Fault Line (2 page)

It wasn't the answer Osborne had been hoping for, of course. If Alex had told him the truth-that he and Hilzoy had first discussed Obsidian while Alex was at Oracle on firm business-it would have presented an opportunity for Osborne to make a stronger But for me, this wouldn't even have come to you argument. Alex expected Osborne would probably check with Hilzoy, discreetly, if he ever got a chance. But Alex had prepared Hilzoy for this possibility. For both their sakes, the more this thing seemed to have happened outside of Oracle and Sullivan, Greenwald, the better.

I don't like it, Osborne said. The client will say you met this guy through them. Even if they don't have a legal case, I'm not going to risk pissing off a client like Oracle for something that's pretty small-time by comparison.

Come on, David, you know every company ever born in the Valley at some point had a connection to a big established corporation that was somebody's client. It's just the way it works. And Oracle knows it, too.

Osborne looked at him as though considering. Probably enjoying the ability to take his time and make Alex squirm on the carpet before him.

Let me have this one, David, Alex said, a little surprised by the firmness of his tone.

Osborne spread his arms, palms up, as though this went without question, as though he hadn't spent every minute since this conversation began looking for a way to freeze Alex out. Hey, he said. Who's your daddy?

It wasn't an answer, or at least not a definite one. Hilzoy is mine? Alex said. I'm the originating attorney?

It seems fair.

Is that a yes?

Osborne sighed. He swung his boots off the desk and leaned forward as though he was ready to get back to whatever Alex had interrupted. Yes, it's a yes.

Alex permitted himself a small smile. The hard part was over. Now for the really hard part.

There's just one thing, Alex said.

Osborne raised his eyebrows, his expression doubtful.

Hilzoy went through a nasty divorce last year. He doesn't have any money.

Oh, for Christ's sake, Alex.

No, listen. He can't afford our fees. But if we incorporate him, take a piece of the company-

Do you know how hard it is to get the partnership committee to go for that kind of speculative crap?

Sure, but they take your recommendations, don't they?

This was a gambit Alex had learned in years of negotiating for clients. When the other side pleaded that it wasn't their decision, that they had to check with the board or the management committee or Aunt Bertha or whoever, you engaged their ego, and then their desire to be consistent.

Osborne was too experienced to fall for it. Not always, no.

Well, this time they should. This technology has promise. I've examined it personally, and you know I know better than most. I'll do all the work myself. Not instead of everything I'm already doing. In addition to it.

Come on, Alex, you're already on track to bill over three thousand hours this year. You can't-

Yes I can. You know I can. So what we re talking about is a percentage of something for the firm-something that could be big-in exchange for effectively no investment. The partnership committee won't listen to you when you propose that?

Not if, when. Osborne didn't respond, and Alex hoped he hadn't pushed it too hard. Osborne was probably wondering, Why is he willing to sacrifice so much for something so speculative? Is this thing going to be bigger than he's letting on?

Alex tried again. The committee listens to you, right?

Osborne smiled a little, maybe in grudging admiration of how well Alex had played his hand. Sometimes, he said.

Then you'll recommend it?

Osborne rubbed his chin and looked at Alex as though he was concerned for nothing but Alex's welfare. If you really want me to. But you know, Alex, this is the first matter you've ever originated-First one you've ever let me originate, you mean-and if it doesn't pan out, you're not going to look good. It'll show bad judgment.

Bad judgment. At Sullivan, Greenwald it was the ultimate, all-purpose opprobrium. Anything that went wrong, even if it wasn't the attorney's fault, could be attributed to bad judgment. Because if the attorney had good judgment, he would have seen it coming no matter what. The bad thing wouldn't have happened on his watch.

Alex didn't respond, and Osborne went on. All I'm saying is, for a risk like this, you want a margin for error, a cushion to fall back on.

Alex was disgusted with the way Osborne presented all this as though he were Alex's best friend. He knew he was supposed to say, You're right, David. You take the origination. Thanks for protecting me, man. You're the best.

Instead he said, I thought you were my cushion.

Osborne blinked. Well, I am.

Alex shrugged as though that decided it. I couldn't ask for better protection than that.

Osborne made a sound, half laugh, half grunt.

Alex took a step toward the door. I'll fill out the new client form and a new matter form, run a conflicts check.

This was it. If Osborne was going to try to overrule him, he'd have to say so now. If he didn't, every day that passed would create new facts on the ground that would be harder and harder for Osborne to get around.

If we're not taking any fees, Osborne said, I still have to take this to the committee.

I know. But I feel confident they'll listen to you. Alex looked at Osborne squarely. This is important to me, David.

Unspoken, but clearly understood, was, So important that if you screw me, I'll be working at Weil, Gotshal next week, and you can find someone else to make you sound as smart with your clients as I do.

A beat went by. Osborne said, I don't want you working on this by yourself.

Alex hadn't been expecting that and didn't know what it meant. Had he just won? Had Osborne caved? What do you mean? he asked.

Osborne snorted. Come on, hotshot. How are you going to ride this to where you want it to take you if you don't have any associates working under you?

Alex hadn't thought about that. Mostly he worked alone. He liked it that way.

Look, it's a little early-

Also, Osborne said, how are we going to justify a big piece of this guy's company if we've only got one lawyer on it? We want him to know he's being treated right.

Alex didn't know whether to laugh or what. Osborne was practically telling him to pad his time. But if this was what it took for Osborne to feel he'd won a little victory in the midst of the way Alex had played him, fine.

I see what you mean, Alex said.

Use the Arab girl, the good-looking one. What's her name?

Alex felt a little color creep into his cheeks and hoped Osborne didn't notice. Sarah. Sarah Hosseini. She's not Arab. She's Iranian. Persian.

Whatever.

Why her?

You've worked with her before, right?

Once or twice.

Osborne looked at him. Three times, actually.

Christ, Osborne was no tech whiz, but when it came to who was billing for what, he was all over it.

Alex scratched his cheek, hoping the gesture seemed nonchalant. Yeah, I guess so.

You said in your review she's unusually confident and capable for a first-year.'

The truth was, the description was an understatement. That sounds right.

She's smart?

Alex shrugged. She has a degree in information security and forensics from Caltech. He knew Osborne might sense a mild put-down in this, but was annoyed enough not to care.

Well, she's not busy enough. Use her. Build a team. Do you have a problem with that?

Why was he pushing it this way? Would the extra lawyer give Osborne a greater claim, maybe to supervise the work, start taking it over, something like that?

Or was he just having fun, teasing Alex, forcing him to work with Sarah because he knew-

No, Alex said, cutting off the thought. There's no problem.

Osborne had pitched the partnership committee as promised about taking on Hilzoy, and the committee had okayed the arrangement. Osborne told him there had been opposition, but Alex suspected that was bullshit. For all he knew, Osborne might not have needed to pitch it at all. Maybe the committee loved this kind of shit-sure, get the associate to bill even more hours, while we keep the profits if his work turns into anything. Maybe Osborne had just positioned it as some Herculean task so Alex would feel in his debt afterward.

It didn't matter. Alex didn't owe anybody. He'd gotten this far by himself. His parents were gone, his sister was gone, his sole remaining family was his prick of an older brother, Ben, who had caused everything and then run away to the army after their father had after he had died. Alex hadn't talked to Ben since their mother's funeral, eight years earlier. Even then, with nothing left but the two of them, Ben wouldn't say where he was or what he was doing. He just showed up for the ceremony and left, leaving all the details to Alex, just as he'd left Alex alone to care for their mother during the last year and a half of her life. After he'd finished the probate-again, all by himself-Alex had sent Ben an e-mail explaining his share of the estate, which was pretty big, as their father had done well and there were only the two beneficiaries. Ben hadn't even thanked him, just told him to send the paperwork to an address at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, saying he'd sign it when he could. For all Alex knew, right now Ben was in Iraq or Afghanistan. Sometimes Alex wondered whether he was even still alive. He didn't care. Either way he was never going to talk to him again.

Goddamn Hilzoy. Alex hated that he needed him, but he did. Because if Obsidian was even half as successful as Alex expected it to be, the seed money was going to be followed by a second, third, maybe a fourth round of financing. After the acquisition or the IPO, the firm's share would be worth a fortune. And Hilzoy would never forget who got him there. All the legal work afterward, and all the billing for it, would be Alex's and his alone. His name would be indelibly linked with Obsidian, he would be the lawyer who represented the hottest company of the year, maybe the decade, and then the David Osbornes of the world would be begging for the crumbs from his table.

Assuming Hilzoy hadn't already blown it for them. Did he understand just how busy these VCs were, how many proposals were pitched at them every single day, how few they actually followed up on? You get one shot for these people's attention, Alex had told him, just one shot.

If Hilzoy screwed this up, Alex was going to kill him.

Chapter 3 A SIMPLE UNDERSTANDING

Ben Treven sat motionless at the edge of a wooden chair at the Hotel Park Istanbul, watching the rainy afternoon street two stories below through tattered gauze curtains. The room was small and spartan, but its size and furnishings couldn't have mattered less to him. The window was open a few inches, and from time to time the interior quiet was broken by the sounds of the city without: car tires thumping over the antique cobblestone streets and splashing through potholes; the practiced touts of rug merchants calling out to passing tourists from in front of their small shops; the haunting notes of the muezzin, entreating the faithful to prayer five times daily between dawn and dusk.

In addition to letting in the sounds of the street, the open window kept the room cold. When the moment arrived, he would need to move quickly, and he was already wearing deerskin gloves, a wool cap, and a fleece-lined, waterproof jacket. His hair was naturally blond, but the false beard he wore was black. With the hat on, no one would notice the discrepancy.

The warm clothing would be useful in the rain and against the December chill, of course, but that was only part of it. The gloves prevented prints. The hat obscured his features. The jacket concealed a suppressed Glock 17 in a cross-draw holster on his left side.

On the coffee table next to him was a backpack containing clothes, two sandwiches, a bottle of water, a first-aid kit, ammunition, false travel papers, and a few other essentials. Other than the backpack, there was no trace of the room's occupant, nor would there be when he was gone.

He was there to kill two Iranian nuclear scientists, Omid Jafari and Ali Kazemi. Ben knew a lot about the men: their real names, the names they were traveling under, the details of their itineraries. He knew they were in Istanbul for a meeting with a Russian counterpart. He knew they were staying at the Sultanahmet Four Seasons, which is why he had taken this room at the Park, directly across the street. He had copies of their passport photos and had recognized them immediately when they arrived from the airport in one of the hotel's BMW limousines three days earlier. He knew the two men who accompanied them at all times were with VAVAK, Iran's feared secret service, and that the VAVAK people, in addition to being well trained, would be motivated. If one of the scientists were kidnapped or assassinated, or if one of them defected, as Ali Reza Asgari, the Iranian general and former deputy defense minister, had done not so long before, the man who let it happen could expect to be executed.

He knew considerably less about the Russian: not much more than a real name, Rolan Vasilyev-which he probably wasn't traveling under anyway-and that he was coming to Istanbul to meet the Iranians. Washington had been pressuring Moscow about Russian nuclear assistance to Tehran, and presumably the Kremlin had decided it was too risky to bring the Iranians to Russia, even under false names. Istanbul was a good neutral corner: about midway geographically, with good air links, and security services focused more on ethnic Kurds than on Russians or Iranians.