Edge of Apocalypse (27 page)

"You want me to sign here?"

"That's the general idea."

Zimler signed a fake name. The shop owner handed over the box.

"Y'all be safe now," he said to Zimler.

"Of course," Zimler said as he took the bag with the box of blasting caps in it and then left the store. He had taken a long detour to pick them up, but it was worth it.

At one point in time, when Zimler had been on his way to West Virginia to secure the blasting caps, he had been going east on the Pennsylvania turnpike. That was before he had turned south toward the West Virginia border. At that precise moment Zimler was less than fifty miles away from Special Agent John Gallagher's location.

The FBI agent was still stuck in Philadelphia before returning for New York. He had one more stop to make. But it was a crucial one. He knew he had to face Miles Zadernack at FBI headquarters. But hours before he was due at the airport, he had received a call from the Philly police detectives. Surprisingly, the lead detective was good to his word and was calling him with some additional information about their investigation into the murder of Roger French.

"Agent Gallagher, we've got something you might find interesting."

"I'm all ears."

"A video surveillance tape."

"From where exactly?"

"Taken from the video camera in the lobby of the building where Roger French's insurance company had their offices."

"Oh, yeah, I do love lobby surveillance video," Gallagher said with a bounce in his voice.

There was a pause on the other end. The detective didn't know exactly how to respond to this wise-cracking FBI agent.

Finally he said, "Come on over. We're in the viewing room."

When Gallagher hung up he suddenly felt as if he was seeing the light breaking in the distance. With any luck Zimler would be ID'd on the tape. And if that happened, then Miles Zadernack would have to listen to him.

Things were looking up.

FORTY-ONE

In the lobby of Jordan Technologies, Inc., the secretary had the deer-in-the-headlights look. Joshua had warned her that it could happen. But she still hadn't been prepared to come face-to-face with a U.S. marshal holding a subpoena in his hand.

"Madam, do you hear me? I'm a United States marshal. This is a legal document. I have to deliver it to Mr. Joshua Jordan.
Immediately."

She glanced down at it. She caught the caption at the top of the document:

BY THE AUTHORITY OF THE SENATE OF THE CONGRESS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA TO: MR. JOSHUA JORDAN

YOU ARE HEREBY COMMANDED TO APPEAR...

The secretary raised her eyes to the marshal and said, "He's not here, sir."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"When is he coming back?"

"I don't know."

"Young lady, you are coming very close to obstructing a federal marshal in the course of his official duties. Do you realize that?"

She swallowed hard before she answered.

"Look, like I said, Mr. Jordan had an emergency, had me cancel his appointments, and left. I don't know what else to tell you."

The U.S. marshal dropped his card on the desk.

"Here's my number. Call me the moment he gets in."

The minute the marshal left the office, she called Joshua. He was in his limo heading down the Boulevard of the Americas in Manhattan.

Joshua was on the line with Harry Smythe when the call came in.

He put Harry on hold.

"Mr. Jordan," the secretary said breathlessly, "a U.S. marshal just came in with those papers."

"And?"

"I said exactly what you told me to say. Every bit."

"Very good."

"I was a little nervous though."

"Don't worry. I'm sure you did just fine."

Joshua said good-bye and then clicked back to Harry.

"Well, just like you predicted, Harry, they were over at my office trying to serve me with the subpoena."

"I think we need to just face up to this, Josh. Admit service. I'll accept service of the subpoena on your behalf at my office. Then I'll see what can be done legally."

"Harry, I want Abby's input on this."

"Is she there with you?"

"No. She's up in Pennsylvania. She's helping out a family friend of ours. They had a personal tragedy."

"Same old Abby."

Joshua asked Harry to standby while he conferenced her in.

When Abigail's Allfone rang, she was doing the dishes in the French house, while newly widowed Peg French was resting in her bedroom. Rocky Bridger was quietly playing with her and Roger's daughter.

"Abby, honey, it's me," Joshua said. "How are things going?"

"Peg's finally resting. Josh, this is so terrible."

"Have they got any more details?"

"Not much. They just said they have several theories. The police are being very secretive for some reason. But they did say one thing."

"What's that?"

"That he wasn't just murdered. He was tortured before he was killed."

"Tortured?"

"Yes."

"Who would have wanted to do that to Roger French? I can't think he would have been mixed up in anything sordid--he was a solid guy."

"No one can figure that out."

"And Rocky?

"He's putting up a brave front. You know him. He's focusing on Violet, Peg's daughter."

"Look, I'm sorry to throw this at you. But I've got Harry Smythe on the other line. I want to conference you in. Just as he thought, Senator Straworth is going to the mat on the RTS issue. They've issued a subpoena. A U.S. marshal was trying to serve it at my office. But I was out."

"Fine. Patch me in," Abigail said. She wiped her hands off with a dishtowel and then found a corner of the dining room where she couldn't be heard.

After Joshua looped all three of them in, he spelled out the issue. "Abby, Harry says we should let them serve the subpoena, then try to fight it out in court."

Abigail jumped in immediately. "Harry, I assume you're going into D.C. federal court with a motion to quash the subpoena?"

"That's the strategy. I just don't want my position weakened by any delay in Josh accepting service of the subpoena from the marshals."

Abigail was silent on the other end. Joshua knew she was digesting it. Then she spoke her mind. "Harry, once Josh is served with the subpoena, the clock starts ticking. You then have to rush into court. What if you get the wrong judge and your motion is thrown out?"

"Well," Harry said, "then the game's almost over. Josh either turns over all his RTS documents or he goes to jail. Those have pretty much been the two options all along."

"You know Josh," Abigail chimed in. "He won't turn over those documents to Congress. He believes that our national security is too compromised on Capitol Hill right now. And if he goes to jail, his reputation, all that he's accomplished will be tarnished and destroyed."

"The whole thing stinks," Harry said. "I know that. But I don't make the rules."

"Then maybe it's time," Abigail said, "to change the game."

"What are you thinking, baby?" Joshua asked.

Abigail shot back, "Stall this thing. Stretch it out. We only need a few days."

"Days for what?" Harry said. "Josh, when it comes to political battles like this with Senator Straworth, you're in my world now. I know something about that. Most of my practice has been representing senators, congressman, even a stint in the White House Counsel's Office, as you know. Look, I respect you, Abby. You did some great legal work on the Hill when you were practicing law. Cases before the Federal Communications Commission. Other federal agencies. But Josh, you've got to listen to me on this. There are some people up there in Congress who want to
destroy
you. And they will, believe me, if you start playing games like avoiding a subpoena."

"Harry, you're talking about enemies who want to destroy me. That sounds like war, and when it comes to military logistics, you're in
my
world. I don't intend to let a bunch of politicians destroy me."

"Which is why," Abigail said, "we strike first. We hit back first."

"With what?" Harry said, his voice now rising with a tinge of professional arrogance. "The only hope is my motion to quash this subpoena--"

"That's just one strategy," Abigail said. "And frankly, Harry, I think you'll lose that motion. The backup strategy, Josh, is that we buy time. Just long enough to make sure that Phil Rankowitz has got the AmeriNews launched."

"What are you talking about?" Harry said.

"A media project I'm working on," Joshua said. "Something you can't have any involvement in. But Abby's right. That's our offensive."

Abby said, "If we keep the marshals from serving that subpoena on you, then we keep you out of jail just long enough for the American people to read the first issue of AmeriNews. Once they find out the truth, I'm betting they'll vent some outrage to their senators. When that happens, I'm betting that Senator Straworth and his buddies will start thinking about withdrawing that subpoena."

"Josh,
really,"
Harry blurted out. "I mean talk about a long shot--"

But Joshua cut him off.

"Harry, I've made my decision. Here's the drill. I'm going to avoid being served with that subpoena. Go into hiding if I have to. Harry, can you still try to get a judge to throw it out?"

"By not accepting service you're putting me in a very uncomfortable position with the court."

"I'm not asking about your comfort. I'm asking if you can still try that legal maneuver if I'm not served the subpoena."

After a moment's pause, Harry Smythe replied, "Yes, I suppose I can."

"Good. Meanwhile, Abby, you and I need to make sure that AmeriNews gets launched ASAP. We need to get to the American public. That's our best hope."

Harry Smythe wasn't going down without a fight.

"So you're simply rejecting my approach? My recommendation then?" Harry said coolly.

"What I am doing," Joshua said, "is going with Abby's plan instead."

And then he added something else.

"When it comes to her advice, I'm willing to bank my life on it."

"You may have to," Harry punted back in his lawyerly pessimism. "You've got the federal government coming after your scalp."

FORTY-TWO

Somewhere in Hamad Katchi's brain, all was not well. Even though all around him the azure blue seas of the Mediterranean were calm and sparkling and a gentle four-knot wind was blowing.

Katchi had been on the huge yacht of his partner, Caesar Demas, many times before. This was the first time, though, that Demas had used such a small crew. Only a captain, a first and second mate, neither of whom Katchi recognized, and two other fellows. The last two appeared to be pretty useless. They were thick necked and muscular, looking more like bodybuilders or bouncers than sailors.

The Pakistani-born arms dealer was afraid of boats. He made no pretense of that. It was the general unpredictability of the sea that gave him that unease. The undulating expanse constantly changing. He found the absence of the sight of land disconcerting. As well as the fact that it contained living, teaming creatures under the surface. Things you cannot see. But creatures that can eat you.

Seated in a soft chair on the rear deck next to Caesar Demas, Katchi was trying to look relaxed.

They'd been making small talk.

Then Demas changed the subject. He wanted to discuss their plan to sell the RTS laser weapons technology as soon as Atta Zimler had obtained it.

"We've talked many times about our arrangements to sell off RTS."

"Yes. Any news from our messenger?"

"He's very close. At this point, he's virtually unstoppable."

"That's good to hear."

"So," Demas continued, "we are still of one mind, you and I, that when we are in possession of the RTS design, we should sell it to a group of willing nations. No exclusive rights to just one nation. Right? Didn't we agree on that?"

"Of course. Best way to maximize profit."

"Profit, yes, of course."

Caesar Demas glanced around for one of the crew. Then he spotted one of the muscle guys sunbathing on the upper deck. He was wearing dress slacks but had his shirt off.

"Georgio," Demas called out, "get me a gin and tonic."

Demas looked over at Katchi, but he said no, he didn't want anything except a glass of water.

By that time Katchi was feeling slightly nauseous. Maybe a bit seasick.

After a few minutes Georgio came with the two drinks.

There wasn't any ice in Katchi's water. A small thing. Katchi was going to ask this guy to fetch him some but decided against it.

"So," Demas said, making a sudden right turn in the conversation, "how was your trip to Moscow?"

Katchi was stunned. He hadn't told Caesar anything about the trip.

"Good," was all he said in response.

The rolling sense of imbalance on the ship was now getting to Katchi. He hoped he didn't vomit on the varnished wood deck of Caesar Demas' ninety-million-dollar yacht.

Katchi took a big gulp of water. But it didn't help.

Caesar Demas was casually inspecting the gently rolling blue sea all around, but he wasn't talking.

Now Katchi was getting nervous. He felt as if he needed to give some explanation about the Moscow trip.
If I don't explain, Caesar
might think I just didn't consider it a big deal. Which would be good. On the other hand, my silence might make him think I'm hiding something. Which I am. Does Caesar know why I was there? Maybe he does and he's just playing with me. That'd be just like Caesar. Why did I go on his yacht today? I could have come up with an easy excuse. Told him I was sick. That I don't like boats.

Demas took a slow sip from his glass and wiped his lips.

"About the Moscow trip," Katchi finally said. "I've always had an understanding with you..."

"Oh?"

"About doing small side deals myself. Small arms. Nothing big. But you gave me the impression that was not a problem."

"Small-weapons deals? Not a problem. Is that what Moscow was all about? Small arms?"