"And they contributed the money knowing they would try to screw it up?"
"They saw the sale going ahead like a juggernaut. At first they tried to stop it with the donation idea, but they couldn't. That's why they changed direction so dramatically. One day they are fighting all of you on giving the environmentalists the money; the next day they're leading the effort. Once they knew that Metco and the others were pushing, and that the donations would happen with them or without them, they decided to play along but sabotage the effort from within. If they stole the money, they expected the crime to become public knowledge. It would come out that industry was collaborating with the activists, hence both congress and the public would be suspicious. But you managed to keep it all quiet."
"What did Kenji know about all this?" Dan asked.
The lawyer paused and looked at Yoshinari.
''I'm afraid my son-in-law knew all about it. Even ordered it."
''Do you know about the photographer who was murdered out on Amada land a couple of months ago?''
Yoshinari bowed his head, a gesture of respect. "You have been excellent detectives."
"Was it his body I saw in the mine?"
"We believe so."
"Did Kenji do it?"
"According to Groiter," the lawyer said.
"Why are you telling us all this?"
Again the lawyer ceded to Yoshinari.
"We are telling you because you risked your lives to make it right. And because we don't wish to deal directly with your authorities. Shohei will provide the evidence. We leave for Japan in an hour."
"So what happens to Kenji Yamada?"
"He is missing. He will come to Japan if we can find him. There he can fight extradition. He, frankly, is not my concern," the old man said. "His wife, who is my daughter, and her child are both coming with us tonight."
At that moment the sound of a radio interrupted them. Shohei removed a handset.
"Yes." He listened. "Out, now!" Shohei literally shoved Yoshinari to his feet and rushed him through the conference-room door.
They all followed, half-running, down the hallway. After throwing open the front door, even the old gentleman took the steps two at a time. From the front walk they heard the squealing of tires; a dark car pulled away into the night. As Dan grabbed Maria's hand, a wave of heat washed over his back and a thunderous explosion knocked him to the ground. Even as he hit the ground, he was twisting, reaching for Maria.
"I'm OK," he heard her say through the ringing in his ears.
"Thank God." They both looked around. The old man and the bodyguard were getting up. Simultaneously they turned to see the lawyer fifty feet behind writhing on the ground, a large metal shard protruding from his back and exiting his gut. He grunted horribly. Yoshinari ran to him, taking his head in his lap.
Maria had already dialed 911 on her cell phone and was giving the ambulance crew the address.
"Schneider," Dan said.
Shohei nodded. "I should have killed her. I will bring her to your police."
"No," Dan said. "Let us do it for you."
Yoshinari nodded almost imperceptibly at Shohei, who whirled and left.
"Wait," Dan called after him, running.
"The ambulance will get here any minute," Maria said.
They heard a wailing siren, but the Japanese lawyer had gone silent.
Dan reached the black Lincoln sedan just as it was about to pull away from the curb. It had a combination lock below the handle on the passenger side that wouldn't open. He jumped across the hood, pounded on the windshield, and heard the electronic door lock click open. Clambering off the hood, he jumped in.
"I'm coming with you," Dan said, pointing at the pair of taillights in the distance.
"I was afraid of that," said Shohei.
32
Maria dialed the sheriff's office directly on the run to Dan's truck, angry that Dan had left without her but understanding that he was trying to keep her out of harm's way.
"There has been an explosion at the Hutchin law firm, probably a bomb. It might have been detonated by one Corey Schneider. There is one man critically wounded. An ambulance has been called."
"We're already responding," said the dispatcher. "What is your name, please?"
She started the truck and followed Shohei's Lincoln. ''Maria Fischer. And Dan Young and another man are trying to find the person responsible."
"Where are you?"
"Right behind them."
"Please remain at the scene, ma'am."
Maria disconnected. Then she saw the van. It was coming in the opposite direction, moving slowly, and it looked exactly like the one parked at the barn, the one they had abducted her in. Whipping the truck around in a U-turn, she planned to pull up behind it when it jerked forward, accelerating rapidly. Maria followed. It turned right, then left, then over a bridge that intersected a long peninsula. On the inland side of the peninsula lay Palmer Bay with its boat harbors and yacht basins. Seaward was the vast Pacific.
Quickly she got back on the phone.
"This is Maria Fischer again. May I speak with Sheriff McNiel, please?"
"He's not in."
"I know he's not in. It's the middle of the night. Look, I'm following a van that may have been involved."
"Ma'am, I asked you to stay at the scene."
"Well, I'm not at the scene; I'm pulling into the Grayson Island Marina behind the van."
"We'll send a squad car, but don't follow a suspect's vehicle."
"Give me the sheriff."
''OK, OK, I'll try. But please get away from that vehicle."
Maria watched as the van pulled into a large parking lot. She stayed back on the road leading to the lot, trying to see in the heavy shadows. Large lights illuminated the area, but budget-conscious bureaucrats had designed the lighting for minimal coverage. It was especially dark near the rest room and laundry facilities where the van had parked.
She coasted forward a little farther, straining to see. Someone had gotten out of the van and walked toward the docks behind the rest room.
Mist hung in the air, haloing the lights in the fog. Her fear made the eerie night chilling. Slowly she rolled the truck forward. If Corey Schneider was departing in a boat, she needed to identify it. At the edge of the parking lot, she climbed out, her shoes clicking on the asphalt, certain that any moment she would see a boat leaving the marina.
Where were the police?
She continued around the washroom facility, keeping clear of the shadows to the back and sides of the structure. Facing the marina stood a well-lit bulletin board that served as the local trading post. It was covered with little cards advertising boats and all their various parts and gadgets. Along the steeply inclining ramps that led to the various docks ran a wide asphalt sidewalk used by roller bladers and strolling lovers. She had no clue which of the numerous piers Corey, or whoever it was, had chosen. Most boats were dark. Some had a single light at the pilot's station. A few had cabin lights luminescent against the window coverings. She counted twelve separate gangways accessing twelve separate floating piers, each pier with slips running down either side. There were perhaps eighty boats per pier. Only a few berths were empty.
Her eyes scanned the marina for some sign of movement. In her right hand she clutched her cell phone, ready to push the call button to the sheriff's department. Approaching the second washroom, she began a systematic search of the floats.
A shadow startled her. She turned.
Her next thought was that her head hurt terribly. Strangely, her cheek now rested on a wooden deck, and the sound of a motor throbbed through the planks. Her hands and feet were bound. With a shudder she realized she would be thrown into the black deep. She imagined it would be a slow drowning.