by Webb Hubbell
“If someone doesn’t kill me first, I will find out who murdered them and why, and you can tell the Israeli government that I won’t hide behind the words ‘national security.’ I will tell the whole world.”
67
I CAUGHT MIKE AND BRIAN exchanging glances in the rearview mirror. They quickly looked away, and I realized I needed to be a little less dramatic. And what about Harold Spencer? He’d been a blip in my life. Now, he was dead and he’d left me the keys to the kingdom.
My thoughts were all in a jumble. A few weeks ago my best friend and I had sat at the bar at Columbia wondering who Harold Spencer was and how he’d come to be murdered. Now his death was at the very center of a probable illegal international arms sale, and he’d been working with Rachel Goodman. “Small world” seemed a bit inadequate.
We pulled into the compound’s grounds and quickly joined the others in the big family room.
Micki stood and saluted. “All your troops are present and accounted for, waiting your guidance and direction, Sir!”
“Ha, ha, very funny.” I tried to smile—I knew she was teasing. “First, I need to fill you all in on what’s happened today. There’s been quite a lot. Then we can try to figure out what to do next.”
Micki and I spent the next half hour explaining the events of the day. I ended with my conversation with Strauss.
“We need to check and double check both our facts and our conclusions before we can go much further. And I need to go over everything Rachel included on that zip drive.” I finished.
Maggie immediately asked, “How can we help? We’re all ready, just tell us what to do.”
Maggie was always the good soldier, and her quick grasp of the situation came as a relief. I saw heads nod in agreement, so I pressed forward.
“Beth, Maggie, since house hunting is off for the time being, Stella will give you the names of the five weapons systems that Rachel identified. She won’t give you any confidential information about their specifications. I want you to find out everything you can—who built them, what they were designed to do, any sales, whatever you can dig up. We’ll crosscheck the public information against the information on Rachel’s spreadsheets. For example, her spreadsheet states that Israel purchased a missile system called the Pinpoint Missile System from Surplus Systems. See if you can find out if that’s true, and try to get me more info on Surplus Systems.”
Beth asked, “What do you want us to do with what we find?”
“Put it in a format I can understand,” I answered.
“A one-pager,” Maggie said, and everyone laughed.
“Exactly,” I smiled.
I turned to Micki. “You’re my partner, so this is only a suggestion.”
“Can it, Jack. Tell me what you need me to do, and if I don’t like it, I won’t do it.” Straight from the hip, as usual.
“Before you get back to Cotton about his settlement offer, go to the Parra Bank, get copies of Rachel’s bank statements, and if the government froze the account, get written evidence of that fact. I don’t want to deal with the settlement offer until we know if Rabbi Strauss was telling me the truth.”
“Do you think he just made it up?” Maggie frowned.
“No, I don’t, but the more we can document now, the less chance anyone will be able to change the facts.”
“You sound like you don’t trust anyone.”
“Well, I trust the people in this room, but that’s about as far as it goes. Speaking of that, Brian, I’d like you to go with Micki tomorrow, and please, Micki, don’t argue. Martin and Clovis, these next few days will be tense. If the bad guys find out what we have, they’ll stop at nothing to get at it.”
Martin didn’t smile this time. “We’ll do our best, but from now on no one leaves the grounds without a driver and another of my men riding shotgun.”
“Clovis, same goes for Ben and Linda.” He nodded, and I knew he took my words to mean to check in with Jeff’s protection in St. Louis, too. I made a mental note to call Red.
“Okay, let’s talk about phase two. Let’s assume Micki verifies that the Israeli money is sitting in a Parra Bank account that has been frozen by the government, and that Cotton’s inventory fails to mention the account. What do we do?” I asked.
Everyone had an opinion: We could seek contempt of court charges in federal court for a false filing, we could give the information to the Post, or maybe we could ask the Department of Justice’s Office of Professional Responsibility to launch an investigation. Micki remained uncharacteristically silent.
“Micki, what do you think?”
She smiled, “I know you’re trying to be inclusive, but you really are the boss here—the general, since we’re knee deep in the military. None of us has any idea how to prove Rachel’s innocence and bring her murderer to justice. That’s your job.
“I can’t wait to see how you want to play this, because for the life of me I don’t see how we can pull it off without getting killed. So Jack, please give up this new act of yours. Order us all around, and for God’s sake quit being so damn nice. It doesn’t suit you.” Maggie and Beth’s laughter infected the whole group, and I got a kick out of their hilarity.
It took a while for us to settle down again.
“I take it that Micki speaks for the lot of you. Okay, then you need to get busy—first thing tomorrow morning. I have a few loose ends to tie up and then it’s on to phase two. Right now, I think we could all use a break.”
As we all rose to find snacks and drinks, Clovis pulled me aside.
“I’m leaving early tomorrow morning, should be back tomorrow night. I want to check in with my guys in Little Rock and St. Louis. Martin has everything under control here.”
“You think they’d go after Ben or Jeff?” I asked.
“We know they murdered Spencer and Rachel. Nobody’s safe,” he said. Clovis was never what you’d call expressive, but when he worried, everyone should worry.
“What about Carol? Pat keeps a close eye on her, and now that I’m out of the picture, she should be safe. What do you think—should I call Red?”
Clovis said tersely, “Call him.”
I found an empty corner. Red answered on the first ring, almost as though he’d been waiting. I could hear the tension in his voice as he tersely asked what was wrong.
“Sorry to call so late, but Clovis is concerned about Carol. I know she’s seeing someone else, but the next few days could get a little rough.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“No questions?” I asked.
“No. I’ll take care of it. I owe you,” he said.
“You don’t owe me, I owe you.”
“I’ll explain later. Just, thank you.” Red was seldom vague—one more thing to worry about.
The phone interrupted my thoughts again. I saw that it was Ken Chandler with the Post, and picked up quickly, determined at least to get in “Hello.”
“Um, hello to you, too,” he sounded a bit confused. “I just emailed you tomorrow’s headline. It’s not above the fold, but I figured you might like a head’s up. It’s not what I’d like it to be.”
“Thanks, I’ll check it out. If tomorrow morning works out, we should talk. You available after lunch?”
“I think I can manage coffee somewhere. Listen, despite Micki’s press conference getting Cotton’s goat, my sources tell me he’s willing to settle to get you off his back.”
“Your sources are correct, but it’s not me he should worry about,” I answered.
“For the record?” he asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Okay, but not for much longer. I’ll need a real story before long. Anything else?”
“Tomorrow,” I answered, and the phone call ended without a goodbye. I felt like a spy.
I checked the email. Tomorrow’s headline read:
GOODMAN’S LAWYER CLAIMS SHE’S INNOCENT
The second line, in slightly smaller type, read:
ALLEGES WRONGFUL S
EIZURE OF ASSETS
Game on!
TUESDAY
68
STELLA BARKING ORDERS to her sweating acolytes interrupted my dreams the next morning. The ranks of participants had grown. I recognized John Robert Spencer among those going through their paces. I poured a cup of coffee and joined Martin to watch from the porch.
“Looks like Stella has some new recruits. What’s going on?”
“Mike told the guys about Stella’s morning workout yesterday, bet them they couldn’t keep up. He cleared it with me last night. Can’t hurt to have a few SEALs hanging around for the next few days.”
“Do they know this could be hazardous duty?” I asked.
He smiled. “That’s why they’re here.”
He was right; a few Navy SEALs might be the perfect deterrent.
Beth stumbled toward the coffee pot, still groggy with sleep, her eyes widening as she took in the scene outside. “I wish my girlfriends could see this.”
“That’s all we need—your girlfriends. Besides what are you going to tell Jeff?” I teased.
“That I’m surrounded by a bunch of ripped guys every day, and he needs to get in better shape.”
Micki joined us and whistled, “I could get used to this kind of scenery.” She and Beth traded a few more comments before she turned to me.
“Cotton’s already called. He’s ready to cave. The Post ran an online piece about the press conference and reports we’re close to reaching a deal. He all but accused me of leaking that part of the story to the press.”
“What did you say?” I asked.
“I told him when I talk to the press it will be for attribution, not some quote from an ‘anonymous source.’ Of course, I wasn’t speaking for you.”
“Good, because if I’m right, we might need that reporter this afternoon,” I replied.
“So soon?”
“Listen, Micki—before you go to the bank this morning, take a look at Cotton’s inventory of the assets seized. I bet he fails to mention the account at Parra Bank. If you find that the Israeli pension and the life insurance money actually exists, and that the account has been frozen, we’ll know that Cotton is hiding assets and has committed fraud on the court. Go straight to Cotton’s office and get the release of the assets he listed on the inventory. Brian has all the information he needs to get the money wired to our trust account.”
“And if the assets aren’t at Parra Bank?”
“Then Strauss was lying, and we’ll have opened a whole new can of worms. But why would he lie? He could easily have chosen to ignore me. I’m willing to bet you’ll find that money exactly where he said it would be. I’ll leave it to your judgment as to how and when you demand the Israeli money.”
“You trust me with that decision?”
“Yeah, I do. I trust your instincts, and besides, I’m likely to lose my temper. For the life of me, I can’t understand what in the world is behind this money grab when there’s so much more at stake. Matt and Lauren just sent me a memo outlining why the seizure of an Israeli widow’s pension payment violates several international treaties. Maybe that’s why they don’t want to admit its existence.”
“Hmm—did I ask for such a memo? My instincts must have been really good.” She laughed.
“Must have slipped your mind. I’ll email it to you so you can read it on the way to the bank.”
“Any more surprises?” she asked.
“I feel sure we’ll have plenty more surprises. If I knew what they were, they wouldn’t be surprises.”
Stella’s training broke up, and Micki and Brian left soon thereafter. John Robert and his buddies volunteered to accompany Larry onto the property so he could work on his plans for the conference and retreat center. They also wanted to check out Stella’s design of the electronic fence and warning system.
Beth and Maggie were putting together my one-pagers with back-ups, so I decided to call Red to ask how Lucy had reacted to this morning’s article in the Post, but got his voicemail. The phone buzzed almost before I could put it down.
“Jack, this is Pat,” the voice said.
“Well, Pat, this is a surprise. What can I do for you?” I asked. Pat was Carol’s driver slash bodyguard. We’d gotten to know each other fairly well during those weekends on the Eastern Shore.
“I have a message from Carol, but she wants you to keep it private.”
“Whatever Carol tells me through you is confidential unless you tell me otherwise,” I answered.
“No matter what?” he asked, and I wondered if Carol was with him.
“No matter what.”
“First, she appreciates your calling Red. She’s about to leave the country for an extended vacation, but I’m allowed to tell you where she is if you ask.”
“Tell her it’s tempting, but I have to pass. Duty calls.” I tried to sound disappointed, but these games were getting a little old. What exactly did she hope to accomplish?
“That’s what she thought you’d say. She also hopes you understand why she can’t tell you why she’s leaving or why she’s concerned for your safety. And she says to tell you she’s very sorry.” Wow! Pat was reading from a script full of hidden messages.
“Tell her I understand, and to use plenty of sunscreen,” I responded lightly. I could hear Pat chuckling.
“Is there anything else you can tell me? I promise no one will ever know my source.”
He hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Eric Hartman used her, plain and simple. She knows it; she’s embarrassed and plenty mad. I was already getting worried about her, so your call to Red couldn’t have come at a better time. Carol made a big mistake putting her career ahead of you. When this is all over, I hope she’ll swallow her pride, and you two can pick up where you left off—that is, if you’re still alive.”
“Still alive? That doesn’t sound too promising—what do you know, Pat?” These predictions of imminent doom were beginning to get old.
“I know that you’re in way over your head. Hartman’s clients would like nothing better than for you to disappear.”
“And who might those clients be?” I asked.
“Jack, you already know the answer to that question.” He laughed, and our conversation ended.
He was right. Now how did I prove it, and to whom?
This thorny little problem had been simmering in the back of my mind for days. Unless I could prove that Rouss had committed an actual crime of some significance, who would care about Rachel’s discoveries or her death? No lobbyist was more influential in DC than those representing the defense industry; more than a few members of Congress depended on their money for their existence and reelection. Countless decisions were made, deals cut, under the table or behind closed doors, well protected from public scrutiny. Why rock the boat? It was far more likely that all parties, including the government, would close ranks to protect the golden goose.
The most seasoned politicians fear the military-industrial complex’s influence and power. Defense issues were complicated, and the media had no interest in covering stories they couldn’t explain. Moreover, wars and international peacekeeping were the bread and butter of mainstream media. Why would they risk losing a major source of news by reporting on corruption or influence peddling inside the Pentagon?
Even presidents feared the military-industrial complex, so why on earth should a young reporter be willing to go where presidents and career politicians feared to tread? Many reporters learned the hard way that if they criticized the military, their career would soon end up in the deep freeze.
The next bit of news came just moments later, from an unlikely source: an email from Joan Laing’s personal email account:
Jack, by now, you know I’m no longer involved with any part of Rachel Goodman’s case. I have requested a transfer to the U.S. Attorney’s office in Fayetteville, Arkansas. My husband’s family is from the little town of Elm City, and we’ve decided it would be a nice place to raise our children. So you will underst
and why I’ve not looked into the matter you asked me to check out.
I enjoyed the little time we worked together, even though we were representing different interests. Please keep in touch; I look forward to following your career. I know I will be in good company with others who keep track of your efforts to pursue justice. You attract attention and followers in every case you take on.
Again, I wish you the best of luck.
Joan Laing
Joan had been very careful in her response; not only by using her personal email, but also by using language only I would understand. A tracking device must have been found underneath the van. Maybe she had been more direct in discussing the matter with Peggy Fortson. I sent an innocuous email back wishing her luck in Arkansas.
Still nothing from Micki or Brian. My phone rang yet again, and I was surprised to see Lucy Robinson on the caller ID.
“Jack, from what I read the papers this morning, I think you’re blowing smoke. You don’t have one lick of evidence to support your claim that Goodman was innocent or that she was killed.”
“And good morning to you, Lucy. How are you?”
“I don’t have time for your bull. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell the whole world that you’re full of it?”
“Because I’m not. Keep Hartman and Rouss and whoever else off my back for one more day, two at the most. If I can’t produce the goods, you have my permission to crucify me on the floor of the Senate or anywhere else.”
After a long pause she asked quietly, “How did you know Eric and Rouss are leading the charge?”
“Lucy, I can’t tell you that, but I can assure you I’m not bluffing.”
“Damn you. You’d better deliver. Eric is threatening me with a primary opponent if I don’t play ball. He controls enormous sums of campaign money.”
“One more day?” I asked. “Should I call you or Red?”