by Randy Singer
Odysseus explained that he wasn’t a guard. He was there to lead Hassan to freedom.
“Praise Jesus,” Hassan said.
For the next thirty minutes, there was bedlam inside the prison facility as inmates ran for their lives and the guards shot to kill. The sun was just beginning to illuminate the scene. The Cipher agents worked quickly to herd Pastor Hassan through prison corridors and across the jail courtyards until they came back to the opening in the fence. Once they cleared the prison wall through the hole made by the car bomb, they jumped into a waiting vehicle that whisked the men away. Inside the war room, the headsets came off and the Cipher employees quietly congratulated each other.
The whole thing was over, as Sean had said it would be, in just about thirty minutes.
Ten minutes later, Kerri was in Sean Phoenix’s office listening to him report on the raid to the State Department. Even the unflappable Phoenix couldn’t hide the triumphant tone in his voice, though Kerri doubted he had as much of an adrenaline rush as she did. “Operation Trojan Horse was a complete success,” he said. “The target is on his way to London.”
He listened for a moment, then said, “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”
///
At her hotel later that night, after the excitement had died down, Kerri had a chance to process things alone. She thought about the collateral damage Sean had shrugged off earlier that night in response to one of her questions. “There’s no such thing as a clean war,” he had said. “There will always be collateral damage.”
But Kerri was left to wonder if it had all been worth it. Guilty prisoners had been set free. Innocent guards had been injured; some may have been killed. The sovereign rule of a foreign nation had been brushed aside as if it were of no consequence.
Christians around the world would undoubtedly rejoice and claim a miracle from God. Iran would probably blame it on Israel or that Western Satan, the United States. Kerri’s own television station would still be running segments on the escape through the following week.
Yet Kerri was one of the few people privileged to know the truth, one of the few who had seen behind the curtain. Pastor Hassan and his friends around the world may have been praying for a miracle. But it was a phone call from the State Department and a group of brave men working for a reviled company named Cipher Inc. who had sprung the beloved pastor.
It was spectacular, just as Sean Phoenix had promised. But was it right?
36
FOR KERRI, DRIVING BACK HOME Sunday morning was like stepping out of the dream and back into reality. The thrill of being an embedded journalist watching an international rescue mission was hard to describe. Her journalistic instincts made her want to share the news with others. It was what she had been trained to do. Instead, she had this incredible story bubbling up inside her wanting to burst out, but nowhere for it to go. She was a thoroughbred locked in a slow trot, a Broadway actress doing used-car commercials.
Kerri took her professional obligations seriously, and paramount among them was the promise of confidentiality. But she had made another promise several years ago, one now at odds with her professional responsibilities. She and Landon had agreed they would harbor no secrets in their marriage. The two of them had become one flesh, and secrets could only cause distrust.
But this felt different. This wasn’t the kind of secret that could damage her marriage. She had promised Sean Phoenix she would not say a word, even to her own husband. What she had witnessed was no trifling matter. It had international consequences. If word leaked out, people would be fired. People would be prosecuted. People might be killed.
She drove with the radio off, which gave her time to think. After what she had witnessed, her life somehow felt more trivial. The issues in the Reed family—Landon’s work, balancing her obligations as a mother and journalist, even the ethical dilemmas posed by the Elias King case—were all dwarfed by what had just occurred.
She wondered if she would ever be able to tell the world about it. She also wondered if perhaps Sean Phoenix was evaluating her for a role in his company. Surely Cipher Inc. could use a spokesperson who better understood the world of journalism. She let her mind drift to a role where she wasn’t just reporting the news but was right in the middle of it, part of an organization that was a significant player on the international stage. She bet that Cipher Inc. paid handsomely as well, though that wasn’t a primary motivator.
By the time she got back to her condo in Virginia Beach, she had pretty much decompressed. Maddie charged her as soon as she walked in the door. Landon trailed closely behind and gave Kerri a kiss.
“How was your trip?” he asked.
“Interesting.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Later,” she said. She turned to Maddie, always a welcome diversion. “Why don’t you go get your brush and a few hair ties?” Kerri said. “Looks like Daddy hasn’t brushed your hair all weekend.”
When Maddie scampered off, Kerri grabbed Landon, pulled him next to her, and gave him a deep kiss. This will take his mind off my trip.
“I missed you,” she said, pulling back as they heard Maddie coming down the hall.
He smiled and sneaked in another quick kiss. “I missed you, too,” he said.
37
EXACTLY TWO WEEKS after Elias King’s federal court indictment, on a blustery March day with overcast skies, Rachel Strach walked into Landon’s office and plopped down in one of his client chairs. It was Friday, so she had on jeans and a button-down white blouse. She slouched back, kicked off her pumps, and propped her feet against the edge of Landon’s desk. “Did you read about the indictments of that Texas lawyer and D.C. judge for insider trading?” she asked.
Landon had been buried in criminal case files all day. Harry spent most of his time on the Elias King files, which left Landon trying to do just about everything else. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. He liked the fact that he could be brutally honest around Rachel; she never judged him for not knowing something.
“Same deal as Elias King,” Rachel said, “except this Texas guy suckered a judge into his little scheme. Here . . . let me show you.”
She hopped up and moved behind Landon, leaning past him and taking over his mouse. A few clicks later she pulled up the article.
“How do you find out about this stuff?” Landon asked.
Rachel smiled—a broad white grin with perfect teeth. “You underestimate me. Reese Witherspoon ruined my life. Everybody thinks I’m Legally Blonde.”
Landon couldn’t deny it. Rachel was pretty, came across as a little naive, and was a lock for Miss Congeniality at any gathering of lawyers. Subconscious comparisons to Witherspoon’s character were unavoidable.
“I actually start each day reading about a dozen law blogs—not the snarky ones but the real law blogs that report on recent cases and on significant legal developments. Plus, I’ve got about fifty Google alerts programmed into my e-mail. When Elias got indicted two weeks ago, I added the phrase insider trading to my alert list.”
“Impressive,” Landon said. Just when I thought I had her figured out. “Can you show me how to set up an alert?”
After a brief tutorial, Rachel headed back to the first floor, and Landon read through the article on his screen.
John McBride, a notorious plaintiff’s lawyer from Dallas, Texas, had sued just about every company in the Fortune 500. He had made most of his fortune on the mass tort cases, though he wasn’t above a good shareholder derivative suit from time to time. He liked the high-profile stuff, and when Landon googled his name, the hits for Big John McBride went on for pages. Eventually Landon found the document he was looking for—the actual federal court indictment from the Northern District of Texas—and printed it out so he could highlight it for Harry.
Apparently Big John wasn’t content to rake in millions just suing people. He also had to pad his pockets with a little illegal action on the side. According to the indictment, he had set up
a number of offshore companies in countries where it was impossible to determine the owner. Like Elias, McBride was accused of setting up a maze of offshore accounts, and creating a spiderweb of interconnected companies and transactions that was nearly impossible to decipher. And just like Elias’s case, the Feds’ investigation had been initiated as a result of a confidential informant tipping them off.
The underlying scheme, however, was different from the one that had ensnared Elias. Big John’s firm did exclusively civil litigation, so there were no mergers or acquisitions of clients that would provide inside information. Instead, Big John’s offshore companies would short a company’s stock, essentially betting against the company, just a few weeks before McBride filed a lawsuit against that company. If the suit was big enough—and most of McBride’s were—the company’s value would take a hit in the day or two after the suit became public. McBride would cash in on his options and use the funds to help finance his litigation against the company.
And he apparently wasn’t in it alone. Some of the funds from the insider trading had gone into an account belonging to a Washington, D.C., federal judge named Rodney Zimmerman. And to make matters more interesting, McBride had a big case pending before Judge Zimmerman, scheduled to go to trial sometime within the year.
It was all fascinating stuff, but Landon didn’t see how it could help Elias. Nevertheless, he took the highlighted indictment down the hall to Harry’s office and left it on his chair.
Harry reviewed the document later that day when he returned from court, one of his rare appearances on a case other than Elias’s. He called for Landon.
“Nice work,” Harry said as soon as Landon set foot in his office. He was holding the McBride indictment in his right hand. “Seems pretty coincidental. Especially the part about the confidential informant.”
“Thanks,” Landon said. Harry wasn’t big on attaboys, so even a small compliment like this one felt good. Landon probably should have credited Rachel for the research, but she didn’t need brownie points with Harry.
“Not sure if this will actually help us in the long run,” Harry continued. “It could work against us if we find out that McBride and Elias were buddies, which seems unlikely. On the other hand, it could provide for one heckuva red herring. I need you to find out if there are any links between McBride and Elias. Any common cases? Any phone calls between them? Did they have the same clients? The same friends? The same enemies?”
Landon jotted a few notes. He would need to check Elias’s phone records and talk to him. But that wasn’t enough for Harry.
“We’ll need to see a list of McBride’s clients,” Harry said. “His billing records. A list of all the lawsuits he’s filed in the last five years. I need you to prepare the subpoenas. Everybody at McBride’s firm is going to scream bloody murder.”
Landon could see the glint in Harry’s eyes, anticipating the chaos and anger that the subpoenas would unleash. There was little chance a judge would give them access to the records, but that wouldn’t stop Harry from trying.
“This is going to be fun,” Harry said. “And while you’re at it, you might as well subpoena Judge Zimmerman’s financial records and phone records as well. No sense leaving him out of the party.”
38
THE FOLLOWING WEEK Landon issued subpoenas for the McBride and Zimmerman documents, which were promptly opposed by their respective attorneys and by Mitchell Taylor, the assistant U.S. Attorney prosecuting Elias’s federal case. A hearing was set up so Harry could explain to the court why the documents were necessary to Elias’s defense.
Harry secluded himself in his office for long stretches to work on the two King cases, shuffling most other responsibilities Landon’s way. As a result, Landon had to cancel his Tuesday night workouts with Jake and the other high school quarterbacks. During the first three nights of the week, he arrived home well after Maddie had gone to bed.
At five thirty Thursday evening, Rachel Strach came into his office looking like she had just seen a ghost. She sat down in one of his client chairs, and Landon could tell she was forcing back tears.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
She was wearing a tight red sweater and a short skirt. She crossed her legs and brushed her hair away from her face. For about the hundredth time, Landon found himself thinking that Rachel Strach could do way better than Brent Benedict. It wasn’t just her looks. She was one of the few smart lawyers Landon knew who didn’t have a huge ego. She loved life, had a quick and corny laugh, and never seemed to take herself too seriously.
“What’s up?” Landon asked. Actually, he knew. Rachel’s deposition was scheduled for the next day and she had been meeting with Brent Benedict’s attorney, a stiff suit from the good-old-boy network named Allen Mattingly.
“I told Mr. Mattingly about your idea to take the Fifth,” Rachel said. Landon had done some research for her. Adultery was still a misdemeanor under Georgia law, which meant that Rachel could technically plead the Fifth and not have to contradict Brent.
Rachel shook her head, regret lining her face. “He said it wouldn’t work. He said anything less than unqualified support for Brent would force this thing to court. Stacy’s attorneys would embarrass both me and Brent.”
She stopped and sighed, clearly wishing she had never put herself in this position. “Only sexual intercourse is a misdemeanor in Georgia,” she continued. “If I take the Fifth, Stacy’s attorneys can probe all other kinds of sexual activities. . . .” Her voice dropped off; there was no good way out.
The law required Rachel to plead the Fifth Amendment question by question. It could make for a long deposition as they differentiated between sexual acts that constituted a misdemeanor under Georgia law and those that did not.
“What do you plan on doing?” Landon asked.
Rachel shrugged. Her shoulders slumped, the weight of the world pressing down.
“You can’t lie,” Landon said. It was, he knew, the reason Rachel had come to his office. She didn’t want to lie, and she needed reinforcement.
“I know,” she said, though Landon didn’t hear much steel in her voice. “Sorry to drag you into this.”
“I’ve got worse clients,” Landon said.
This brought a small and fleeting smile. “Maybe we should go start our own firm,” Rachel suggested.
The comment caught Landon off guard, and he couldn’t tell if Rachel was serious. The idea actually had some merit. Rachel knew enough about the practice of law to mentor Landon. They could get rid of some of the dysfunctions that plagued McNaughten and Clay. But Kerri would never go for it. “Let’s take things one step at a time.”
They talked for a few minutes about the deposition, and Rachel nibbled at her fingernail. Landon did his best to calm her down, assuring her that everything happened for a reason. “No matter how this turns out, you’ll be able to live with yourself if you tell the truth.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself,” she said.
She perked up some, and Landon could tell their brief session had stiffened her backbone a little. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
He had skipped lunch. And he still had a few hours of work ahead of him. He was starving, but he didn’t dare go home; Kerri would never let him head back to the office. “A little.”
“I was supposed to meet some friends at the 501 City Grill. They’ve got five-dollar specials if we get there before six thirty,” Rachel said. “Wanna grab something quick?”
A voice told him it wasn’t a good idea. He had just finished talking with Rachel about her affair with Brent Benedict. Still, his relationship with Rachel was on a whole different level. They were friends. She needed some encouragement. He needed food. Male lawyers went to lunch or dinner with female lawyers all the time and nothing happened.
He checked his watch. “Five bucks?”
“Pizzas. Burgers. All kinds of healthy food.”
He knew Kerri wasn’t expecting him home anytime soon. What could it hurt? He had al
ready done a few working lunches with Rachel in the office. This would be no different.
“Give me a few minutes to finish this e-mail,” Landon said.
“Thanks,” Rachel replied. “For everything.”
///
The 501 City Grill was less than a mile from the office and packed out even though it was early in the evening. Rachel and Landon secured a booth in the bar area and ordered from the five-dollar menu. The background noise forced Landon to lean forward so he could hear Rachel. A few of the regulars in the bar stopped by their table to say hello to Rachel, and she introduced them to Landon. He started getting uneasy, wondering how he would explain this to Kerri if word got back to her.
Rachel’s friends never showed.
Landon drank Diet Cokes even when Rachel tried to coax him into an imported draft beer. After her first beer, she relaxed. After her second, she became more talkative, almost giddy. It had been a long day. When the waitress asked if she needed another, Landon answered for her.
“We’ve got to get back to work,” he said. “Two is probably her limit.”
She gave him a little sideways glance. “He’s right,” she said. “I could never hold my liquor.”
During the meal, Rachel opened up about her past. Her parents had divorced when she was in middle school. She had been abused by an uncle. She had been through several fractured relationships with men in the last five years. Two of them had cheated on her.
It was a tale of woe, but she told it with a half smile, as if even she couldn’t believe her poor choices in men. “Seems like all the good ones are taken,” she said.
Landon’s own dating career had taken a different tack, so he kept his opinions to himself. Besides, he had learned from Kerri that sometimes women weren’t asking for an opinion. Sometimes, they just wanted to talk things out.
While they were eating, a waiter who wasn’t assigned to their table—a young guy who knew Rachel by name—noticed her empty glass and brought her another beer. That made Rachel smile. “Everything happens for a reason,” she said, raising her glass in a toast.
