The Midnight Club_ A Novel - James Patterson [80]
“Absolutely all the way.” Fischer amplified his answer to the assistant’s question. “Actually, we’re going to proceed down two avenues this time. We’ll go after St.-Germain with the Continuing Criminal Enterprise Law… and with RICO.”
The lawyer sitting on the windowsill whistled appreciatively. Two or three of the others finally allowed themselves to smile, to glance at one another for quick reassurance. They were getting the general idea. This was a vendetta.
“I’ve asked the six of you here to be briefed privately. We’re going to be acting as a highly confidential unit. We’ll be contacting other agencies and departments, but none will have the whole picture the way we do.
“We already have a lot of evidence on St.-Germain, some of which dates back at least ten years. That ought to constitute a continuing criminal enterprise in somebody’s mind.”
Fischer laughed, and Sarah could see that his high spirits were becoming contagious. He had purposely shocked them. Now he was bringing them back up, slowly, rather masterfully. When they left the office in Hogan Square, they would all be flying high. Stuart Fischer was a very good lawyer, an even better motivator, and Sarah was feeling terrific that she and Stefanovitch had decided to call him on this instead of the D.A. She had serious questions about the district attorney himself.
It was all documented in her notes; it would all appear in The Club.
“St.-Germain will use James, Henley and Friends,” Fischer continued. “As usual, their people will outnumber us about five hundred to one. That’s why I want two separate charges operating. It’s perfectly legal harassment.
“It’s the way a good small law office would handle this. We’ll hit them with the first piece as early as tomorrow afternoon. I don’t care which charge it is. Something juicy and controversial. While James’s staff is still reeling, we’ll move in with our RICO motions. Get them coming and going. Everybody with me so far?”
“I love it.” The young mustache spoke from his perch on the windowsill. “Hey, listen, though… did the mob ever knock off an entire D.A.’s office before?”
The room broke into raucous laughter. For a change, they were being asked to do what they all had become lawyers for in the first place, to prosecute with the full force and intent of the law.
Sarah’s eyes roamed around the attic room, studying the faces of the young attorneys. She wanted to remember everything, every look.
Fischer had begun to speak again. He wasn’t smiling. “In answer to your question, they knocked off a D.A.’s office in Bogotá, Colombia. Seventeen men and women. So yes, counselor, there’s a precedent for that.”
The laughter inside the office stopped. Sarah froze that incredible tableau in her mind, too. Just that look on all of the young lawyers’ faces.
She was trying to help in any way she could—whether it was something major, or taking care of details she was afraid no one else would remember.
Sarah spent the rest of the morning of July 17, and most of the afternoon, on the phone with Customs.
Then she was on the phone with an official from Scotland Yard.
Finally, she spent an hour with one of the best researchers at CBS Network News. She thought of it as “tightening the noose.” She wasn’t sure whose necks the noose was around, though. The look on the faces of those young lawyers kept flashing back to her.
The key to everything was patience. Harassment would work, but it took time. There was no other way to go after Alexandre St.-Germain and the Club.
77
John Stefanovitch and Isiah Parker; One Police Plaza
STEFANOVITCH AND ISIAH Parker were dragging badly when they left Police Plaza one night later that week. As he pushed his wheelchair across the pedestrian mall, Stefanovitch looked up at ragged clouds whipping across the sky. That was the way he felt; torn apart by hidden forces.
“All things considered, it’s going better than we ought to expect,” he finally