“That Monterra authorize a contract to kill my family.”
“Exactly. In some twisted way, Marsden wanted your father to pay the ultimate price for ruining him, which he hadn’t. There was already bad blood over the twenty million Monterra lost when Farrow Industries pulled out of the SerraDyne Terratech deal, so Monterra agreed. We figure he assigned James Rigel to execute the hit.”
“Then where does Harrison Tasker come in?”
“He too is a known associate of the Monterra family. Considering how high-profile a target your father was, Monterra probably wasn’t comfortable using just one hitman to fulfil the contract, so he sent Tasker as well.”
“There’s still the matter of determining the cause of the jet crash,” Jordan said.
“We now know what happened,” Dunn explained. “Remember I told you that I had a contact at the National Transportation Safety Board? My friend, Bill Parker, is Director of Air Safety Investigation at the NTSB’s Los Angeles field office and a plane crash evidence collection expert. I asked him to review the debris collected from the runway and crash site. Bill told me they found pieces of rubber near the end of the runway that smelled like they’d been soaked in jet fuel. The design, structure and composition of those fragments matched the tires on your father’s jet. NTSB believes the jet’s tires had been wiped down. They found a fuel-soaked towel in a trash can in the hangar and traces of fuel on the tire valve stems and the pressurization equipment used to fill them. I’d sent pictures of both Rigel and Tasker out to the field. Agents working with Bill and his people showed them to the hangar staff. A clerk identified Tasker as a fire chief who had demanded access to the hangars. We think Monterra ordered him to sabotage the aircraft. NTSB believes the jet’s tires had been soaked with fuel and overfilled. As soon as the tires came into contact with the hot tarmac during taxi and takeoff, a perfect storm was created. The fuel on the surface of the tires became super-heated. Friction with the runway caused a build-up of static electricity, which ignited the fuel and caused the tires to blow. In his report, the coroner who picked up the bodies of Rigel and Tasker noted the smell of fuel on Taskers clothing. How much do you want to bet that when we swab the tire’s valve stem and the pressurization equipment in the hangar for epithelial DNA, we’ll get a positive match to Tasker? We found his car parked around the corner from the estate, too. The interior smelled faintly like gasoline.”
“We’re still not out of the woods,” Jordan said. “By now, Monterra knows Rigel and Tasker failed. He’ll send another team of assassins after my family to finish the job.”
Dunn shook his head. “Agents took Salvatore Monterra into custody yesterday afternoon. He won’t be communicating with anyone other than his attorney for quite a while. He won’t try anything now. He’s too hot. Too many eyes are on him.”
“What about Marsden?”
“His landlord found him in his basement apartment yesterday. He’d been shot twice; one bullet to the heart, a second to the head. The contents of a SerraDyne Terratech file were thrown over his body. The message was clear. It was a classic mob hit.” Dunn looked around the cemetery. Members of Jordan’s protection detail mingled with his agents. “Looks like you’re well protected.”
Jordan smiled. “Let’s hope so.”
“So, what happens, now?” Dunn asked. “Will you be taking the helm at Farrow Industries?”
Jordan shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. The company will continue to run fine, with or without me. My father left good people in charge. In the greater scheme of things, my role would be a minor one, anyway. Besides, I can’t just stop what I’m doing.”
“You’re right,” Dunn agreed. “The work you do is too important. Your skills are far too valuable to waste sitting in an office.” He paused. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he said. “Are you open to a suggestion?”
“What did you have in mind?” Jordan said.
“Come work for us.”
“For the FBI?”
“Yes,” Dunn answered. “It will be an unprecedented decision on my behalf and most certainly met with a great deal of criticism. But the Bureau is always looking for new ways and means to stay one step ahead of the bad guys. Maybe the time has come to welcome someone with your unique gift into the organization.” Dunn smiled. “Jordan Quest, FBI,” he said. “Kind of has a nice ring it, doesn’t it?”
Jordan smiled. “Yes, it does.”
“You’d have to go through agent training, of course,” the Director continued. “But I’m sure in your case special provisions can be made. Besides, you’re talking to the guy who’d have to sign off on it and I’m already on board.” Dunn extended his hand. “What do you say, Jordan? Will you join us?”
Jordan shook his hand. “It would be my honor, Director.”
Dunn smiled. “Good. I think you and the Bureau will make a good team.”
“Me too,” Jordan said. “I just have one request, if possible.”
“Sure,” Dunn answered. “Name it.”
“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to partner with Agent Hanover. We’ve already established somewhat of a working relationship.”
The Director smiled. “Consider it done.”
62
IN THE WEEKS and months following the tragic events which had affected them all so deeply, Jordan and her family began the long and difficult process of rebuilding their lives.
In memory of her parents, Jordan sold the home she had shared with Keith and moved her family into Farrow mansion, much to Marissa DeSola’s delight. Though now a rich woman in her own right, Marissa stayed on at Jordan’s request, sharing the grand home with the family she loves so much.
Paula and David Quest stayed with Jordan for a while, spent time with their grandchildren, and helped their daughter-in-law transition to a life without their son and her beloved Keith.
Abe Carmichael was awarded the FBI’s Civilian Award for Bravery for saving the life of Special Agent Chris Hanover. He continues to work as a mechanical engineer at Angel of Mercy Hospital.
Andrew Dunn petitioned the courts and was granted legal custody of Lily Maynard, who now goes by the name Lily Maynard-Dunn. She is enjoying her new life with her stepsisters. Shannon reports that, under Zoe’s expert tutelage, Lily’s swearing vocabulary is now extensive enough to make a trucker blush.
Shannon and Zoe started their law practice, Dunn and Associates, specializing in Human Rights and Humanitarian Law. Lily has shown an interest in following in the footsteps of her stepsisters and stepfather. She plans to attend Harvard Law with a long-term goal of becoming an FBI agent. As a family, they traveled to the site of the home that had once belonged to her parents and become her prison for over a year. The bodies of her parents, Rose and Colton Maynard, were exhumed from the property and laid to rest. Lily was given the closure she needed to move on with her life. She made a vow to visit their graves once a year.
Chris dated Audrey Long, Jordan’s nurse at Angel of Mercy Hospital, once. It didn’t work out. She is now happily married to Dr. Paul Tremaine.
Under a special program established and overseen by Director Andrew Dunn, Jordan completed her FBI training. Chris Hanover became her partner.
Together they are responsible for investigating the Bureau’s most challenging and difficult cases.
THE SIN KEEPER
Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Book 2
“Men heap together the mistakes of their lives, and create a monster they call destiny.”
John Hobbes
63
JORDAN QUEST WALKED through the ornately styled double doors and into the grand foyer of the Rosenfeld mansion. Of the two handcrafted Swarovski crystal inlays, one remained intact within its frame. The shattered fragments of its counterpart lay strewn across the expansive marble floor and twinkled like precious gems. The air felt thick, heavy, pungent, metallic, yet oddly aromatic; stale blood mixed with the smell of fresh cut roses. The flowers covered the main floor. Shadows d
arted into corners and escaped under tables, chased into hiding by the effusion of predawn light cascading down through the skylight of the domed cathedral ceiling. Jordan picked up one of the roses. The flower felt fresh, its petals velvet smooth to the touch, stem firm. Jordan walked around the unusual flower arrangement. She stood on the landing at the foot of the grand staircase and ran her fingers along the brass handrail, reading the latent psychic energy signature of the house:
One intruder... male... cat-quick from the entrance to the master bedroom. Two victims; one male, one female, middle-aged. No time to react. Confusion in the acknowledgment of the intrusion, then sheer terror. He feels empowered, amped up, fueled from having achieved complete and total domination over them. She was an obstacle, her execution matter of fact, a single shot to the head, left temporal region. The male was the intended target. With him he took his time, fed on his total subjugation and incapacitating fear which the man confirmed with the sudden release of his bladder. Horror now, reflected in the man’s eyes as he tries to rationalize the reality of his wife’s instantaneous death. He advances quickly on the target, weapon pointed straight ahead, a pull of the trigger with every step. Thwup - one muffled gunshot to the left leg… thwup - one to the right shoulder… thwup - a third round, center mass… thwup - a fourth and final to the middle of the forehead. At the dead man’s bedside now... not finished... not yet... not even close. Make the bastard suffer even more whether he can feel it or not. Take more, more, more. He draws a blade deep across his neck, ear to ear... near decapitation. So much blood. Quiet now... the silence is deafening.
There was something about the dead man’s mouth...
Releasing her fingers from the railing, Jordan climbed the stairs. Special Agent Chris Hanover followed close behind.
“The place has been cleared,” Hanover informed his partner. “Forensics was told to hold off until you completed your walk-through. Jesus, Jordan, you ever seen anything like this before? And what’s with all the flowers?”
Jordan halted, raised her hand, made a fist. Hanover removed his sidearm from its holster. He placed his hand on his partner’s shoulder and tapped it gently: a signal that he would follow her lead. An orange glow flickered at the top of the staircase past where the light from the grand dome could not penetrate, animating the hallway in a serpentine dance of shadow and light. Beyond the balcony the entrance to the west wing remained dark.
Jordan and Chris climbed the stairs. The hall, constructed of Sensacell glass, illuminated under the pressure of each step, and lit the way ahead. In the downstairs foyer the sunrise brought to life the floor-to-ceiling murals which graced the semi-circular walls of the grand entrance.
Movement in the corridor ahead… the rise and fall of a shadow, interrupted by the ebb and flow of dancing candlelight. The shape twisted and turned, then retreated quickly down the corridor.
Jordan drew her weapon and whispered to her partner. “I thought you were told the place had been cleared.”
“I was,” Hanover replied.
“Apparently not. You ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Go.”
The agents rushed along the balcony to the adjoining stone-floor corridor and cleared the corner, moving fast, staying quiet. Dozens of votives lined the long hallway. The light from their unsteady flames shuddered and blinked with the brush of air created by the passing agents. Ahead, the doors to the bedroom stood open. Jordan gestured to Chris to cover the right side of the hall as they approached the entrance. Together they breached the room.
The large waiting area of the master bedroom was a veritable showroom of fine art and antiquities. Matching Eileen Gray reading chairs flanked a beautiful handmade Chippendale desk. Ruby-red droplets glistened on the gleaming white surface of a diamond-accented Plume Blanche sofa and trailed evenly across the floor through the main entrance into the master bedroom. In the far corner of the room a glass display case featured priceless artifacts from the Ming dynasty, brilliantly adorned with natural pearl, sapphire, and turquoise gemstones. Two focal pieces were positioned prominently on a feature wall. The first was “Pont Neuf,” an oil painting by the famed French artist, Renoir. The second was a page from Leonardo Da Vinci’s manuscript of scientific writings, “Codex Leicester,” mounted in a vacuum glass frame. Laser beam mounts installed in both the floor and ceiling indicated the artifacts were protected by a high-tech security system. Jordan recognized the pieces from FBI Criminal Investigation Field Alerts as artifacts suspected of being stolen by a fine art and collectibles theft-to-order ring. If the pieces in this room were real, and not excellent reproductions, their value would be in the hundreds of millions of dollars. Their presence here might also shed light on the motive for the murders.
Movement from inside the master bedroom now; a faint thump-thump-thump on the marble floor, followed by the sound of falling boxes. Jordan glanced at her partner. Chris had heard it too. He motioned with his weapon for them to move further into the bedroom.
The agents moved quickly through the open doors, Jordan covering the left side of the room, Hanover the right. On a blood-soaked California King bed lay the bodies of Itzhak Rosenfeld and his wife, Zahava. The woman lay across from her husband, her expression in death one of wide-eyed horror, accentuated by a bullet hole in the left side of her head. Her outstretched right hand, covered in rivers of dried blood, bone shards and fragments of brain matter, lay inches below the button to a panic alarm integrated into the headboard. Itzhak Rosenfeld had been attacked while reading. He sat slumped forward, mouth ajar, eyes open. Blood from a bullet hole in his forehead and a deep laceration to his neck ran down his left arm and pooled around a copy of Medical Patent Law which lay on the floor beside him. He had received three additional bullet wounds, one to his right shoulder, a second to his left leg, and a third to the middle of his chest, confirming Jordan’s psychic reading taken from the first-floor handrail.
To the right of the deceased, a mirrored hallway led to a walk-in closet and immense dressing room. Its white marble floor was streaked with blood, as though the body of a third victim, yet to be discovered, had been dragged across it.
Hanover covered the right side of the corridor as the agents advanced toward the open room. Short of the threshold, motion sensors tripped the lighting system and brought the dressing room to life.
The luxuriously appointed room featured matching wardrobes, hers on the left, his on the right. Two Eames lounge chairs occupied the common area between them. Each respective wardrobe featured pull out racks for jackets and pants, an automated shoe carousel, numerous shelves, drawers to accommodate foldable clothing and accessories, and bullet resistant Armortex jewelry cases requiring key code access. The cabinet on Itzhak’s side of the room showcased an extensive collection of luxury watches which included Patek Phillipe, Jaeger-LeCoultre, Vacheron and Ulysse Nardin. The second case, Zahava’s, featured diamond bracelets, pendants, chokers, and necklaces from Van Cleef & Arpels, Graff, Bulgari and Mikimoto.
On Itzhak’s side of the room four of five mirrored bifold doors were closed.
The bloody drag marks ended at the opening to the fifth.
Jordan trained her Glock on the door. Hanover threw it open.
The closet contained clothes as well as storage boxes. Two of the boxes lay toppled over, their contents scattered across the floor. Switching on his flashlight, Hanover rested his service weapon atop his wrist and panned the tight beam over the discarded envelopes and papers.
From behind the boxes came an unsettling cry. The two agents stepped back and trained their weapons into the small room.
Two red eyes peered out from behind the fallen containers. A Golden Retriever pup stepped out of the shadows and into the light, its blonde coat matted with dried blood. The dog sat at Jordan’s feet and whined pitifully, perhaps believing that it was about to meet the same terminal fate that had befallen its masters whom but a few short hours ago had been the center of its universe.
64
THERE IS COMFORT in the darkness. Shadows reach out from the corners of the room in which he hides, shape-shifting allies that serve to camouflage him from those he knows will be coming soon, duty-bound to capture or kill him. His actions within the last seventy-two hours have been unequivocally unacceptable, yet he is unaware that they are entirely out of his control.
Commander Ben Egan unscrewed and pocketed the silencer from the barrel of his SIG P226 MK-25 sidearm. The sound suppressor jingled against the shell casings he had retrieved from the master bedroom of the mansion he had visited last night. He removed the spent rounds and wrapped them in a swath of discarded cloth, returned them to his pocket, ejected and inspected the clip, and replenished the weapon to full capacity.
In the abandoned furniture factory in which he has taken refuge dozens of broken yellow and grey-stained windows hung precariously in rusted metal frames. Despite the passage of time, the odor of cleaning solvents, furniture polish and burnt machine oil from manufacturing equipment long since fallen into disrepair assaulted his senses. Spray-painted obscenities phosphoresced against the crumbling gray brick walls, cursing at him, then dripped down the wall, diluted by the pre-dawn light of a new day.
Here, in the farthest corner of the building, he has heaped together a rat’s nest of a bed comprised of the discarded end-cuts of sofa fabric and industrial cotton batting. A sackcloth bag stuffed with cleaning rags and Styrofoam chips serves as a pillow, a tattered shipping blanket for covers. Stacks of wooden shipping pallets jut out from the wall in front of him, his hiding place, further framed by the north and west factory walls. This buttress does not serve to keep out would-be trespassers but rather provides the tactical advantage of a slat wall through which he can see yet remain hidden from view when they arrive in search of him, compromise his hideaway, and force him to stand his ground.
The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1 Page 25
