by Jeff Siebold
Freddy Hanson opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Then he said, “Federal? You’re not Federal.”
“No, we’re not. We’re just helping out, detaining you until they get here. They sent the arrest warrant ahead this time. They should be here in a couple of hours.”
Louie Brennan, listening, said “Federal? What?” and started to stand up.
“Sit down, Louie. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”
“I’m not going down on a Federal charge,” said Brennan. “We’re local. You got all this wrong.” He kept getting up, and even with his arms handcuffed behind him, he looked formidable.
“I’m not, I’m not,” said Brennan, agitated. He started jumping around in small circles, on one foot, then the other, with what looked like crazy ballet moves. Then he ran directly at Deputy Chief O’Malley.
As the big man passed him, Zeke lashed out with a knee kick aimed at the inside of Brennan’s far knee. It was a small, quick move, and suddenly the big man was lying in the road, screaming in pain.
* * *
“I’m not taking the fall for this,” said Freddy Hanson, again. “No way. I didn’t do anything.”
“Diaz says you were a part of the human trafficking coming in from Central America, Freddy. Said you bought boys and girls from him,” said O’Malley. “Bet you preferred the boys.”
“No, that wasn’t me,” said Freddy.
They were in an interrogation room in the Boston PD’s downtown precinct, O’Malley and Zeke talking with the mob boss, along with a Boston FBI agent.
“And there’s the drugs. And prostitution. And…”
“Look, I don’t know why you guys decided to do this,” said Hanson, taking another tack. “We pay a lot for your protection.” He looked at O’Malley.
“I don’t know about that,” said O’Malley, “but I do know that this is Federal.”
“OK, look, get a Federal Prosecutor in here. We can cut a deal,” said Hanson.
* * *
After the introductions, the Federal Prosecutor, a woman named Gail Regent, said, “What do you have for me, Mr. Hanson?”
She was a veteran prosecutor, a lifer, about forty-five years old with graying hair. She wore a brown business suit and no wedding ring. Her eyes looked tired.
“Look,” started Freddy Hanson, “You guys are trying to jam me up with some bogus charges…”
“Freddy, let me talk,” said his attorney, a slick looking man with white hair, a rep tie and what looked to Zeke like a Brooks Brothers suit. “OK?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Hanson. They had conferred earlier, while awaiting Gail Regent.
“I believe you’ll have trouble proving these charges,” said the attorney, whose name was Gerald Howell. “This case seems to be built on a lot of hearsay and information that’s suspect at best.”
Gail listened.
“But hypothetically, my client may be privy to information that could help you with a much bigger crime.”
“It’s his duty to report that, if it’s even true,” said Gail Regent.
“Of course,” said the attorney, and looked across the table at her.
“Let’s hear what you’ve got,” she said to Freddy, “and if it’s as good as Mr. Howell has implied, we’re willing to reduce the charges.”
“Dismiss,” said Howell, not giving an inch.
“It had better be good to merit that,” she said under her breath.
“We’ll probably need to put my client in Witness Protection after this,” said Howell. “It’s that big. Hypothetically speaking.”
The attorneys talked for a moment and then reached agreement.
Gail said, “OK, go ahead, spill it…”
Hanson looked at his attorney, who nodded, and Hanson said, “OK, I’m not involved with this. I just know about it…”
Gail Regent, taking notes, nodded.
Freddy Hanson said, “Have you ever heard of Jobare Worthington?”
* * *
“This is almost too easy,” Zeke said.
“But we’ll need to move fast, while we still have momentum,” said Kimmy.
They were eating lunch at a small Irish restaurant on Harvard Square, sandwiched between a textbook store and a bicycle shop. Kimmy was working on a roasted beet salad, while Zeke devoured an excellent cheeseburger topped with aged Irish cheddar and garlic aioli.
“This is great,” he said about the food.
“Do you think the white-collar guys from the FBI will get up to speed in time to arrest Jobare?” asked Kimmy.
“They didn’t have enough to hold him with Richardson’s testimony. Said it was too little to get a conviction. But they’re pretty sharp,” said Zeke. “I think, with Freddy Hanson’s testimony, they’ll be able to put Dr. Worthington away for a while.
After the interview with Freddy Hanson, the Federal Prosecutor had called the FBI and asked them to look into the falsified Student Loans. The FBI, already involved because of Dr. Richardson’s arrest, responded quickly and sent a team out of their Boston offices, to be assisted by members of the white-collar crimes division in D.C. Zeke had turned over the details of his audit and pointed the agents in the right direction, to give them a running start.
“So what’s next?” asked Kimmy.
“We’ll see when they pick up Dr. Worthington. It shouldn’t take too long, now.”
* * *
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Jobare Worthington, sounding sullen in a pitchy voice.
“Do you know a Freddy Hanson?” asked the FBI interviewer. He was a tall man in a white shirt and tie who took his time and talked slowly. His name was Colbert and he seemed patient and competent.
“Freddy Hanson? Is that one of my students?” asked Worthington. “Because I don’t know all the students’ names…”
“He identified you as the ringleader for the student loan thefts. Freddy Hanson?”
“He did?” Jobare looked blank.
“When we arrested you, we also had a warrant that allowed us to search you, your phone and your computer. Can you guess what we found in your phone?”
“What?” asked Worthington.
“Calls to Freddy Hanson, as recently as yesterday. And e-mails you sent from your office last week,” said Agent Colbert.
Worthington was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “We’re small cogs in this wheel. We’re not calling the shots.”
“Fair enough,” said Colbert. “Who is?”
Chapter 23
“This is crazy,” said Zeke. “The amount of money we’re talking about is huge.”
“It is,” said Sarah Helms. “Like I said, we tend to get used to the big dollar amounts. But yes, it’s huge.”
Sarah had joined Zeke and Kimmy in Cambridge with ADD Styles’ permission. They felt that she may have some insight into the details of the Student Loan Scam. Jobare had named his contact, Milo Christianson, in his statement to the FBI.
Christianson was from old money, according to Jobare. They had first met years ago at a Raleigh University fundraiser; Christianson was a Raleigh alumnus. After several donor meetings, Christianson felt out Worthington and found him to be receptive to discussing the student loan process. Over old scotch and with a touch of shared larceny, the men began to speculate on the soft spots in the system, and how they might be exploited.
“So, where do we find Christianson?” asked Kimmy.
“FBI says he’s a prominent Wall Street banker. A principal with Harrison, Hart and Christianson. One of his ancestors founded the company,” said Zeke.
“So, New York?”
“Sure. But the FBI got a whiff of this and they’ve pretty much taken over. They’re organizing a small task force to coordinate and take down Christianson,” said Zeke.
“Do you think he has partners? Or is he in it alone?” asked Kimmy.
“Jobare said he’s certain that there are more people involved at that level. He just claims that he doesn’t have their names,” sai
d Zeke.
“The FBI guys will get that information, I’m sure,” said Sarah Helms. “What do they want from us?”
“The Boston FBI is sending some people to meet with us and discuss the Student Loan scam. They’ll want all the details that we can share.”
* * *
“I believe that Milo will be talking about us,” said Baron Holmes.
Stuart Williams III nodded in agreement.
They were eating a power breakfast in Williams’ offices, served by a waiter and his cook, who was Cordon Bleu trained. The food had been prepared in the industrial kitchen adjoining his office.
“He’s been detained by the Feds,” said Stuart Williams. “That’s not a good sign.”
“They’re getting close, circling the wagons, it seems.”
Williams nodded. “And our killer is out of commission,” he added.
“Yes. She was taken down on Cape Cod.” Baron Holmes took his cell phone from his interior pocket, looked at the screen and put it back. “She wasn’t as good as Benito Diaz had led us to believe.”
“No, disappointing,” said Williams. “I thought she was the answer to our auditor problem.”
Holmes said, “Yes, me too. It’s after ten, so I’ll need to be going.”
Stuart Williams said, “What’s our plan from here?”
“Well, Milo will most likely give us up,” said Holmes. “Yes, let’s count on that. So, it’ll have to be his word against ours.”
“Can they prove that we were involved?” asked Williams.
“No, I don’t think so. The money’s well hidden and there’s no direct paper trail to us. We were too clever for that,” said Holmes.
“It was smart, getting all the money overseas quickly,” said Williams. “Who would have thought of diplomatic courier bags? And your family connections in Scotland?”
It was a rhetorical question, and Holmes didn’t answer.
“The less said, the better, of course,” said Williams.
“Yes,” said Holmes. “Just so.”
* * *
“You’ve got them,” said Zeke.
Agent Randolph nodded and said, “I agree.”
Special Agent in Charge, George Talbert said, “Me, too.”
The FBI technicians had remotely activated the microphone in Baron Holmes cell phone and were listening to and recording the breakfast conversation of the two men. It was as if the agents were sitting at the table with Baron Holmes and Stuart Williams III.
They both looked at the FBI attorney who was there to assure the operation was legal, and that the wiretapping was within Federal guidelines. She was also to be responsible for the chain of evidence considerations, once the recording was completed.
She nodded.
The three of them were sitting at FBI Headquarters in New York, monitoring the cell phone transmission over the 4G wireless network. Milo Christianson had quickly coughed up the names of the other two men.
“It just gets easier and easier,” said Agent Randolph. “We didn’t even have to leave the office.”
Zeke said, “I guess you’ve got enough to pick them up.”
“Yes, and thanks for the information about the Student Loan scam,” said the agent. “It pointed us in the right direction.”
“Don’t forget the attempted murder,” said Zeke. “I’m thinking that, between the two of them and Susan Del Gato, you’ll be able to turn someone.”
“It’s what we do,” said SAC Talbert. “I’m dispatching men to pick them both up right now.”
* * *
The tall man in the black suit glanced east and then west on the sidewalk, and then he stepped to the curb and opened the door of the limousine.
Baron Holmes stepped out and blinked in the sunlight. He stepped up onto the curb. Baron Holmes waited a moment, as was his habit, until his bodyguard had closed the car door and joined him for the walk to his offices.
The building was a sixty-two story glass and steel creation of Renzo Piano, whom Baron Holmes considered to be one of the greatest living architects. Holmes’ penthouse offices were spectacular, boasting twenty-foot ceilings, floor to ceiling windows and views of the East River and Governors Island in the distance. Looking east, one could see the Brooklyn Bridge.
“And if you like that, I have a bridge I can sell you,” said Baron Holmes, mostly to himself. It was his daily mantra, a routine.
The man in the black suit appeared on Baron Holmes left side, and they walked together. A doorman opened the front door and bowed slightly at the sight of New York royalty. Inside the building, the man in the black suit nodded a greeting to the security guard behind the desk and, without breaking stride, the two men approached an elevator. Baron Holmes’ private elevator.
Just then, as they waited for access, a voice called out from behind them.
“Hello, Baron,” said Zeke Traynor. “I understand that you’re trying to kill me.”
The bodyguard stepped between Holmes and Zeke, and a handgun appeared in his right hand. He was totally focused on Zeke as he separated the two men with his body movements.
“You won’t shoot in here,” said Zeke, holding his right hand palm up and indicating the surrounding lobby area, presently filled with people. “You might injure your boss with the ricochet.”
The man hesitated a moment, judging the angles and distances. That small doubt was all Zeke needed. He quickly stepped toward the man, his hand still extended and grabbed the gun barrel and rotated it forward, as if shifting into first gear. The gun came free in Zeke’s hand.
The elevator dinged, the door opened and Baron Holmes stepped briskly toward it.
Kimmy said, “Not so fast,” and stepped between the octogenarian and the open elevator, cutting off his advance.
He tried to push past her, but Kimmy executed a quick move that left Baron Holmes sitting on his dignified ass.
Four men in white shirts and windbreakers with ‘FBI’ printed in capital letters on the back stepped into the lobby. Three surrounded Baron Holmes while the fourth man stood next to the bodyguard, blocking his access to the action.
“Baron Holmes, you’re under arrest,” said the oldest FBI agent. “You’ll be coming with us, now.”
* * *
“Talk about being highly connected,” said Clive. “This guy is like a spider in his web.”
Zeke and Kimmy had joined Clive in his office. It was Saturday, and they had driven the four plus hours back to D.C. after the FBI had taken Baron Holmes into custody. Three black FBI SUV’s had squealed to the curb as the four agents walked Holmes and his bodyguard out the front door of his building in handcuffs. Holmes was composed until three local press photographers appeared and started snapping pictures as quickly as the motor drives of their cameras could go. Then he’d lost it, yelling and trying to cover his face with his hands while being pushed toward the vehicles.
“No doubt,” said Zeke. “From what I know, he’s a part of the power elite. A former congressman, he’s connected to judges and Senators and bankers, just about everyone with money and power. He’s a presidential advisor.”
“Those connections are everywhere,” said Clive. “I spoke with my contact in the New York FBI office. It seems that Baron Holmes is active in D.C. and Boston and Palm Beach, as well as New York. He knows just about everyone.”
“Bet he’s got a great attorney,” said Kimmy, looking out the window, relaxed, but missing nothing.
“Did the FBI share any details?” asked Zeke.
Clive said, “They’ve detained Holmes as a person of interest right now, while they’re digging through the paperwork and following the money trail. But they’re very confident that they can find the connection. Between Holmes and the Student Loan thefts, that is.”
“And Stuart Williams?” asked Zeke.
“He’s also been detained,” said Clive. “The New York FBI has had a busy day.”
“What about the bodyguard?” asked Zeke.
“For hire,” said Cliv
e. “Not really involved in the rest of it.”
“Who else was in it with him?” asked Kimmy.
“Well, Milo Christianson, we know that,” said Clive. “And Stuart Williams III. We recorded their conversation when we remotely activated the speaker on his cell phone. And possibly others, we expect. But that will all come out in the investigation, won’t it?”
Chapter 24
The sky shone in bright reds and oranges, cast by the setting sun. The mountains reflected the colors and created deep shadows between the crags and valleys. Arizona’s landscape is particularly conducive to colorful sunsets.
Zeke Traynor pulled up to the curb and parked his rental car in front of the small bodega. The store was located in a popular commercial strip in Scottsdale, between a dry cleaner and a wine store. He stepped out of the car, locked it, and walked to the corner.
Benito Diaz’s compound is just up the street, here, thought Zeke. He waited at the corner until a black Lincoln SUV turned and stopped for him. Zeke hopped into the passenger’s side, and the car moved toward the compound at a reasonable speed.
“Just take me past the house,” said Zeke.
“OK. Then I’ll roll around to the back of the compound,” said Kimmy.
“As planned. Good,” said Zeke, looking hard at the Diaz house.
After Raul Diaz talked to Clark Hall and the ICE agents, he had been detained in their Phoenix facility on a charge of possible parole violation. That prevented him from alerting his brother, Benito, to ICE’s scrutiny.
In the meantime, based on the cell phone wiretap of Holmes and Williams’ conversation over breakfast and their later testimony, ICE had issued a Federal warrant for the arrest of Benito Diaz. Fearing that there might be additional leaks in the Phoenix ICE office, Clark Hall quietly deputized Zeke and Kimmy and agreed to let them arrest Diaz.
The compound looked quiet in the twilight as Zeke approached, the outside lights illuminating the yard and the front of the house. Several palm trees occupied the front yard and the iron gates across the driveway were closed. There was an Audi RS3 in the driveway.
