“Could you direct me to the bathroom?”
“Down the hall to your left,” the woman said.
He left his jacket, with his briefcase on a chair, and stepped into the hall, pulling out his cell phone and hitting the preprogrammed number. “Charlie?”
“No luck,” Jenkins said.
“You need to call Alex. Tell her to change their plans. I don’t care where they go in Mexico, but tell her to change everything.”
“Whoa. What’s the matter?”
“They put a transmitter in my coat.”
“What?”
“Remember when Kessler gave us the tour—”
“You took your coat off.”
“There’s a transmitter in the lining. It just set off the metal detector at the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”
“I’m on it.”
Sloane hung up and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows. He pushed his thoughts aside and tried to focus. Alex and Charlie had been right. It had been the right decision to send them out of the country. They had Alex and all of her training to stay hidden. He couldn’t help them. Besides, the best way to protect all of them, as John Kannin had said, was to find enough information to make someone important’s ass pucker. Sloane needed leverage.
DARSENA MARINA
CABO SAN LUCAS, MEXICO
AS THEIR THIRTY-TWO-FOOT charter neared the marina, Tina fought the urge to look around. She envisioned another boat intercepting them and men with guns boarding, but the only boats she saw were other fishing charters returning to the marina to have their fish weighed and filleted into steak-size chunks. Still, her stomach felt as if it were in her throat.
Alex, by contrast, looked completely relaxed. She had struck up a conversation with the fraternity brother Vincent, whom she had previously ignored, telling him her name was Maria, and was smiling and laughing easily. Vincent looked about as excited as Jake when he landed the fish.
When the boat docked, Tina gathered her towel and belongings, shoved them into her beach bag, and accepted Miguel’s hand onto the dock. Alex took at least a dozen pictures of Jake holding the fish, and Tina noticed that on several shots Alex had the telephoto lens extended and appeared to be using it to consider others.
“Te haz convertido en un pescador hecho y derecho, Jake,” Miguel said, telling Jake that now he had become a real fisherman. “You come back next year and we’ll catch a marlin together.”
He pointed to the end of the pier where a flurry of Mexicans had gathered, negotiating the cost of stuffing or cutting up the marlins, tuna, and other fish that had been caught. Tina followed Jake and made arrangements to have the fish photographed so that its dimensions could be replicated and the copy shipped back to the States, despite a pricey cost. As she and Jake rejoined Alex, she was surprised that Vincent and his two fraternity brothers were also waiting for them.
“Our hotels are just down the street from one another,” Alex said. “Vincent has invited us to have a drink and celebrate Jake’s fish.”
Tina forced a smile. “Why don’t we go back to the hotel and shower? We can meet there.”
“We don’t need to shower,” Alex said. “Let’s all stay together.”
Sensing Alex did not want to separate from the men, Tina agreed. At the end of the dock, as they approached a line of taxis, Alex turned to Tina and Jake and the other two men: “Why don’t you four grab a taxi together and we’ll meet you at the restaurant.”
Tina felt a lump in her throat but continued to follow Alex’s lead. “Okay. We’ll see you there,” she said, hearing her voice flutter.
U.S. ATTORNEY'S OFFICE SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
WHEN SLOANE PUSHED back through the glass doors into the lobby of the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Tom Pendergrass stood waiting.
“Sorry about that,” Sloane said. “I had to take a call.”
“Thanks for coming.” Pendergrass made it sound like a social visit.
“I haven’t been inside this building before. They did a nice job on the exterior.”
“I’ll give you the five-minute tour,” Pendergrass offered. “There’s a place with a great view.”
“Just let me grab my coat and briefcase.”
Sloane slipped his coat back on and followed Pendergrass onto an elevator. On the nineteenth floor Pendergrass stepped through glass doors out onto an observation deck with half a dozen unoccupied white tables and chairs. They stood at the railing looking at a view of downtown Seattle. Though the sun shone, the temperature was brisk. A breeze blew in their faces.
After admiring the view for a moment, Pendergrass spoke. “It’s tragic when a soldier dies.”
Sloane agreed. “I’m a marine, Tom. Ironically, I was wounded in Grenada because I gave up my flak jacket.” Pendergrass turned from the view to look at him. Sloane shrugged, and told Pendergrass the same story that he had told to the military doctor who had questioned him after the incident. “Damn things were heavy back then. I felt like it was weighing me down.” He looked back toward the buildings. “I watched two soldiers die, and as tragic as their deaths were, they didn’t leave behind a wife and four children.”
Pendergrass nodded. “Bullets don’t discriminate. We’re losing good men over there. I wish I could compensate the families of every one of them. I really do. I’m on their side. I’m one of them. But I can’t. My job is to determine whether the death is compensable. It’s difficult at times, as I’m sure you can appreciate, but it has to be done.”
“We all have jobs to do.”
“I’m surprised you filed the complaint.”
“I’m surprised you’re handling it,” Sloane countered.
“I think we both know that Mrs. Ford’s claim is not compensable.”
Sloane shrugged. “The administrative claims office had Mrs. Ford’s claim for over a year. They had ample opportunity to act on it. They didn’t. There’s no authority for it to be reopened.”
“We can debate the court’s jurisdiction, but we can’t debate the merits,” Pendergrass said, as Sloane had predicted. “Specialist Ford was killed while serving his country during a war in a foreign country. I’ve handled a dozen of these claims. It will never get past a motion to dismiss.”
“Then tell me what caused the military to reopen it?”
Surprisingly, the question seemed to catch Pendergrass off guard. He fumbled for an answer. “A claim can be reopened for any number of reasons. I could ask you the same question. What evidence do you have to support an allegation that James Ford was not killed incident to his service? If it exists, let me have it so that I can evaluate it and recommend that his family be compensated.”
That was, of course, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “I can’t give you that now.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“We’re just getting started investigating,” Sloane said. “You have the file.”
“The witness statements explain what happened, and I know you have them. They’re conclusive that James Ford was acting incident to his service.”
“Maybe, but the court won’t have those statements if you bring a motion to dismiss, and it has to accept any reasonable hypothetical set of facts I offer. The motion will be denied.”
“Anything in that hypothetical that would convince a court to conclude James Ford was not acting incident to his service?”
“That’s not my burden at this point in the proceeding.” Sloane reached into his briefcase and pulled out several documents. “I’ve brought subpoenas with me for the investigative file and to speak to whoever conducted the witness interviews, under oath.”
“We’ll fight both, and you won’t get either.”
“I guess that’s why the horses actually run the race. You never can be certain who’ll win. I believe Judge Natale will grant us the right to conduct discovery before entertaining a motion to dismiss.”
“I don’t. You need to have some evidence to back up your complaint.”
Sloane ignored the comment. “A
s I said, Judge Natale won’t have the witness statements and she’s duty-bound to consider the facts liberally in our favor.”
Pendergrass raised a hand. “Enough saber rattling.” He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out several folded pages of his own, and handed them to Sloane. “You might find this to be of interest.”
Sloane unfolded the document, a copy of a federal court case. “What is it?”
“A way to resolve this that could be a win-win for everyone,” Pendergrass said.
MONTLAKE DISTRICT
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
BEVERLY FORD ANSWERED the door dressed in her nurse’s uniform. Sloane had caught her in between getting the kids off to school, following a graveyard shift at the hospital, and much needed sleep. On the drive to her house he had called Charles Jenkins, but Jenkins had heard nothing back from Alex. Sloane was trying to think of that as a positive sign, and not an indication that something was wrong.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Ford asked. Sloane declined. She invited him to the couch in the living room. Sloane had left his leather coat in his car. “Well,” she said, dispensing with the pleasantries. “You said you had news.”
“You remember I told you that the administrative office had reopened your claim? They want to settle it, Beverly. They reopened it to make you an offer.”
“An offer?”
One of the documents Pendergrass had provided was a legal case detailing an incident during the First Gulf War when two American F-15 fighter planes shot down two Black Hawk helicopters. The pilots mistook the helicopters for Iraqi, killing fifteen Americans and eleven Kurds on board. The secretary of defense exercised his discretion and paid the Kurd families $100,000 each, but concluded Feres barred compensation to the families of the American soldiers. That didn’t sit well with the American families, Congress got involved, and eventually the secretary exercised the same discretion. Pendergrass intimated that same discretion could be exercised as to Ford’s claim, though he didn’t say why and Sloane wasn’t flush with possible answers.
Maybe the government didn’t like the potential public relations dust that Sloane could kick up about the lack of body armor, but the body armor issue had come and gone and the public seemed to be growing more and more numb to news of soldiers dying as the months, and the war, pressed on. Kannin had been given a different kind of trump card, the potential embarrassment to a powerful U.S. senator whose nephew tried to cover up a serious crime. Sloane held no such card.
“I was called to a meeting at the U.S. Attorney’s Office this morning. The government is prepared to pay you one hundred thousand dollars, though I think they will go higher. I know it’s not a fortune, but it’s a tax-free payment, and I would waive my fee. Invested wisely, it will allow you to stay in your home and keep your children in Catholic school. You’d be able to keep your promise to James and get some help for Althea.”
At one point Sloane had considered a settlement to be the best that he could hope for to help Beverly Ford. But that was before Mr. Williams showed up at his door and he learned of Phillip Ferguson’s and Dwayne Thomas’s deaths. A settlement now looked like the best way to get rid of him, and Ford’s claim. Still, Sloane was duty bound to notify Ford of the offer. The ultimate decision was hers alone.
Ford stood and walked to the mantelpiece, her back to Sloane. “Why?” She turned to him. “They denied my claim. What changed their minds?”
Sloane shook his head. That was the question gnawing at him. “I don’t know.”
“But it strikes you as odd, doesn’t it? I can hear it in your voice. Something is bothering you too.”
“It strikes me as odd, but this is your decision, and you have the right to do what’s best for you and your family.”
“What are they afraid of?” she asked.
Again he shook his head. “Maybe public sentiment—”
Her voice rose. “Public sentiment? How much worse can it get?”
“There could be other reasons we’re not privy to, Beverly, information the government does not want to come out.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know.”
“How would we find out?”
“We won’t—not if we accept their offer.”
“And if we don’t?”
“The government’s offer is contingent on you dropping your claim before the hearing on their motion to dismiss. If you don’t, the government will withdraw the offer.”
“Then we’ll go to court.”
“We could, but there are obstacles in our path that still might prevent us from getting answers. As I told you, it isn’t likely we can get around the Feres doctrine unless we find someone who was with James the night he died and that person tells us James died while doing something not traditionally associated with being a soldier. At the moment, I haven’t found anyone to tell us that and I have no evidence that’s the case.”
“But you filed the complaint.”
“To let the government know we weren’t going away, and to use the court to try to get more information.”
“That’s what I want, more information.”
“I can’t guarantee we’ll get it, Beverly.”
“James was a good man, David. The men would have genuinely liked him. If there is something, one of them will tell us. I’m certain of it.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“What is it, then?”
Sloane debated what more to tell her. “Two of the three men who were with James that night are dead. We haven’t been able to find the third.”
“They died in the war?”
“No,” he said. “They died after coming home.”
She gave him an inquisitive look. “What are you not telling me?”
She had a right to know, Sloane thought. She’d earned that right when her husband put on a uniform and died for his country. For the next ten minutes he told her everything that had transpired since his meeting with Captain Robert Kessler to his finding the bug in the lining of his coat.
“The problem is we don’t have any concrete evidence those two men died other than how it was reported.”
“But you think it’s possible they didn’t.”
“I think it is.”
“My God,” she said, hand covering her mouth.
“A hundred thousand dollars is not a small sum of money. You would have every right to accept it—”
She snapped. “I told you, this isn’t about the money. This is about James.” She caught herself. “What about those other men? If you’re right, who will find justice for them? My husband did what he was told.” She pointed to the front door. “He had four children and the hardest thing we’ve ever done was watch him walk out that door. But we made that sacrifice. If what you’re telling me has even an ounce of truth, it means somebody didn’t do right by him or this family. Somebody needs to acknowledge that. Somebody needs to accept responsibility for what happened to my James.”
“I don’t want to give you false hope, Beverly.”
“My husband is dead. This isn’t about hope.”
“If you don’t accept this offer, the government will move forward with the motion to dismiss your case, and as hard as it is for me to say this, at this point the judge would be duty bound to grant it.”
Ford closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She was about to speak when a voice interrupted her.
“Tell them no.” Lucas walked in wearing a collared shirt and baggy blue jeans. He dropped his backpack with a thud.
“Lucas?” she said. “What are you doing home?”
“They’re paying us to keep quiet. They want us to go away. Dad would have said, ‘No.’ He would have said we can’t be bought. It’s a matter of principle.” He stepped further into the room, addressing Sloane. “We don’t need their money—we’ll be fine. We’ll get by. I can work. But Dad always told us to never compromise our principles. I’d rather lose.”
Sloane spoke to Beverly. “You don’t have to m
ake your decision now. Sleep on it.”
Ford looked at her son, smiling. “I don’t have to, David. My James just spoke to me.” She hugged her eldest son. “He just made a man out of his boy.”
DARSENA MARINA
CABO SAN LUCAS, MEXICO
ALEX WATCHED THE taxi depart the marina, then turned to Vincent. “On second thought, a shower would feel good. Do you have any extra towels in your room?”
Vincent smiled. “No, but I’m willing to share.”
She laughed and slid inside the taxi, Vincent sidling up close beside her. The cabbie drove down Marina Boulevard through the shopping district and bars. “How many years did you say you and your friends have been taking trips like this?” Alex asked.
“Five,” Vincent said. “We usually go to Lake Tahoe, but this being a milestone, we thought we’d go international.”
“And how many came?”
“Twelve. Usually there’s more. Some couldn’t get permission from their wives.”
“How did you swing a weekend pass?”
“I’m not married,” he said, smiling.
“And do you get this lucky every year?”
He laughed. “You mean fishing, right?”
She grinned. “I didn’t see you catch anything.”
“Not yet,” he said.
The taxi stopped at the hotel. Vincent stepped out and held the door open, insisting that he pay the fare. Alex let him. As they walked toward the arched entry to the hotel, Alex stopped suddenly.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Vincent asked.
“I don’t think I’m exactly prepared for this.” Vincent looked like the line on his fishing pole had just snapped. “Relax,” she assured him. “I just need to go to my room for a second. I don’t have my diaphragm.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said, not wanting to let his catch out of his sight.
She put a hand on his chest. “It’ll only take a minute. I’ll meet you in the bar. Order me a strawberry margarita and a shot of Cuervo Gold. I drink fast, and I’m a lot more fun after a couple of cocktails.” She brushed a hand across his forearm as she turned and walked off.
Halfway down the block, she slipped into the pink sandstone entrance to another resort. Her sandals slapped against the red tile floor of an open-air foyer filled with leafy plants blowing in a light breeze created by multiple ceiling fans. Water trickled from a tile sculpture into a pond of lily pads and fish.
Wrongful Death: A Novel Page 16
