Gage caught his breath. He felt as if he’d been sneaking through a forest toward an enemy, only to get caught in an ambush. He looked down at Katie Palan’s notes, bewildered by why she’d bothered to track it- unless…Unless she was the first to discover it.
“When did they turn themselves in?”
“Right after it happened. Somebody in the shipping department ran to Matson after he realized that the orders had been mixed up and they’d sent 18s to Ukraine instead of 4s. Matson scurried over to Hackett, who shot off a fax to the Bureau of Industry and Security. It was referred to the FBI and Zink got assigned. He speaks Russian and a little Ukrainian from when he worked in the Eurasian Organized Crime Group. Since he’d looked into the SatTek shipment, he stayed with it after the stock fraud tip came in.
“We know that we can’t stop other countries from building missiles, but we sure as hell need to stop them from getting the technology that would allow them to make the kinds of surgical strikes we can. You remember the Varese case? Hackett sure did. Varese got fourteen years in the pen for just one of those devices. Twenty would’ve gotten Matson life plus a hundred. Hackett sent him over to Ukraine to retrieve them. Matson was a nervous little puppy. He knew the whole U.S. government would’ve landed on his back if one of his video amplifiers was found in an Iranian missile.”
Gage heard the creak of Peterson’s chair as he slowly rocked back and forth. He imagined Peterson’s expression of self-satisfaction, as if he were standing over a prone quarterback in the end zone.
“Nice try with the arms-trafficking angle, Gage. But it’s not going to get you anywhere. Look, I know Burch is your friend. And there’s something to be said for loyalty. But there’s also such a thing as being loyal to a fault-and I think that’s just where you’ve gone.”
Peterson stopped rocking.
“I know about you risking your life pulling him out of the Smith River. It was a helluva thing. But look-man to man-he’s in too deep this time. Way too deep. And there’s no way you’re going to pull him out.”
“What’s wrong, boss?” Alex Z asked, walking into Gage’s office.
Gage looked at his watch. He hadn’t realized that he’d spent the five minutes since he hung up staring out at the bay. He swiveled his chair toward Alex Z.
“Peterson was a step ahead of us on the Ukraine angle,” Gage said. “He knew all about it.”
Alex Z dropped into a chair and slid three folders across the desk.
“What are these?” Gage asked.
“Good news and bad news. From the look on your face, I better start with the good news.”
“Shoot.”
“I spent the day looking through the records that Mr. Burch’s law firm sent over. They show that Mr. Burch billed from 1:35 P. M. until exactly 2 P. M. for a meeting with Matson. The call from his line to that stockbroker Kovalenko was from 2:04 until 2:09. But Mr. Burch started billing his next meeting at 2:05. Unless Mr. Burch was cheating, he couldn’t have made the call.”
“I’ll find out whether Jack’s line is accessible at his secretary’s desk or the conference room next to his office. Maybe Matson hung around after the meeting and made the call.”
“There are also the Nevada companies. Peterson claimed that Mr. Burch set up a company for Kovalenko with Verona as the registered agent.”
“That’s what he was suggesting.”
“I looked at the secretary of state’s records. Kovalenko wasn’t one of the original officers. He bought it from someone else. And Verona runs a company that does nothing but act as registered agents. If you’re incorporated in Nevada, you need a registered agent there. If you don’t, you can’t operate.”
“And if you don’t operate there, you can’t get the Nevada tax breaks.”
“It looks like half the corporate lawyers in San Francisco use Verona, not just Mr. Burch.”
“What about the Fitzhugh connection?” Gage asked. “Peterson claims that Fitzhugh was Jack’s boy.”
“I found the calls from Mr. Burch to Fitzhugh. And the international call records you took out of Fitzhugh’s house in London show a bunch of calls to Mr. Burch that Peterson doesn’t know about.” Alex Z pointed at the folders. “The bottom one has copies of Fitzhugh’s cell phone bills matched up with Mr. Burch’s.”
Gage flipped it open and scanned a half-dozen lines Alex Z had highlighted in yellow.
“This doesn’t look good.”
“Sorry boss, but I figured you should know.”
“Faith and I will visit Jack tonight,” Gage said, closing the file. “I’ll ask him about it.”
Alex Z rose to his feet and headed toward the door.
“Alex?”
Alex Z turned back.
“Thanks,” Gage said.
CHAPTER 42
B urch was sitting in a reclining chair when Gage and Faith entered his hospital room. The IV lines running to his still-bruised arms were undiminished, but the breathing tube had been removed. If the good color in Burch’s face was a reliable indicator, it was gone for good.
The oxygen mask hung below his chin while he performed breathing exercises with a spirometer measuring lung capacity.
“Come on, Jack,” Courtney said, a cheerleader’s smile on her face, “a little harder. Up to one thousand. You can do it.”
Burch was pink and sweaty from effort and used the excuse of their arrival to stop.
“How are you doing, champ?” Gage gripped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“O…okay.”
“What are the doctors saying?”
“Another six…” Burch broke into a fit of coughing. Gage reached for a tissue and handed it to him.
Courtney took over. “As soon as he gets over this lung infection, they’ll let him go home. Probably no more than six days. Hopefully by Thanksgiving. It’s partly up to Jack.” She frowned at Burch as if he was her child, not her husband. “He won’t eat. He needs to. He’s lost fifteen pounds. They want him to gain five back before he leaves.”
“The food…terrible…leather and…cardboard.” Burch placed the oxygen mask over his face.
“Has Spike come by?” Gage asked, turning toward Courtney.
“This morning,” Courtney said. “He told us about the other jogger who got shot. He’s thinking maybe he doesn’t need to keep the officer guarding the room.”
Gage had also spoken to Spike. The truth was that Spike was under pressure from his department. The chief knew that the U.S. Attorney would soon indict Jack and figured it would look bad in the press if SFPD was protecting a grand jury target.
Gage looked down at Burch. “What do you say we bring in our own people? I’d sleep better at night knowing you had somebody with you all the time, especially since you’ll be moving around a little more.”
“Just tell us who you want us to hire,” Courtney said.
Gage nodded, then looked over at Faith and made a slight motion with his head.
“Courtney,” Faith said, “let’s go down to the cafeteria. You need a break and I’d like some tea.”
“Will you be all right, Jack?” Courtney asked, then looked at Gage. “Of course you will. Boy talk.”
“Just a little,” Gage said.
Gage waited until the door closed, then sat down next to Burch and leaned in close. “I need to know about Fitzhugh.”
Burch drew in a breath, then removed the oxygen mask.
“A disappointment. A great…disappointment. Should’ve told before. But I didn’t understand…how he fit in.”
“How does he?”
Gage winced as Burch erupted into coughing.
