Ground Truth

by Rob Sangster

  Jack shook his head in disbelief. Mac had just described the conditions that had inspired Sinclair to fill the void. “What a nightmare.”

  “And now,” Mac said, “it’s time you level with me. When you called me out of the blue a few days ago, you asked me to research the geology and hydraulics of an aquifer under El Paso and Ciudad Juarez and for a reference to someone who could analyze samples you’d taken. I did as you asked, and you outlined what the impending threat was. Then you asked me how nuclear waste is disposed of. I’ve explained that, but you haven’t told me why you want to know.”

  “Okay. You deserve an answer. There’s now an alternative to Skull Valley and Yucca Mountain. It’s a remote cave in Mexico where U.S. companies, for huge fees, can ship whatever radioactive waste they want, in whatever containers they choose. I think when that cave is filled, it will be sealed up, leaving thousands of tons of nuclear waste simmering inside.”

  Mac’s head jerked back. “That’s nuts! Stored like that, radiation will leak into the atmosphere or into the groundwater. That stuff can generate enough heat to explode like a dirty bomb, bigger than Chernobyl.”

  “It could get worse,” Jack said. “The grunts who operate the cave could sell nuclear waste to terrorists. Or terrorists could break in and steal what they want. Think what a panic that would cause.”

  Shaken by the parade of horrors, Mac’s face lost color. “You think the same group is behind the cave and the threat to the aquifer? How can we find out who it is?”

  He wanted to answer Mac’s question, because if something went wrong he needed someone of stature who could make the facts public, tell the story. But that knowledge could also put Mac at great risk. Mac was a family man with two kids and a good life.

  “Mac, I’m not sure I should answer that. I’m worried that telling you more could put you in danger.”

  Annoyance flashed in Mac’s face. “Look, I’ve done what you asked, and I deserve to be in for the whole ride.”

  Jack considered what was at stake, and said, “You’re right. You’re in. Tomás Montana, manager of the Palmer Industries plant in Juarez intends to poison the aquifer. And I’m certain the entire smuggling scheme was organized by—” He paused, knowing how his words would affect Mac. “—former Secretary of State Justin Sinclair, managing partner of the law firm I used to work for.”

  Mac’s jaw dropped. Twice he started to speak and couldn’t get words out. He shook his head, swallowed hard, and said, “My God, you have to get the FBI, CIA or Homeland Security in on this before—”

  Jack shook his head. “Too late for that. I have a meeting set for tomorrow at noon. That’s when I’ll blow the whistle.”

  “A meeting with whom?” Mac’s squinted eyes broadcast his skepticism.

  “The President of the United States, aboard Air Force One up at Travis.” He watched Mac’s expression turn to total surprise.

  “Whoa! You can do that?” Then Mac frowned. “But if Montana or Sinclair knows you’re going to expose them, they have to stop you from getting to that meeting.”

  “I don’t think Montana can reach this far, and Sinclair wouldn’t have set up my meeting with Gorton if he had a clue I’m going to accuse him. Listen to me. I can handle this, and I don’t want you involved any more than you already are. By the next time I see you, this will be over.”

  Mac gripped the steering wheel. “Look, the bad guys will have people watching your home in Atherton, all the airports, even the buses.”

  “They aren’t the Mafia with a platoon of thugs on standby.”

  “You don’t know what they have, so I’ll ride shotgun for you up to Travis.”

  Ride shotgun. That’s what Gano would have done. And Mac was leaving him no choice.

  “Okay, but no heroics.” He shook Mac’s hand. “Now I have to go. Sam Butler called earlier wanting me to meet him in his office.”

  Mac frowned. “Butler can wait. You need to get out of sight. Now.”

  “Nope, I can’t miss this one. I want to hear what he has to say.” The only way Butler could have known he was in town was for Sinclair to have told him. He needed to find out why Sinclair did that.

  “Then I’ll park outside Butler’s office and keep my eyes open.”

  Jack nodded, but as they drove back to the Sculpture Garden, he had an ache in his gut about letting Mac stay anywhere near him. If anything happened to him . . . But Mac was a tough guy. He knew this was risky and had demanded to be part of it. That didn’t make Jack feel any less anxious. Somehow he knew that what he’d been through so far was nothing compared to what was coming up.

  Chapter 46

  July 11

  6:00 p.m.

  MAC PARKED HIS Land Rover about fifty feet away from Jack’s BMW on the curve of Palm Drive, not far from the entrance to Butler’s office. No longer a stodgy hydrology professor, Mac had morphed into a grim-faced bodyguard.

  Jack left Mac in the Land Rover and took the stairs to Butler’s office two at a time. At the door, instead of the usual tap-tap of the Olivetti, he heard a Mozart piano sonata. He rapped the glass firmly.

  “Come in, Jack,” called the familiar scratchy voice.

  At first glance, the room was unchanged. Files, casebooks, legal publications, and clutter everywhere. Uncharacteristically, Butler was already on his way to the door. As they shook hands, Butler adjusted his glasses and peered intently at Jack’s face, as if searching for something.

  “I’m glad you could come by, my boy. You’re just in time for a sip of some fine single malt. Be a good lad and pour, will you?” He pointed to a bottle and glasses on a bookshelf.

  “Thanks. I’ll take a rain check.”

  “Then pour one for me while I settle here in my favorite chair.”

  Sipping scotch, Butler made a few comments about a recent Supreme Court appointment and then halted abruptly. “Sorry Jack, I didn’t stop to think that the Court might be a sore subject for you. I know you had hopes . . . well, let me tell you about a law review article I’m writing on the need to reform current practices of gerrymandering.”

  Jack noticed that Butler made no reference to Sinclair & Simms or Mexico even though he was certain Butler and Sinclair had discussed his departure from the firm. As he half-listened, he glanced around the office. Butler’s love affair with Gauguin paintings had not lessened. Just below the two women carrying mangos was a new landscape, a rich brown field and a man wielding a hoe. It had a special radiant quality.

  “Ah,” Butler interrupted himself, “Gauguin has spirited you away from my prattle.”

  “That landscape is a beauty. It’s new.”

  “Your memory must be failing. It’s been here for some time. A reproduction, of course, but a good one. An old academic could never afford an original.” He looked at Jack over the rims of his glasses with a self-deprecating smile. “You know, Gauguin fled to Tahiti for inspiration. Did Mexico work that way for you?”

  Clever transition, but why had he lied about the landscape? It had definitely not been in this room the last time he was here.

  “Mexico was no inspiration,” he replied.

  “Quite a few California businesses have a presence in Mexico. Were any of them your clients?”

  Butler was sandbagging him—again. He must know about Palmer Industries. Okay, he’d play along. “Yes, one with a big operation in Juarez. As it turned out, I caught them planning some criminal activities.”

  “What did you do about it?” Butler asked casually.

  “Not much . . . yet.” He wasn’t about to tell that story.

  “But you confronted the company?”

  “When I told the CEO what I knew, he pretended to be shocked and denied any involvement.” He wanted to hear what had caused Butler to call the meeting, but decided to troll a little. “What do you t
hink I should do?”

  “Turning against your client can have a damaging effect on your own career. Are you willing to step into the spotlight again? As one sage said, ‘You need to know when to hold them; know when to fold them.’” Butler leaned back, sloshed his scotch on the insides of the glass and took a deep sniff of the aroma. “My advice is to look out for yourself.” He absentmindedly drained his scotch.

  So that’s why Butler had called, to talk him into walking away from Palmer Industries.

  “Sam, I have to go now.” He stood. “I’ll think about what you—”

  “Sit down, Jack. We’re not done here.” Without raising his voice, Butler had issued a blunt command, totally out of character. “After you left Justin’s office earlier today, he called me because he knows you and I are good friends. He brought me up-to-date and said he was afraid you were about to make a very serious mistake. He was referring to—”

  “I know exactly what he was referring to.”

  “I see. Well, you might say I’m acting as amicus curiae, an advisor, a messenger between two friends to help avoid an unnecessary conflict. Justin authorized me to say that he feels he’s in the best position to resolve the issues in this Palmer matter. He would appreciate your agreement to let him take full responsibility for his client. He knows you have strong feelings about it, so he made the following proposal.” As if sensing Jack was about to object, he said, “Listen carefully. It would be in no one’s best interest for you to return to Sinclair & Simms. And the chairmanship of the international law department has been awarded to Professor Greenwald, so that’s no longer available. However, I will arrange for you to regain your tenured position on the law school faculty, get you back in the teaching rotation next quarter, and have you appointed assistant Dean, presumptive replacement for Dean Thompson when he retires. All of this will take considerable effort on my part, but I’m willing to go out on a limb for you.” Butler gave him a grandfatherly smile.

  He sensed Butler wasn’t finished, so he held his tongue.

  Apparently unruffled by Jack’s silence, Butler continued, “Or if you prefer to remain in private practice, choose one of the top firms in New York City, and we’ll give you an introduction and references that will assure a partnership. Since your specialty is international law, I recommend Debevois & Plimpton in Manhattan with offices in London, Paris, Moscow, and the other usual places. If you want to be where the action is, take their Shanghai office.”

  After making his pitch, Butler seemed almost shrunken in his worn leather chair. He interlaced his fingers and looked at the Benjamin clock, head cocked, listening to it. After a dozen or so more ticks, he grew impatient.

  “Well, my boy, which do you prefer?”

  They’d been so slick, trying to read his mind, ready to switch bait until he bit. Slick and damned insulting, thinking they could buy him. Sinclair was so corrupt that he assumed corruption in everyone else.

  “I’m impressed by the leverage you have with Thompson—” He was neither impressed nor surprised, but felt like making the dig. “—but I have a job to finish.”

  Butler’s mouth tightened, as if he had to squeeze out the next words against his will. “Justin predicted you might say that, so he wanted to stress that he can return that situation in Mexico to the status quo ante. His only goal is to make things right. To do that, he’ll reverse all arguably unlawful actions taken by the general manager that are the cause of your concern. Some actions can be reversed immediately. Others will take longer but can begin at once. Within an hour after you accept this package, Montana will be fired and removed from the plant. In return for all this, you agree not to pursue Arthur Palmer or Palmer Industries. You’ll sign an oath of absolute confidentiality. And, of course, there would be no point in meeting with President Gorton tomorrow—or anytime.

  “It’s time,” Butler said firmly, “for you to examine your motives in this matter. If you’re in this for publicity, or revenge against Arthur Palmer, or even for the thrill of the chase, you should consider the damage you’re going to do. If you really want to repair the situation in Mexico, you can’t predict whether President Gorton will believe you or, if he does, feel that any action by him in Mexico is warranted. In fact, you may find yourself in some cubbyhole talking to an intern instead of the President. In contrast, Justin can guarantee the results you say you want and give you your life back. It’s not my style to be blunt, but if you don’t accept this proposal at once, it will be withdrawn. In that case you will fail to improve the situation in Mexico and will incur certain substantial liabilities.”

  Jack almost laughed. First the carrot, then the sledge hammer. It seemed rational to take the deal. Sinclair could make good on all the things he offered. If Jack refused the offer, he’d have to persuade the President to condemn Sinclair, his friend for decades. And Sinclair would put the Sinclair & Simms machine in attack mode against Jack Strider. So it would be rational, except that the offer was a total hoax.

  If he accepted, Sinclair would cancel the meeting with Gorton with enough innuendo that Jack would never get another one. That done, Sinclair had no intention of doing what he promised. Sinclair was bargaining for time to silence Jack. With a start he realized that Sinclair might target Debra, too. She was safe at the moment, but he had to let her know how things stood.

  Somehow, all the threats weren’t having much effect on him. Maybe he’d been threatened too often recently. Or maybe he now felt he could handle anything they threw at him. Maybe they were just too late, because he’d set his course and damn the torpedoes. Whichever, it was time to bring down the curtain on this act.

  Without looking up from his glass, now empty, Butler said quietly, “I remind you that time is of the essence.”

  Butler had pressured him to decide on whether to take the job with S & S, and Jack had made that decision within the time limit. This time he’d march to his own beat. He stood and looked at Butler for several seconds.

  “I’ll think about it.” He walked across the old wood floor and out the door. Even though the time when Butler had been friend and mentor seemed long ago, he felt a sense of loss. He knew he’d never be back.

  AS HE WALKED toward his car, Jack saw Mac get out of his Land Rover, look around, then head his way. As soon as they were both in the BMW, Mac said, “What was so important to Butler?”

  Jack told him about the offer.

  “My God,” Mac said, “you must have Sinclair cornered.”

  “Yeah, well, everyone knows a cornered beast is extremely dangerous. Look, Sinclair orchestrated every step of his scheme brilliantly so far. He hasn’t suddenly gotten stupid. If I get Gorton to stop Montana from poisoning that aquifer, that won’t burn Sinclair at all. He’s just their corporate lawyer. So why would he make me such an over-the-top offer when negotiating with me must piss him off? There’s something wrong with that.”

  “Maybe he just wants to avoid the hassle.”

  Jack shook his head. “No, there’s only one explanation. He must have gotten a report that there were intruders at the cave. Maybe he even got inside information from D-TECH too. That would tell him the smuggling and the cave are in play. That he is in play.” The logical extension of that insight shocked him into silence. Sinclair’s only move was obvious. “He knows I won’t back down and that he can’t bribe me, so he has to prevent me from getting to Air Force One. And even that won’t be enough. He has to stop me from going public anywhere, or dropping out of sight to resurface later.”

  “That means killing you,” Mac said in a hushed voice. “Would he go that far?”

  “Of course,” Jack said with certainty. “Only God knows how much violence he authorized as Secretary of State, but I suspect he developed a taste for it. He sees himself as a righteous king, justified in crushing anyone who tries to knock him off his throne. He’ll do everything he can to kill me before noon tomorr
ow.”

  Jack saw in Mac’s pallid face that he was getting all the implications.

  “Let’s have a reality check,” Mac said. “Suppose there’s no meeting at all, that Sinclair’s playing you to get you out in the open.”

  “I checked with the White House, but the public relations people won’t confirm or deny appointments. Could Sinclair be faking it? Possible, but I’m sure he hadn’t made the connection between me and his smuggling scheme when he made the appointment. I think it’s still on, and I will be there. Besides, Butler stressed that I had to make a decision quickly so the meeting could be cancelled. He thinks it’s real.”

  Mac frowned and drummed his fingers against his knee. “I still don’t see why Sinclair set up that meeting.”

  “I surprised him and forced him to make a quick decision. We were discussing only dumping toxics into the aquifer, and he probably doesn’t have exposure on that. And maybe he’s confident he’s kept his fingerprints off everything, even the smuggling. He thought that lack of evidence, coupled with his long friendship with Gorton, would let him skate. So he made the right decision for himself even though it will sink his client. What he really didn’t want was for me to hold a press conference that would smear him. So he arranged for Gorton to give me only fifteen minutes. Not much time to get my story told. I’m sure he’s already stacked the deck against me, but I’ll deal with that.”

  “Okay, that’s why he’d set up a meeting, but he’s had second thoughts big time or he wouldn’t have had Butler offer you the moon. By now, Butler has told him you won’t back off, so it’s too dangerous for you to spend the night at home. Get a room at the Westin on El Camino Real. I’ll come with you.”

  “No,” Jack said. “I’ll get the room, but you go home to your family. And don’t show up tomorrow, my friend. I’ll handle this on my own.”

  Mac slammed his fist on the dashboard.