The Capitol Game (53 page)

“I’d be interested to learn how.”

“We’ll take your client to court and sue. Or, if we want to play hardball, we’ll have Mr. Wiley here detained as an uncooperative material witness, or charge him as a coconspirator. You’re not the only lawyer in this room, young lady.”

“Maybe I failed to mention that every tape was copied three times. Two other moving vans are cutting fairy circles around the Beltway at this moment, one for our friends in the printed press, one for the TV news stations.”

They searched Mia’s face to see if she was bluffing. Not a wrinkle of doubt or uncertainty. She looked quite cool and confident.

“Are you threatening blackmail?”

“Aren’t you? Lawsuits, prison? But let’s not think of it that way.”

“What would you call it?”

“Lawyer talk. I thought we were just discussing alternative scenarios.”

“I know a threat when I hear one.”

“Then call it a polite reminder.”

“Ripping the government off of two billion dollars is anything but polite.”

“Honor the contract, Mr. Rutherford. You’ll get the tapes either way, I promise. My client wants this scam exposed. Fine with us if comes out in dribs and drabs as the story’s fed over the news wire, dissected and discussed by every talking head in TV land.”

Rutherford II paused for a moment, then tried a fresh tack. “Are you aware of the highest amount ever paid to a whistleblower? How unreasonable this is?” he asked.

“One hundred million. Believe me, I’ve studied the act in great detail. Two billion, or we’ll finish this discussion in court.” She waved the contract like a loaded gun.

There was a long pause as Harper and Rutherford unhappily
put two and two together. Jack had not just become Mia’s client; the pair had been in this together from the start. It explained so much, from Mia’s earlier discovery of the report detailing the polymer’s fatal flaw to what was happening here now. She had had many months to think this through, and she had used that edge to sucker them into this deal.

Oh, what they would give if only they could go back ten minutes in time, a do-over.

Suddenly Jack leaned up against Mia and whispered in her ear. She said, “Excuse us a minute,” then they both got up and carried the private conversation to the far corner of the room. All eyes remained on their faces. Mia whispered something at Jack, a hiss more than a whisper. Jack leaned closer and whispered more fervently, and they went back and forth awhile. Their discussion, while quiet, was obviously an intense argument. Eventually, Mia produced a sulky nod, then backed away from Jack. They returned to the table and fell into their chairs.

Mia looked upset for a few seconds, and it required a considerable effort to collect herself. “Oddly enough, Jack agrees two billion is a shocking sum. Too shocking.”

“Thank God somebody’s being reasonable.”

She gave Jack a dirty look, then faced Rutherford II again. “He’ll settle for one billion. Our final offer. A pitiful five percent of what the Capitol Group would’ve stolen were it not for Jack.”

“That’s still ridiculous.”

“Then I’ll see you in court for the full two billion.”

Now it was their turn to whisper. Harper and Rutherford II got up and moved to a different corner, where they murmured back and forth at a furious pace. What are our chances if we refuse to back down and go to court, Harper asked Rutherford, the lawyer. An uncertain shrug—a contract’s a contract, he whispered unhappily. He and Harper both would have to admit incredible stupidity, they’d have to argue that they had no idea what they were signing, a humiliating and feeble assertion coming from the mouths of an experienced lawyer and a senior law enforcement official. Then pray for a cheapskate judge and a long-shot verdict.

Two billion was so far over the top, it could happen.

And what if we concede to one billion, she asked, and they began chewing over that option. Well, at least half that cost would be recouped in the penalties they would impose on CG. They would also sue to claw back the $5.5 billion already paid into CG’s coffers. Clawbacks typically got back only a modest fraction of the total spent, but if these tapes were half as compelling as Mia and Jack claimed, they stood an excellent chance of getting far more; three-quarters wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. A one billion investment that offered a return of possibly four, or even five billion dollars. Considered in that light, it wasn’t a bad deal; in fact, it was a great deal. And when the secretary of defense heard that taped conversation of Bellweather and Walters talking about him, Harper noted, he’d want to hammer them into bankruptcy, or as close as they could get.

For one billion, they’d buy the tapes, they’d buy Jack, they’d buy control of this thing, and they’d get back billions.

Harper didn’t mention the billions in embarrassment they would save. She didn’t need to.

Rutherford II returned to the table. He took off his glasses and spent a moment wiping the lenses on his necktie. “All right,” he finally groaned. “One billion. But you won’t see a penny until we have the tapes and see for ourselves that they’re everything you’ve promised.”

Mia smiled at him.

Jack thanked them.

Graves leaned back in his chair and tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a loud laugh. They were certainly an amazing couple. Mia had warned him only an hour before that he would be shocked by the size of the reward. How much? he had asked.

One billion, she’d predicted.

F
or two weeks, the Capitol Group was the talk of the town and the sole and abiding concern in newsworld. The cable talk shows could squawk about little else. Talk radio went on a rabid tear. Every day, more arrests were made, adding more oxygen to the bonfire that threatened to become an endless flame. Three congressmen and two senators were charged, fifteen staffers also, and nobody believed it would end there. A mood of heavy despair hung over the Capitol building like a thick mist. Four more congressmen and two senators announced they were stepping down at the end of their terms, sparking wide suspicions that they had cut deals to avoid indictments.

The film clips of rich senior executives doing the perp walk replayed endlessly. It was the Feds’ favorite stunt and they indulged it every chance they got.

Bellweather in particular was a big hit, especially on YouTube, where the stream of filthy curses pouring out his mouth weren’t in any way censored.

Mitch Walters wasn’t nearly as popular, logging a comparatively puny seven million hits. Mitch, the tough-guy wannabe, was shaking and blubbering as he tried to hide his face by draping a trench coat over his head.

Mia, on behalf of her client, did as few interviews as possible.
She appeared thoroughly uninterested and came off dry and boring. The newspeople were attracted to her beauty, but it was obvious that TV time didn’t float her boat, like so many in the legal profession. Her answers were brisk and not overly educational, and the news bureaus quickly lost interest.

Jack stayed in seclusion. Mia offered the thin excuse that her client needed to remain out of the limelight for legal reasons. There would be many trials, and Jack needed to avoid any risk of tainting the evidence, she insisted.

The defendants had already hired the most flamboyant legal guns in the country. The big D.C. law firms loved Jack, and adored Mia. Gift horses like them came along once a decade. Business promised to be great for the foreseeable future.

At the end of week three, a major city in California got torched by a raging wildfire. The damage and horrendous tales of suddenly homeless families displaced Capitolgate, as the scandal had inevitably been named by the imagination-deprived press.

Occasional stories continued to crop up—Martie O’Neal’s attempted prison escape and subsequent recapture in a restroom in Richmond, for instance—but the public became bored and the press moved on.

After a three-week orgy, the press grew tired of Capitolgate, too.

They would rest for a while, until the slew of trials began with the promise of more sensationalism.

Mitch Walters was seated at a table at the Cosmos Club, across from Phil Jackson, now his lawyer.

Jackson was one of the lucky few to avoid an indictment, a strong tribute, he was sure, to his own legal ferocity. When the first arrests occurred, he held a rambunctious press conference where he snarled into the cameras and threatened a record-breaking lawsuit if any attempt was made to arrest or indict him. Yes, he was a director of the company, but he also served as legal counsel. Any involvement he had in the polymer fiasco was merely a by-product of that. All his conversations and associations
occurred under that blanket, and were fully protected under the broad, immutable rubric of attorney-client privilege.

Two days later he was hired by Walters to be his legal counsel. He tried to refuse, but Walters offered him a magical incentive—get him off, or Walters would sing and offer enough damning material to ensnare Jackson and ensure him a rope on the gallows beside him. Throwing in some of his own money, Jackson posted bail to get Walters sprung.

They were discussing the case over a lunch of Peking duck, boiled asparagus, and fried wild rice when the couple appeared out of nowhere.

Jack was holding Mia’s hand as they approached the table. “Hi, Mitch, Phil,” Jack said, smiling broadly, as if they had just happened to bump into each other, and wasn’t it a lovely coincidence.

Walters dropped his fork, took one look at them, and felt like throwing up. He thought about landing a punch in Jack’s face, or maybe wrapping his hands around his neck. Knowing Jack, though, there was bound to be a hidden camera nearby. He would only end up with more charges.

“You’re a lousy, lying bastard,” Walters snarled. “You ruined my life.”

“Get lost,” Jack told him with a dismissive wave. “We’re here to talk with Phil.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

Jack looked at Jackson and hooked a finger at the exit. “Tell him to get lost. We need to talk.”

Jackson considered the request for a moment, then said to Walters, “Do as he says.”

Walters stood up, and for a moment he considered telling them all to screw off. Unfortunately, Jackson was his only hope for freedom. He bit down hard on his tongue and stomped off.

Jack and Mia fell into two chairs.

“Are you wired?” Jackson asked Jack in a taunting tone.

“Not today. Should I be?”

Jackson studied their faces and knew with a blinding flash
something he should have recognized from the beginning. Jack and Mia were lovers.

“Isn’t this sweet? How did you two meet?” he asked, dripping sarcasm.

“We met three years ago,” Mia said, surprisingly open. “A company my law firm was representing was being bought by Jack’s firm. After the deal closed, we began dating. We’re in love, Jackson. Doesn’t that melt your heart? For various reasons we decided to keep it quiet and low-key.”

“Why?” Jackson asked.

“Why what? Why you? Why me? Why did we keep it quiet?”

“Start with why you?”

“I have a twin sister, Janet. Born a minute ahead of me, so we always call her my big sister. Like many twins, Janet and I were inseparable until it came time for college. I went to Dickinson, she went to Notre Dame.”

“Nice story. Is there a point to this?”

“Listen and learn something for a change, Jackson. At Notre Dame, Janet fell in love. He was a football player, a big bear of a man who adored her back. He was wonderful, intelligent, incredibly talented, and had so much to live for. Anything he tried he was good at. Senior year, he and Janet couldn’t wait, they were so much in love, and they married.”

“Is there a point to this?” Jackson prodded, totally uninterested in this nice little love story.

“You asked why and I’m telling you. Come graduation, Bill turned down a wonderfully lucrative offer to go to Wall Street and instead chose an Army commission. He stayed in when the war started. He and Janet had two lovely little girls they both adored, big money on Wall Street still beckoned, but Bill didn’t want to run out on his men when they deployed to Iraq. How do you think this story ends, Jackson?”

Jackson had no idea. “Go on.”

“A little over two years ago, Bill was leading a convoy of his troops through an Iraqi village. This was less than two weeks before he was to return to Janet and his little girls. He was riding
in a Humvee, a model that had yet to be uparmored with the latest protection. His battalion had been scheduled to get upgraded models eight months before, but the contractor kept falling behind. The soldiers riding in the death traps complained endlessly, but the contractor cared less. The upgrading program was understaffed, its employees notoriously lazy, the management dreadfully inept. The only thing the contractor accomplished on time were the billings to the Pentagon, after they were stuffed with nonexistent overtime, ghost employees, and as much double billing as it felt it could get away with. Would you care to guess the name of the company?”

“So this is a vendetta?” Jackson asked in a disappointed voice.

“Bill Forrest died horribly, Jackson. He was blown out of his seat. He landed on a dusty street, his legs amputated by the blast, his stomach blown open, and he bled out within minutes. Only two weeks from home, he died in agony, staring at a picture of Janet and the girls.”