The Insider (29 page)

A receptionist with an attractively angular Spanish face was on the phone behind a desk. “You are what?” she asked, in a high, thin voice.

She narrowed her eyes as she listened, as if that would help her understand the person on the other end of the line. “You have been
what
?”

Another pause.

“Incarcerated!” she exclaimed. “You are in jail! What is the charge?”

She nodded into the phone. “Uh-huh. Well, that's not good.” More nodding, as she saw that Jon and Will had arrived. “I'll put you through to Mr. Coulter.”

“I have to take this,” Jon said. “I'll join you in my office in a minute. By the way, this is Ingrid. Without her, this place couldn't exist. Hell, I couldn't exist.”

Ingrid dropped her managerial frown and smiled.

Jon led Will back to his office, then went into an office next door to speak with his newly incarcerated client. “I'll be back in a minute,” he said. “Deep cleansing breaths. Try to relax.”

Two large windows let in the gray afternoon light and looked out on some surprisingly ornate cornicework on the adjacent building. On his desk, which was littered with files, was a photo of Jon and Ingrid grinning on a beach, his arm around her waist. Next to the framed picture sat a baseball signed by Ernie Banks, enshrined on a Lucite pedestal.

Ten minutes later, Jon returned and tossed a notepad on his desk.

“So you're a criminal lawyer,” Will said. “Just like Perry Mason.”

“Yep,
yo soy un abogado criminal
.”

“Sounds dramatic.”

“Sounds that way, doesn't it? Actually, it has its moments. I do a little criminal defense, a little PI work. It was kinda dicey a couple of years ago, but now I'm pretty confident I can keep the doors of this place open.”

“I saw the sign out front. I didn't know you spoke Spanish.”

“Ingrid's the interpreter; she really helps me out with that. But I'm picking it up pretty fast. You open a law office in the Mission, you better
habla
that
español
. There's a guy down the street who advertises himself as
el mejor abogado
, but I've decided not to engage in an advertising war. Live and let live, I say.”

Jon leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk. “Will, I need to understand how you ended up in this shit-storm. I need to hear it all, and from the beginning.”

“First, I need to know if Claire's okay.”

“She's fine. They've taken her statement, and she was released before you were. Right now they seem to be viewing her as an innocent third party who got entangled in this mess because she was your friend.”

“That is actually a pretty accurate statement.”

“Okay,” Jon said. “Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's hear it.”

Will told the story from beginning to end without holding anything back, from the morning that Ben Fisher died to his first encounter with Katya at the Whiskey Bar to his disclosure of insider information and his meeting with Aashif Agha. He even admitted the theft of the encryption keys, although he minimized Claire's role to protect her. Will wasn't sure what loosened his tongue more, the presence of attorney-client privilege or the fact that his old friend Jon was sitting across the desk from him, his sympathetic nods interrupted only by muttered exclamations like “Jesus!” and “Holy shit!”

Finally, when he had reached the end of his story, Will asked, “Can you help me?”

“Well, this is not my usual turf. I'm sure you could find someone who's better qualified. I could get you a referral. . . .”

“I know this is not what you usually do. But I want someone I can trust, someone who won't view this as just another case. So what I'm asking is,
can
you do it? Because if you can, then I'd like your help.”

Jon considered the question for a moment. “Well, yeah, I could do it. I've handled securities fraud defense cases in the past, and I've defended a couple of murder charges. I might need some help, though, in thinking about how best to protect you from an anti-terrorism prosecution if anyone finds out that you've taken those encryption keys. But even if we're just talking about securities fraud, I want to make sure that you understand the stakes. You may be best served by bringing in a heavy hitter.”

“And what are the stakes?”

“Well, the evidence against you for Ben Fisher's murder is pretty circumstantial right now. But if Ben's cell phone turns up with that video on it, then it's a whole different ball game. Right now, I'm more worried about the securities fraud case. They're probably much closer to charging you there. That's why the SEC was leading the interviews today, and the PD and Homeland Security were in the background. You could be looking at as much as five to ten years in a federal prison on an insider trading conviction.”

“Why such a heavy sentence?”

“Two reasons. One, you were with a big law firm, and it will make headlines and send a message if they put you away. The SEC doesn't have a big enough budget to pursue a lot of prosecutions, so they like cases that they think will have an
in terrorum
effect. Besides, every time an affluent white guy with a law degree goes to jail, another SEC agent gets his wings.”

“Thanks for finding the humor in my nightmare.” Will was surprised at how quickly they fell back into their old mocking banter. Maybe they just knew no other way of talking to each other. “Okay. So what's the other reason?”

“This is a joint prosecution with the DOJ. If they think you can help them make a case against a member of the Russian mob, they'll apply every bit of pressure that they can. So you'll have two federal agencies competing to see who can fuck you over the most.”

“But I don't really know anything about the Russian
mafiya
. I only dealt with Nikolai and Yuri, and they're both dead.”

“What about that memory stick you mentioned? Where is that?”

Will had forgotten that he was carrying it. He reached into his pants pocket and placed the silver plastic memory stick on Jon's desk.

“So that's it?”

“That's it. The back door to everyone's most confidential information.”

That silenced Jon, but only for a moment. “Those agents are such screwups. They could have easily detained you in a holding cell, at least for a while. And if they had processed you, they would have taken your possessions and found the memory stick.”

“I guess I was lucky.”

“Maybe. Does the Russian
mafiya
know that you have this?”

“I don't know. Nikolai and Yuri knew that we had stolen it, but they're both dead. I guess it's possible that they didn't tell anyone else. Maybe they wanted to be heroes and bring it to their bosses by themselves—to make up for the loss on the Jupiter investment.”

Jon rubbed his temple. “Do you know much about the Russian mob here in San Francisco?”

“Only what Yuri and Nikolai told me, and it was always hard to tell how much of that was just posturing.”

“Well, I don't represent wiseguys. I don't even represent dealers, only possession cases. But when you do criminal law, you hear a few stories. The head of the
mafiya
here is supposed to be a guy called Boka.”

“That's who Nikolai and Yuri said they were working for.”

“Have you met him?”

“No.”

“Good. Do you think that he knows who you are?” Jon sounded anxious.

“Yes, he must. If the Jupiter investment really cost him a half million, then I'm sure he knows all about me. And I'm sure he knows about the plan to get the encryption keys. You're going to scare me now, aren't you?”

“It's likely that you could help yourself on the securities charges if you cooperate in making a case against Boka and his crew. Have they offered you protective custody yet?”

“They offered it, if I start talking. But I wasn't ready to do that yet.”

“Some of the regulars down at the courthouse tell a story about a witness who was going to testify against Boka's organization in a RICO case.”

“What happened?”

Jon looked away. “For all I know, it's just a bullshit story. The courthouse is full of them.”

“Just tell me!”

“They say that when they found the body he was missing his head, his hands . . . and his balls. It's supposed to be their trademark.”

Will slumped in his chair. “Talk about your
in terrorum
remedies. I'm a dead man, aren't I?”

“Well, you're definitely in danger until you're in custody. And if you decide to talk to the feds, you'll probably have to go into witness protection, which they should be willing to offer. You need to understand where this could go before you say a word.”

“Just tell me what you think I should do.”

“Well, the one thing you had going for you was that you probably weren't dealing with real members of the Russian mob, just a couple of wannabes. But if they know you have the encryption keys, or they even suspect it, then that raises the stakes.”

“So what do you recommend?”

“I think we need to open up a dialogue with the DOJ and SEC. Try to feel them out on what kind of case they have. In the meantime, you should lay low, stay out of public places, and we'll see if there's a deal to be made with the feds. I can hold the encryption keys for you if you like.”

“No, I need to be responsible for that. If you held them, that would put you at risk.”

Jon picked up the memory stick and examined it. “Do you even know for sure that this is what you think it is?”

“Well, no, not really. A programmer at Jupiter told us that the keys are stored on it.”

“Can you think of any reason why we shouldn't take a look to confirm?” Jon asked. Will shook his head.

Jon removed the cap on the memory stick and inserted it into a port on his desktop computer. He opened the file with a click, and a large table appeared on the screen full of long strings of numbers. Each number changed every ten seconds or so, making the document seem as if it were undulating like a living thing. Jon and Will stared at the flickering numbers. What had Riley called it? The keys to the kingdom.

“So what if the government does learn that I've taken the encryption keys?” Will asked.

“I've never handled a terrorism case, but my understanding is that if the government has solid evidence, they'll bring it to criminal court. If the case is not so good, they might try you before a military tribunal.”

“What would happen then?”

“I don't know,” Jon said. “How long can you hold your breath underwater?”

Taking Jon's advice, Will went into hiding. He knew better than to return to his condo in the marina. Instead, he purchased another disposable cell phone at a convenience store and headed for the Hyatt Regency at Embarcadero Center. Checking in at the registration desk, Will hoped that he was as small and anonymous as he felt standing under the enormous vaulted atrium of the John Portman- designed convention hotel. This time, he paid cash for the room. Will slept fitfully that night as his thoughts kept returning to his plans for the coming day.

Will waited for the sun to come up, then used the disposable phone to call Jon's office at seven thirty A.M. Fortunately, Jon was an early riser, and he reached him. “What's up? Are you okay?” Jon asked.

“Well, no, I'm not, but that's not why I'm calling. I wanted to know if you've managed to reach the feds yet.”

“I did. I spoke to that DOJ agent, Mary Boudreaux, at the end of the day yesterday. I got a funny vibe from her.”

“Funny how?”

Jon hesitated. “Are you calling me on a clean line?”

“Yeah, it's safe.”

“Well, mine isn't. Let me give you a number.” Jon gave Will the number of a pay phone outside his office.

When the conversation resumed, Jon said, “I think maybe they're not satisfied with their case against you.”

“What did Agent Boudreaux say?”

“The same line as before. That you should come in and cooperate because you're in danger. That sentencing would be lighter if you talked. I think they're trying to bluff you into taking a deal.”

“I thought they'd given up on all that and were just going to bring charges.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too. I tried to press her on when you would be charged and I got the impression that it won't be anytime soon.”

Will stood up from his couch. “How did she put it . . . exactly?”

“She said, ‘We're assembling our case. Tell your client not to go anywhere for a while.'”

“For a while.”

“Yeah. For a while.”

“Do you think maybe this is not as bad as we thought?”

“I wouldn't go that far. It wouldn't take much to establish a link between you and the Russians . . . a handwritten note, a phone record, a security video. Maybe they already have enough to charge you, but want to wait until they're confident that they can convict. This case will get press coverage, so they don't want to start something they can't finish. On a positive note, though, look at what we do know. Nikolai and Yuri are both dead. You didn't actually purchase or trade in Jupiter or Pearl stock. There's circumstantial evidence that you tipped Nikolai and Yuri, but, as far we know, there isn't a paper trail.”

“There's the fact that I was caught looking for insider information on the firm's computers.”

“At most, that was grounds for terminating your employment. It doesn't really help the feds make their case. Besides, you said yourself that you could have just been looking for a form.”