The Accused (12 page)

“So they're moving into position when the White House calls Mexico City and says we're going in—we're saving the Secretary of Commerce with or without your permission. But we would like your permission—so how about it? So the Mexicans figure, hey, this is a cabinet-level kidnapping—we can't fool around with this. So they give a kind of halfhearted approval for the military operation to be run by the Americans. The Mexicans are only there to provide background information, as requested. But basically, it's—you Mexicans get out of the way—the Americans are coming and we're going to take care of this.”

“Alright, all that's fine,” Purdy said. “Secretary Kilmer is rescued. But what happens next? What did Mexico have to say about the Americans tracking down these AAJ people and trying to kill them?”

“That's where it gets really good. The Mexicans never gave the American military—or the White House for that matter—permission to hunt these guys down. They consider that the prerogative of Mexico. Some of the government officials really got ticked off at the
way this came down. They're talking about their country being treated like the new Afghanistan where America just walks all over it, calls the shots, shoots the guns, and directs the campaign. Like I said, you got to remember that Mexico feels like—for whatever reason—it's got the ability to start showing off its chest hairs. But that's not the best.”

“Oh?”

“There's this thing called a status of forces agreement. In the past, there was this working relationship between Mexico and the United States in terms of us being able to send our troops down there as long as we sort of checked in routinely with the government when we crossed the border. Well, apparently—and I don't know the details—but it looks like no formal agreement was ever reached, or it didn't get signed. Or they were still negotiating when this thing came down.

“The Mexicans feel they really have a chokehold on the White House on this deal. My guess is, they're going to try to crank up the heat on this—you know, get some big economic boost out of the fact they could embarrass the White House over the incident because they never gave permission for American commandos to track down and try to kill this cell group on Mexican soil.”

“What do we know about this American commando unit?”

“Don't know that,” Jubb responded. “You told me you got all the stuff on the court-martial that's pending against this Caleb Marlowe—you've got all that stuff.”

“Yeah, right,” Purdy said. “I've got that. But I want something more. Tell me something about this AAJ activity down in Mexico. Are they working with anybody?”

“Well, they are. There's been some contact and some trading back and forth between the AAJ and some drug group. Remember a number of years ago there was a drug business—they were really doing well—it was Hezbollah buying pseudoephedrine and then selling it to fund its activities. They were doing business down in Mexico. But the DEA busted them while they were doing this crackdown—excuse the expression…”

Purdy laughed loudly.

“Yeah, I remember. We talked about that.”

“Right. Well, the DEA cracked down on Hezbollah and some of these guys who were selling pseudoephedrine, which is used in crystal
meth. So apparently, after these guys from Hezbollah and the drug dealers got busted, AAJ moves in and picks up where they left off.”

“What about the proof that the Mexican government has about the massacre?”

“The Mexicans feel like they have a great case. Everything they've got says that Marlowe told his guys to shoot at everything moving in the house, including the civilians who ended up getting killed. You know, like a scene out of
The Wild Bunch.
All their federal police reports and investigations show that.”

“Alright—now to the big question—our friend Senator O'Brien. What's the deal on that?”

“Well, I checked every source that I could get my hands on. I even had a tail put on him for a long time. But I couldn't find anything dirty on this guy. He's clean. He's one of these upright guys.”

“So—is that the end of the story?”

Howley Jubb smiled and shook his head.

“No—not by a long shot. This is where it really gets good. I put the word out everywhere I could that we were looking for trash on O'Brien. I didn't get anything like that. But then I made some calls. I got connected to some pretty unpleasant Russian dudes. They work in some very nasty Internet stuff.”

“So?” Purdy asked with an air of irritated boredom.

“So they can put some of that nasty—and I might add, illegal—stuff into O'Brien's computer. I'm talking remote intrusion—”

“Hey, hey,” Purdy called out, “whoa. I don't want details. Zero information. Got it? Just make the guy embarrassed enough to deal with me—okay? And no rough stuff.”

“Sure, Jason. I read you.”

Purdy jumped off the couch and stretched. He took the glass out of Jubb's hand and walked it over to the minibar, where he poured out the remaining contents into the sink.

“Okay, Howley—here's the way it lies. You get to work on this. You find a place to rent for a couple weeks here in the DC area. But I don't want you anywhere near me in Chevy Chase, you understand?”

Jubb stood up and nodded.

“You keep me informed—verbally and in person, on a regular basis, on just one thing—how soon this is going down. But if at any time I
start feeling uncomfortable about this, I want you to pull the plug…with no jeopardy. Got it?”

“Sure, I've got it all,” Jubb said, cocking an eyebrow. “And look—if this thing goes down well, then you and I can talk about bumping me up a bit. And I don't just mean money. I mean giving me a place on the East Coast. A place with you out here, close to where the action is.”

“Sure,” the other man said with a grin. “But let's not get ahead of ourselves. You're just teeing up. Let's see if you hit onto the fairway or into the rough.”

As Jubb headed for the front door Purdy corrected him.

“No, not through the front. I want you out the back door.”

Howley Jubb shrugged and shook his head sardonically. This was classic Jason Bell Purdy, and he knew it.

As the door closed behind Jubb, Purdy was feeling the rush. He was a little anxious because he didn't know whether to trust Jubb's Russian contacts—and the shadowy strike against Senator O'Brien, over which he had little control. On the other hand, he liked the anonymity. He liked the ability to give a plausible denial if the trail ended up getting too close to him.

And even more important, he loved the knowledge that, so soon after arriving in Washington, DC, he was becoming a deal maker…and a king breaker.

He poured himself a drink, but as he did so, he heard a noise in the doorway leading to the study.

Linda, his press secretary, was in the doorway, wearing one of his bathrobes.

“Jason—are you done with your phone call yet?”

“Sure, honey. Listen, time for you to go. I need some sleep tonight. And you need to bunk somewhere else.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she turned and walked away quickly. But not before slamming the glass door so hard that Purdy thought it might shatter.

“Women,” he muttered to himself as he took a big gulp from his glass.

17

T
HE AQUA-BLUE HELICOPTER WITH
the Global Petroleum logo on the side was setting itself down gently on the helipad of the oil platform. Thirty miles off the coast of Mexico, the weather was clear and the ocean was calm.

The door opened and a man in a dark suit with an open collar and a briefcase stepped out. Then came Warren Mullburn, billionaire and engineering genius, man of letters and cultural guru. Though he was medium in height, his muscular build gave him an energetic presence, and his balding head lent him an intellectual air. A radiant smile lit up his tanned, youthful features as he stepped out and surveyed the platform. Then he thrust his hand into that of the Mexican official who was awaiting him.

Following Mullburn, one of his assistants scurried out followed by two bodyguards, and they all took their positions next to him.

“Señor Mullburn, it is so very good to see you and to welcome you to our joint venture. Won't you follow me to the elevator? I will take us down to the meeting room.” The official and all the just-arrived party crammed inside the freight elevator, which slowly took them down to the first level.

“I was not sure whether we would have the privilege of your personal attendance at this meeting. I know how very important your time is—and how busy you are around the world,” the Mexican said.

Mullburn smiled. “You will find that I have a very hands-on management style,” he quipped, “particularly when it comes to oil exploration.”

“Well, I'm very pleased—no—actually, I'm ecstatic that the geophysical crude locator system has been such a remarkable success. This deposit is beyond enormous. That system worked a hundred times
better than traditional oil exploration techniques. It succeeded beyond our wildest dreams,” the official said.

“It ought to,” Mullburn said, smiling again. “I designed it.”

All of the occupants of the elevator responded with hearty laughter.

As they stepped out, the official stopped on the metal-caged catwalk and turned to his guest.

“But I do have one question for you, Señor Mullburn.”

“And what is that?”

“Regarding the news I am hearing about possible criminal prosecution…that you may be extradited back to the United States on serious charges. This is very troubling to us, of course. We simply look to you for assurance that this matter will not affect our working relationship.”

Mullburn beamed confidently and placed his hand on the other man's shoulder.

“You are Mexico's greatest geological expert in regard to oil, are you not?”

The official nodded politely.

“Then I will give you a parable—and you answer me. What are the forces that produce the petroleum you and I seek so vigorously?”

“Well, intense pressure deep within the earth over substantial periods of time.”

“Precisely.” Mullburn's tone was full of self-satisfaction. “The philosopher Hegel pointed out the same thing, but in more abstract terms. He told us that when two great, opposing forces meet in politics, civilization, or ideas, the result is not destruction. Rather, it is transformation. When great ideologies conflict, they create a new synthesis—a new idea. When pressures meet equal and opposite pressures, the result is a synthesis that creates energy.”

The Mexican official was still waiting for the punchline. Mullburn sighed when he realized that his impromptu disciple was not catching the drift.

“Don't you see?” Mullburn said with a tinge of exasperation. “This threat of criminal prosecution against me—the scandalous lies about me—this is simply a useful coefficient of political pressure, even though it is being applied by those who desire my destruction. But rather than my destruction, a new energy—a new geopolitical power—is about to be created. And you and I, Señor, will be there at its birth.”

After a struggle to express some enthusiasm over these cryptic ruminations, the official opened the door to the control center of the oil platform and gestured for Mullburn and his entourage to enter.

The billionaire entered first. After him came one of his assistants, who then unzipped a pocket in his briefcase and retrieved a calculator. With it he would estimate how many millions of barrels of petroleum this site would soon start to yield.

And at the same time, he would be calculating just how quickly Warren Mullburn was about to become the richest man in the world.

18

B
ACK AT HIS OFFICE
, W
ILL FINALLY
received the return call from his private investigator, Tiny Heftland. The attorney had left a message on Tiny's office voice mail, asking him for assistance in the case, and had sent pertinent documents from the file. Having used Tiny often in past cases, Will had just presumed that he would be able to retain him on this case as well. But after several days of silence, Will had begun to get worried.

And then the call came in.

“Man, I really feel lousy leaving you on the hook. I mean, I've been planning to get back with you after you sent me that stuff on the military case—but I have been hopping faster than a three-legged dog lately—work has really kept me busy,” Heftland said at the other end of the line.

“Don't worry about it,” Will replied. “But I do need you and me to get up to speed really quickly on this case against Marlowe.”

“Matter of fact, I've read through everything you sent me. Not pretty. Sounds like something wicked went down there in old Mexico.”

“So…how's your Spanish?”

“Yeah, I did get your message about flying down there. My schedule's open. Are you still holding the ticket for tomorrow?”