Ground Truth (37 page)

Chapter 55

July 14

8:00 a.m.

THE NEXT MORNING, Jack awakened and checked his watch. Nine hours of sound sleep and not one dream. Despite having been beaten up by the physical and emotional intensity of the past few days, he felt halfway recharged—and completely fed up.

Fortified by coffee, fried eggs and hash browns, he told his inquisitors in the upstairs room, “I’ll play your games until noon. After that, not one more word. This isn’t Guantanamo Bay. Last I heard, the Constitution still applies in Maryland.”

Neither man reacted to his ultimatum. They simply started on their list of questions. At eleven, they declared a fifteen minute break and left. He stayed in the room, bracing for a showdown.

When they returned, the senior agent said, “We’re done here.” His scowl contrasted with his bright Hawaiian shirt.

“You’ve been jerking me around for two days and all you say is ‘Done here’? How about an apology? Maybe something like, ‘We’re very sorry for the misunderstanding. You’re free to go now. We’ll call a cab’?”

The man’s scowl deepened. “I didn’t say you were free to go. Some people want to see you at four o’clock this afternoon.” They both turned and walked out of the room without another word.

After a flavorless lunch on a tray in his bedroom-cell, Jack was left alone behind a locked door. Solitary confinement. Nothing to do but think.

So that’s what he did. Less than six weeks ago, his carefully-orchestrated career had been right on track. Then Peck killed himself, the scandal broke, and Jack’s future had evaporated. Since then, he’d stood up to several crises, Mac and Ana-Maria had been murdered, and Sinclair, Montana and Guzman had tried to kill him. Had all that changed him?
Bet your ass it had.

Sinclair, the deadliest of them all, would keep trying to kill him until he succeeded. The only chance he—and Debra and Gano—had was to persuade Gorton that Sinclair was the mastermind behind the smuggling of nuclear waste and guilty of murder.

And Jack had another mountain to climb. To prevent cartels and terrorists from getting their hands on the nuclear waste in the cave, he had to get Gorton to take charge. That wasn’t very likely because they were in this CIA safe house only because Gorton had already sided with Sinclair.

By the time he heard the click of the lock in the door at 3:45, he was in a foul mood.

“Stand up,” the agent said. “Give me your wrists.”

Handcuffs again.
His face was hot as he came to his feet, but he took a deep breath and held out his wrists. If the four o’clock visitors were imported interrogators who planned to sweat him, he was ready. Being locked up had lit his fuse.

Being led downstairs to the solarium, he felt like a gladiator entering the arena.
Bring it on.

Debra and Gano, also handcuffed and in karate gear, stood together by the window.

“Hey,” Gano called, “glad you could make it. Looks like we all got the same come-as-you-are invitation.”

“You two okay?” Jack asked.

“Let’s see,” Debra said, “house arrest, nonstop verbal abuse, fashionable jewelry—” She held up the cuffs. “—and you ask . . .”

The door opened. The President of the United States walked in.

Jack was knocked off balance by the man’s sudden appearance. When he saw Gorton’s unreadable mask, his defenses shot up. He knew instinctively that this was about to be very unpleasant.

“Mr. Strider,” Gorton said in a flat tone. Then he glanced at the other two. “Ms. Vanderberg. Mr. LeMoyne. Yes, I’ve been briefed on both of you, especially on Mr. LeMoyne’s unusual background.”

Without a word, Jack held up his hands.

Gorton signaled to a man in a brown suit and mirrored sunglasses who had come in right behind him. “Agent, get all those cuffs off.”

The agent, his expression reluctant, retrieved the cuffs and backed into a corner where he stood stiffly. Gorton said, “You may leave us now.”

“But sir—”

“Now.”

The agent left, and Justin Sinclair appeared in the doorway, wearing a black suit and looking completely composed. He walked straight to Jack. When he was within a few feet, he broke into a broad smile and stuck out his right hand. Jack didn’t want to shake it and didn’t. With no hesitation, the trajectory of Sinclair’s hand rose and gripped Jack’s shoulder briefly.

“Strider,” Sinclair said, “your country is in your debt. Isn’t that right, Mr. President?”

Jack stepped away from the hand on his shoulder. He knew Sinclair didn’t think the country owed Jack Strider a damned thing.

“Correct,” Gorton said, “Let’s sit down and talk about that.” As soon as Gorton chose a chair, Sinclair hurried to sit on his right.

Jack sat opposite Gorton, joined by Debra, who looked tense, and Gano, who looked ready for a fight.

“I can’t stay long,” Gorton said, “so I’ll get right to it. Jack, there will soon be a vacancy on the 9th Circuit bench, and I’m going to appoint you to fill that seat. Quite a few Supreme Court justices have come from the 9th Circuit.”

Jack blinked, surprised. That had come right out of the blue. Gorton was offering him an incentive, but what did he want in return? And why had he chosen the 9th Circuit? Then he got it. Someone had briefed him that a 9th Circuit judgeship would be appealing for exactly the reason Gorton mentioned. He’d never told Sinclair about his Supreme Court goal, but he
had
told Samuel Butler. So the idea of using the 9th Circuit as a carrot was based on information from Sam Butler. Gorton was offering to feed Jack’s ambition in return for his silence. To Gorton, the offer made sense—a win-win—so he would expect Jack to go for it.

Now Jack understood why Sinclair was almost jubilant. If the deal shut Jack up voluntarily it would give Sinclair time to silence him permanently. Sinclair couldn’t get to him in this safe house, but he could after Jack, Debra and Gano were released and out on the streets. Gorton only wanted to avoid being embarrassed. Sinclair wanted to avoid life in prison.

“Mr. President, I appreciate your confidence in me, but before I respond to your offer, I have a couple of questions about Mr. Sinclair.”

Gorton frowned. “I don’t think questions are necessary, nor is rehashing our discussion aboard Air Force One. After you left for El Paso, the situation got damned tense, and Secretary Sinclair stepped up. At times like that, a president needs people he can trust around him.”

Yeah, especially when you’re making the worst decisions of your undistinguished career.

“There’s bad blood between you two,” Gorton continued, “but I want you to get past that. Secretary Sinclair has my full confidence.”

Sinclair nodded his agreement with the benediction he’d just received. He had worked his magic again. Jack pictured a viper hissing in Gorton’s ear.

There was another possibility, one that stretched his imagination. Maybe Gorton had actually approved Sinclair’s smuggling scheme in advance. If that was true, nothing Jack said would matter. But if it wasn’t, he had to confront Gorton before he left.

“Jack, I’ve made you an attractive offer. I’d like your decision by close of business tomorrow.”

“Mr. President, before you leave, will you clear up one thing for me?”

Sinclair, on his feet and turning for the door, said, “Mr. President, you’ll be late for that meeting if—”

“What can I clear up for you?” Gorton said with an indulgent smile.

“When I called you from El Paso, you said you would send troops to the Palmer plant and have them wait outside the front gate. We agreed they wouldn’t come crashing onto the property and spook Guzman into poisoning the aquifer. Is that how you remember it?”

“Things were moving pretty fast—”

“Instead, Special Forces showed up with orders to shoot any so-called terrorist they saw, basically anyone on the plant grounds. Correct?”

Looking perplexed, Gorton walked to a tall window. “I’m not sure that’s a fair way to characterize the orders I gave.”

“Captain McIntyre told me those were his exact orders. Here’s my question. Did Mr. Sinclair persuade you to give those orders?”

Gorton gave Sinclair a sharp look. “I was told that if I deployed the troops immediately, they’d finish their job before you got to the plant. Justin also reminded me that you and Mr. LeMoyne are untrained civilians who failed to stop Montana from bombing Albuquerque. He even suggested that you might have been helping Montana, but I didn’t buy that.” He spread his hands. “As President, I’m responsible for that decision.”

Sinclair’s expression was filled with disdain. “Strider,
you’re
the one who insisted that poisoning the aquifer was imminent. The President acted to protect the people of El Paso.” He tilted his head back like a preacher concluding an irrefutable sermon.

Jack pointed his finger at Sinclair.
Time to go for the jugular.

“If Special Forces had killed all three of us,” he said, gesturing at Debra and Gano, “you would have been in the clear. That’s why you persuaded the President to launch the attack.”

Gorton looked shocked. “Hold on. You’re saying—”

“It was a crisis,” Sinclair spoke over him.

“It was a crisis all right, and you helped cause it. When I forced you to set up a meeting with President Gorton, you were afraid of what I might say. Rather than risk being exposed, you tried to have me assassinated.”

He heard a low “Wow” from Gano to his left.

“That’s slander
per se
,” Sinclair shouted, finally aware of how great a threat he faced. “I’ll have you—”

“No, you won’t, because truth is a defense. You told President Gorton I’d be a no-show for my meeting with him on Air Force One. You thought I wouldn’t be there because your sniper had told you he’d killed me. You reached Air Force One before the media had the correct name of the man shot at the Westin Palo Alto. That’s why you thought you were safe in manipulating the President.”

Sinclair screwed up his face, radiating outrage, but when Gorton sternly shook his head at him, Jack continued.

“Aboard Air Force One, I said Professor McDonald had been, and I quote, ‘murdered.’ Right after that, you said he’d been, I quote again, ‘shot.’ And even though I’d said nothing about my car, you suggested he’d been shot in the course of a carjacking. You knew those details because you heard them from your assassin.”

“This is driving me goddamn nuts,” Gorton snapped, fury in his voice. “I don’t remember Justin’s exact words, and we sure as hell don’t tape what goes on in my conference room on Air Force One. You say Justin intended to have you killed by sending in that Black Hawk, but I told you I made that call. You say he tried to have you assassinated, but you have no assassin and no connection to Justin. Your accusations, with no evidence, are appalling.”

“I have conclusive evidence. Ms. Vanderberg will tell you about it.”

“I’ve already listened to crap I shouldn’t have to put up with,” Sinclair objected to Gorton and moved close to where Debra sat. “This woman is only an associate in my firm, totally unqualified to say anything.” He leaned forward and said very softly, “Say one word about me, and your career is finished.”

“Shut
up,”
Gorton barked at Sinclair. “Ms. Vanderberg, please get on with it.”

Sitting across the table from Gorton, one seat to Jack’s right, Debra said, “Mr. President, because of what I’ve learned since Mr. Sinclair sent me to Mexico, I hereby resign from Sinclair & Simms.”

Right between the eyes.
Jack hadn’t seen that coming.
What guts. What timing.
Despite what she’d been through, and never having been in such a high-stakes drama, she looked and sounded completely unruffled.

“Now I need to tell you about Dr. Heidi Klein, the CEO of D-TECH. I made an appointment with her by posing as a reporter writing a story about D-TECH. I said I was giving her a chance to suggest corrections prior to publication. When I got to her office I told her the truth, that I’d been sent by Mr. Strider. I then described what I knew about the nuclear waste smuggling she was doing. I also said her business partner would make sure she took the fall by herself. She got an odd look on her face and said, ‘I’ve known from the beginning he’d try that.’”

“Jason,” Sinclair interrupted, “only an inexperienced lawyer, and a biased one, would attempt—”

“Mr. Sinclair,” Debra snapped, “isn’t it true that Dr. Heidi Klein reported directly to you at the State Department?”

Sinclair glared at her and didn’t answer.

“Justin?” Gorton pressed.

“The name sounds familiar. So what?”

“Dr. Klein told me she had been solicited to join a smuggling scheme.”

“I’d like to talk with Dr. Klein,” Gorton said sternly. He obviously got the drift.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. She was afraid for her life.” She looked steadily at Sinclair, leaving no doubt what she was implying. “However, because she didn’t trust her business partner, she kept detailed notes about every phone conversation between them and about every nuclear waste shipment that passed through D-TECH. I have a copy of those notes.”

“That’s absurd!” Sinclair scoffed. “Klein could make up anything she wanted. What she
couldn’t
fake is correspondence from, or checks signed by, her alleged partner. Show those to us.”

“The details in her notes would persuade any jury, Mr. President, but I have more than that. Dr. Klein described an urgent call she received from her partner ordering her to turn away all new shipments of nuclear waste and to ship anything already at D-TECH to Mexico immediately. In other words, her partner shut down the whole operation.”

“That can be checked,” Sinclair said. “Get her phone records. See who called.”