The Racketeer Page 0,124

that this could be a setup. I could be walking into a trap, with these boys ready to spring an indictment, a warrant, an extradition order, and whatever else it might take to drag me back to jail. In that event, Vanessa has a plan, one that assures the protection of our assets. She is two hundred yards away, waiting.

There are no surprises. We've talked enough on the phone to know the parameters, and we get down to business. On a speaker-phone, Stanley places a call to Roanoke, to the office of Dusty Shiver, who now represents not only Quinn Rucker but his sister Vanessa and me. When Dusty is on the phone, he makes some lame crack about missing all the fun down in Antigua. The Feds roar with laughter.

We first review the immunity agreement, which basically says the government will not prosecute me, Quinn, Vanessa Young, or Denton Rucker (a.k.a. Dee Ray) for any possible wrongdoing in the murder investigation of Judge Raymond Fawcett and Naomi Clary. It takes fourteen pages to say this, but I'm satisfied with the language. Dusty has reviewed it too and wants a couple of minor changes from Mumphrey's office. Being lawyers, they are required to haggle for a bit, but eventually come to terms. The document is redrafted, in the room, then signed and e-mailed to a federal magistrate on call in Roanoke. Thirty minutes later, a copy is e-mailed back with the magistrate's approval and signature. In a legal sense, we are now Teflon.

Quinn's freedom is a little more complicated. First, there is an Order of Dismissal that clears him of all charges relating to the murders, and it contains some benign language inserted by Mumphrey and his boys that attempts to soften the blame for their misguided prosecution. Dusty and I object, and the language is eventually removed. The order is e-mailed to the magistrate in Roanoke, and he signs it immediately.

Next is a Rule 35 motion to commute his sentence and set him free. It has been filed in the D.C. federal court from which he was sentenced for cocaine distribution, but Quinn is still in jail in Roanoke. I repeat what I've said several times already: I will not complete my end of the deal until Quinn has been released. Period. This has been agreed upon, but it takes the coordinated movements of several people, with instructions now coming from the speck of an island nation known as Antigua. Quinn's sentencing judge in D.C. is on board, but he's tied up in court. The U.S. Marshals Service feels the need to intrude and insists on moving Quinn when the time comes. At one point, five of the six lawyers in my meeting are on their cell phones, two while pecking away at laptops.

We take a break, and Vic Westlake asks me to join him for a cold drink. We find a table under a terrace beside a pool, away from the others, and order iced tea. He feigns frustration with the wasted time and so on. I am assuming he's wearing a wire of some variety, and he probably wants to talk about the gold. I'm all smiles, the laid-back Antiguan now, but my radar is on high alert.

"What if we need your testimony at trial?" he asks gravely. This has been discussed at length and I thought things were clear. "I know, I know, but what if we need some extra proof?"

Since he does not yet have the name of the killer, or the circumstances, this question is premature, and it's probably a warm-up to something else.

"My answer is no, okay? I've made that clear. I have no plans to ever return to the U.S. I'm seriously considering renouncing my citizenship and becoming a full-fledged Antiguan, and if I never set foot on U.S. soil again, I'll die a happy man."

"Somewhat of an overreaction, don't you think, Max?" he says in a tone I despise. "You now have full immunity."

"That might be easy for you to say, Vic, but then you've never spent time in prison for a crime you didn't commit. The Feds nailed me once and almost ruined my life; it's not going to happen again. I'm lucky in that I'm getting a second chance, and for some strange reason I'm a bit hesitant to subject myself to your jurisdiction again."

He sips his tea and wipes his mouth with a linen napkin. "A second chance. Sailing off into the sunset with a pot of gold."

I