Megan picked up the telephone. “Mr. Rosen? What a pleasure this is. We’ve never met, but I have a feeling you and I are going to become very good friends. A lot of people sue Scott Industries just for the target practice, and I’ve been looking around for someone to take charge of all our litigation. Yours is the one name that keeps coming up. Naturally, I’m prepared to pay you a large retainer for—”
“Miss Scott—?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t mind a little snow job, but you’re giving me frostbite.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Then let me put it in legal parlance for you. Cut out the bullshit. It’s two o’clock in the morning. You don’t hire people at two o’clock in the morning.”
“Mr. Rosen—”
“Mike. We’re going to be good friends, remember? But friends have to trust one another. Larry tells me you want me to go to Spain to try to save some Basque terrorist who’s in the hands of the police.”
She started to say, “He’s not a terrorist—” but stopped herself. “Yes.”
“What’s your problem? Is he suing Scott Industries because his gun jammed?”
“He—”
“I’m sorry, friend. I can’t help you. My schedule is so tight that I gave up going to the bathroom six months ago. I can recommend a few lawyers…”
No, Megan thought. Jaime Miró needs you. And she was suddenly seized by a sense of hopelessness. Spain was another world, another time. When she spoke, her voice sounded weary. “Never mind,” she said. “It’s a very personal matter. I’m sorry for coming on so strongly.”
“Hey! That’s what CEOs are supposed to do. Very personal is different, Megan. To tell you the truth, I’m dying to hear what interest the head of Scott Industries has in saving a Spanish terrorist. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”
She was going to let nothing stand in her way. “Absolutely.”
“Le Cirque at one o’clock?”
Megan felt her spirits lifting. “Fine.”
“You make the reservation. But I have to warn you about something.”
“Yes?”
“I have a very nosy wife.”
They met at Le Cirque, and when Sirio had seated them, Mike Rosen said, “You’re better-looking than your picture. I’ll bet everybody tells you that.”
He was very short, and he dressed carelessly. But there was nothing careless about his mind. His eyes radiated a blazing intelligence.
“You’ve aroused my curiosity,” Mike Rosen said. “What’s your interest in Jaime Miró?”
There was so much to tell. Too much to tell. All Megan said was, “He’s a friend. I don’t want him to die.”
Rosen leaned forward in his seat. “I went through the newspaper files on him this morning. If Don Juan Carlos’s government executes Miró only once, he’ll be way ahead of the game. They’re going to get hoarse just reading the charges against your friend.” He saw the expression on Megan’s face. “I’m sorry, but I have to be honest. Miró has been a very busy man. He holds up banks, blows up cars, murders people—”
“He’s not a murderer. He’s a patriot. He’s fighting for his rights.”
“Okay, okay. He’s my hero too. What do you want me to do?”
“Save him.”
“Megan, we’re such good friends that I’m going to tell you the absolute truth. Jesus Christ himself couldn’t save him. You’re looking for a miracle that—”
“I believe in miracles. Will you help me?”
He studied her a moment. “What the hell. What are friends for? Have you tried the pâté? I hear they make it kosher.”
The Fax message from Madrid read: “Have spoken to half a dozen top European lawyers. They refuse to represent Miró. Tried to have myself admitted to trial as amicus curiae. Court ruled against me. Wish I could pull off that miracle for you, friend, but Jesus hasn’t risen yet. Am on my way home. You owe me a lunch. Mike.”
The trial was set to begin the seventeenth of September.
“Cancel my appointments,” Megan told her assistant. “I have some business to take care of in Madrid.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know.”
Megan planned her strategy on the plane flying over the Atlantic. There has to be a way, she thought. I have money and I have power. The prime minister is the key. I have to get to him before the trial starts. After that, it will be too late.