by Rob Sangster
Gorton’s chin went up and he pursed his lips, pondering the proposals. “Those are reasonable. What else?”
“American gun dealers have sold more than 60,000 high-powered weapons across the border in the past few years, mostly to the cartels. That greatly increased violence in Mexico, and now some of those guns are being used in U.S. border cities. You need to stop those sales.”
“That could be tricky. I’ll think about it.”
Meaning he wasn’t going to touch the gun issue unless he could maneuver someone else into taking the heat.
“And fourth, you’ve seen how easy it is to smuggle nuclear waste into Mexico and dirty bombs into the U.S. It’s time to pay more attention to what really matters in border security.”
“Homeland Security keeps telling me they’re on top of it. Obviously, they’re not. I’ll crank them up before something else happens. And I’ll get some Mexican experts up here to meet with our people. They’ll figure out how to get this stuff done.”
Gorton wasn’t going to apologize for siding with Sinclair, or locking up the three of them in the safe house, but he had agreed to most of Jack’s wish list. It was time to walk away.
Gorton stood, and so did Jack, Debra and Gano. “Things will work out better for all of us if we keep all of this strictly among ourselves.” He looked at Gano, then Debra, then Jack. “I know I can count on you.” He hauled out the classic politician’s ear-to-ear smile, and said, “We’re done here.”
Jack shook Gorton’s hand when it was offered, but he was keenly aware that Gorton’s self-serving blunders had permitted Albuquerque to be bombed—and it could have been much worse.
He looked into Gorton’s eyes and saw what Debra and Gano did not. The President of the United States of America still wasn’t sure whether Jack Strider was a potential friend or potential enemy. Gorton owed him a lot, and maybe that’s the way he saw it. Or maybe Gorton saw him as a threat, and Jack would have to guard his back.
Chapter 57
July 30
9:30 p.m.
SHE’S GORGEOUS, Jack thought.
Debra sat across from him, sipping champagne, black hair shining, eyes sparkling. He winced as he glanced down at the fading abrasions left by the tape Montana had used to bind her wrists.
“I’m glad to be back in San Francisco,” she said, “but I miss having Gano around. He was the perfect counterpart for you.”
“That’s because he operates on the basis of what he called ‘ground truth.’”
“Meaning?”
“Geologists use the term to describe reaching conclusions from hands-on contact with soil and rocks in the field, contact with reality. It means getting dust on your boots instead of sitting in an ivory tower reading books.”
“Well, my friend, you have a lot of dust on your own boots now, and it suits you.” She smiled. “Where is Gano anyway?”
“Probably hanging out on the deck of the Hotel Divisadero Barrancas which, by the way, I found out he owns. He’s looking across Copper Canyon, with a Tecate in one hand, waiting for whatever turns up. We’ll see him again.”
“What about Montana’s getaway million he was after?”
“Montana probably skimmed it from Palmer Industries, but no one knows. If the government tried to give it back, there’d be a paper trail. It would leak that it had come from a dead man’s Land Rover in Juarez. No way Uncle Sam will open that Pandora’s Box. That’s why I brought it up to Gorton. He said he’d arrange a deposit in Gano’s bank, no paperwork.”
“If Gano has a conscience,” she said, “he’ll transfer most of it into your account.”
“That’s not how Gano thinks. Here’s to the future, starting right here at Boulevard.” They clinked glasses. “That’s the reason for the champagne.”
“So what’s next?” she asked, studying him with an expression he couldn’t decipher. “Are you going to become a white-water river guide or maybe hang out on that deck with Gano?”
“I’m going to practice law.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then why, since we flew back here from D.C. last week, have you spent most of your time sailing?”
“When I saw Simba again, I couldn’t resist taking her for a run up the coast. But I’ve been doing a lot besides sailing. For one thing, I had a call from the DA, Rick Calder, to congratulate me on President Gorton’s announcement that he had offered me the post of White House Counsel. Calder acted like we were best friends. It’s interesting what a dash of fear can prompt an ambitious DA to do. I reminded him that not long ago he’d been determined to prove I profited from Peck’s crimes. He immediately offered to hold a press conference to announce that there are no ongoing investigations and that the case is closed. I let him off with that, because most of the reason he was so mad at me was because the girls Peck exploited were Mexican, and he couldn’t punish Peck. That’s understandable. Even after I turn down that Counsel’s job, he won’t forget my White House connection. I can count on his cooperation any time I need it.
“I also arranged for Ana-Maria’s body to be transported home to her village. As soon as I get settled, I’ll set up a trust fund that will send her sisters through college and help her parents until the girls are self-sufficient and can pitch in.” He took another sip of champagne.
“Well done, and I want to compliment you for something else. During this entire dinner, you haven’t said one word about caves or nuclear waste.” She speared the last morsel on her plate. “There must be a new chef here. This Lobster Martinique is much better than the first time we came here.”
“Last time, you walked out on me.”
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “That was then. This is now.”
The server poured more champagne. After some small talk, he said, “I’m ready to leave if you are. I thought we’d take a short drive.”
As they walked to the valet parking stand, he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. He’d definitely never had feelings as strong as these before.
She slid into his BMW. “Where are we going?”
“There’s something I want to show you.” He turned onto Broadway and headed east. A few blocks later, he squeezed into an unofficial parking space on The Embarcadero, got out, and opened Debra’s door. “It’s not far.”
They strolled in silence past the historic piers that run from the Ferry Building to Fishermen’s Wharf. He turned onto Pier 9, and they walked out toward the end, water to their right, solid mass of old buildings on their left. He loved these old piers where immigrants had poured in and gold had flowed out. He felt at home at water’s edge with a panoramic view across the Bay.
“Listen to the seals bark,” she said, “and the water lapping against the pilings. It’s perfect.”
He pointed ahead to the left. “That’s where we’re going.”
“You mean where the sign reads ‘Bay and River Pilotage since 1830?’ You’re still finding weird places to take a woman on a date.”
“Look at the sign past that one.”
Her eyes went to the elegant, hand-painted sign. He watched her face as she read the words.
Strider & Vanderberg
Attorneys
She threw her arms around him, laughing. “I can’t believe it.”
He grinned down at her. “Do you accept my offer?”
She stepped back and studied his face. “Well, I’m used to making big bucks as a rising star at a powerhouse firm. Exactly what terms are you offering at your little start-up outfit, Mr. Strider?”
“It’s not the terms you should consider, it’s the working conditions. Besides, in those powerhouse firms, sometimes the captain falls overboard and is never seen again.”
She nodded. “Which can cause some of the crew to jump ship.”
“So a ho
t new firm on Pier 9 should sound pretty good. To pay the bills, we’ll build a practice in international business, corporate law, and a couple of other specialties. The buildup Gorton gave me at that press conference was worth millions in PR. When I turn him down next week, I’ll make it clear that our new firm will be open for business within a month. Clients will line up.”
She frowned. “But if it would be like a baby Sinclair & Simms, what’s the point?”
“That revenue pays for our public interest law practice. Water problems, pollution, alternative energy start-ups—that sort of thing.”
She looked at the sign, then at him. “I accept your offer.” She kissed him. “Can we go inside?”
“Nothing in there. Finding the right place and negotiating the lease took a lot of time. The sign wasn’t finished until a couple of hours ago.”
“Then let’s walk out to the end of the pier and look at the stars.”
They settled into a couple of worn lawn chairs, probably someone’s lunch spot. To their right stood the sweeping arch of the Bay Bridge; ahead, the low profile of the former Treasure Island navy base. Far across the Bay to the northeast, Berkeley and the lights of the UC campus rose up the hillside.
She broke the stillness. “I was surprised that you turned down Gorton’s offer to appoint you to the 9th Circuit bench. Now I understand.”
“I made that decision before I got to the Oval Office. When my father realized he would never be appointed to the Supreme Court, I think he decided to set that goal for me. Or maybe he thought my appointment would make him look good. Either way, it was my father’s dream, not mine. It took me a while to understand that.”
“It still must have been hard to give up.”
“Not after I recognized the truth. Being Chairman of the International Law Department would have trapped me in the academic rat race. S & S would have been just another kind of trap. The time I spent in Mexico helped me realize that a judge gets into the process long after the damage has been done. For example, after a plant has contaminated drinking water and given half the town cancer. As a public advocate, I can help prevent the damage. Being a judge, even moving up to the Supreme Court, isn’t what I want to do with my life.”
“I’m with you, partner,” she said. “So let’s talk about it over a nightcap at Auberge du Soleil.”
“That’s in the Napa Valley, more than an hour from here. We wouldn’t get back to the city until two a.m.”
“Right. So what would you think about sealing our partnership in one of their lovely cottages?”
He grinned and nodded. “But I have one question.”
She gave him a quizzical look, and he knew she held back what was bound to be a flippant comment.
“If a fellow knew what he wanted in life and was strongly motivated and fearless—” He let several seconds pass. “—do you think that someday he might make a good governor?”
The End
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Acknowledgments
My sincere thanks to Linda Kichline for her insightful editing and TLC as publisher.
My gratitude also to those who read the manuscript in its varying stages of disarray and offered input as professionals and/or avid readers: Marq de Villiers, Maria S. Lowry, Debra Dixon and Pat Van Wie, Chris Hagler, Jr., Anne Holmes, Dr. Ann Livingstone, Sammie Morris, Bob Sehlinger, Don Sedgwick and Shaun Bradley, and Frank Williams.