by Stephen Frey
“Please name some of the corporations that have engaged you to help them with their networks.”
“Bank of America, Home Depot, Proctor & Gamble, Royal Dutch—”
“An impressive list, for sure.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you please read the printout of the e-mail I handed you a few moments ago?”
Abrams slipped on his reading glasses. “Jack, we need to get twenty-five thousand dollars to Councilman Weber immediately. See to it.”
“In your professional opinion,” the prosecutor spoke up when Abrams was finished, “did that e-mail come from Angela Gaynor’s laptop?”
“It did.”
The prosecutor glanced smugly at the stony faces behind the defense table. “Your witness.”
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA
Bart Stevens cringed when he saw the number of the inbound caller flash on his cell phone. It was Mao Xilai, the man who’d invested four million dollars into Excel Games, the man making it possible for Stevens to pay his mortgage again and keep a roof over his family’s head. This was the call Stevens had been dreading ever since David Racine had disappeared inside Jury Town.
“Hello,” Stevens said hesitantly.
“Mr. Stevens?”
“Yes. Oh, hello, Mr. Xilai,” Stevens said enthusiastically this time—too enthusiastically. He’d sounded very nervous. “How are you, sir?”
“Fine, thank you. I have left several messages with Mr. Racine, but he has not returned my calls. In fact, my calls go straight to his voice mail every time.”
Stevens cringed again as he thought about the investment banker’s warning and about the news articles describing the gruesome fates of executives who’d fallen out of favor with Xilai.
“Do you know where he is?”
Stevens took deep breath. “He had a doctor’s appointment, I believe.”
“That’s quite an appointment. I’ve been trying for three hours to get him.”
“Yes, well—”
“I am going to be in Washington, DC, on business, Mr. Stevens. When I’m finished in your capital, I will come to Richmond to see how our company is doing. I will send details of my visit later. Please make certain Mr. Racine has no appointments that day. Do you understand?”
“Of course, Mr. Xilai.”
This was the nightmare scenario.
When Xilai was gone, Stevens dialed the private number he’d been given and held his breath as the phone began to ring. “She better keep her end of the deal.”
CHAPTER 41
JURY TOWN
“What’s up?” Dez asked, closing the door to Victoria’s office behind him.
“Thanks for coming so fast.”
“No problem.”
“Have a seat.” She pointed at the chair in front of her desk. “I need to give you a heads-up. I have to go before the General Assembly. The majority leader, Barney Franz, is making trouble for me.”
“How so?”
She liked that Dez was becoming more interested in things affecting her life beyond her security. “Franz is angry that I didn’t consult him while I was organizing Jury Town.”
“I thought you didn’t have to. I thought the Supreme Court had total jurisdiction over everything related to Project Archer.”
Victoria liked that he was listening, too. She’d told him a great deal about Jury Town while they were hanging out together at night, listening to music in his rented house, and he’d clearly absorbed what she’d told him. He was a very bright man, she was coming to find. He wasn’t outspoken. But, when asked, he had an opinion that was always deliberately conceived with the application of unbending logic.
“Technically,” she answered, “that’s right. But Franz is a powerful man. He’s throwing rocks at the proverbial hornet’s nest, and I’m starting to get worried calls, especially as things seem to be going well here.” She gestured around. “So I’m going to appear before the General Assembly to answer questions and nip this in the bud.”
“You’re going to kiss the ring.”
“Okay, let’s call it that.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
He grimaced. “Doesn’t give me much time to secure things, and I hate the idea of you being exposed in downtown Richmond like that.”
“You’ll figure it out; you always do. Dance tonight?” she asked as he stood up.
He grinned. “Sure. And I’ve already got an idea for how to make your assembly visit foolproof.”
“Get to it, then. And one more thing before you go.” Victoria picked up a small piece of paper from her desk and held it out for him. “I need you to call this man immediately. The number’s there below his name.”
“Ryan Mitchell?” Dez read from the paper.
“Yes, but he goes by Mitch.”
BELLWOOD, VIRGINIA
Mitch stood beside his wife’s Denali in the darkness of the secluded dirt road. She hadn’t been happy about him taking it—but he couldn’t have gotten the SLK down here. The road down the long hill was rutted and muddy.
The James—the wide river that flowed past downtown Richmond—was only fifty yards away through the dense trees. He couldn’t see its black waters, but he could hear them gurgling past.
Would Salvatore show?
Mitch checked his phone for the third time. The mafia boss was forty-five minutes late. Whenever they’d met before—in the warehouse district—Salvatore’s driver had called just before the appointed time with the meeting place, making the mobster effectively a moving target with multiple escape routes.
Mitch had chosen this destination. Despite the lure of a big, quick payoff, perhaps Salvatore had developed a bad case of cold feet. He’d never been more than five minutes late before.
At one hour past the appointed time, Mitch kicked at a pebble on the road and turned toward the Denali’s door—just as he heard a vehicle approaching.
The SUV stopped fifty feet away. Two large men climbed out and hustled to where he stood.
“We got six people here,” one of the men explained as the other patted Mitch down. “Not including the boss and the driver. Four of them are out in the woods around here. And they’ve been here for a while checkin’ things out. Nothin’ better happen.”
“Don’t worry, sport.”
“He’s clean.”
“Go get Salvatore.”
Moments later another figure climbed out of the SUV and ambled down the dirt road to where Mitch stood. “Okay, kid,” Salvatore said, “what you got for me?”
“In three months a significant amount of land along the river in this area will, in the time it takes a gavel to fall, go from protected wetlands to zoned commercial. It’s taken the developer who owns a lot of this land three years to get it all the way through to the Supreme Court. Obviously, that man has some significant pull in this state. Still, most people are betting against him. They think my uncle will rule against him.”
“But you know differently.”
“Yes. And, given that we’re only a few miles downstream from Richmond, when Judge Eldridge votes for him, the value of this land will skyrocket.”
“Is there land available?”
Mitch nodded. “I know of about three hundred acres you could get very cheap.” He lifted the folder he was carrying. “You’ll get about a tentimes value blast overnight. The whole thing’s detailed in here.”
“What do you want out of this?”
“Half.”
Salvatore sneered. “Including me, I got eight guys here. You’re alone. What’s to keep me from just taking it from you?”
Mitch put his head back and gazed up into the night sky, forcing an aggravated expression to his face. “You don’t know I’m alone.”
“My guys have been all over this place for hours. You’re definitely alone.”
“I’ve got more deals coming,” Mitch warned. “Don’t screw this up. We can all make money.”
“Ten percent, kid, and appreciate that I
’m being so generous. Give me the folder.”
“Where’s my cash? There’s Jury Town stuff in there, too.”
Salvatore reached into his jacket pocket for an envelope.
As they exchanged folder for cash, ten figures dropped silently from the night sky onto the road, cutting their parachutes away even as they opened fire with automatic weapons.
Fifteen seconds later, three mobsters were dead and Mitch and Salvatore were side by side, eating the Denali door, hands cuffed tightly behind their backs.
CHAPTER 42
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA
“In a very short time, Jury Town has proven to be an outstanding success, a truly invaluable asset to Virginia’s judicial system. While the sample size is still relatively small in terms of trials concluded, everyone involved agrees that juries inside the walls are making extraordinarily strong decisions in an extremely efficient manner, much faster than they do on the outside. The mathematicians caution me that it’s early yet to draw ironclad statistical conclusions from the data, but I can tell you this. If we keep moving in this direction, very soon the statistical results will be absolutely meaningful and will prove overwhelmingly positive. Many jurors are into their third and fourth trials at this point, and are becoming quite familiar with the process and the laws. We have more and more instances of jurors correcting lawyers in terms of procedure and application of the law, and, in one rather embarrassing case, even correcting a judge. I have every reason to believe these trends and results will continue.”
Victoria paused to swing her gaze deliberately from left to right, catching as many eyes as possible of the one hundred and forty senators and delegates sitting before her, and currently representing the longest continuously operating legislative body in the country. “Officials from New York and California have been calling constantly, trying to arrange interviews and fact-finding trips, to catch up with what we’re doing. So far, I’ve had no time to meet with them. But I promise you I will. Virginia will forever be regarded as the leader of this groundbreaking change to our nation’s judicial system, and we must never forget the Supreme Court’s support of Project Archer. The foresight and steadfast commitment of Chief Justice Eldridge and the other six justices on the high court have made the difference for Jury Town.” She nodded respectfully down from the podium at Majority Leader Barney Franz, who was sitting in the front row, frowning with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “In conclusion, I want to thank Majority Leader Franz for the opportunity to speak here today. I’m always willing to answer any questions you may have.”
After a few moments, Franz rose slowly from his seat with a sharply pained look on his face. “You must give us more than that, Ms. Lewis. I mean, really.”
Victoria maintained her passive expression even as Franz’s deep voice boomed his accusatory tone out into the Virginia General Assembly.
“While I appreciate that these people in Jury Town may be making good decisions quickly,” Franz went on, “I hardly think that justifies an annual price tag, which, according to my aides, appears to be nearing half a billion dollars. With all due respect to you and Judge Eldridge, I have a problem with that kind of irresponsible spending.”
A murmur of assent rolled through the chamber like far-off thunder.
Victoria stared down at Franz, literally biting her tongue. She could not admit to these legislators—to anyone—that the impetus behind Jury Town had originated with the United States Attorney General because of his suspicions of nationwide jury tampering. She could not communicate that she’d already experienced and defeated an attempt to manipulate the Commonwealth Electric Power trial—proof, for her, of the tampering conspiracy. That later today she would personally interrogate George Garrison to try to determine who was sitting on the next rung up of the influence ladder with respect to the CEP trial. She couldn’t tell them that she’d almost been killed on the driveway of her home—and that Cameron Moore had effectively given his life for Project Archer. All of that had to remain confidential.
For the first time in her political career, Victoria understood how the President of the United States felt in election debates with the opposing party’s candidate when the subject of national security arose. The president knew so much more than the other candidate but could say nothing on top-secret matters, even when he or she knew the other candidate was wrong, even lying.
“A cynical man,” Franz bellowed in his heavy southern drawl, turning to face his fellow lawmakers who were sitting in a large semicircle behind him, “might have a very dim view of spending five hundred million dollars of taxpayer money so freely.”
“The efficiencies we will achieve from this program,” Victoria responded, “will ultimately more than pay for the expenditures. That new hundred-million-dollar judicial complex on the South Side of Richmond has been put on hold thanks to Jury Town. And I’m drawing up—”
“A cynical man,” Franz interrupted rudely, “might call that money you’re spending so freely nothing but campaign funds.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ms. Lewis,” Franz chuckled in a sarcastic way, “we all know of your aspirations for higher office.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve never once made mention of any—”
“Jury Town has proven to be a fabulous way for you to gain national attention with all the publicity it’s drawn in the press. And you’ve funded all that publicity and selfish acclaim with taxpayer money.” He turned back to Victoria and wagged an accusing finger. “I’ve heard all about how the Supreme Court and Chief Justice Eldridge have unilateral purview over the jury system in our commonwealth, but I don’t care. I think it’s high time for the legislative body to become involved.”
As a group of legislators loudly cheered Franz’s assertion, Victoria stared down at him, wishing she could fire him. Finally she headed down the short flight of stairs leading from the podium down to the chamber floor.
“I need to see you in private,” she hissed as she swept past Franz toward the anteroom, where she’d waited before coming out on the floor. “Right now, Barney.”
JURY TOWN
“She’s innocent.”
Racine glanced across the table at Sofia, then around furtively. They were sitting at the table where he always sat, the small table for two at the periphery of the Central Zone. “I can’t talk about—”
“Angela Gaynor is being framed. I’m convinced of it.”
“I’m foreman, Sofia. I—we can’t talk like this.”
“I’m talking to you as my friend, David, not as the foreman. I can’t stand seeing this poor woman railroaded so badly.”
Against his better judgment, Racine leaned over the table. Perhaps it was simply to get a better look at those emerald eyes he was so captivated by. But then he opened his mouth. “What makes you so sure she’s being railroaded?” he whispered. This wasn’t the first time she’d confidently made the assertion. They’d been talking in her room until two in the morning last night.
“A lot of it is feeling, I’m happy to admit.”
“We can’t go on feelings inside these walls, Sofia. We must follow evidence. And the evidence is strong. The witnesses, the e-mails.”
“Anyone could have sent those e-mails from her computer.”
“One or two, yes, but that many and at that many different times?”
“That CEO Jack Hoffman is a snake. I don’t like him. I could just strangle him with my bare hands. He’s so smug. Liar.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t use the term ‘strangle’ in—”
“She’s innocent, David.”
He couldn’t get enough of that Spanish accent, or those eyes, or the way she twirled that long, raven hair when she was being demonstrative—which was often. She was an intensely passionate woman, which she freely admitted. He’d wanted to kiss her so badly last night as they’d said good night at her door and explore her passion. But he hadn’t tried—out of respect for her and her murdered husband. Though, he wasn’t sure how muc
h longer he could control himself.
And what a bad scene it would be if she turned him down. There would be an intense period of discomfort between them. And it wasn’t as if they’d be able to avoid each other.
“You can express those sentiments during deliberations,” he said as she reached across the table and grabbed his arm. Her touch was electric.
“Do me a favor, David.”
“Why do I feel like I’m setting myself up here?”
“Think about the moment the prosecutor asked Jack Hoffman if Angela had directed him to pay bribes to three councilmen and the mayor.”
“Okay.”
“Hoffman answered ‘no.’ He testified that Angela had paid the mayor herself.”
“So?”
“So the prosecutor looked like he’d stuck his fingers in a live electric socket as soon as Hoffman gave that answer.”
“So?” But Racine understood where Sofia was headed with this. “You’re saying a prosecutor should never be surprised by the testimony of his own witness.”
“Exactly. He should have known what Hoffman would say. But then Hoffman said Angela had paid the mayor herself. The prosecutor looked shocked, like he’d just won Powerball.”
“Keep going.”
“Look at the video of that moment with me, when the prosecutor asks Hoffman the question. Please. If we request it, they will play the video for us. Will you do that for me?”
He gazed over the table at her, struck by her intuition, her ability to instantly and expertly recognize and interpret human emotions. “Yes, I will.” He caught his breath as she blew him a kiss and gave him that sultry look that made him melt.
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA
“What is the meaning of this sketchy backroom maneuver?” Franz demanded as he followed Victoria into the small anteroom. “I was tempted not to honor your request to come in here. But, after all, you are our former governor. Out of respect, I will give you one minute of my time, Ms. Lewis, and not one second more.”
“I won’t need that long,” she assured him, nodding for Dez to close the door behind Franz.