Pacini, Peckham, Assad, and Milstein did not say it aloud, but each reached the same conclusion: Douglas Pratt had been bought.
White Flint Mall, Kensington, Maryland
iden, I need your help," Kate said into McKenna's cell phone. It was a slow day at the White Flint Mall: mostly nannies pushing strollers and a few retiree power walkers.
"What's going on, sis? You're on the news big-time!" Aiden said. "I got back from Vegas and federal agents were at my house. Questioned me but wouldn't even let me in the door. My bike's gone. Where are you?"
"I need you to come to our emergency place."
"You mean Whi-"
"Don't say it," Kate cut him off. "You know where." She clicked off and powered down the phone.
"Are you sure he'll know where to go?" McKenna asked.
"Because of 9/11, we discussed where we'd meet if there was ever another attack and we needed to get out of the city. We agreed this would be the spot-far enough out of the District and near the subway. Even after the plane hit the Pentagon on 9/11, the metro kept running. We agreed to wait here for each other as long as possible."
Sure enough, thirty-five minutes later, Aiden pulled his Jetta up near a chain restaurant at the White Flint Mall. Kate and McKenna walked quickly from the entryway of the restaurant and hopped in the car.
Without even a greeting, Kate said, "Do you have your laptop?"
"No," Aiden said. "Those assholes won't let me in my place. All I've got is my luggage from Vegas."
"We need a computer."
"Ah, but first of all," Aiden said, turning to McKenna in the backseat, "Hi. I'm Aiden. And you must be Katie's boyfriend-fugitive murder suspect, Jefferson McKenna." He gave McKenna a boyish grin and pushed away the bangs of his scruffy hair that kept falling into his eyes.
"The pleasure is mine," said McKenna, reaching over the seat to shake hands.
Kate hit her brother on the arm. "Drive," she said.
Aiden took them to a nearby electronics megastore on Rockville Pike and let them out at the curb.
"Nice outfit, by the way," he said out the Jetta's window to McKenna, who was clad entirely in Aiden's clothes.
"Even now he can't be serious," Kate grumped. "He's been an undergrad at Georgetown for seven years. Seven years. He's racked up massive student loans, and his job prospects are pathetic. He's so freaking irresponsible!"
"He's also helping you without any hesitation or apparent concern for himself," McKenna noted.
Kate blushed, embarrassed at her frustrated-big-sister outburst. Since they were kids, it had been apparent that she and her little brother were very different people. He was the guy whose name would be shouted by a dozen people when he arrived at a party, who would wear the same pair of jeans for two weeks, and who never seemed to allow stress of any kind to enter his life. Kate, on the other hand, skipped the parties to study, dressed meticulously, and drove herself so hard to get accepted by a top college that she nearly had an ulcer before her eighteenth birthday.
She and McKenna went to the store's computer section, which had perhaps thirty desktop and laptop models on display. Kate knew that McKenna had only the most rudimentary computer skills, so she asked him for the CD they had taken from the Watergate. Kate inserted it into one of the computers and began typing.
"Damn it!" she said as a password page appeared on the monitor. "It needs a password."
"Try what's written on the sleeve of the CD."
Reading the paper sleeve, Kate typed in "CJK/JC." Again the password error message appeared.
They hurried out of the store and back to the car, and Aiden merged into the traffic on the Pike.
"Know anyone who's good with computers?" McKenna asked Kate.
"There are a couple of IT guys at the office, but we obviously can't call them. I can't think of anyone else. You know anyone?"
McKenna shook his head.
"What about Javier?" Aiden asked.
Kate shook her head emphatically. "No way-I couldn't."
"Who's Javier?" McKenna asked.
"Why not?" Aiden said. "He lives just down the street. C'mon, Katie, he's way over it."
"Who is Javier?" McKenna repeated.
"He still lives there?" Kate asked, still ignoring the question.
"Same place," Aiden replied.
"You've got to be kidding-the same house?" Kate said, smiling despite herself.
Aiden didn't wait for the okay to head toward the home of their childhood friend Javier Mendoza.
Harrington & Caine law offices, Washington, D.C.
he offices of Harrington & Caine would weaken the resolve of even the most hardened adversary. The lobby, designed to intimidate, was a glass-and-steel-encased atrium covered by a huge skylight twelve stories above. The front entrance had marble floors and two escalators leading to the main reception desk, where an armed security guard stood and three receptionists sat talking into headsets.
One of the receptionists told Pacini and the two detectives to wait for a moment. Pacini looked at his watch.
"Did you find it odd that Justice Carmichael canceled her meeting with us?" Milstein asked.
They had been waiting in the East Conference Room when one of Carmichael's law clerks sheepishly approached them and said they would have to reschedule.
"Yeah. But she's probably used to people adapting to her whims," Pacini said.
A frumpy woman in her late thirties retrieved them from the Harrington lobby and escorted them to a conference room on the twelfth floor. As they entered the room, four dour-faced men in starched white shirts and striped ties stood to greet them. An FBI agent who had spent the morning at the firm introduced Pacini, Assad, and Milstein to McKenna's old friend Jake Seabury and three members of the law firm's executive committee. After some stiff introductions, the agent briefed Pacini. "They had a bead on McKenna and Ms. Porter at the Watergate Hotel and the subway station, but they got away."
"I heard," Pacini said. "Remarkable."
"We've swept Mr. Seabury's office, and it's been bugged," the agent said. "We're going to sweep the entire firm."
"We've asked that they wait until tonight," a member of the firm's executive committee said. "We don't want to concern our lawyers and staff."
Pacini didn't respond. "And Douglas Pratt?" he asked.
"He didn't show up to work today," the agent said. "Apparently, that isn't unusual for Mr. Pratt, whose work habits are a bit ... erratic. They've identified his friends at the firm. They'll send them up one at a time whenever we're ready."
"How about Pratt's phone records?" Pacini asked.
"Home and cell records are in the works with the phone company, but the law firm has its own phone records. They're pulling them for us
Looking at Seabury, Pacini said, "Can someone tell me why the Hassan brothers would need to bug your offices-assuming it was them? You'd already won the case, right?"
Seabury shook his head. "Fair question. We won the trial. But we can only start collecting on our judgment against them once the appeal is over, so it's crucial we continue to track the assets, or they'll simply sell everything or trade it all in for bearer bonds and we'll never see a penny. Every day that passes allows them more time to hide assets. To have someone on the inside monitoring our documents and calls with the investigators who are tracking the money would be enormously valuable. The bugs explain why every time we thought we'd closed in on the money and could freeze the accounts, the funds were moved. The Hassans were always a step ahead. Their appeal was baseless-they filed it simply to buy some time."
They then discussed at length the information Pratt may have obtained from firm files or from the bugs. A secretary came in carrying a half-inch stack of papers held together with a black binder clip. She handed it to Seabury.
"Here are the phone records," he said, sliding them across the conference room table to Pacini. "Our system only records the phone numbers dialed from each lawyer's office, not the identity of the person called."
"How long will it take to put a reverse trace on these?" Pacini asked the FBI agent.
"An hour or so."
Pacini put his finger on a phone number that appeared several times over the past week. He stood and punched it in on the speakerphone at the center of the conference room table.
After three rings, an older woman's voice said, "You've reached the Kincaid residence. Please leave a message after the tone."
Pacini pressed the disconnect button. No one spoke, all of them processing what they had just heard. Pratt had made several calls to Chief Justice Kincaid's widow, a person of interest in the commission's investigation.
Milstein's cell phone broke the quiet. Pacini and Assad watched as she answered, knowing it could be McKenna calling again.
This time it wasn't McKenna. It was the hospital calling about her father.
Home Mendoza, Wheaton, Maryland
he outside of the house hadn't changed since they were kids. Kate felt herself swept back to her first kiss in the tree house that used to cling lopsided to the big oak in the backyard. Her parents had long since moved away from her childhood home, just two doors down. Though Wheaton was only ten miles from D.C., Kate's old neighborhood had been another world. It was filled with solid blue-collar families who cared greatly about football, NASCAR, and barbecues, and little about Beltway politics and law. The Porters never knew what to make of their daughter. At twelve, Kate had taken it on herself to apply for and win a scholarship to Sidwell Friends, a prestigious private school in D.C. She worked an evening job to afford clothes to help her fit in with her affluent classmates, yet still graduated first in her class. After graduating both college and law school summa cum laude, she had been a U.S. Supreme Court law clerk for a justice who retired a couple of years before Black Wednesday. She was the pride of Wheaton.
Javier Mendoza opened the door, shirtless and in sweatpants, his fingers stained Cheetos orange. Kate gazed at him for a long moment. He was still thin, though his chest had filled in. The baby fat on his cheeks was gone and the lines around the eyes and mouth gave him a sexy ruggedness. His hair was still dark and thick with wild curls. They had crossed paths over the years, but it must have been seven years since they had last seen each other.
He stared back at Kate, barely acknowledging Aiden and McKenna. "Katie?" he said, holding her gaze.
"Hello, Javier."
They stood quietly for a moment until he invited them in.
Though the Mendoza home's exterior was virtually unchanged since a teenage Kate had climbed its gutter at midnight to sneak into Javier's room, the interior had been completely renovated. Javier had done well for himself. The house had been gutted, and the main floor now had a great room held up by white pillars that reached to the seventeen-foot ceiling. Kate grinned seeing the perennial Cheetos bag sitting on an expensive leather couch that was complemented by custom bookshelves on adjacent walls. A Steinway grand piano filled one corner of the room, and framed vintage comic books were hung under soft lighting-surely Javier's only contribution to the professional decor.
Trying to break the ice, Kate said, "When Aiden told me you still lived in your parents' house, I have to admit I was a little concerned for you, Javier. But this ... it's amazing." She knew from Aiden that Javier had made his first million designing Payback Anacostia, a popular video game that took players on a vigilante rampage through the mean streets of D.C. His video game development company now had three hundred employees and netted millions a year. He had moved his parents into a luxury condo in Florida to retire and bought the house from them.
"Everyone makes fun of this house,"Javier said. "I have places in New York and L.A., but here's where I work. Something about this place ... maybe it's the smell-makes me feel like a kid again. It helps my work." He invited them into the living room while he ran upstairs to put on some clothes.
"That's the biggest television I've ever seen," Aiden said as he grabbed the Cheetos and began munching. He fawned over a picture ofJavier's girlfriend, noting to Kate that she was a model.
"So you've known Javier for a long time?"McKenna said pointedly.
"Jefferson doesn't know?" Aiden said, laughing uncomfortably.
Kate shot him a look. "Just stop, Aiden."
"Know what?" McKenna asked.
"Javier and I dated in high school," Kate explained. "I'd been accepted to Stanford undergrad and we were going to get married before I left. It didn't work out."
"Understatement of the year," Aiden said. "She left him at the altar. Just didn't show up. All of our families and friends had to watch in horror."Though the ribbing was good-natured, Aiden's tone belied some hurt.
"And you think he'll help us now because... ?" McKenna said.
"We're still friends," Kate said defensively. "And he and Aiden are still close."
"Me and Javie go out a lot," Aiden said. "He's still a wild man. The guy's like Elvis with the video game crowd, and he gets comped for the best shows. Two months ago we got backstage to the Linkin Park concert."
"You two are perfect for each other," Kate said. "The real Lost Boys from Peter Pan."
"Nothing wrong with wanting to stay a kid,"Javier said, skipping down the steps into the room. He was wearing a pair of designer jeans and a button-down shirt.
"Javier," Kate said, flushing, "I didn't mean to..."
"Yes, you did. But no worries-I know who I am." Deliberately changing the subject, he said, "So, my friends, I have two questions: First, can I get you anything to eat or drink? And second, to what do I owe this visit?"
"I'm starving," Aiden said.
"I've been taking cooking lessons and have some leftovers if you're in the mood for danger,"Javier said.
They gathered around a long wooden table next to a fully equipped chef's kitchen and made small talk amid the high-end stainless steel appliances as Javier heated up chicken empanadas and set the table.
"Such a gracious host. What happened to you?" Kate said warmly.
"Would you expect less from Peter Pan?" he said with a wink as he passed her a large platter. He casually bowed his head in a silent prayer before eating-something he had always done-and she was again thrust back in time. For a moment, it was as if all was right with the world and they were simply enjoying lunch with an old friend.
"So, Javier," McKenna said, "Aiden says you're a computer genius."
"Consider the source," Javier replied, smiling. His teeth were bright white and perfectly aligned-porcelain veneers probably. "I suppose I know a thing or two."
McKenna threw the CD from the Watergate hotel room onto the table.
Javier picked up the CD and examined it for a moment before placing it back on the table. "Doesn't look like any big deal. What's on it?"
McKenna and Kate locked eyes.
"Javier, I take it that you haven't seen the news today," McKenna said.
"No. I don't watch the news or read the paper-it depresses me."
McKenna stood and walked over to a small flat-panel television on the kitchen counter. Facing the television toward the table, he flipped channels until he found a cable news station.
McKenna was still a prominent feature of the news cycle. They all watched Javier as he took in the reports.
"Nice picture," Aiden said as the screen showed Kate's unflattering photograph from her justice Department ID badge.
Javier did not look surprised or worried.
"Helping us could get you in trouble," Kate said. "And I don't want to cause you any more-"
Javier held up his hand to cut her off. Looking at McKenna, he said, "I remember one summer when Katie and I were about twelve. We broke Old Lady Batten's back window with my baseball." Javier turned to Kate, who started to blush. "There was no way the old battle-ax would have blamed us, but Katie insisted we confess. I pleaded with her, `Why tell? Why?' I said." Javier paused for a nostalgic moment. "But Katie didn't hesitate, didn't even think of caving in. I'll never forget. She looked at me and said it was the r
ight thing to do. She's stubborn and has always done the right thing-even when it was unpopular."
Kate's eyes welled slightly, knowing he was referring to her calling off a wedding that neither was ready for. Or to the fact that she had struggled to fit in at her private school yet had stayed with poor Javier despite pressure from her classmates. She also knew this was Javier's way of expressing forgiveness.
"So ... if she's helping you,"Javier said to McKenna, "there must be a good reason. What do you need me to do?"
After finishing lunch, the four sat huddled around a computer screen in Javier's home office. The room had seven computer monitors, with all sorts of peripheral equipment and cords strewn across the floor. A life-size Bart Simpson doll stood in the corner, posed in a lightsaber fight with an even bigger Darth Vader. Kate peeked out the drapes that covered the French doors. The backyard-which had only a few scrubby junipers, hollies, and a tree house when they were kids-was tastefully landscaped around a kidney-shaped swimming pool. Beside the pool was a bar, a hut-like structure of the sort one might find at an island resort. She imagined Javier shirtless, holding a drink, and entertaining guests.
Kate watched Javier maneuver the keyboard and mouse. His once skinny arms were now sculpted and defined, and his jaw seemed squarer, stronger. But it wasn't just his physical appearance; it was the way he carried himself. The boy she knew, so filled with self-doubt and insecurity, was gone, and in his place was the man she had always hoped he would be.
"The CD is password protected," Javier said. "The good news is that it's off-the-rack software, so if you give me some time to call a few of the tech guys at my firm, I'll probably be able to get in."
The Last Justice Page 12