Chapter 8
The flight to Juneau took less than two hours, over some of the most spectacular scenery he’d yet seen, as well as across the Pacific Ocean. Well, ‘Gulf of Alaska’ is more like it - let’s be accurate, he thought with a smile.
His first view of the city was a surprise to him. Juneau was very long from north to south, but only a few blocks separated the waterfront from the base of the mountains which seemed to rise almost vertically on the east side. The hillsides seemed so close as they were landing that he had to force himself to look away.
Rick’s first stop was the Chamber of Commerce, down the road from the airport. The receptionist provided him with a city map, as well as directions to his next appointment at the State Capitol.
He parked across the street from the legislative building and looked around. There were only a few tall buildings, and none seemed particularly high. The Capitol building itself was older, a tan brick structure with gray stone columns, and a vertical mountainside which seemed to rise directly behind it. It was an imposing and slightly forbidding structure.
Once inside, he asked for directions to the lunchroom. Looking around, he spotted an older man near the back wall waving to him. As he wended his way between the tables, he mentally rehearsed what he knew about the guy. Jim Wheaton was one of the higher-paid lobbyists in Juneau, a former legislator who knew his way around the bureaucracy. He had been, until recently, the highest-paid lobbyist, but recent developments in the oil and mining industries had elevated those representing the fields into the top brackets.
Rick sat down. “Mr. Wheaton, thanks for agreeing to meet me. It’s my understanding you represent land developers.”
Jim fixed him with a piercing gaze from steel-gray eyes. “Yes I do, young man, and I understand your company has been meeting with one of my friends – Richard Ng.”
“That’s right. He recently met with an associate named Bob Corbett, but Bob was murdered shortly afterward.”
“Yes, too bad about that. Do the police have any leads?”
“No, sir, but your friendship with Mr. Ng is why I asked to meet with you. I know that he was a big deal in the Anchorage real estate market years ago, and still owns properties around the city. But there are a lot of people who seem not to like him much. Has that been a problem for him?”
Wheaton looked down at the table and sighed. Running his hand over thinning hair, he said, “I probably should tell you this, but since your guy met with him … yeah, Ricky tends to be abrasive. That’s always been his style, but it always seemed to work – at least until the last dozen years or so. The players in the market have changed, and I guess it’s no secret that things have gotten tight for him. The properties he owns aren’t making the money he’d hoped, and lately he’s not been able to close deals on places he really wanted.”
“I know I'm asking you to speak out of turn, sir, but can you tell me what exactly it is that you do for him?”
“Well, as a lobbyist, so what I do is a public record. I can tell you without betraying any secrets that Ricky sold land to developers who have since built malls and commercial buildings on that land, in several parts of Anchorage. He’s always looking for an edge, but even he admits privately that he seems to have lost his touch in the market there. So he’s been talking a lot about his legacy, and that’s where I come in. He wants me to help his daughter get a job in the Department of Economic Development.”
Rick thought. “Wouldn’t that be some sort of conflict of interest?”
“We’ve discussed that. He’s got an old friend who is now a director there, and sees it as a way to continue leaving the Ng mark on Alaska’s economic future.”
“It certainly sounds harmless enough.”
Wheaton met his eyes once more. “Sure, why not?”
Sure. It sounds harmless, Rick thought as he headed back to the parking lot. He was trying to match the concepts of ‘land deals gone bad’ with ‘new job for his daughter’ when he heard a sound like an angry hornet, and the nearest car window shattered. Rick ducked, and then started looking around, puzzled. “What the …?” he started to say, when the sound came again and another window blew out.
He dove between two of the cars. And this is my best suit, too.
He couldn’t see anyone else, and was trying to see around the lot while prostrate on the ice and gravel, when he heard it again. But instead of shattering glass, the buzz was followed by a loud ‘thunk’, and the fender above him suddenly had a crater with a hole about the diameter of his little finger.
Holy crap! Someone’s shooting at me! He decided quickly that it wasn’t nearly as fun as watching Jason Bourne or Rambo in the same circumstances.
Forgetting about his suit entirely, he crawled as fast as he could, feet slipping and small rocks making holes in his hands and knees. Breathing hard, he stopped where the bumpers of four SUVs were close together. They can’t get me here unless they’re directly overhead. I hope.
He waited a few more minutes, then pushed his briefcase out into the open, but nothing else happened. He started to get up but was shaking violently. He finally gathered himself and stood up, pulse pounding in his ears.
“Hey! What happened to my car?”
He spun quickly, his heart in his throat, but it was one of the policemen from the Capitol building. Rick tried to smooth his clothing and walked over. He took a deep breath and tried to sound normal. “Officer, I’d like to report a shooting.”
“How do you know – hey, are you okay?” The policeman was staring at Rick’s suit.
Hands and knees bloody from his headlong dive for shelter, he realized his hands had left bloody smears on his clothes. He gave a shaky grin and said, “I think someone’s trying to kill me.”
“Are you armed?”
“No, but I'm thinking I oughta be.”
The officer put his hand on Rick’s shoulder and said, “Let’s get back inside and get you checked out.”
After a doctor had checked on his many small puncture wounds, Rick was interviewed rather thoroughly by the Juneau police. Their interest seemed to lessen a bit when they found out he wasn’t there to meet with any of the elected officials. In fact, he couldn’t really tell them much beyond the fact that he was doing his own investigation of the circumstances surrounding the events leading to Bob Corbett’s death.
Leaving the Capitol for the second time, he found his mouth was dry and pulse was racing. Nonsense, he told himself, but the nervousness persisted. Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, a hand came down on his shoulder, and he nearly leapt out of his shoes.
“Don’t DO that!” he exclaimed, and then realized the other was a legislator he’d seen in the lunchroom.
“Let me buy you a drink, Mr. Maxwell,” said Jeremy Blevins, representative from Ravenstoke.
* * * * *
They took Blevins’ car to a spot downtown, and entered the Black Dog Inn. One of the oldest bars in Juneau, it still had a dirt floor, liberally mixed with peanut shells.
Once at a table near the back, away from the pounding jukebox, Blevins said, “I know why you’re here, Rick.” Maxwell looked at him for a moment, and said nothing. The politician continued, “I don’t blame you for being jumpy. It seems you’ve had a tough morning.”
“Tough? That’s one way to put it.”
“Okay, so it scared you. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Remember what Winston Churchill said, though. ‘There is nothing more exhilarating than to be shot at without result.’”
Rick sighed. “I'm sorry; I'm sure that’s very clever, but perhaps I’ll appreciate it better after my hands stop shaking.”
“All right; to business, then. You’re asking questions about Richard Ng, and that isn’t a very good idea.”
“That’s becoming painfully obvious,” Rick replied. “But why do you say so?”
Instead of answering directly, Blevins asked, “Did Jim Wheaton tell you that Ng’s trying to get his daughter named to a post in Economic Development?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t phrase it that way. It sounded like just some ordinary job.”
“Not really. She’s apparently headed for a deputy director slot. See, Ng’s been moving a lot of cash and favors behind the scenes … and just between you and me, it looks like he’s bought himself enough votes to get her confirmed.”
Rick stared at him. “That’s quite a statement. How would he profit from an appointment like that?”
Blevins said, “Hypothetically speaking, suppose that Ng buys land in the flats between Wasilla and Palmer. Now imagine that, after the deal is closed, the land is named as part of a business development district and State funds become available for the development.”
“Hypothetically, that would mean that his purchase is worth several times the purchase price, overnight.”
“Yes, indeed. And whether Ng chose to build or sell to a developer, he’d make quite a tidy profit. Not bad for an old fella, huh?”
“Okay, let’s assume that the appointment goes through. Wouldn’t the director of that department have any say-so?”
“Sure he would. But that’s the beauty part of Ng’s plan: the director is one of Ng’s oldest friends, and all he has to say is that it’s a ‘staff recommendation’. Nobody’s likely to complain.”
The adrenaline was draining quickly from Rick’s system, and he suddenly felt exhausted. Rubbing his face with his hands, he asked, “But if it’s such a slam-dunk, then why would someone be shooting at me?”
Blevins leaned back in his seat. “I'm going to go out on a limb and say that the shots were because you’re making waves now, before the hearing. It’s the only time when the questions you’re asking might cause someone to notice. As such, you’re a threat right now. Later on, it wouldn’t matter so much.”
* * * * *
Several hours and a plane trip later, back in his hotel room in Anchorage, Rick pondered the events of the day and fired off an e-mail to Patterson, relaying an outline of what he’d learned.
His phone rang. “Rick? It’s Rebecca. I heard you got shot at? What happened? Are you okay?”
“I'm okay, and I'm starting to form a picture of what’s going on. Can I see you in the morning?”
“Tomorrow’s my day off. I’ll meet you in the café there in the hotel, for breakfast, if that’s all right.”
They arranged a time, and hung up. Rick leaned back on the bed while loosening his tie, and fell asleep on the spot.
To be continued ...
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