Absolute Power

Chapter Twelve

The plane landed and thundered to a stop on the short strip of tarmac constituting National Airport’s main runway, hit an immediate left a few hundred yards from the tiny inlet that accessed the Potomac for the swarms of weekend boat enthusiasts, and taxied to gate number nine. An airport security officer was answering questions from a group of anxious, camera-toting tourists and did not observe the man walking rapidly past him. Not that identification was going to be made anyway.

Luther’s return trip had followed the circuity of his exit. A stopover in Miami, and then Dallas/Fort Worth.

He grabbed a cab and watched the south-moving rush-hour traffic on the George Washington Parkway as weary commuters threaded their way home. The skies promised more rain, and the wind whipped through the tree-lined parkway meandering lazily on its parallel course with the Potomac. Planes periodically rocketed into the air, banking left and rapidly disappearing into the clouds.

One more battle beckoned Luther. The image of a righteously indignant President Richmond pounding the lectern in his impassioned speech against violence, his smug Chief of Staff by his side, was the one constant in Luther’s life now. The old, tired and fearful man who had fled the country was no longer tired, no longer fearful. The overriding guilt at allowing a young woman to die had been replaced with an overriding hate, an anger that surged through every nerve in his body. If he was to be, of sorts, Christine Sullivan’s avenging angel, he would perform that task with every ounce of energy and every shred of ingenuity he had left.

Luther settled back into his seat, munched on some crackers saved from the plane trip, and wondered if Gloria Russell was any good at playing chicken.

Seth Frank glanced out the car window. His personal interviews of Walter Sullivan’s household staff had revealed two things of interest, the first of which was the business enterprise Frank was now parked in front of; the second could keep. Housed in a long, gray concrete building in a heavy commercial area of Springfield just outside the Beltway, Metro Steam Cleaner’s sign proclaimed that it had been in business since 1949. That was stability that meant nothing to Frank. A lot of long-standing legitimate businesses were now money-laundering fronts for organized crime, both Mafia, Chinese and America’s own homegrown versions. And a carpet cleaner that catered to affluent homeowners was in a perfect position to scope alarm systems, cash and jewelry nests and patterns of behavior of the intended victims and their households. Whether he was dealing with a loner or an entire organization Frank didn’t know. It was more likely that he was headed toward a dead end, but then you never knew. There were two patrol cars stationed three minutes away. Just in case. Frank got out of his car.

“That would have been Rogers, Budizinski and Jerome Pettis. Yep, August 30, nine A.M. Three floors. Damn house was so big, it took all day even with three guys.” George Patterson consulted his record book while Frank’s eyes took in the grimy office.

“Can I speak to them?”

“You can to Pettis. The other two are gone.”

“Permanently?” Patterson nodded. “How long had they been with you?”

Patterson’s eyes scanned his employment log. “Jerome’s been with me five years. He’s one of my best people. Rogers was about two months. I think he moved out of the area. Budizinski had been with us about four weeks.”

“Pretty short stays.”

“Hell, that’s the nature of the business. Spend a thousand bucks training these guys and wham they’re gone. It’s not a career-type job, you know what I mean? It’s hot, dirty work. And the pay ain’t exactly going to put you on the Riviera, you hear what I’m saying?”

“You got addresses for them?” Frank took out his notebook.

“Well, like I said, Rogers moved. Pettis is in today, if you want to talk to him. He’s got a job to do out in McLean in about a half hour. He’s back loading his truck now.”

“Who decides which crew goes to which house?”

“I do.”

“All the time?”

Patterson hesitated. “Well, I got guys who specialize in different stuff.”

“Who specializes in the high-dollar areas?”

“Jerome. Like I said, he’s my best guy.”

“How did the other two get assigned to him?”

“I don’t know, we juggle stuff like that. Depends on who shows up for work sometimes.”

“You remember any of those three being particularly interested in visiting the Sullivan place?”

Patterson shook his head.

“What about Budizinski? You got an address on him?”

Patterson consulted a notebook crammed with paper and wrote on a slip of paper. “It’s over in Arlington. Don’t know if he’s still there.”

“I’ll want their employment file. Social Security numbers, birthdates, job history, all that stuff.”

“Sally can get that for you. She’s the gal up front.”

“Thanks. You got photos of these guys?”

Patterson looked at Frank like he was nuts. “Are you kidding. This ain’t the FBI, for crying out loud.”

“Can you give me a description?” Frank asked patiently.

“I’ve got sixty-five employees and a turnover rate of over sixty percent. I usually don’t even see the guy after he’s hired. Everybody starts to look the same after a while anyway. Pettis’ll remember.”

“Anything else you think might help me?”

Patterson shook his head. “You think one of them might have killed that woman?”

Frank stood up and stretched. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Hey, I get all kinds in here. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

Frank turned to leave, then turned back. “Oh by the way, I’ll want records of all homes and establishments cleaned by your firm in Middleton in the last two years.”

Patterson exploded out of his chair. “What the fuck for?”

“You have the records?”

“Yeah, I got ’em.”

“Good, let me know when they’re ready. Have a good one.”

Jerome Pettis was a tall, cadaverous black man in his early forties with a perpetual cigarette hanging from his mouth. Frank watched admiringly as the man methodically loaded the heavy cleaning equipment with a practiced hand. His blue jumpsuit announced that he was a senior technician with Metro. He didn’t look at Frank, kept his eyes on his work. All around them in the huge garage white vans were being similarly loaded. A couple of men stared over at Frank but quickly returned to their work.

“Mr. Patterson said you had some questions?”

Frank parked himself on the van’s front bumper. “A few. You did a job at Walter Sullivan’s home in Middleton on August 30 of this year.”

Pettis’s brow furrowed. “August? Hell, I do about four homes a day. I don’t remember them cuz they aren’t that memorable.”

“This one took you all day. Big house out in Middleton. Rogers and Budizinski were with you.”

Pettis smiled. “That’s right. Biggest goddamned house I’d ever seen and I’ve seen some bad places, man.”

Frank smiled back. “That’s the same thing I thought when I saw it.”

Pettis straightened up, relit his cigarette. “Problem was all that furniture. Had to move every damn piece, and some of that shit was heavy, heavy like they don’t make no more.”

“So you were there all day?” Frank hadn’t meant the question to come out that way.

Pettis stiffened, sucked on his Camel and leaned against the door of the van. “So how come the cops are interested in how the carpets were cleaned?”

“Woman was murdered in the house. Apparently she mixed it up with some burglars. Don’t you read the papers?”

“Just the sports. And you’re wondering if I’m one of them dudes?”

“Not right now. I’m just collecting information. Everybody who was near that house recently interests me. I’ll probably talk to the mailman next.”

“You’re funny for a cop. You think I killed her?”

“I think if you did, you’re smart enough not to stick around here waiting for me to ring your doorbell. These two men who were with you, what can you tell me about them?”

Pettis finished his smoke and looked at Frank without answering. Frank started to close his notebook.

“You want a lawyer, Jerome?”

“Do I need one?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned, but it’s not my call. I don’t plan on pulling out my Miranda card if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Pettis finally looked at the concrete floor, crushed out his cigarette, looked back at Frank. “Look, man, I’ve been with Mr. Patterson a long time. Come to work every day, do my job, take my paycheck and go home.”

“Then it sounds like you have nothing to worry about.”

“Right. Look, I did some stuff a while back. Did some time. You can pull it off your computers in five seconds. So I’m not gonna sit here and bullshit you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got four kids and no wife. I didn’t break into that house and I didn’t do anything to that woman.”

“I believe you, Jerome. I’m a lot more interested in Rogers and Budizinski.”

Pettis eyed the detective for several seconds. “Let’s take a walk.”

The two men left the garage and walked over to an ancient Buick as big as a boat that had more rust than metal. Pettis got inside. Frank followed.

“Big ears in the garage, you know?”

Frank nodded.

“Brian Rogers. Called him Slick cuz he was a good worker, picked up things fast.”

“What’d he look like?”

“White guy about fifty, maybe older. Not too tall, five eight, maybe a buck fifty. Talkative. Worked hard.”

“And Budizinski?”

“Buddy. Everybody here has a nickname. I’m Ton. For skeleton, you know.” Frank smiled at that one. “He was a white guy too, a little bigger. Maybe a little older than Slick. He kept to himself. Did what he was told and nothing more.”

“Which one did the master bedroom?”

“We all did. We had to lift the bed and the bureau. They weighed a couple tons each. Back still hurts.” Jerome reached in the rear seat and pulled out a cooler. “No time for breakfast this morning,” he explained as he pulled out a banana and an egg biscuit.

Frank shifted uncomfortably in the worn seat. A piece of metal jabbed into his back. The car reeked of cigarette smoke.

“Were either of them ever alone in the master bedroom or the house?”

“Always somebody in the house. Man had a lot of people working there. They coulda gone upstairs by themselves. I never kept a watch on them. Wasn’t my job, you know?”

“How’d Rogers and Budizinski come to be working with you that day?”

Jerome thought for a moment. “I’m not sure, come to think of it. I know it was an early job. It might’ve just been they were the first ones here. Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

“So if they knew ahead of time you were going to do a place like that early, and they got here before everyone else, they could hook on with you?”

“Yeah, I guess they could. Man, we just look for bodies, you know what I’m saying? Don’t take no brain surgeon to do this shit.”

“When was the last time you saw them?”

The other man scrunched up his face, bit into his banana.

“Couple of months ago, maybe longer. Buddy left first, never said why. Guys come and go all the time. I’ve been here longer than anybody except Mr. Patterson. Slick moved away, I think.”

“Know where?”

“I remember him saying something about Kansas. Some construction work. He used to be a carpenter. Got laid off up here when commercial went belly up. Good with his hands.”

Frank wrote this information down while Jerome finished his breakfast. They walked back to the garage together. Frank looked inside the van, at all the hoses, power handles, bottles and heavy cleaning equipment.

“This the van you used to do the Sullivan place?”

“This been my van for three years. Best one in the place.”

“You keep the same equipment in the van?”

“Damn straight.”

“Then you better get a new van for a while.”

“What?” Jerome slowly climbed out of the driver’s seat.

“I’ll talk to Patterson. I’m impounding this one.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, Jerome, I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Walter, this is Jack Graham. Jack, Walter Sullivan.” Sandy Lord sat down heavily in his chair. Jack shook hands with Sullivan and then the men sat around the small table in conference room number five. It was eight o’clock in the morning and Jack had been in the office since six after pulling two all-nighters. He had already consumed three cups of coffee and proceeded to pour himself out a fourth from the silver coffee pot.

“Walter, I’ve told Jack about the Ukraine deal. We’ve gone over the structure. The Hill word looks real good. Richmond pushed all the right buttons. The Bear’s dead. Kiev got the glass slipper. Your boy came through.”

“He’s one of my best friends. I expect that from my friends. But I thought we had enough lawyers on this deal. Padding the bill, Sandy?” Sullivan heaved himself up and looked out the window at the pristine early-morning sky that promised a beautiful fall day. Jack glanced sideways at the man as he made notes from the crash course on Sullivan’s latest deal. Sullivan didn’t look all that interested in completing the multibillion international monolith. Jack didn’t know that the old man’s thoughts hung back at a morgue in Virginia, remembering a face.

Jack had caught his breath when Lord had ceremoniously appointed him to play second chair to Lord on the biggest transaction currently going on in the firm, leapfrogging over several top partners and a host of associates senior to Jack. Hard feelings had already started to roll through the plush hallways. At this point Jack didn’t care. They didn’t have Ransome Baldwin as a client. Regardless of how he had gotten it, he had rain, substantial rain. He was tired of feeling guilty for his position. This was Lord’s test case on Jack’s abilities. He had as good as said it. Well, if he wanted the deal rammed through, Jack would deliver. Philosophical, politically correct ivory tower babble didn’t cut it here. Only results.

“Jack is one of our best attorneys. He’s also Baldwin’s legal eagle.”

Sullivan looked over at them. “Ransome Baldwin?”

“Yep.”

Sullivan appraised Jack in a different light and then turned once more to the window.

“Our window of opportunity, however, is growing more narrow by the day,” Lord continued. “We need to firm up the players and make sure Kiev knows what the hell they’re supposed to do.”

“Can’t you handle it?”

Lord looked at Jack and then back at Sullivan. “Of course I can handle it, Walter, but don’t assume you can abdicate right now. You still have a major role to play. You sold this deal. Your continued involvement is absolutely necessary from the point of view of all sides.” Sullivan still did not stir. “Walter, this is the crowning glory of your career.”

“That’s what you said about the last one.”

“Can I help it if you keep topping yourself?” Lord shot back.

Finally, almost imperceptibly, Sullivan smiled, for the first time since the telephone call from the States had come to shatter his life.

Lord relaxed a bit, looked over at Jack. They had rehearsed this next step several times.

“I’m recommending that you fly over there with Jack. Shake the right hands, pat the right shoulders, let them see you’re still in control of this tiger. They need that. Capitalism is still a new game for them.”

“And Jack’s role?”

Lord motioned to Jack.

Jack stood up, went over to the window. “Mr. Sullivan, I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours learning every aspect of this deal. All the other lawyers here have just been working on a piece of it. Except for Sandy, I don’t think there’s anyone at the firm who knows what you want to accomplish better than I do.”

Sullivan slowly turned to Jack. “That’s a pretty big statement.”

“Well it’s a pretty big deal, sir.”

“So you know what I want to accomplish?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well why don’t you enlighten me as to what you think that is.” Sullivan sat down, crossed his arms and stared expectantly up at Jack.

Jack didn’t bother to swallow or catch his breath. “Ukraine has massive natural resources, all the things that heavy industry around the world use and want. The issue becomes how to get the resources out of Ukraine at minimal cost and minimal risk, considering the political situation over there.”

Sullivan uncrossed his arms, sat up and sipped at his coffee.

Jack continued. “The hook is you want Kiev to believe that the exports your company will be making will be matched by investments in Ukraine’s future. A long-term investment, I gather, you do not want to commit to.”

“I spent the bulk of my adult life being scared to death of the reds. I have about as much belief in perestroika and glasnost as I do in the tooth fairy. I consider it my patriotic duty to strip the communists of as much as I can. Leave them without the means to dominate the world, which is their long-term plan, despite this latest hiccup of democracy.”

Jack said, “Exactly, sir. ‘Strip’ being the key word. Strip the carcass before it self-destructs... or attacks.” Jack paused to check both men’s reactions. Lord stared at the ceiling, his features unreadable.

Sullivan stirred. “Go on. You’re getting to the interesting part.”

“The interesting part is how to leverage the deal so that Sullivan and Company has little or no downside exposure and the maximum upside potential. You’ll either broker the deal or you’ll buy direct from Ukraine and you’ll sell to the multinationals. You sprinkle a little of those proceeds around in Ukraine.”

“That’s right. Eventually the country will be almost cleaned out, and I’ll walk away with at least two billion net.”

Jack again looked at Lord, who now sat straight in his chair, listening intently. This was the hook. Jack had thought of it only yesterday.

“But why not take from Ukraine what really makes them dangerous?” Jack paused. “And triple your net at the same time.”

Sullivan stared intently at him. “How?”

“IRBMs. Intermediate-Range Ballistic Missiles. Ukraine has a shitload of them. And now that the ’94 Nonproliferation Treaty fell apart, those nukes are a major headache for the West again.”

“So what are you suggesting? That I buy the goddamn things? What the hell would I do with them?”

Jack watched Lord finally lean forward, then continued. “You buy them for bottom dollar, maybe a half-billion, using a portion of the proceeds from the raw materials sales. You will buy them using dollars, which can then be used by Ukraine to purchase other necessities in the world markets.”

“Why bottom-dollar? Every Middle Eastern country will be bidding on them.”

“But Ukraine can’t sell to them. The G-7 countries would never allow it. If Ukraine did, they’d be cut out of the EU and other Western markets, and if that happens, they’re dead.”

“So I buy them and sell them to whom?”

Jack couldn’t help but grin. “To us. The United States. Six billion is a conservative estimate on their worth. Hell, the weapons-grade plutonium those babies contain is priceless. The rest of the G-7s would probably pitch in a few billion. It’s your relationship with Kiev that makes this whole thing work. They look to you as their savior.”

Sullivan looked stunned. He started to rise and then thought better of it. Even to him the amounts of money potentially out there were staggering. But he had enough money, more than enough. But to remove part of the nuclear equation from the collective miseries of the world...

“And this was whose idea?” Sullivan looked at Lord as he asked the question. Lord pointed at Jack.

Sullivan leaned back in his chair and looked up at the young man. Then he rose with a swiftness that startled Jack. The billionaire took Jack’s hand in an iron grip. “You’re going places, young man. Mind if I tag along?”

Lord beamed like a father. Jack couldn’t stop smiling. He had started to forget what it was like to hit one out of the park.

After Sullivan departed, Jack and Sandy sat at the table.

Finally Sandy said, “I recognize it was not an easy assignment. How do you feel?”

Jack couldn’t help but grin. “Like I just slept with the prettiest girl in high school, kind of tingling all over.”

Lord laughed and stood up. “You’d better go home and get some rest. Sullivan’s probably calling his pilot from the car. At least we got his mind off the bitch.”

Jack didn’t hear the last part as he quickly left the room. For now, for once in a long time, he felt good. No worries, just possibilities. Endless possibilities.

That night he sat up late telling a very enthusiastic Jennifer Baldwin all about it. Afterward, over a very chilled bottle of champagne and a platter of oysters specially delivered to her townhouse, the couple had the most gratifying sex of their courtship. For once, the high ceilings and murals did not bother Jack. In fact, he was growing to like them.