Conspiracy

by Allan Topol

  "I completely approve," he said at last.

  Pleased, Taylor whispered to Harrison, "Good work."

  "If anything serious turns up," Fujimura added, "I want to know immediately and not at the end of the thirty days."

  "Absolutely," she said.

  "On a totally different matter," Fujimura said, "could I please talk a moment with you in private, Taylor?"

  She went back to her own office and had the call transferred there.

  "I know you're very involved in Senator Boyd's campaign," Fujimura said in a soft voice, just above a whisper. "From what I hear, it's not good weather for sailing."

  Taylor was listening carefully. Over the years, she had learned that Fujimura often spoke obliquely on the telephone where sensitive information was involved. "Is there anything else you can tell me about what you've heard?"

  "Sorry, I don't yet know enough to be useful. My schedule calls for me to be here in Los Angeles for the next two weeks. I'll keep listening for more information about the weather. One good friend has an obligation to tell another about dark clouds on the horizon."

  Without saying anything else he hung up the phone, leaving Taylor staring at the black handset. Rumors about the senator's problem had somehow reached Fujimura in California. He obviously didn't want to share any more information with her yet. She tried speculating about the source of his information. Several Japanese newspapers with reporters in the United States were following the American election closely, and Fujimura was well connected with the Japanese press. It was possible that one of them had heard the same rumors that had reached Dawson and Cooper at the L.A. Times.

  Fujimura's warning added urgency to her meeting with Cady. She had better find a way to end his investigation quickly. There was precious little time until the story broke in the press, which would destroy the strategy she and Boyd had decided to follow.

  * * *

  Taylor arrived at Cady's office ten minutes early, but he made her wait a few minutes before he would see her. "I'm sorry, Taylor," he said when she came in at last. "I spent the morning fighting with INS. They're making me jump through hoops to get the Russian mobster in my case deported. Can you believe that?"

  "Don't worry about it," she said. She sat in one of the two chairs before his desk. Idly she noticed his nameplate was cockeyed. That set off an idea. She decided to try a little small talk, perhaps loosen him up first. "I always wondered how it got to be C.J.," she said, pointing at the nameplate.

  "Oh, that. They named me Conrad Jerome. My mother wanted to call me Jerome, her grandfather's name. My father wanted Conrad. I settled it by opting for the initials."

  "Which made them both unhappy."

  He smiled. "You're right."

  They shared a laugh, one that faded away into uneasy silence. He waited for her to begin. It was her meeting.

  "Now that you've had the weekend to do your investigating," she said, "I imagine you've come to the conclusion that there's nothing there, and you're willing to drop the whole thing."

  Cady looked at her in earnest. "I'm sorry to disappoint you. Friday I wasn't sure that I had a case. Today I've got no doubt about it."

  "What are you talking about? McDermott and the committee to reelect the president are responsible for these trumped-up charges. Don't you see it? It's a campaign dirty trick. You're taking the bait."

  He leaned back in his chair and cracked a tiny smile. "I wish you were right, but I've built my own case."

  Maybe he wasn't so honest, after all. She'd thought she'd pegged him right, but she didn't know him very well. "There's a crime here, all right," she said heatedly. "You're about to commit it by taking the election out of the hands of the American people, not to mention destroying the life of a good man in the process."

  Cady sat up straight. "Whoa. I'm not trying to destroy anyone's life."

  "How can you be so dumb? They're using you."

  "Okay. Stop." He moved out from behind his desk and sat down on a red leather chair facing her. "I honestly don't think that: McDermott's behind this. Both McDermott and Doerr have left me entirely on my own. And I've got no bias or predisposition. You have to believe me. In fact, if you made me choose, my hope would be that Boyd didn't violate the law. Until this came up, I would have voted for him over Webster. And the last thing in the world I want to do is obstruct the presidential election."

  "Then why don't you drop your investigation?"

  He held his hands out in front of him, as if that would enhance his credibility. "I can't. I believe there's something here, that Senator Boyd violated the law."

  "Show me your evidence. Let's talk about it."

  Cady got up and started to pace. "You're asking a lot from me."

  "If we're not playing games, then let me see what you have."

  "No prosecutor would do that at this stage of the case."

  "You know this isn't the usual case. I keep telling you a presidential election is at stake."

  Cady sighed deeply. Then he walked over to his desk drawer and pulled out the transcript of his interview with Abdul Azziz yesterday in Los Angeles. "I'll let you read it here, but I won't give you a copy."

  Now she was getting somewhere. She knew he was a good guy, and this offer of his proved it. As she read, she realized that Cady was watching her face carefully for a reaction. She remained totally deadpan.

  When she was finished, she said, "Surely you don't believe this Abdul Azziz. Do you?"

  "Of course I believe him."

  She looked at him in disbelief. "The whole thing's a fabrication. I've worked closely with the senator for ten years. I know him. This story isn't right. Somebody put Azziz up to it. When I check, I'll bet I find out that Azziz has some other shady dealings in his past."

  His hesitation confirmed that her guess was right.

  "I'll save you the trouble. He has one SEC criminal violation in connection with a stock issue."

  She thought a lot of Cady. She couldn't understand how he could let himself be duped. "And you believe somebody like that over a U.S. senator who has a perfect record for integrity?"

  "I don't know what the senator's version is of these events."

  "I thought you'd never ask."

  She then told the story of the Mill Valley sale exactly as the senator had told it to her at St. Michaels on Saturday.

  When she was finished, Cady asked, "Would he be willing to give me his statement orally under oath?"

  She was glad she had covered this issue with Harrison. "Let's compromise. You get to interview the senator, but you have to agree that if he sticks to the version of the facts that I just gave you during your interview with him, then you'll drop the entire investigation."

  Her offer piqued Cady's interest, and he gave her a counteroffer. "I would be able to cross-examine him about the statement he gives me. Unlimited cross with you present, but without you breaking in to object. Under oath and on the record."

  "And if he sticks to his story under those conditions, then you'll drop the investigation?"

  "But if I break him, then I can take the case to the grand jury, and he'll testify there."

  "If that's what you want."

  Cady grew silent while Taylor stared at him, trying to remain calm, hoping he took the deal. She was confident that the senator would stick to his story, even under rigorous questioning by Cady. The investigation would be over. They could go back to the business of winning the election.

  "Well?" she asked.

  He walked over to the window and looked out. She could guess what was running through his mind. Her offer was tempting. He liked to think that he was a good enough lawyer that he would break Boyd if he were lying, even though the senator was savvy at handling questions. It was a close call. Cady was agonizing over the decision.

  Finally he turned around slowly and faced her. "You're very persuasive, but I can't do it. If a secret back-room deal like that ever came out, we'd both look like hell."

  She'd been so close. She'd
thought she had him. "I'm willing to put my reputation on the line, because it's the right thing to do for the country."

  "But that's just the point. It's not the right thing for the country," Cady insisted.

  "Then what is?"

  "For me to finish my investigation in the normal way."

  "Does that mean you're going to convene a grand jury? Wreck a decent man's life and throw the country into turmoil when all you have is the testimony of a convicted felon like Abdul Azziz?"

  What she said upset Cady. She was smart, and she was articulating his nagging doubts.

  Cady shook his head. "I wouldn't do that, Taylor. But as long as we're being frank, I have to tell you that personally I believe Azziz. Yes, he's a convicted felon, but I sat and looked him in the eye. I believe he's telling the truth."

  "Aw, c'mon, C.J., they could easily have found something else he did and threatened to disclose it unless he agreed to lie to you. The senator's the one who's telling the truth."

  Cady thought about her words. "One of them has to be lying," he said tentatively.

  "So what will you do?"

  "Unless I can get another witness, I'll terminate the investigation. There will be no grand jury. No charges will be filed against the senator. I'll do everything humanly possible to keep it out of the press. I give you my word on that."

  "If you get something else, would you be willing to discuss it with me before you do anything drastic, like taking the case to a grand jury?"

  He looked at her with a gentle, almost apologetic expression. "Sorry, I can't promise you that. I've been more than reasonable letting you read the Azziz deposition. I've got my own job to do."

  "Will you at least consider giving me a chance to respond before you decide to go to a grand jury?"

  He sighed deeply. "I don't know."

  "C'mon, C.J., besides the presidential race, an honest man's life is on the line." She was pleading with him.

  "I promise you that I'll think about it. That's all."

  * * *

  Outside the courthouse, Taylor took out her cell phone and called Mark Jackson, the P.I. "Where are you on Gladstone?" she asked anxiously.

  "No luck so far. We're still looking."

  "Ugh."

  "We'll keep trying. Believe me."

  She shook her head in frustration. "Do one other thing. There's a man living in L.A. named Abdul Azziz. I know he's had a criminal conviction for violation of securities law. Find out everything you can about him."

  "You want to discredit him?"

  "You bet. I intend to blast a prosecutor's case to kingdom come."

  * * *

  McDermott raced breathlessly into the Oval Office, bursting in on a photo session with a group of high school science scholars from around the country. He hadn't heard yet, McDermott realized from looking at the president's face.

  When McDermott ran a finger across his throat, the president announced, "This will be the last picture." He also instructed his secretary to cancel the meeting with the director of OMB, who was waiting outside the office.

  "Senator Boyd is in deep trouble," McDermott said, talking as fast as his brain could process the words. "The U.S. attorney's office in Washington is investigating whether Boyd accepted an illegal contribution during the campaign for his first election to Congress."

  "Run that by me again," an astounded president said.

  Sounding nervous, McDermott repeated his words.

  "How long have you known about this investigation?"

  McDermott's face was twitching. "I just found out this morning."

  "But I don't understand. Shouldn't you have been involved?"

  "Jim Doerr and C. J. Cady, the prosecutor on the case, decided to keep me out of it, in view of my position in your campaign. I'm grateful to them for that."

  The president shoved his hands into his pants pockets and began pacing around the office, trying to digest the mind-numbing news McDermott had given him.

  "How did this investigation get started?" Webster asked.

  "According to Jim Doerr, an anonymous packet of materials appeared one evening on Cady's desk. Since then he's checked it all out."

  The president stopped dead, wheeled around, and stared hard at McDermott. His gaze cut through the A.G. like a knife. "Have you had anything to do with this business?"

  The nervous twitching began again. "Absolutely not."

  "What about Pug Thompson and his people?"

  "I've read him the riot act. I'd have known if it was his idea."

  McDermott could tell that the president wasn't convinced. Here was another development McDermott hadn't contemplated.

  "Okay. What happens next?" Webster asked.

  "We take it one step at a time. I've told Doerr to keep me informed. I'll do the same for you."

  McDermott felt trapped, although he had no one to blame but himself. The situation had deteriorated rapidly. At least matters couldn't get any worse, he wanted to believe, but he knew that was wrong. If truths started to be unearthed, his chance of becoming Chief Justice of the Supreme Court would be blasted to hell.

  Chapter 14

  General Ozawa woke up with a start. He was still in the restaurant, wearing the clothes from his dinner with Glass. He was stretched out on a futon, but he had no idea how he had gotten there. His entire body was trembling. When he glanced at his watch, he saw it was three-twelve in the morning.

  His head felt as if it weighed a ton, but he didn't care about that. Emerging out of his haziness was the gradual realization that he had said some things last night that he shouldn't have. He had done exactly what Sato had warned him against: drinking too much and talking too much. But what exactly had he told Glass?

  When he stumbled out onto the street, he found his car and driver still waiting. Without a word, his driver roared off down the empty streets. Once he got home, Ozawa stripped off his clothes. Since his wife had died last year, he lived alone. He fixed an ice-cold bath. He got in it, ducking his head underwater four times to clear his brain, part of his usual regimen when he drank too much, which was more often than he liked to admit. Once he emerged from the bathroom, his teeth were chattering. At least he now had a pretty good idea of what he had said.

  Ozawa was mortified. He had really done it this time. He'd never drink too much again.

  He considered calling Sato to tell him what had happened, but he couldn't bear the humiliation and Sato's anger. Sato might sever all relations with Ozawa, or even worse. He thought about the vicious murders Terasawa had committed, and he began shaking. Suppose Sato turned Terasawa loose on him?

  There had to be another way to solve the problem.

  Ozawa racked his alcohol-fogged brain. Slowly an idea took shape. He checked the civil defense force phone directory, then picked up the phone and called a captain who was very dependable, someone he could trust with his life. That was what was involved now.

  "Here's what I want you to do," he said to the sleepy man who answered the phone.

  * * *

  They arrived an hour later, in a truck from the local electrical company. The three men in work clothes had toolboxes and all of the paraphernalia that anyone who happened to see them would associate with the repair of an electrical problem.

  Two of them took up positions next to the switch box that controlled the flow of electricity into Alex Glass's apartment building. The third one, with an orange hard hat, slipped into the wooden shed adjacent to the building, which Alex had built specially to house his black Kawasaki. The landlord had demanded a month's wages from Alex for permitting the structure, but Alex had the same feelings about that bike that people did about their children. No expense was too great.

  The man was a skilled mechanic who had once worked for Kawasaki. In a few seconds, he had the engine exposed and planted a small black square object inside. With the deft fingers of an expert, he hooked up wires between the ignition, the engine, and the black box.

  When he was finished and he had c
losed up the engine, he took a couple of steps back from the motorcycle. It was well tended, and the engine was in perfect shape, better than ones that rolled off the assembly line. It was a shame to destroy something so beautiful.

  * * *

  Alex woke up in a cold sweat. His T-shirt was soaked as well as the sheets, and he knew it wasn't from the sake he had drunk last evening. The alcohol accounted for his humongous headache, but the reason he was sweating from head to toe was because of the magnitude of what he had learned from Ozawa at dinner. Sato's scheme involving a powerful American was frightening enough. The thought of what Ozawa would do when he woke out his drunken stupor was terrifying.

  Everything was coming back to Alex. Aware of how explosive the information was, as well as the risks to himself, Alex had swung by his office on the way home, typed out a letter to Taylor, and left it in the center drawer of his desk in a sealed envelope addressed to her. That was smart, he decided. In case anything happened to him, she'd run with his information and find out whom Sato had met in Buenos Aires. If he just left it for that bozo Don Berry, the head of the Times office here, Don might think it was too speculative. From the office, Alex had managed to weave his way on his motorcycle to his apartment. His blood-alcohol level must have been off the charts.

  In the cold light of morning, two Advil and three cups of coffee eased the headache, but not the terror. Ozawa might have told Sato what he had said. Or Ozawa, a dangerous man himself, might be petrified that Sato would find out. Either way Alex was in deep trouble.

  By the time he finished another cup of coffee, he knew there was only one thing he could do: get the hell out of Tokyo ASAP. That wasn't why he had booked the reservation for Buenos Aires in his drunken stupor last night, but he was glad that he had. He stumbled over to his desk, tripping over a pair of shoes, to find the piece of paper on his desk. He was on an ANA plane that left at noon and connected in L.A. for Buenos Aires. He still had plenty of time to leave for the flight, but he decided to hit the road now and wait at the airport. Definitely a lot safer.

  Without calling anyone, not even Don, he'd jump on his motorcycle, and head to Narita Airport. Once he was safely in Los Angeles for the connection, he'd call Don with some B.S. story about an illness in the family. That was definitely the way to go.