by Dave Lacey
This was ridiculous. Nothing was going to happen – Burt would make his call, and it would all be okay. She nurtured that thought, blowing air on its ashes, hoping beyond all hope that it would be enough to keep the flame burning, but knowing all the time it might not be enough. When she got to the house, she drove straight up the drive, then rang the Francesco’s doorbell. She refused their offer of food and company, but thanked them for their concern. It was enough that they had looked after Sarah as long as they had. When they got in, she took her daughter straight up to bed and sat while she went to sleep.
Barbara then spent the next forty minutes pacing the floor of the TV room, tussling with her instinct and common sense. She knew Burt would have tried to make the call if he could, and that it was no good calling him to see if he had. Then a thought occurred to her: what if it was already too late; what if they had killed him and were on their way to her house? Another ten minutes passed. Barbara considered whether to call Anna Harris over at the Washington Post. Barbara knew Anna well, and she was a good old fashioned journalist, not a hack like so many of the others. If Barbara could just speak to Anna, tell her about the story, the killers would be sabotaged. Everybody would know what they had done and what they were trying to do. She looked outside; it was dark, and it looked like there was a storm brewing. She would wait a little longer, then make the call. She would help Burt, help Sarah, help herself out of this mess.
***
As Senator Miller sat considering her next move, Burt Waldron finally got hold of the old man. He had been trying for the last two hours, tortured by the tension and waiting. The waiting was always the worst; he had learned that lesson first in Vietnam. Once battle was upon you, you had no time to think, no time to be nervous, only time to act or die. Finally, he had heard the ring tone and the call was picked up.
“Waldron?”
“Yes. I’m sure you’ve been expecting my call, sir?”
“Hmm, I wasn’t certain, but I thought you might try.” At least he made no attempt to lie to the general.
“I need to say something.”
“Go ahead.”
“You don’t need to do what I’ve no doubt you’re planning to do at this very minute. Nobody else will find out, not from me or the Millers. I think you’ve more than proved your point. You have nothing to fear from any of us. Please, you must believe me.”
“Must I? I think that by now you and the lovely lady senator have had ample opportunity to behave, and yet many people have suffered for your misdemeanour, General. Tell me, why should I believe you now?”
“Because, as I said, we’ve learned the hard way, people have d–”
“Ah, ah, ah, be careful, General, loose lips sink ships.” The man’s calm gentle tone belied the danger he presented to any who crossed his path.
“I’m sorry, but… everything that’s happened…well it’s made the threat abundantly clear.”
“Has it? Let’s be clear. You and yours have barely suffered at all if I’m correct. It’s been those poor unfortunates further down the food chain who have really suffered, not you. However, I’ve been advised by an associate that he thinks the potential threat has been neutralised, and so your plaintive call is somewhat unnecessary. You have a reprieve, use it well. But remember, we have eyes and ears everywhere, and we’ll be watching and listening, General, all the time. One slip, and there will be no more chances.”
“Thank you, you’ll not regret this.” The old man had already gone. Immediately, the general dipped the receiver, then picked it up again and called Barbara’s number to tell her the news, but it was engaged. He tried again a few minutes later, but still the call did not go through. So he hung up the phone and decided in a moment of sheer euphoria to drive over and tell her the news in person.
Chapter 34
Rook had eventually managed to suppress his surprise and confusion after his phone call with the old man. It had not gone as he had expected. In fact, he had assumed that by this point he might be sinking to the bottom of the nearest body of water, weighed down by something substantial. One simply did not resign from this particular branch of government agency. If you wanted out, then it was in every sense of the word. He knew, because he had ‘retired’ agents before. Still, he had not had a great deal of time to consider things, and his main concern was that none of his current subjects did anything stupid.
He was confident that the general would toe the line; the senator, however, was a different matter. In her current state, who knew what she would do, hence the current level of twenty-four hour surveillance. His superior had called him again a few minutes ago, to advise that he’d just spoken to the general, and that he was more comfortable with the situation after doing so. Rook rubbed his eyes and leaned back against the side of the van, blowing out a long held breath. He had figured that if his luck held, nobody else need die, not tonight anyway. But his luck had not held. Senator Miller had just decided to make her move, and Rook knew that there was no going back. The senator had dialled a number, and when it was answered, her strategy was revealed.
“Hello, Washington Post, how can I help?”
“Hello, may I speak with Anna Harris please?”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“I’d rather speak with Anna directly if that’s okay.”
“Okay, I’ll try to track her down for you. Please hold.”
“Cut the phone line, now,” Rook told one of his agents, and the phone line was electronically terminated.
“Hello? Hello?” The senator listened to the silence as the hold music dropped out.
“Kill the lights.” Rook spoke in a monotone; resignation oozed from every pore. “Send the wet team in. Remember, it has to be brutal. It has to look like a gang did this.” He knew this was their only chance of the police connecting it to the other killings. He also knew that the link was tenuous. Why would a gang kill the fiancé and mother of the son of a rival gang’s underboss? It was a poor link at best, but it was all they had. He felt the weight of the world descend upon him.
The senator had had her chance, and by God he had willed her to keep quiet and not make a fuss. Any lingering doubt that his superior had about his dedication would be quashed after his quick reaction to the current dilemma. That wasn’t why he was doing it, he told himself. He was doing it because, even after everything else, he was still a good soldier. To an extent, his luck had held – she had not given her name to the person manning the desk at the Post. It could have led to a major inquiry had she done so.
Twenty minutes later, the wet team exited the home of Barbara Miller and silently and speedily made their way back to the agency vehicle.
“Well?” Rook asked.
“It’s done. No difficulties, very straight forward,” the lead agent informed him.
“I see. Well done, I suppose.” The agent looked at him quizzically. This was not the department head he was used to seeing and following.
“Sir, is everything okay?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t it be, agent?” Let’s pack up and get ready to leave. The general is on his way here. I need to speak to him, and then we need to leave. That is, unless he decides not to follow my advice.”
Rook waited a few minutes, then called the old man again.
“Mr Rook. It would seem I’m in great demand this evening. How can I be of assistance?”
“Sir, it was necessary to make a change to our plan. Unfortunately.”
“Oh? What sort of change?”
“The sort of change I was opposed to earlier when we spoke.”
“Ah, I see. Why the change of heart, Mr Rook?”
“Not a change of heart, sir, rather a mistake made by one of our subjects.”
“I see. And what was that mistake?”
“A telephone call, sir, to a local paper.”
“I do hope that the call wasn’t successful?”
“No, sir, it wasn’t. We cut the connection before any conversation took place.”
&
nbsp; “And did the person in question advise the recipient who it was that was calling?”
“No, sir, they did not. It will likely seem as though the caller changed their mind and hung up.”
“Excellent. Well done, Mr Rook. This is why I value you so highly. You disregarded your own personal feelings on the matter and did what was right.”
“Yes sir.” Rook ground his teeth.
“Rook, please don’t think for a moment that I’m glad about this situation. I was comforted and relieved to believe your take on the situation earlier, and I take no pleasure from this activity, but it’s necessary. I’m sorry you had to effect your plan.”
“Thank you, sir. The general’s on his way here, now. I’ll speak to him and convey the conversation we had regarding his family.”
“Very well, and I do hope he can see the value in your offer. I’d rather not enter into that particular conversation should he not take heed.”
“Me neither, sir. Ah, here he comes now.” They broke the connection. Rook gave instructions to pull alongside the general’s vehicle. They glided up almost silently as Waldron was closing his car door. He turned in surprise as Rook spoke to him from the interior.
“Get in, General, we have very little time.”
“Who are you?” Waldron demanded.
“General, please get into the vehicle. We don’t have time for this.”
“I don’t think so, not until you tell me who you are.” Rook nodded to one of his agents, who removed a silenced Beretta from its holster beneath his jacket and levelled it at the general’s chest.
“What in the name of God is going on here?” The general swallowed nervously then licked his lips.
“You know exactly who we are and why we’re here. Get in the vehicle now. Believe me, it would be much easier for me to have your cold dead body dumped somewhere deep and wet. It’s your choice.”
“But I spoke to the old man. We had a deal.”
“General,” Rook said softly, “we need to talk.” Waldron walked toward them like an automaton, clearly confused by the whole situation. He climbed into the back, and the door was closed quietly behind him.
“General Waldron, I need you to stay calm and quiet. I need you to remember your family and consider their welfare. Do you understand?” Waldron’s brows knitted together, but he nodded dumbly.
“A little while ago, Senator Miller made a telephone call to a reporter at the Washington Post.”
“No, that’s not possible, she wouldn’t do that. We had a deal. I made a deal, for God’s sake. What have you done? Where are they?” Waldron banged the side of the van with his right fist and shifted forward in his seat, readying himself for action. He was a large man, and in the confines of the agency vehicle, things could get messy.
“General, stay calm.” Rook held out his hands, fingers pointing up, in an attempt to stay any sudden movements. “You tried to call Senator Miller after speaking to the old man, yes?”
“Yes,” Waldron answered.
“You couldn’t make the connection because she was on the phone to the Post. Then we cut off the call.” He nodded to another agent, who played back the tape of the call made by Barbara Miller. Burt Waldron listened in dumb silence until it had finished.
“Why did she do that?” He spoke like a confused child now, staring around the van, his hand covering his mouth.
“General, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the senator and her daughter are dead.” Rook knew how blunt and tactless this sounded, but how else would he convey the news? He had a feeling this scenario was very quickly going to get out of hand.
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me, General. The senator was going to speak to a reporter at the Post, and she was going to tell her our little secret. You know that that’s not possible, it simply cannot happen. So, unfortunately, we were forced to take appropriate measures.” Anger had turned the general from a stupefied child into an enraged adult. He grabbed Rook by the front of his jacket.
“You people make me sick. I’ll tell the world about your cover up. You’ll be sorry for what you’ve done, very sorry. You can’t just kill people when you see fit, it’s not your place to take on the mantle of God, to make decisions about whether people live or die! That choice is God’s alone, and he alone will judge you for this heinous act. You and your superiors and inferiors alike will be damned to hell for your barbarous actions.” The general had snapped well and truly out of his stupor now, his eyes full of anger. “A young woman and a magnificent servant of the people, her mother, a woman I loved, murdered because you people want to continue lying to the world. You make me sick.” He was about to go on when Rook cut across him.
“Oh, save me from your sanctimonious horseshit, General. People are dead because you couldn’t keep your goddamned mouth shut. This isn’t something we’ve contrived out of our own Machiavellian machinations, this is your doing. So don’t try to heap the blame at our door. You did this. Yes, we made a deal with you earlier, and I was behind that deal – I wanted no more killing. There’d been too much, but we have a responsibility to the people who know and the people who don’t, so this had to be done. Now, either you can attempt for the first time since this started to keep your mouth shut, or we can cut to the chase and silence you right now? Oh, and bear in mind, your progeny will follow you into the afterlife. Your choice.” Rook sat back in his seat and placed his hands one atop the other over his knee.
The general was at once both outraged and scared. He didn’t come to his decision either quickly or lightly. Rook watched his face carefully; it was one of his many talents, and one that had served him well during his career in the world of intrigue and espionage, to be able to tell from somebody’s facial expression what they were thinking. Over the course of a few minutes, the fight went out of Burt Waldron. His posture changed from upright and on the edge of violence, to sagging in his seat, staring at the floor. His grief would come later, but his concern for his children gradually superseded all other emotions.
“I hate you all for what you’ve done, and I hope you suffer intolerably when the day of judgement comes.”
“Do I take it by your kind words that you agree to my terms? Because if you don’t, take it from me, the next twenty-four hours will eclipse the previous twenty-four by some measure.”
“Yes, I agree. Were it just myself, I’d be damned with the consequences. However, I would not bring my children into this. You have a deal. Again.” The general smiled sarcastically at Rook and waved a dismissive hand at him.
“Good. Then I suggest you get into your car, drive home, and be shocked when the police call you with the sad news. General, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what happened here.”
“Fuck you, scumbag.” The general followed this up by spitting in Rook’s face and climbing out of the side door. Ernestine Rook wiped the spittle from his face and closed the door after the general. That, he figured, was the very least he deserved.
***
Nick Moretti had waited as long as he was going to. He was intrigued to the point where, whether she was grieving or not, he needed to speak to Sarah Miller. He rose at six thirty, showered, and sat at his breakfast bar contemplating how to approach the call and what to do with the information, if it turned out there was any. He pushed the plunger on the cafetiere and left the dark coffee to steep a little longer. He toasted and buttered two less than fresh bagels, then poured himself a coffee, added some sugar, and took his seat back at the bar. He flicked on the TV, paying it scant attention until the newsreader started with the headlines at the top of the hour, seven o’clock.
“Good morning. News has come through this morning of the brutal slaying of Senator Barbara Miller and her nineteen year old daughter, Sarah Miller, at their home in Georgetown, Washington D.C.” Nick dropped his half eaten bagel and put down his coffee cup. The news reader continued,
“…late last night by neighbours who had been taking care of the senator’s
daughter earlier in the evening. Early indications are that this may be linked to the death of crime syndicate family member Stanislaw Kasprowicz and his family, just a few days ago. We must stress that at this point this has not been verified, but investigations into that event are still ongoing. It’s thought that there may be a rival gang carrying out these atrocities throughout the North East, as another member of the Ryabukha crime family, Zefram Mayer, was also found dead recently on train tracks just outside the borough of Manhattan…”
Nick sat still for a few minutes, lost in his own thoughts. Whoever was behind this, he mused, they were fearless and efficient.
The problem, as far as he could see it, was that this latest attack didn’t make much sense. Why kill the fiancé and her mother? What did they have to do with anything? No, he had a deep feeling of unease about this case, which had only grown worse with the latest development. Leshaun could not possibly doubt after this, not now. But the question was, who was there left to speak to? As if in answer to his unvoiced question, the TV interrupted his thoughts.
“… police this morning are hoping to speak to NSA chief Burt Waldron, regarding the nature of his relationship with Senator Miller and any potential knowledge he may have about this terrible crime. We must stress, however, that the police do not consider General Waldron as a suspect…”
Well, that’s where he would start looking – the good general must know something.
Chapter 35
Brecon Beacons, Powys, Wales.
Stanley Marshall was cold and irritated, with no foreseeable end to his mission in sight. He had spent two nights combing the National Park, and there was still no sign of his target. It wasn’t a person he was looking for, but a place. He had, over the previous four years, been building a detailed dossier on the almost mythical location and its purpose, culminating in his latest, and perhaps most important, trip. He knew he was right, and that if he could find it and photograph it, nobody would be able to stop him from revealing the truth. It was here somewhere, and Stanley was going to find it, come what may.
