Terminal Justice (37 page)

“Oh?”

“He wants to meet with you.”

“You can’t be serious … sir”

“Serious as a mortician, Mr. Barringston. He was clear about this one point. He wants to meet you: A.J. Barringston. Apparently he’s familiar with your work in the area.”

That’s not all he’s familiar with
, A.J. thought and wondered if Mahli had figured out that he was responsible for his brother’s death. If so, this could be a setup for revenge. “Mr. President, I have grave reservations about Mahli and his motives. I’m not sure he has the best interest of his people at heart.”

“Let me make sure you understand my position here, Mr. Barringston. I know that Mahli is far from the ideal leader. I’m sure he’s motivated by desires that are less than noble, but I work with senators and congressmen about whom I can say the same thing. Mahli may not be a great man and he may not be a saint, but he is in place to make a difference, and he has achieved some amazing things.”

“Are you aware that he’s telling people that food supplied by Americans is poisoned?”

“I am aware of that,” Laine responded. “I am aware of a great many things, but my advisers and I think that we can save some lives and restore some stability in East Africa. Mahli is the key to that. I want to impress him with our sincerity and convince him that our supplies are not poisoned.”

“I’m sure he already knows that,” A.J. said evenly.

“Look,” the president said, “I can’t force you to help us on this, Mr. Barringston. I can’t draft you into the service of your country. But I can ask for your help, and I’m not ashamed to ask for the favor. How about it? Can I count on your help?”

A.J. closed his eyes tightly and wished that the decision was not his. Then an idea began to form in his mind. It was more of a feeling than a full-fledged thought, more of an inkling than a revelation, but it was there nonetheless. “Yes, Mr. President, you can count on me.”

“Outstanding,” Laine exclaimed. “You’re a fine American, Mr. Barringston. Someone from my office will fax you the details. It might be nice if you brought two or three of your executives with you. It should prove to be a good photo op for your work. Allow me to say thanks for your help. I knew I could count on you to be there for me.”

I’ll be there
, A.J. thought,
but it won’t be for you
.

“He’s out of his mind,” Roger shouted. “Disneyland? Oh for the love of … I can’t believe it. Here, right here in our country, Mahli is going to walk around and play tourist, and he’s going to do it at the taxpayers’ expense.”

“I didn’t like it either,” A.J. said solemnly. “At least not at first.”

Sheila, who was seated on the couch in the meeting area of A.J.’s expansive office squinted questionably at A.J. “What do you mean? You’ve got something up your sleeve, don’t you?”

“Ah, Sheila,” A.J. replied with a broad grin, “you know me too well.”

Walking over to the couch, Roger sat down. “Tell us.”

“If we will set our anger aside for a moment, we may be able to see the silver lining in this little gray cloud.” A.J. paused for effect. “You are aware that for the first time in years we will know exactly where the elusive Mahli is going to be.”

“You’re thinking of killing him?” Roger inquired eagerly. “Killing him right there in Disneyland? But he’s going to be surrounded
by security—Secret Service I would guess—and Disneyland is a very public place.”

“And wouldn’t killing him like that bring down Barringston Relief?”

A.J. said nothing, but let the idea take root in their minds. A few moments later, Eileen Corbin, who had been sitting quietly throughout the meeting smiled and said. “Actually, Disneyland can be one of the least crowded places in the world. I think I see where you’re going with this.”

“Well tell me,” Roger demanded.

“I will, Roger,” A.J. said. “I will. But we are going to have to get busy on this. There’s a great deal to do.”

SPOONING A MOUTHFUL OF NEW ENGLAND CLAM chowder into his mouth, David read intently the
Newsweek
in front of him. The magazine had devoted much of its space to the question, “What shall we do in East Africa?” There was an article on Ethiopia, Somalia, and other regions as well as opinion pieces on the role the United States should play in the famine-stricken land. So engrossed was David that he didn’t see the approach of two people who seated themselves in the booth where David was having his lunch.

“Please excuse the rude interruption,” Special Agent Woody Sullivan said as he and Stephanie Cooper took their places on the opposite side of the table. “We didn’t want to interfere with your lunch, but you are becoming more difficult to contact.”

“That’s intentional,” David said coldly. “I have told you on several occasions that I have nothing to offer you and that I believe you are barking up the wrong tree. A.J.’s no criminal.”

“And we’ve told you that we have sufficient reason to suspect him or someone high up in his organization,” Stephanie countered.

“That’s nonsense, pure and simple,” David snapped. “Now, if you don’t mind …”

“There’s something I want you to see,” Woody said, placing a standard-size brown file folder on the table. “This information came via Stephanie’s office. I should warn you that it’s shocking.”

“I’m not the least interested in what you have to show me,”
David said, ignoring the folder. “The last time I listened to you, it very nearly cost me a friend, not to mention my job.”

“We didn’t ask you to break into the communications room,” Woody said firmly. “In point of fact, it was a stupid idea. Attempting to sneak into Eileen Corbin’s office was your idea. You began without our instruction.”

“But it’s what you wanted.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Woody said. “It’s possible that some special equipment has been secreted there, but you’re not trained to recognize it. Even if you did get into the office unnoticed, you would not be able to discern one electronic system from another.”

“Then what did you want me to do?”

“We were going to ask that you keep your ear to the ground,” Stephanie jumped in. “Watch A.J. and the others. See if he acts strangely or, better yet, shows you satellite photos. If you see them yourself, or at least hear about them in some meeting or hallway conversation, then we might be able to convince a judge to give us a valid search warrant. Then we could take a look for ourselves. That’s all.”

“My word might not be enough for a warrant,” David commented dryly.

“That’s right,” Woody said, “but then it might. Granted, it’s a shot in the dark, but it’s worth the effort.”

David leaned back, crossed his arms in front of him, and shook his head. “You’re grasping at straws, and for what? Someone snatched a few photos.”

Without hesitation, Woody reached across the table and opened the folder. Inside was a color photograph of a man on the ground. A dark circle stained the ground around a mass of material that David assumed had once been the man’s head. David drew in a breath sharply and quickly turned away. “What … what … why show me that?”

“The man’s name is, was, Ian Booth,” Stephanie said coolly.
“He was president of an offshore bank called the Americas Bank. For the most part he was a pretty nice guy, or at least his friends and family thought so. But like many offshore banks, his dealt with some unsavory characters—in this case, a terrorist group called the Silver Dawn, a recalcitrant conglomeration of Irish dissidents. Booth helped them launder money from their supporters. Someone stole a hefty chunk of that money. We’ve been able to determine that the computer hacker who broke into the Americas Bank used the same technique that was used to compromise the computers at the Company.” David noticed Stephanie’s use of the euphemism, and figured she did so because they were in a public place. The word
company
turned fewer heads than
CIA
.

“How can you know that?” David asked as he gingerly closed the folder. “How can you tell the break-in was the same?”

Woody shook his head and said, “Look, Dr. O’Neal, I’m sure you’re a real smart guy, but you have admitted that your knowledge of computers is limited. I’m an expert in the field. I could spend the next two or three days explaining it to you, but I don’t have the time. Just believe me when I say that we are 90 percent sure it was the same person using the same ramming technique.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with me or Barringston Relief.”

“It’s like this,” Woody continued sternly as he leaned over the table. “Every action has a reaction. Ever heard that?”

“Isaac Newton said it,” David answered. “It’s fundamental physics.”

“It’s more than physics, Dr. O’Neal, it’s honest-to-goodness life. Whether they intended to do so or not, whoever stole that money cost this man his life. I’m sure it wasn’t part of the plan, but the act nonetheless orphaned Booth’s kids and widowed his wife. No act stands alone, David. Every act has a reaction, and that leads to another reaction. A man is dead because of someone in Barringston Relief.”

“How can you hold anyone responsible for the death of this
banker?” David argued. “If what you say is true, this man’s death is an unfortunate accident.”

“I’m surprised at you,” Woody said quietly. “Would you also say that a drunk driver is innocent because he didn’t intend to kill a child who was walking across a street? The laws of our society disagree.”

“Of course I wouldn’t say that,” David objected.

“It’s the same thing,” Woody insisted, pounding the table with his finger. “A man is dead because of computer piracy. I don’t know why the money was stolen. Maybe it was stolen to buy food and medicine, which seems noble enough except the money wasn’t free. It came blood stained.”

“You can’t prove this,” David said, but his words lacked force and conviction.

“That’s what we’re attempting to do,” Woody said. How many more Ian Booths have been killed because of what someone in your organization is doing?”

David shook his head in disbelief but said nothing. He felt ill, as if the clam chowder had soured in his stomach. The garish and grotesque image of the mutilated head had been etched so deeply in David’s memory that he no longer needed the actual photo. No amount of mental exercise could excise the picture’s ugliness from his brain.

“There’s more,” Stephanie said.

“I don’t want to hear it,” David mumbled.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the meeting that your boss has been asked to attend,” she continued anyway. “The one with the Somali warlord Mahli.”

“What about it?”

“Come on, David, think! Stolen satellite photos of Somalia, a Barringston doctor named Judith Rhodes brutally murdered, Mahli’s brother flung from a high-flying helicopter into his brother’s front yard.” A puzzled expression crossed David’s face. “You didn’t know about that last part, did you? A man in Somalia
provides us with information, a former teacher. Ironically, he’s Barringston Relief’s contact in the country. He filled us in.”

“What are you saying?” David stuttered. “Are … are you saying that A.J. had something to do with the death of Mahli’s brother? It can’t be, I was with him or near him throughout our whole African trip. We never went into Somalia.”

“Oh come on, David,” Stephanie said coldly. “Didn’t you tell us that you went down in the Ogaden area of Ethiopia? Didn’t you tell us that you saw Roger Walczynske there and that he and A.J. had a private conversation?”

It was starting to make sense to David, and he didn’t want it to. He wanted to shoot down their arguments like a trained lawyer would shoot down the testimony of a witness, but all the bits were hanging together. The pieces fit like a jigsaw puzzle, and with the addition of each piece the picture became clearer. “It’s all circumstantial evidence.”

“Circumstantial evidence is strong enough to get a person thrown in jail, Dr. O’Neal,” Woody added. “It all comes back to that one question: Is it ever right to do wrong? If Ian Booth could speak to us today, I bet he’d have an opinion about the matter.”

“I don’t … I don’t know what to say.” David was shell-shocked. “I don’t know what I can do.”

“That’s all right, David,” Stephanie said sweetly. “We know what to do.”