Christine and Thaddeus spent the first weekend in March holed up in her condo. By late Sunday night, they had drafted a complaint to be filed in the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Illinois. The complaint alleged the Russian president was part of a conspiracy to injure and even kill Christine Susmann. The language of the complaint and the federal statute included the RICO Act: Racketeer Influenced Corrupt Organization Act.
Monday morning Thaddeus filed the complaint. Christine was working out of the temporary condo and XFBI was guarding her there and also watching over Sonny and the kids. Thaddeus felt the need for additional staff; so he called in more agents, more arms, and more technology to keep eyes on Christine’s family. And also on his own family. For himself, he felt confident carrying his own gun; but, at the same time, he was accompanied and shadowed by no less than two XFBI agents wherever he went. Everyone knew that Karli was out there somehow and that he would strike again. But no one knew where.
The lawsuit was then sent to Moscow for service of process on the Russian president.
"I'd give a thousand dollars to be in that room when he gets served," Thaddeus told Christine.
"Not me. I'll never set foot in that country again. Unless they disguise me and send me in to take down the son of a bitch. That I would do."
"Notch it down, girl, let me do it this way."
"Will it even bother him? Or will he just think it's a nuisance lawsuit and laugh about it?"
"I've got ideas about that. My guess is if we walk away with a bunch of Russian rubles filling the bed of Sonny's dump truck then he won't be laughing. Especially if those rubles belonged to him personally. I've got some people looking into Russian funds in the United States, money we can get the court to give us."
"Sounds great. I'd love to really hurt them."
"You and about ten million Afghans, Chechens, Ukrainians and all the rest."
"Do you think RICO is the best way to formulate the case against him?"
Thaddeus thought it over.
"Well, the racketeering law is very sneaky. The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act provides for criminal penalties and a civil lawsuit for acts performed as part of an ongoing criminal organization. Question being, is the Russian government a criminal organization? Our argument is yes, it is. It's a novel idea, declaring a foreign government to be a criminal organization."
"Does it go against Irunyaev personally? Or just the government?"
"Good question. The RICO Act focuses specifically on racketeering, and it allows the leaders of a syndicate to be tried for the crimes which they ordered others to do or assisted them."
"So they can't avoid liability by saying it wasn't them personally who killed someone or stole someone's gold."
"Exactly. RICO closes the old loophole that allowed someone to be exempt even where he or she had told a man to murder someone because he did not actually commit the crime personally. That was old law. This is new law—actually not all that new, but it's the law we get to use."
"I'm impressed. You've done this before."
"Remember when I sued the mob for coming after me and Ermeline Ransom after I kicked their ass? I did that under RICO. Huge damages under RICO, too. Treble, three times. Plaintiffs can grab beaucoup dollars.
"I like that idea. Someone owes me for these two missing fingers!"
"Not to mention the torture."
"And the—the rape. You've seen my medical records. Syphilis and an upcoming hysterectomy. That only came from one place. But I can't say who, because I was unconscious when the rape happened."
"Won't matter. It all relates back to what the president of Russia started when he kidnapped you and lied about you. I'm going to hang him by his nuts for that."
"God bless you, Mr. Murfee. Always standing in the gap."
Thaddeus smiled. "I'm beginning to think I was born to litigate."
"Well, you're way behind the rest of us then. Your admirers have known this for a long time."
"Now I'm blushing."
"Just get them for me, Thad. Knock their dicks in the dirt."
"You've got it. But you have to promise me one thing."
"I promise. What is it?"
"That you'll let my guys take care of Karli. You won't go looking for him."
"How could I do that? I have no idea where he is."
Thaddeus shook his head. "That doesn't mean jack. You know he's looking for you. You know how to make that confrontation happen. I'm just asking you not to. You've got a husband and two little kids. We want to see mommy get home to them safe and sound."
"Well, I do promise since you put it that way. Okay, deal."
"Thank you."
54
After filing the Christine lawsuit on Monday, Thaddeus went home early. He was tired; they had worked all weekend putting the lawsuit together and he hadn't slept that well, knowing that Karli was lurking somewhere nearby. He pulled the Tesla into the garage and waited while the door shut behind him. Meanwhile, Sarai opened door that connected garage to house and stuck her head out.
"Mama says you in trouble, Dad."
He came to the front of his car. "I'm in trouble? What did I do wrong?"
"Mommy says you probably didn't go to bed all weekend. She said she's going to stick you in bed whether you want to go or not."
"Well, I better behave myself, then. Now come here and give your dad a big hug."
Sarai held the door open and reached for Thaddeus as he came up the steps leading into the house. He bent down to her and she wrapped her chubby arms around his neck. He stood up, holding her with his forearm under her butt, and walked inside like a monkey carrying its young.
"Hello?" he called. "Anybody home?"
Sarai gripped his face in one hand and squeeze his cheeks.
"I'm home. Miss Margot is here."
Miss Margot was Sarai's nanny. She hailed from Mexico City and was working on a Ph.D. in finance. She spent her days caring for Sarai and writing her dissertation while Sarai attended first grade. It was a win-win for everyone, and Katy had nothing but the highest regard for Miss Margot. As did Thaddeus.
Miss Margot came into the kitchen, winding up an Elmo doll as she entered. "Here, Thaddeus, let Elmo sing you a lullaby. We heard you didn't sleep all weekend."
Thaddeus shrugged. "Where's that coming from? I crashed on Christine's couch Friday and Saturday night and got good sleep. Well, not that good. But not bad. Who's been saying things about me around here?" he said, and bent low to place Sarai on the floor. He grabbed her from behind and swung her around. "You the one who's been telling tales about daddy? It was you, wasn't it?"
Sarai squealed and begged for more.
Another ten seconds of swinging and Miss Margot said, "She's going to throw up Cheerios on you if you keep that up, Thad."
He stopped suddenly. "Whoa, then. We don't wanna go there."
Sarai snatched the Elmo doll and ran for the family room.
"Let me get changed. Then you can update me on my daughter's life."
Miss Margot smiled. "You're a busy man. She misses you."
"It's mutual. Hey, where's Turquoise?"
"She gets home from school around four. You're a couple hours early for her."
"All right. Be down in a few."
He climbed the stairs to their bedroom, which was actually three rooms, divided into three areas: bathroom/walk-in closet, sleeping area, and sitting area. Off came the suit pants, white shirt, tie, suit coat, what he called "goofy shoes" (loafers with tassels) and Glock 19 in the shoulder holster with two clips. He carefully placed the gun inside his gun safe and spun the combination lock. On came the 501's, black T-shirt with pocket, Teva sandals, and red hoodie. He went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. He peered into his blue eyes and brushed a hand back through his longish brown hair. The round eyeglasses reminded him that someone had once called him "owlish." But at the same party someone else at called him "Mr. Magoo-ish." So there it was, he thought
, take your pick. I am what I am, as the spinach man says.
Back downstairs and into the family room. He flopped on the second of two couches, this one in a floral cover he hated, though he would never tell Katy that. There was a who-could-tell-how-old bowl of popcorn on the octagonal coffee table, so he began munching. Soon, Sarai crawled up out of the beanbag she had occupied and came to the couch and motioned him to move over.
"Lie down, Daddy, so I can, too."
He moved back against the cushions and Sarai climbed up and lay down beside her dad. He closed his eyes and smelled her hair. Anything, Lord. I would do anything for this one, he thought. I am a lucky man to have this family and these people in my life. So lucky. Thank you, God. Lately, he had begun praying sometimes. He didn't know why or to who; but it seemed like he owed something or someone for all his blessings, and he wanted the universe to know he was grateful. He inhaled his child's hair again, eyes closed, and his breathing shallowed. He slept.
While he was under, Sarai—the restless one—lifted his arm from around her and crawled off across the floor.
"Miss Margot, I need a sandwich."
Miss Margot had been reading a paperback on macroeconomics by Hubbard. She was testing to see how his theories compared to those discussed by Krugman in his book on the same topic. She looked across the top of the book at Sarai.
"Did you say something?"
"PBJ. I'm starved."
"Coming up. But it's three. You only get a half, so we don't ruin your dinner."
"Ruin it! Ruin it!" the six-year-old cried and began running wildly around the room.
On the second pass around, Sarai stopped at Thaddeus' head and reached out a tiny hand. With forefinger and thumb, she opened his left eyelid.
"What?" he mumbled.
"You in there?" said the daughter.
He playfully swatted her hand away. "Let daddy sleep, Sarai. Please now."
"Let's go out and make a snowman.
"Later. Bring daddy his blanket and cover him up, okay?"
"You never play."
"I always play. How about Thursday when we made the snowman and decorated him with your watercolors? Wasn't that play?"
"Daddy, that wasn't Thursday. That was last Monday. Mommy says you're never here even when you're here."
"Who did Mommy say that to?"
"Henry Landers. Her grandpa. On the phone. I heard her."
"You're probably mistaken. Mommy knows I only have eyes for her."
A voice suddenly interrupted from behind, in the doorway. It was Katy, home from the community center for the homeless.
"Mommy knows what?" she said to Thaddeus. She moved swiftly over to him and tickled the bottom of his top foot.
He kicked out. "Don't, please. You know I hate that."
"I know you do. That's why I do it. Hey, stranger, long time no see."
"Sorry about that. I got busy again."
"All weekend. Where, at the condo?"
"Yeah, I've got Christine holed up there."
"I know. Christine called and told me where you were."
"I called, too."
"I know. I got your voice mail."
"Then we got busy."
She pushed his legs up to his chest and sat at the end of his couch.
"You got so busy you couldn't try me back?"
"Why, did you need me?"
Sarai and Miss Margot were off making PBJ's. So Katy said, in a stage-whisper, "I don't know that I need you so much as I need your arrows."
"Damn, girl," he said, "don't I have you with child yet? Papoose, you goose?"
"Nice try last time. But no blue."
Blue, as in the pregnancy test strip turning blue to indicate conception.
"I'm blue. But I can certainly service you again, m'love. Wanna try right now? I'm about ready for a go at it."
"Tonight, chief. When all the little kids are in bed, and the fire's burned down in the fireplace. Then we'll get naked and bump bellies."
"Oh, God, I hate when you say that! Say something nicer."
"How about 'have intercourse'?"
"Now you sound like a damn doctor."
She slipped her hand up and under his hoodie. "That's because I am a doctor. And doctors sometimes say doctor things."
"Intercourse? Nobody says intercourse."
"Of course they do," said Miss Margot, suddenly appearing with Sarai in tow. "I can name two economists who talk all the time about economic intercourse and freighted discourse. I've got the books to prove it."
"Hello, MM," said Katy. "How's it going round here today?"
"Oh...you know. Same old same old."
"Good to hear. Well, I'm going to run up and change. Thaddeus, you make me some coffee and bring it up, please."
"Sumatra or French Roast?"
"Sumatra. I might need to drive. Gotta keep my wits about me."
"Sumatra it is. Give me five minutes."
"That'll be about right. Sarai, what you eating, girl?"
"PBJ."
"Great. But you're going to eat vegetables tonight. I promise you that. So don't fill up."
"I hate vegetables. Except for popcorn."
"Not that again."
55
"So what you're telling me is we forget about resisting this case in court?" asked Piotor Irunyaev. He was seated behind his gilt-edged desk in the Kremlin, weighing a letter opener on one finger, seeking the center of gravity, the balance point, much as he was seeking the middle ground on the lawsuit filed by Thaddeus Murfee. With him were two senior cabinet member advisors, both schooled in American law and one of whom was admitted to practice in New York, Illinois, and California. His name was Dzhokan Ansazi and he had been educated at Boston University and Harvard Law School.
Ansazi was the type of lawyer who was ready and willing—and able, especially able—to fight and win just about any case in any court in any jurisdiction. He was known among his cabinet staff as Mad Dog, and his official title was Registrar of Laws. Which meant he was the senior legal representative of the Russian Federation on all matters legal. His role and title were equivalent to the U.S. Solicitor General.
"We should not resist this case in court, Mr. President. Here's why."
Ansazi indicated his assistant should dim the lights and he began with a frame-by-frame review of the .wmv video file taken of Christine Susmann during her so-called assault on the Russian President.
"Now, Mr. President, especially look here—" said Ansazi, stopping the frame by frame with a small remote unit—" and again here, frame 788. See the woman's left eye? See the protrusion above the supraorbital ridge there?"
"Yes, I can see that,” said Irunyaev. "What of it?"
"Well, Mr. President, if we can see it without magnification, just sitting here in your office, imagine how patently obvious this will be when the plaintiff's attorneys blow it up and review it frame-by-frame in court. The finder-of-fact is going to be enraged because these injuries to the American woman pre-date the alleged attack she made against you."
"Speak plainly, man. Damn it all!"
"Plainly speaking, she had been beaten before the attack. You can review multiple injuries to her face and hands if you continue with this review. Which I am more than happy to do for you."
"So we don't resist because that would allow this Thaddeus Murfee to get his hands on our video?"
"Precisely that. He will have his experts review it if we turn it over to him. Which we would be forced to do if you make an appearance in the American courts. As it stands now, they cannot access our .wmv file, our original file. We should stand on that."
"And that's your considered opinion?"
"It is, Mr. President."
"All right, we'll do as you say. With one reservation. What can we expect in measure of an award for damages?"
Ansazi leaned back in his chair. He pulled a Cuban cigar from a pocket and began unwrapping its cellophane cover. He stopped and looked up.
"Amount? In cases su
ch as this, U.S. District Court judges are awarding around fifteen to twenty million dollars. Somewhere in that neighborhood."
"Can you guarantee that?" asked the president with a small smile, as he clearly was relieved the payout would be such a minor sum.
"All but guarantee. I'm going to go on the record and project twenty million USD."
"We can work with that. Definitely."
"So we stand silent and don't answer the complaint? Is that your final instruction to my office?"
"You'll receive that memo from me before six o'clock today. It will say as much."
Ansazi stood, the unlighted cigar clenched in his left hand. With his right hand, he shook the president's offered hand. The deal was thus made.
It wasn't until they were in the anteroom and leaving the president's suite of offices that Ansazi looked down at the cigar he had been clutching. Halved—it has been snapped in half by the left hand.
He wondered: where did that come from, the absent-minded force necessary to crush a cigar in my hand? Am I that fearful about this case? Am I?
He retreated to his own suite of offices and told his staff to divert all calls.
He dove deep into personal injury awards handed down by American District Court judges in the past ten years. Surely there would be one with an equivalency to the Christine Susmann lawsuit.
Six hours later he relaxed. It looked like he had been spot on. Damage awards ranged from five million to twenty-five million.
At 5:55 he received the president's signed memo authorizing him to leave unanswered the complaint this Thaddeus Murfee had filed.
With a light heart, he headed home for dinner. It had been an instructive day and he had given his president excellent advice.
He was almost sure of it.
56
After Russian troops had invaded Eastern Ukraine, the U.S. had decided to hit them back. So they froze the assets of two Russian banks worth $637 million. Three billionaire friends of Piotor Irunyaev controlled the banks, the Wall Street Journal reported.
The Girl Who Wrote The New York Times Bestseller: A Novel (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thrillers Book 8) Page 23
