by Brad Meltzer
“Don’t say that. Besides, you only took them two hours ago. Maybe they haven’t kicked in yet.”
Ben put on both of his coats and grabbed his briefcase. “Maybe. But for some reason, I doubt it.”
“Don’t let it get you upset,” Lisa said as they left the store. “If you expect to pass the test, you have to focus on being calm.”
Chapter 14
AT TEN A.M. WEDNESDAY, BEN STRETCHED OUT on the deep red office sofa. With his eyes closed, he stroked his favorite polka-dot tie. “How do you feel?” Lisa whispered.
“I’m okay,” Ben said, sitting up and taking a long, deep breath. He looked at his watch. “I guess it’s time.”
“Just stay calm. Think of long walks in the woods, scuba diving—anything that keeps you relaxed.”
“I’m focused,” Ben said, standing up. “I’m a picture of calm. I’m intensely Zen.”
“Good luck,” Lisa said as Ben walked out the door.
Thinking it would be the least traveled route, Ben took the spiral marble staircase to the basement. Slowly, he descended into the heart of the building, counting each step to take his mind off his destination. When he reached the basement, he walked to the Marshals Office and told the receptionist that he had an appointment with Carl Lungen.
“You can go right in. He’s expecting you.”
When Ben entered Lungen’s office, he was hit by the stench of cigars. “Nice to see you, Ben,” Lungen said, leaning back in his leather chair. “Have a seat.”
“I thought this was a smoke-free building,” Ben said, refusing to look Lungen in the eye. “It is a historic monument, you know.”
“Well, you know how it is,” Lungen said, rubbing his beard. He pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”
“No offense, but can we get on with this?” Ben asked. “I have work to do. Besides, cigar smoke gets my blood pressure worked up.”
Lungen got up from his seat and headed for the door. Following him out of the office, Ben was led back to the receptionist’s desk. “I’ll be in the interrogation room if anyone needs me,” Lungen announced. He then led Ben back to the main area of the basement. Walking toward a door marked STORAGE, Lungen pulled a wad of keys from his pocket and opened the door.
The large, windowless, musty room measured about fifty feet in both length and width. The walls were lined with surplus desks, chairs, file cabinets, and other office equipment. Fluorescent bulbs illuminated the dust-filled air. “So I guess this is a storage area for most of the year, and an interrogation room when you need to scare people,” Ben said.
“That’s it,” Lungen said. “You’ve got us all figured out.”
In the center of the room were a wooden desk and three wooden chairs. On the desk was the lie detector machine, which reminded Ben of his office’s laser printer, except with more wires. Dennis Fisk was untangling the large cluster of wires and didn’t look up until they approached the equipment.
“Are we ready yet?” Lungen asked.
“Almost there,” Fisk said. He glanced at Ben with a smirk. “Take a seat, buddy.”
Ben sat down, crossed his legs, and said nothing.
“So tell us what’s been happening with your life,” Lungen said. “How’s your friend Eric?”
“I have no idea,” Ben said. “I haven’t spoken to him in weeks.”
“That’s too bad,” Lungen said, sitting in one of the two chairs behind the desk. Lungen leaned forward, so that his elbows rested on his knees. “But you still live together, don’t you?”
“Not for long,” Ben answered. “He’s moving out the first of the year.”
“I guess he’s moving to a bigger place now that he’s a hot shot at the paper. I saw that he’s covering all Supreme Court stories.”
“He’s moving out because I’m making him move out,” Ben said, struggling to remain composed.
“I know what you mean,” Fisk said, still fidgeting with the wires. “If I were you, I’d definitely be mad that my roommate wrote about my involvement with the whole CMI thing.”
“Listen, you better control your sidekick,” Ben said to Lungen. “If he wants to make an accusation like that, he’d better have proof. Otherwise, I’d be thrilled to slap your office with workplace harassment and defamation suits.”
“Fisk didn’t mean anything,” Lungen said defensively. “We’re all just a little anxious.”
“Well, I told you before and I’ll tell you again, I was as surprised about the CMI fiasco as you were.”
“But you do still admit that you leaked information to Eric about Blake’s resignation?” Lungen asked.
“I definitely did,” Ben said, his voice even-tempered and steady. “And as far as I know, there’s nothing illegal about that. I was just trying to help my friend.”
“So now Eric’s your friend again?” Fisk interrupted.
“No, not at all. The Blake incident took place before Eric wrote the CMI story. In case you’re having trouble with temporal relationships, that means it happened before I was mad at him.” Smiling, Ben watched as Fisk’s jaw shifted slightly off-center. “Now, I know you’re supposed to intimidate me with an hour of questions, but can we get on with this?”
“Hook him up,” Lungen told Fisk.
Fisk rolled up Ben’s sleeve and wrapped a Velcro pad around his arm.
“I thought you needed an expert to administer the test,” Ben said.
“I’m trained to do it,” Fisk shot back.
“Oh, then I know I’m in good hands,” Ben said sarcastically. “Your middle name is Impartial. Dennis Impartia—”
“Shut up.”
When the rest of the instruments were attached, Fisk sat in the empty seat on the other side of the desk. “I want you to take ten deep breaths,” Fisk instructed. “On the tenth, just remain as calm as possible. Then we’ll take your baseline reading.”
Following Fisk’s instructions, Ben took ten deep breaths. When he saw Lungen pull a sheet of notes from his jacket pocket, Ben tried to remain tranquil; closing his eyes, he ignored the image and thought about hang-gliding in the South of France.
When he heard the machine whir with electronic buzzes and beeps, Ben opened his eyes and looked straight ahead. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Lungen writing on the sheet of paper.
Fisk opened one of the drawers in the desk and pulled out a deck of playing cards. “Look over here,” he said to Ben.
So predictable, Ben thought, struggling to remain in control.
“Here’s the thing,” Fisk explained. “I’m going to hold up a card and you’re going to tell me what the card is. If you tell the truth, you’ll see the little pencil on the machine stay still. If you lie, the pencil will scribble a bit wider.”
“Are you sure you’re trained to tell the difference?” Ben asked.
“That’s funny, smart-ass. We’ll see who’s laughing in an hour.”
“Calm down,” Rick said, cradling the telephone between his shoulder and chin.
“I’m serious—I want my money.”
“I told you, you’ll get the rest as soon as I’m sure Ben is out of my hair.”
“How much more out of your hair do you want him? I told you everything he knows, everything he’s doing, everything he’s thinking—”
“And when I complete my transaction, you’ll have your money.”
“I can’t believe how scared you are of Ben. For such a know-it-all, you can be a real coward.”
“It has nothing to do with fear,” Rick said, switching the telephone to his other ear. “It has to do with being realistic. Ben’s too resourceful to be left unchecked.”
“Listen, you can call it anything you want. But take it from me—just because you complete your transaction doesn’t mean Ben is going to give up the trail. If he has to, he’ll be after your ass forever. He’s stubborn like that.”
“You’re definitely right about that,” Rick agreed. “But if Ben can’t find me in Washington, what makes you
think he’ll be able to find me when the search goes global?”
In her office, Lisa stared at the government-issue, over-sized wall clock above the sofa, wondering what was taking so long. She’d already had two cups of coffee and was now on her first cup of tea. The phone rang. Lunging at the receiver, she picked it up before the first ring finished. “This is Lisa,” she said. Listening for a moment, she continued, “No, of course I remember. I’ll have it to you as soon as possible.” Looking back at the clock, she continued, “Ben should be back any second. I’ll make sure he—”
The office door flew open and Ben stepped in. He looked haggard, his face even whiter than his usual winter pale. Staring at the floor, he walked right past Lisa and collapsed on the sofa.
“He just walked in. I’ll speak to you soon,” Lisa said. Hanging up the phone, she raced from her seat. “So what happened?”
“I failed,” he said.
“You failed? Are you kidding me?”
“I absolutely am!” he said, jumping from the sofa. He raised his hands in the air. “I passed with flying colors!”
“That’s fantastic!” Lisa screamed, hugging him as they both jumped up and down.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ben said, breaking their embrace. “I think I’m getting excited. My penis is expanding.”
Laughing, Lisa pulled away. “So tell me what happened. What’d they say? Were they mad?”
“They were so pissed. Fisk was biting his nails so much, I thought he was going to gnaw all the way to his knuckle.”
“How’d you pass? What’d you say?”
“They made me look at all these playing cards,” Ben explained. “And if the card was an ace of spades, and I said it was an ace, the machine just scrolled forward. But then when I lied and said it was a king, nothing different happened. Both Lungen and Fisk were beyond irate. They couldn’t believe it. So they unhooked me and started all over. They asked me about ten minutes of questions without the machine on, and then they hooked me up again. And this time, when they got to the cards part, the machine went nuts when I lied. I think it was because I was so excited about beating the machine the first time around.”
“You must’ve been dying.” Lisa sat on the sofa.
“I was,” Ben said, unable to stand still. “I thought I was going to wet my pants. When Fisk was putting away the cards, I closed my eyes and just thought about G-rated movies. I don’t know how it happened, but I started regaining the calm I had when I walked in there.”
“Do you think it was the pills?”
“It could’ve been,” Ben said. “To be honest, that’s what I was thinking about when I closed my eyes—I just imagined that the pills were working, and I started thinking about the day of my brother’s funeral. With those two thoughts in my head, my body basically shut down.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It was no thrill,” Ben said. “But it did completely calm me. Whenever I need to bring anything in perspective, all I have to do is think about death. Everything else pales in comparison.”
“Whatever works,” Lisa said, leaning on the arm of the sofa. “So what did the marshals ask you?”
“I have to admit, Nathan was right on the money. They asked me if I was over twenty-one years of age, and I had to answer no. When the machine didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, I knew I was home free.”
“Did the marshals say anything?”
“To be honest, I did everything in my power to avoid looking at them. I was worried that if I saw their disappointment, I’d get excited and fail the last part.”
“So then what’d they ask?”
“After my age, they asked me if I smoked. When I said no, the machine didn’t do anything. Then they asked if I had ever done anything I was ashamed of. That’s when I thought about having sex with you. The machine was so silent, I thought they had shut it off.”
“That’s very funny.”
“Then, finally, they asked me whether I knew about the information that was leaked to Eric or whether I knew anything about Eric’s story—to be honest, I’m not exactly sure what they asked. Whatever it was, I tried to zone out of it. Then, when I heard silence, I just answered no. After the third question, when the machine didn’t go crazy, I turned toward the marshals. At that point, I could actually feel the rage seething from Fisk’s little pea-brained head. I asked them if I checked out okay, and Lungen said I was all finished. He thanked me for my time and apologized for the inconvenience.”
“Do you think they knew you were lying?”
“Hold on a second,” Ben said opening the door to their office. “Maybe you can say that a little louder. I don’t think everyone in Maryland was able to hear you.”
“You know what I mean.”
Ben let the door close. “Let’s put it this way: I don’t think for a second that they think I’m completely innocent. But until they find some proof, they really can’t do anything.” Walking to his desk, Ben said, “By the way, who were you talking to when I walked in?”
“Huh?” Lisa asked.
“When I came in, you were on the phone with someone. You said, ‘He just walked in,’ and then you hung up the phone. Who were you talking to?”
“Oh, that was Nancy calling from Hollis’s office. Hollis sent his final version of Grinnell and he wants both of us to do one more read on it. He needs our final copy by Friday. He wants to submit it to the Clerk’s Office by the end of the week so they can announce it this Monday.”
“And that’s all she said?”
“That was it.” Lisa noticed the skeptical expression on Ben’s face. “Don’t give me that bullshit.”
“What bullshit?”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Lisa said, rising from the sofa. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn’t speaking to Rick.”
“Who said you were speaking to Rick?”
“Believe me, I know your suspicious look. I don’t care how well you did with the marshals downstairs, I can always tell when you’re lying.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m not suspicious. If you say it was Nancy, it was Nancy.”
“Well, it was Nancy.”
“Then I believe you,” Ben said.
“It really was!”
“I said I believe you.”
“Ben, I—”
“Listen, if I really thought you were lying, I’d pretend to go to the bathroom and then I’d go up to Nancy to ask her if she called you. I trust you, Lisa. If you say it was her, it was her.”
By late Friday afternoon, Ben had been staring at his computer screen for three consecutive hours. “I can’t believe he hasn’t made a move yet,” he said, rubbing his now bloodshot eyes. “The only way to make money is to buy the property.”
For the eighth time since Wednesday, Lisa reread the final draft of Grinnell. “Maybe Rick never got the Grinnell decision. Maybe he got a different decision.”
“No way,” Ben said. “He definitely got Grinnell. I can feel it.”
“Oh, you can?” Lisa asked, her eyes still glued to the page. “And assuming your supernatural powers are correct, what makes you so sure that Rick’s seller will even report the sale? He may just hand over the deed and run.”
“The seller may do that, but Rick won’t. It’s in Rick’s best interest to report the sale. Otherwise, the seller might be able to renege on the deal. By reporting the property, Rick will guarantee the transaction, and he’s too smart not to do that.”
Intrigued by the logic of Ben’s hypothesis, Lisa put down the decision and turned toward her own computer, which was also logged onto Lexis’s Public Records database. As the two clerks sat mesmerized in front of the property records, their silence was interrupted by the ringing of Ben’s phone.
“Hello. Justice Hollis’s chambers,” Ben answered.
“Hey, is this Ben Addison? The same Ben Addison that worked at Wayne and Portnoy two summers ago?”
Rolling his eyes, Ben recognized the voice of Adrian Al
cott. He forced a congenial tone. “How’re you doing, Adrian? Great to hear your voice.”
“Yours too,” Alcott said. “We haven’t spoken in a while. How’s everything at the Court?”
“Busy, busy, busy,” Ben said, annoyed that his attention was taken from his computer screen.
“So I hear,” Alcott said. “I’ve heard it gets really crazy there as the year comes to a close.”
“Absolutely. They try to get out as many decisions as possible so everyone can enjoy their holidays.”
“Don’t I know it,” Alcott said. “Even here, we try to—”
“Ben, you better take a look at this!” Lisa yelled, pointing to her screen.
Ignoring Alcott’s ramblings, Ben turned back to his screen, where he struggled to find the source of Lisa’s outburst.
“So have you decided on your career plans for next year yet?” Alcott asked. When he didn’t get an answer, he added, “Ben, are you there?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here,” Ben said, scrolling through the list of more than a hundred identifiable owners. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that last part.”
“I just wanted to know if you had decided on your career plans for next year,” Alcott repeated.
“Not yet. I’ve been too busy to think about next week, much less next year.”
“Go to the top of the list!” Lisa called out.
“I totally understand,” Alcott said. “As long as you’re keeping us in mind, that’s all I ask.”
As he scrolled to the top of the alphabetical list, Ben searched for the most recent addition to the register of Grinnell property owners. When he finally saw the newest entry, his heart dropped. He didn’t want to believe his eyes, but there it was at the top of his screen: Addison & Co. “Listen, Adrian, I have to go.”
“Is everything okay?” Alcott asked. Before Alcott finished the question, Ben was gone.
“I don’t believe this,” Ben said, his hands pulling at his hair. “I can’t believe this is happening. I’m completely screwed.”
“Don’t say that,” Lisa said, walking over to calm her co-clerk. “It’s not—”
“Lisa, when this decision comes down on Monday, a company with my last name attached to it is going to make millions because of a decision I worked on. You don’t think that’s something to worry about?”
