The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [161]
“Sure you will. And if you believe that, I can see why you think Eric’s coming to your rescue.” Making himself comfortable on the sofa, Rick added, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re on your own this time.”
Sitting at his desk in the political bureau, Eric was annoyed. For the past three hours, he had tried to locate his roommates. Nathan wasn’t at work, Ben wasn’t at the Court, and Lisa wasn’t at home. Those phone calls had to be a setup, Eric thought as the crumbs of his late lunch fell into his computer keyboard. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he flipped through his Rolodex. No more playing around, Eric thought as he dialed the number of the Marshals Office at the Supreme Court. I need real help.
“U.S. Marshals Office,” a man answered. “This is Carl Lungen.”
“Mr. Lungen, this is Eric Stroman—Ben Addison’s roommate.”
“How’d you get my private line?” Lungen asked, sounding annoyed.
“I stole it from Ben’s Rolodex—you never know when you’re going to need a marshal,” Eric explained. “I’m only calling because it’s an emergency. I think Ben’s in trouble.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, without getting into the whole story, Ben was being blackmailed by this guy named Rick. A few hours ago, I got a call from Ben telling me to get out of my house because Rick was after us. A half hour after that, Lisa called and told me everything was okay. Maybe I’m just being neurotic, but I think something happened to them.”
“Eric, I’m very glad you called,” Lungen said. “Now start from the beginning and tell me the whole story.”
At ten o’clock that evening, Rick and Claremont sat in the center suite, picking at the remains of their room-service dinner. “Only twelve more hours,” Rick said, nibbling on a french fry. “We’re almost there.”
“You promise we’ll cash in the options by noon?” Claremont asked.
“How many times do you need to hear it?” Rick asked. “It’ll all be done by noon.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Claremont said. “If you were in my position, you’d be just as concerned. It’ll only take a few hours before the SEC realizes that an American Steel executive cashed in all of his stock and risked it all on a long-shot bet. This deal is going to raise one hell of a lot of eyebrows over there.”
“We’ll be long gone by the time they put it together,” Rick said. “Don’t get crazy over it.”
“I’ll just be happy when it’s over,” Claremont said.
“You’ll be more than happy,” Rick said. “You’ll be rich. Those options will be worth millions.”
“What if Ben’s lying and Steel actually loses?”
“Don’t worry,” Rick said. “After what happened with Grinnell, I’m not putting a dollar down unless I know he’s telling the truth.”
“Nathan, will you stop it already?” Ben begged. “Talk to me.”
“Leave him alone,” Lisa said. “He’ll talk when he’s ready.”
“Silence doesn’t help anyone at this point,” Ben said. “Get over it.”
“Get over it?” Nathan asked, looking up and facing Ben. “Ober is dead. That’s not something I’ll just get over. Not today. Not tomorrow. Never.”
“Enough with the fighting,” Lisa interrupted, pulling on her restraints. Leaning to her left, she peered over the armrest and saw that her handcuffs were attached to the wooden supports that connected the front and back legs of the antique chair. “I say we focus on getting out of here.”
“Let me guess,” Nathan said. “You have a bobby pin in your hair and you’re a master lockpick?”
“I wish,” Lisa said, tipping her chair forward until she could stand. Hunched over, she shuffled toward Ben. She then lowered her chair, sitting in front of him. “See those supports?” she asked. “I bet if you kick them hard enough, they’ll break in half.”
Ben looked at the width of the supports. “There’s no way,” he said. “It’ll never—”
“Don’t give me that,” Lisa demanded. “Try. Kick the shit out of it. Just don’t kick my hand.”
Ben jerked his chair into position and prepared to kick the support. “Hold on a second,” Lisa said, waving her handcuffed hand. “Give me your other foot.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, the moment you kick this