by Rick Acker
He snorted. “Couldn’t make nearly as much because you’d only have one company to sue, isn’t that right?”
Her heart stopped and she gaped at him soundlessly.
Mr. Allen’s frown deepened, turning the lines on his cheeks and forehead into shadowed crevices. Crew cut man’s mouth twisted into a confident, predatory smile as he continued his cross-examination. “Yesterday, you were running searches for words like ‘state,’ ‘federal’ and ‘government’ in our customer files. Why?”
“You’re—Blue Sea is trying to get a federal contract, so I—I figured that I’d see what your government contract files looked like.”
Crew cut man waved his hand dismissively. “You’re doing this after hours, with no one asking you to? That’s an awful lot of initiative for a temp, but it makes perfect sense for a whistle-blower hunting for her next lawsuit, don’t you think?”
“I—”
“And before you deny it,” he said, raising his voice to talk over her, “think about whether you’ll also deny working for every company ever sued by Devil to Pay.”
She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he added, “Oh, and I’m also interested to hear you explain how you afford that apartment and all those Tahoe and Vail trips on your temp earnings.”
Her ears roared and she felt dizzy. “I don’t understand. Why did you bring me in here and make all these… these accusations?”
Crew cut man leaned back and Mr. Allen leaned forward. His grandfather face was back, but it was somehow worse than crew cut man’s open malice. “Oh, we’re not making accusations, just—” he paused and rubbed his jaw. “Just observations. That’s all. Now, we could share those observations publicly. We’d be very popular with a lot of our business partners if we did. And you’d never blow another whistle.”
She struggled to ignore the adrenaline shouting in her brain. “But you haven’t.”
Mr. Allen smiled and nodded. “That’s right. We haven’t. We’re the only ones who know about you, and we’re willing to keep it that way.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing, but not here.”
Now she saw where this was going. “And where do you want me to do it?”
Mr. Allen chuckled warmly and shook his head. “You’re a clever young woman. Our main competitor is a company called Deep Seven. We’re convinced that they’re cheating the government, and we’d like you to go put a stop to it.”
“Um, okay. No problem. What evidence do you have?”
Mr. Allen’s smile faded and he raised his eyebrows, sending a network of wrinkles up into his snowy hair. “Finding evidence is your job, isn’t it?”
She paused. “Are you saying you don’t have any evidence?”
Crew cut man scowled and opened his mouth, but Mr. Allen raised his hand. “I’m saying that we’re quite certain that Deep Seven is defrauding the government and that you can catch them.”
She twisted sweaty hands below the table. She wanted to ask what would happen if she couldn’t find evidence of fraud at Deep Seven, but she was afraid of what the answer would be. Better to leave it alone and cross that bridge if she came to it. She looked down at the highly polished table, avoiding her own reflected gaze.
“Do we understand each other, Ms. Whitman?”
She took a deep breath and looked up. “We understand each other, Mr. Allen.”
He smiled with every part of his face except his eyes. “Please, call me Sandy.”
15
SOMEONE RAPPED THE OLD “SHAVE AND A HAIRCUT” KNOCK ON CONNOR’S office door.
Connor recognized that knock. “Two bits. Come on in, Tom.”
Tom Concannon walked in. He was a tall, fit man of fifty-five with close-cropped gray hair, brown eyes, and an animated face. He had the easy manners and confidence of old money and good society—the sort of man who is equally comfortable in a neighborhood sports bar and at a formal embassy dinner. He also happened to be the managing partner of Doyle & Brown, though he never let that fact come between him and Connor.
Tom sat in one of Connor’s leather office chairs, a smile on his face. “Nice work on the Hamilton matter. You make it look easy.”
Connor shrugged modestly. “That one was easy. You know the old saying: ‘good facts make great lawyers.’ ”
“But it often takes a great lawyer to find good facts.”
“Not this time, but I won’t argue with you.”
“Not an argument you’d really want to win, I suspect.” He crossed his legs and smoothed his tailored slacks in one fluid motion. “You should know that ExComm is very happy with your success in these qui tam cases. You’ve carved out a profitable new niche for the firm. You’ve also made invaluable connections in both state and federal government.”
Connor nodded. “Thanks, I’ve tried to pick good cases, and I’m glad they’ve turned out well.”
Tom paused and his face grew a little more serious, telegraphing that he was about to make his real point. “How would you feel about doing something outside that niche? There are some big cases coming down the pipe that could give you a real opportunity to step into the limelight and show off the skills I know you’ve got.”
“Sure, I’d love to. What did you have in mind?”
“We’ve been asked to represent a company that’s been indicted for bribery related to their, ah, contributions to a congressman. We’d like you to first chair the defense team.”
“First chair?” Connor leaned back and let that sink in. “Wow, that’s quite an honor. It’s pretty far outside my field, though. You know I don’t have any criminal experience, right?”
“We’ll give you someone from the white collar crime team, but I really don’t think this case is going to trial.”
“Plea bargain?”
Tom nodded. “The client is anxious to start negotiations as quickly as possible.”
Connor’s eyebrows shot up. “Start negotiations? Weren’t there any negotiations before they got indicted?”
Tom made a sound that was part sigh and part dry chuckle. “That depends on how you define ‘negotiations.’ Their GC used to be a litigation partner at an aggressive New York firm, and it shows. I’m sure he thought he was negotiating, but the Department of Justice seems to think he was grandstanding, stonewalling, and lying.”
“Once they get that impression, it’s very hard to change their minds.” Connor bit his lip and replayed what he’d just been told. “And I’m guessing that there might be some pretty serious bad blood between their general counsel and the government. True?”
“Yes, in the same way that the Pope might be Catholic.”
Connor laughed and shook his head. “If it’s that bad, why not just take the case to trial? I mean, negotiations aren’t likely to lead any place the company will want to go.”
“Because a trial would mean a lot of publicity; they’d lose big, and they’d never get another government contract again.”
“So they’re guilty?”
“As sin.”
Connor frowned. “Hmmm.”
“Within these four walls, they haven’t got a prayer at trial,” Tom continued. “That’s why they need you. You’ve got a good relationship with DOJ. They know you. They like you. You’ve even taken the local U.S. Attorney herself up in your plane, haven’t you?”
“Her husband too.”
Tom smiled spread his hands out toward Connor. “See? You’re exactly what they need—someone who can come in and talk the government down. Get them to agree to something reasonable.”
Connor didn’t like it. He didn’t like that he would be helping exactly the type of dirty company that he spent most of his time taking down. He didn’t like that his opponents would be the prosecutors he usually worked shoulder to shoulder with. And he particularly didn’t like that the idea of schmoozing people he considered friends to get them to go easy on a company that was guilty “as sin.”
But he also did
n’t like the idea of saying no to Tom. He had no problem turning down the firm’s managing partner, but he hated turning down a friend. Still, it was the right thing to do. The firm might choose to rain down its benevolence equally on the wicked and the righteous, but Connor was going to leave the wicked high and dry when he had the option. Besides, what would Qui Tam Girl say if she found out that her crime-fighting partner had gone over to the dark side?
Connor smiled and Tom, mistaking the reason, smiled back. “So, you’ll take the case?”
Connor shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think I can.”
Tom blinked and his smile vanished. “Why not? If you’re too busy with your other cases, I’m sure we can get you help.”
“That’s not it. I just…” He paused, hunting for the right words and not finding them. “Look, there’s no easy way to say it. I fight companies like this. I’m not going to represent one of them.”
Tom said nothing, so Connor went on. “Rules matter. When someone intentionally breaks the rules, I think they should pay the price. I know everyone’s entitled to a lawyer, even if they’re guilty as sin. But they’re not entitled to me. I’m sorry.”
Tom’s face hardened and he nodded. “I understand.”
“I really am sorry, Tom. I hate saying no to you or the firm, even about this.”
Tom’s smile returned, but its warmth was gone. “Don’t worry about it, Connor.”
“I just want to make sure that we really do understand each other on this, Tom. If someone else in the firm wants to represent this company, I’m fine with that. I wish them well. I’m just not comfortable doing it myself.”
Tom uncrossed his legs and his smile became a little more natural. “We understand each other, Connor. You’ve got strong principles, and I admire that.”
16
THE GRASP II WAS EVERYTHING CHO HAD EXPECTED. IT HAD STATE-OF-THE- art technology throughout and a powerful winch and claw that should be more than sufficient to lift whatever they found on the ocean floor. His commander, who was going by Mr. Lee on this trip, had told the Americans it was a treasure-filled German submarine. Maybe that was true and maybe not. “Mr. Lee” had been extremely tight-lipped about the details of this trip for months.
Cho and Mr. Lee sat on one side of a small table in the Grasp II’s galley. The captain and first mate of the ship sat on the other side. The captain was Harry Wither, and he fit his name. He was a stooped white-haired man of at least seventy. He had a neatly trimmed beard, watery blue eyes, and a prominent nose laced with red veins. Perhaps he had been a strong captain once, but those days appeared to be long behind him. As far as Cho could tell, First Mate Randy Jenkins more or less ran the ship now. He certainly was trying to run the conversation they were having right now.
“Are all these men necessary?” Mr. Lee asked, pointing to a list of the ship’s crew.
Jenkins folded thick tattooed arms across his broad belly. “Yeah. They are.”
Mr. Lee’s eyebrows went up two millimeters. “Please explain.”
Jenkins frowned at the demand, but took the list of names and ticked them off with a stubby pencil. “Adams is Chief Engineer. Sanford is the Engineer’s Mate. Curtis—”
“I can read their names and titles,” Mr. Lee cut in, speaking in the precise and commanding tones Cho had heard many times before. “We have men who can perform all those duties. They will be here soon. Your men can give our men whatever information is necessary.”
Jenkins snorted and scratched his thick red beard. “Let me explain how things work on this ship.” He pointed to the captain. “This is the captain.” He poked a meaty finger into his own chest. “I’m the first mate. We decide who comes on board and what jobs they do. And when this ship sails, we’re 100 percent in command. We are both God and the devil to everyone on board. You are our guests, but we run this ship. Got it?”
Neither Mr. Lee’s expression nor his authoritative tone changed. “You are mistaken.” He pinned the captain with a hard look. “Captain Wither, I believe your employer sent you a copy of the contract by e-mail last week.”
The captain made a vague throat-clearing noise, and his eyes moved from Mr. Lee to his first mate. “Well, I don’t know about that. I don’t, ah, always read my e-mail.”
Mr. Lee looked into the captain’s eyes until the American dropped his gaze to the table.
Mr. Lee turned back to the first mate. “Perhaps you had a different role on other trips. This time, you are owner’s representative only. We are renting this ship and will control. The contract will explain this to you.” He plucked the crew list from Jenkins’s hand with a quick motion. “We do not have someone to operate the ROV,” he said as he read it. “How many men are required for this job?”
Jenkins turned red and his eyes flashed. “Three, but we can make do with two.”
“Acceptable.” He looked at the list. “Chief Pilot Granger and Assistant Pilot Daniels will come. The rest of the men are unnecessary and will not come.”
The muscles of Jenkins’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “I’ll look at the contract.”
“Very good. Your men are to be off the ship in two hours to make room for our men.”
Mr. Lee stood without waiting for a reply and walked out. Cho trailed him.
When they were out of earshot of the Americans, Mr. Lee turned to Cho and spoke in Korean. “Make sure that stupid red-haired geseki does what I told him to.”
“Yes, sir. I doubt that he will properly understand his role even after he reads the contract.”
Mr. Lee considered for a moment. “Once we are at sea, find an opportunity to educate him.”
“Yes, sir.”
17
THE LOBBY AT DEEP SEVEN MARITIME ENGINEERING WAS AN AIRY, HIGH- ceilinged room decorated with pictures of ships and chunks of vaguely threatening machinery, each accompanied by a small plaque. A scattering of bulky leather furniture and glass-and-steel coffee tables faced a reception desk ruled by a sixtyish woman with distrustful eyes who reminded Allie of the librarian at her grade school.
Allie sat at one end of a leather sofa, clutching her purse and a small sheaf of forms from TempForce, her temp agency. She wore what Erik called her “costume”—a conservative navy suit, simple black flats, and cream blouse that hid her tattoos. She had also dyed her hair back to its original mousy brown and pulled it back into a responsible-looking bun. Her look screamed “accountant” to her when she saw it in the mirror this morning. Depressing, but reassuring.
The first day of a new temp job was usually an exciting time. She was a spy setting foot in an enemy country for the first time—an undercover Jane Bond who had tricked her way into the heart of a malevolent conspiracy to steal taxpayer dollars. The contrast between her blah cover and her secret mission— spiced with just a touch of danger—was absolutely delicious.
Or it had been delicious until today. Sour fear and bitter desperation filled her now. She had been caught. That changed everything. Worse, it could easily happen again.
Blue Sea had caught her before she did anything suspicious. Something must have tipped them off before she ever walked in the door. Most likely, they had put two and two together and realized that an accounting temp who specialized in government contracting would be ideally placed to feed information and documents to Devil to Pay. Since all of the defendants were Bay Area companies, they also could guess where she lived and worked. And once they figured that out, it would be simple to have a private detective investigate anyone with those characteristics who came to work for them.
Unanswerable questions crowded her mind. How many other companies had had the same epiphany as Blue Sea? Had Deep Seven? Would Blue Sea keep their promise about not blowing her cover—or would they expose her as soon as she took out Deep Seven? Was there anything she could do to wriggle out of the trap she was in?
She wanted to talk to Connor. Badly. She had almost called him a dozen times over the past two weeks. But every time she pul
led her cell phone out and rested her thumb on the speed dial for his number, the same fear stopped her: he would tell her not to take a job at Deep Seven. He would insist. He’d say that even if they were dirty, she shouldn’t play Blue Sea’s game. He’d tell her to fight them. Then he’d start plotting legal strategy and he’d have the case half planned before she could get a word in.
Allie didn’t doubt that Connor would beat Blue Sea, but so what? Her whistleblower career would be over and she doubted Connor could get enough money out of Blue Sea to make up for her loss. He could live with that, of course. There were plenty of other corporate dragons for him to slay, and she knew he didn’t need the money.