Power Blind (32 page)

Chapter 84

G
age helped Brandon off the bed and into the desk chair. Brandon's body trembled. He bore the shell-shocked expression of men who get snagged in undercover john operations or pedophiles who walk into news camera lights in suburban juveniles' homes.

“Anybody else here?” Gage asked Brandon.

“No.”

Gage pointed at the closed bathroom door and Viz started toward it.

“I told you,” Brandon said, “there's no one here.”

Viz glanced inside, then shook his head. The bathroom was empty.

Gage walked to the dresser and turned down the sound on the television. It was tuned to a news report about the pending confirmation vote.

A monitor on the desk showed an online stock trading Web site.

Flowcharts tacked to the walls tracked the money flow to Pegasus, then to Mann Trust, then to senatorial candidates. Next to them hung oversized spreadsheets titled “Confirmations” and “LM.”

Bookcases of slim binders stood next to the window: fourteen bearing the name Pegasus, eight in the star names, two labeled TIMCO, and dozens of others in the names of Fortune 500 companies.

Gage walked over and pulled the OptiCom binder off the shelf. He leaned against the wall as he thumbed through it.

Finally, Gage said, “I had it backward.”

Brandon didn't say anything.

“What do you mean?” Viz asked.

“He sold short. He held on to the search warrant long enough to borrow and sell a million shares of OptiCom stock. Then he signed the warrant, Casey kicked in the door and the stock price collapsed. That's when Brandon bought cheap shares to repay the expensive ones he'd borrowed. He cleared ten million dollars.”

Gage glared down at Brandon. “Is that about right?”

Brandon still didn't say anything.

“The only question,” Gage said, “is whether you're going to bring your brother down, too.”

This time, Brandon responded:

“Landon didn't know anything about it. He didn't. He thought we were still doing it through insurance.”

“What changed?”

Brandon lowered his head.

“I'm going to find out one way or the other,” Gage said.

Brandon looked up again, his eyes darting about the room. They paused for a second on Viz blocking the doorway, then focused on the window.

Gage stepped in front of it. “Suicide isn't an option.”

Brandon swallowed hard, then licked his lips.

“We had to stop because of an IRS investigation. But . . .” He took in a breath. “But Mann Trust was overextended and the bank regulators went after us for not keeping large enough cash reserves. They threatened to shut us down. The whole thing would have collapsed.”

“You mean you own Mann Trust?”

Brandon shrugged. “In a way.”

“You needed a few million dollars and right then a warrant to search a high-tech company came walking into your chambers.”

Brandon didn't react.

“It's the star names,” Gage said. “Each one was a predecessor of OptiCom. An agent would arrive with a search warrant, you'd sit on it long enough to make a trade, then cash in.”

“I had no choice.”

Gage shook his head. “You had lots of choices.”

“You don't understand what was at stake.”

Viz' cell phone rang. He flipped it open. “What's up?”

The color drained from his face. “When?”

He clenched his teeth. “I'm on my way.”

He snapped the phone shut. “Socorro's disappeared.”

Viz stepped toward Brandon, grabbed him by his suit lapels, and lifted him out of the chair. He held Brandon up, feet dangling, then stepped toward the window.

Brandon's eyes turned wild.

“Gage. Stop him. You've got to stop him.”

Viz held Brandon against the curtain. “If anything happens to my sister I'll break you in two.”

“Viz, put him down.”

Viz lowered Brandon to his feet, then backed away and turned toward Gage.

“Socorro left the ranch at nine o'clock this morning to go shopping in Nogales. She didn't come back. And she isn't answering her cell phone.”

Gage could feel fury begin to rage, at Brandon, at Anston, and at himself. Instead of protecting Socorro, he had led her into a trap.

Gage fixed his eyes on Brandon. “Where's Boots Marnin?”

“Who?”

“Don't play dumb. Where is he?”

“I . . . I've never heard of anyone named Marnin. I'm telling you the truth.”

Gage pointed at the desk chair and Brandon sat down, then he led Viz into the hallway. “Have you talked to her daughter?”

“Socorro called Sandy yesterday to say she was going shopping in town. Alex Z was watching the video feed this morning and saw her drive away. She was supposed to be back at the ranch by noon.”

Viz glanced toward the elevator. “I better get out there.”

Gage shook his head. “I know some ex-Border Patrol guys in Tucson. They're tough and know the area.” He searched his cell phone contacts and connected the number. He introduced Viz, then handed him the phone.

Gage returned inside and pointed at Brandon. “I want Anston.”

Brandon slumped in the chair. “No way. He's insulated himself. The paper trail seems to go to him, but once you look at it, it dead-ends with Palmer and with me. His intelligence training wasn't wasted. I'm the one who went to the Caymans to first meet with Quinton fifteen years ago.”

Brandon's eyes darted toward the bookshelf.

“Are we talking about TIMCO now,” Gage said, “or the campaign money?”

“Both.”

Viz walked back into the room.

“I've got to e-mail them some photos of Socorro.” Viz looked at Brandon, but spoke to Gage. “You going to be okay with this asshole?”

“Take off. Joe will be here in a few minutes.”

Viz glared at Brandon, now shrunk back in his chair.

“You better hope she's all right. You've got no place to hide where I can't find you. No place.”

G
age worked the fractured door closed after Viz left and then sat down on the bed.

“I thought we'd find a hooker in here,” Gage said.

Brandon shrugged.

“Your wife will be relieved. Maybe she'll even visit you in prison.”

They both alerted to a knock at the door. Gage stood up, reached under his windbreaker, and rested his hand on his gun. He pulled the door open a crack, peeked through, then opened it the rest of the way and let Casey inside.

Casey surveyed the room. His eyes came to rest on Brandon. Gage filled him in on the scam and about use of the hotel room as a secret office, and about the urgency created by Socorro's disappearance.

“What do you want to do?” Casey asked.

“Number one is to get Anston before he can hurt Socorro.”

“And number two is Landon?”

Brandon pushed himself to his feet.

“I told you. Landon had nothing to do with any of this. He doesn't know anything about it.”

Casey pointed at Brandon.

“Sit down.”

Brandon dropped back into the chair.

“Why not Landon first?” Casey asked. “Maybe go public. Try to freeze everything in place.”

“Because then we'd never get Anston. Once this blows up, he'll know he's next and make a run for it, and he won't leave any witnesses behind—starting with Socorro.” Gage felt his body tense. “If she's still alive.”

F
orty minutes after Gage called the Oakland loft, Alex Z and Shakir came through the hotel room door. Their bodyguards posted themselves in the hallway. They set up their laptops to catalogue everything in the office and copy the drives on Brandon's computers.

Gage swept his hand from the bookcases to the computer on the desk to the file cabinet in the corner, then turned toward Brandon.

“Walk us through it.”

Chapter 85

G
age watched from inside the surveillance van parked a block west of the restaurant as a dinner crowd of black-suited men and women filled the entrance of Tadich Grill. Limousines were double-parked in front. Streetlights and neon signs shone down on pavement slick from an uneasy mist swirling down the street.

B
randon Meyer had difficulty working his way through the door. As he crossed the dining room, he saw Marc Anston set down his cell phone on the starched white tablecloth.

“Why are you sweating?” Anston asked as Brandon settled in his chair.

“I had to park six blocks away and I got a late start from court.”

“That's not like you.”

“I set off some fireworks at the OptiCom hearing. The chief judge came by to kibitz. I couldn't walk out on him.”

Anston smiled. “We neutralized Gage. Nobody will listen to anything he says.”

Brandon nodded. “And Casey, too.”

Anston pointed toward the restroom sign and picked up the phone. “I've got to go the john.”

G
age was seated on a metal chair bolted to the floor of the van. Shelves of electronic equipment stretched along the driver's side: receivers, bugging devices, two-way radios. Viz was stationed at the rear window, binoculars pointed at the entrance, and Joe Casey sat in his Ford Explorer in a yellow zone a block to the east.

“The restaurant is noisy as hell,” Gage said to Viz after Anston left the table. “The wire on Brandon is picking up a lot of background sounds.”

Gage kept the headphones pressed against his ears trying to hear through the conversations at adjoining tables, the clink of glasses, and the clatter of dishes, waiting for Anston to return.

Viz looked toward Gage. “I'm sorry about that Socorro thing. I hope it didn't get you in a jam with your pals in Tucson.”

“No problem. I'm just glad she finally called.”

“I should've told her we were watching the video feed from the ranch.”

“It's not your fault. Neither one of us wanted to worry her.” Gage adjusted the sound level on his receiver. “Did she say what she was doing?”

“Visiting some friends in Tempe. Then she stayed overnight because she was too tired to drive back and then her cell phone battery died. She's going to stay one more night and go to a play at the university.”

“You didn't tell her about Brandon, did you?”

“No. She might've done something preemptive.”

Gage peeked through the curtains separating the cab from the interior of the van. He looked through the windshield, scanning the cars and sidewalks and the office and store windows.

“You see anything we need to worry about?” he asked Viz.

Viz raised his binoculars and peered out the rear window. “There are a lot of people on the street, but no George Str—”

“Hold on,” Gage said. “Anston's back.”

H
ow do we keep Gage quiet after the Senate vote tomorrow?” Brandon said. “I can't keep OptiCom going forever and eventually Oscar Mogasci will roll back the other way. Casey will put him on a polygraph and he'll fold.”

Anston leaned over the table. His voice turned hard. “I'm tired of Gage and I'm about an inch away from sending him the same way as Charlie Palmer.”

Brandon's mouth went dry. He hadn't believed Gage the night before. It was too absurd. His voice fell to a whisper.

“You're insane. Completely insane. You didn't kill—”

“TIMCO was a domino. If it fell, everything would've followed. I had no choice.
We
had no choice.”

“There's no ‘we' in this.”

Anston laughed. “What is it about judges? The second they're caught up in something themselves they forget what a conspiracy is. How many of those teenage Mexican wetbacks did you send to federal prison? You think any of them had a hand in any of the murders their narco-bosses committed? But you gave them prison terms like they'd pulled the trigger themselves.”

“I never signed on for this.”

“That's what they all say.”

“What about Karopian?”

Anston shrugged.

“But Hawkins can show up any time—”

“That would be a helluva trick.”

“You mean—”

“Why don't you grow up? You and your brother. Lives of pretending their hands aren't stained by their family's crimes.”

“Crimes. What crimes?”

“Stop it, Brandon. Don't embarrass yourself. I saw it. All of it. The CIA doesn't throw away anything.”

“I don't want to talk about this.”

“Hundreds of thousands of lives have been lost defending the American way of life. A couple more is a small sacrifice to get where the country needs to go.”

They glanced up at the approaching waiter.

Anston looked back at Brandon.

“Give the nice man your order.”

W
hy'd Brandon cut it off?” Viz asked Gage.

“He knows the recording will eventually make the news. He doesn't want Anston talking about his grandfather's arms trafficking with the Nazis.”

“It's not like he's gonna have a reputation left after today.”

“I think he's still trying to protect Landon, and he's terrified by what Anston might say about Ed Lightfoot's plane crash.”

Gage's cell phone rang.

“Brandon didn't tell you everything.” Alex Z was breathless. “But we hit a home run, boss. Charlie Palmer set up thousands of straw contributors over the years. Not just fake companies, but dead people, homeless people, institutionalized mentally ill people. Did it all through the Internet—”

“And charged offshore credit cards for the contributions.”

“Exactly. And scattered them all over the country so nobody would notice, then used the money to pay off the Mann Trust loans if anybody became suspicious.”

“How much?”

“I don't know yet. But in the last five years each fake contributor put in between fifty and one hundred thousand dollars in small increments.”

“Do the math for me.”

“I would guess between two hundred and three hundred million dollars.”

A
nston took a sip of water after the waiter left, thought a moment, then asked Brandon, “Why the sudden interest in my side of things?”

“I keep getting chills up my spine, like I'm about to get blindsided.”

“That's your lifelong problem. You never look around until it's too late, and your brother, too. I'm thinking we may need to change horses in the presidential race. I created him and I can dismantle him in a heartbeat. I'm not sure I want to blow our last couple of hundred million on somebody with what may be a genetic weakness.”

Brandon didn't answer.

“You know what my wife calls me?” Anston said. “Machiavelli's Machiavelli. It's ironic that everybody reads
The Prince
when they're in college and thinks he was some kind of immoral genius. In fact, he was an idiot savant.” He peered into Brandon's eyes. “You ever read Machiavelli's
Art of War
?”

Brandon shook his head.

“He didn't have a clue it was the rifle, and not the pike, that would determine the outcome of wars for the next three hundred years.” Anston grinned. “See? The prince needed a Machiavelli, and Machiavelli needed somebody like me to fight his wars for him.”

V
iz recognized the gait before he spotted the face.

“Oh shit.”

Gage's head snapped toward Viz.

“It's Socorro,” Viz said. “She just slipped around the corner and ducked through the crowd into the restaurant.”

Gage flipped open his cell phone. Joe Casey's number was set for redial.

“We've got a problem,” Gage said. “Socorro just went in to confront Anston and Brandon.”

“With what?” Casey asked.

Gage looked at Viz. “With what?”

Viz spread his hands and shrugged.

“What do you want to do?” Casey asked.

“It's up to Viz.”

Viz turned toward the window and scanned the sidewalks and cars on the street. “I'm pissed she lied to me, but it's contained, and it took a lot of guts to walk in there and try to set things right—and for her that's what this has been about from the beginning.” He locked on to the diners gathered at the entrance. “And they can't do anything to her with that kind of big-money crowd around her.”

G
ood evening, Judge. Marc.”

They looked up.

Socorro made a show of glancing around the restaurant.

“You two really are creatures of habit. Don't you ever get bored with this place? Maybe you should try Mexican food sometime.”

Her voice had a sense of self-satisfaction neither Brandon nor Anston had heard from her before.

Anston stood and extended his hand. Socorro didn't accept it.

“It's not that kind of visit.”

She reached behind her and pulled an empty chair up to the table. She and Anston sat down. She was the only one in the restaurant wearing jeans, and the only Hispanic except the busboys.

Anston tried again. “To what do we owe—”

“Money,” Socorro snapped. “You've got money belonging to other people.”

Anston smirked. “You have it backward, my dear. You have money belonging to other people.”

Brandon looked around the restaurant, then cut in. “I'm not sure this is the place to discuss this.”

Socorro reached into her purse, pulled out a DVD, and set it on the table. Its cover showed Henry Fonda, arm extended in accusation.

“You're right,” Socorro said. “Let's go watch a movie.”

“I'm sure it's a fine film, but we have better things to do than spend an evening watching
Advise and Consent
, no matter how timely.”

Socorro opened the case and turned its contents toward Anston. It was labeled
Charles Palmer Investigations, Meeting with Marc Anston re: Pegasus
.

Anston's eyes fixed on the DVD.

“I like what you've done with your study,” Socorro said. “That Rothko hanging on the wall must've cost a pretty penny.” She grinned. “Of course it did. I checked. One point two million. Sotheby's. Last year.”

Anston reached for the case. She pulled it away. “Not so fast.”

“What do you want?” Anston lowered his hand to the table and drummed his fingers.

“Little nervous there, Counselor?” Socorro said, closing the DVD case. “Don't you want to know what's on it?”

“If it's really from last year, then I know.”

“What's on it?” Brandon asked, voice shaking.

Anston shook his head. “We're not getting into that. She may be wired. Like husband, like wife.” He peered at her sweater, with his eyes coming to rest on her breasts.

She smiled. “You want to check? Unlike your little amigo here, I doubt whether your bony little hands have touched anything like them in a generation.”

“You surprise me, my dear. You sound like a different woman.”

“One finally with power.”

“Or with somebody behind you.” Anston cast a glance toward the entrance. “Did Gage put you up to this?”

Brandon spoke fist. “He wouldn't . . .”

Anston's eyes shifted toward Brandon. “He wouldn't what?”

“He wouldn't . . .” Brandon knew panic showed on his face. He bit his lip, hoping it would fade. “He wouldn't send an amateur.”

Anston paused, then nodded. “That's true.” He looked at Socorro. “What do you want?”

“I told you, money.”

“Sounds like extortion.”

“It's not for me. It's for the TIMCO families and Moki Amaro's mother and for all the other families you cheated.”

“If all you want is a little contribution to a charity of some kind . . .”

“I want all of it.”

“Are you going to throw in the nine million Charlie stole?”

“Every penny.”

“How generous.” Anston eyed the DVD. “Why don't we get together at my office tomorrow to talk about it?”

Socorro's face went blank. In that instant, they all recognized she hadn't thought through what came next. And they all also recognized that was the difference between her and Charlie. She manipulated characters in children's books, while he moved real people in the directions he wanted in real life, and they all knew she'd been too impulsive.

Anston smiled. “You didn't expect me to pull out a checkbook right here and now, did you?”

Socorro returned the DVD to her purse. “Let's go type up an agreement.” She looked back and forth between them. “And I want both of you to sign.”

Anston caught Brandon's eye and nodded.

“That's fine with me,” Brandon said.

“And don't try anything. I've hidden two other copies of this thing.”

“And we get all three once you have your money?” Anston asked.

“I won't need them anymore.”

Anston's cell phone rang. He pulled it from his coat pocket and glanced at its face. “It's my office. My secretary is working late.” He connected, then listened and said. “Sure, I'll be right there. And check to make sure your assistant is standing by to do the thing we talked about.”

T
his has gone far enough,” Gage said. “Let's get her when they come out of the restaurant.”

“She's out of her mind,” Viz said. “What was she thinking?”

Viz crawled past Gage, then into the cab and climbed down from the van. Gage slid to the rear and watched him cross the street. Viz walked down the block, then positioned himself against the brick wall ten feet west of the Tadich Grill entrance, on the route toward Anston's office three blocks away.

Gage heard shuffling as Socorro, Brandon, and Anston rose from the table.

M
y car is just outside,” Anston pointed at the crowd gathered in front of the reception station, blocking the entrance. “We'll have to go out another way.”