Code 6, p.5
Code 6, page 5
“Yeah, you.”
“Which effectively means that the CIA sits on your board. And from that seat, the CIA exercises enough influence over other board members to find a new CEO, if needed.”
“This is bullshit. Buck is my company.”
“And I never want to see that change.”
“Then why are you threatening me?” Gamble asked, his voice rising.
“I’m just the messenger,” said Walker.
“Yeah, a messenger named Brutus.”
“I’m being your friend here, Christian. No one at the CIA is going to feel sorry for you because your wife jumped off a building. You need to be proactive.”
“And do what?”
“Make Detective Anderson and these accusations go away. Before they make you go away.” Walker showed himself to the door and stopped. “Glad you could come to the wedding, Christian. It means a lot to me.”
Gamble watched as the gray-haired groom let himself out. The CEO held no illusion that Walker and the investors he represented were his “friends,” but he was concerned about the extortion issue—more concerned than Walker and the CIA knew.
Gamble had yet to inform the board of directors, but the Department of Justice was pushing for a top-to-bottom cybersecurity audit of Buck. It wasn’t up to the company to decide who at DOJ would lead it, but his attorney was already negotiating with the U.S. Attorney’s Office about it, and Gamble suddenly had a very clear vision of who he wanted.
Gamble picked up his cellphone and dialed his attorney.
“Abigail, I have a name for you,” he said, confident in his decision.
Chapter 7
Kate exited the Metro station to Judiciary Square, a neighborhood filled with more government employees than any other square block in America. It had always struck Kate as odd that neither the U.S. Supreme Court nor the U.S. Department of Justice was actually in Judiciary Square, but it was otherwise chock-full of federal and municipal courthouses and office buildings. Among those closest to the Metro station was the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the District of Columbia, the largest of the nation’s ninety-four U.S. Attorney’s offices, employing more than three hundred assistant U.S. attorneys. Right outside the station, waiting on the sidewalk, was an AUSA named Noah.
“Walk with me,” he said, and Kate went with him.
He led her away from his building, toward Holy Rosary Church. It was in this old Italian neighborhood near Georgetown Law School that Kate had first shared her secret about writing a play inspired by the tech industry. Eventually, after several edits by Noah, she would set the opening scene with the census enumerator in a Lower East Side tenement. But Kate’s early drafts had featured this D Street neighborhood pre–wrecking ball, once the D.C. version of New York’s Little Italy. Noah’s offer to read her script had made her so happy, though it was an open question whether he was more interested in the playwright than in her play. “I can’t wait to get inside your head,” he’d told her, which made Kate feel naked, or at least like a little too much cleavage was showing.
“I’ve learned a lot about Sandra Levy lately,” he said.
Not Kate’s favorite subject. “I would have thought a prosecutor in the Cybercrimes section would already know all about her.”
“She was indicted before I joined Cybercrimes. I was still doing local crimes.”
The District of Columbia office was unique in that it served as both the local and the federal prosecutor for the nation’s capital.
“What have you learned?” she asked.
“That she was an executive coach, which as best I can tell is a combination of a sports coach and a psychiatrist, someone who helps corporate leaders reach their full potential. Buck Technologies hired her to help identify who among current management should be groomed to be your father’s heir apparent as CEO.”
“Except she wasn’t really an executive coach,” said Kate.
“Actually, she was. A highly regarded one for almost fifteen years. What no one knew is that she was also a spy. Moscow planted her to tap into the deepest, darkest secrets of corporate America.”
“I wasn’t aware that the Russian connection was ever proved.”
“It wasn’t. The FBI arrested her too soon. It was a judgment call. If they’d waited for her to actually steal Buck’s technology, the damage would have been irreversible. But by not waiting until they could catch her red-handed, that undercut our espionage case.”
“Which is why she was never convicted of espionage.”
“No. Convicted on multiple counts of lying to a federal investigator. But not espionage.”
“You do realize you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, right?” asked Kate.
He stopped walking. “How much do you know about the consent decree that Buck Technologies entered into with the Department of Justice after the conviction of Sandra Levy?”
“I know the company never admitted any wrongdoing,” she said. “In fact, the DOJ’s cybersecurity audit found that Sandra Levy was working alone and that no national security interests were compromised. I hope you didn’t call me here to tell me that’s changed.”
“No, it hasn’t changed.”
“Then what’s up with this ‘can’t talk on the phone’ walk around Judiciary Square?”
“The consent decree with Buck gives the federal government the right to do one follow-up audit within five years of Sandra Levy’s conviction. Your father was notified this morning that we’ve decided to do it now.”
“Why now?”
“I can’t tell you that. The department doesn’t comment on cyber audits of companies that have access to matters of national security.”
“Then we probably shouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Except for one very important thing that I can tell you, and that I wanted you to hear from me. I’m heading up the audit.”
Kate took a moment, trying to comprehend. “Isn’t that some kind of conflict of interest?”
“That’s what I said when the section chief gave me the assignment. But a company can waive a conflict of interest like this.”
“My father is okay with you leading a cyber audit of his company?”
“More than okay. You father is the reason I got the assignment. He specifically requested that I lead the audit.”
“That’s just wrong,” said Kate, but she quickly softened it. “Not that I’m saying you would cut him any kind of break or anything like that.”
“We both know that’s literally not in my DNA.”
“Well, maybe not literally, in a genetic sense. But I take your point.”
“Seriously, it’s genetic. Did I ever tell you about my fourth-grade teacher?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I had at least a B-plus in the class, possibly an A. She gave me a D. You know why?”
“Sounds like she didn’t like you.”
“She loved me. I was always my mother’s favorite child.”
“Your mother gave you a D when you deserved an A?”
“Mom didn’t want anyone to think she was playing favorites. So she gave me a bad grade.”
“That’s harsh.”
“Yes. And to be clear, I’m not saying I’ll be harder on Buck than I should be with this audit. But I won’t cut anyone any breaks.”
“This whole arrangement is still awkward, Noah. Can’t you tell your boss no?”
“I pushed back as much as I could. I flat-out asked him to pick someone else. He basically told me to put on my big-boy pants and act like a lawyer.”
“Meaning what?”
“He said, ‘What would you like me to do, Noah? Tell Mr. Gamble that, notwithstanding his request, you’ve decided that a relationship with his daughter that ended two years ago should stand between you and your ability to do your job?’”
“That is putting you in a tough spot.”
“No kidding. How else was I supposed to respond to a question like that? It’s been two years. It’s not like I could say, ‘Well, it’s over between us, but it’s not really over.’”
“No. You couldn’t say that.”
“Because it is over. Right?”
“Yes. Definitely. Over.”
The silence seemed to hang in the space between them.
“Then there’s no problem, I suppose,” said Noah.
“No. No problem at all.”
“So that’s where it is.”
“Yeah. That’s where it is.”
Noah looked away, then back. “I guess I’ll head back to his office.”
“Okay.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah. Why would I not be all right?”
“No reason,” he said. “Hey, I hope this doesn’t mean you won’t let me read your script anymore.”
Kate laughed it off. “That’s going nowhere fast. Sandra Levy will probably be out of prison by the time I turn in the next draft.”
He seemed to know she was lying. “Glad we had this conversation,” he said.
“Me, too,” said Kate.
He turned and started down the sidewalk, the sound of his footfalls fading as he disappeared around the corner. Kate still had plenty of time before her meeting with Irving Bass. She headed in the opposite direction, sorting through old memories of the handsome law student who “couldn’t wait” to get inside her head.
Chapter 8
The limo driver parked in the visitors’ lot outside the Fairfax County Police Department. Gamble was in the backseat with his attorney.
Abigail Sloane was a former prosecutor and one of the most expensive criminal defense lawyers in northern Virginia. She’d become Gamble’s go-to criminal defense lawyer the first time his wife was charged with drunk driving. The second time, Abigail had worked her magic to negotiate no jail time, but Elizabeth had to surrender her license. Six million Virginia drivers and their passengers were that much safer for it.
“It’s still my advice that you let me do all the talking,” said Abigail.
“It’s my right to talk man to man to the detective who’s leading the investigation into Elizabeth’s death. I won’t let bogus allegations stop me from doing it.”
“All right,” she said begrudgingly. “But if I give you the signal, stop talking.”
“What’s the signal?”
“I’ll look at you and say, ‘Shut the fuck up.’”
“Got it.”
They climbed out of the car and entered the building. The receptionist directed them to a conference room in the Major Crimes Division, where they seated themselves at the table. A minute later, Detective Anderson entered. A Sig Sauer P226 was holstered on his belt for a right-handed draw. An investigative file was tucked under his left arm. gamble, the label read. Gamble introduced his lawyer, but her reputation had preceded her. Anderson shook her hand with all the warmth he could muster toward a criminal defense lawyer who’d skewered a long list of the detective’s colleagues on the witness stand. It was like watching someone reach for the grimy doorknob at a gas station bathroom.
“What can I do for you folks?” asked Anderson, as he seated himself across from them at the table.
“I was notified this morning that the Department of Justice is launching a cybersecurity audit at Buck Technologies,” said Gamble. “They wouldn’t tell us why, but I have reason to believe it was triggered in part by your investigation. Specifically, the domestic violence angle.”
The detective nodded slowly, thinking, and it didn’t take him long to connect the dots. “Extortion. I get it. They’re worried that the only way the CEO has been able to hide the fact that he’s an abuser is by handing over national security secrets to a blackmailer.”
“Except there was no abuse, there was no extortion, and nobody handed over any secrets,” said Gamble.
“Says you. Isn’t that the point of an investigation? To verify facts?”
Abigail interjected. “Let me just stop you there, Detective. A cybersecurity audit pursuant to a consent decree between Buck Technologies and the federal government is not a criminal investigation. The only criminal investigation is the one you’re conducting into the death of Elizabeth Gamble.”
“Correct. And in the course of that investigation, I’ve learned that Mrs. Gamble called nine-one-one two years ago and said her husband was threatening her. Unfortunately, suicide is not an uncommon escape route from an abusive relationship, especially one that has been going on for years. So it’s part of my investigation.”
“Which is why we’re here,” said Gamble. “I want to set the record straight.”
The detective settled back into his chair. “Feel free,” he said, speaking over the steeple he’d formed with his hands.
Gamble took a breath. His lawyer appeared to be holding hers.
“Two years ago, at the low point of our marriage, my wife dialed nine-one-one and said I’d threatened her. That was a lie. It was a revenge call that she would never have made if she weren’t an alcoholic.”
“You told me that the night she died. It’s in my notes.”
“Right. I didn’t come here to repeat myself. But there’s something more I want to share with you. Something that only my daughter and I know.”
The detective seemed intrigued, but said nothing.
“Elizabeth thought I was having an affair,” said Gamble, and then he paused again before saying what he’d come to say. “She thought I was having an affair with Sandra Levy.”
The detective smiled, not because Gamble had said something funny, but because of how delicious it all was. “You were sleeping with an ‘executive coach’ who was caught red-handed trying to steal top-secret technology for a foreign government?”
Gamble was getting beyond irritated, but he checked his anger. “I said my wife thought I was having an affair. I wasn’t.”
“And you want me to take your word for it.”
“No. I want you to look at the evidence. When Sandra Levy was charged with espionage, the FBI examined every text message, every email, every communication of every kind between her and me. I would ask you to reach out and talk to them. They know I was not having an affair with her.”
“Just because you weren’t having an affair doesn’t mean you didn’t threaten your wife, like she said on the nine-one-one call.”
Gamble’s lawyer had made the same observation before the meeting.
“Not directly,” he conceded. “But here’s my point. My wife was drinking way too much when she made that nine-one-one call. She was imagining things that weren’t happening. She was paranoid and making accusations that simply weren’t true. There was no affair. There was no abuse.”
The detective didn’t respond right away, and Gamble was beginning to think that his plea had fallen on deaf ears. Finally, he spoke.
“I’m a reasonable man,” said Anderson. “I’m not trying to ruin your life with accusations of spouse abuse. And I’m not trying to ruin your company with rumors that its CEO is vulnerable to extortion.”
“I appreciate that,” said Gamble.
“As I see it, part of my job is to keep you informed of important developments into the investigation of your wife’s death. You came here in good faith and shared something I didn’t know. Let me reciprocate.”
Gamble glanced at his lawyer. She seemed surprised that her client was getting more than a simple “thank you for coming, and have a nice day.”
“I checked with Mrs. Gamble’s florist, like you told me to,” said the detective.
“I assume he confirmed what I said.”
“He did. Fresh-cut flowers delivered every morning, no vase. All the water vials were filled with vodka.”
“I hate that son of a bitch,” said Gamble, meaning the florist.
“Here’s what’s interesting,” said the detective. “We checked the calla lilies that were delivered to the penthouse that morning. The vials were still on the stems. And the vodka was still in them.”
“She didn’t drink any of it?”
“No.”
“I suppose it’s possible she had another stash somewhere in the apartment.”
The detective tightened his gaze from across the table. “Or maybe your wife was stone-cold sober when she went over the balcony rail.”
Gamble glanced at his lawyer, then back at Anderson. “I guess we’ll know for sure when the toxicology report comes back.”
“True. But if she was sober, here’s what troubles me. Mrs. Gamble knew her daughter was coming to see her, right?”
“Yes. Kate was one of the winners of a playwriting contest and was presenting her play. It was a big deal. She had dinner plans with her mother afterward.”
“So ask yourself. Or better yet, ask your daughter. If Mrs. Gamble weren’t drunk out of her mind, would a mother really do something like this knowing that her daughter was on her way over to see her?”
Gamble didn’t rush his response, but he wanted to make sure he fully appreciated the implication. “Are you suggesting this wasn’t a suicide?”
“It’s more nuanced than that. Even if it was suicide, this isn’t necessarily a case of someone getting drunk, hitting an unfortunate low point, and doing something stupid. We could be talking about a clearheaded woman who felt trapped and came to a tragic conclusion that there was no way out of a situation more terrible than you and I could ever imagine.”
“Like an abusive marriage?” Gamble said, his voice taking on an edge. “We’re back to that now? This is going full circle.”
“I didn’t say abuse,” said the detective. “I said ‘a situation more terrible than you and I could ever imagine.’”
Gamble didn’t like the direction this was heading. “What does that mean?”
He felt his lawyer kick him in the ankle, and her admonition quickly followed.
“Christian, perhaps enough has been said here today.”
Gamble didn’t rebuff his lawyer lightly, but over his dead body would the meeting end on that note. “I want an answer to my question. I came here to shut down rumors of abuse and possible extortion. Now I’m hearing it could be even worse than that. What are you saying, Detective?”
