“Holy cow, Trace. Is this what I think it is?”
“Yep, Blackfoot Canyon sapphires from Montana. Do you like it?”
Tina held up the bracelet made of white gold and brilliant deep-blue sapphires.
“Of course I like it, Trace. But I don’t have anything like this for you.”
I smiled and raised my eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
Tina laughed. “Give me a couple of minutes and then meet me in the bedroom.”
I spent a few minutes tidying up the kitchen and finishing my wine, and then headed to the front of the Airstream. Tina was lying on my queen-sized bed, wearing nothing but the sapphire bracelet.
“Damn, I knew I liked that bracelet,” I said with a husky laugh. I shucked my clothes and slid in beside her.
She threw one leg over mine and pressed her full breasts into my chest. Her nipples were hard as thimbles, and so was I. I kissed her deeply and cupped her breasts. She ran her hand down my stomach and stroked my member.
“You’d better get on, if you’re going to catch this ride,” I said softly.
She rolled me on my back and mounted me like a comfortable saddle. Arching her back, she rolled her hips, taking me deeper into her. I felt the pressure building deep in my groin.
“Don’t wait for me,” she whispered. “Tonight is for you.”
I didn’t.
Chapter 27
Al Pantelli was having a quiet dinner with his brother, Pino, at Delmonico’s in the Quarter.
“You know. Al, that Malcolm character bothers me.”
“How so? Other than he’s a freakin’ rat?”
“I worry about him spilling his guts to the feds. We’ve got a chance to make some real dough with our Montana Creek Mining shares.”
“I’m listening, brother.”
“Well, if Malcolm starts spouting off about inside info going to Cyrus and payoffs to lab employees, it could cause a lot of problems, and knock hell out of the share price. Another thing, I don’t think he owns any shares himself. The shares are all owned by Twisp River or Carib, which is to say, Cyrus.”
Al took a sip of his wine and looked to see if anybody was listening.
“You think it’s worth a hit?” he said, quietly.
“All I’m saying is, why take a chance?”
Al nodded. “I could send the Chemist to see him.”
“Might not be a bad idea. Malcolm looked like he was under a lot of stress when he came to see us. Guys under stress have strokes all the damn time.”
Chapter 28
I called Red and shut the drill down until after New Year’s. Nothing much happens in the public markets during the holidays. Hedge fund guys and investment bankers flee New York in favor of some island paradise, and the dirty hula. It was a good time to shut down and catch up.
I asked Tina to join me on a little winter break to the Caymans. It took her all of a nano-second to say yes. We’d leave the day after Christmas and come back on January 2. Ellensburg is cold and windy in the winter. A bit of time in the sun with Tina in a bikini, or less, sounded pretty damn good.
I called Cyrus to see if he was going down to the islands for the holidays. He wasn’t and kindly offered Tina and me the use of his George Town condo for a week. Which I thought was fair compensation for all the trouble he’d stirred up in the past.
Tina and I flew to Houston the day after Christmas. From Houston we caught an island commuter fight to George Town. We were safely ensconced in Cyrus’s three-story, two-bedroom, two-bath condo in time to see the sun sink into the Caribbean. The view from Cyrus’s balcony was breathtaking. Everything else aside, the Virus knew how to live.
We changed into bathing suits and hit the pool. Tina wanted to swim in the ocean, but I reminded her of what a Mexican fisherman had once told me. “No señor, there are no sharks at this fine beach, but do not swim after the sun goes down.”
So, we swam some laps in the pool.
“Ready for some dinner?” I asked, Tina as we toweled off.
“Starved. Do you know a good place?”
“Jack’s in the Colonial Hotel. It’s just up the road. I made reservations while we laid over in Houston.”
“Tough place to get in?”
“Without a reservation, or Cyrus, it’s tough.” I said with a laugh.
Something about swimming with a beautiful woman, wearing nothing but a skimpy bikini, makes me incredibly horny.
“We’ve got about an hour, and it’s best to be fashionably late,” I said, as I came up behind her and untied her bikini top. I ran my hands up her flat belly and cupped her firm breasts.
She turned and kissed me deeply on the mouth, while her right hand moved up the inside of my right leg.
“I think we’ve got time for a quickie, big fella,” she whispered, in a sultry voice.
We were only twenty-five minutes late. Which, by island time, is right on time.
The week flew by. We jogged on the beach, swam, made love at least twice a day, and ate some of the best seafood in the world.
It was a shock getting off the plane back in Spokane to fifteen- degree temperatures and blowing snow.
Back in my Ellensburg office, tanned and fit, I set up a conference call with Wally, Will, and Cyrus. Jim Lee was en route to New York, and I’d catch up with him in the morning.
We would start drilling and coring again in a couple of days. It’d been pretty quiet, as expected, over the holidays. Cyrus reported that the Chinese were still steadily accumulating our stock. He figured they wouldn’t tip their hand until they could attack in force. “Korean style,” as Cyrus put it.
Chapter 29
Al Pantelli met with Peter Manetti, aka, the Chemist, in Al’s office on Saint Louis Street, in the French Quarter.
“Peter, we’ve got another job for you. Almost a clone of the last one. Same city, similar type target,” Al said, handing Peter a legal-sized manila envelope containing information on Malcolm Trueblood.
The Chemist took the envelope and looked through the contents.
“Read it over carefully,” Al said, “then burn it all.”
Peter nodded. “Any particular method in mind for this one?”
“It needs to look like a heart attack or stroke. This fellow is stressed out, business troubles, so it won’t be any big surprise when he croaks. We’ll wire the money to your offshore account. half now and half when it’s done. Same as always. Capisce?”
The Chemist nodded, stood up, and shook hands with Al. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
Not too far from where Al and the Chemist were meeting, Agent Monroe was meeting with his assistants in the New Orleans, FBI offices.
“Okay, boys and girls, what’ve you come up with?”
Agent Wilson Allen stood up.
“We interviewed every Pantelli family associate doing time in Louisiana. As bait, we used the possibility of a reduced sentence in return for any information on a hit-man with the nickname of the Chemist.”
“Any luck?” Beau asked.
“The last guy, on our last day of interviews, gave us our only lead.”
“Never fails. Go on,” Beau said, his adrenaline starting to kick in.
“The guy’s name is Vince Bugati. He’s doing a nickel in Pollack for possession with intent to distribute. Says he heard about a hitter, called the Chemist. He said word on the street was this wacko had a PhD in chemistry. Bugati also said the fellow did wet work for the Pantelli family, and always used poisons.”
“Anything else?”
“I told him if his information panned out, we’d look at trying to get his sentence reduced.”
“How much time’s he got left?”
“About three years.”
“Okay, damned fine work people. Let’s start checking local universities and colleges for PhD chemists with major malfunctions, personal problems, gambling or drug habits, ex-wives, dead wives. You know the drill. And start with Louisiana colleges and universities”
It was already tomorrow in Hong Kong, and Lei Chang was deep into analyst’s’ reports on Montana Creek Mining. As managing director of URAN-China Nuclear Corp., he’d already initiated limited buying of the junior uranium company’s shares.
The deeper Chang dug into Montana Creek Mining’s core results, the more excited he got.
He punched ore grades and possible tonnages into his calculator, and whistled softly when he saw the numbers.
By the end of the day, Chang had made up his mind. UCNC would keep buying Montana Creek Mining shares until they were just below the 10 percent reporting threshold. Then he’d meet with his superiors in Peking and get the okay to make a tender offer for control of the company.
Once he got the okay, he’d show the imperialist Yankee dogs a trick of two.
Chapter 31
Red used one of Bob Malott’s snow-plow trucks to clear the roads and drill pads at the Sullivan Mine. Old man winter had been in full force and effect over the break. Fish climbed up on Red’s drill and set the mast angle using the clinometer on his Brunton compass. This hole would be drilled at a seventy-five- degree angle. He projected they’d intersect the vein at around seven hundred feet.
Fish lifted his Brunton compass from the mast, and looked over at Red.
“All set, Red,” Fish said, closing his compass and putting it in the leather holster on his belt.
“Steady, ready, go,” Red replied, grinning broadly as he fired up the compressor. “Let’s see if we can make some hole before we all freeze to death.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Fish said, rubbing his gloved hands on his heavy flannel pants.
“When do you want me to start pulling core?” Red yelled, above the sound of the air compressor.
“Trip out at six hundred ninety feet and put the core barrel on,” Fish replied. “If my calculations are right, we should be in the vein at seven hundred feet or so.”
Red nodded and touched his index finger to his army- surplus, Korean-era winter hat. He released the clutch, and the down-hole hammer bit began pounding its way toward the vein.
Chapter 32
Peter Manetti entered Canada as Joseph Baglio, as before. He rented a car and checked into a downtown hotel, as before. Just a business-man on a repeat trip to Vancouver to check on his various investments. Everything routine, nothing to arouse anyone’s interest.
Manetti staked out Twisp River Resources’ offices in the part of downtown Vancouver known as Gastown. For five days he monitored Malcolm’s comings and goings, including two evening visits to his girlfriend’s house.
By week’s end Manetti was ready. He placed a call to Al Pantelli, using a throw-away cell phone.
“Al, Peter. I’m all set. Any change in plans?”
“No. Close the account,” Al replied.
“I’ll call you when it’s done,” Peter said, and hung up. He dropped the phone on the pavement and stomped on it before tossing it into a nearby Dumpster. Malcolm’s fate was now irrevocably sealed.
Manetti would use the same toxin as with Rosenburg but with a different method of exposure. The following Tuesday Malcolm left work at six in the evening. And as he had done the previous Tuesday, he did not go straight home.
Manetti smiled when he thought of the old maxim. Bait the trap with chocolate or pussy, and you’ll get ‘em every time.
The maxim was right. Malcolm headed straight to his girlfriend’s house. Manetti watched him knock on the door and saw the same good-looking broad let him in.
“Enjoy it, Malcolm, because it’s going to be the last piece of tail you’ll ever get,” Manetti whispered, as he watched from his parked car.
Manetti pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and took an official Vancouver police parking ticket from his shirt pocket. He’d lifted the ticket from a parked car in front of an expired parking meter. He planned to place the ticket under the windshield wiper on Malcolm’s car. The top portion of the ticket would be impregnated with VX.
The street where Manetti was parked had little traffic, and he’d seen only one or two pedestrians since he arrived. It was perfect. He pulled on a hat, wrapped his wool scarf up over his mouth, and pulled up the collar of his overcoat. About all anyone would be able to see, should someone pass by, would be his eyes.
Manetti took the metal shoe polish tube containing the VX from the inside pocket of his overcoat. He held the tube low in his lap, well below the view of any passerby. Carefully, he removed the plastic cap and placed it on his left thigh. Holding the tube in his right hand, he turned the sponge applicator head with his left hand, a quarter turn counterclockwise.
He felt the metal give more than he heard the faint click. Oily liquid oozed between his gloved fingers and dripped onto the crotch of his slacks. Manetti held his breath. Inhalation of the toxin was even deadlier than contact with skin. The metal tube had failed. He could see a hairline crack, from which the VX issued. A manufacturing defect, or maybe the toxin had corroded the metal? It didn’t really matter. He’d be toast as soon as the toxin reached his skin, if he didn’t take a breath first.
He tossed the ruptured container on the passenger-side floor mat. With his left hand, he peeled the contaminated glove off his right hand and threw it in the same general direction. Needing to breath, he threw open the driver’s side door and stepped out into the frigid January night. He exhaled, took a deep breath, and worked to unbuckle and unzip his slacks. He was just about to get his pants off when he felt a cold dampness on his lower belly. Manetti quickly pulled a pen and the parking ticket from his coat pocket. He scribbled two words on the back of the parking ticket and then sank to his knees.
“Forgive me, Julie,” Manetti whispered softly. “I’m coming home.”
The first seizure hit him like a freight train.
Chief Inspector Rand got the call in the middle of the night. A cab driver dropping off a fare had reported a man lying beside an open car with his pants part way off. Officer Malone, of the Vancouver Police Department, had responded to the call, and become the second casualty.
Rand drove to the location in North Vancouver. An emergency response team was already on-site when he arrived. Several of the ERT’s were in hazmat suits with gas masks.
David Osgood from the Ministry of Public Safety pulled up near the chief inspector’s car and walked over to where Rand was watching the operation.
“Inspector,” David said, pulling off his right glove to shake hands, “don’t tell me it’s happened, again?”
“Looks that way, David. But this one’s different. Looks like the assassin bought it, along with one of our own.”
“What’ve we got so far?”
“Looks like the killer’s vial of toxin, I’m assuming it’s VX again, leaked and took him out. When Officer Malone arrived on scene, he managed to somehow get contaminated. Not sure if by inhalation or by contact with the skin, or both.”
The hazmat team was putting Peter Manetti into a special body bag. Officer Malone was already bagged and tagged.
“They found a note, evidently written by the assassin just moments before his demise,” Rand said. “They’ve bagged it in a chemical bag.”
“What did it say?” David asked.
“Just two words: Pantelli slash Trueblood, and a partial word that could be chemical, chemist, or chemistry.”
“Mean anything to you?” David asked.
“Pantelli, could be the Pantelli crime family in New Orleans. We’re still checking on Trueblood. If the third word is chemist, it could be a nickname the assassin used.”
A uniformed police sergeant approached Chief Inspector Rand and David Osgood.
“Excuse me, sir,” the officer said, saluting the chief inspector.
“Yes, sergeant?” Rand replied.
“Sir, we’ve gone house to house in the immediate area. Looking for anyone who may have heard or seen something. There’s a gentleman we’re questioning who was visiting in the house just up the street.”
“Did he see anything?” Rand asked.
“No, sir. But you may want to talk to him just the same. His name is Trueblood.”
Chapter 33
My cell phone went off as I was unlocking my office. I looked at the caller ID; it was Fish.
“Damn, Fish, you’re out of the gate early today.” I said with a chuckle.
“I’ve got some news I thought you’d want to hear,” Fish replied.
“Do I need to sit down?” I asked, blowing my breath out.
“No, no worries, Trace. It’s damned good news.”
“Okay, Fish, lay it on me.”
“The core hole Red’s drilling, at a seventy-five-degree angle, hit the vein around six hundred ninety-eight feet. We cored about thirty-five feet of high-grade pitchblende.”
“I like it so far. Is there more?”
“Yeah, it gets better. As you know, I usually drill about ten feet into the footwall schist just to be sure we’re completely through the vein.”
“Yep. What’d you find?”
“Well, about three feet into the foot-wall, we hit a second vein.”
“A splinter off the main vein?”
“No, it’s a totally different system, Trace.”
“Uranium?”
“No. This vein is about five feet of quartz with chalcopyrite and specs of visible gold.”
“No kidding? Visible gold with copper sulfide?”
“I kid you not. I reckon the vein is about sixty-five percent chalcopyrite. Plus, there’s visible free gold, and I’m sure the chalcopyrite will carry gold values as well.”
“Great news, Fish, but not a total surprise. Remember, the Sullivan was originally a copper and gold mine. We’ve been drilling in a high-grade uranium zone but it figures we’d hit some copper and gold, sooner or later.”
Deadly Lode (Trace Brandon Book 1) Page 15
