Conspiracy Read online

  No, Cady decided. He had to make sure the facts and documents were accurate before he did anything as drastic as convening a grand jury. There was only one way to do that: go to California and check on the facts.

  He booked a flight to San Francisco for that evening and began mapping out his strategy for the next two days. By the time he returned to Washington Sunday night, he'd know whether he had a case against Senator Boyd.

  * * *

  Taylor picked up a glass of white wine from the bar and looked around. Two hundred Washington lawyers were milling around in the Mayflower Hotel ballroom, drinks in their hands. Men outnumbered women, but not by much. All had paid a thousand dollars to attend this Friday-afternoon cocktail reception, ostensibly to meet Senator Boyd, but in reality to toss their names into the huge pot from which a number of Washington lawyers would be selected for high-level government appointments should Boyd become president. These men and women, making several hundred thousand dollars a year or more, were salivating at the prospect of taking an 80 percent cut in pay to trade what they now saw as a boring but lucrative job for a great power trip. A few reporters were also working the crowd, accompanied by their camera crews, hoping to gain a useful quote from Boyd. Kendrick had kept the lid on the senator's change of plans for today.

  While trying to decide how to break the news that the senator wasn't coming, Taylor felt a sudden tug on her arm. She turned to find Ben Owen, formerly a Washington lawyer, now the Democratic congressman from a suburban Maryland district, who was using this event to troll for dollars for his own reelection campaign.

  Ben pulled Taylor into a deserted corner of the room. "Is there something big about to break that'll hurt Boyd?" he asked anxiously.

  Dammit, she thought. Information's starting to leak out about Cady's investigation. She didn't dare let Ben know how upset she was about that idea. He would take away as much from what he saw on her face as from what she said.

  Trying to appear nonchalant, Taylor said, "Nothing I've heard about. Who told you that?"

  "One of my aides heard that the U.S. attorney's office here in town is looking into something from one of Boyd's campaigns."

  Taylor was furious. That bastard Cady had to be the source of the leak. She sipped her wine, trying to stay calm. "I'll check it out. Sounds to me like Republican wishful thinking."

  Some of the nervous strain left his face. "That's what I was hoping, but you never know."

  "Our lead keeps growing."

  "It's making me nervous. You guys aren't getting complacent, are you?"

  Taylor forced a laugh. "Me, complacent? You've got to be kidding."

  "You 're doing well so far, but there's still a long way to go. I hope you don't blow it."

  Taylor was searching for a way to escape. She didn't have to answer to the likes of Ben Owen. Through the corner of her eye she spotted plump Dan Logan, who had organized this affair. He gave her the sign to start.

  Striding quickly up to the podium, Taylor tapped on the microphone. She waited until she had everyone's attention. "You may have noticed," she began, "that I'm not Senator Boyd."

  "But you're a lot better-looking," a man called from the back of the room.

  That prompted a retort from a woman: "Pig." The entire room erupted in laughter.

  "Somebody also told me," Taylor continued, "when in doubt tell the truth. The truth is that he was afraid to enter a pool with so many sharks."

  More laughter.

  "Seriously, the schedule's been a killer. We've got the critical final debate coming up, and the senator needed some prep time up in St. Michaels, away from the crowds. But I'd like to describe for you some of the new and expanded federal programs Senator Boyd contemplates as part of his New Age for America."

  "Will they result in more legal business for us?" someone shouted out.

  "Doesn't everything?" Taylor responded.

  She now had the audience in the palm of her hand, and she kept it that way for the next fifteen minutes with a light but informative talk. When she was finished, the crowd gave her a loud burst of applause. Dan Logan was smiling.

  Still furious at Cady for what Ben had said, Taylor cut a beeline for the door and a waiting car outside.

  * * *

  "You son of a bitch," Taylor shouted at Cady on the phone, "you promised me confidentiality. One congressman already knows about your investigation." Her voice was shaking. "How could you do such a thing?"

  Cady was taken aback. "You can't be serious."

  "I wish I weren't. Ben Owen asked me if I knew about it."

  Cady was wondering where the hell the leak came from. He hadn't involved any other lawyers in his office. Even his secretary didn't know about it. The only others he had told were Doerr, Hall, and Moore. Hall and Moore, never. Doerr, conceivably for that judicial appointment. Or whoever left the envelope on his desk Tuesday night. That person could have been the source of the leak.

  "You're right to be angry," he said. "But you know me, Taylor. I don't operate that way. My honesty and integrity are critical to my job. I promise you that the leak didn't come from me. I've limited knowledge of the investigation so much that I think the chances of it coming from the government side are almost nil."

  He was a straight shooter, she remembered. He wouldn't do something like that. "Then who leaked it?"

  "I intend to find out. I'm plenty pissed myself."

  Cady meant precisely what he said. If he had been fed phony information to persuade him to file a trumped-up charge, then the point of the leak might be to turn up the heat and get him to move faster. As he thought more about it, he realized the mysterious visitor could have been McDermott, with or without Doerr. He could easily have gotten access to Cady's office to drop off that package. His trip to California was vital.

  "Taylor, I'm trying to get to the bottom of this. Just give me a chance, okay? I'm going to be finding out things this weekend."

  "The way this snowball is rolling," she said grimly, "by Monday it may be too late."

  Chapter 9

  Alex Glass was at a dead end. After spending a full day in his office, studying everything he had about Sato for a clue to identify the American working with him, Alex decided to give up. He needed to unwind, and he knew whom to unwind with.

  Three weeks ago he had broken up with Yaki for the second time. They were electric in bed together, but she was worried that being involved with a Westerner would kill her chances for advancement at the corporate software firm where she worked. "You have to understand," she had told him. "It's tough enough here being a woman. A serious relationship with a gaijin would finish me. So I can't go out with you anymore."

  He picked up the phone and dialed her. "Yaki, my love. How about one more evening for old times' sake?"

  She hesitated. "You know I can't be seen with you anymore. We talked about all of that."

  "Suppose I pick up sushi at that place you love near the Meiji, and I'll park my bike three blocks away. Nobody will ever know. What do you think?" Before she could reply, he added, "I know you're getting wet just thinking about it. Come on."

  A softer note entered her voice. "Okay, but just this once."

  "Great. I'm on my way."

  Tearing through the streets on his Kawasaki in the chilly late-afternoon air, Alex thought about how great his life was in Tokyo. He was someone now—not like he had been in Seattle. His articles were being carefully read. He could call top people in the Japanese government and get an immediate meeting. There had even been a grudging compliment from Dad in Seattle after the series ran in the Times.

  Yeah, dreary Seattle, the most overrated city in America. But maybe everybody feels that way about their hometown.

  The traffic was insane, but it didn't stop Alex. He wove around cars, in and out of lanes. This was why he had decided to get the bike in the first place. It was the only way to get around in Tokyo. Well, there was the subway, but that was too crowded.

  He loved this Kawasaki, tuned and clea
ned it like it was his baby. He also loved the idea that it made him seem dashing. The motorcycle definitely helped lure Japanese women into his bed. They loved riding with him, clutching his body for dear life while they pressed their breasts against his back. And there had been lots of them. But none better than Yaki.

  She was smart and talented, besides being great in bed. A computer hacker par excellence. He had asked her to help him get facts for stories a couple of times. Once she broke into the computer system of Honda Motors to confirm a rumor he had heard that they'd decided to close one of their U.S. plants. Another time Yaki broke into the computer system of JAL and put them on a plane with paid-up seats in first class to Phuket for the weekend.

  The red light he'd stopped for changed to green, and he raced away. Then it hit him: If she could do that, she could probably break into the computer systems of all the airlines and check manifests for flights to and from Tokyo. That could be the break he was looking for. If Sato had recruited an American, he probably would not have met him in Japan. Nor would he have gone to the United States. He would have had the meeting in another place, where they were less likely to be spotted together. Probably Europe. It was a long shot, but what the hell. Right now he didn't have anything else to try.

  * * *

  The fax from R.L. in Washington told Sato not to worry. Everything is proceeding on schedule.

  But Sato was worried, and he intended to give the American some help.

  He hit the intercom button on the phone in his office. "Send Terasawa in as soon as he gets here."

  "Yes, Mr. Sato," came the demure reply from one of the two bookends in his outer office.

  He walked over to the window and looked out. The sun was setting in the western sky over Tokyo. Though Sato was facing east in his corner office, he could see a clear reflection on the window of the adjacent building of the gorgeous red globe, the symbol of Japan's empire, the empire that would be rising again once he was heading the government.

  It had been so many years ago, he thought. He had been only seven at the time, but he could still remember his father coming home from the war in Manchuria, a mere shell of the powerful man who had left, beaten down and submissive, ashamed of his infantryman's uniform in the Kwantung army, protesting that neither he nor anyone he knew had committed any atrocities.

  Having grown up in a weak Japan and watched the country's once high-flying economy unravel to its current appalling state, Sato was persuaded that the nineteenth-century Japanese philosophers had it right when they wrote, Strong army, strong nation; weak army, weak nation.

  At the knock on the door, Sato wheeled around to see Terasawa walking in with bold steps. Terasawa was perfect for what he had in mind.

  "I want you to go to the United States," Sato said.

  "When do we leave?"

  "There is no 'we'. This time you're going alone. You've been there three times before with me. You can speak the language."

  "It's not a problem," Terasawa said obediently.

  "Good. You'll be following orders from a man in Washington, an American whom you will know as R.L. I'll call and tell him you're coming. He'll decide where to meet you. Don't take any weapons. R.L. will supply what you need."

  Terasawa nodded.

  "I want you to stay in touch with me. Let me know everything that's happening. I'll tell you when to return."

  Looking at the eager face in front of him, Sato was confident he had made the right decision in sending Terasawa. The man knew how to operate without being caught. One way or another, he would stop Senator Boyd from becoming president.

  * * *

  Alex lay in bed in Yaki's apartment, watching the rise and fall of her breasts as she slept with a contented smile. The woman was unbelievable. No one made love like she did, not even Taylor. She was a gymnast. He never dreamed anyone could hold a position like that, on her back on the bed with her buttocks and legs high in the air, while he stood on the floor facing her and sliding in and out of her. Her scent was in the air. Her taste was in his mouth. He had asked her, "Don't you know anything about biology? I'm a man. I can't possibly come again." She had laughed as she went down on him. Jesus, three times in an hour. There was nobody in Seattle who could do that to him.

  When he had arrived, he thought they would eat first. He was wrong. She was wearing a short, sheer white nightgown. If he had any doubt about her intentions, she settled it when she took the package of sushi from him and placed it in the refrigerator.

  Alex stroked her thick hair, kissed her on the side of the neck, and poked her in the ribs. "Honey, I hate to wake you," he said softly. "But I'm starving."

  She purred. "Whatever you want. After what you did to me, I'm your slave."

  He waited until they had finished eating to spring his request on her. "I need your great expertise on the computer."

  She put down her cup of green tea. "Anything for Alex."

  "Remember you once tapped into the computer system of JAL?"

  She smiled. "Sure, it's a piece of cake." She liked using American idioms. "You want me to make a reservation for you and show it as a paid ticket, like we did when we went to Phuket?"

  "No. I want to know about any trips that Yahiro Sato has taken on JAL or ANA."

  He held his breath, hoping that she wasn't troubled by his request. His concern was unwarranted.

  "What period of time?" she asked in a matter-of-fact voice.

  Alex was trying to recall the exact date of the Democratic convention in Los Angeles. It was around the tenth of August. "Let's say from August first to the present."

  Yaki sat down at the computer and began punching keys. With Alex standing behind her and watching in admiration, it took her only eleven minutes to come up with the answer. "On August twenty-eighth he flew from Tokyo to Buenos Aires, Argentina, on ANA. He stayed there one night, the night of the twenty-eighth, and returned to Tokyo."

  Alex was elated. The information she had just gotten was consistent with his theory that Sato had flown somewhere—he had thought Europe—to meet with an American and enlist his help in the conspiracy involving Senator Boyd. Buenos Aires was even better. Far less chance of being accidentally recognized. Alex kissed Yaki on the lips. "Thank you so much."

  "What else can I do for you?"

  Alex leafed through his AmEx airline travel guide. American Airlines and United had the most flights from the United States to Buenos Aires. If he had a list of Americans arriving at the same time in Buenos Aires, it was conceivable that he could pick out the likely choice for the Sato meeting.

  "Can you get me passenger manifests on AA and UAL flights into Buenos Aires on the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth of August?"

  She shook her head. "Sorry, I can't get into the U.S. carriers. Since the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, they've changed their systems."

  He sighed in disappointment. Think, he told himself. There has to be another way to get more information. What about hotels? Sato always stayed first-class. That meant the Alvear Palace in Buenos Aires or the Hyatt. He had to find out which one. He wrote out a script for Yaki and handed it to her. Then he listened on another phone as she spoke to the hotel reservations clerk at the Alvear in English with a Japanese accent.

  "I'm calling from the office of Yahiro Sato in Tokyo. Mr. Sato wants to make a reservation for December tenth."

  "What type of accommodation would he like?"

  "Please check the computer on his last stay, which I think was August twenty-eighth. We'll take the same thing."

  Alex held his breath while the reservation clerk checked. She returned in a bubbly voice, "Mr. Sato had the presidential suite on the night of August twenty-eighth at a rate of one thousand five hundred U.S. dollars."

  "Yes. That will be fine," Yaki said. "Use the credit card on file to secure the reservation."

  "Thank you. We have everything. The reservation number is two-three-six-nine-one."

  "There's one other thing," Yaki said, reading from the sc
ript Alex had given her. "In August Mr. Sato also made reservations for someone else. We'd like to make one for that person as well."

  "Do you have a name?"

  Yaki was ad-libbing now. She sounded flustered. "Mr. Sato's my boss. He gave me the name, and I lost it. Please help me."

  The clerk sympathized. "One minute please."

  Alex was pacing around the room nervously. C'mon, he thought. Come up with a name.

  "I'm very sorry," the clerk said, "but the other individual must have made his own reservation. It's not part of Sato's record."

  Alex wasn't too disappointed. He had learned a lot tonight. His hunch had been confirmed. Sato had recruited a powerful American to work with him, someone who had met him in Buenos Aires on August 28. Once he had that name, Alex would be ready to go into print with his article on the conspiracy being engineered by Sato to make certain Senator Boyd never became president.

  But how could he get the name? He didn't know, but it was all he thought about as Yaki led him back to her bed. He was still thinking about it when she was straddling him, moving up and down and moaning with pleasure.

  And he was thinking about it when he left her apartment. As he roared through a red light on the now deserted streets of Tokyo, a daring idea was taking hold in his mind. He would arrange a dinner with Toshio Ozawa in the next couple of days. He remembered their last meeting during his research for the series. Over a kaiseki dinner, the sake had loosened Ozawa's tongue. He would tell the commandant of the civil defense forces that he was doing an article on Japan's earthquake preparedness. As the evening wore on, Alex would get information about Sato's manipulation of the American election. Chances were, Ozawa would have plenty of information, even the name of the American whom Sato had met with in Buenos Aires.

  It was a great idea, but Alex would have to be careful, because the man was dangerous. Alex wasn't deterred. That was the secret of good journalism: You took risks and you ran up every alley. You never knew where you were going to find the story that guaranteed you the Pulitzer. He was almost there. The prospect of all that power was intoxicating.