Indispensable Party (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller No. 4) (22 page)

Sasha realized she’d been
expecting an elderly judge. But, in retrospect, it made sense that the more
junior members of the bench would be tasked with handling emergency motions.

“Judge Minella, this is Ms.
McCandless and her client,” the clerk said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Walker.
Could you check the courtroom and see if Ms. Esposito is waiting in there, by
chance?”

“Yes, your honor,” she said. She
pressed a button on the wall near the bookshelves. A clicking noise indicated
the judge’s door into the courtroom had unlocked, and she left.

The judge turned his
attention to Sasha and Connelly. He half-rose and offered Sasha a hand. “Ms.
McCandless,” he said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,
your honor,” she said, shaking his warm hand.

She gestured toward Connelly.
“Your honor, this is Leo Connelly. He’s Serumceutical’s chief security officer.”

The judge and Connelly shook
hands and the judge waved them into seats. “Please, sit. I’m glad that the
company could send us an officer on such short notice.”

“Serumceutical takes this
matter very seriously. And the company is grateful that the court has taken it
up on such short notice,” Sasha said, sliding into one of the large leather
chairs

“Don’t thank me yet,” the
judge said as his smile faded.

Connelly took the seat next
to Sasha and shot her a look.

She shrugged inwardly but
gave no outward reaction. The famous judicial temperament was revealing itself,
she figured.

She cleared her throat. “Are
we waiting for the court reporter?” she asked the judge.

“No. This isn’t going to be
on the record,” he said in a stern tone that dared her to argue.

Great
, Sasha thought.
Nothing
better than a hearing in front of a cranky judge with no way to memorialize the
argument.
She wanted to ask who Ms. Esposito was, in that case, but she
figured it was better not to antagonize him.

Connelly nodded toward a
framed photo of the judge, clad in hip boots, standing in a stream and proudly
displaying a large fish on a line.

“Are you a fly fisherman?”

Judge Minella’s frown morphed
into a broad smile. “That’s right. That picture was taken on an expedition out
in Montana. Great fishing.”

“I can imagine. You know, a
little closer to home, the Yellow Breeches in Pennsylvania has some excellent
fly fishing, too,” Connelly offered.

“Oh, yes. There’s a little
town called Boiling Springs that has a white fly hatch in August,” the judge
said, his eyes shining.

Sasha knew they were speaking
English, but she would have been hard pressed to join in. She smiled politely
and let the discussion of anglers and runs flow over her head.

The outer door opened, and
Mrs. Walker returned from her second circuit. A frazzled-looking woman about
Sasha’s age tripped after her.

“I found her,” Mrs. Walker
announced needlessly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Walker. Kind
of you to join us, Ms. Esposito,” the judge said with his frown back in place.

The woman hesitated in the
doorway. Her hair was pulled back into a messy knot and her shirt collar was
folded under the lapel of her suit jacket. She was slightly out of breath.

“I’m sorry, your honor. I
returned from lunch to find this file on my desk. I apologize for my tardiness,”
she said in a respectful tone that almost hid the slick of bitterness
underneath.

Sasha didn’t understand why
the other woman was here, but she felt an instant kinship with the harassed
attorney, although she suspected Ms. Esposito represented ViraGene.

“Well, come in and close the
door. Mrs. Walker, we won’t need you for this,” the judge snapped, first at the
hapless Ms. Esposito and then at Mrs. Walker, who’d been pulling up a chair.

Mrs. Walker’s gray eyebrows
shot up her forehead, but she rose wordlessly and walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she turned and gave Sasha a look that seemed to say ‘good luck,
you’re going to need it.’

She pulled the door shut
firmly behind her and disappeared into the outer office.

Esposito crossed the room and
stopped awkwardly beside Sasha’s chair. She smiled and said, “Jill Esposito,
Office of General Counsel for the Central Intelligence Agency.”

Bardman, that dirty,
sandbagging weasel.

Sasha tamped down her dismay
and shook the woman’s hand.

“Sasha McCandless, counsel
for Serumceutical. And this is Leo Connelly, Serumceutical’s chief security
officer,” she said, aware that her irritation was audible in her voice. At the
moment, she didn’t care.

Leo mumbled a greeting and
shook the government lawyer’s hand. Sasha could tell from the hint of anger in
his eyes that he was piecing the situation together, too.

“Okay, Ms. Esposito, have a
seat, so we can get on with this,” the judge instructed.

Figuring she had nothing left
to lose, Sasha spoke up. “Your honor, Serumceutical would like to formally
request the presence of a stenographer to record the proceedings in the event
there’s an appeal.”

“Request denied,” the judge
snapped without looking at her.

Across the table, Jill
Esposito—who was perhaps the only person in the room who didn’t know the
score—formed a small ‘O’ of surprise with her lips.

“Now, then,” the judge
rumbled on, “this is an
ex parte
hearing on a motion for an emergency
temporary restraining order that Serumceutical has filed against a competitor
called ViraGene. The motion is denied because the court finds that the United
States government is an indispensable party to the litigation.”

Sasha opened her mouth to
speak, but the judge cut her off. “The court does not intend to hear argument,
Ms. McCandless.”

He turned toward Esposito. “Ms.
Esposito, if the government were joined as a defendant, is it your office’s
position that it would consent to jurisdiction?”

Esposito looked down at her
notes for a moment. Then she said, “Your honor, the CIA believes that the
subject matter of the contract between Serumceutical and the government raises
national security implications and cannot be the subject of civil litigation
between private parties.”

“That’s nice, Ms. Esposito.
My favorite color is blue. Ms. McCandless wishes this was on the record. Now
that we’ve each shared some irrelevant information, why don’t you try answering
my question?” the judge demanded.

Esposito blinked down at her
papers.

“Would the government consent
to jurisdiction?” Judge Minella repeated, enunciating each word.

“No?” Esposito guessed.

“No. Good answer, Ms.
Esposito,” the judge said. He turned toward Sasha, “Because this Court finds
that the federal government, which is immune from suit, is an indispensable
party pursuant to Rule 19 of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, and because
the government has indicated it will not waive immunity, your request for a
temporary restraining order is denied and your motion is dismissed with
prejudice.”

Sasha swallowed her mounting
anger. “Your honor, if I may—”

“No, Ms. McCandless, you may
not. We’re adjourned.”

Sasha saw Connelly’s hand
curl into a fist, and she placed a cautioning hand on his arm. It didn’t matter
how big of a dick Judge Minella was, he was a sitting federal judge.

Jill Esposito seemed stunned.
She hurriedly tossed her papers into her bag and gave Sasha a weak, apologetic
smile. Then she said, “Thank you, your honor,” and scurried toward the door
before her luck could reverse itself.

The judge shook his head at
her departing back and said, “Have a safe trip back to Pennsylvania, Ms.
McCandless.”

“Thank you, your honor,”
Sasha managed. She gathered her papers and pushed in her chair.

The judge came around the
table and clasped Connelly on the shoulder. “Nice to meet a fellow angler, Mr.
Connelly,” he said in a warm, friendly tone.

Connelly stared at the judge
mutely.

Gavin awoke in
complete darkness. His dry eyes stung, and the skin at their corners cracked as
he strained to see in the blackness. A thudding ache reverberated through his
head. His mouth was hot and cotton dry.

“Hello?” he said—or thought he
did. But all he heard a hoarse, cracked moan. It took a  moment to realize that
was his voice. He ran his tongue over his dry, shredded lips. Tasted dried
blood. He tried to work up some saliva but failed.

He couldn’t lift his head off the
flat pillow it rested on, so he turned his face to the side and stared at
nothing. A thin, scratchy blanket covered his torso. He pushed it down to his
waist. The movement sent a dull pain through the muscles in his arms, and he
shook.

He tried to remember where he
was. He tried to remember
anything
. But heavy clouds floated in his
brain. He strained. Thought hard.
Celia. Bricker.
An idea rolled past
him and his tired, fuzzy mind tried to latch on to it but missed.

He shivered and pulled the
blanket up to his chin. He swallowed around a thousand tiny knives that pierced
his throat, and his eyes fluttered closed.
Sasha. Celia. A little girl in
the snow.
He struggled again to grab hold of a thought as it evaporated. He
slept.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bright,
relentless light leaked under his eyelids, and he flinched. He opened his eyes
slowly, painfully to the white glow. He didn’t know how much time had passed,
but he remembered the itchy blanket and the hard pillow. He was in the same
place, wherever that was. He squinted up at a face, a woman, with delicate,
high cheekbones and big, kind eyes. The lower half of her face was hidden by a
blue surgical mask. Behind her, as his eyes focused, he saw rough-hewn logs
fitted together to form walls. He was in a cabin.

“Here. Drink this,” she said, her
gentle voice muffled by the mask.

She leaned over him and raised a
straw to his mouth with gloved hands.

He tried to speak—to ask what she
was giving him, who she was, where he was—but all he managed was a croak. He
decided he didn’t care what was in the glass. He parted his lips and sucked on
the straw. Cold, sweet liquid hit the back of his throat.

“It’s Gatorade. You’re
dehydrated, and you need the electrolytes,” the woman told him.

He sucked again.

“Take it slow,” she warned.

Too late. The liquid splashed
down, and his stomach roiled.

She jumped back, and he leaned
over the side of the bed and retched. The fruity drink mixed with bile and
burned his throat.

“Sorry,” he managed. He returned
his head to the pillow, out of breath and dizzy.

“It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll get
Lydia in here to start you on an IV. You need to rehydrate.”

He stared up at her, too weak to
ask what was happening to him, but she must have read the question in his eyes.

“You have the flu. You passed out
in Captain Bricker’s office. Don’t worry, we’re going to take care of you. I’ll
turn out the lights when I leave so you can sleep. You need to rest up,” she
said.

She smoothed his blanket, and he
could tell from the way her eyes lifted that she was smiling reassuringly
behind her mask.

She walked away, out of his line
of vision. The squeak of a hinge and then the bang of  metal sounded as she
filled the wood-burning stove and lit it.

Then, as promised, the harsh
overhead light disappeared. In the blackness, he heard the creak of the cabin
door as it opened, felt a blast of cold air, and then heard the thud of the door
as it closed. From the sounds of metal clinking, he could tell she was locking
him in from the outside.

Gavin pinned his eyes open and
stared sightlessly at the ceiling, desperate to drift back into his fitful,
feverish sleep, but determined to keep himself awake long enough to piece
together what was happening. He listened to his labored, whistling breathing
and remembered the names the woman had said: Captain Bricker and Lydia.

Sasha. Celia. Bricker. Lydia.
Rollins. The preppers.
Gavin coughed, and the force of the cough racked his
body. He waited until his rattling breathing slowed again and the burning pain
in his chest subsided, then he continued remembering.

They’d taken his car keys and his
cell phone. His gun was locked in the car. He was defenseless, unable to reach
the outside world, locked in a cabin, and as sick as he’d ever been. Under the
circumstances, he was going to need one helluva plan to get out of this alive.

But, for now, he needed to rest.
Just for a minute or two. The stove was already heating the small room, and the
warmth made him drowsy. His eyes, so heavy and dry, closed of their own
volition.

Leo was trying to
wrap his mind around the ambush he and Sasha had just experienced in Judge
Minella’s chambers. As they walked from the courthouse to the parking garage,
he asked Sasha a series of questions.

“What just happened?”

Sasha threw him a disgusted look.
“We got sandbagged, Connelly. I can’t wait to report back to Tate—that should
be fun.”

“I’ll handle Oliver,” he told
her. “But can you explain this to me? Why would the government get involved in
a private lawsuit between two pharmaceutical companies?”

Sasha dug her gloves out of her
pockets and pulled them on. “I honestly don’t know, Connelly. I explained at the
meeting that we weren’t going to get into the contract specifics, nobody seemed
to have any objections then. But, Judge Minella has the discretion to raise the
indispensable party issue
sua sponte
—sorry, that means on his own
initiative, without a party raising it. And, when the judge fed Jill Esposito her
line, she had the sense to agree that it was the official government position
that it would be deemed an indispensable party. So that’s that.”