The Shut Mouth Society (The Best Thrillers Book 1)

by Unknown

  “No. Honest. Only the name … Greg Evarts.”

  Evarts made a signal, and the three of them retreated to the opposite side of the room. “What do you think?” he whispered.

  “They don’t know shit. Amateurs.” Matthews sounded disdainful.

  “I agree,” added Harding.

  “Any other questions you guys can think of?”

  Both shook their head no.

  Evarts walked back to the captives. “What’s in the package?”

  “We don’t know. We didn’t plant it.”

  “A bomb?”

  “No. We were supposed to call again after you exited the house. They wanted to know if you appeared angry or grim or whatever. They seemed anxious to—”

  Evarts didn’t hear the end of the sentence because he had charged out of the apartment and barreled down the stairs.

  Chapter 54

  Evarts fumbled with the lock on the door to Harding’s townhouse. When he finally got the door open, he saw a Best Buy shopping bag tucked in the corner of the entry. He ignored the bag and raced through the rest of the house, dreading that he might find Baldwin’s body. He found nothing new or threatening in the house except for the shopping bag. There were things missing, though. All their photocopies and notes had disappeared from the kitchen table, and Evarts didn’t see Baldwin’s laptop computer.

  Evarts keyed the makeshift communication system. “House clear. There’s a shopping bag in the entry. Do you read?”

  “Copy. Should I come over?” Harding answered.

  Evarts decided he wanted the company. “Yeah. Make sure our guests are secure, and then both of you come over.”

  Evarts went to the window and checked the street. Could the rent-a-thugs be a diversion? He saw nothing untoward. He watched Harding and Matthews casually cross the street and greeted them at the door. All three of them looked down at the bag.

  “I don’t think it’s a bomb,” Matthews said.

  Harding leaned forward and peeked inside. “Merchandise boxes. The top one looks like a digital camera.”

  “Let’s take it into the kitchen.” Evarts wanted enough flat space to lay out the contents so they could all see.

  In the kitchen, Harding reached into the bag and carefully extracted a box with “Canon” emblazoned on all four sides and placed it on the counter.

  “Digital camera. The box has been opened,” Harding said.

  “What else is in the bag?” Evarts asked.

  Harding looked. “A disposable cell phone, the kind parents buy for their teenagers. Plastic shell packaging, also opened. The sons of bitches threw in the register receipt.”

  “Pull it out.”

  After Harding extracted the cell phone, he said, “And a letter.” He handed the plain white envelope to Evarts. “It’s addressed to you.”

  Evarts hesitated for a nanosecond and then ripped open the envelope. Someone had handwritten the message in block letters.

  Look at the camera. You should recognize your work. We will trade Baldwin for original you took from DTCC. Use cell phone for instructions.

  Evarts read the short note a second time. It told him a lot. He felt heartsick. He knew what must have transpired to force Baldwin to reveal that he had an original document in his possession. He handed the note to Harding. “They broke her.”

  He reached for the camera box with an unsteady hand. He jockeyed the camera free from its Styrofoam brick, turned it on, and flipped the setting switch to view the stored pictures. Baldwin’s face filled the little screen on the back of the camera. She looked distraught and in pain. Damn them. The next picture showed only her bare thigh. The image conveyed an unmistakable message: She had been shot in the leg. The last photograph showed her full body with her hands tied behind her back. It was framed to show that the wounded leg belonged to Baldwin. Her helpless, frightened expression made Evarts want to throw the camera across the room. Instead he handed it to Harding and went to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

  He took a long drink that emptied a third of the bottle. When he lowered the bottle, he saw Harding’s sad eyes. “Steve, what’s past is past. We need to focus on getting her back.”

  “How?”

  “I need to make a call,” Evarts said.

  Matthews finished reading the note. “Don’t you think we should talk first, go through the scenarios?”

  Evarts had a thought and crossed his lips with his index finger. His friends immediately understood: The house might be bugged. Evarts opened the back door and stepped into the garden. Using a business card he had been given at the DTCC, he called Jonathon. After a short time, he stepped back into the kitchen to find Harding and Matthews visually checking for bugs.

  Evarts picked up a tablet and pencil on a counter by the landline telephone. He wrote: “Called DTCC. Documents stored as long as fees paid. If payment stops—retain three years—then destroy.”

  Matthews immediately picked up the tablet and wrote, “They’re going to kill her.”

  “Yes—unless we stop them,” Evarts wrote.

  Matthews nodded toward the door. They stuffed the camera and cell phone back into the bag and left. When they got on the street, Evarts asked, “Find any bugs?”

  “No, but we should proceed as if they heard us,” Harding said.

  “What about our guests across the street?” Matthews asked.

  Evarts didn’t believe they could learn any more from a couple of thugs who had been rented for routine watchdog duty. “Leave ‘em. If we’re lucky, they’ll starve to death.”

  As they walked the several blocks to the car, they reviewed their conversation in the house and decided that, if the union had planted a bug, the only important thing they learned was that there were three of them. This meant that the union might track down and possibly interrogate all of Evarts’s old army buddies, so Harding started making calls to warn people.

  As they approached the Navigator, Evarts signaled for Matthews to drive so Harding could concentrate on making the phone calls.

  “Where to?” Matthews asked.

  From the passenger seat, Evarts said, “Not your place. They’ll watch it if they start checking my army contacts.”

  “Then how ‘bout a motel in Arlington? Lots of D.C. tourists stay there.”

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  Evarts had never felt such despair. He also felt foolish and inept. He knew better than to just keep running. Sooner or later, one of their breakneck escapes had to fail. He should have found some way to attack, but the measured unraveling of clues had given him hope that they would uncover some final evidence to bring this nasty venture to a close. He had failed. Now he had to start acting smarter, or he would also fail the most important mission of his life. The fear that he might not rescue Trish made him heartsick.

  “What’re you thinking?” Matthews asked.

  “That Trish is close.” Evarts looked out of the car at the passing buildings.

  “Because of the camera?”

  Evarts continued to watch the buildings pass by his window. “Yeah. And the Best Buy receipt was local.”

  “We could run over to that store.”

  “They left the receipt, so we’d do just that. Those bastards.”

  Evarts tried to understand his feelings. He had had men captured before and had ruthlessly tracked down their captors. This time he felt different. Worse. Way worse. Why did he feel this way? Then he knew beyond any doubt. He was in love with Patricia Baldwin. An odd word for him to even think, but he knew he didn’t want to go back to the solitude he had convinced himself he preferred. He wanted a life with Trish. Did she feel the same? He wasn’t sure.

  He listened to Harding’s end of the cell conversations for a while and then turned toward the window to hide a tear. He heard himself say, “I want her back.”

  Chapter 55

  In Arlington, they found a high-rise Holiday Inn that catered to tourists. By the time they checked in, Harding had finished all the calls. They ma
naged to get three adjoining rooms intended for families on vacation, so they had plenty of space. Each room had the ubiquitous small table with two chairs stationed in front of the single window, so they hauled another from Harding’s room into Evarts’s and gathered around the table.

  Harding began, “If we can figure out a plan, I believe we can field a full platoon. Everybody wants in.”

  “Are you serious? Because I have an inkling of a plan.”

  “Yeah, Greg, I’m serious. If you want an army, you’ve got one.”

  “Are we going to call the bad guys?” Matthews asked. All three of them looked at the two cell phones positioned in the center of the table. The first one they had taken from the surveillance team and the other had been in the shopping bag. They had already checked, and the two phones had been preprogrammed with different telephone numbers. Since he didn’t get a response, Matthews added lightheartedly, “In the movies, the good guy always calls the bad guy and surprises him by acting cool.”

  Evarts didn’t answer for a moment. Finally, he said, “They don’t know what happened to their hired thugs and probably intend to stay away from the scene. They’re anxious about me getting the package, or they wouldn’t have left men watching the house. Why forewarn them? I like an anxious, unsure enemy. So … no call, on either phone. What do you think?”

  After both men nodded, Evarts asked Harding, “Did you call Gary to warn him?”

  “Yeah, I called everybody.”

  “Did he offer any information on Branger?”

  “Preliminary only. By most outward appearances, he’s a responsible citizen and good neighbor. Branger has made generous donations to every charity, church, and cause within a hundred-mile radius. Government finance disclosures showed that he makes maximum contributions to every politician in sight. Newspaper society pages are often filled with happy-face photographs from elaborate parties he throws at his country club for the hoi polloi.” Harding checked the notes he had made on a small tablet. “North Carolina doesn’t canonize its citizens, and they don’t award knighthoods, but Duke University did confer an honorary LLB on our generous Mr. Branger.”

  Harding put the tablet on the table and nudged it away with two fingers. “There’s only one chink in his good-citizen armor. Every three months, he entertains a dozen or so business associates, and at these little conclaves, some rather rough characters guard his house. One neighbor filed a police complaint that these guards physically threatened him, and a boater claimed that some goons on shore brandished automatic weapons when he drifted too close to the Branger dock. Gary also said the building permit included a subterranean gun range, dual electric feeds, and enough telecommunications bandwidth to service a bank.”

  “What about when there’s no meeting?” Evarts asked.

  “Evidently, he still has guards around, but they pretty much stay out of sight. So much so, that it’s hard to gage the level of security.”

  Evarts asked the next obvious question. “Is there a meeting going on now?”

  “Gary drove by the estate yesterday, and everything looked quiet,” Harding said.

  “Does your inkling of a plan have anything to do with this Branger character?” Matthews asked.

  “Yes.” Evarts scooted his chair closer. “The way I figure it, the union already has possession of all our photocopies, Trish’s original, and Trish herself. Congressman Sherman has been written off as a kook. To completely eliminate the threat, they only need to get their hands on me and the document I hid. I suspect they’re more interested in me than the document. They haven’t remained secret by letting people that know about them run around free, especially law enforcement officials. The remaining documents will stay buried in the most secure depository in the country. My bet is that they plan to arrange a transfer in such a way that draws me into their clutches, after which, they’ll destroy my original, and kill Trish and me. They know Trish hasn’t designated an executor, so the documents will be destroyed in three years. Problem solved. On to world domination.”

  “So, you don’t intend to make the trade?”

  “Losing proposition. Sherman said the union has mercenaries on the payroll. They’ve probably been doing drug deals for decades. They know how to set up a meet so their side walks away clean.”

  “If we don’t meet, what’s our plan?” Harding asked.

  Evarts slapped the table. “We grab Branger.”

  “Then what?”

  “That’s the inkling part.”

  “Branger probably knows where they’re holding Baldwin,” Harding offered.

  “Yeah, if we can somehow grab him without alerting the entire union, break him fast, and have a second team ready to pounce on the hideout, maybe, just maybe, we can rescue her. I want to snatch Branger, because they wouldn’t expect it, and it puts us on the offense. But unless we can figure out a way to leverage it, I’m not sure it will get Trish back.”

  Evarts stood and paced up and down the room. He worried that he just wanted to strike back, that his desire for action made him embrace a foolhardy idea. He stopped his pacing in front of the table and looked down at his still-seated friends. “We don’t even know for sure that Branger’s in the union, much less running it.”

  Neither Harding nor Matthews responded, so Evarts began pacing again. He didn’t have room for mistakes. One miscalculation would doom Baldwin, and the thought made his stomach draw so tight, he had to keep moving to relieve the ache.

  Matthews shoved his chair back and rested his right ankle on his other leg. “You think all that protection at his house is just for him?”

  That stopped Evarts in his tracks. He thought it through. “You’re right. That house might be the nerve center for the union. All that telecommunications bandwidth must be for encryption.”

  Now Harding stood up. “Yeah, let’s steal their business records and Branger.”

  Evarts felt unsure that his friends understood the extent of the commitment involved with an assault on the house. “Listen, the union may have started because the Civil War ruined the economic base of the South, but through the years, it has morphed into something far more sinister.” Evarts made sure he had their full attention. “We might have to kill people. We can’t attack the headquarters of a secret society that has Mexican drug connections and use stun guns. Some of us might die, and others might go to prison. The only chance for some of us coming out clean depends on finding incriminating evidence in that house.”

  The three men stood and looked at each other a moment. Then Matthews said, “Listen, this is going to sound corny, but I see myself as an old-fashioned patriot. I joined the army to protect my country. Then I trusted politicians to point me at our most dangerous enemies. All the while, these union assholes wrecked our country and my neighborhood from inside our own borders.” Matthews took a step toward Evarts. “I may have gotten older, but I haven’t lost my sense of duty. Greg, when I see a clear and present danger, I no longer need permission from some dumb-shit politician.”

  Evarts turned. “Steve?”

  “I say, load up the car and let’s do our planning on the drive down to Charlotte.”

  As they got up to leave, both the cell phones rang almost simultaneously. “Anxious buggers, aren’t they?” Harding said as he shoved both ringing phones into his pocket. They were on the road in less than five minutes.

  Chapter 56

  The five-hour drive had been filled with cell phone calls to plan an operation. Harding got six of their old army buddies on the road heading toward Charlotte. The three of them plus Gary Johnson made ten. A team of four others gathered in the Washington, D.C. area to mount a rescue attempt if Evarts discovered where Baldwin was being held.

  Because they might be watching his house, Johnson had suggested that they meet at the home of a fellow driver on the NASCAR circuit. They pulled up to the house on Lake Norman just before eleven o’clock at night. As they got out of the Navigator, Harding whistled. “Have you ever seen so many toys?” he
exclaimed.

  Parked on the massive driveway was a forty-five-foot Diesel Pusher motor home with a Honda Pilot in tow, two foreign sports cars, and a pristine 1965 Mustang notchback. The open garage door revealed two all-terrain vehicles, a trailered bass boat, and a Mercedes AMG E-Class.

  Gary Johnson answered the door, and everyone quickly shook hands. The purpose of their visit had put a damper on what should have been a happy reunion. Harding even abandoned his normal bear hug greeting. Johnson waved them inside and started to lead them to the back of the house, but Harding stopped their progress by saying, “Gary, do you live like this?”

  They all stopped and stared at the living room. Instead of furniture, the supposed front parlor contained a pool table surrounded by arcade video games and a foosball table. A vintage Harley Hog sat parked in a corner like a decorator item. The architect had probably assumed this would be the most formal space in the house.

  “Naw. I keep my pool table in the basement. Come on. It’s a nice night. We’ll sit out back.”

  As they passed through the kitchen, they each grabbed a beer and then took seats outside around a wrought-iron patio set. A long wooden walkway extended off the patio to the lake, and despite the darkness, Evarts could make out a pontoon boat and a ski boat tied to the dock. “You racers sure like your toys,” Evarts said.

  Johnson glanced in the direction Evarts was looking. “We play for a living, so our playtime gets a little outrageous. That’s why I’m still a weekend warrior, except for me it’s in the middle of the week.”

  “What do you mean?” Matthews asked.

  “I’m a brigadier general in the North Carolina National Guard. It lets me fly helicopters when I’m not zooming around a racetrack.”

  Gary Johnson had been the helicopter pilot when their insertion teams needed to come in by air. Evarts had always thought he enjoyed the ground-hugging flights a bit too much. He guessed car racing just gave him another way to get the excitement he craved.