Ginger Snaps

by Webb Hubbell

  “Once you’re comfortable, let’s go on the offensive. I don’t want you to cross any lines, but if Dub is as dirty as Novak says, we need to find hard evidence. Find out what you can about gambling and girls without tipping him off. Okay?”

  “Should be fun.” Clovis winked and then his face set. “As long as we’re here, I’m also gonna try to get a bead on Moira.” I winced. I had enough on my plate without worrying about her impending return.

  “Maggie, any luck finding the letter Doug wrote about his research?”

  “I’ve come up against a stone wall with every agency I’ve contacted—the Drug Czar, FBI, DEA, Homeland Security, you name it. They tell me it will take months to process my request. They all hide behind one word—backlog. I’m convinced the Freedom of Information Act is used to prevent openness instead of providing it.”

  “Keep after them. And while you’re at it, see what you can find out about Doug’s research at NIH. Did you tell Walter I needed to talk to him?”

  “Of course. You’re meeting him at ten on Monday morning. Do you need me?”

  “Yes. You forget—you’re my boss. I need you both.”

  Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was almost five-thirty. We needed a little break before dinner, so I suggested we meet at eight at DeCarlo’s, my favorite neighborhood Italian restaurant, where I knew we could both talk and hear one another. Locals love it because no matter how famous you are, you can count on both a good meal with your family and easy privacy. The food was genuine and the service was impeccable. I was sorry Walter couldn’t join us. His participation was integral to my plan, although he didn’t know it yet. We ordered drinks, and I asked the waiter to hold off for a while on the menus.

  “So exactly how do you propose to spend the rest of your Monday while Clovis and I are working our fingers to the bone?”

  “I’m having lunch with Peggy Fortson at 701. Then, I thought I’d take in a round of golf at Burning Tree.”

  Silence.

  “Kidding—just kidding! After lunch I’ll connect with some old friends who may know more about Dub’s task force. Look, tomorrow’s Sunday—let’s all take some time off. Clovis and I are going to a doubleheader Nats game, and I’m sure you and Walter have plenty to do.”

  “Do we have that kind of time?” Maggie asked.

  “I’ve been pushing pretty hard; we’ve been going non-stop for over a week. Once we get back to work, it’s full steam ahead until the auction is over. We all need a break. Sometimes time away clears the head. That said, the Bolognese here is the best in the city, let’s relax and enjoy it.” The waiter arrived with a bottle of excellent Chianti. “We’re all off duty. That’s an order.”

  “I thought I was the boss,” Maggie laughed.

  We chatted easily about movies, politics, and our families. For a while it felt like a normal dinner with good friends. Clovis had arranged for Martin’s men to be on duty tonight—that included driving us home. The restaurant’s long-time manager came to our table as the plates were being cleared, and it wasn’t long before he and Clovis discovered their mutual love of fine bourbons. They soon migrated to the bar and began sampling some very select bottles. Maggie and I were left to noodle over the day’s events and how we planned to proceed.

  “Jack, Sam has a point. Your reasoning is almost believable, but the conclusion does seem pretty far-fetched. I mean, really, marijuana curing cancer?”

  “I know it’s hard to imagine, but think how many people have been helped by marijuana—people dealing with chemo, crippling diseases, or suffering from migraines. So far, no one knows how it works. But it does work. Why couldn’t it provide more than just pain relief? Besides, Liz says it isn’t just the marijuana. Apparently, Doug has been developing strains of marijuana that can be supplemented with the natural ingredients of other plants. That takes time and careful documentation. Doug Stewart isn’t some doctor making a little extra money peddling marijuana on the side. He’s a world-famous biochemist, winner of any number of awards and, until Dub busted him, a man of impeccable reputation. His research might just be the key to unlocking a cure.”

  “Well, okay, but now his reputation is gone. And, before this week, you haven’t spoken to him in years. You only have Liz’s word and a few minutes with Doug. How are you going to find out what this is all about unless you can talk to him? You know Liz is an airhead.”

  “Well, in the first place, Liz isn’t quite the airhead she chooses to portray. And I’m hoping you’ll get lucky at NIH or with your FOIA requests. I have a back-up plan if we can’t talk to Doug, but it’s important to be able to prove the government knew what he was up to three years ago and exactly who knew.”

  “You just lost me,” she responded, but as I was about to explain, Walter appeared in the doorway. Walter Matthews is almost as tall as I am. His well-cut suit and easy slouch turned every head as he walked in. He looked like he owned the place. He had founded Bridgeport Life Insurance Company straight out of college and through a creative investment strategy, built it into one of the most admired companies in the United States.

  Walter isn’t just successful; he is the most ethical businessman I’ve ever met. My old law firm used to represent his company, and we became good friends on the golf course. He met Maggie during the months before Angie’s death and fell for her head over heels.

  “Hello, dear. Hello, Jack,” he greeted us. “I managed to close out my part of the meeting early so I could join you.”

  He kissed Maggie, shook my hand, and ordered a glass of port.

  “I hear you’ve almost gotten yourself killed again. A word of advice—find another vacation spot.”

  “Or at least stay away from murderous Arkansas women,” Maggie added.

  “Wait a minute—Moira isn’t even from the South, much less Arkansas,” I protested.

  Walter asked, “Want to tell me what you want to talk about Monday, so I can be giving it some thought?”

  I did, but this was not the time or place.

  “Take this beautiful woman home and let her tell you what we’ve learned. We should all be fresh after a day of rest. I’m going to ask you for a little blind faith, and I need you both to be in a good mood. Maggie’s been a bear without you. Besides, I’ve got to pull Clovis away from the bourbon.”

  “I have not been a bear, you’ve been foolish. That woman was so obvious you should’ve seen it coming. I’d bet she had you wrapped around her finger the first night you met, just like that hotel manager,” Maggie scolded.

  “Okay, okay—but would you have me any other way?” We all laughed, and they walked out hand in hand. I went to the bar and tugged on Clovis’s arm.

  “Come on, big fellow, it’s time for us to get home. We both need some sleep. We’ve got a big day of baseball ahead of us.”

  A SOLITARY MAN leaned against the telephone pole outside DeCarlo’s, smoking a cigarette, watching and thinking. He knew Patterson had met with Novak and then flown to Memphis to meet with Liz Stewart. Novak would know nothing of their client’s plans. And he had probably wanted to talk to the Stewart woman in person about the prosecution’s offer not to prosecute her. Patterson had taken the bait just like they had hoped. The fact that the auction was going to happen in two weeks pleased the client to no end. But he wondered what brought Patterson back to DC. Whatever it was, it was his job to make sure Patterson hit nothing but brick walls, no matter what he was after.

  MONDAY

  April 28, 2014

  43

  IT FELT GOOD to sleep in my own bed for a change. Four years had passed since Angie and I had shared it. It was a queen-sized bed—we’d talked about getting a king, but couldn’t quite bring ourselves to sleep that far apart. I smelled bacon frying and knew Clovis was up.

  My house hadn’t smelled this good in a long time. Not only was he frying bacon, but he’d made biscuits as well. Unknown talents.

  “You’re not even the slightest bit hungover?” I asked. Clovis had enjoyed a double-he
ader’s worth of beer yesterday and plenty of bourbon the night before.

  “Slept like a lamb and feel great.”

  I made a mental note to ask him his secret someday. This morning he was already full of news.

  “Micki gets out of the hospital tomorrow. Eric wants to keep her under glass, but she’s going home. Debbie’s at the ranch setting up a temporary office, and I’ve put Paul in charge of security until I get back.”

  “Clovis, what about Sam? Our friendship is pretty well known. Can we protect him, um, well, quietly?”

  He gave me a cat’s grin. “He can be as prickly as Micki, but I’ve had a little talk with Sheriff Barnes. His guys will watch him pretty close—he’ll never know.”

  “Good thinking. But we can’t maintain this level of security for long. And the cat’s gonna get out of the bag sooner or later. That’s one reason why we need to hold the auction so soon. Right now they think they’re in control.”

  “Aren’t they?” Clovis asked.

  “Well, yeah, pretty much, but I’ve got a few wrenches to throw in the works.” I poured a fresh cup of coffee from the pot and sat down with my thoughts.

  Dub and his task force had thought out their strategy well, but they hadn’t counted on me showing up to represent Doug. My security clearances had come as a surprise, but they’d adjusted quickly and successfully. Nothing seemed to faze them. That had to change.

  “Clovis, when we get back I’d like to talk to Debbie and Paul. I’ve got an idea, but I need to make sure it’s safe.”

  Clovis had worked with me long enough to figure out I’d explain my reasoning soon enough. “Any more shower thoughts?”

  “Now that you mention it, is there any way we can get Moira’s personal cell phone records? She wouldn’t have used your company’s cell phone to call her contact when we went to Oklahoma City. I’d like to know who she called and for how long.”

  “We must have taken the same shower. My people are already on it.”

  I finished breakfast and put on my lawyer’s uniform, a dark suit and the requisite conservative tie. As I brushed off the jacket, it occurred to me that the dust meant I really didn’t wear it that often any more—a very good feeling. Walter wouldn’t care if I appeared in a golf shirt and blazer, which was about as formal as I got unless I had to appear in court. But I had arranged to have lunch with Peggy at 701, and I wanted our meeting to look official. A lawyer in uniform lunching with a high-ranking Justice official wouldn’t turn a single head.

  Clovis dropped me off at the foundation offices.

  Maggie had chosen one of the fairly new buildings near the White House for our offices, modest in size and tailored to our individual needs. The focus of the space was a very comfortable conference room with a view of the White House. Location—it always counts.

  Walter’s primary business address was on E Street, but he kept a private office at the foundation. I could see him and Maggie in the conference room as I approached the door: private words and private smiles. How I missed that magic. The moment passed as I walked through the door. Maggie was already sipping on a hot cup of tea, and I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee from the pot on the sideboard.

  “Jack, I hardly recognize you in a coat and tie! Totally unnecessary on my account.” Walter looked very comfortable in a golf shirt, slacks, and docksiders.

  “No offense, Walter, but it’s not for you.”

  Walter laughed. “Maggie’s told me about Doug Stewart, a thug called Novak, and a jerk by the name of Dub. Of course, I know what happened to you and Micki. Besides worrying, what can I do to help?”

  “Well, maybe nothing, maybe everything. Has Maggie explained to you about the auction of Dr. Stewart’s cars and research?”

  “She has. I have to say: the concept of being able to take someone’s belongings and sell them before being charged with a crime sounds downright un-American to me.”

  “Me, too. The reason I’m coming to you is that you are the well-known and well-respected owner of Bridgeport Life. In order for me to bid at this auction, I have to post a letter of credit amounting to ten percent of the amount I bid. So, for example, if I wanted to buy Doug’s Austin-Healy 3000 for thirty thousand dollars, I’d have to post at least a three-thousand-dollar letter of credit to show I have the financial means to come up with the thirty thousand within a requisite period of time.”

  “Okay, but any bank would do that for you. Why are you coming to me?”

  “Well, I want to smoke out the person who’s behind all this, and to do that I may have to post a somewhat larger letter of credit.”

  “How much do you want to spend on the car?”

  “I don’t care a flip about the car. I want to buy Doug’s research, his notes, his calculations, his papers, and his computer. If I’m right, that’s what all this is about. Someone wants to take possession of all Doug’s research through legal means. They want to have legal title to it, so they can patent it or destroy it.”

  “What if you’re wrong? What if it’s worthless?”

  “Then I won’t have to bid very much, and I’ll be able to pay you back.”

  “What if you’re right? What if it is a breakthrough toward a cure for cancer? What would that be worth?”

  “You tell me. I don’t think either of us could place a monetary value on something like that. What bothers me is that it might be worth more destroyed. I could be wrong, but I don’t believe Doug hoped to gain fame and fortune through his research. I have a hunch he wanted to protect it through the patent system and then give it away—maybe even through open sourcing online.”

  “Sounds good, but Jack, where’s your evidence? Maggie says what you’ve got is thinner than a Girl Scout’s Thin Mint. Have you got anything stronger than a hunch?” Walter could be very direct.

  “Maggie’s right. It is thinner than thin, but I’ve got a few days to flesh it out. It still might come down to you trusting me. I won’t be foolish with your money. If I don’t think I’ve got the goods, I won’t bid. But I have to make them think I’m for real.”

  “How much?” He at least asked.

  “My opponents will surely bid enough for the research to make it look like a legitimate transaction. They won’t want someone down the line to claim the auction was a fraud, that the government was gypped. If I were running the scam, I’d use two or three shills to run up the price. Remember, the government is the beneficiary of the funds. Dub will be able to gloat over how much money he’s brought into the government coffers, and no one will be the wiser.”

  “Again—how much do you need?”

  “They’ll take the price up a little at a time, but they’ll already have decided when to stop. My best bet is they’ll shut it down somewhere around five million.” I almost choked on the figure. Could I really ask Walter to risk so much money?

  Walter whistled. “So, what you want me to do is provide you with a half a million dollar line of credit and be prepared to back it up by paying five million dollars for research that may be worthless.”

  “I don’t think it’s worthless, but, well, yeah, I guess I’m asking exactly that.”

  Walter looked at Maggie, who was studying her teacup. “What if they go higher, outbid you?”

  “Then we’ll know that Doug Stewart’s research is the real goods. Five million isn’t chicken feed. The government’s had Doug’s research for over a week now, and more than likely so has whoever went after Micki and me. It’s surely been gone over with a fine-toothed comb by any number of scientists. If someone bids more than five million dollars for it, it’s probably worth hundreds of millions.”

  Maggie asked, “What’s to keep the government from destroying his research or handing it off to whoever is behind all this?”

  “Good question. Knowing Doug, he has probably already applied which will establish prior ownership. His letter to the government, if we can find it, can help establish the same thing. If I’m right, they want to destroy Doug’s credibility and at th
e same time obtain clear title to his research by means of the auction. Then whoever is behind this can control whether it’s destroyed, or use it down the road, saying they bought the research fair and square. Walter, I hope to have a few aces up my sleeve, but it may come down to the auction itself. We need them to be at least a little nervous. I’d like to flush out my opponent, even if he gets the research in the end.”

  Walter’s bland countenance had kept him at the table many a time. I had no idea how to read it. I always knew what he would do on a golf course, but in a business transaction he was hard to read.

  I’d made my pitch. Now it was up to Walter. He was playing with numbers on a legal pad, deep in thought. Maggie still hadn’t said a word. She was in a difficult position—it was her money, too. Finally Walter capped his pen.

  “Jack, I think the chances are slim that you’re going to be able to prove a single element of your conspiracy. More than likely you’re going to be able to buy Dr. Stewart’s research for a hundred dollars, and we’re all going to have a big laugh. But, on the off chance that Dr. Stewart really has something, I don’t want to be the fool who let it get stolen out from under his nose. I’m not afraid to lose a little money. But I think you’re wrong about the ‘how much.’ If you’re right, they’re not going to let it go for five million. So I’ll furnish our foundation a letter of credit that will satisfy the authorities. It will allow you to bid a little more than five million, and, if you should be successful, Maggie and I will figure out how to come up with the rest. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if our little foundation owned the cure for cancer.”

  I rose immediately. A hug seemed out of order, so I stuck out my hand. “Thank you, Walter. You’ve put a lot of faith in me; I’ll try not to let you down.”

  “Do more than try.” He laughed, and the awkward moment passed. “I have some work to do with my bankers, but you’ll have the letter of credit in plenty of time. I’d like to attend the auction if I may.”