“Carmen has something to tell you about the attempted murder of Maxim Blax. You want to give her the warning?”
“Mr. Phillips. You shouldn’t be dealing with a suspect…” Kumar was outraged. Behind her, DS Chambers reached out to touch her arm.
“Don’t be so serious, Jaya,” said DS Chambers. “He’s giving you a present, all wrapped up.”
DS Kumar moved to Carmen and read the Canadian warning to the suspect. “You have the right to remain silent. If you do say anything, what you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with a lawyer and have that lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire.”
“You understand,” the officer continued, “that anything you voluntarily say can be used in court. My advice is to get a lawyer before you tell us anything. But,” she peered closely at Carmen’s clothing, “considering your clothing and this hoodie, I would like you to accompany us to 52 Division.”
“Hey, my division is closer,” said Chambers in a light tone.
“You have yours, John. This one is mine.” Kumar relaxed as she faced Jackson. “Maybe you’ll find time to join us, Mr. Phillips, since you blew us off for your last appointment.” There was a hint of a smile on her face.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
The uniformed police officers took Carmen in a cruiser while the two sergeants shared an unmarked car to return to 53 Division on Eglinton Avenue. Jackson planned to join them in an hour, given that he would take the subway after walking to the Union Station subway stop about ten minutes from JPI’s H.Q.
“The walk will give me time to get my thoughts together,” he told the cops. Kumar had silently raised an eyebrow.
After the police had gone, Bill Brownley, Jackson, Mariah and Payne couldn’t wait to get out of Carmen’s bizarre and cloying office.
“That place gives me creeps,” Payne told the others.
Mariah’s voice was soft. “She was desperate for a relationship. Her mom used to tell her a comfortable home and a prosperous marriage was everything. A career for a woman was just a temporary condition.” Mariah shuddered. “Right out of the 1950s.”
“Ouch,” Jackson admonished, “I’m out of the 50’s and I don’t think that way.”
“Sorry.” Mariah wasn’t at all contrite.
Once seated in the main boardroom with hastily arranged coffee and bagels, the group rehashed the unbelievable day.
Mariah’s head shot up in alarm when Brownley asked Jackson why he had shot the Cuban. “You didn’t actually shoot someone?”
Jackson leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It’s the only thing the Russian GRU would understand. I worked against these guys years ago and it has only gotten worse. Putin poisons people. I shot one of them. They will get that message; that we won’t roll over when they steal from us or try to corrupt our people. The alternative was to just let them go or give in to ‘diplomatic immunity.’ Bullshit. I won’t do it.”
“I don’t agree with it but I get it,” Payne said.
“I think it’s nuts,” Mariah said without concern that she was criticizing her boss.
“I liked it then and I like it better now,” Brownley added. He said his security team would not mention the stairway battle or the lobby face-off to anyone. There was no crime because the GRU officer declared diplomatic immunity, obviating any criminal investigation - a specious reasoning but one that worked for JPI and Jackson. It was all spy craft.
Brownley did worry that Russia or the GRU would come after Jackson for revenge but Jackson disregarded the concern.
“They will keep coming after JPI, especially after 3.0. But they’ve been doing that since I started the company,” Jackson reminded the group. “As for me. I’m an old guy who doesn’t get too worried about the future. What’s the point?” He left it at that except for the warning, “We’ll just have to make sure everyone stays on their toes.”
They talked for a time about Carmen’s fate. Payne concluded that she would do some prison time for the attempted murder of Blax but ‘not enough.’ It would be a first offence and mitigated circumstances. She’ll bargain down to attempted manslaughter. But, he added, she would likely never work again for a tech company or in a senior position.
Max’s condition had worsened because of the tumour aggravated by his total physical decline and injuries, Mariah reported. His time was likely short but a bump-up to a murder charge for Carmen was a remote possibility.
As for charges of any sort against Jackson, others at JPI or in the Russian ranks, “Forget it,” offered Jackson. “But I’ll get a lawyer the minute police start to get bothersome.”
With that, the people at the table gulped the last of their coffee. Jackson and Payne headed for 53 Division. Brownley returned to his office to clean up the security section. Mariah went to her office to get staff working on overtime on news releases and statements with carefully crafted stories about the day’s activities.
Unwanted visitors. Temporary clearing of the lobby. Arrest of a senior executive in the aftermath of a relationship breakdown. The re-ascension of Jackson Phillips to CEO of the company he founded. Phillips to oversee development of Version 3.0 as he did for Version 2.0. JPI was headed for a busy news day. Unless the true tale slipped out through a very small sieve, the company and its people would survive it all.
Mariah’s prediction was that JPI would launch 3.0 to great and profitable acceptance one year from now. Jackson would find a great successor within that year and head back to his wonderful bayside cottage. Payne would continue keeping a tight hand on JPI’s budget. Mariah would struggle to do a superb job even with her deficient budget.
Life would go on despite the collapse of romance, failed protests, Russians, police, and the free press, Mariah thought to herself as she typed on her laptop and returned phone calls as daylight waned outside her office window.
EPILOGUE
Jackson Phillips and Ryan Payne sat at the end of the dock with their feet in the cool waters of Georgian Bay. They were looking into the small, forest covering the interior of Jackson’s Shield Island. The leaves on the deciduous trees were in glorious reds and golds while the conifers were in various shades of green. It was late September in Cottage Country.
“Last time we’ll do this for a while,” said Jackson looking down at his feet that were getting numb.
The two men dropped into the shallows and waded along the length of the dock to the sandy shore. It was late afternoon and the sand was only lukewarm.
Payne had driven up for the weekend to Jackson’s huge cottage for the ‘changing of the leaves’ across this part of northern Ontario. He really wanted to spend quiet time with the interim CEO and namesake of Jackson Phillips Inc. He had questions.
“When do you think the Russians will try again?” The men had moved to the porch and sat in green-painted, wooden Muskoka chairs.
Jackson turned to his long-time friend and considered the question for a few seconds. “I’d be surprised if they aren’t figuring that out now. I think they’ll try to hack us at every turn. They’ll try to turn our people. Will they come after us personally? I hope they don’t touch the others…” He was referring to other executives at JPI. “… but I, personally, wouldn’t mind meeting Captain Zaytsev again. He’s a piece of work who needs another lesson in diplomacy.”
Payne laughed but grew serious quickly. “Come on, Jackson. What’s he? Maybe forty. And in good shape. You’re pretty healthy but get real!”
“His guys were suckers for a quick punch and a swift kick. And I have a few bullets that are less than forty.”
Payne shook his head. “This is Canada, not the wild west. And you’re not Buffalo Bill even if you met him in his prime.”
Jackson gave Payne his evil-eye glare.
“Granted. Besides, I don’t like guns. Should ban them.”
“Why in hell,” said Payne, “did you shoot the goon with our good captain
and not Zaytsev himself?”
“Don’t poke the bear too much. Zaytsev would have a hard time explaining a bullet hole in his shoulder. I wanted Zaytsev in one piece to make up the best story possible, protecting his own ass and not putting ours in the crosshairs.”
“Nice picture, Jackson.” Payne grinned again.
“Okay,” Jackson leaned forward and looked directly at Payne. “What about the numbers?”
Payne’s brow wrinkled. “Development is eating up money at a fantastic clip. But, then, we’re ahead of schedule. No trouble getting the private equity people to come up with what we need.”
A sip of coffee from the mug on his chair arm. “On the plus, plus side, Marketing just reported a continuing surge of orders from clients. But that’s pretty much at cost so no profit there.”
Jackson leaned back. “But new orders.”
“Yes, that’s the good news. Marketing says we’re getting so many new customers, they’re going to have to hire new reps to keep up. We’re stealing customers from the competition like crazy I’m afraid of being labelled a monopoly.”
Payne went on, buoyed with his enthusiasm but Jackson cut him off. “Like Trump, we can thank the Russians.”
Payne changed direction. “And thank Carmen and Maxim.”
Jackson looked away. There was pain in his eyes.
“I’m heading down on Monday for Max’s funeral. The cause of death is stroke resulting from his brain tumour. At most, Carmen will get manslaughter and spend maybe six years in jail or on parole. Doesn’t seem fair. Apparently, she kept Max from getting medical help for the tumour. But there’s no proof it would have been effective.”
“Canadian justice. Better than locking up everybody forever, like the U.S.” Payne grimaced.
“My big worry is finding a new CEO for JPI,” said Jackson. He paused and slapped his forehead. He looked at his watch.
“Damn… I have to make sure my cook Graham has everything ready for Mariah and her new guy. Remember, they’re coming up to join us for dinner and a stayover.”
“Who’s the guy?”
“Head of a startup tech company. Offices near us. Smart and funny.”
Payne looked at Jackson and raised his eyebrows. “New blood? New CEO?”
Jackson laughed out loud. “Send the old people to an island. Bring in the kids.”
The Russian Crisis Page 21
