by Allan Topol
She bit down on her lip. "It's all so damn frustrating." She squeezed her fingers together, breaking the plastic spoon in two. The ice cream that had tasted so good a few minutes ago was curdling in her stomach. "We've run our campaign on the high road, concentrating on the issues, presenting a program for change and improvement for the American people. Now that we're winning, this is how Webster and McDermott respond."
"Did you really expect anything else?"
"I suppose not, but still I won't get into the gutter with them and start slinging mud."
"I'm not telling you how to run your campaign. So far you're doing better than I ever imagined."
She hesitated for a second. Then she gulped hard and asked, "Will your paper publish tomorrow what you told me about the rumors in Napa?"
Cooper waved off the idea. "We don't have enough for a story. Not yet, anyway. I don't think it would be responsible journalism to publish what we have now. Fortunately, as the head of the Washington bureau, I get a veto on a story like this."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll let you know if I hear anything else."
"Thanks, Coop. You're a real friend. Anytime, day or night, get to me."
Chapter 3
Closeted alone in his office, Cady read every document in the brown envelope four times. If they were all accurate, there would be a powerful case against Senator Boyd.
In any other situation, he'd set off with zeal on the investigation, but he was still bothered by the way in which the materials had arrived in his office and Doerr's immediately backing off. He needed a sanity check before he fell into a trap. He'd consult with his longtime mentor before taking the next step.
He checked his watch before calling. By this hour of the afternoon, he expected the Chief to be working at home.
Betty answered the phone.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said.
"C. J. Cady! We haven't seen you in ages, since our party in June. You should be ashamed of yourself, neglecting your old friends like that."
Her words made Cady feel guilty. In the past he had visited Betty and her husband, Chief Justice Gerhard Hall, every couple of months. Since the summer, he had been swamped. Now he was calling when he needed something.
"Well, you're forgiven anyhow," she said. "I know how busy all of you boys are. Let me find Gary for you."
While waiting for Hall to come to the phone, Cady thought about his wonderful relationship with the chief justice over the last sixteen years. It began when Hall had hired Cady to be one of his four law clerks, working in the chambers of the chief justice in the Supreme Court building. Cady was one year out of Yale law school at the time and clerking on the D.C. circuit. The year he spent working for "the Chief," as Hall was affectionately called by his clerks, was the most enjoyable and stimulating of Cady's life. Since then he had maintained a close relationship with the jurist.
The Chief came on. "Cady, what a pleasure to hear from you. How have you been?"
"Pretty well, sir. I have to apologize for disturbing you at home, but I'd very much like to see you today, if I may."
"You sound so serious."
"I'm afraid I am."
"Come on over as soon as you can."
* * *
The Chief lived in a rambling old house on Garfield Street in Cleveland Park. He had occupied the same house ever since he arrived from Cincinnati more than twenty years earlier to take his position on the Supreme Court. He and Betty were childless, but his law clerks provided a constant source of young visitors.
Betty answered the door, dressed in a pale green woolen dress. She took him to the Chief's second-floor study and then departed. Seeing the Chief hunched over a brief on his desk, Cady was struck by the pallor of his face.
"Ah, Cady," the older man said, looking up from the brief. He pulled a thick pair of reading glasses from his face and dropped them on the desk. Then he rose and greeted Cady with a handshake. "You must feel good about the verdict in the Kuznov case."
"I do. Were you surprised?"
"Pleasantly. It only takes one juror to hold out with a reasonable doubt, and from the press coverage, your key witness..."
"Olga."
"Yeah, Olga seemed shaky, to say the least. Well, anyhow, you did the country a service. Maybe INS will deport some of Kuznov's buddies with him. We don't need them here."
Cady felt some of his tension ease away. "I can't tell you how happy I am to hear you say that. Your opinion means a great deal to me. Already I'm glad I came."
"But that's not why you're here."
"Unfortunately not."
"Okay, fire away."
Feeling the Chief's penetrating gaze on him, Cady took a moment to gather his thoughts. "When I got back to my office last evening after the verdict, there was a package on my desk. A brown envelope with my name on it. Nothing else."
"Who delivered it?"
"That's part of the problem. I don't know. But whoever it was, they tricked my secretary into believing there was a medical emergency with her granddaughter." He paused and ran his hands through his hair. "What a scum. Once she was gone, they left the package. I was in the courtroom at the time. Margaret always locks the door when she leaves, so they must have had a key to get in."
"What was in the envelope?"
Cady wasn't sure he wanted to go on. "I know it's not right for us to be having this discussion. I don't want to cause you any problems."
The Chief smiled. "I'm past the point that you could cause me any problems."
It was an odd comment, Cady thought, but he let it drop.
The Chief repeated, "What was in the envelope?"
"Bottom line, an anonymous tip that Senator Boyd violated the law relating to campaign contributions when he first ran for Congress. With supporting materials."
The Chief let out a long, low whistle. He began tapping his fingers lightly on the desk. "What's your instinct tell you? Is the tip serious, or is this just a fabrication to blow smoke and affect the election next month?"
"My gut tells me the charges could be real."
"Did you talk to Jim Doerr about it?"
Cady nodded. "Recognizing his responsibility as U.S. attorney, he ducked and told me it was my problem to deal with."
The Chief raised his eyebrows. "Jim didn't want to get into it at all?"
"You've got it."
Hall resumed the tapping of his fingers on the desk. "Who has a key to your office?"
Cady dismissed that lead. "They're everywhere around the building."
"Okay, let's look at this another way. Why would somebody do this now?"
"Because they want Boyd out of the campaign."
"In that case, why not simply leak it to the press?"
Cady pondered the question. "They think it'll be more effective if I confirm the facts."
"Suppose you don't act. Just trash the envelope?"
"They still have the option of going to the press."
"You think McDermott's responsible, or someone else who's working on Webster's campaign?"
Cady nodded. "That's the first thought that crossed my mind. What about you? What do you think?"
"I'm not sure. My gut tells me it's more complex than just an election dirty trick."
"So what should I do?"
The Chief thought about Cady's quandary for a minute. Finally he said, "I think that you should do whatever you would do if this letter concerned another high-ranking official who wasn't a presidential candidate. Make sure you keep careful notes and records of what you're doing and why."
"Should I go to Hugh McDermott?"
"Not now. Keep Doerr informed and let him make that call. By rights, McDermott shouldn't get involved. I'm afraid that our attorney general has the ethical standards of a bootlegger in Prohibition. Besides, since there's a chance he might be responsible, or somebody working under him, you shouldn't go to him until you have to."
"I've got the press to worry about as well."
"Do what you
can, but don't worry about the press. They are going to pick it up sooner or later. Nothing's safe from them these days. Not even the conferences among justices on the Court."
* * *
Hugh McDermott was distraught. At seven o'clock in the evening, the attorney general was in his office. His gold cuff links with the presidential seal were off, his sleeves rolled up. His vest was unbuttoned to release his protruding gut, his glasses on his forehead and his Church's shoes on his desk. He kept examining every presidential poll he could get his hands on. All of the results pointed to the same conclusion: Webster had lost the lead.
But how the hell had that happened?
When the telephone rang, McDermott waited for one of the secretaries to answer. Then he remembered they had both gone home. He picked up his regular black phone, but the ringing continued.
In a rush, McDermott grabbed for the red one, of which he was fond of telling people, "Only the president has the number. Not even my wife."
That was only partially true. One other person had the number as well. Since Webster was occupied in a state dinner this evening with the president of somewhere or other, it had to be her.
"I'm sorry to bother you at the office," Gina said in her sensuous, melodious voice.
McDermott was alarmed. He had told her never to call on this phone unless it was an emergency. "It's not a bother when you call, honey."
"I know you're so busy." She sounded apologetic. "Something happened this morning. I didn't want to call, but it's been bothering me all day, you know, and so I hope you won't be angry."
McDermott took a deep breath. "I could never be angry at you." She was obviously frightened, and he wanted to reassure her. "You can tell me what happened."
"Well, I went shopping in Sarasota this morning. I was out walking, pushing little Jimmy in his stroller, on the road that runs along the water toward Longboat Key. You know?"
"Yeah." He was anxious for her to get to the point. "And what happened?"
"A car pulled over and this guy jumped out on the passenger side with a camera. He took a couple of pictures of me and the baby. Then he got back in and drove away."
McDermott could feel moisture forming under his arms and soaking his shirt. Jesus, not this. Not now. He tried to sound calm. "Did you happen to get a license plate number?"
"No, but it was a large black car, like a Cadillac or a Lexus. Like that."
Which certainly narrows the field, McDermott thought.
"It scared me half to death," she said. "So why were they doing that, Hugh?"
He knew damn well why they were doing it. Someone would show him those pictures when they tried to blackmail him. "You wouldn't like the world to know you had a second family, would you?" they would say. Oh, shit. Why did this have to happen? Why now?
Still, his immediate objective was to settle Gina down. "Well, after all, you are a former Miss Florida, honey. My guess is that you looked so good that some tourist stopped to take your picture. He figured it was cheaper than buying a magazine with good-looking, sexy women."
She purred. "Do you really think so?"
"I'm sure of it. What were you wearing?"
"My little white shorts and that pink halter top you bought for me when you were down here last weekend. You know."
"You mean the one in which those gorgeous boobs of yours are practically jumping out?"
She giggled.
He could feel himself getting hard just talking to her this way. "See what I mean?"
"Yeah, I guess you're right. I never like to press you, but when can you come back again?"
McDermott looked at his calendar. "The president has a Florida campaign stop in about ten days. I'll break away at least for an overnight. How's that, honey?"
"I'll be there waiting for you."
"Are you okay on money?"
"Oh, yeah, thanks. I got your check yesterday."
"Good. I'll talk to you in a couple of days."
Hanging up the phone, McDermott suddenly had a great desire to urinate. He raced into the private bathroom off his office. When he was finished, he clutched his penis in his hand. Dammit, he thought, this is what got me into all of this trouble. This little piece of flesh between my legs that loses thirty years and stands at attention every time I get remotely close to Gina. I should have found a way to keep it under control. He sighed. Well, it's too late for that now.
Back at his desk he stared at the black phone, waiting for it to ring.
* * *
From a corner booth in the Szechuan, in Washington's Chinatown, Cady watched Paul Moore climb the tattered red-carpeted stairs to the restaurant's second-floor dining room. Moore was a short, chunky African-American whose body seemed too large for his head. Cady smiled, thinking about the defense attorneys who had been lulled into a false feeling of security by Paul's physique, only to have him lower the boom on their clients with his razor-sharp mind.
Cady stood up to greet him. "Thanks a lot for agreeing to meet me on such short notice."
"You hit me on the right night. Linda's down in Raleigh playing nurse to her mother. Your offer to buy me a Chinese dinner beat the frozen meat loaf I was planning to zap in the microwave."
A waiter was standing nearby with two menus.
Moore said, "Order for us, C.J. When we did that insider-trading case together last year, the one thing I learned was to let you order the meals."
Cady laughed. "I'm particularly good at Chinese dishes. It's that year I spent in San Francisco. I tried as many of them as I could."
When the waiter departed, Moore gave Cady a wry look. "There are no free meals in life. I bet I'm going to have to earn my dinner by coughing up info about something or other."
"Give that man a Kewpie doll."
"What's on your mind?"
"Abdul Azziz. Remember him?"
"Ugh. How could I forget? A complete scoundrel. He'd be a serious candidate for the worst white-collar felon in all of California. At first I wondered if he was malevolent or just stupid. Later I realized that his stupidity was all an act. He was very clever and venal."
"I saw the judge's sentencing order. I was surprised to see that you appeared in court yourself."
"About six years ago, if I remember right."
Cady nodded.
"It was one of the first cases that came across my desk as director of enforcement at the SEC. Abdul Azziz had state department and White House clout. I decided I'd better handle it myself, rather than one of my staff attorneys."
Dim sum and two bottles of Chinese beer arrived. Cady poured some in a glass, took a long sip, and picked up his chopsticks. "What'd you finally get Azziz for?"
"Failure to disclose facts related to liabilities when he issued stock in a Texas oil-drilling company."
"That sounds like a garden-variety Securities Act violation."
"It was. What made it special was the elaborate mechanism of intermediate companies he set up to siphon off cash from the stock issue and put it in his pocket."
"You got eleven-point-two million in a criminal penalty and a suspended sentence. That sounds like a pretty good hit."
Moore was concentrating on getting a dumpling to stay between his chopsticks. "Hardly. Azziz is loaded with gulf oil money. He's hooked into the sultan of Oman somehow." Finally he speared it and popped it into his mouth. "I actually fought against the sentence. I wanted him to do time or be deported because he wasn't a citizen."
"The judge wouldn't buy it?"
"Unfortunately, it didn't get that far. Azziz used a friend at the state department to put in a word at the White House."
"Well, isn't that nice?" Cady felt anger rising in his body. "Didn't that send you into orbit?"
Moore shrugged his shoulders. "After seven years at the SEC, I'm used to shit like that If it bothered me, I'd have quit long ago. It's part of the system."
"Who was Azziz using for a lawyer?"
"Joe Hughes at Hughes and Baker in L.A."
"Was he good
?"
"Very." Moore gave him a curious look. "But why the sudden interest in Azziz? What did he do now?"
"It's nothing recent. It's another old story that's just come to light."
"Another securities scheme?"
"Election fraud this time."
"Nothing about Azziz would surprise me. What did he do?"
Cady hesitated just an instant while he moved around some watercress with his chopsticks.
Moore was smart enough to pick it up. "If you feel uncomfortable talking about it, then please don't."
Cady laughed. "God, I'm getting paranoid about this investigation. For a second I thought I shouldn't tell you. That's crazy."
"Don't worry about it. It's a prosecutor's knee-jerk reaction. When the stakes get large enough, we all become obsessed with secrecy."
The waiter deposited firecracker shrimp and mu shu beef. Cady placed some on each of their plates. Moore was looking at him and waiting.
Finally Cady whispered, "I'm investigating a charge that Senator Boyd violated the election laws when he ran for Congress the first time... ten years ago."
Moore dropped his chopsticks and they clattered on the table. "You're doing what?" he asked in stunned disbelief.
"You heard me right."
"Oh, boy. Now I can see why you're concerned about secrecy. Did you volunteer for this beauty, or did Jim assign it to you?"
Cady checked about them before going on. "It arrived on my desk in an envelope from an anonymous source. The materials in the envelope suggest that Boyd was paid fifty million for a winery and vineyard called Mill Valley in Napa near Rutherford. The purchase price was never publicly disclosed. The papers also suggest that the property was worth only ten million max at the time. The other forty million was in effect an illegal political contribution."
"Did the money make that much difference in the election?"
"I did some research today, and I'd say the answer is a clear yes. Boyd narrowly upset Chris Broder, who had held that seat for twenty-four years. Broder had been a ranking member on the House Foreign Relations Committee. The election was decided by only nine hundred and twenty-two votes. Money Boyd spent for television advertising at the end played an important role in his victory." Cady paused to take a bite. "You like the shrimp?"
