Дэвид Балдаччи - Absolute Power

After introductions, Laura popped the tape in. The images sprung to life on a forty-six-inch screen in the corner of the lab. Frank fast-forwarded to the appropriate spot.

“There,” Jack pointed, “right there.”

Frank froze the tape.

Laura sat at a keyboard and typed in a series of commands. On the screen, the part of the frame containing Luther’s image was blocked out and then magnified in increasingly large degrees, like a balloon being blown up. This process continued until Luther’s face seemed to span the entire forty-six inches.

“That’s as far as I can take it.” Laura spun her chair around and nodded to Frank. He pushed a button on the remote and the screen again came to life.

The audio was choppy; screams, shouts, traffic noise and the blended sounds of hundreds of people served to make what Luther was saying incomprehensible. They watched as his lips moved open and closed.

“He’s pissed. Whatever he’s saying he is not happy.” Frank pulled out a cigarette, got a dirty look from Simon and put it back in his pocket.

“Anybody read lips?” Laura looked at each of them.

Jack stared at the screen. What the hell was Luther saying? The look on his face. Jack had seen that once before, if he could only remember when. It had been recently, he was sure of it.

“You see something we don’t?” Frank asked. Jack looked over to see Frank staring at him.

Jack shook his head, rubbed his face. “I don’t know. There’s something there, I just can’t place it.”

Frank nodded to Simon to cut off the equipment. He stood up and stretched. “Well, sleep on it. Anything comes to you, let me know. Thanks for coming in, Laura.”

The two men walked out together. Frank glanced over at Jack, then reached across and felt behind his neck. “Jesus, you are a stress grenade ready to explode.”

“Christ, I don’t know why I should be. The woman I was supposed to marry I’m not, the woman I wanted to marry just told me to get out of her life, and I’m reasonably sure I’m not going to have a job in the morning. Oh, not to mention, someone murdered a person I cared a lot about and we’re probably never going to find out who it is. Hell, my life couldn’t get any more perfect, could it?”

“Well, maybe you’re due for some good luck.”

Jack unlocked his Lexus. “Yeah, hey if you know anyone who wants an almost-brand-new car, let me know.”

Frank’s eyes twinkled as he looked at Jack. “Sorry, nobody I know could afford it.”

Jack smiled back. “Me either.”

Driving back, Jack looked at his car clock. It was almost midnight. He passed the offices of Patton, Shaw, looked up at the stretch of darkened offices and wheeled his car around, turning into the garage. He slid his security card in, waved to the security camera posted outside the garage door, and a few minutes later was in the elevator heading up.

He didn’t know exactly why he was here. His days at Patton, Shaw were now clearly numbered. Without Baldwin as a client, Kirksen would ride him out on a rail. He felt a little sorry for Lord. He had promised the man protection. But he wasn’t going to marry Jennifer Baldwin simply to ensure Lord’s mammoth draw check. And the man had lied to him about Barry Alvis’s departure from the firm. But Lord would land on his feet. Jack hadn’t been kidding about his faith in the man’s resiliency. A number of firms would snap him up in a New York minute. Lord’s future was far more assured than Jack’s.

The elevator doors opened and Jack stepped into the firm’s lobby. The wall lights were on low and the shadowy effect would have been a little unnerving if he hadn’t been so completely preoccupied with his thoughts. He walked down the hallway toward his office, stopped at the kitchen and grabbed a glass of soda. Ordinarily, even at midnight, there were a few people beating their brains out over some impossible deadline. Tonight there was only stone-cold silence.

Jack turned on his light and closed his office door. He looked around at the domain of his personal partnership. His kingdom, if only for another day. It was impressive. The furniture was tastefully expensive, the carpet and wall coverings luxurious. He went down his line of diplomas. Some hard-earned, others freebies that you got for just being a lawyer. He noticed that the scattered papers had been picked up, the work of the meticulous and sometimes overzealous cleaning crew who were used to attorney sloppiness and the occasional full-blown tantrum.

He sat down, leaned back in his chair. The soft leather was more comfortable than his bed. He could visualize Jennifer talking with her father. Ransome Baldwin’s face would flame red at what he would perceive as an unforgivable insult to his precious little girl. The man would lift the phone tomorrow morning and Jack’s corporate career would be over.

And Jack couldn’t have cared less. His only regret was not instigating that result sooner. Hopefully PD would take him back. That was where he belonged anyway. No one could stop him from doing that. No, his real troubles had started when he had tried being something and someone he wasn’t. He would never make that mistake again.

His attention shifted to Kate. Where would she go? Had she really been serious about quitting her job? Jack recalled the fatalistic look on her face and concluded that, yes, she had been quite serious. He had pleaded with her once more. Just like four years before. Pleaded with her not to go, not to leave his life again. But there was something there he could not break through. Maybe it was the enormous guilt she carried. Maybe she simply did not love him. Had he ever really addressed that possibility? The fact was he hadn’t. Consciously had not. The possible answer scared the hell out of him. But what did it matter now?

Luther dead; Kate leaving. His life hadn’t really changed all that much, despite all the recent activity. The Whitneys were finally, irreversibly, gone from him.

He looked at the pink pile of messages on his desk. All routine. Then he hit a button on his phone to check his voice mail, which he hadn’t done in a couple of days. Patton, Shaw let their clients have their choice of the antiquated written phone message or the technologically advanced voice mail. The more demanding clients loved the latter. At least then they didn’t have to wait to scream at you.

There were two calls from Tarr Crimson. He would find Tarr another lawyer. Patton, Shaw was too expensive for him anyway. There were several Baldwin-related matters. Right. Those could wait for the next guy Jennifer Baldwin set her laser sights on. The last message jolted him. It was a woman’s voice. Small, hesitant, elderly, clearly uncomfortable with the concept of voice mail. Jack played it back again.

“Mr. Graham, you don’t know me. My name is Edwina Broome. I was a friend of Luther Whitney.” Broome? The name was familiar. The message continued. “Luther told me that if anything happened to him I was to wait a little bit and then I was to send the package on to you. He told me not to open it and I didn’t. He said it was like a Pandora’s box. If you looked you might get hurt. God rest his soul, he was a good man, Luther was. I hadn’t heard from you, not that I expected to. But it just occurred to me that I should call and make sure that you got the thing. I’ve never had to send something like that before, overnight delivery they call it. And I think I did it right, but I don’t know. If you didn’t get it, please call me. Luther said it was very important. And Luther never said anything that wasn’t true.”

Jack listened to the phone number and wrote it down. He checked the time of the call. Yesterday morning. He quickly searched his office. There was no package lurking there. He jogged down the hallway to his secretary’s workstation. There was no package there either. He went back to his office. My God, a package from Luther. Edwina Broome? He put his hand through his hair, assaulted his scalp, forced himself to think. Suddenly the name came to him. The mother of the woman who had killed herself. Frank had told him about her. Luther’s alleged partner.