The Justice Game Page 34

He pulled the trigger.

  Jason flinched… but nothing happened.

  “This must be your lucky day,” the man said. He pulled the barrel out of Jason’s mouth and pressed it against Jason’s neck.

  “C’mon.” the man said. He yanked Jason out of the car. The man was larger than Jason, strong as an ox. “When I release you, walk straight to your car. Don’t look back or I’ll fill you with bullet holes.”

  With that, his captor cut the plastic handcuffs and pulled the hood off. He pushed Jason forward, in front of the headlights. Jason stumbled and scrambled to his feet, barely able to breathe. Doubled over, he hobbled toward his truck. Just as he was opening the front door, he heard the squeal of tires and looked behind him.

  The black sedan was out of its parking spot and gunning around the corner of the garage. A second car followed.

  Jason climbed gingerly into his truck and picked up his gun. He tried to get his bearings. He was dizzy with pain, trying to recover from the shock of being attacked. This was the kind of stuff that happened in movies, not in real life to a civil litigation lawyer.

  He realized he should probably file a report with the police, but he didn’t want to involve them. They would ask questions that would force Jason to choose between lying and telling the truth about how Luthor was blackmailing him. The truth about the accident ten years ago.

  Instead, Jason dialed his father’s number. When his dad didn’t answer, Jason left an urgent message on voice mail.

  In that moment of pain, every shallow breath more difficult than the last, a thought hit Jason. Something he should have realized a long time ago. Something that suddenly seemed so obvious he wondered how he could have missed it.

  His BlackBerry had been provided by Justice Inc. as part of his severance package, his yearly subscription paid in advance. Possibly—no, almost certainly—somebody was monitoring it. The call to Bella had been intercepted. That’s how they knew he was coming here.

  This theory confirmed a lot of things. Justice Inc. wanted to control the outcome of the litigation. They might have a hundred million or more riding on the case. And up until now, they had been able to track Jason’s every step.

  Jason turned the BlackBerry off and stared at it as if it were a coiled snake. He thought about his time at the company. In every case, the company put millions of dollars of its own money on the line. How could they be sure that the lawyers trying the mock cases weren’t providing information to hedge fund operators on the side? Those lawyers, like Jason, knew the outcome of every shadow jury trial.

  Maybe Justice Inc. had monitored every phone call he had ever made during his time at the company. That might explain how they found out about the DUI accident in the first place—his conversations with his father would allude to it. Jason had probably also mentioned Matt Corey from time to time. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out.

  He felt betrayed by the device he had carried with him everywhere, every minute of the day, on his hip, like a Trojan horse. Maybe even now, with the device turned off, Justice Inc. still had some kind of GPS system embedded into the phone that could track his every move. He was dealing with a huge and powerful organization with untold amounts of money at stake.

  And he still had the same intractable dilemma that he had thirty minutes ago. Play the game and betray his client, or refuse to play and betray his father. Refuse to play and hurt LeRon’s family. Refuse to play and go to jail.

  He powered the phone on and dialed Kelly’s number.

  “I can’t make it tonight,” he said. “Something’s come up.”

  “Do you need to push it back?”

  “No. I just need to call it off. Events have more or less preempted it.”

  “Fine,” Kelly said. “I’ll see you in court Monday.”

  “Yeah. See you Monday.”

  After the call, he waited several more minutes, trying to catch a few breaths without the sharp pain that had been accompanying each inhalation.

  Strangely, the attack had increased his resolve. Waiting for the other shoe to drop for the last few weeks had been like torture. Thinking about the fallout from having his treachery exposed had been paralyzing.

  But a few minutes ago, he’d thought he was going to die. And at that moment, all he wanted was another chance at life.

  Coming that close to death could do something to a man.

  He needed to go to the hospital and get his ribs checked out. But first, he had to take care of some other business. He drove out of the parking garage and cruised down Atlantic Avenue a few blocks. He found a metered spot on a side street, strapped on his shoulder holster with his MD-45, and threw a Windbreaker over top even though the temperature was still in the mideighties.

  From now on, Jason and his gun would be inseparable; his BlackBerry would stay in the truck. He wouldn’t throw it away entirely, though, or Justice Inc. would realize that he knew how they were monitoring him.

  He ducked in and out of the pedestrian traffic for a few minutes, checking behind him, the rapid pace causing more pain in his chest. Eventually, he worked his way to the lobby of the Hilton, where he called Kelly from a hotel phone.

  “I’m in the lobby,” he said. “I know this sounds a little schizophrenic, but we really need to meet.”

  80

  It was late in the evening. Kelly’s meeting with Jason Noble had been over for more than an hour, and there was no way in the world that she was going to sleep. She walked out onto the balcony of her room, overlooking the boardwalk, and breathed in the night air.

  She loved this view, had retreated to this spot numerous times in the last few days with the pressure of the trial bearing down on her. It was here, listening to the rhythmic beat of the ocean, that she had fine-tuned her opening statement. Last night, pacing back and forth on the small balcony, staring out at the ocean, she had imagined every minute of the cross-examination of Melissa Davids.

  The night air was muggy, but a nice breeze blew in from the ocean, and the air carried a curious blend of salt water and the aromas from the Catch 31 restaurant twelve stories below. She could hear the country band playing next door, at the outdoor Neptune Park. She could see tourists strolling the boardwalk, others walking in the sand, kids playing on the blue playset just below the statue of King Neptune.

  But tonight, none of this could begin to calm her nerves. This case had enough pressure of its own. But after her meeting with Jason, the intrigue and mind games had increased tenfold.

  Could she trust Jason Noble? Nothing in the history of this case suggested that he had much integrity.

  Kelly was confused and restless. She was on the verge of emotional exhaustion, yet at the same time she felt almost jittery with nervous energy. In some ways, this was expected at the end of a long week of trial. She hadn’t exercised all week. The adrenaline just bounced around in her body with no productive outlet, draining her reserves.

  She needed some kind of release. She needed to think. Maybe she could hit the hotel pool and do a few laps. The exercise might clear her mind.

  She changed into a one-piece swimsuit that she used for training, threw on flip-flops and a pair of shorts, put her goggles around her neck, and grabbed a hotel towel.

  The Hilton’s outdoor pool was on the roof of the hotel, twenty stories above the boardwalk, surrounded by a waist-high brick railing topped with a wire fence.

  Kelly rode the elevator with businessmen and businesswomen dressed for a night on the town. The Hilton’s rooftop also featured a plush bar, and it was apparently a hot spot for the upscale locals.

  When she stepped off the elevators and headed toward the pool, she knew immediately that this was a dumb idea. There were couples lounging in the lawn chairs. A few women in bikinis stood in the water with boyfriends or husbands, some draped all over each other, some holding drinks. Kelly chuckled at the absurd thought of trying to swim laps in this pool. The patrons cast a few suspicious glances her way, as if she had just shown up with a six-pack at an AA mee
ting.

  Turning around, she headed back to the elevator.

  Instead of hitting twelve, she pushed the button for the ground floor. She exited the lobby and stepped into the muggy Virginia Beach night. She crossed the boardwalk, headed toward the ocean, and took off her flip-flops.

  The sand was smooth and cool on her feet. The expansive beach was unguarded and open to tourists at night, many of whom took advantage of it. Couples were sitting in the sand talking or holding hands as they walked in ankle-deep water at the edge of the ocean. A few guys were throwing a Frisbee by moonlight. A family walked their dog nearby.

  The moon was three-quarters full, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The lights from the boardwalk and night sky cast a pale glow over the water of the Atlantic, an alluring invitation to do some real swimming.

  Kelly picked a spot for her towel, flip-flops, and shorts. When nobody was looking, she buried her hotel room key in the sand, a few inches below her left flip flop. She put on her goggles and waded into the water until it was about knee deep, splashing some cold water on her shoulders and back.

  A couple walking on the beach checked her out—What’s with the crazy woman? There were probably others staring as well. She took a deep breath and waded forward, the cold waves crashing against her and sucking her breath away. Here goes! She picked a large swell and dove under.

  She came up instantly refreshed, raked back her hair, checked her goggles, waded a little deeper, and dove under another wave. This time she came up swimming. First she angled away from the shore, swimming under a few more large swells as they broke. Within seconds, she was out past the breaking waves, parallel to the shore, swimming freestyle, her body rolling with the rhythm of the ocean.

  For the first few minutes, Kelly concentrated on getting in sync with the waves, timing her breaths to avoid swallowing salt water. Before long, she was in the zone. It felt great to be in her element, channeling her pent-up tension into each stroke. It seemed like the longer she swam the stronger she became. She kicked harder and lengthened her stroke, practically sprinting down the back side of the swells.

  She knew she should be careful about holding some energy in reserve—a riptide could carry her out a half mile or more in no time at all. But tonight, she didn’t really care.

  Fatigue came more quickly than she anticipated, but still she swam. After twenty minutes, she stopped long enough to glance at her watch. A good workout in the pool would be thirty minutes. But here, fighting the ocean swells, she had already been swimming twenty minutes and hadn’t even turned around.

  She had drifted a little farther from shore than she had intended. She put her head down and plowed farther ahead, muscles beginning to burn. The pain was exactly what she needed. The risk was exactly what she wanted.

  At twenty-five minutes, she turned and headed back toward the Hilton. Going in this direction, she rotated her head toward shore as she breathed, catching a glimpse of the lights from the oceanfront homes with every other stroke.

  Ten minutes later, she started struggling a little. It was harder to breathe, and her arms and legs felt like lead weights. She was still dangerously far from shore, but tonight she had this inexplicable desire to flirt with danger. She knew how dangerous this was. Bordering on insane. She had a promising career. A family who loved her. She was on the verge of being a national figure—a hero in the fight against gun violence.

  But none of that seemed to matter now. Because the one thing Kelly cared about most—her reputation, her integrity—was about to be shattered. Luthor would be forced to reveal what he knew. The Monica Lewinsky taint would follow Kelly forever. How often had her father said that if you lose your integrity you lose everything?

  She swam harder. Longer. Pushing herself for one more minute… one more breath… one more stroke.

  Finally she reached the point of exhaustion and started angling toward shore. As soon as she got there she would rest on the sand for a few minutes and then walk the rest of the way to the hotel.

  But as she turned toward shore, at nearly the height of her fatigue, she felt the subtle pull of the current and realized she had miscalculated. The tide was taking her farther out—not a full-blown riptide but something close.

  She stopped to tread water for a second and get her bearings but quickly started swimming again as she watched the shore grow more distant. A surge of adrenaline kicked in, and she nearly panicked as she realized that she was still losing ground. She knew the drill—don’t fight the riptide. Swim parallel to shore, out the side of the current, not against it.

  But that required energy and stamina. She tried to get a deep breath and relax, but she was so tired. She gamely fought back the panic, put her head down, and started swimming parallel to the shore. Two minutes. Three minutes. Five.

  She swallowed some water and coughed it up. The swells seemed larger now, though she knew it must be just an illusion. The shore was still fading away.

  Thoughts about the trial had succumbed to a single-minded focus on survival. A prayer and another rush of adrenaline sustained her for a few more minutes, but at this rate it would be over soon. Her arms and legs burned with fatigue as lactic acid took its toll. She resisted the urge to shout out. It would be a waste of breath; nobody could hear her this far from shore.

  There was only one thing to do—keep swimming.

  She put her head down and continued pushing—past the fatigue, past the pain, one stroke at a time, each one more difficult than the last. In her competitive days, she was legendary for her will to win. Tonight, it would take every ounce of that will just to survive. She thought about everything worth living for—her faith, her family, her friends, the clients who needed her.

  Nothing helped. She was going to lose this battle.

  But just when she was ready to concede defeat, she felt a small shift in the current, very subtle—the gradual release of the riptide’s fingers. It was as if the fist of death had been pried opened by the hand of God.

  She swam a few more aching strokes until she had completely cleared the current. She caught her breath by floating on the surface for a few minutes before starting the grind toward shore. She picked the right angle, rode the waves, relaxed between swells, and eventually felt sand under her exhausted legs.

  She walked toward the beach and collapsed on her knees in the ankle-deep water. She stayed there for a minute, trying to catch her breath. How close had she been to dying? How many more minutes could she have fought the tide?

  She knew God had snatched her out of danger. In a private moment that no one else would share or comprehend, He had rescued her. But only after she had quit fighting against the riptide. Only when she had been ready to give up and let the powerful ocean claim its victim. That’s when she had felt Him move.

  Kneeling in the sand, she thought about some verses her dad had often quoted. The words of Jesus, though Kelly couldn’t remember when or where. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it. And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul?

  The whole world—a law career, a reputation, national fame.

  What do you benefit if you gain the whole world and lose your soul?

  To her horror, Kelly realized how much she had been toying with that bargain. Her pride and her shame had driven her away from God. She had been swimming against the need for repentance and reconciliation, trying to curry His favor with her crusades when what she really needed was mercy and acceptance.

  Kneeling there in the sand, she asked God to forgive her.

  81

  First thing Saturday morning, Kelly called her dad. “Can we talk?” she asked.

  “Sure, Kell. What’s up?”

  They had talked a few times during the trial, but Kelly was usually so busy that mostly her dad left voice mail messages telling Kelly how proud he was of the way she was handling the case.

  Last night, she had decided to call him today
and tell him everything she had been hiding for the past seven years. But now that he was actually on the phone, it felt awkward.

  “I know you’ve got church tomorrow, but is there any way we could get together for a few minutes? I just really need to see you.”

  Kelly knew that Saturday was her dad’s day to fine-tune his sermon. Rule number one in the Starling house: don’t mess with Dad on Saturday. And the drive from Charlottesville to Virginia Beach one way would take nearly four hours.

  But her dad must have heard the catch in Kelly’s voice. He said he could be there by two that afternoon. He would get someone else to preach the next day. He had wanted to watch her closing argument anyway.

  She backtracked a little and put up some token resistance but it was a done deal.

  Early that afternoon, her dad called from the hotel lobby. He came up to Kelly’s room, and she told him everything.

  They sat on the edge of the bed, and her dad gently assured her of God’s forgiveness. She cried in his arms for what seemed like an hour.

  * * *

  Jason didn’t arrive at the office on Saturday morning until nearly 9 a.m. After his meeting with Kelly on Friday night, he had gone to the Virginia Beach General Hospital ER. The emergency-room staff had made him wait for an hour before they X-rayed his ribs and did a CT scan of his head. Though he hadn’t lost consciousness, they wanted to be cautious.

  The good news was that there was no discernible brain damage, and the ribs were just bruised, not broken. After a few pain pills, Jason managed to get about five hours of sleep.

  The pain was back in full force on Saturday morning, but he needed to think clearly, so he stayed away from the pain medication.

  “Sleeping Beauty’s in the house!” Bella announced when Jason came in the door. He smiled and grimaced all at once.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

  “I got mugged last night in the parking lot,” Jason said. He figured a half-truth would be easier to remember than an outright lie. This elicited lots of sympathy and required about a ten-minute explanation filled with enough small fibs that Jason was sure he’d never be able to tell it the same way again.