Headwind

by John J. Nance

“This is bad news, isn’t it?” Craig asked, unable to suppress the sick feeling inside.

  “Well, that all depends,” John Harris said, his expression betraying nothing.

  Alastair was trying to smile. “It’s certainly all right, sir. We didn’t expect you’d be able to influence a bunch of hard-nosed German managers to forgive such a stunt.”

  “And what stunt would that be, Alastair?”

  “Well . . .”

  “You aren’t referring, are you, to the brave and heroic acts of a couple of airline pilots whose timely actions prevented the putative kidnapping of a former U.S. President?”

  “And . . . who almost cashiered that same former President by running an airliner out of gas? Yes, that would be the stunt,” Alastair said, laughing ruefully.

  “Well,” the President continued, “I guess we do have a problem if you want to see it that way, because I’ll need to call EuroAir’s chairman back and ask him to cancel the parade.”

  “I’m sorry . . . what?” Craig asked.

  John Harris smiled. “Relax, both of you. The airline you’re working for has just landed a brand-new contract for U.S. military charters, subject to passing the scrutiny of the air safety inspection people at Scott Air Force Base in Illinois. EuroAir seems rather ecstatic about that. And, after a serious chat with the Secretary of Defense and the Secretary of State, EuroAir has come to understand that it is in their best interests to be very proud of you, and very quiet about the magnificent demonstration of airmanship that followed a somewhat less laudatory fuel event.”

  “Mr. President! You did that? I can’t believe it! You bloody well pulled it off!” Alastair said, his face ablaze with amazement as Craig grabbed John Harris’s hand and began to shake it.

  “Thank you, sir! Thank you! Are you sure? I . . . I just . . .”

  “Hey, take it easy fellows!” John Harris said, smiling. “The truth is, I’m the one who owes the thanks to both of you, and this was the absolute minimum I wanted to do. Now, let’s get back in there and enjoy the evening.”

  It was nearly 9:30 P.M. when the President bade good night to Michael Garrity, Craig Dayton, and the rest, and walked in a different direction with Joe Byer.

  “You said you’d heard from Washington about Reynolds,” John Harris probed.

  “Yes, I did hear, and it’s pretty tawdry, Mr. President.”

  “Tell me.”

  “In brief? Reynolds was promised all the protection he needed, but he decided to make a side deal with Miraflores. It wasn’t just about delivering you; it was about money as well. In effect he sold out the Company and his president for the proverbial thirty pieces of silver, and he paid to have that tape made to perfect his scam by indicting you. I’m told he had it shot in Los Angeles.”

  “Is Langley going to go after Reynolds legally?”

  “I don’t know,” Byer said. “The spook business is a little out of my element, Mr. President. I’m just relaying what the CIA told us.”

  After leaving the restaurant, Jay walked with Sherry Lincoln back to the Shelbourne a few blocks away.

  “May I buy you a drink, kind sir?” she joked, gesturing to the hotel bar.

  He checked his watch and smiled. “Sure. As long as I pay for it.”

  “I guess that can be arranged,” she said, her eyes following his to the watch. “You’re going somewhere?” she asked.

  “In a little while.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Jay laughed and shook his head. “No. Nothing like that. A cleanup professional matter is all.”

  “Okay. Now I’m burning with curiosity.”

  “What would you like to drink?”

  “Nothing creative. A glass of some naive white zinfandel, I suppose,” she said. “And you?”

  “Zinfandel is good.” He retrieved the wine and joined Sherry at a small table.

  “When are you going back, Sherry?” he asked.

  “To the U.S.? I don’t know. John hasn’t said, but I suspect he’ll want to wait a few days and decompress . . . since all of you seem very sure there’s no more legal danger in staying here.”

  “Not in Ireland, at least.”

  “Why were you asking?” she said, smiling.

  Jay tried to feign innocence. “Oh, no reason.”

  “I see.”

  “Other than an idea that, maybe, I’d like to rent a car and see some of this beautiful country.”

  “They drive on the wrong side of the road here, Jay.”

  “I know. That’s why I need a copilot. You interested?”

  Sherry smiled again, sending a warm wave of anticipation through him. “Oh, I’m interested, if the schedule permits. We’re talking two rooms for any overnights, right?”

  “Of course, Sherry,” he said quickly. “I am a gentleman, you know.”

  “Like I’ve never heard that line before,” she laughed. “Okay. Let me talk to the President in the morning and we’ll see. Maybe I could break loose for a few days. I’d like that, if John can spare me.”

  “I really hope you can,” Jay said, looking directly into her eyes.

  Sherry hesitated, her smile broadening as she replied softly, “So do I.”

  The River Liffey, Dublin

  The pedestrian-only bridge just west of the famous Ha’penny Bridge was only a short walk from the hotel. Jay had left Sherry at the door to her room just half an hour before, his mind consumed with conflicting thoughts—including the need to finish a heartfelt letter to Linda he had begun to write that afternoon.

  He hated the pain he’d caused Linda, and hated the abrupt way he’d slapped her with the news that he was leaving Laramie. She was right, he thought, about Karen’s memory holding him away from life and commitment, and he would change all that. Maybe it had been the near-death experience getting to Denver that had suddenly jarred him from the grip of Karen’s memory, or maybe time was finally dulling the intense pain. He could actually think of her now with more sadness than grief, and that was amazing.

  Thinking of Linda, however, triggered nothing but guilt. He should have told her months ago that love wasn’t growing like it should, but it was easier to submerge in her love night after night, just taking the moment. He hoped they could remain friends, hoped she’d forgive him, but time would tell.

  I’ll finish the letter as soon as I get back, Jay thought, wondering again why he’d agreed to this meeting.

  He reached the metal bridge and walked to mid-span before turning to watch the light show of nighttime Dublin reflect on the dark silver of the river’s surface. He enjoyed the light breeze at his back and the constant passage across the bridge of individuals and strolling couples who formed a pleasant crosscurrent to the water below.

  Jay saw someone lean on the railing to his right, and he looked over, instantly recognizing the man before he spoke.

  “Thank you for meeting me here, Mr. Reinhart,” Stuart Campbell’s resonant voice announced as the senior attorney leaned forward, breathing deeply and examining the night.

  “You understand that I’m still John Harris’s lawyer,” Jay said, his curiosity still overriding the caution of being asked by opposing counsel for a private meeting in the dead of night.

  “Of course. I just wanted you to know that you fought an excellent battle today.”

  “Thank you, Sir William,” Jay said hesitantly, wondering what would follow.

  Campbell remained quiet as he leaned on the railing, scanning the dark water below.

  Jay broke the silence. “May I ask you a question?”

  “By all means.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  Stuart Campbell glanced at him again with an even expression. “Not object to your motion for adjournment, you mean?”

  “Exactly. We had nothing but verbal representations about a phone call to Washington. You could have easily overridden it.”

  “Yes, but I had no choice,” Stuart said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  �
��I already knew Peru’s record on prisoner abuse. You’d found the key, and one way or another you would prevail against extradition when you obtained proof of the U.N.’s actions. Why prolong the agony?”

  “I see, I guess.”

  Stuart Campbell looked at him again. “That ploy of yours was brilliant, you know.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Doing the alternative audio track to demonstrate that the tape could have been staged. Impeccable logic.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, where are you going professionally, former District Judge Jay Reinhart? As you see, I know your history.”

  Jay shook his head. “I don’t know, really. Probably back to Wyoming.” He began to smile skeptically and turned to look at Campbell. “Why? Are you offering me a job or something?”

  “Good heavens, no!” Campbell laughed, falling silent just as rapidly. “But, on the other hand, you never know. If you start practicing over here, I might just have to hire you to keep from having to meet you on the battlefield.”

  Jay snorted. “Yeah, as if I’m a threat to Sir William Stuart Campbell.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Reinhart. Were I your senior partner, I would be heaping praise and reward on your shoulders this minute for your handling of this matter.”

  Jay pushed away from the railing and turned toward the senior lawyer.

  “Well, you know something, Sir William? This may all be a game to you, but to me the law is a very serious thing, especially when someone’s life hangs in the balance. It matters a lot to me. So I’m very thankful I’m not your partner. Now, what’s the real reason you asked me to meet you here?”

  Stuart Campbell smiled and reached in his inside coat pocket to pull out a small audiocassette tape.

  “What’s that?” Jay asked.

  “The openly taped record of a phone call between myself and President Miraflores several weeks ago. I thought you might like to have it.”

  “What’s . . . on it?” Jay asked.

  “President Miraflores’s angry voice as he quakes with anticipation of John Harris’s handcuffed arrival in Lima and makes plans for trying, convicting, sentencing . . . and burning John Harris alive. You see, one of Miraflores’s brothers was a drug dealer, and the brother’s death in that raid was the main source of his fury against John Harris. The stated intentions on this tape would have instantly prevented extradition, if needed.”

  “You held that tape back!”

  “Of course I did. I assumed it was protected under attorney-client privilege.”

  “Okay, but then . . . then it’s still privileged . . .”

  Stuart smiled and shook his head, his eyebrows flaring in mock surprise. “Apparently I was wrong. I checked my phone log and discovered this conversation predated my taking the case. So you’re welcome to use it anyway you see fit. Mr. Miraflores is no longer my client.”

  Jay took the offered tape and balanced it in his hand. “Why now, Sir William?”

  Stuart Campbell chuckled and stood away from the railing, ready to depart. “Because, Mr. Reinhart, the law and justice matter a lot to me, too. They always have.”

  Jay watched in mild shock as the big lawyer turned and walked away.

  So, Sir William Stuart Campbell had controlled it all from the beginning, Jay thought. Even Campbell’s defeat before Mr. Justice O’Connell had been consonant with his plan to drag an ex-President to the brink and yank him to safety just in time. He’d been John Harris’s prosecutor and savior rolled into one, and, as always, master of the game.

  Jay quietly slipped the audiocassette into his pocket and turned back toward the river to lean on the railing, his mind furiously working on the question Campbell had asked him.

  So where am I going professionally? Where should I go? He thought about Sherry and the trip they’d be taking together the next day if her schedule worked out.

  Something else Sir William had said flashed across his mind, a comment about legal battlefields with Jay on the front lines.

  Maybe I should think about resuming an international practice, Jay thought. It was a possibility he’d have to explore, and Ireland might just be a pretty good place to start.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  HEADWIND

  A G. P. Putnam’s Sons Book / published by arrangement with the author

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2001 by John J. Nance

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  ISBN: 978-1-1012-1450-3

  A G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS BOOK®

  G. P. Putnam’s Sons Books first published by The G. P. Putnam’s Sons Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

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  First edition (electronic): November 2001