by Brad Thor
Owing to the unusually nice weather, there were more people out than she would have expected. Only in California, she thought, could this many people avoid work in the middle of the week. She looked around for Luke, but she didn’t see him, so she continued walking toward the water.
The waves were a decent size and there were dozens of surfers bobbing up and down in the ocean, waiting for the next one to carry them in.
At the water’s edge, she removed her sandals. It felt good to be barefoot. She watched as a nice wave began to form and the surfers paddled hard to catch it. Tilting up her face, she stood for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun.
She had no idea Ralston was standing behind her until he spoke. “Hello, Ali.”
Alisa didn’t turn around. She wasn’t ready yet. She stayed where she was, her face upturned to the sun. “When you close your eyes and listen to the sound of the ocean, it’s hard to imagine there’s anything wrong in the world.”
Ralston let her have a few more seconds of soaking up the sun. The years had been kind to her. Being a mother, a wife, a successful attorney, it all seemed to agree with her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She had long, black hair and green eyes just like Ava and the same long, dark eyelashes. She kept herself in very good shape, but the sex appeal she radiated was different than her sister’s had been. Alisa’s sex appeal came not so much from her looks, but from her self-confidence. “How about a walk?” he finally said.
She nodded and they walked along the water’s edge, away from the pier. Ralston seemed to have trouble deciding what to say, and it was Alisa who broke the silence. “I’m billing you for the new clothes, as well as my travel time.”
Ralston smiled. “Fair enough.”
“You want to tell me what happened?”
He did. He wanted to tell her all of it, but he needed to be careful. “Last night would have been Rachael Salomon’s twenty-first birthday. Rachael was Larry’s daughter.”
“Wasn’t she killed on a trip to Israel or Egypt?”
Ralston nodded. “Israel.”
“Did they ever catch who did it?”
“The Israelis had their suspicions, but no, they never did catch who did it.”
“That must have been very painful for him.”
The irony of the two situations wasn’t lost on him. “Rachael was the Salomons’ only child, and it ended up destroying their marriage. Elizabeth left Larry and moved back to Manhattan.”
“That’s very sad,” said Alisa.
“I don’t think she liked L.A. and the movie business much anyway,” replied Ralston. “But it is sad.”
“As my father says, The truest test of gold is fire.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine. Still practicing law.”
Ralston smiled again. “I know. I see his name in the papers all the time.”
“Without promotion,” Alisa said with a smile as she quoted him again, “something terrible happens … nothing!”
Ralston chuckled. “Your father has always been a smart guy and he makes sure everyone knows it. I remember that joke he told me the first night I came to the house.”
Alisa rolled her eyes. “The whole It takes at least two Jews to outsmart an Armenian?”
“He’s definitely proud of his heritage.”
“My mother’s Jewish and she absolutely hates that joke.”
“I know,” said Ralston. “Ava told me after we left that night. Your mom puts up with a lot, but deep down she loves your father’s big personality.”
The mention of Ava brought a lull to their conversation. A wave broke and washed up onto the beach. Neither of them moved out of its path. The wet sand was heavy and difficult to walk through.
“You know, my parents liked you a lot,” Alisa said.
“I liked them, too.”
“You were the first person that Ava brought home that my dad didn’t complain about as soon as you were out the door. Everybody else tried to impress him. You didn’t. He liked that.”
“He wasn’t crazy about me being older than Ava, though,” said Ralston.
“True, until my mom reminded him that they had the same age difference.”
Even though it was small talk, the conversation was good for both of them. They both needed to heal. As Ava’s older sister, Alisa had felt partly to blame for Ava’s death. That guilt had been projected onto Ralston for not testifying. She needed to stop blaming him for the pain she felt over Ava’s death, and Ralston needed to stop blaming himself. They both needed to let go and to be let go.
“How’s Brent?” Ralston said, changing the subject to Alisa’s husband.
“He’s fine.”
“The kids?”
“They’re good too,” she replied, “but we could have done the whole How’s your family thing over the phone.”
Ralston knew that wasn’t true. They needed to see each other. They needed to acknowledge together that Ava was gone. They needed to close that chapter and, as painful as it was, put it behind them. It was the only way they could move forward. It was the only way that he could be sure that she would help him.
Alisa noticed that Ralston was limping. “Are you okay?” she asked. “What about Larry? Is he okay?”
“We’re both fine,” he replied.
“But you’re limping.”
Ralston waved it off. “My hip acts up from time to time. Don’t worry about it.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story.”
Alisa pointed down the coastline. “It’s a long beach.”
Ralston looked at the ocean and then back at her. As they walked, he told her everything that had happened.
“Why haven’t you called the police?” she asked once he had finished. “No district attorney, no matter how publicity hungry, would bring charges in this case. You need to turn yourselves in.”
“We can’t. Not yet at least. And that’s why I need your help,” said Ralston.
Alisa looked at him. “I don’t understand why you can’t turn yourselves in.”
“Because the men who came to kill Larry were professionals. Whoever hired them not only can afford to send more, he probably will.”
“You know who sent them?”
“We have an idea,” said Ralston.
“Then tell the police. Tell the district attorney. They can help protect you.”
As another wave rolled up onto the sand, Ralston stopped and turned to look at her. “The men who came to kill Larry were Russian Special Forces—Spetsnaz. I don’t need to tell you how influential the Russians are in Los Angeles.”
No, he didn’t need to tell her. There was a large Russian community in L.A., and a part of it was composed of Russian Armenians. Because of her father’s heritage, he’d attracted a lot of their business. His reputation as the toughest criminal defense attorney in Los Angeles attracted the rest of the Russians, especially many of the most colorful and less than virtuous.
“You don’t think the police can protect you, do you?” she said.
“I know they can’t. There are just too many foxes in the henhouse.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Ralston didn’t need to think about his answer. “For starters, I’m going to find out who sent that team to kill Larry.”
“And let me guess,” she said. “That’s where I come in.”
Ralston nodded. “Those three hitters inside Larry’s house were fresh off the boat. Somebody local had to set it all up. They needed to be met at the airport, given their weapons, driven to Salomon’s. That’s the way these things normally work.”
“What do you want me to do?” she asked. “Take out an ad in the Russian Kurier newspaper?”
“I’d like you to talk to your father. I’m guessing that there’s only a handful of people in L.A. who could have put this together. Most likely, it’s someone who worked for the Russian FSB or its predecessor, the KGB.”
“Hold it,
” said Alisa. “That my dad has represented some unsavory people from that community doesn’t mean he knows who to go to for contract killings.”
“I’m not saying he does,” replied Ralston. “What I need is for you to ask him. He knows enough people. One of them is going to know who could have put something like this together.”
“And what happens when word gets back to this person that my father is asking questions? What’s to say they’re not going to come after him? Or my mother?”
Ralston tried to set her mind at ease. “Your father’s well-respected in that community. Nothing is going to happen to him and nothing is going to happen to your mom.”
“I’m glad you’re so confident.”
“Ali, your dad’s a smart guy. We both know that. He knows how to ask questions without getting himself in trouble. There are probably a hundred people who can tell him what I need to know, and very likely, they all owe your dad a favor. I’m just asking for him to cash one in for me.”
“And why would he want to do that?” she asked.
Ralston looked at her. The attraction he’d never acted upon, but had always felt slightly guilty about while dating Ava, was still there. He tried to put it out of his mind. He knew she had felt it, and fought it, as well. That was the reason she hadn’t hung up on him when he called. It was why she was standing here on the beach with him now. It was why she wanted to help him. She just needed a reason to, something other than the feelings she’d always harbored for her sister’s boyfriend.
“Your father won’t need a reason,” said Ralston. “And he won’t ask you for one. I was good to Ava. He knows that. I tried to help her. That’s all that should matter.”
“And if he says no?”
“He won’t,” replied Ralston.
“You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” said Alisa.
“No. What I’m sure of, is you. You won’t let him say no.”
Before she could respond, he removed a small piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “Memorize this and then burn it.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s an email account I want you to use, so we can communicate. The instructions are there. I’ve left a signed agreement in the draft folder retaining you as my attorney. I’ve also left a letter clearly stating that you have directed me to turn myself in to the police and that I intend to do so once Larry’s safety can be guaranteed,” he replied.
“What about your safety?”
Ralston closed her hand over the piece of paper and let his hand linger atop hers. “I can take care of myself.”
Alisa thought about drawing her hand back, but didn’t. “Why won’t you tell me who’s behind all of this?”
“I can’t,” he said as he let go of her hand. “Not yet. Please just talk to your father for me.”
With that, he turned and walked away. Alisa watched him go, her mind filled with questions about what kind of trouble he was in as well as what kind of person would send a Russian hit team after one of the most popular producers in Hollywood.
CHAPTER 32
NEW YORK CITY
“Do you always travel with security?” Julia Winston asked as she took another sip of the 1992 DRC Montrachet that James Standing had ordered.
They were sitting at a corner table in New York’s famed Le Bernardin restaurant. The billionaire’s protective detail occupied two additional tables a respectable distance away.
“Unfortunately, the world can be a dangerous place,” he replied, lowering his glass back to the table.
The reporter still had many more questions she wanted to ask him and she wasted no time. Picking up her pad and pencil, she said, “That’s a perfect place for us to pick back up. Let’s talk about the world as you see it, or more precisely how you’d like to see it.”
“I’d like to see us all get along.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, we’re all citizens of the world. What happens in one nation can affect another and because of that, we need a better collaborative decision-making process. It must be something that allows for more intelligent decisions to be made and for those decisions to be made faster, with less bickering and foot-dragging. We share a planet where a volcano that erupts in Iceland can disrupt flights in Europe. An earthquake and tsunami that sweep Japan can destroy nuclear reactors, causing radiation to drift across the Pacific to the U.S. These are all things of collective interest and affect more than just one nation, agreed?”
Julia nodded.
“Where these items of collective interest exist, where multiple nations have skin in the game, as it were, it is my opinion that the only way to get the right things done is by subordinating state sovereignty in favor of international law.”
“And for international organizations as well?”
Standing smiled. “Yes, in fact I just came from a reception at the U.N. You see, it’s all about clarity of purpose. If we can come together with a shared set of values and a shared sense of purpose, we can make the world a much better place.
“Let’s take economics, for instance, a subject I know you and I are both interested in. We cannot continue the failed economic policies of the last thirty years. Our planet is dying and we have more people than ever before in poverty. The only way to bring about reform is for the pendulum to swing from the market toward the state.”
Julia looked up from her pad. “But hasn’t the free market actually lifted hundreds of millions of people out of poverty?”
Standing shook his head. “The capitalistic system is morally bankrupt.”
“What about India and China? Average incomes there have skyrocketed over the last thirty years.”
“I’m glad you mentioned China. China is a perfect example of what state-run capitalism can achieve. It proves that capitalism doesn’t require democracy. In fact, it operates better without it. And as far as India is concerned, it is home to a third of the poorest people on the planet. I’d think twice about using India as an example of the benefits of capitalism.”
“So we should ignore that the 1980s and 1990s, often known as the new golden age of capitalism, saw the proportion of the world’s population living on a dollar a day or less drop so dramatically that it was enough to offset rising populations in developing countries?” she asked.
“Not at all,” replied Standing. “Life has, in fact, gotten better for people around the world. That is thanks to globalization. But quality of life is nowhere near as good as it should be. The planet is possessed of abundant resources and wealth, yet—”
“Yet you think that wealth should be spread around, correct?”
“I think that if it is in our power to make the lives of our fellow human beings better, we should do everything we can to make that happen.”
“Would that include transferring America’s wealth, let’s say, to citizens in poorer nations?”
Standing laughed. “What wealth? America is bankrupt. In fact, if we had a global reset, America would be much better off.”
“Better off how?”
He thought about it for a moment and then said, “This is oversimplifying it, but picture a homeowners’ association somewhere in America. Let’s say there are fifty homes. The spectrum of the owners’ indebtedness will run from no debt and healthy bank balances to one, maybe two families who are hanging on by their fingernails, not sure how they’ll afford their next bag of groceries, much less their next mortgage payment.”
Julia looked at him. “You’re saying the family who has worked hard, paid off their mortgage, and has saved their money should bail out the family who can’t afford their house, much less groceries?”
“It’s not that simple,” cautioned Standing. “What happens if the poor family defaults on their mortgage?”
“Why don’t we examine why they can’t afford their house and groceries? Did they bite off more than they could chew?”
“Who knows? Maybe Mom and Dad just had a run of bad luck. Maybe they both
got laid off. That these people have financial problems doesn’t mean they deserve them.”
“I’m not saying they do, but—”
“Answer my question,” said Standing. “What happens if this family goes under and defaults on their mortgage?”
“I assume they’ll be foreclosed on and eventually evicted.”
“Correct,” replied Standing. “And what happens to the house, then?”
“It goes on the market.”
“At what price?”
“At whatever the market will bear,” said Julia. “That’s the way markets work.”
“Not in this case. You see, the bank doesn’t just have one house, it has thousands; hundreds of thousands. It doesn’t want to be in the home ownership business, it wants to be in the money-lending business. Its motivation is not to hang around and wait for the free market system to work. It wants to dump that house as quickly as possible, and to do that, it’s going to dramatically mark down the price. What would that do to the values of the other properties in the homeowners’ association?”
“It would effectively lower them.”
“Which means, through no fault of your own, the equity in your home has been diminished. So, what would make more sense? Losing your equity? Or everyone chipping in together to make sure everyone succeeds?”
The woman looked at him. “You’re offering a false choice.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Of course you are, Mr. Standing. If I have worked hard, saved my money, and paid off my mortgage, I shouldn’t have to bail out another homeowner.”
“Not even if they have fallen on hard times?” he asked. “Imagine if you were in their shoes.”
“I have no doubt that it would be terrible, but it isn’t the government’s job to take money from one group and give it to another.”
Standing smiled again. “Really? What do you call taxes, then?”
“I disagree with a lot of how the U.S. government spends my money, but we’re not talking about taxes.”
