CHAPTER 46

It was a bitter cold morning, but the sun was shining, unobstructed by clouds. Snow crunched beneath the wheels of three dark blue Fords as they rolled slowly and in single file into the parking lot beside Mike’s office, blocking the exits. Four men dressed in dark suits and overcoats emerged and walked briskly toward Mike’s office. The largest of the four men opened the door and marched in, his companions following close behind.

Mike was startled but remained calm. “What’s this all about?” he asked, assuming he was entertaining more CSIS agents.

The largest visitor withdrew his badge and showed it to Mike. “Are you Michael King?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Michael King, my name is Richard Morrison. I’m a detective with The Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I have a warrant for your arrest. You are charged with unlawful possession of a stolen substance, unlawful sale of a stolen substance, and the unlawful sale and disposal of a toxic substance. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the courts. Do you understand what I have just told you, sir?”

Mike nodded.

“I didn’t hear you!” Morrison barked.

“Yes,” Mike said. Two of the officers frisked and handcuffed him while he stood, stunned and silent. They led him into one of the waiting cars and transported him to the Don Jail in downtown Toronto. There, he was fingerprinted, photographed, and locked in a holding cell.

“Hey!” Mike shouted to the officer who had locked the door and was walking away. “When do I get a chance to call my lawyer?”

“In about fifteen or twenty minutes,” the officer replied, refusing to turn or even pause.

The same officer returned to Mike’s cell slightly more than an hour later. “Mr. King, we’re now going to give you an opportunity to call your lawyer. Come with me, please.” He unlocked and opened the cell, and then led Mike to a room with no windows and walls painted chalk-white. The room contained nothing but a gray metal table and two chairs, and on the table was a black telephone. The officer closed and locked the door behind them. “You may make your call now, sir,” he said, his eyes locked on Mike.

Mike sat at one of the two chairs and proceeded to call Dan Turner. He was in big trouble and aware that only Turner stood between him and bigger trouble. He tried to remain calm. “Dan, please listen very carefully, I’m not sure how much time they’re going to give me. I need your help. I was arrested this morning by the RCMP.”

“Surely you’re joking,” Turner said.

“I wish I was. I’m really here, and I’m a goddamned prisoner in the Don Jail.”

“What’s the charge? I’m sure they told you.”

“Unlawful possession and sale of a stolen substance, and unlawful sale and disposal of a toxic substance.”

“Incredible! What do you know about it?”

“I don’t know. Either somebody’s set me up or I’m having a hell of a nightmare.”

A consummate professional, Turner took immediate control. “Have you said anything to anyone?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. Don’t. I want you to remain absolutely silent. We certainly don’t want to help those bastards in any way. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Turner met Mike in the windowless, white-walled room. He began the discussion after sitting on the only chair available. “I did a little scratching before I left the office, and I’m afraid the feds have a pretty good case against you,” he said with his booming baritone voice. He leveled his hazel eyes at Mike in a deep, penetrating stare. “I want you to be completely honest with me. Is the case justified?”

Mike shook his head vigorously. “Dan, I’ve never stolen a thing in my life. As far as the toxic substance is concerned, you probably know more than I do.”

“We’ll talk about that later, but first I want to deal with a higher priority. I took the liberty of talking to Marc Peterson before I left the office. I asked him to make the necessary financial arrangements to get you out of here. If you’re prepared to sign the papers…”

“How much, Dan?” Mike asked.

“Half a million.”

Mike winced, and then nodded.

“It’s to make sure you don’t run. You don’t need to come up with the cash—you just need to guarantee the amount with tangible assets.” Again Mike nodded. “Let me change the subject. Do you know a woman by the name of Karen Servito?” The flush on Mike’s face gave Turner the answer.

“I certainly do know her. Why do you ask?”

“The feds think she’s also involved in this thing.”

Mike lurched forward and glared at Turner. “In what way?”

“They’ve charged her with theft and unlawful sale of gasoline, and unlawful transportation of a stolen substance across an international boundary.”

Mike rolled his eyes and raised his hands. “I suppose you’re going to tell me they’ve arrested her, too.”

Turner nodded. “Shortly after they arrested you.”

“Where the hell is she? Do you know?”

“In a cell, right here, right now.”

“Put everything on hold!” Mike demanded, barely able to contain his rage. “I don’t care what it costs, I want you to represent Karen Servito, and I want you to do whatever it takes to get her out of here. I’ll look after her bail and all of your expenses.” His wheels spun, and then clicked. “I’m convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that we’ve been shafted, and I have a pretty good idea who did it.”

Turner nodded. “On two conditions.”

“Name them.”

“The first is that Karen agrees to have me as her legal representative. The second is that you’ll both come to my office and answer a lot more questions.”

It took Turner less than an hour to guarantee Mike and Karen’s release. As they met outside the police station, Karen rushed to Mike’s arms. “It was Jim. I know it from the bottom of my heart. If it takes the rest of my life, I’m going to pay that son of a bitch back,” she promised, tears filling her dark brown eyes.

“You two really do know each other,” Turner said with a smirk.

He brought them to his office, which was was on the sixty-fifth floor of the North American Bank Building, a steel clad structure near the foot of Bay Street. He began to fire questions at his clients the second they entered. “How did you two come to know each other? I’m sure you understand why I need to know.”

Mike smiled at Karen. “You answer that one.”

“We met eighteen years ago. Mike was a student at the University of Toronto, and I was a stewardess with Air Canada. For one reason and another, we’ve been prevented from doing what we should have done then.”

“What was that?”

“Get married,” Karen said, continuing to smile at Mike.

“Good answer. Do you two have any mutual business interests?”

“None whatsoever,” Mike replied with emphasis.

“That’s good.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this situation, Dan,” Mike continued. “The theory I was twirling in my brain really crystallized when you told me the feds had arrested Karen, too. I think a lot of your questions will be answered if I tell you what I know.”

“I would be pleased if you would. Go ahead.”

“Karen has been unhappily married to Jim Servito for a number of years. Eventually, she became so unhappy that she had an affair. I happen to be the individual with whom she had the affair. When Karen’s husband found out about us, he beat Karen up and threatened to kill her if she ever saw me again. We ignored the threat and continued to see each other anyway. Even though we took particular care to avoid being seen together, he knew. So he decided to get even. He wanted us to suffer, so he set us up. It had to be him, Dan. Who else would bother to finesse this nightmare, and have the means to do so?”

Turner stared at the ceiling for a moment, and then turned to Mike and nodded. “Let’s assume for now that your theory’s correct. How do we go about proving Karen’s husband should be the one who was put in jail, instead of you and Karen?”

“I wish I knew,” Mike said, feeling the same helpless frustration he felt the day he and Karen searched Servito’s farmhouse.

“Mike, I sincerely believe that you and Karen are innocent. The feds don’t share my belief, and so I have no alternative but to prepare to defend you. I don’t have the time to prove or disprove your theories, however.

“How much time do we have?”

“Two, maybe three months.”

Mike and Karen glanced at each other with pained expressions.

“Karen, what do you know about your husband’s business activities?” Turner asked.

“Not very much. He’s always been very secretive about his business. He rarely tells me anything.”

“What can you tell me about Reserve Oil?”

“Nothing. I didn’t even know it existed.”

“I find that very difficult to believe. You must know you’re the president and sole owner of that company?”

Karen was surprised and shaken. “I had no idea.”

“Didn’t your husband ever mention it?”

“Never.”

“Was a lawyer present when you signed?”

“I signed a lot of papers for Jim… and Robert Grenstein was always there. My husband said he was our family lawyer.”

“Do you have any knowledge of the existence or installation of illegal gasoline valves at the Golden National refinery, in Buffalo, New York?”

“What!” Mike shouted.

“No!” Karen said with extreme indignation. “I’ve never even heard of Golden National.”

“Dan, what the hell is this about?” Mike asked.

“In my telephone discussion with William Dare today, he advised that two alien gasoline valves have recently been discovered in Golden National’s Buffalo refinery. Golden National claims the valves were installed without the knowledge or consent of management, and were used to steal a very large quantity of gasoline. Dare claimed to be in possession of a taped confession from some individual who says that the owner of Reserve Oil is responsible for the installation of the valves.”

“Who was the individual?”

“Dare declined to provide that information.”

“Did he explain about the toxic substance?” Mike asked, fully expecting more bad news.

Turner grimaced. “He claims they have irrefutable evidence that the gasoline you were retailing at your outlet in Fort Erie contained between two and three percent poly chlorinated biphenyls. They’re now conducting extensive tests at all of your retail outlets.”

Mike’s heart sank. Even if Turner could defend him against the charges, irredeemable damage had been done to the reputation and financial capacity of his company.