When they went back downstairs, he showed her his massive corner office.
Maddy looked around at the leather furniture, dark paneling, and large mahogany desk and asked, “No animal heads?”
“Those aren’t the trophy’s I like to collect,” Cal coyly said. “Why, are you an anti-gun and anti-hunting person?”
“No, not really,” Maddy casually replied. She moved behind his desk intentionally ignoring his comment about trophy collecting and sat down in his chair.
“This is nice. Maybe a touch too masculine, but it suits you.”
Maddy looked around and noticed a multi-line phone, a large computer screen, and printer and other signs of a working office.
“Do you work at home? I mean, do you have a traditional office that you go to?” she asked.
“Mostly I work here,” he acknowledged.
“You live very well. I can see where a girl could get used to this,” she said while sliding her hands over his desk. As she did this, she attached bug number 2 to the underside of the desk’s middle drawer.
Cal looked at his gold Rolex and said, “I’m getting a little hungry. Let’s say we finish the tour and head out.”
Next, he took her through the dining room. The centerpiece was a long dining table with twelve matching, armchairs around it.
“This is beautiful,” Maddy said looking around. “Let me guess,” she continued, “your chair is the one closest to the door,” she said pointing to it.
“How did you know?” he laughed.
“Simple, you’re a busy man. If you use this room for entertaining, you could get called to the phone at any time,” Maddy answered. She had slowly moved around to the end of the table where Cal’s chair was and sat down on it.
“Very nice,” she said.
“I must confess,” Cal said. “Wife number two did this room. And most of the others.”
“Wife number two?” Maddy asked. “How many have there been?”
“I’m on number three,” he reluctantly admitted. “Come on, I’ll show you everyone’s favorite room.”
“Ah, the kitchen,” Maddy said.
“Yep, the kitchen,” he agreed.
Maddy could see why. It was almost the size of her apartment. If she were someone who enjoyed cooking, she would be standing in Nirvana.
“It’s magnificent,” she said.
“Do you like to cook?” Cal asked.
“Oh, of course, I get it from my dad,” she lied.
Aidan walked in and whispered in Cal’s ear. Cal nodded at him and turned to Maddy.
“Excuse me, one moment, please. I have a call I must take,” he said.
“Sure, no problem. Take all the time you need,” she answered.
Aidan followed his boss out leaving Maddy alone. She quickly looked around trying to find the best place to plant the last bug. Conrad had suggested somewhere near the refrigerator.
Maddy bent down next to the refrigerator’s handle and quickly attached the bug to a cupboard door. The opposite wall in the kitchen was at least twenty feet away, almost too far for the bug to pick up.
Sensing more than hearing, somehow, she knew someone was coming. Maddy stood up and went right to a cupboard next to the sink. She opened the door just in time to hear a voice behind her.
“Can I help you find something?” Aidan asked, a touch of suspicion in his voice.
“Oh!” Maddy yelped as she whirled around. Holding her heart, she said, “You startled me. Um, I, ah, was looking for a glass to get a drink of water.”
“Other side of the sink,” Aidan pointed with a smile. “There are ice cubes in the freezer and you can get clean water from the refrigerator door.”
Maddy took a glass and filled it from the door. For the next three or four minutes, she tried to make a little small talk, but he wasn’t interested. Finally, Cal came back and rescued her.
“I hate to do this to you, but I’m going to have to cancel tonight. Something has come up,” Cal said.
“It’s not the end of the world. I’ll be okay,” Maddy said.
“Do you need a ride? I can get one of the staff to take you,” Cal asked.
“What about Aidan? Can he give me a lift?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not. He goes with me. I’m really sorry,” Cal sincerely said.
“It’s okay,” Maddy said.
“You get ready,” Aidan said to Cal. “I’ll take care of her. I’ll get Hal to take her home.”
Thirty minutes later, Maddy was dropped off at a downtown high-rise three blocks from her own. When the driver left, another thug like Aidan, she called Carvelli and Dan was sent to get her. The phone call Cal received, although one-sided, had provided their first piece of intel.
THIRTY
An hour after leaving Cal’s home, Dan Sorenson and Maddy were back at Vivian’s. From the driveway, they had seen Carvelli, Tommy, Franklin Washington and Vivian outside the boathouse. Dan parked the Town Car and the two of them hurried through the house and down to the lake.
“Hello, everyone,” Maddy said as they watched her arrive.
“You okay?” Carvelli asked.
“Hello, dear,” Vivian stood, hugged her lightly and kissed her cheek.
“Any problems?” Carvelli asked before Maddy could answer him.
“I’m good,” Maddy said then added, “No, no problems. Thanks,” she said to Dan who handed her a cold beer.
They all took seats, and Maddy explained how she planted the bugs. When she finished, Conrad came out of the boathouse.
“Hi,” he said to Maddy. “The bugs are working fine. You did good.”
“Thanks, Conrad,” she sincerely replied.
“He made another call,” Conrad said looking at Carvelli. “I got the dialing recorded. Your guy should be able to get us a number.”
“Did you send it to him?” Carvelli asked. They were referring to Carvelli’s hacker.
“Yeah. I sent it all. So far, he’s talked to three people, all men. A guy named Floyd was the first call. He called Cal. They spoke for less than two minutes. Something about another test today went perfectly.
“Thirteen minutes later he called this Al guy. Not sure why it took him so long.”
“What time was the call?” Maddy asked.
“Four forty-eight,” Conrad replied.
“He was getting me out the door,” Maddy said. “I was there when he took the first call. Did you record him from number two?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“That’s the office bug. Number one is the living room, three is the dining room and four is the kitchen. He left me in the kitchen to take the call. His head of security almost caught me planting number four.”
“You get it okay?” Carvelli asked.
“Yeah. It was close, but I got it. This guy, his head of security, he’s a scary thug. Name’s Aidan Walsh. Probably a phony. I need to get it to Paxton and see if her guys can find out who he is. Anyway, sorry, Conrad, please finish.”
“He spoke to Al for almost seven minutes, Cal told him about the test Cal said Floyd referred to. Al was very pleased. So was Cal. Then they talked about something they referred to as ‘the short’. I have no idea what that could be. And a little about hearings, a funding bill, and a contract. Again, no idea what they meant.”
Carvelli looked around at the small group and asked, “Any idea?”
It was Vivian who spoke up. “The hearings and bill could be something coming from Congress. Something tied to this test. There are things like that going on all the time. Especially for the Pentagon. It would be difficult to find out what. But I know some people, a lobbyist or two, who might be able to get me some information on any big spending bills coming out in the next few weeks. Anything that might be tied to a test of some kind.”
“Good,” Carvelli said. “Do that. In the meantime, we’ll try to find out who Al and Floyd are.”
“The third call was to a guy named Dan. Again, I got that number and sent it to Tony’s
guy,” Conrad continued. “It was very short. Less than thirty seconds. Cal identified himself then told Dan he could, quote, tell everyone everything is going according to plan. That was it.”
“Okay,” Carvelli said. “We’ll track down who these people are.”
When no one said anything further, Vivian said, “Why don’t we have a little dinner. Then we can all listen to the recordings together.”
“By then there might be others, too,” Maddy said.
An hour later, they were seated in Vivian’s library listening to all of the phone calls, at least Cal’s side of them. There was another call that Cal had made while they ate. He had called Floyd back to tell him he had spoken to Al.
With only Cal’s side of each call, no one was able to make an educated guess as to what the calls were about.
“It must be something fairly important,” Carvelli said. “Otherwise, why hustle Maddy out the door?”
There was a moment of silence, then Maddy said, “We need to look over the guest list from Cal’s Fourth of July party. Look for these names.”
“Where is it?” Vivian asked.
“I have it,” Carvelli answered her. “I’ll check it when I get home. In the meantime, that’s about it for tonight.”
“Everyone is welcome back tomorrow to monitor his calls. I’m not sure what but I do believe he and these other people are up to something,” Vivian told them.
“Hey, it’s Maddy,” Maddy was saying into her phone. “I got a name for you to run down. It’s Aidan Walsh, and I think he’s from Boston.”
“How do you know that?” she heard Paxton ask.
“He’s got a slight accent. That and he’s a thug and Cal Simpson’s head of security.”
“You got a picture? A picture would be helpful.”
“No, I don’t, but I’ll try to get one for you.”
“Not that I want to know if you’ve done anything illegal, but did you get the, um, devices in place?”
“Yep, all set.”
“Let me know if you find anything interesting,” Paxton said.
“Will do. You coming up this weekend?”
“No, can’t get away. Probably next weekend, Labor Day.”
“Great, see you then,” Maddy said.
“Hey, you. Be careful. We’ve all grown quite fond of you.”
“I will, thanks,” Maddy softly said.
Maddy ended the call and said, “I just remembered something. There was a white van in front when we got there…”
“My not-so-worthy-competitors,” Conrad said. “We ran the license plate. They must have been there to sweep for bugs.”
“They were,” Maddy replied. “I got it out of his security guy. He didn’t tell me how often, but he has it done, and sooner or later they’ll find our stuff. And, I hate to say this, but one of the guys with the van, there were two of them, was staring at me.”
“A man staring at you is not exactly novel,” Carvelli said.
“It wasn’t that. I know that look. No, he was watching me as if he knew me.”
“I’ll have MPD check them out,” Dan Sorenson said.
“They’re brothers,” Conrad said. “Rob and Willie Hanson. They’re semi-legit. The cops will know them.”
Senator Roger Manion, the U.S. Senate’s only admitted socialist, entered the men’s room across from his office. He stepped up to one of the urinals and stood waiting for his uncooperative, elderly prostate to allow him to relieve himself. While he did this, two more senators entered the luxury bathroom.
“Roger,” Albert Fisher greeted him while Manion faced the wall.
“Albert,” the crabby senator from Maine replied.
“When are you going to see a doctor about that prostate?” Fisher asked.
“None of your goddamn business,” Manion growled.
While this exchange took place, the third man, Senator Galen Carroll of Delaware searched the restroom. Satisfied the three of them were the only ones there, he let Fisher know that.
Fisher stood next to Manion and quietly said, “I heard from our friend in Minnesota. He heard from Nevada. The final test flight went off without a hitch. Time for the funding Bill to go through.”
“It’s about goddamn time,” Manion replied.
“You talking about the Bill or your uncooperative dick?” Fisher asked.
“Both,” Manion said. “I’ve been sitting on the Bill for a month. Have you told your pal, Howell?” Manion asked referring to Senator Christian Howell. Howell was the chairman of the subcommittee that must okay the Bill they were talking about. He would schedule a hearing for a week or so from now. A couple of Air Force generals would testify that the A-1’s Tiger Hawk was fully tested and ready for funding. Once that was done, the Bill would pass out of committee and go through the formality of a floor vote.
“Yes, he knows. He will schedule the hearing for the next Tuesday. If it fits your schedule,” Fisher replied.
Manion finally finished, flushed the urinal, stepped back and while zipping up his pants, thought about his schedule for next week.
“Tuesday should be fine,” he said. He stepped to the sink to wash his hands and continued, “Tell him to hold it in the morning and let this be the only piece of business we conduct, in case something else comes up.
“How’s the other thing?” Manion asked while wiping his hands dry.
“Another week to ten days,” Fisher said.
“Good,” Manion said. “I’m looking forward to the Labor Day break.”
“Me, too,” Fisher said. “These three to four-day work weeks are a killer.”
While the three senators were holding their clandestine men’s room meeting, another meeting was taking place in Minneapolis. That morning, the story about the concealed engineer’s report had been printed on that day’s front page.
The meeting was taking place in a conference room attached to the managing editor’s office. His name was John Coyle, and he was joined by the reporter Darren Benedict and Darren’s boss Aaron Towns. Lead counsel for the paper, Gwen Charter, was also there on behalf of the paper.
The government sent a local Assistant U.S. Attorney Megan Wilson. With her were two large, intimidating FBI agents. Megan had a federal subpoena demanding the original of the engineer’s report.
Finally, the one making the most noise was Brody Knutson, managing partner of Everson, Reed. Brody had brought along an impressive set of serious-looking Everson, Reed lawyers to remind everyone of Brody’s importance.
The first thing Brody did was hand out copies of pleadings for a motion he had scheduled in state court. It was set for 1:00 P.M. that day. In it, he was demanding the return of what he claimed was the stolen engineer’s report.
“You’re not going to win this ass-covering motion, Brody,” John Coyle told him. “It was mailed to us anonymously and we are under no obligation to give it back to you. What we will do is give you a copy,” he said as he slid a document across the table to a furious Brody Knutson.
“Megan, we’ve conferred on your request…” Gwen Charter started to say.
“I have a federal subpoena, Gwen,” Megan Wilson said.
“As I said,” Charter continued, “we have conferred on your request. And, although I think we could beat you in court,” Charter quickly held up a hand to stop the government’s lawyer from interrupting, “we see no reason not to comply with your request and let you have the original. We have reason to believe you’ll find incriminating fingerprints that belong to no one we have an obligation to protect.”
“However,” Coyle said leaning forward and looking directly at Megan Wilson.
“We’ll call you as soon as we know something,” Wilson told him. She turned to the cadre of Everson, Reed lawyers and said, “Your screw up…”
“If there was one,” Knutson hotly said.
“Fine,” Wilson said. “Your potential screw up is not my concern.”
“You have no jurisdiction here,” one of Knutson’s toadies spo
ke up.
“It’s an ongoing investigation. We’re not at liberty to discuss,” Wilson replied using the government’s catch-all excuse for covering up whatever they wanted.
“Are you going through with your motion this afternoon?” Gwen Charter asked Brody. “I need to know. If you are, we will fight you.”
“We will too,” Wilson added.
“No, I guess not,” Knutson replied. “You will let us know what you find?”
“Probably,” Wilson said. “No, promises.”
“What?” Knutson almost yelled.
“Depends on what we find. As I said, it’s an ongoing investigation.”
Before the day was over, the FBI had verified that the fingerprints of Zachary Evans and Lynn McDaniel were on the engineer’s report. Concerned about the effect this news would have on Cannon Brothers shares, it was decided to keep this quiet for now. Unfortunately, the news leaked out and within a week, Cannon Brothers stock was in free fall.
First, the Plaintiff’s lawyers in the class action suit issued a press release that they were going to reopen the issue of punitive damages. There followed other reports that, because of the gross violation of discovery rules, Cannon Brothers and their lawyers would be lucky to survive the fallout. By the end of the first week, Cannon Brothers shares had fallen almost sixty percent.
The Chicago office of the Securities and Exchange Commission issued a statement that they were going to investigate possible stock manipulation.
THIRTY-ONE
At exactly 5:17 A.M. Marc Kadella’s eyes snapped open. He lay still staring at his bedroom ceiling for several seconds. He then sat up, looked at his alarm clock, and noted the precise time. For the next two-plus minutes, he stayed this way, staring in the dark at his bedroom wall with a blank expression. He was trying to decide if he was dreaming an unreal event or remembering it. The longer he thought it over, the more vivid it became. As the images became more and more clear, he became convinced that this was not a dream. A memory suppressed by the concussion was breaking through.
Insider Justice: A Financial Thriller (Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Book 8) Page 19
