The Successor (19 page)

“Why would the president’s people want to screw with me right now?”

“It’s not government people I’m worried about. Not
U.S.
government people anyway.”

Christian had gone ahead and given Quentin the full download on his meeting with President Wood at Camp David. Done it this afternoon when Quentin had gotten word about passing his background check. And it had been a big relief to do it. What had happened on the way back from Camp David had shaken him. He hadn’t let on to Quentin, but it had. That Maryland troopers had speculated that the incident might have to do with him and not Beth had gotten him thinking. “What are you saying? You mean—”

“Yeah, I mean Cubans,” Quentin interrupted. “I’m worried because that file you got from Kelly has so much sensitive information in it. And from what you told me, you haven’t committed to help President Wood yet. If you got that file, the Cubans might have it, too. Doesn’t sound like Dex Kelly’s running a real tight ship.”

“I doubt anyone else got it.”

“Why not?”

Christian shrugged. He really had no idea how good—or bad—Wood’s people were. He didn’t even know if Dex Kelly was Secret Service, CIA, or something else, and he sure didn’t have any idea how experienced the guy was.

“One thing I can tell you is that the first meeting won’t be in Miami,” Quentin said quickly. “Not now that it’s been in a memo like that. Really, anyone could have gotten their hands on it.”

Christian smiled. He knew Quentin so well.

“Look, this is a dangerous thing you’re getting into,” Quentin continued. “Personally, I recommend that you
not
get into it. I recommend that you get yourself
as far away
from it as fast as you can and stick to things you have experience with, like running Everest Capital. Make me and the other partners more money, like the forty million bucks I just made off Laurel Energy.” He hesitated. “Seriously, you have no idea how the Cubans might go, what they might do to you if they figure out you’re involved. They’ve got to be paranoid as hell, got to try as hard as they can to infiltrate every administration as fast as they can because they know every U.S. president, Republican or Democrat, is out to get them. The island’s too full of politics. Just like China hates us being close to Japan, we’d have a psychological meltdown if we thought China and Cuba were getting to be buddies. Especially now that we’ve had fifteen years of the Soviet Union out of there. We’ve gotten used to feeling that there’s no threat from Cuba.” Quentin coasted to a stop at a red light at Canal Street. “I don’t give a damn about the money, Chris,” he said, his voice turning somber, “you know that. About forty million or four
hundred
million. I care about you. This is dangerous.”

“I’ll be careful,
believe
me.”

“That won’t be enough, believe
me,
” Quentin said, accelerating through the intersection when the light turned green.

“I can handle myself.”

“Said like a true babe in the woods.”

“You’ve seen me in a fight. You’ve seen what I can—”

“These people won’t be out just to kill you, Chris, these people will be out for information. If they catch you, they’ll want to know who you’re working with, and they won’t stop until they find out. Killing you will be an afterthought, something the low man on the team does. A bullet to the head and an unmarked grave in a rain forest somewhere in Cuba where no one will
ever
find your body.
Do you understand what I mean? I’m talking about torture.
”

Christian glanced up. They were through TriBeCa now, almost down to the financial district, just passing the Woolworth Building. Maybe he was still harboring some resentment toward Jesse Wood for passing him over as vice president—as Quentin had suggested when they were down in Maryland. For getting his hopes up so high when Wood had asked him to take the job, then having them dashed when Wood changed his mind. Especially because he really had saved Wood’s ass. Maybe he was out to prove to Jesse Wood that he’d made the wrong choice, that he should have chosen Christian as his VP. Maybe that was part of what this was about after all.

“You think I’m just trying to show Jesse he was wrong to drop me? You think that’s what this is all about?”

Quentin was checking street signs. “Maybe.”

“It’s up on the left across from the Trinity Church,” Christian said. It hadn’t occurred to him that Quentin wouldn’t know exactly where Wall Street was. Everest’s offices were in Midtown, so Quentin rarely came down here. But it was second nature for Christian. He’d started his career at Goldman Sachs, which was on Broad Street right off Wall and down from the Stock Exchange. “You can’t miss it.”

“I know where it is,” Quentin shot back.

Christian grinned. “
Suuure
you do.”

“Yeah, I think that’s
exactly
what this is all about. Absolutely you’re out to prove something to Jesse. Just like you were out to prove something to yourself tonight by going out with Beth. You were out to prove that a girl who’s barely out of training bras could find you attractive. That you’re still attractive to younger women. And you’re out to prove to Jesse that he made a mistake.”

“Bullshit. To both.”

“Don’t ‘bullshit’ me, pal. You know it’s true.” Quentin spotted Trinity Church on the right, then the parking garage beyond it in the next block.

Maybe Quentin was right about proving something to Jesse, though Christian would never admit it. But there was that other, more important reason driving him to take the huge risk. He wanted to be part of something, something big. Selling Laurel Energy for all that money wasn’t enough anymore, just more dollar signs in an account. He wanted more, wanted to satisfy that hunger. Of course, that was the problem—he always wanted more. Had since he was a kid. In this case, to have an impact on history. He shut his eyes, careful not to let Quentin see his frustration. Getting older was turning out to be a real bitch. “You want to know the real reason I’m not worried?”

Quentin looked over. “Why?”

“Because you’ll be there every step of the way. You’ll have approval over everything I do. I’ll tell Dex Kelly that tonight. If he doesn’t like it, then I’m gone. I won’t be part of this. I trust you that much.”

Quentin reached over and patted Christian on the shoulder. “You should, too.”

“I know.”

“Promise me you’ll really say that to Kelly.”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. That makes me feel better.”

“I knew it would.”

Quentin pulled into the all-night garage and tossed the attendant the keys as they both climbed out of the car. “We won’t be long,” he said to the guy, “an hour tops.”

Outside the garage Christian took off ahead of Quentin, heading up Broadway until he reached Wall Street, then turning right onto the narrow little lane. Christian had always enjoyed bringing friends from out of town down here when he worked at Goldman Sachs—before going to Everest Capital—because they were always so surprised when they saw it. They assumed Wall Street was a massive avenue, like Park or Fifth, but actually it was barely wide enough for a car to pass a delivery truck parked at the curb.

He headed east toward the Stock Exchange, then crossed over to the north side of Wall Street, taking a left at Federal Hall and moving up the darkened side street. Halfway up the block he spotted a solitary figure in the shadows, leaning against the building. It was a chilly night for late spring and the figure was wearing a long trench coat. As Christian neared the man, he saw that it was indeed Dex Kelly.

“Hello, Christian.” Kelly held out his hand as they came together. “Thanks for meeting me all the way down here. It was easier for us to make sure it was clear down here than in Midtown. Almost no one down here after around ten o’clock at night.”

Christian glanced around, looking for any others who might be with Kelly, but he didn’t see anyone. “No problem.”

“We can’t talk on the phone about anything important after this.” Kelly spoke brusquely, and Christian detected a slight New England accent. “Got it?”

“I got it.”

“You look at that file we gave you in Maryland?” Kelly asked, checking up and down the darkened street.

It was funny how the brain worked, Christian thought to himself. His mind had been in a completely different place because something strange had just struck him out of the blue. He’d been thinking about Beth’s response to the waiter’s request to see her ID. How she’d explained that it was in her other purse at the apartment where she was staying. A reasonable explanation because usually women did use a different purse from their everyday bag for a nice dinner. A reasonable explanation except that Beth had come straight from the train station, small rolling suitcase in tow. He’d checked it for her himself with the owner’s daughter. “Yeah, I looked at it.”

Kelly gritted his teeth. “There was a lot of information in there.”

“I noticed.”

“Information that shouldn’t have been in there, and I’ll take accountability for that.”

“So what happened?”

“We had a miscommunication internally. We thought you were already committed. Sometimes President Wood gets ahead of himself.”

It was Christian’s turn to glance down the street. Quentin was down there somewhere. “I
am
committed. You can tell President Wood that. A hundred percent.” He thought he noticed a subtle slump of Kelly’s shoulders and a quick smile cross the older man’s face through the darkness.

“Good man. Good to have you aboard. The chief executive says you can be trusted.”

When they’d met at Camp David, Kelly had referred to President Wood as the “chief executive” then, too.

“And that’s good enough for me,” Kelly went on. “When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you realize that sometimes the only thing you can do is trust people, most importantly yourself, your own instincts. You can try to confirm, try to do all that fancy due-diligence stuff. But when it really comes down to it, you have to trust your gut. What you see in the other guy’s expression.”

“What business is it exactly that you’re in?” Christian asked.

“You
know
what business I’m in, Mr. Gillette. Don’t play me, young man. What you meant to ask was, what
branch
of the business am I in? Right?”

“Okay.”

“I’m not going to tell you, but I will tell you this.” Kelly stuck a finger in Christian’s face. “I know you have experience with the intelligence cells of the United States government. I know this because I’ve been through the background check that was done on you during the time the chief executive was thinking about making you his vice president. That background check makes it clear that you knew that a couple of the Everest portfolio companies have been and still are being used by the CIA and the DIA.” Kelly chuckled. “And by one group you
don’t
know about.” Kelly leaned in close. “I’ll tell you this, too, just to give you a little hint on who I run with. I knew well before I went through that background check of your familiarity with the U.S. intelligence operations. Maybe nanotechnology rings a bell?”

Christian froze. He’d already paid the price for messing with that nest of vipers once. Didn’t want to pay it again because this time the price might turn out to be a lot higher.

“But don’t worry, son, I don’t care about that. The people you screwed were scum. I was glad you outted ’em. Point is, don’t underestimate me. You got that?”

Christian hesitated for a moment before answering, “Yeah.”

“Good. Now, I’m going to need you back down in Washington early next week. Actually, just outside it. As the chief executive made clear, we need to move quickly. Can you be there? I need your total commitment.”

“I’ll be there,” Christian agreed, suddenly understanding that this was getting real as Quentin’s warning in the car on the way down here played in his head over and over. About the danger involved, specifically the possibility of torture if he was ever caught. “Don’t worry.”

“Good, we’ll communicate by code from now on.” Kelly reached into his pocket and produced a laminated card with tiny writing on both sides. “These are phrases we’ll use by phone and e-mail. Beside each phrase is its real meaning.
Do not lose this. Do not let it out of your sight. Sleep with it under your pillow.
Do you understand me?”

“I understand.” Christian took the card and slipped it into his pocket.

Kelly grabbed Christian’s arm. “But if you do lose it, let me know right away. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“E-mails will come to you from your portfolio company in Minneapolis. The sender will be a JRCook. Got it?”

“JRCook,” Christian repeated, suddenly feeling a chill. It was getting very real very fast.

“All right,” Kelly said, taking on a less authoritative tone, as if he were finished with the important stuff. “It’ll probably be Tuesday and Wednesday next week when we’ll need you.”

“Yeah, sure. One more thing.” Christian knew this was going to piss Kelly off.

“What?” Kelly growled.

“I told the president this when I saw him, but you need to hear it from me, too. Just in case President Wood forgot to say something.”

“What’s that?”

“One of my partners at Everest is a man named Quentin Stiles.”

“Yeah, yeah. The guy we just finished the background check on.” Kelly waved. “But I knew about him way before that.”

Which didn’t surprise Christian. Quentin had a hell of a reputation inside the government even though he’d been out of it for a few years. Of course a senior guy like Kelly would still remember him. “Quentin’s going to be advising me on this. He’ll know every detail of what’s going on. I won’t do anything unless he approves.” Even in the dim light, Christian could see Kelly’s face twisting in irritation. “I’m absolutely serious about this.”

“That’s impossible. I can’t agree to—”

“Then you don’t get me. And you can tell President Wood that.”

Kelly’s eyes flashed. “Is that file I gave you in a safe place?” he snapped.

JIM MARSHALL
moved confidently past the guard desk in the lobby of the Everest building. It wasn’t unusual for Everest employees—even managing partners—to come and go at late hours, so the two guards simply nodded and waved him toward the elevators without making him sign in, recognizing him, unaware that Christian had put him on paid leave. Marshall pushed the button for the elevator, giving them a quick nod as the doors opened and he entered the car. Then he took out the woman’s magnetic card—he assumed she was still back at the hotel, passed out—and swiped it through the slot, now able to access the Everest main floor. The card was the other reason the guards hadn’t made him sign in. Using it left a recognizable set of fingerprints that Christian could check—which he probably did every morning. The prick, Marshall thought to himself. Probably had a detailed report sent to him by the building’s property manager just so he could see who was working late, whose fingerprints showed up. Marshall chuckled as the car rose. The good thing was,
his
fingerprints wouldn’t be on there.