by Amanda Quick
The rotors were real. There had been no time to manufacture convincing fakes.
“Nobody moves until Jones checks the briefcase,” Luther said.
“Yeah, sure,” the driver of the other car said. “But make it fast.”
There was a hint of anxiety in his voice now.
Matthias opened the briefcase. In the headlights he saw several packets of twenty-dollar bills stacked neatly inside. He closed the briefcase and picked it up in one hand.
“I’m impressed that you managed to come up with so much cash in such a short time,” he said.
“Don’t worry, it’s all there,” the driver said.
“It better be,” Matthias said, “assuming you want to do business with the Broker again. He never works twice with someone who cheats. He’s got his reputation to consider.”
The driver did not respond. He got behind the wheel and slammed the car door shut. On the other side of the vehicle, Bad Jacket jumped into the passenger seat. The vehicle reversed off the bridge, did a tight turn, and roared off down the dirt road.
Matthias waited a couple of beats and then he hurled the briefcase over the bridge railing.
“What the hell are you doing?” Luther said.
“Get in the car,” Matthias said.
Luther did not ask any questions. They both climbed into the sedan. Matthias reversed back down the road as fast as he dared.
The explosion ripped through the night. In the headlights a large spout of river water appeared, blasting skyward. The bridge crumpled and collapsed into the river.
The night sank back into silence. Luther regarded the scene through the windshield with a thoughtful expression.
“Out of curiosity,” he said, “did the money look real?”
“It was real,” Matthias said. “But they shorted us.”
“How did you know?” Luther asked.
Matthias changed gears and turned the sedan around to head back to Burning Cove.
“Remember when the driver said that the full amount of the payment was inside the briefcase?”
“Yeah.”
“He lied.”
“Talk about an amateur,” Luther said.
“The real Smith is not an amateur.”
“No, he isn’t.”
Matthias thought about the whiff of cologne.
“Maybe we shouldn’t discount the possibility that Amalie and Raina were right,” he said. “Maybe we shouldn’t assume that Smith is a man.”
Chapter 48
The muffled rumble of the explosion echoed in the night. Lorraine had been tense with expectation, waiting for the small bomb to detonate. Now she breathed a sigh of relief. A rush of excitement swept through her. She tucked the gun back into the shoulder holster, took off the fedora, and looked at Ray Thorpe. He was focused on navigating the narrow dirt road.
“That’s it, then,” she said, loosening her tie. “We’ve got the rotors and the only two potential witnesses are dead.”
“The deaths of Pell and Jones will be big news in Burning Cove,” Ray said. “But that’s it. The local cops will conduct an investigation and determine that it was just a gangland killing. Happens all the time.”
“In Chicago and New York, maybe, not Burning Cove,” Lorraine said. “But you’re right. The police will buy that story because it will be all they’ve got.”
The sedan bounced over a washed-out patch of road.
“Take it easy,” Lorraine snapped. “The last thing we want to do now is damage that cipher machine.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ray slowed the car to a crawl. “Things sure as hell got messy there for a while, but we’re all set now. We meet the client at that warehouse in L.A. tomorrow night, get our cash, and then we board the ship. From now on, it’s just you and me, babe, and we’re gonna have a fortune to spend. No more loose ends.”
The Broker was potentially a loose end, Lorraine reflected. Whoever he was, he knew how to put major deals together in the underworld. She had been very careful in the years that she had been using his services but there was no way to know how much he might have learned about her by now.
Ray was wrong about the limited police investigation. The Burning Cove cops might write off the deaths of a couple of mobsters, but the FBI and a certain government agency would not take the disappearance of the Ares machine well. It was unlikely that they would ever track down the Broker, but if they did, he might be able to point them in her direction. It was definitely a good time to get out of the country.
After the cascade of disasters in Burning Cove, things were finally back on track. The rendezvous with Pell and Jones had gone off like clockwork, and so had the bomb in the briefcase. In a few hours she would be in Los Angeles, packing her bags. The situation was once again under control.
But now that the initial rush of excitement and relief was evaporating, she couldn’t shake a nervy sensation. Maybe that was because there was one more loose end to take care of tonight.
She watched the gouged and rutted road that was unspooling in the car’s headlights. The surrounding landscape was empty of any sign of human habitation. The lights of Burning Cove were visible in the distance, but there were no houses in the vicinity. This was as good a place as any.
“Stop the car,” she said.
“Huh?” Ray shot her a startled look. “What are you talking about?”
“I want to check those rotors. I need to make sure they fit the cipher machine.”
“Too late to worry about that now, isn’t it? Pell and Jones are dead. Besides, it’s not like they could have come up with a box of fake rotors in such a short period of time, not here in a small town like Burning Cove.”
“I have to make certain. Stop the car. It will just take a few minutes.”
“This is a waste of time,” Ray said. But he brought the sedan to a halt.
Lorraine got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side. She opened the rear door.
“The suitcase is heavy,” she said. “Give me a hand, will you?”
“Yeah, sure.” Ray opened his door and climbed out from behind the wheel. “Hurry up, will you? I don’t like standing around out here in the middle of nowhere like this. There might be rattlesnakes or tarantulas or something.”
“Or something,” Lorraine said.
She raised the gun she had concealed behind the car door and pulled the trigger twice.
The shots caught Ray in the chest. He staggered back a few steps and sagged to his knees. He clutched at his chest. His mouth opened but no words came out. He toppled sideways and did not move.
“Amateur,” Lorraine said.
She slid the gun back into the holster, closed the rear door, and got behind the wheel. She drove off slowly, aware of the delicate machine on the rear seat of the sedan. The contract called for a functioning Ares. There would be no payment if the damned thing was damaged in transit.
When she reached the paved stretch of road that would take her back to Burning Cove, she breathed a sigh of relief.
She did not see the roadblock until she came out of the last curve before Cliff Road. The car parked across the pavement bore the logo of the Burning Cove Police Department. The vehicle and the uniformed officers standing near it didn’t worry her nearly as much as the sleek Packard parked at the side of the road. Two men dressed in dark suits and fedoras lounged against the fender.
Matthias Jones and Luther Pell were supposed to be dead.
This new development went a long way toward explaining why her nerves had been so badly strained in the past few hours. She thought about the body she had left on the road a few miles back.
Time to rewrite the script. Again.
Cue: Woman screaming.
Chapter 49
Raina put down the phone, visibly relieved.
“That was Luther,�
� she said. “It’s over. He and Matthias are safe and there has been an arrest, but the case has taken another screwy turn.”
“Describe screwy,” Amalie said.
She and Raina were in Luther’s private booth overlooking the tiered seats on the main floor of the Paradise. It was one thirty in the morning and the club was crowded with the usual assortment of glamorously dressed people. The orchestra was playing a hot dance number. A sprinkling of celebrities glittered in the discreetly illuminated star booths; tinsel on an overdecorated Christmas tree.
“Get this,” Raina said. “Two people showed up at the bridge to buy the rotors. One is evidently a guy named Ray Thorpe. The other was none other than Lorraine Pierce.”
“Lorraine Pierce?” Amalie thought she had been prepared for a dramatic revelation but this was more than she had expected. “The gossip columnist?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, that qualifies as a shock.” Amalie paused. “Or maybe not. I never did like the woman. What about the rotors?”
“Luther and Matthias retrieved them and the Ares machine at the roadblock,” Raina said. “But here’s where things get screwy. Evidently, when Lorraine hit the roadblock, she threw herself, sobbing hysterically, into the arms of the police. Luther says Pierce claims that she was an innocent hostage who was forced to play a part in the scene at the bridge. She says Thorpe gave her a suit of men’s clothes and told her to keep her mouth shut.”
“He tried to make it look like she was working for him?”
“That’s her story.” Raina smiled a grim smile.
“What is Ray Thorpe saying?”
“He’s not saying anything. He’s dead, or so Pierce claims. They’re searching for the body now.”
“Hold on.” Amalie waved her hands. “You’re losing me here.”
“Lorraine Pierce told the police that she managed to get hold of Thorpe’s weapon when he stopped the car. She was sure that he intended to get rid of her because she was a witness. She shot him instead. Self-defense.”
“Who was Thorpe?”
“Pierce claims that he worked security at Silver Horizon Films.”
Amalie considered that briefly. “When you think about it, a job in security at a film studio would have made a very good cover for an international gunrunner based in L.A. He would have had access to all sorts of resources, like trucks and shipping containers. A crate full of weapons could have been passed off as props for a gangster film.”
“Yes, it’s all very logical. Unfortunately, Luther and Matthias don’t believe that he was the man they’ve been hunting.”
Amalie caught her breath. “Thorpe is dead and Lorraine Pierce is not only alive, she was in possession of the Ares machine. Maybe she’s Smith?”
“Luther said that’s how it looks at the moment. But he and Matthias are on their way to Pierce’s villa now. Detective Brandon and his men are with them. They’re going to see if they can find some more evidence before they call in the FBI.”
“Huh.”
Raina narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“I was once in a situation that was very similar to what Lorraine Pierce is describing,” Amalie said. “Someone tried to kill me. I lived. He died instead. Afterward a lot of people did not believe my story.”
Raina absorbed that in silence for a moment.
“You’re right,” she said at last. “We can’t rule out Lorraine Pierce’s claim of self-defense.”
“She’s got one thing going for her,” Amalie said. “She’s a well-known celebrity. Her column is syndicated in papers all over the country. If she sticks with her story, and if Luther and Matthias don’t find some hard evidence to use against her, it will be hard to convince a jury that she’s a cold-blooded assassin who has been dealing weapons to international thugs for years.”
Raina’s brows rose. “She just might walk.”
“What about the cipher machine?” Amalie asked.
“Matthias and Luther are making sure that the Burning Cove police take all the credit for recovering the machine, but they are not going to be able to rest until they figure out if Ray Thorpe or Lorraine Pierce was the rogue agent they’ve been chasing. I got the impression they have some serious doubts about both possibilities.”
“That would mean that there’s someone else involved in this thing.”
“Probably someone who is hiding in plain sight, according to Luther,” Raina said.
Amalie looked out over the tiered seats on the nightclub floor. She saw a familiar figure sitting alone in one of the star booths. As she watched, Vincent Hyde lit a cigarette, glanced at his watch, and then graciously signed a napkin for a fan who had stopped by his table. When the autograph-seeker moved off, Hyde checked the time again.
Raina followed Amalie’s gaze. “I wonder how long it will take Hyde to realize that Lorraine Pierce won’t be joining him tonight.”
“Once he figures out that he’s been stood up, he’ll leave,” Amalie said. “It’s not good for a star to be seen sitting alone in a posh nightclub. Stars need people around them to reflect their radiance.”
“Vincent Hyde probably believed that he was using Pierce to get some badly needed press,” Raina mused. “But maybe Lorraine Pierce was using him as cover. Writing those stories about the Psychic Curse Mansion gave her an excellent excuse for spending time here in Burning Cove.”
Chapter 50
The theatrical trunk containing the robot costume was in the master bedroom closet of Lorraine Pierce’s rented villa. There was also a wooden box in the trunk. When Matthias opened it he discovered two small grenades inside.
Lorraine Pierce, standing at the entrance of the bedroom, an officer on either side, shrieked in rage.
“That bastard,” she said.
Matthias noted that, for the first time that night, there was no dissonance in her voice. Her reaction held the clear ring of truth.
At the sight of the grenades, Brandon took several hasty steps back.
“Be careful with those things, Jones,” he said. “They don’t look like movie props.”
Luther, busy with the costume, glanced at the contents of the box. “They’re real. Not leftovers from the war, though. They look like a whole new generation of explosive devices.”
“That does it,” Brandon announced. “We’ve got all the evidence we need.” He angled his head at the officers standing near Lorraine Pierce. “Cuff her and put her in the car.”
“You idiot,” Lorraine hissed. “Can’t you see he set me up?”
“Who set you up?” Brandon asked.
There was a weary, resigned note in his voice. Matthias knew he had heard similar claims countless times before. He no longer took them seriously.
“Ray Thorpe,” Lorraine said. Her eyes tightened at the corners. “That son of a bitch wasn’t as dumb as I thought. He must have stashed the costume and the grenades here before he . . . Never mind. Can’t you get it through your thick skull, Brandon? Thorpe set me up to take the fall.”
The frequency of her words was pitch-perfect, Matthias realized.
“She’s telling the truth,” he said quietly to Luther. “Or at least what she thinks is the truth. Let me see that robot costume.”
Luther handed him the mask. “Here you go.”
Matthias studied the interior of the mask. The words Property of Silver Horizon Films were stamped inside.
“Listen to me, all of you,” Lorraine said, loud and frantic now. “If I really was this clever gunrunner you keep talking about, I would not be dumb enough to leave this sort of evidence stashed in my own bedroom.”
Luther cocked a brow. “The lady has a point.”
Brandon shrugged. “If she’s a gunrunner, she sells weapons and explosives for a living. Why wouldn’t she keep a couple of grenades handy?”
“And the robot suit?” Matthia
s asked. He held up the head of the costume. “Why didn’t she get rid of it as soon as she no longer needed it?”
“Maybe because she planned to use it to set up Ray Thorpe,” Brandon said. “Hell, I don’t know. All I care about is that we have a missing cipher machine and we have the individual who had Ares in her possession when she was arrested. That’s all I need. I’m going to turn this crazy case over to the FBI as soon as possible. Robbins, take Miss Pierce downstairs. And keep an eye on her.”
“Yes, sir,” the officer said.
He handcuffed Lorraine and propelled her out of the bedroom.
“You men are all damn fools,” Lorraine shouted over her shoulder.
“This way, Miss Pierce,” Robbins said. “And I’d just like to say that my wife never misses your column in Whispers.”
“I want a lawyer,” Lorraine yelled.
“You can call one from jail,” Brandon said. “Law enforcement here in Burning Cove is real up to date. We’ve got an actual telephone. You have to pay for your own long-distance charges, though.”
Matthias waited until Lorraine and the officers were gone. Then he looked at Brandon.
“I need to make a phone call, too,” he said. He started toward the door. “Luther, do you have Oliver Ward’s private number?”
“Yes.” Luther followed him out the door and down the stairs. “Why do you want to get hold of Ward?”
“Not Ward. His wife. I need to ask Irene a question.”
“At this time of night?”
“Trust me, she won’t want to sleep, not after she gets wind of this story,” Matthias said.
Oliver Ward answered on the second ring.
“Who is this?” he asked in the voice of a man who has been yanked out of a sound sleep.
“Matthias Jones. Sorry to bother you but I have to ask your wife a question. It’s very important.”
“It had better be,” Oliver grumbled. “Hang on.”
A few seconds later Irene came on the line.
“Has there been a break in the killer-robot case?” she asked, enthusiasm erasing any trace of sleep from her voice.
