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  On the face of it, a section of the northeast Pacific might be an immensely valuable source of cleaner, less-expensive energy. And Petros Barbas was going to exploit it however he wanted. He remembered that Tammy had referred to the difficulties of getting methane to the surface safely. If Barbas had solved the problem no one else had, it could be a boon to mankind. He’d be a hero. But Barbas wasn’t acting like a hero. Why the secrecy, the denials, the guns? Why the fierce determination that his operation not be inspected or regulated?

  If Barbas hadn’t solved that safety problem, would he stop? No way. To get what he wanted, Barbas would ignore the damage he might cause. But what did “safely” mean? And if Barbas bulled ahead, how dangerous would it be? Jack didn’t know. He had a bad feeling that researching “safely” was going to uncover a nest of scorpions that would drive him further away from being ready for the Armstrong case.

  The inescapable facts were that Barbas was a billionaire holed up on a floating fortress protected by a squad of mercenaries. What chance did Jack Strider have of stopping him?

  Chapter 21

  July 25

  5:00 p.m.

  San Francisco

  GANO TOOK A swig from a mug bearing the red and white logo of the San Francisco 49ers. He was pretending it was coffee, but Jack guessed he’d found the liquor cabinet and laced the coffee with dark rum.

  Gano saw him watching and said, “What?” He took another drink. “Hell, it’s already way after sundown . . . somewhere.”

  Mei opened his office door and stuck her head in. “I’m leaving for the day. Ms. Vanderberg said she’ll be here in a minute.”

  “Thanks, Mei. Have a good time at the concert.”

  Seconds after Mei left, Debra came in and sat at the conference table next to Gano. Jack looked across the table at her and thought, I’m a lucky man. She hadn’t said a word to him about his call to her from the plane, but he imagined she thought he was a damn fool for having gone down in the sub. If he’d told her the whole story she would have started firing lightning bolts. He’d asked them to meet him here so he could tell them about the research he’d done on methane hydrate since the morning meeting.

  “Okay,” he said, “let’s get started. I’ve been running my brain overtime to figure out why Barbas has been spending so much money. Thanks to Tammy’s research, I have the answer. Capturing methane from the massive methane hydrate deposit under his platform is Barbas’s primary objective. In fact, I think he’s already trying to do it.”

  He saw Debra’s face slip into the slightly vacant look she wore when seriously evaluating what’s just been said. Finally, she nodded. “I think you may be right, but that’s not illegal. If it reduces U.S. dependence on oil and reduces global warming, maybe you should cut him some slack. At least he’s thinking bigger than getting rid of incandescent light bulbs.”

  That burned him. “Barbas isn’t known for doing anything in the public interest. He probably claims global warming is a sham cooked up by Democrats. When you hear what I’m about to tell you, you’ll see why I will never cut Barbas any slack. For most of the day, I’ve been power reading about methane hydrate. The number of people who have studied the subject is very small, but leading scientists agree that destabilization of methane hydrate in the seabed can cause catastrophic consequences, possibly including runaway global warming. Have you heard of the Clathrate Gun Hypothesis?”

  “Of course I have,” Gano said. “Clathrate is a social disease.”

  “Nice try. Actually, Tammy referred to clathrate this morning. It’s another way of referring to methane hydrate. The Clathrate Gun Hypothesis says that even a small increase in the temperature of methane hydrate, or decrease in the pressure around it, can trigger an abrupt release of methane gas. That means an earthquake or mining or drilling in the seabed can cause that release. If that methane escapes into the atmosphere, it’s a disaster because it’s a greenhouse gas twenty-five times worse than carbon dioxide.”

  “How much is a ‘small increase’ in temperature?” Gano asked.

  “About 250 million years ago, the global temperature increased ten degrees Fahrenheit, and that was enough to drive ninety-six percent of all marine species into extinction. A higher temperature causing a massive methane release could exterminate all life on earth. Picture this: Methane loaded with water molecules is heavier than air, so it would spread across land masses as a deadly fog. It could be ignited by lightning, fires, even a match. Fires would generate roaring winds that would carry dust and smoke into the upper atmosphere and speed up global warming. A major destabilization of methane hydrate in the seabed would cause landslides that would launch giant tsunamis.” He thought for a moment about Sam from Miami and Tammy from Seattle, both now living in San Francisco. All three cities could be wiped out by major tsunamis.

  “I’ll be a damned rodeo clown.” Gano said softly. “So Barbas might cause that destabilization. Do you think he gets that?”

  “He intends to cause destabilization to free the methane gas. The unknown is whether he can control it, or it escalates and gets away from him. Scientists say that if BP had drilled into a much bigger reservoir of methane hydrate in the Gulf of Mexico a few years ago, it could have ruptured miles of the seafloor. That would have sunk every ship and drilling platform around and created a tsunami that would have buried Florida under one hundred feet of seawater. It would also have wiped out the coasts of Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas, and killed millions in minutes.”

  “The greedy bastards knew methane hydrate was a threat, and they drilled anyway,” Gano growled. “So you’re telling us about all this because you want us riding shotgun for you when you go after the Jolly Greek Giant. Is that about right?”

  “Well, are you on board?”

  “I’ll string along a while, ol’ stud, but remember that I’ve got my own traps to run down Mexico way.”

  “How about you, Debra? Are you with me?”

  “It’s not that easy. If we went to a grand jury with what you just told us and asked them to indict Barbas for some crime, they’d laugh us out of the room.”

  “You’re right, and that’s why I have to move fast.”

  “I’m completely with you that messing with methane hydrate would be a crazy risk,” she said, “but all you have is a theory about what Barbas is doing. Since you and this firm are pretty much my life, there’s only one thing I can do.”

  He mentally braced himself for the ultimatum he sensed was coming.

  “Right now,” she said, “you’re not getting the job done on the Armstrong case, and it makes me feel bad to keep pushing you on it. It’s also driving a wedge between us. I won’t let that happen. She put her hands on the table in front of her and looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m taking over the lead on the case. I don’t know yet how we’re going to win it, but I’m a damned good lawyer. I’ll come up with something.”

  The set of her chin told him she was ready to go to war with him on this. But that war wasn’t going to happen. She’d come up with the only solution that could defuse the tension between them and soften the conflict he felt about his priorities. It was also best for the client and, selfishly, a huge load off his shoulders. He was proud of her for having the guts to confront him with her decision. He looked back at her. It felt like their first days together.

  “You’ve got it, partner,” he said. “If I can’t handle this Barbas thing within a week, I can’t handle it at all. Either way, I’ll be back on Armstrong full-time by then.”

  “I hope so, but you’ll be second chair. I intend to be ready for the hearing with winning arguments.”

  Gano set down the 49ers cup. His gaze had been going back and forth between them, with his mouth slightly open. Now he was smiling like a kid relieved that his parents were making up.

  Jack’s office door swung open hard. Fat and red
-faced, Stan Simms filled the doorway, his expression twisted into a sneer.

  “Simms.” Jack threw the name across the room like a stiletto.

  Simms tossed a piece of paper ahead of him onto the floor. “Eviction notice. First one I’ve ever delivered personally. You’re served.”

  Gano jumped to his feet. “What say I help fatso lose his lunch, boss?”

  Simms’s bravado faded instantly. He backed out and fast-waddled away.

  “Hey,” Gano said, “let me go after him. I’ll kick his ass so far into the Bay he’ll leave a wake all the way to San Jose.”

  “Right, and then I’d have to bail you out after assault and battery charges.”

  Debra’s face looked like flint. Barbas’s attack on the firm she’d help build had just become much more real.

  “You think Simms showed up because Barbas found out about your sightseeing tour on the sub?” Gano asked.

  “No. Barbas’s chopper pilot brought back Challenger’s hull number, but that would lead to Drake, not to me. The questions we asked at the Bridgewater Tavern must have been reported to Barbas by one of his flunkies, along with physical descriptions that fit us. That told him I hadn’t backed down, so he unleashed Simms.”

  Mei rushed into the room. “Mr. Strider, our receptionist just called. Two of our associates, Walt Wikramaniaka and Peggy Simone, just walked out behind Mr. Simms. They must have known he was coming. They were carrying laptop computers and heavy briefcases. She wants to know what to do.”

  Jack and Gano sprinted past her and through the main entrance of Strider & Vanderberg onto the wharf. The two young lawyers had already reached The Embarcadero a hundred yards away. Seeing Jack and Gano racing toward them, they threw their stuff into the back seat of a black Mercedes waiting at the curb. Jack, well ahead of Gano, grabbed the door and jerked it open before they could lock it. Simone was screaming as the Mercedes peeled away and tore the door from Jack’s grasp. Gano arrived beside him as the car sped in the direction of Fisherman’s Wharf.

  Gano pulled out his iPhone. “Call 911?”

  “No point. That Mercedes will be holed up in a garage very quickly. Anyway, I saw the license plate. It will trace that car to Simms or his firm. Now I need to get back inside and deal with this.”

  “How bad do you think this will get? Will Barbas send real muscle?”

  “He might when his eviction doesn’t work.”

  “It’s not going to work?”

  “Over my dead body. So far, it’s just been words. Now we fight out in the open.”

  Debra was coming toward them in the hall. “Those two spread the word that the firm is being evicted. This place is in an uproar.”

  “We need to circle the wagons,” Jack said, “and fast.”

  “While you two were playing cowboys and Indians outside,” Debra replied, “I asked Mei to hire a security guard service to be on duty around the clock. I also told her to have locks and passwords changed and to find an expert to encrypt important files.”

  “Quick thinking,” Jack said. “Simms will try to use all his people and money to win a war of attrition, so we have to go on the offensive. We have to assume that Simone and Wikramaniaka took our client list and other inside information. Debra, please question every relevant member of our staff. Find out if those defectors said anything incriminating.”

  “Okay, and what about filing a lawsuit against them and Simms personally, and Sinclair & Simms? That will make them think twice about using what they stole.”

  “I’d rather use what they stole as bait. If we find out they used any of it, I’ll file a complaint with the Committee on Professional Responsibility of the California Bar. We’ll nail Simms for soliciting them to steal confidential documents for financial gain. And before I leave tonight, I’ll draft a request for an injunction against enforcement of the eviction. That will throw sand in their gears.”

  “You know this is just the beginning,” Debra said. “They’ll also try to ruin your reputation and the firm’s.”

  For three years he’d worked his ass off to rebuild his good reputation. His recurring dream was of making some mistake that reflected badly on him and the firm. More than he would admit, the possibility that attacks on his character would be coming from Simms gnawed at his gut. Simms was a coward made bold by Barbas’s powerful backing. But Simms thought he was dealing with the same man who had left Sinclair & Simms three years ago. That mistake was going to cost him dearly.

  Chapter 22

  July 25

  1:00 p.m.

  Chaos platform

  THEY HAVE ME by the balls.

  Petros Barbas fired his half-full snifter of brandy into the floor-to-ceiling window of his Chaos penthouse and watched the liquor slide down the bulletproof glass.

  He was a big-time deal maker, but he was getting his brains beaten out by the Chinese and Koreans. His tanker ships were half empty. Like everyone else during the boom years, he’d deferred maintenance on his whole cargo fleet. He’d have been a fool to take his ships out of action when the money was rolling in. Now they were breaking down around the world. Yesterday, one had gotten hung up in Punta Arenas, Chile, because it didn’t have the basic parts on board to repair the main engine. His biggest oil tanker had been turned away from Singapore because of safety violations.

  Occupancy in some of his ultra-luxe resorts was so low they couldn’t even afford decent entertainment. One of them was featuring has-been pop stars performing for guests who had known Frank Sinatra personally.

  None of that was going to turn around any time soon. If word got out about this financial squeeze, he’d be ruined overnight. His holding company would go bankrupt. The second his enemies smelled his blood, they’d be on him like starving alligators. He would be a goddamn international laughingstock. He scratched his jaw hard where his beard had started itching all the time.

  He detested having his future depend on Renatus. The scientist marched to his own drumbeat, and there seemed to be no way to push him. Bullying was meaningless when Moebius Syndrome was turning him to stone. If Renatus collapsed before he solved the problem, the Chaos dream would be over. But even Renatus had an Achilles heel. Every man did. He had to find and exploit it.

  Renatus had been right about everything except what was most important: how to solve the problem that had brought the Chaos Project to a dead stop. Of course there was danger. There were always risks when billions of dollars were the prize. So far, he’d been cautious, but caution was killing him. If Renatus didn’t come up with the solution after his next field test, the methane hydrate extraction would go into full-scale operation whether Renatus objected or not.

  Every time he thought about Strider refusing his demand, it pissed him off again. He’d gotten so used to people falling over themselves to do what he wanted that he’d misread the guy. What had motivated Strider to fight him? Was he playing hardball to get a bigger piece of the action? Was he helping some other tycoon to compete against him? If it was because Strider had a thing for Debra Vanderberg, they could have worked that out. He’d only wanted to borrow her for a while.

  Warning Strider should have backed him off, but he’d come back to poke around Astoria. That was stupid. No outsider could set foot in that pissant town without being reported to his security staff. Now he’d pay. Before long, lawyers in Strider’s firm would be interviewing clients in the back seat of a car. And after Stan Simms got done, Strider would be lucky to get a job doing public defense work in Petaluma. But that didn’t solve the problem.

  He had to face the fact that he could punish Strider, but there was no way he could force Strider to line up President Gorton to help him in the Senate. But he knew someone who might be able to talk him into it.

  He picked up the phone.

  Chapter 23

  July 26

  8:00 a.m.<
br />
  San Francisco

  “I’VE JUST ADDED 125 lawyers to our staff,” Debra said as she walked into Jack’s office.

  “Since you can’t mean what it sounds like you mean,” Jack said, “what do you mean?”

  “You said we had to go on the offensive against Simms, so I did. As you know, J. Keating Sterling is managing partner of Graham & Sterling, the corporate securities law firm. I met him years ago when his son was in the martial arts class I teach. When the son found out I’d quit working for Sinclair & Simms, he said his father’s firm often competed with S & S and that his father detested Stan Simms. So this morning, I went to see Sterling.

  “After some chit-chat, during which he made it excruciatingly clear he had recently divorced, I told him Simms had threatened us with a lot of things, including trying to ruin your reputation and that of our firm. I said we were fighting back and asked him to let me know if he heard anything coming from Simms. He said he would spread the word in his firm. Then he grabbed the phone and talked with Jim Carlton, who runs Hollingsworth, Banker—they have over a hundred lawyers—and explained the situation. He told me to get over there right away before Carlton caught a flight for China. Just before I left, he said, ‘Give me a call sometime when you’re free for lunch.’”

  Looking across the room at her long, glossy black hair, liquid dark eyes, and exceptionally feminine physique, he understood why she got hit on all the time. He knew she resented it, but she just brushed it off except when someone persisted. Then she verbally flattened him.

  “Did you get to Carlton’s office before he left?”

  “I did, and he said that if anything negative about us touched his web, he’d let me know. It seems he has a personal beef with Stan Simms. He said that after Justin Sinclair died three years ago—yes, he said ‘died’—Simms showed his true nasty temperament.”