right hand.

  “Leo Connelly,” he said. “Are you a friend of Will’s?”

  “That’s right,” she said, flashing him another big smile. “And he had wonderful things to say about both you and Sasha.”

  Despite his surroundings, Leo felt himself smiling back at her.

  She held his gaze for a moment then shifted gears.

  “Okay,” she said in a brisk tone, “this should be the part where I ask you to tell me what happened. Then, I assure you it’s going to be okay, while at the same time, I manage your expectations so you don’t think I can work magic and get you out of here today.”

  “But, I guess Sasha already told you what happened?”

  “She did, but ordinarily I’d still want to get my client’s version. However, your friends out there tell me you’re free to go.” She cocked her head to the side, in an exaggerated display of confusion.

  He blinked at her.

  She shrugged her shoulders, palms up, in a big gesture.

  He understood that she was trying to tell him something was off, that the FBI was up to something, but she didn’t know what.

  “Really?” he said slowly.

  “Yep. Agent Richardson did ask if you would talk to him briefly before you leave. Says he has a favor to ask you.”

  Leo’s instinct was to hear Richardson out, but he wanted to get his
attorney’s take on it. “What do you think? Should I talk to him?”

  She tapped a manicured finger to her lips. “That depends. You have any interest in getting killed?”

  It was Leo’s turn to cock his head in confusion.

  “What do you mean?”

  Colleen spoke in a clear, confident voice, like she was addressing a jury. “I’m fairly certain, Leo, that, if a group made up of FBI, CIA, ATF, DHS, and DOJ needs a favor, then the task is dangerous, ill-advised, illegal, or all of the above.”

  She smiled again, cat-like and sly, and turned her head to the door. As she did so, Hank, trailed by his CIA and FBI counterparts, hustled into the room.

  “Ms. Young-Wetzel, you have a very suspicious view of human nature, don’t you think?” Hank chided her.

  She raised one shaped brow. “I’m stunned that you were able to hear me from out in the hall, Agent Richardson.”

  Hank just smiled; Leo knew it wasn’t his style to insult her intelligence by claiming they hadn’t been monitoring the conversation. Besides, it wasn’t as though there was recourse for the eavesdropping, and everyone in the room knew it.

  Ed Appleman, the FBI agent, was holding Leo’s phone, wallet, watch, and weapon in his hands.

  Leo stood and took the gun first, hefting the black plastic polymer in his hand for a moment before sliding the gun into its holster. Then he reached for his cell phone and wallet, both of which he slid into his pocket. Appleman dropped the titanium watch into Leo’s palm.

  After securing his watch around his wrist, Leo nodded to Hank. “I hear you need a favor.”

  The CIA agent cleared his throat and cast a meaningful look in Colleen’s direction. “We do. But we can’t discuss it in front a civilian.”

  Colleen twisted her mouth into a wry smile. “Hint taken. Just remember, Leo—dangerous, ill-advised, and illegal. Good luck to you.”

  “Thanks for everything,” Leo said.

  She gave a short laugh and headed for the door. “They should all be this easy.”