by Jeff Siebold
Benito Diaz looked across the table at the woman. She was strikingly beautiful, and he knew that she was as deadly as a snake.
“How did this happen?” he asked.
Susan had flown from Providence to Pittsburgh via rented private plane, called a real Uber driver for transport from General Aviation to the Pittsburgh International Airport’s Main Terminal, and then she’d caught a commercial flight from Pittsburgh to Phoenix using a false identity. Once there, she’d rented a car and drove to Scottsdale to visit Benito Diaz.
“It was unusual,” said Susan. “I was set up.”
“You failed. That’s very unusual for you.”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you for sending the attorney.”
“That was in place in case something happened to you. You were fortunate,” said Diaz. He looked into her eyes from across the table, studying her expressions.
Susan nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“You can thank me by finishing the job, Susana.” He used the Spanish form of her name.
“Yes, I know,” she said, simply. “It will be a little bit trickier, but I’ll do it.”
“This Traynor has caused us a lot of trouble. First with the Mara’s, then with Luis, and now in Boston at the schools. That’s why you were hired in the first place. I contacted you and Luis to provide the best solution for the problem,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll head back east as soon as things calm down some.”
“I’ve been told that he’s living on Cape Cod,” said Diaz. “You can take care of the problem there.”
“OK.”
“And there’s another part of the assignment,” he continued. “Actually, two.”
She waited quietly.
“There’s pressure from Washington, from the Department of Education. We were asked to deal with that, also.”
“A group, or an individual?” asked Susan.
“An individual. A woman asking the wrong questions. Sarah Helms. We think she’s heading the Department’s investigation into our friend Freddy Hanson’s activities. He called me for help with that situation. The thought is that she should also go away. And it will slow things down a bit in Washington. They become distracted easily.”
Susan smiled. “Can you get me the details?” she asked simply.
“We will,,” said Diaz.
“And the second part of the assignment?” asked Susan.
“There’s a student involved in the Student Loan, ah, project. Her boyfriend seems to be telling everyone about the thefts, talking way too much about something he knows nothing about.”
“And…” asked Susan.
“And our friends in Boston are nervous. Extra nervous. They’ve asked for our help in putting that situation to bed,” said Diaz.
“A student’s boyfriend? That seems innocuous, Benito.”
He hesitated for a moment. Then he said, “Yes, but nevertheless… Consider it a favor for our East Coast partner. They are good buyers for our product.”
Susan knew that he was referring to the human trafficking. A good number of the victims ended up in the northeastern United States.
“Very well. Can you send me the details for that one, also?”
“Yes, we will,” he said.
“And Susana?”
“Yes?” she answered.
“Take care of the Washington problem first.”
Chapter 19
Sarah Helms barely noticed the sprinkling raindrops as she walked down C Street to her office in the Lyndon Baines Johnson Building. She was caught up in thought about the progress they were making, working to isolate and identify the likely leaders of what her team had christened “The Student Loan Scam.” As usual, cars were parked on both sides of C Street with every available space taken and several vehicles circling, waiting for a parking spot.
Sarah entered the building with the ‘come to work crowd’ and waited in line to pass through the metal detector. Once through, she caught an elevator to her floor and walked briskly to her office. Five of her team were already there, ready for their nine o’clock briefing. Sarah entered her office and stepped behind her desk. She said, “OK, what do we have?”
The team was made up of three younger staff members and two agents, on loan from the FBI at the request of ADD Cy Styles. The FBI agents were from the White Collar Crimes unit and were experienced in following the money.
“We’ve been running down the Raleigh University situation, like you asked,” said Tessa Walton, an ED staff member. “The guys at The Agency are pushing, and we’re pulling.”
“What are you finding?” asked Sarah.
“We’re watching Jobare Worthington. Richardson gave him up, and we’re gathering evidence to support that.” This from Sammy Lee, another staffer. “He’s got an academic’s income…which means not much at all…but he’s living way above his means.” He looked at one of the FBI agents, who nodded in agreement.
“What about his wife. Does she have her own money?” asked Sarah.
“Not this guy. He’s as gay as they come. Flamboyant,” he said. “And no steady partner.”
“So he has control of the distribution of the funds…”
“For Raleigh University, yes,” said Sammy. “And we’ve been monitoring his communications.”
“If he only has access and control at Raleigh University, it’s not likely that he’s at the top of the food chain,“ Sarah added. “Right?”
A thirty-something man in a blue suit and a blond crewcut, Agent Slater of the FBI, said, “Best we can tell, there’s a central infrastructure at the top that supports this type of activity in a number of schools. It’s been going on for years. Long enough for them to get their people in place in a number of colleges.”
Sarah said, “Really? They’ve filled some personnel slots with their own people? In college administration?”
“We’re talking years, Sarah. And lots of money. This has been a very well planned operation,” added Agent Slater. “And every time the rules for student loans have changed, they’ve found a way to modify their business plan to take advantage of it.”
* * *
Outside of her office at the Department of Education, Sarah Helms was well respected. Her education, a Ph.D. from Harvard, was impressive, even though the degree had been in Modern History and Government. It had clearly positioned her for this job.
She was smart and well connected and she came from a family with strong political ties. Her father had been a congressman and now worked as a lobbyist inside the beltway. Her mother’s family had been involved in politics since the DAR was formed.
But now, Sarah was intent. As she walked down the cold Washington street she could almost smell the end of their investigation. Based on this morning’s briefing, they were close to having the testimony they needed to arrest the people behind the Student Loan Scam. The power brokers.
She knew they had to be there, lurking in the shadows and hiding, while they pocketed the majority of the money and kept everything quiet through the fear and greed of others. She was so sure they were there, she could just about see them. And it would be just a matter of time until someone gave them up.
Sarah stepped into a coffee shop and stood in the late morning line behind congressional aids and interns who were picking up the standing orders for their offices. The song playing in the background was “How You Got That Girl” by Ex Hex. Sarah was busy, thinking through the scenarios again, looking toward the end game and her team’s victory. To herself, she already called it a “win.”
“What can I get you?” asked the girl behind the cash register.
Sarah said, “May I have a light roast? Medium.”
The girl said, “Sure, what’s your name?” and she wrote it on the cup.
Sarah stepped to the side to wait for her beverage. Behind her, a well-dressed blonde woman ordered a black coffee.
“Room for cream?” asked the server.
The woman rolled her eyes. “I said �
��black’ didn’t I?”
“Sorry,” said the server.
The woman said to Sarah, “Can’t get good help anymore. You know, most people today don’t even know how to count change.”
Sarah nodded politely and waited for her coffee. When the barista called her name, “Sarah,” she stepped forward and took the cup. She stepped to the service bar and poured some cream into her coffee.
The woman retrieved her cup from the barista and stepped to the service bar beside Sarah. She poured some half and half into her cup and added a sweetener. Then she said to Sarah, “Here, I took an extra one,” and she handed her a yellow packet of sweetener.
Sarah said, “Thanks,” politely and poured about half the contents of the packet into her coffee. She grabbed a stir stick and stirred.
* * *
Sarah tried to sip some coffee on the way back to her office, but it was too hot. She put her mouth over the opening in the cup cap and immediately knew she would burn herself if she tasted it. She blew on the opening, and then decided to wait until she got to her office.
As she walked, she rehearsed her presentation to the Deputy Director. When this was over, she would be in the spotlight, having taken down what she was sure were some of the power elite in this country.
Back at her desk, Sarah was surprised to see Zeke Traynor sitting across from her.
“Hi, Zeke,” she said. “You back in D.C.? Done in Cambridge?”
She set the coffee on the desk corner and took the lid off of it in order to let it cool.
“I am,” said Zeke. “I wanted to bring you up to speed and also to warn you, Sarah.”
“Warn me?” she asked, a shocked expression on her face. “About what?”
“Clive and I were backtracking, and it occurred to us that you may be a target, too.”
Sarah looked at Zeke blankly.
“Think about it, Sarah,” Zeke continued. “You’re driving an investigation into a multimillion dollar scam with some very powerful people at the helm. It just seems logical that they’ll take a run at you sometime soon.”
“I suppose…” she said.
“Have you noticed anything different? Has anyone approached you, or contacted you that made you feel strange, weird? Instincts are important,” said Zeke. “Have you noticed anyone following you?”
“Not really,” she said. Sarah picked up her cup and looked at her coffee. “There was a woman who shared a sweetener with me at the coffee shop just now,” she said. “It seemed kind of awkward or something, you know?”
Zeke nodded encouragingly.
“And, come to think of it, how did she know that I use sweetener?”
Zeke said, “Set the cup down, Sarah. Very carefully.”
* * *
“She was clever,” said the lab technician. “She didn’t leave anything that would have a fingerprint or could lead back to her. She essentially handed Sarah the poison in a packet and watched while she administered it to herself, via the coffee. It was cyanide.”
With Clive’s help, Zeke had arranged for the coffee to go to the FBI lab at Langley. The technician had called him as soon as the results were in.
“Cyanide, sure,” said Zeke, thinking aloud. “Small dose, fast acting. Smells like bitter almonds, but mixed in acidic coffee, it could be virtually undetectable.”
“We don’t see a lot of cyanide deaths, though,” said the technician, who’s name was Carol Goodman.
“Where would the killer get it?” asked Zeke.
“Well, from apple seeds,” said Goodman. “But more conventionally, you can buy it on the web.”
“Jewelry makers use it for gilding. And small labs can get it, I expect,” said Zeke.
“Right. Plus there’s a black market for almost everything. Particularly if you’re willing to go overseas.”
* * *
“I’ll arrange for someone to stay with you, Sarah,” Zeke said. “Until we eliminate the threat against you. Looks like you got the attention of some bad people.”
Sarah looked at him. “I can’t believe they tried to kill me,” she said, her green eyes beginning to water.
“Yes, they did,” said Zeke. “Where do you live?”
Sarah took a deep breath. “I have a townhouse near Laurel, Maryland. It’s a ways east of here, but it’s affordable. And I take the MARC MTA from Union Station.”
“We’ll move you to another place, an anonymous one, and we’ll provide transportation. Somewhere populated but away from Laurel. You’ll only need to stay there a few days, I think. Until we catch the killer,” said Zeke.
“OK,” said Sarah, uncertain.
“Now, tell me about the woman in the coffee shop. Everything you remember.”
* * *
“It’s too dangerous,” said Milo Christianson. He was sitting behind the wheel of his current year Mercedes Benz S-class. Baron Holmes was sitting next to him, and Stuart Williams III was in the rear seat.
“What happened with the girl?” asked Baron Holmes, ignoring the comment.
“We don’t know. The packet was delivered to her. And she, our gal, saw it poured into her coffee,” Stuart Williams said. “It’s possible she spilled the coffee or tossed it for some reason. Or maybe she was distracted and left it sitting somewhere.”
“Bottom line is that it didn’t work, correct?” asked Holmes.
“Yes, that’s the bottom line,” said Christianson. “It was a dangerous risk, anyway. We could have been found out.”
“But we’ll still need to eliminate her,” said Williams, “in order for the threat to go away.”
“No doubt. But in a more subtle way,” said Holmes.
“What do you mean?”
“Make it look like an accident,” said Holmes. “They’re too good with the DNA and such, nowadays.”
“What about our gal? Did she get clear?” asked Holmes.
“Yep. She was gone before Ms. Helms got back to her office.”
“Thank God,” said Holmes. “No link to us, then.”
“There were cut outs, anyway,” said Williams. “You know that.”
“So, what’s the solution now?” asked Holmes, ignoring the comment.
“Leave it to me. I’ll work something out,” said Williams, cryptically. He was counting on the killer to finish the job.
“All right,” said Baron Holmes. “But do it quickly.”
* * *
Kimmy virtually danced into the office, her skirt billowing, trying to keep up with her.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said.
“We just got here,” said Zeke.
Clive said, “No problem.”
Then he said, “You remember Sarah Helms from the Department of Education.”
“Sure,” said Kimmy.
Sarah was dressed in a gray woman’s business suit and closed-toed shoes. Her blouse was light green, almost the shade of her eyes. Sarah said, “This has really got me freaked out. I mean, someone’s trying to kill me.”
“We won’t let that happen,” said Zeke. “We’re going to eliminate the threat.”
“How will you do that?” asked Sarah.
Zeke paused. Then he said, “We have a number of things we can do. Starting with assigning Kimmy to keep an eye on you.”
“OK,” said Sarah, looking at Kimmy. “But you’re pretty small, Kimmy. Can you…?”
“I think so,” said Kimmy.
Simultaneously, Zeke said, “Yes.”
Clive, sitting at the table chuckled. “You’re in good hands, Sarah,” he said.
“Let’s plan a couple things,” continued Zeke. “First, we’re moving you to an apartment outside of town. We’ll want to change up your routine.”
Sarah nodded. “Will it interfere with my job?” she asked.
“ADD Stiles has blessed the effort,” said Clive. “I just spoke with him on the phone. He wants you alive and well, as we all do. You can work from the apartment, and make appearances in the office at random times. You’ll be go
ing for unpredictable.”
Sarah nodded.
“What about your family? Friends? Anyone local?” asked Zeke.
“No, I’m an only child. My folks both died a few years ago. Mostly, I work. And not many acquaintances, outside the ED. I know, it sounds like a sad life.”
“Or a typical type-A personality,” said Clive.
“There’s the issue of my work. Sensitivity and all. I tend to avoid relationships for security reasons.”
Zeke nodded. “You burrow down in the apartment for a while, OK?”
“And in the meantime, we’ll be looking for the killer or killers,” said Clive.
“This attempt with the poison, it had to be a hired killer,” said Zeke. “Too well planned, too professional.”
“They must really want me out of the way,” said Sarah.
* * *
Sarah Helms sat in the afternoon light on the balcony of her temporary apartment that overlooked a lovely inner courtyard. She was sipping tea and reading the results of her team’s most recent investigation into the Student Loan Scam on her laptop.
Kimmy was sitting across the room at the kitchen table, reading a cozy mystery. Occasionally, she’d look over at Sarah.
Both women wore blue jeans. Sarah wore a beige cable sweater a size too big, baggy on her thin torso, and Kimmy wore a loose peasant shirt with embroidered cuffs and collar. They had been in the apartment for seven days, and nothing significant had happened.
Sarah said, “Are you hungry? Do you want to go out for a bite?”
Kimmy thought for a moment and said, “Sure. What do you have in mind?”
The apartment was located in a suburban neighborhood in Tysons Corner, a six-story elevator building with an interior lobby and good security. Kimmy had installed her own cameras in several key locations and she could access them from her phone or iPad. The building, which looked a lot like many others in the neighborhood, was two long blocks from the Galleria Mall.
Sarah stood and came into the living room.
“Let’s go to the mall and grab something,” said Sarah. “There’s a good seafood place there called ‘Coastal Flats’. You’ll enjoy it. I’ve eaten there when I was out this way on business.”
