Jury Town (36 page)

CHAPTER 45

JURY TOWN

“I’ve seen enough,” an overweight man in the front row of the jury box spoke up as all four screens on the opposite wall went dark, signaling an end to the week’s testimony. “Angela Gaynor’s guilty as sin.”

Racine grimaced as he glanced down from his seat at the back right of the second row. The guy had quickly proven himself obnoxiously opinionated and unfailingly willing to deliver those opinions throughout the trial. There was always one in every crowd, Racine figured, a know-it-all who couldn’t wait to speak up about anything and everything. It was the same way in business. As CEO of Excel Games, he’d made it a point to quash that obnoxious individual immediately in any meeting he attended. Here in Jury Room Thirteen, he couldn’t be so aggressive.

“She had her executives paying
everybody
,” the man went on, brushing Reese’s Cup crumbs from the front of his scarlet golf shirt.

Racine had counted the guy making three trips to the snack table—just in this afternoon’s session.

“And she paid the mayor herself on that one sports complex deal,” the guy continued. “This trial’s over as far as I’m concerned.”

This afternoon they’d heard the ex-mayor of Hampton, Virginia, swear that Angela Gaynor had delivered fifty thousand dollars of cash to him personally.

“Over!” he added emphatically.

“Easy, easy,” Racine called out, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ve got more rebuttal testimony coming Monday morning concerning the alleged e-mails. Then we can get to the verdict. Let’s all keep an open mind until then.”

“And let’s not forget that Ms. Gaynor had an alibi,” Sofia spoke up. “Trent Tucker swore he was with her the day the CEO says she delivered money to the mayor.”

Racine leaned forward so he could see.

“Big deal,” the fat man snapped back at Sofia, groaning and yawning while he stretched. “Trent Tucker would probably say anything for her.”

“Why?”

The fat man shrugged. “I can just tell.”

“But you’ve got no good reason to say that.”

“Do I really have to?” he asked, shooting another of the white men in the jury a knowing look. “Come on, everyone knows what I’m saying.”

“Don’t even go there,” Sofia warned, her Spanish accent becoming more pronounced the more animated she became.

Racine grinned. Sofia never backed down.

“Why are you convinced Trent Tucker’s telling the truth?” the guy asked.

“I’m not.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Everything’s packaged too neatly,” Sofia explained. “The witnesses against Angela Gaynor all sound like they were in study group together.”

“Give me a break.”

“And I think Ms. Gaynor is way too smart to bribe people so clumsily if she were actually going to do it.”

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t put it past her to make a bribe.”

“I wouldn’t put it past most people, if you want to know the truth. Everyone has a price.”

“Not me,” the man said arrogantly.

“You’re in here, aren’t you?”

Racine shook his head and grinned again. Zing.

“Yeah, well, I—”

“I think she’s guilty, too,” a black man sitting in the back row spoke up. “Did you hear how much she’s going to make on that sports complex?” He pointed at Sofia. “Just like you said, follow the money trail and you’ll find the truth.”

“She’s definitely guilty,” a woman in the back row echoed, “and we should always send messages to fat cats when we can.”

“Hear, hear,” an Asian man chimed in. “I’m tired of seeing the rich get richer, especially when they cheat.”

“She’s not guilty!” Sofia shouted. “She’s a good woman, and she’s being—”

“All right, all right,” Racine interrupted loudly as the situation barreled toward a brick wall. “We’re officially in recess for the weekend,” he said, standing up, “so boxers, back to your corners until Monday.”

WASHINGTON, DC (GEORGETOWN)

“This is fantastic,” Lehman said excitedly as he checked his laptop. “I’m up
twenty
points on Angela Gaynor now.”

“I don’t understand why her people haven’t made her drop out yet.” Martha gazed at the screen over her husband’s shoulder. “It bothers me that she’s staying in the race.”

“Why? Because she’s deluded herself into thinking that somehow she can still beat me from behind bars?”

“No, because she must be innocent. That’s the only reason she’d stay in, Chuck. And, if she is found innocent, she’ll turn it to her advantage and come roaring back at you.”

Lehman slipped his arm around her. “You’re reading too much into this, honey. Angela Gaynor is guilty. She’s simply lost touch with reality. We see this with white-collar criminals all the time. They get swept up in the money; they can’t stop themselves from continuing the scam, and then the way they rationalize what they’ve done when they finally get snagged is by insisting they’re the victim.” He pointed at Angela’s picture on the screen. “She’s probably been bribing public officials for years. What the authorities have uncovered now is probably just the tip of the iceberg.” He pulled Martha down onto his lap and then kissed her deeply for the first time in a long time. “Don’t worry,” he whispered when he finally pulled back, “you’re going to be the First Lady. I promise.”

She smiled at him sweetly. “You’re right. You’re always right. I shouldn’t worry so much. You’ve been Teflon ever since I’ve known you. You win at everything you do.” She shook her head. “I feel sorry for Angela. She’s worked very hard to get where she is. She’s an American success story.”

Lehman kissed her again. “Not anymore, honey, not anymore.”

CHAPTER 46

NORTH WOODS OF MAINE

Rockwell and the lone Gray he hadn’t identified yet moved through the north woods night, toward the helipad.

The five of them had just finished a hastily called meeting, but the other three had stayed behind in the cabin. The chopper would return for the others after taking Rockwell and this man home.

Rockwell assumed he would land first—for obvious reasons. This man wouldn’t want Rockwell to know where he lived. The other Grays were still keeping a tight lid on personal information. He grinned smugly in the dark.

“Have you figured out who we are yet?” the Gray said as they passed from the trees into the clearing.

Was this guy clairvoyant? “Pardon me?”

“You’ve dedicated a good bit of effort trying to determine our identities. By nature, intelligent men are curious. Curiosity in any context cannot be considered a sin. It’s the key to mankind’s ascension to the top of the food chain. It’s what sets us apart from the animals.”

Rockwell laughed self-consciously. “I’m curious, sure.” The chopper lights were illuminated, but the blades weren’t rotating. He would have felt the breeze, heard the engine. But the forest was still and silent. “I know who some of you are.”

“And?”

“NSA, Homeland, CIA,” Rockwell answered. It seemed safe to admit this. He was one of them now. “The usual suspects.”

“Very good,” the man said as they stepped onto the concrete and neared the large chopper. “What about me?”

Rockwell hesitated, but he had yet to even form a guess. “No.”

The Gray stopped a few feet from the helicopter and turned to him. “Have you ever heard of Majestic Twelve?”

Rockwell leaned away from the man, stunned. “The shadow government President Truman supposedly created in the late forties?”

“So you have.”

“MJ-Twelve is
real
? I thought that was all just a hoax.”

The Gray cracked a thin smile. “You’re right,” he said as he reached for the helicopter’s door handle. “It’s just a hoax. Good-bye, Mr. Rockwell.”

Rockwell felt his eyes bulge as a familiar figure hopped down in front of him from the chopper. “Oh, no,” he cried, throwing his arms up. “No. Wait!”

A moment later Philip Rockwell lay sprawled on the helipad, dead from a single bullet to the temple.

“Bury him somewhere in the woods up here,” the Gray ordered as the chopper rotors began to turn. “Make sure it’s at least twenty miles away and at least six feet down.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good lad.” The man gestured down at Rockwell’s body. “Now get him out of here.” The Gray caught JD by the shoulder as he passed. “You shot Mr. Rockwell because he asked too many questions. You get my drift?”

“Yes, sir. I’m an execution asset, and that’s all.”

“Good lad,” the man repeated. “By the way, when you get back to Virginia, there will be two hundred thousand dollars in your account. Keep up the good work and you can expect more, much more.”

CHAPTER 47

RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

“Where is Mr. Racine?”

“It’s Saturday,” Bart Stevens replied from the other side of the Excel Games conference-room table. “He could be anywhere.”

“Well, he should be sitting in front of me, Mr. Stevens. That’s where he
should
be.”

“We’re looking for him everywhere, Mr. Xilai. I . . . I don’t know what to tell you.”

“This is an outrage. You’ve had days to find him. I gave you plenty of warning that I was coming down here after finishing my business in Washington.”

“I know and I’m very, very sorry.”

“And I thought I made myself
very, very
clear.”

“Everything is going so well, Mr. Xilai. Revenues and profits are going through the roof now that we’ve been able to advertise using the money you invested.”

“Unless you locate Mr. Racine in the next five minutes, everything is definitely
not
going well.”

Stevens stared across the table at Mao Xilai. He didn’t like the nasty, bordering-on-evil expression he was getting. “Let me try David again,” he suggested desperately, rising from his seat. Trying again was an exercise in complete futility, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“Use your cell to call him,” Xilai ordered angrily, pointing at the phone Stevens had just grabbed off the table. “There is no need for you to leave this room.”

“I was going to see if David’s assistant had heard anything.”

“His assistant is here? It’s Saturday.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

“Did you really?”

“I—”

“Do not leave this room, Mr. Stevens. Not until I tell you to.”

As Stevens eased back down against the chair, perspiration drenched his shirt. Xilai had brought two men with him on this trip. They were outside in the parking lot, dressed in matching dark suits and sunglasses, smoking up a storm as they leaned against the limousine. He’d seen them through his office window blinds before finally getting up his nerve to walk in here. They were outside . . . but it wouldn’t take them long to get inside.

“Go on,” Xilai demanded, gesturing at the phone, “call Mr. Racine.”

“Okay.” Stevens cut the connection when the call went straight to Racine’s voice mail—again. “I’m sorry, I—”

“I told you to treat this company as if it were your child.”

“I am, sir.
I do
.”

“But your chief executive does not. How can he go missing like this? Would he really do this to Claire?”

Stevens grimaced. It shouldn’t surprise him that Xilai knew the name of Racine’s daughter. What terrified him was that it meant Xilai knew the names of his children, too. The quiet warning was coming through with deafening clarity.

“Let’s start going over the numbers while we wait for David,” Stevens suggested, sliding his laptop in front of him. “They’re tremendous. We’re on pace to do more than twenty million in revenues this year, up from five last year. If we keep pumping the ads, we might do as much as fifty million in top-line dollars next year, maybe even a
hundred
. We’ve got thousands of people signing up every day. It’s incredible. I’ve got New York and San Francisco investment bankers calling me off the hook. The IPO figures they’re talking about are insane. Your four million could be worth a billion in the next eighteen months. That would turn the dial even for a man as wealthy as you, Mr. Xilai.”

“Why are the investment bankers calling you and not Racine?” Xilai asked coldly.

“I’m the CFO. Why wouldn’t they call me?”

“I detest when people lie to me, Mr. Stevens. I told you that,” Xilai hissed. “I gave you fair warning.”

“Mr. Xilai, the company is doing so well.”

“I do not like being disrespected!” Xilai shouted, springing up out of his seat. “I invested four million dollars in you and Mr. Racine. Not in the company. Do you not understand that?”

“I’m taking care of your money,” Stevens said pleadingly as he started to stand, then hesitated, worried that he wasn’t supposed to. Worried that Xilai might call his men in here. “I swear to God I am.” He pointed at the laptop screen. “The proof is right here.”

“Where is Racine?”

“I don’t know.”

“
Where
is David Racine? If you know, if you have any idea at all, you better tell me right now, Mr. Stevens!”

NORTH WOODS OF MAINE

“Mr. Rockwell is dead,” the fourth Gray announced as he reentered the cabin. “JD just executed him.”

The other three stamped the floor hard. “Hear, hear!” they shouted in unison.

“Good riddance,” the man from DHS growled.

“He botched the Commonwealth Electric case,” the CIA official hissed, “and he was a traitor for trying so hard to find us.”

“Which, apparently, he did. Rockwell knew where each of you worked.”

“Did he find you, Walter?”

“He said he didn’t. But does it really matter now? Within the hour, his body will be six feet down in this never-ending pine forest. Maybe some future civilization will stumble on his skeleton after the next ice age. But we don’t have to worry, even if George Garrison does identify Rockwell as his connection from his jail cell in northern Virginia. The connection to us is cut. I’ve already had a man visit his house and remove some belongings. Without his body, the FBI will think he’s on the run.”

“Here’s another thing we don’t have to worry about,” the NSA official said as he tapped his phone. “Angela Gaynor is twenty points back of our man and fading fast.”

“By this time next week, she ought to be in jail. Can’t get any farther back than that.” The man chuckled. “Unless she was dead.”

“Can you imagine if she’d upset Lehman and the avalanche had started? They would have passed all kinds of legislation that would have undermined the efforts we’ve taken to influence juries.”

“And undermined the money we make.”

“Now we’re safe. And we can keep the country safe. Our side of it, anyway.”

“It’s a great day, and we should—” Walter Morgan interrupted himself. “Does anyone else hear that?”

RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

“I’ve had enough of this,” Xilai hissed, pounding the table. “I come all the way down here from Washington, and Mr. Racine
ignores
me? This is a terrible insult. I will not forget this, Mr. Stevens.”

Stevens was terrified. Once incensed, Xilai was merciless—according to the stories—and might go after everyone. If he died, so be it. But he couldn’t bear the thought of his children being murdered.

“Mr. Xilai, I’m begging you not to—”

“Hello, Mao. Hello, Bart.”

Stevens’ gaze raced to the conference-room door. Racine stood there, looking his usual calm, cool, collected self.

Stevens fell back into his chair at the sight of his best friend, shock and relief surging through him in wave after powerful wave.

“Sorry I’m late,” Racine said with an easygoing smile, moving to where Xilai stood to shake hands. “We’ve got a lot of good news for you, Mao. I can’t wait to tell you about it, so let’s get started.” His smile widened as he pointed at Stevens. “You look like you saw a ghost, Bart.”

Stevens was still too relieved—and scared—to banter back a worthy response. In fact, he could think of only one thing at this moment: Victoria Lewis had made good on her promise. Racine really would be allowed out when Xilai came calling.

Stevens had insisted to Racine that Victoria would
never
come through on the deal. That, in the end, she would turn traitor on a transaction that could prove disastrous for her if she honored it, as any experienced politician would.

He couldn’t remember being happier about being wrong in his entire life.

“Yes,” Xilai said firmly, “I can’t wait to hear all the good news.”