“Very good, Franz. I will speak no more of this,” he said.
In the three hours that followed, Safuentes grilled Baumgart on everything, taking nothing on trust. Later on, he’d have to answer to his brother. He wanted to know the details of the assets being acquired with the cartel’s funds and the returns being generated. He also wanted to understand the legal structures being set up by Oakham Fiduciary Services. He understood how these esoteric corporate arrangements made it difficult for the authorities to trace the cartel’s assets. The structures represented a legal firewall, almost impossible to penetrate without insider knowledge.
Across the street in a large colonial-period property, somebody was watching. The house was leased to a Mr. and Mrs. Ragula from Cleveland, Ohio. It was acquired as their holiday home, but they’d never visited. The couple didn’t exist. The whole lease arrangement was a front for the DEA’s intelligence team. Merriman’s intelligence reports had suggested there was an important connection between Oakham and the Caruana cartel. He had teams on standby at all known Oakham locations ready to monitor any visits by senior cartel personnel.
Safuentes’s entire flight from Hermosillo had been monitored by El Paso via the reconnaissance satellite. Three DEA agents in Nassau had taken over the surveillance once the jet landed and Safuentes was on the ground. They’d followed him from the airport and were now holed up in the house, where they’d set up microwave listening and sound recording equipment.
Merriman came onto the phone when Baumgart had finished. “Great work, guys. This is a major breakthrough for us. We’re finally starting to understand the cartel’s financial network,” he said. Early on in the presentation, the three DEA agents had contacted Merriman to inform him of the high-quality intelligence being gathered. He’d requested them to patch through the conversation. He heard most of it live.
“We’ve got the whole thing on tape, sir,” replied one of the agents.
“Besides Baumgart and Kulpman, is Safuentes alone? We know he was the only one on the flight over.”
“Looks that way, sir.”
“No one else from the cartel is there with him?”
“That’s right, sir. He arrived by car from the airport accompanied by his two minders. They’re already parked around the corner waiting to collect him. We’re assuming they’ll take him straight back to the airport in a moment.”
Merriman thought for a moment. An opportunity to apprehend a senior cartel figure. Safuentes is thinly guarded and exposed. I could wait a long time for another chance like this. The intelligence we could get from Safuentes would save years of undercover work and save the lives of many agents. But the guys are in another sovereign country. Things could get messy.
“Do you think you could apprehend him with his two guards there?”
“I’m certain we could, sir. We’d have the advantage of surprise on our side.”
There was another pause while Merriman weighed up the risk and reward. “Then, before he reaches the airport, go ahead and grab him. We’ll have a helicopter collection crew on standby, awaiting your signal the moment he’s in your hands.”
“We’ll let you know as soon as we have him.”
“I’ll make sure we track you by satellite so we know where to find you. Good luck, guys.”
Safuentes is the key to a potential goldmine of intelligence, Merriman thought. This could bring down the entire Caruana cartel once and for all. Don’t blow it.
It was starting to get dark by the time Safuentes left Oakham’s offices. His Mercedes was waiting outside the front door. One bodyguard was driving while the other sat in the front passenger seat. When it pulled away, the three DEA agents, in a dark gray Range Rover with tinted windows, pulled out about a hundred yards away. They kept a safe distance behind Safuentes and his men so as not to arouse suspicion.
The Mercedes drove along Harrold Road toward Cable Beach Golf Course then took a left onto John F. Kennedy Drive, following the south bank of Lake Cunningham. There were few other vehicles around. The Range Rover came up closer behind the Mercedes for the first time. As the Mercedes slowed down to take a left turn into Coral Harbor Road, which led to the airport, the Range Rover sped up. It ploughed into the back of the car, spinning it around ninety degrees before it came to a halt. Safuentes was thrown forward and then bounced back into his seat.
By the time the two guards realized what was happening, the three agents were already out of their vehicle, pistols drawn. One agent ran to the driver’s door and pointed his pistol through the smashed window.
“Put your hands in the air or I’ll blow your fucking brains out,” he yelled to the driver.
When the two other agents moved to grab the handle of the rear passenger door, the bodyguard in the front passenger seat lifted his AK-47 assault rifle from the footwell and rolled out of the car, crouching low. He held the trigger and sprayed them with automatic fire. The two agents let off a few rounds before falling to the ground.
The agent who was standing at the driver’s door took his eye off the driver for a moment, aimed his pistol through the car and shot the bodyguard holding the assault rifle.
The driver pulled out a pistol from his breast pocket and shot the agent in his neck. The agent’s head flew back. He was dead before his body hit the ground.
The whole firefight was over within fifteen seconds. The three DEA agents were dead, and the guard with the AK-47 lay dying on the road, taking his last few breaths as he bled out.
Safuentes was lying back in his seat, blood pouring from a small bullet hole in the back of his head. He was dead. The remaining bodyguard, who was untouched, hit the gas pedal and sped away, with Safuentes still slumped in the back seat.
The satellite caught the whole incident. Merriman struggled to make out what had happened, as the poor light made the details hard to see. What was clear to Merriman, though, as he looked at the screen, was that the Mercedes managed to escape after the shoot-out and the DEA vehicle was motionless. His team in El Paso struggled to make radio contact with the three agents. How could I have been so stupid? he thought. Randell will have my ass for this.
Chapter Thirty-One
The houses on Sea Street backed onto the picturesque harbor. An elderly couple were sitting in the garden of their pretty white cottage, sipping wine and enjoying the wonderful view across the inlet toward the town of Camden. Theirs was one of a number of houses built around the port during the nineteenth century on the back of wealth created by the fishing industry. As usual, the couple stayed out on the rear deck until the large schooners returned. The days when the boats served a commercial fishing purpose were long gone, but they remained a magnet for tourists enjoying day-trips out on the water. By the end of each day, the visitors would be gone, and the locals would reclaim their town for a few hours.
That evening, a classical music performance was taking place at Camden’s impressive open-air auditorium next to the public library. This part of Maine drew many high-ranking diplomats and senior military service personnel as a place to retire, due to its cultural attractions and stunning, rocky coastline.
The couple rarely missed these musical performances. They arrived early to grab the best seats; the right positions gave a view of both the orchestra and the water beyond. Their faces lit up when the violin began playing the famous opening bars from “The Lark Ascending.”
The concert, a performance of the music of Ralph Vaughn Williams, lasted just under two hours. By seven thirty p.m., the couple were deciding on dinner at Francine’s on Chestnut Street.
“The concert was a real treat,” said the man. “Shall we order champagne?”
“Well, it is a special occasion, after all,” said the woman, glancing down the short menu.
“Hard to believe we’ve been retired ten years to the day. Where did that go?”
“I know, almost eight years living in Camden. Can you believe that?”
“I’m going for the fluke again tonight. It was so good last time.
”
It was dark when they left the restaurant, but the streets were well lit and they’d made the ten-minute walk home many times before. They waved to some friends as they passed the window of one of the small bars in the town center.
“I didn’t see Bill and Jean at the concert,” said the man.
“They were there, a few rows behind us.”
“Pity. I would’ve asked them to join us for dinner.”
They made their way down Sea Street. Their house was lit up by the security lighting.
“That raccoon is back,” said the woman.
“So I see.”
“You’re going to have to get rid of it. It’s becoming a pest.”
“He’s harmless enough.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m always the one picking up the messy garbage.”
“All part of the charm of living away from the city,” said the man, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “It’s getting a little chilly.”
They unlocked the front door and walked in. As the man reached out to hit the light switch, they were suddenly pushed from behind. Two masked men rushed through the door, knocking the couple off their feet.
The attackers didn’t say a word as they dragged their victims through to the living room. They used ropes to tie the couple’s hands behind their backs and made them lie face down on the floor. One of the men held a pistol to the woman’s head.
“Please don’t hurt my wife,” said the man. The intruder did not reply.
“There’s money in the kitchen. Please take it,” said the woman.
Again, there was no reply. The other assailant darted around the house, checking each room and turning off the lights, before returning to the living room. He shook his head at his accomplice.
“If you’re looking for the safe, let me up and I’ll open it for you. You can take everything, but please don’t harm us,” said the man.
The masked men looked at each other.
“Try to stay calm, Tom. Remember your heart,” said the woman.
“Please — let me show you the safe.” The man tried to stand.
The intruder with the pistol cuffed the man across the side of his face with the gun. He picked up a cushion, put it to the man’s head first and then the woman’s, and shot the couple in the back of their heads. His accomplice dipped his gloved fingers in the pool of blood and wrote on the white wall of the living room:
“FOR RAUL”
The men left the house from the back door and jumped aboard a small motorboat waiting for them at the edge of the water. The boat was out of the harbor five minutes later.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Merriman received the phone call from his sister, Jo, the next morning.
“I just can’t believe it,” he said. “Murdered.”
“I need you here, Mark,” said Jo. “I can’t face this on my own.”
“Of course. I wanna be there.”
“I was talking to them on the phone yesterday morning. It’s just so…”
“Did the police say anything at all?”
“They won’t let us into Mom and Dad’s house. They say they need to preserve the crime scene.”
“Did they say anything else? Was there a break-in?”
“All they said was that they were treating their deaths as murder, but nothing more. It’s all so frightening. It just doesn’t feel real.”
“I’ll be there this afternoon, Jo. Don’t worry.”
“I’ll pick you up from Portland airport if you let me have your flight details.”
Merriman canceled his meetings for the next few days. He explained to his team what he knew then took the first flight to Maine, where Jo collected him. Throughout the hour’s drive to Camden, Merriman asked her to retell what she knew, every detail she could remember hearing from the police, so he could piece together what had happened.
The police had been called at eight that morning. Their father’s golf partner was due to collect him from Sea Street at seven thirty. When he arrived at the house, all of the curtains were drawn closed and there was no answer at the door, even though the car was parked on the drive. He tried phoning the house several times, but it kept cutting to the answering machine so he called the police. An hour later, the police broke in and discovered the bodies in the lounge. They’d found Jo’s phone number in their father’s diary and called her with the news.
“Did they tell you anything about what actually happened to Mom and Dad?” asked Merriman.
“Nothing at all. They just said they’d been killed. I can’t believe this. How could anyone do this to an elderly couple? They weren’t a threat to anyone. These things just don’t happen in Camden. They were supposed to be safe there.”
“When we get to Mom and Dad’s, I’ll make sure the police let me in so I can find out what happened.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Mark,” she said, no longer able to hold back her tears.
They sat in silence for the remainder of the drive, and Merriman gazed out of the window. I hope to God this has nothing to do with my work.
When they pulled into Sea Street, the road was blocked with police tape. Jo parked outside the library and they walked over.
“You can’t come through here, sir,” said the swaggering police officer manning the perimeter.
“That house belongs to our parents. I need to get through,” Merriman replied, already lifting up the tape. The officer waved over a senior officer.
“He says he’s family,” said the junior officer, still blocking Merriman’s path.
“Get out of my way,” said Merriman.
“This is a crime scene, sir. We can’t let you through,” said the senior officer.
Merriman took out his DEA badge and flashed it at the officers. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”
The senior officer looked at the badge and tapped his colleague on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Merriman. If you don’t mind wearing protective clothing, I guess we could let you in. We need to preserve any forensic evidence,” said the senior officer, lifting the tape. “I hope you understand.”
“That’s okay. Jo, I think you’d best wait in the car for me.” Jo walked back to the car. She’d made it clear to her brother she didn’t want to go in there.
The junior officer brought Merriman a forensic suit. He slipped it on before following the senior officer into his parents’ home. When they reached the lounge, the senior officer stopped and put his hand on Merriman’s shoulder.
“I’m afraid it ain’t pretty. There’s a lot of blood in the room, sir.”
“I can handle it,” said Merriman.
He followed the officer into the lounge and the smell of blood hit him. His eyes darted around the floor. Very little disturbance to the furniture and no evidence of a struggle. He took a step back when he saw the police outlines of where the bodies had been found. He’d seen these many times before, but this was different. This time, it was personal. He struggled to hold back the vomit, steadying himself against the door.
“Are you okay, sir?” asked the police officer.
“I think so. Is there anything you can tell me about the attack?” asked Merriman, fighting back the tears.
“What I can share with you is that your parents were shot in the back of the head from close range as they were lying on the floor. There’s no obvious forced entry so we may be dealing with someone they knew.” Merriman already knew the evidence pointed to a professional execution. He recognized the signs, but said nothing.
“Does this mean anything to you?” asked the officer as he pointed across the room over Merriman’s shoulder.
Merriman turned around and had to prop himself against the side unit when he saw the words painted in blood on the wall. “FOR RAUL” At that moment, he knew exactly who was behind the execution of his parents.
Oh, Jesus no. I’ve killed Mom and Dad.
He raced out of the house to get some air. Jo ran over from the car.
�
�Mark, are you all right? It must have been awful in there.”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay.”
“They were both shot in the head. Our parents were executed. Killed in cold blood.”
“Oh my God!”
“I’m to blame, Jo.” He fought to hold back the tears. “I’ve been so stupid. It’s all my fault.”
“How could you be? You’re not making any sense, Mark.”
“This has to do with my work. Please forgive me.” Merriman covered his face with both hands. Jo hugged him and he finally let the tears flow. “I’m so sorry.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was a warm, sunny Sunday morning. Kent was having breakfast with Sarah in their conservatory. He’d often sit and enjoy the view across the Welland valley from that room and, because of its good light level, he’d use it for reading the weekend newspapers.
“Why the long face?” asked Sarah.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s just you seem very quiet.”
“I’m okay.”
“Something’s troubling you. You’ve not been your usual self for weeks.”
Kent knew she was right, but he couldn’t tell her the ugly truth. Your husband’s been unfaithful, he’s being blackmailed, probably being followed by dangerous criminals, and our lives may well be in danger.
“Things are difficult at work at the moment.”
“I thought the business was going well. You’re always going on about the deals you’ve been doing with Tritona.”
“A couple of deals are going wrong and they could impact on our fund’s performance. That’s all it is.”
I hate lying to Sarah, but what choice do I have? he thought. When I’ve figured a way out of this mess, I’ll tell her.
“It’s the nature of what you do, John. Not even you can succeed in every deal.”
“I know. You’re right.” He pushed his half-finished breakfast away and stood. “Do you fancy going out for a walk? It seems a shame sitting indoors on such a wonderful day.”
The Geneva Connection Page 15
