Half an hour later the five of them were huddled around a computer monitor behind the mayor’s desk. Gregory sat in the mayor’s chair, his fingers clicking over a keyboard. “Search for ‘taxes,’” said the mayor. Ulrich clicked the keys. “Not found,” reported the screen. “Try ‘D.A.’s office,’” Ronni suggested. Ulrich typed it in. “Not found,” the screen replied.
“Let me try ‘D.A.’ by itself,” Ulrich said. He clicked the keys. The computer beeped and a screen of text rolled up. The five of them crowded in to read it.
Here are the results of your search:
“DEUCE - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56 - DISK 1 OF 10”
“DEUCE - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56 - DISK 2 OF 10”
“DEUCE - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56 - DISK 3 OF 10”
“DEUCE - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56 - DISK 4 OF 10”
“DEUCE - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56 - DISK 5 OF 10”
“DEUCE - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56 - DISK 6 OF 10”
“DEUCE - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56 - DISK 7 OF 10”
“DEUCE - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56 - DISK 8 OF 10”
“DEUCE - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56 - DISK 9 OF 10”
“DEUCE - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56 - DISK 10 OF 10”
“What does that mean?” asked Huron. He got no answer. Ulrich took a wireless out of his pocket and speed-dialed a number.
“Let me talk to Omar,” Ulrich said into the wireless after a moment. There was a pause. “Omar,” he said, “It’s me. Have you heard of something called ‘Deuce’? Yeah. What is it? Uh-huh. How’s it work?” Ulrich gestured for a pen and paper. Ronni handed him her yellow pad. “Uh-huh,” Ulrich said, scratching out a few notes as he listened. “Okay, Omar, you’ve done it again. Thanks.” He pressed a button on the wireless and slipped it back into his pocket.
The others waited for Ulrich to speak, but he only sat in the chair looking thoughtful. Finally the mayor jumped in. “Well?” she demanded. “What is it?”
Ulrich smiled. “Deuce,” he began in his silky tone, “is a high-powered back-up utility for large computer networks. It’s used to make a complete copy of everything on the system, so in the event of a crash, everything can be put back exactly as it was. It copies everything. It ignores passwords, access codes, lock-outs, restrictions of any kind.”
There was a pause. “How does that help us?” asked the district attorney.
Ulrich pointed at the computer screen. “Look how Julia Thomsen labeled these ten disks,” he said. “‘Deuce - D.A. BACK-UP - 6/20/56.’ Somehow she got ahold of a system-wide back-up from June 20th. She and Braden must have found a way to convert the back-up disks into a readable form. Then they had their very own copy of every file in your whole office network.”
“Good enough for me,” said the D.A. “Let’s pick her up.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Jordan pleaded. “It can’t possibly help Julia if you get arrested, too.”
“I’ll rent a car,” Ted said. “The Highway Patrol is looking for the Corvette.”
“You need a photo ID to rent a car,” Jordan answered.
“Even in Nevada?”
“Even in Nevada.”
Ted slammed the pen he was holding down on the kitchen table, then quickly checked the table for damage. He pushed his chair back and turned away from Jordan. “I’m going,” he said. “I got her into this and I can’t just hide out while she goes to jail.”
“She’s got Dobson Howe, Ted.”
“That didn’t help Robert Rand.”
Jordan was silent. When Ted turned back to look at her, he saw that her eyes were brimming with tears.
“I thought I meant something to you,” she said quietly.
“You do!” Ted said emphatically. He reached for Jordan’s hand and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms tightly around her body.
“Then don’t go,” Jordan whispered.
Tiffany walked into the living room to find Ted sitting on the sofa, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’m pond scum,” he said.
Tiffany’s eyebrows lifted slightly. She came straight over and sat down in a chair next to the sofa. Ted looked up. “Well,” Tiffany said, “That’s not something you hear every day. What happened?”
“A girl in L.A. got arrested,” Ted said. “And it’s my fault. I used her because I wanted to help Jordan. I asked her to do me a favor. And she did. And now she’s been arrested for it.”
“That must have been some favor,” Tiffany said.
“I’m pond scum,” Ted repeated. He plunged his head back down into his hands. “It’s going to cost me my job if I go back,” he said. “I told them the news reports were bogus and I was just called away on a family emergency. If I go back and turn myself in, they’re not going to like it.”
“Turn yourself in?” Tiffany said. “For what?”
“I don’t know,” Ted said. “But Julia wouldn’t have been arrested unless somebody wanted to charge me with something. She only did what I asked her to do.”
“Oh, my,” Tiffany said. “What does Dobson Howe say about it?”
“He said he got her out on bail and I should stay in Nevada. But I can’t just sit here and let her face charges. I can’t do it.”
“She’s someone special to you, isn’t she?”
“We’ve gone together for about five years,” Ted said. “But it’s not serious.”
Just then, Jordan came flying down the stairs, stopped suddenly and turned a ferocious gaze on Ted. “Well?” she demanded.
Ted sat up and looked at her. “I have to go back,” he said quietly. “I have to.”
“I need some air,” Jordan said. She stormed across the living room and out the front door.
Tiffany watched Jordan leave. Then she watched Ted plunge his head into his hands again. “Sounds serious,” she said.
“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing,” Ted said. “What if I go to L.A. and turn myself in and it doesn’t even get Julia out of trouble? Maybe Jordan’s right. Maybe I should stay here and wait to see what happens.”
“You love her, don’t you?”
“Who?”
“Jordan.”
Ted looked up. Then he looked down again. “I’m crazy about her,” he said.
“Do you love the other one?”
“We’ve been together so long,” Ted said. “She loves me, she’d do anything for me. My daughter adores her. I don’t know what to do.”
Tiffany nodded. “You know, Ted,” she began in a soft voice, “When I was younger I used to think, ‘What if I had done this differently?’ or ‘What if I had done that differently?’ I would agonize over every decision, so fearful that I’d make the wrong choice and regret it all the rest of my life.” Ted sat up and looked at her. Tiffany smiled. “But, you know,” she continued gently, “You get older, and you learn a lot. And eventually you realize that no matter what you decide, you’re fucked.”
Friday, July 21, 2056
The unmistakable thundering roar rattled the windows of the house. Ted dropped his newspaper and raced outside to the driveway. The rider killed the engine and stepped off the bike, removing his helmet. It was James Dixon.
“How’s this?” James asked with a big smile.
“A new Harley!” Ted nearly shouted. Jordan walked up behind him. “What’s that for?” she asked anxiously.
“It’s for all those hours Ted sat in that office upstairs making recordings for me,” James said. “When this is all over, I’m going to have a best-seller.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jordan said with forced pleasantness. “Why are you bringing Ted a motorcycle?”
“He said he needed to borrow a vehicle to get to L.A.,” James answered cheerfully. “So I rented a Harley.”
“A what?” All the noise had brought Tiffany out onto the driveway.
James pointed to the motorcycle. “A new Harley,” he said. It was a fine-looking piece of machinery, finished in
the new crystal chrome paint, glinting like a diamond ring off the finger of King Kong.
“It’s beautiful,” Tiffany said. “Jimmy, would you come inside and change a light bulb for me?”
“Sure, Grandma,” he said. They walked inside together, leaving Jordan and Ted on the driveway. Jordan slipped an arm around Ted’s waist. “Don’t go,” she said again.
Ted didn’t answer.
Jordan ran her hand over the back half of the Harley’s seat. “It’ll take two,” she said.
“No,” Ted said firmly. “It’s much too dangerous. You’re the one they want.”
“I don’t care,” Jordan said, tightening her grip around Ted’s waist.
“I care,” Ted said very quietly.
“What was that?” Jordan asked.
Ted looked at her. “I care,” he repeated.
Jordan smiled radiantly and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.
Ted had calculated that a 9:00 a.m. departure would miss most of the traffic at both ends of the trip. At 8:45, Jordan and Tiffany stood in the driveway, squinting slightly into the morning sun, watching Ted pack everything onto the bike.
“Please be careful,” Jordan said. “Don’t stop anywhere, just go straight to Dobson Howe’s house. Everyone is legally obligated to turn you in except your lawyer.”
Ted nodded. He walked up to Jordan and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Don’t worry,” he growled. Then he kissed Tiffany on the hand and on the cheek. “You’re an angel,” he said. Tiffany smiled.
Ted got on the bike and fired up the engine. “Take care of her,” he yelled to Tiffany.
“I will,” she answered, putting an arm around Jordan’s waist.
“I meant the Corvette,” Ted said. Then he grinned and roared off.
The soft, burbling ring was the private line in Dobson Howe’s office. Howe picked it up. “Yes?” he answered.
“Dobson,” said the voice on the other end of the phone, “Carl Gonzales.”
“Hello, Carl,” Howe said warmly. “How are you?”
“Fine, just fine,” Gonzales said. “Working a little too hard, not playing enough golf, but fine, just fine. How are you?”
“I’m well, thanks,” Howe replied. “How are Katy and Maryna?”
“They’re great, thanks for asking. Katy’s in a school play tonight, I’ve got to try to get out of here early.”
“Well, how can I help you today?”
“It’s this Julia Thomsen case,” said Gonzales. “You know we don’t have to go to trial on this theft-of-information charge.”
“I’m listening,” Howe said.
“Plead to the misdemeanor, unauthorized access to confidential data, and we’ll ask for a suspended sentence. No jail time, no fine.”
“In exchange for?”
“Her cooperation.”
“Meaning?”
“She gives us Ted Braden.”
Dobson Howe picked up a pen and wrote a note on a leather-bound pad. “I’ll certainly bring my client your offer, but I’ll have to recommend strongly against it,” he said.
“Aw, Dobson, help me out here,” Gonzales said with exasperation. “She’s a tool. You’re not going to let her serve time for following orders, are you?”
“Carl, a guilty plea on unauthorized access to confidential data would end her career. Additionally, I have no knowledge that she was following anyone’s orders, nor that she is in possession of any information that would incriminate Ted Braden.”
“I’ll take that chance,” Gonzales said wryly. “If you don’t want her to plead to unauthorized access, maybe there’s something else. How do you feel about trespassing?”
“Same problem,” Howe said.
“You’re going to make me go to trial on this?”
“I’ll bring her your offer.”
Howe heard a sigh on the other end of the phone. “Okay, Dobson, let me know,” Gonzales said. There was a click as he hung up.
Howe was still holding the handset when the intercom beeped. “Ted Braden on line two, Mr. Howe,” said his assistant’s voice.
“I’ll take it,” he said. He pressed the speakerphone button. “Hello, Ted,” Howe boomed warmly, “How are things in Las Vegas?”
“I don’t know,” Ted answered. “I’m at your house.”
“I hope you like Thai food,” Howe said, placing a large brown paper bag on the kitchen table.
“I’m starving,” Ted said. “Sounds great.”
“You came straight here without stopping?”
“I stopped once for gas. But I kept my helmet on.”
“And you paid cash?”
“Yes.”
Howe sighed. “Helluva chance you took. Anyone who recognized you could have turned you in. There’s a reward, you know.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“It’s not like I’m some dangerous criminal,” Ted said, extending his arms in a gesture of bewilderment. “I mean, what did I do?”
“At the moment, my information leads me to believe they’re leaning toward a charge of conspiracy to disrupt government operations.”
“That sounds like terrorism.”
“That’s their view.”
Ted was silent.
“Sit down,” Howe said in a soft voice. He tore open the paper bag. “So,” he said conversationally, “you met Mrs. Chang.”
“Yes,” Ted said. He smiled. “She let me in immediately. She said she recognized me from TV.”
“Mrs. Chang’s been with me for thirty years,” Howe said. “She only works half-days now. It’s lucky you got here before she left. You wouldn’t have been able to get in.”
Ted had seen that Howe’s home was full of valuable possessions, but then, most older people locked their doors. “You have a housekeeper and you have to eat carry-out food?” he asked.
“Mrs. Chang hasn’t cooked in years,” Howe acknowledged. “It’s better that way.” He finished unpacking the cartons and containers. “Plates,” he said. “Just a minute.” He took two china plates from a cabinet and a handful of sterling flatware from a drawer and brought them to the table. Then he opened the refrigerator. “Let’s see,” he said in a low voice. “Iced coffee, water, orange juice, beer; if I remember correctly, you do drink, right?”
“Not as much as I should,” Ted admitted.
Howe brought two imported beers to the table and set one down in front of Ted. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” he asked.
“You’d have told me not to do it.”
“Not necessarily.”
“I couldn’t let Julia twist in the.... What do you mean, not necessarily?”
“I had a conversation with the deputy D.A. today. They want to offer Julia a deal. She testifies against you and walks away. Or she faces trial on charges of theft of information and a possible thirty years in prison.”
Ted grimaced. “Are those the only two choices?”
“Not necessarily.” Howe served Ted some beef in oyster sauce. “Try this, it’s outstanding,” he said.
Ted pushed his fork listlessly in the direction of the food. “I can’t let Julia go to prison for me,” he said. “That’s why I came back.”
“Then you want her to take the deal?”
Ted looked up from his plate. He nodded.
Dobson Howe reached for the phone and handed it to Ted. “I’ve been telling her that all day and she won’t listen to me,” Howe said. “You try.”
Ted dialed the number. “Julia!” he said, “It’s me.” Julia’s tiny screams wafted over the table from the phone’s small speaker. “I’m at Dobson Howe’s house. We’re just sitting here having some Chinese food...”
“Thai food,” Howe interrupted.
“Thai food,” Ted continued, “So why don’t you come by and . . . Yes. . . . No. . . . Yes. . . . Uh, yes. . . . Sure. . . . Okay. Bye.”
“What did she say?” Howe asked.
“She asked if I was really at your house, if I had lo
st my mind, if I was going to try to talk her into taking the plea bargain, if there was any Mee Krob left, and if we would save her some. She’ll be right over.”
Julia arrived at Dobson Howe’s home in less than twenty minutes. “Oh, Ted,” she said when he opened the front door. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed against him. “I’m so happy you’re back,” she said. When she pulled away, he saw that her eyes were wet with tears. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “Everything’s gonna be fine.”
“You must know something I don’t know,” Howe said dryly.
Monday, July 31, 2056
Julia’s trial was another major media event, bigger than the Rand trial had been. A three-layer media encampment lined the street in front of the courthouse. At the back were two dozen satellite trucks parked bumper-to-bumper at the curb. A row of portable shade canopies was pressed up against the trucks, shielding news staffers and their computers from the July sun. In front was a near-endless line of knees and lenses, photographers and camera operators seated on risers, watching the courthouse doors for the daily arrivals and departures of the principal players. Jury selection commenced at 9:00 a.m.
In front of the NBC truck, Christina Ferragamo checked her blonde hair in a folding hand mirror and spritzed it thoroughly with hair spray. She tossed her head. Nothing moved. She put down the hair spray and adjusted a pale blue scarf around her neck, then turned and walked briskly to her set. Two chairs, six lights, some cable, two wireless microphones, three cameras, five security guards and two pay-offs had turned this section of the public sidewalk into Christina’s exclusive studio. She had arranged a real ratings-grabber for the first day of the trial.
At twelve noon the court recessed for lunch. Christina was in position. A man wearing a headset threw her a cue.
“This is Christina Ferragamo reporting live from the Los Angeles County Courthouse,” she began, “where the first trial resulting from the scandal in the Los Angeles District Attorney’s office got underway today. We now know that some individuals working in the D.A.’s office fabricated and withheld evidence as needed to secure the convictions of fifteen innocent people—two of whom were executed for crimes they did not commit, executed just weeks or months before evidence came to light that would clear them.
The 37th Amendment: A Novel Page 19