by Jeff Siebold
“Can we see him?”
“That’s where we’re heading now,” said Carmen.
* * *
Secret Service headquarters in Miami was located in distinct buildings about 10 miles west of the airport. The buildings – there were two of them on the campus – looked more like two passing cruise ships than office buildings. On their sides, the buildings’ metal skin looked like giant cheese graters reflecting in the south Florida sun. Some form of Art in Public Places, thought Tracy, and the buildings were the art, supposedly. They entered the driveway.
Carmen pointed the car toward the far building and turned into an entry road marked “Secret Service – private.” They approached a guardhouse and Carmen lowered her window and flashed her badge. The guard stepped out into the humid heat, and made a note on his clipboard.
“May I see your identification, please?” he asked Tracy. She handed it across Carmen to the guy, and he looked at Ron expectantly. Ron passed his up front.
The guard was a tall, thin, angular man, with hollow cheeks that gave him a specter-like appearance. He was in a brown long-sleeved shirt and wore a brown belt around his waist and across his chest. He had sweat stains visible in several places on his shirt. There was no breeze at all.
In a moment, the identification and badges were handed back to Tracy and Ron, and Carmen rolled the window up quickly, to cool the passenger compartment. The guard hit a switch and the barrier was lifted, and Carmen drove through and into the parking lot, where she circled twice looking for a shady parking spot.
* * *
“This is Steve,” said the voice on the phone.
“George here, Steve, thought I’d check in. Have you heard any more about where Alberto Cruz is?” George was making the rounds, calling his contacts again to see what new information had come to light.
“I have, actually,” said Steve. “My wife called. She was crying because the Feds arrested her father again, in Miami. From what I could understand, they brought him back here to Atlanta.”
“I see,” said George. “Does she want your help now?”
“I think so,” said Steve. “It’s hard to tell what she wants, though. I guess it depends on what day it is.”
“When we last spoke, you said she was in hiding,” said George. Hiding from you, he thought.
“Yes. But she told me where she is. She wants to get together and talk, and see if I can help her with her father. Apparently, he’s looking at some serious jail time.”
“Well, you said he was running from the FBI or something. That sounds pretty serious to me, Steve,” said George.
“No, the Secret Service. It is serious, I think.”
“So, where is she hiding? A shelter?”
“No,” laughed Steve. “She’s just staying with a girlfriend. Sounds like a sleepover or something.”
“No police?” asked George. “It seems like there’d be some police guard or something. I don’t want you to get in trouble if you go there, my friend.”
“She said no. She said there’s some guy her Dad hired to protect her, but he’s not around. She’s actually not far from the Georgia Tech campus,” said Steve, “in Midtown. There’s a new apartment complex there.”
“I’m heading for Midtown later today,” said George, quickly. “Why don’t I go by while I’m there and make sure there’s no guard or anything, before you show up.
“Would you, man? That would be great.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Steve gave George the address and apartment number.
“I’ll call her and tell her I need to stop by this afternoon for a minute,” said Steve. “One thing confuses me, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, remember, I told you about the guy who sucker punched me at my old house?”
“Sure, the new boyfriend,” George said.
“I asked Mary about that. Well, I yelled at her about it, actually.”
“And?” said George.
“And she acted like she had no idea what I was talking about.”
Chapter 33
“Welcome back, Mr. Cruz,” said Fitch. They were locked in an interrogation room borrowed from the Atlanta police at police headquarters in Midtown. Fitch, Tracy and Ron were sitting on one side of the table, and Cruz, in an orange prison jumpsuit was sitting on the other side of the table. He was handcuffed to a D-ring that was welded to the metal table in front of him. The table was welded to the floor.
Cruz looked at Fitch.
“You disappeared,” stated Fitch. “We had a deal, and you skipped out.”
Cruz thought for a moment. “Surely you can’t blame me,” said Cruz. “You saw what happened to the poor man who took my place.”
“Did you know that would happen?” asked Tracy.
“I feared that it might,” said Cruz. “This is why I came to you in the beginning.”
“But you had no prior knowledge of this incident?” asked Fitch.
“I did not,” Cruz responded.
Cruz’s English seems to have improved pretty dramatically, Tracy thought to herself.
* * *
Mary answered her cell phone. “Hello?”
“Mary, this is Zeke. Just a question.”
“OK, sure,” she said.
“When your Dad left town, did you know where he was heading?”
There was silence on the line.
“Mary?” said Zeke.
“He told me not to tell anyone,” she said.
“But you told Steve, right?” said Zeke.
“I didn’t mean to, though. We were arguing about Dad, and it just came out. Like, Steve was asking if I was hiding behind my father, accusing me, and I just said that he’s not around, he’s on his way back to the old neighborhood in Miami. Something like that,” she said.
* * *
“So you have found him,” Jefe replied to George’s news. They were speaking on the secured phones, the ones with mobile call encryption, two thousand miles apart.
“Si, Jefe,” said George, in Spanish. “He was in Miami. He was returned to Atlanta by the Secret Service. He’s in custody for trying to flee. This will make things simpler.”
“You mean your informant,” said Jefe.
“Yes, I’ll know the logistics of his whereabouts. It will only be a matter of time,” he said.
“You’ll make an example of him?” asked Jefe.
“I will,” said George.
“Good.”
* * *
George, the Accountant, was dressed in a hoodie with the Tech school colors, an old gold background with “Yellow Jackets” lettered across the front in black. His small stature gave him the appearance of a student. The hood was up as he entered the apartment lobby, and he looked away from the security camera as he passed by.
George walked to the stairwell and up three flights of stairs. He turned to the right and found apartment 315. He paused a moment, listening, and then knocked on the door.
Chapter 34
They were annoyed with each other. Mary had talked on the phone, and then told Kimmy that Steve was coming by to talk with her. Kimmy said, “No way.”
“Kimmy, you don’t understand. I love this guy. He’s changed, I’ve seen him change,” she added, speaking quickly, trying to convince Kimmy. “He’s not the same guy who I divorced. He’s a different man, I’m sure of it. He said he loves me. He even said that he doesn’t care about the property. He just wants me back. Besides, I’m tired of just sitting around this apartment.”
“Look, Mary, Zeke said that we’re supposed to stay out of contact with anyone until next week,” Kimmy reminded her. “I should have taken your cell phone away.”
“I’m so stressed.” Mary pouted and went out on the balcony and lit another cigarette.
Kimmy had just started washing the dishes when she heard the knock. Mary was sitting in a chair on the small balcony, smoking the cigarette and staring out into the street. Looking anywhere except at Kimmy
.
Kimmy said, “I’ll get it,” and shut off the water. She wiped her hands as she walked to the door, expecting Zeke with a load of groceries. Or possibly Steve, who she would tell to leave.
“Who’s there,” she called out, as she unlocked the door.
“Just me,” said a muffled voice as Kimmy turned the knob. Then she hesitated, not recognizing the voice, but it was too late. The door opened in on her and knocked her into the wall behind it. Then she was looking at the barrel of a .357 Chief’s Special. It was a handsome gun, with a matte black finish instead of the usual stainless steel.
This was a smaller gun, but it fit the hand of the small man carrying it perfectly. In his comfortable grip, it looked much larger than it actually was.
Kimmy said, “Oh, shit,” and then, “Wait, you’re not Steve…” as she started to piece together the situation.
“No, I’m not. I’m George,” he said.
* * *
“4273,” she said.
“Hello, Toni,” Zeke said. Hello Sally, he thought. It was Thursday, about noon.
“No messages,” she continued.
“Have you gotten the information we requested?” Zeke asked Sally.
“Almost done,” said Sally. “Will call you when it’s ready.”
* * *
“I was trying to avoid being killed,” said Cruz. “The small man will kill me. He is here because Jefe sent him.”
“Mr. Cruz, I don’t think you’ve been giving us the whole story,” said Fitch. “You seem to be picking and choosing what you share with us. We don’t like to be lied to.”
“You didn’t mention that you were supplying a substitute at the coffee shop.” Fitch ticked his left little finger with his right index finger, counting offenses. “You didn’t tell us that your daughter was in town.” Tick.
“I couldn’t, I had to protect my daughter. That’s why I came here to Atlanta in the first place,” said Cruz.
“You told us that you were fleeing from Jefe,” said Fitch. “Another lie,” tick.
“No, no, that is very true,” said Cruz.
Fitch looked at the camera, recording Cruz’s interview. He looked at Ron and at Tracy, sitting across from Cruz. Then he took out a fresh pad of paper and a pen.
“Alright, Mr. Cruz, let’s start at the beginning again.”
Fitch continued to question Cruz about his involvement with Jefe, while Cruz acted obtuse.
“Perhaps we should let him go, Tracy,” said Fitch. “Release him on his own recognizance.”
Ron smiled and thought to himself, Checkmate.
“Perhaps we should discuss that,” said Cruz. “I believe that I have information about Jefe that you might find very valuable. I know specific things that I observed when in his employ.”
“Like what?” said Fitch.
“Deliveries…you know, names and addresses of shipments.” Cruz was watching Fitch’s eyes for reaction. “And more names…middle men, even his advisors and friends.”
“More than the names you’ve given us?” asked Ron.
“Yes, more. But, of course, I want immunity. And protection. Good protection, better than the Marshalls. Jefe does not fool around with amateurs. They are sending professionals after me.”
“You lost your immunity when you ran,” said Tracy. “You have to start over again.”
“I have more to share,” said Cruz.
“Tell us what you have, and I’ll talk with the federal prosecutor, and see what we can arrange,” said Fitch. “She’ll want to interview you.”
“Very well,” said Cruz.
“But for now, you’ll be staying with us, courtesy of the federal government.”
“I expected no less,” said Alberto Cruz.
* * *
“There is another option, Boss,” said Tracy as they took a break from questioning Alberto Cruz.
Fitch was getting tired. “What’s that, Tracy?”
“Your friend, Clive Greene. If Cruz hired him for protection, and we know that he’s being hunted by Jefe’s man, why don’t we release Cruz into Clive’s custody and use him to flush out the counterfeiters?”
“Yes, good, like bait,” said Fitch. “We should be able to use him to get to this killer, and from there to Jefe’s organization. We may be able to stop a major counterfeiting operation. Or at least expose it. I’ll call Clive.”
* * *
“It was smart to have Cruz released into your custody,” Zeke said to Clive.
“Seemed like the right thing to do,” answered Clive. “Mr. Fitch seemed almost anxious for us to step in.”
“Anxious enough that he lent you the printer plates and some of the counterfeit money?” asked Zeke. “Impressive.”
“Yes, well, apparently this counterfeiting operation is very important to the Secret Service. Or at least to the Atlanta Secret Service.”
“Now all we need is contact with the killer.”
Chapter 35
Kimmy and Mary were riding in the back of the rented panel van. It was a white panel van with no rear windows, and with a “BellSouth” logo and advertisement on both sides. The exterior looked like a utility van, and the driver, George, was dressed in coveralls with a matching BellSouth logo over the left side of his chest. He had a hard hat on the seat next to him, along with a tool belt that resembled that of a telephone repairman.
The rear of the vehicle had been cleaned out, leaving only a bench seat and some empty, built-in cabinets. The only door, the rear door, was locked from the outside.
Kimmy and Mary were handcuffed in the back of the van, hands behind their backs, and a third pair of cuffs connecting the two others. Because of this, they were forced to sit at an awkward angle, making their balance on the narrow seat precarious. They each had a half dishtowel in their mouth, secured there by a couple rounds of duct tape circling each of their lower faces. Only Kimmy wore shoes.
After entering the apartment, George had tased Kimmy and cuffed her, and then taken Mary by surprise. He showed her the gun, stuffed a dishrag in her mouth, and dragged her back into the living room. George handed her the handcuffs. With the gun at her neck, George standing behind her behind the sofa, she had put her hands in the cuffs, one by one, and tightened them. He then took the towel and, using a large knife from his pocket, he slit the dishtowel in two, and stuffed half into Kimmy’s mouth. Then he wrapped duct tape around her head, twice, to keep it there.
“Now let’s make a phone call,” George said to Mary.
He pulled Mary down off the couch onto the living room carpet, and twisted her, face down. He kneeled on her back, his knees just below her shoulder blades, and with the gun in his right hand he grabbed a handful of her brown hair and pulled her head up.
“Your father’s phone number, please, Mary,” George demanded.
She recited it for him. George gave Mary specific instructions, then took her cell phone and dialed.
“Hola,” said Cruz, as he answered his cell phone. He could see by the Caller ID that it was his daughter, Mary, calling.
“Papa,” she said. She sounded frightened and out of breath.
“Si, what’s wrong?” Cruz’s immediately thoughts went to the divorce and that man, Steve, who had hurt her in the past.
“Papa, this man says you must trade with him,” continued Mary. “He’s hurting me. He says he’ll kill me if you don’t bring him your plates and the money. Papa, what are these “plates” he’s talking about?”
“Don’t worry, Mary,” said Cruz. “I’ll give it all to him. What does this man look like?”
“No need for silly questions, Cruz,” said George. “What I look like is not important. Get the money and the plates together, and I’ll call you later with instructions. You have two hours before I call again.”
“OK,” said Cruz.
“And, no Federales, no police.”
“OK,” said Cruz. The phone went dead in his hand.
“That was unexpected,” Clive said to Zeke
, conversationally. He was sitting in the desk chair in a King Suite room at the Residence Inn hotel, Midtown. Zeke and Cruz were sitting on the couch. The coffee table, with three empty paper coffee cups was between them. The television was on but muted, replaying a soccer game.
Zeke looked at his watch. It was three minutes after 2:00 PM.
* * *
George had loaded both women onto the freight elevator, which he stalled on the third floor using a small brick, and he had taken them directly down to the garage and into the back of the van. He’d noticed earlier that the maintenance staff went to lunch every day at one o’clock, and that no one else used the freight elevator unless they were moving in or out. No one was moving today.
“Don’t make any noise,” he warned them both, “or I’ll slit your throat.” He pointed his knife at Kimmy.
She nodded, and he closed and locked the panel van’s back door. In a moment, the engine started and the van moved forward.
The white utility van drove along, stopping and starting in city traffic, accelerating onto an on-ramp, and picking up speed until it was headed out of the city. It felt like a freeway ride, smooth with some occasional deceleration and acceleration, probably when passing other cars. They drove for what seemed like a half hour before they stopped and the engine went silent.
A few moments later, the rear door to the panel van opened. They were inside a double garage, with the garage door closed. George unlocked the third pair of handcuffs, and, Taser in hand, took Mary out of the van. He relocked the cuffs to Kimmy and to a D-ring on the wall, and locked the van door and walked Mary into the house through the connecting door. There was a short, windowless utility area off the garage with a washer and dryer in it, and then the kitchen. The kitchen was a galley-style area that flowed through into a small dining room. She saw two straight-backed chairs in the dining room, and that was all.
George sat Mary in one of the chairs, attached her handcuffed wrists to the chair, and went back to the garage to get Kimmy. Mary was crying.
* * *
The bedroom that the women found themselves in was a small, 8’x 10’ room with an 8’ ceiling, a closet without a closet door and a window. The window, which faced the small, fenced back yard had been covered over with two sheets of ¾ inch plywood. These were bolted with recessed Allen bolts firmly to four 2’x 6’ studs which had taken the place of the original interior window trim. These studs had been bolted to the wall studs that surrounded the window inside the dry wall.
