The Great Divide (31 page)

“And this general’s got the clout?”

“In Guangzhou, there’s probably nobody with more. Not only that, he’s got a hold on power in Beijing. He’s a member of the military command, has access to the top party hierarchy. He’s a voice to be reckoned with.”

“And the factory?”

“Right. Now, run what we know so far through your mind. The top general is openly responsible for savage acts, first in Tiananmen Square, then putting down the rioting farmers. He owns a compound outside the central city, and in this compound he’s got a plant that operates as a commercial
lao gai
, a factory prison where political troublemakers are held without trial or right of appeal.”

Marcus was too tense to sit. He paced the room, searching, finally confessing, “I’m still caught in a serious crunch here. I’ve got to find something to tie all this directly to New Horizons.”

“Well now, there’s something interesting on that front as well. Your fax machine on?”

“Yes.”

“Wait and watch, my man. Wait and watch.” As the machine lit up and started purring, Ashley went on. “Two things. First, I’ve been getting some strong-arm pressure from the U.S. side as well. Somebody in Washington is turning up the heat on this trial.”

Marcus plucked up the first page, read swiftly, could only manage, “Oh man, oh man.”

“Second, I got a call from Dee this afternoon. Told him what I’m telling you. The man didn’t seem at all surprised. More like pleased that I’d finally tracked this down.” When Marcus did not respond, he demanded more loudly, “You hearing me over there?”

Marcus picked up the second sheet, and felt his heart rate surge until listening was almost impossible. “Yes.”

“You better be. Dee told me to have you subpoena a guy from the Swiss embassy. I’m faxing you his name with the rest of this stuff. Last
page. Dee said to tell you to be prepared just in case. In case of what, he wouldn’t say. That little brown elf does love his secrets.”

Marcus pulled the third sheet from the machine before it was ready, fraying the edge. “I don’t believe this.”

It was the response Ashley had been waiting for. “It’s good, isn’t it.”

“This,” Marcus said feverishly, “is pure solid gold.”

R
ANDALL
W
ALKER
could not find a parking space along the club’s great front oval, which only intensified his bad mood. He had been pressing the board since the renovation for the oval to be reserved for senior members, a suggestion they had chosen to ignore. Which meant that when he arrived late for a function, such as now, he was forced to park back near the tennis courts and walk. Randall Walker despised anything that detracted from a grand entrance.

But his smile was in place and his worries masked by the time he passed beneath the Grecian portico and entered the ceremonial foyer. Randall had been one of the movers and shakers behind the club’s renovation, joining with other like-minded kingmakers who said it was time Raleigh declared itself to be the power it was. The original clubhouse had served three generations and had possessed about as much majesty as a pair of house slippers. Under pressure from Randall and his cronies, the architect originally assigned the renovation had been fired. A new one had been brought in from Chicago, and plans drawn up for a mansion on the hill. Members had been assessed thirty-five thousand dollars each, annual dues were raised fivefold, new members were charged a hefty fifty-thousand-dollar initiation fee, and those of long standing who could not afford the payments were urged to leave. The resulting battle had been well worth it in Randall’s eyes, for now the club did not just impress, it overpowered. One hundred and ten thousand square feet of rooms. Two hundred and eleven Persian carpets. Forty-six crystal chandeliers. Halls thirty-two feet wide. Six bars. Five restaurants, two in the golf pavilion. If only they had listened to him about parking around the great oval.

Randall adjusted the lapels of his dinner jacket and smoothed what remained of his hair. He could do nothing about his age, and he had long since decided to ignore the bulging legacy of poor diet and no exercise. Southern gentlemen did not need to age into lean greyhounds. They ruled by a code all their own. His tailor was chosen for
his ability to lie with cloth and needle. He liked young women who were as generous with their praise as he was with his diamonds. So long as both parties knew and neither minded, what did it matter?

Randall patted a back, shook a hand, moved like a ballet star making the night’s grand entrance. He spotted his prey, held back, chose his moment well. It was only when people began moving toward the next salon and the evening meal that he allowed the crowd to steer him toward the pair. “George, Weldon, my but don’t you boys look the stuff tonight.”

“Randall, where have you been hiding?” The governor’s top aide was compact and smiled with all the warmth of a jolly Japanese ice sculpture. “We got you a seat at our table or somebody’s gonna be looking for another job tomorrow.”

“No, can’t stay. Can’t stay. Got another dinner to attend.” Randall massaged the second man’s arm, the industrial-development director for eastern North Carolina. “Hear you took quite a beating there on the stand, Weldon.”

“Old Weldon can take care of himself,” the aide claimed. “Right, son?”

“They didn’t lay a glove on me.” The man had the face of a dedicated drinker who was two glasses over his customary limit. “We just danced a little tango, is all.”

“Maybe so, but I got word that the New Horizons folk are worried. And the newspaper story this morning didn’t help matters one bit.”

The smiles disappeared. Randall found no resistance as he drew the pair aside. “Got me a call from Switzerland this morning. Woke me from the nicest dream. Been sweating ever since.” He paused for dramatic effect, then delivered the bomb. “New Horizons is thinking about pulling out of North Carolina.”

“They can’t be serious,” the aide scoffed. “One little piece like that isn’t cause for panic.”

“Front page below the fold isn’t what I call little. And they see this as a possible trend.”

“Trend my left haunch. The reporter was looking for mud. That lawyer fellow and the girl’s momma gave him some. End of story.”

“There’s gonna be more mud, long as that case drags on.” Randall let a little of the steel show through. “New Horizons has done it
before, gentlemen. You know it as well as I do. They’ll pull up stakes and be gone tomorrow. This isn’t some kind of distant warning I’m talking about here. This is nothing but the dead-solid truth. New Horizons is already putting out feelers to other states and making contingency plans.”

“I can’t believe this.” The industrial director’s flush had deepened. “I sweated blood to get them in there.”

“This would be a terrible loss, coming in the face of next year’s election,” the governor’s aide fretted.

A man nervously approached the aide. “Excuse me, George, but you’re supposed to be seated up at the front.”

“I’m going to be a few more minutes here.”

“But you’re—”

George silenced him with a single look. “You go ahead and start, hear what I’m saying?”

When they were alone once more, George said to Randall, “You didn’t show up here just to spread gloom and doom.”

“There’s only one way I can see to stanch this flow of adverse publicity,” Randall replied. “And that’s to put a stop to this harassment suit.”

“Hard to do,” the aide said, “seeing as how we’re dealing with a federal case that’s already in front of a jury. The judge is newly appointed, so even if Nicols is as ambitious as they say, she won’t be hungry for the next step. Not yet.”

George’s level of awareness surprised Randall, but he decided now was the time to use it, not question it. “I’ve got me a couple of ideas.”

The two men heard him out in silence. George accepted the suggestions with a single nod and the words, “I’ll see what we can do.”

“Whatever it is, it needs to happen fast.”

“I told you I’d look into things, Randall.”

He ignored the tone, and gave in to his curiosity. “Nice to know you folks over in the governor’s mansion are keeping such a close eye on things.”

“Don’t have much choice,” the aide responded, his gaze sharp and biting. “Not when the governor receives a Saturday-evening call from the White House. Somebody up in Washington asking about a little local nuisance case over the weekend, that’s enough to light the warning fires, wouldn’t you say?”

“Absolutely,” Randall agreed solemnly.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how this thing has reached all the way to Pennsylvania Avenue, now, would you, Randall?”

“No idea whatsoever,” he replied, hiding his pleasure with all his might.

M
ARCUS ARRIVED at his courtroom table to find a manila folder waiting for him. His heart surged lightly at the familiar writing, only to ebb when he saw that Kirsten had left no note. He tried hard to be pleased at the thin pile of minor explosions in the form of further photocopied documents. Alma watched him riffle through the stack, and waited until he reached the last page to say, “Marcus, we have to talk.”

He sighed and shut the folder. “I know we do.”

“Austin tells me I should let you be. But there are things we need to know.”

Marcus nodded acceptance. “I’ll try to make it by your place tonight.”

The tense set to her shoulders eased somewhat. “Thank you.”

“Where is Kirsten? I haven’t heard from her in days.”

Despite the courtroom and the week to come, Alma had to smile. “Now, that’s a curious thing. The lady spent all weekend going through the papers you see there and doing a dance around the phone. One step forward, another step back. Never did work up the nerve, though what’s holding her back I could not say.”

He had to ask, “You think she wanted to call me?”

Alma gave the low chuckle of one saddened yet vastly amused. “That is the only foolish thing I have ever heard you say.”

Charlie saved him by huffing up. “Sorry, folks, the old bones didn’t want to obey me today. You’re looking lovely as ever, Alma.”

The bailiff entered through the judge’s door and announced, “All rise.”

Marcus said in a soft aside, “I’ll be handling the questioning today.”

Charlie rewarded him with a grand smile. “You heard from that Washington lawyer feller?”

“Last night.”

“He supplied us with the goods?”

“The best I’ve ever seen.”

Charlie sighed and lowered himself down into his chair as Judge Nicols settled herself. “I always did love fireworks and things that go bang.”

As Judge Nicols bid the jury a polite good morning and inquired about their weekend, Marcus whispered, “I’m going to request a new witness be subpoenaed. If she grants it, you need to run out and phone this number.” He handed over a slip of paper. “Tell him to expedite the papers.”

Charlie noticed the area code. “Washington.”

“The process server should be standing outside the guy’s office at this very moment.”

Judge Nicols turned toward their table and demanded, “Mr. Glenwood, are you ready to proceed?”

Marcus rose slowly, noting that the judge’s eyebrows lifted in response. Logan stiffened ever so slightly in his seat. Marcus said, “Permission to approach the bench.”

“Granted.”

It was Logan who walked forward to represent the defense. Marcus did not need to glance over to know Logan was as keenly taut as he. “Your Honor, there has been unnecessary foot-dragging by the State Department with regard to our request for depositions from the New Horizons board members. Not even the first of these has taken place.”

“I object to both the tone and the content of this accusation, Your Honor,” Logan shot back. “The plaintiff’s counsel is taking what is a normal business situation, the annual general meeting of the company’s international divisions, and turning it into something sinister. Or trying to. Of course these depositions take time. These are busy men.”

“And this is an urgent matter, one that our embassy officials have clearly put on the back burner.” Marcus handed over the document containing the name supplied by Ashley Granger. “I have identified
the man at State who is responsible for such matters. Grey Hadley is acting assistant director of the division of consular affairs. He is scheduled to be leaving the country the day after tomorrow. I hereby request a subpoena be issued immediately, so that we may have him testify prior to his departure.”

“Your Honor, this is preposterous!” Logan leaned both fists on the corner of the judge’s bench. “We’ve acted in good faith here, despite the fact that this is a case built out of thin air. Right over there are two senior vice presidents—”

“Of the North Carolina distribution center,” Marcus added. “Who have nothing whatsoever to do with international activities.”

“—who have already sacrificed a full week of their time just to be here and show the company flag.”

“They cannot answer for anything to do with the company’s ties to Factory 101, Your Honor. Which is all we are after. One single person who has the power to sign off on international activities.”

“Excuse me, Your Honor, but can’t you see the plaintiff’s strategy here? They’re trying to bring another chess piece into play. They conceal what they can. They shuffle the pieces around to confuse the viewer. When things get tight, they move in another piece. They distract your attention. They frighten you. They threaten with more smoke and mirrors. No doubt when this is over they’ll refile their claims, set up groundless appeals, tie up the courts with prevarication.”

Judge Nicols observed Logan Kendall with an onyx mask. “Are you just about done?”

Logan backed off a fraction. “Yes, Your Honor.”

She turned back to her inspection of the records, then handed them to the aide poised by her chair. “So moved. Have an affidavit drawn up immediately.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. I took the liberty of doing so this morning.” Marcus waited as she inspected the new pages, and he decided there would be no better time than this. “I have one other name I’d like to add to my original list, and for similar reasons.” He handed over the second document. “Hans Klein, of the Swiss embassy in Washington.”