Deadly Lode (Trace Brandon Book 1)

by Randall Reneau

  “The Pantellis got their shares from Rosenburg.”

  “Look, I know Rosenburg used his shares to pay off a gambling debt he owed to a Vegas casino. I don’t know which casino or who actually holds his shares,” I said, omitting the fact that Cyrus had managed to get a proxy to vote those same shares, and would know exactly who owned Rosenburg’s shares. I figured it was a two-way street. Monroe was trying to see what I knew, and I was doing likewise.

  “You should get an updated shareholders’ list from your transfer agent. You might be surprised who some of your shareholders are.”

  “I’ll do that. Do you think the Pantelli family is behind Rosenburg’s death, and the attempt on Trueblood?”

  “Well, they do fall in the realm of usual suspects.”

  “But why would they want to kill Rosenburg after he squared his debt? Hell, the shares are worth more now than when he transferred them. And there’s a damn good chance they’ll be worth a lot more in the future.”

  “With the Pantellis, it doesn’t take much to get whacked. Maybe Rosenburg said the wrong thing or threatened to go to the authorities. Or maybe they just flat-out didn’t like him. These people are stone-cold killers. If there’s a profit to be made by whacking someone, that someone usually gets whacked.”

  “What about Trueblood? How the hell does he fit in all this? He’s about as straight as they come.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. We’re just now digging into Mr. Trueblood. I’ve got to say, Trace,” Monroe said with a smile, “you sure have one eclectic bunch of stockholders.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, thinking to myself. Just wait till you find out Cyrus the Virus owns 17 per-cent of our company. And holds a proxy to vote the Pantelli’s’ shares. “Well, Agent Monroe, when you hatch a company on the Vancouver Stock Exchange, you’re apt to end up with some rather colorful shareholders.”

  “No argument there, Trace. Listen, I appreciate your taking the time to see me. I’d also appreciate it if you’d get an updated shareholders’ list and send a copy to my office,” Monroe said, handing me one of his business cards.

  “No problem, Agent Monroe. Do you think any of our other shareholders are possible targets?”

  “I don’t think so. Rosenburg and Trueblood had direct dealings with the Pantellis. I think something in those dealings got Rosenburg killed, and Trueblood nearly killed. I don’t think they’d do anything to jeopardize the company’s management, and thereby, their investment, in Montana Creek Mining. But if we turn up something that suggests otherwise, I’ll let you know immediately.”

  Chapter 37

  Since I was in Spokane, I called Cyrus as soon as I left the airport.

  “Cyrus, it’s Trace. Got a minute? It’s important.”

  “Sure, Trace. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the Spokane airport. I’ve been up at the mine with Jim Lee. I just put him on a plane. And then I had a coke with Special Agent Beau Monroe of the FBI.”

  “What? You met with the FBI at the Spokane airport?”

  “Yep, they called while I was up at the mine and requested a meeting in Spokane. As I had to drop Jim off, we met at the airport.”

  “What did they want? Are we in some kind of trouble?”

  “Not us, or the company. But Malcolm is.”

  “Malcolm? What the hell did he do?”

  “First off, Cyrus, Rosenburg didn’t have a stroke. He was killed by a pro.”

  “Look, I hated that prick for killing Thorny, but I didn’t take him out.”

  “I know, Cyrus, because the guy that whacked Rosenburg evidently tried to kill Malcolm a couple of days ago, in Vancouver.”

  “Is Mal all right?”

  “Yeah, he skated, but the assassin didn’t make it.”

  “Police shoot him?”

  “I don’t think so. From what little Agent Monroe would tell me, there was some kind of accident.”

  “I’ll call Mal and get the lowdown. Jesus, first Thorny, then Rosy, and now someone tries to hit Mal. What in the hell is going on?”

  “Same question I’ve been asking. The FBI thinks the common denominator is Montana Creek Mining, and the Pantelli family.”

  Cyrus hung up, leaned back in his black-leather office chair, put his feet up on his desk, and dialed Malcolm Trueblood’s cell phone number.

  “Malcolm, it’s Cyrus.”

  “I’ve been expecting your call.”

  “What in the hell is going on?”

  “I got mad about being dumped from Montana Creek Mining’s board. You know, Cyrus, it was quite humiliating. I’ve spent my whole life building my reputation. And then to get dumped like some two-bit shyster. Anyway, I compounded the problem by doing something stupid.”

  “You tried to cut some kind of deal with the Pantelli family?”

  “How did you know?”

  “The FBI met with Trace today, in Spokane. Seems Rosenburg didn’t die of natural causes. They think the same guy who whacked Rosy tried to hit you the other night. The one common denominator that keeps popping onto their radar screen is all the parties of interest, dead or alive, are, or were, shareholders in Montana Creek Mining. What kind of deal did you try and cut with the Pantellis?”

  “I wanted them to help me blackmail you. The plan was to get you to sell us your interests in Montana Creek Mining, at a discount.”

  “And why in the hell would I do that?” Cyrus asked, already knowing the answer.

  “To keep us, me, from going to the regulators with information on insider trading.”

  “I see, and how did the Pantellis react to your proposal?”

  “They threw me out of their office and told me to get out of Vegas by sundown, or they’d plant me in the desert.”

  “Jesus Christ, Malcolm. What in the hell were you thinking? You should have come to me. You’re way out of your league with the Pantelli family.”

  “Look, Cyrus, I was pissed off, and I made a big mistake. Ever make one of those? A big mistake?”

  Cyrus exhaled, blowing air from his cheeks. “Yeah, kid, once or twice. Okay, spilt milk, but we’ve got a big problem here. I suspect the Pantellis were worried you’d go public and the information would hurt Montana Creek Mining’s share price. And therefore their investment.”

  “They’d kill me over that?”

  “In a fucking heartbeat, Malcolm. Are you starting to get the picture here?”

  “Yeah, I can see I’m in deep shit.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll call the Pantellis and tell them I’ve talked to you, and you’re squared away. Not a threat of any kind. And that you’re taking a transfer to the Caymans to manage some of my offshore interests.”

  “Caymans? Jesus, Cyrus, what is this, exile?”

  “Look, Malcolm, it’s offshore, out of FBI jurisdiction, and it should satisfy the Pantellis. You’ll get to live, and you’ll have plenty of company with other expats with similar problems. When the heat dies down, I’ll bring you back to Vancouver.”

  “Why are you helping me like this? I tried to use the mob to blackmail you.”

  “Well, Malcolm, let’s just say it’s partly my fault you got into this predicament. I knew you weren’t cut out for the down and dirty part of this game. I should have kept you above it. So, I’ll help square it this time. But don’t ever try and go around me again. Fair enough?”

  “Yes, it’s fair enough, and you’re right. I thought I’d like the darker side, but I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

  CHAPTER 38

  I’d submitted a news release to the Vancouver Stock Exchange and posted our latest assays, uranium, gold, and copper, on our website. It didn’t take long for the investment community to take notice. Our shares hit four dollars Canadian the day after the information was released. Even better, the company now met all the qualifications for a Toronto Exchange listing.

  I called Wally, and I got him working on the filings for a Toronto Stock Exchange listing. I also asked him to check in with
Jerry Smyth and see how the engineering report was progressing. Wally said he’d get on both items. He also suggested we might want to amend the report to include the newly discovered gold and copper values.

  I agreed. Then Cyrus called.

  “Trace, it’s Cyrus. Got a second?”

  “Sure, Cyrus. What’s up?”

  “Couple of things, Trace. First off, damn good work on the news release and core results. The stock price has really reacted.”

  “Yeah, thanks. We’ve got a lot of happy shareholders today.”

  “Which brings me to the next item . . . Malcolm.”

  “Did you speak with him?”

  “Yes, I did. Turns out he was really pissed about being dumped from your board and tried to take it out on me by cutting a little deal with our shareholders, in Las Vegas.”

  “Great.”

  “Yeah, he got in way over his head, and I’m going to have to try and bail him out.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Plan is, I call the Pantellis and convince them he’s not a threat. And that he’ll be transferring to my Cayman Island operations, for the foreseeable future.”

  “Think it’ll work?”

  “Yeah, I think it might. If the Pantellis did try and hit him, they probably won’t try again if they don’t have to. There’s too much heat right now. Hell, the FBI’s tossing their name around like confetti.”

  “Jesus, what a mess.”

  “Yeah, but I think it will all work out. The Pantellis are only interested in one thing, and that’s making money.”

  “Well, they’re making money today.”

  “Aren’t they though?” Cyrus said with a chuckle. “Hot damn, four bucks a share.”

  Chapter 39

  Al Pantelli walked down to his brother’s office in their French Quarter office building.

  “Pino,” Al said, “we got us another damn problem.”

  “What now, brother?”

  “I just got off the phone with one of the Outfit’s capos in Vancouver.”

  “Yeah?” Pino replied, now paying full attention to his brother.

  “Yeah. He’s got a local detective on the pad. You know the reason we ain’t heard nothing from the Chemist?”

  “No, but I’ve been wondering what’s taking him so damn long.”

  “He’s dead. That’s why we ain’t heard nothing about the hit on Trueblood.”

  “Trueblood killed him?” Pino asked, in disbelief.

  “Hell, no. There was some kind of foul-up with the poison he was going to use. He accidently killed himself.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Uh-huh, and it gets worse. The crazy bastard wrote out some kind of note as he was croaking. According to the detective, there were just two words on the note, two names. Trueblood’s and ours.”

  “Holy crap. Why in the hell would Manetti do something that damned stupid?”

  “Beats the shit out of me. But he sure as hell implicated us, and according to the detective, the FBI is involved.”

  “Damn, it just gets better and better.”

  “We need to give this situation some serious friggin’ thought,” Al said, pulling his vibrating cell phone from his shirt pocket. “Excuse me just a sec, Pino. It’s Cyrus on the horn. Maybe he’ll have some thoughts on this situation.”

  “Cyrus, good-timing. We were just talking about our mutual friend, Mr. Trueblood.”

  “Exactly why I’m calling, Al. I’ve had a long talk with Malcolm, and he’s seen the light. I’m going to pull him out of Vancouver and put him in the Caymans. He can do some work for me with Carib International. I’ll keep him offshore until the heat fades.”

  “You know he’s a freakin’ rat? He tried to cut a deal with us to blackmail you and force you to sell us your Montana Creek Mining shares, on the cheap.”

  “Yeah, I know all that. He screwed up, thought he’d be a player in the big leagues. But I’ve straightened his ass out. If you agree, I’ll take care of this.”

  “Give me a sec to run this by Pino. He’s sitting right here.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  In a couple of minutes Al was back on the line.

  “Okay, Cyrus. Because you and me go way back, Trueblood gets a pass. This one time only. Capisce?”

  “Thanks, Al. It’s for the best all the way around.”

  “I want that SOB offshore, yesterday.”

  “Not a problem, Al. Malcolm’s a pilot and flies his own plane. I’ll have him packed up, airborne, and en route to the Caymans in twenty-four hours.”

  “What about his family?” Al asked, glancing over at his brother.

  “His wife was killed years ago. A train hit her car and killed her instantly. They had no kids. I think he has a girlfriend, but that’s about it.”

  “Okay, perfect. You tell the little prick we’d better not hear so much as a loud fart out of him, or he’ll be off the board.”

  “Understood, and thanks, Al. I owe you one.”

  “No, you don’t, Cyrus. But Trueblood does.”

  Al hung up and looked at his brother. “What’d ya think?”

  Pino rubbed his chin with his right hand.

  “Mixed feelings, Al. Getting Trueblood offshore is a good move. But, he’ll always be a threat to both of us and to our investment in Montana Creek Mining. We had a face-to-face with him, and then we tried to whack him. Sooner or later, if they dig hard enough, the FBI is going to connect the dots. And sooner or later Trueblood is going to get antsy sitting on his ass on that damn island.”

  “Agreed. We hit him, but this time it has to look like an accident.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Malcolm Trueblood had flown single-engine aircraft for more than fifteen years. He was instrument rated and had flown into remote mining camps all over Canada, Alaska, and Mexico. Now, on Cyrus’s instructions, he was preparing to fly from Vancouver to George Town on Grand Cayman Island.

  He planned to stop in Denver long enough to eat a bite, refuel his TurboAire, and then overnight in Houston. On the second day, he’d fly from Houston to George Town. It would be a 985-nautical-mile hop from Houston to George Town, well within the TurboAire’s 1,300 nautical-mile maximum range.

  So far, the hardest part of his trip had been convincing Chief Constable Peter Rand of Vancouver’s finest to let him leave British Columbia. But since Malcolm was not an actual witness to the purported attempt on his life or the death of the assassin, or the police officer, there was little Inspector Rand could do.

  In a way, Inspector Rand was glad to be rid of Malcolm Trueblood. He already had Thornton’s death, Rosenburg’s subsequent murder, a dead hit man, and a dead police officer to deal with. Good riddance, he’d let the Cayman authorities worry about Malcolm.

  Malcolm shoved the last of his gear into the TurboAire. He’d be living in Cyrus’s town house but would continue to keep his house in North Vancouver. His girlfriend, whom he’d been visiting the night of the attempt on his life, would keep an eye on his place till he returned.

  Malcolm completed his pre-flight check-list and taxied the plane out to the main runway of the small municipal airport. The TurboAire is a kit-built, high-performance aircraft. He’d purchased the single-engine aircraft from a former U.S. Navy pilot, who was now working for Boeing in Seattle. Malcolm had paid over four hundred grand, and felt it was worth every penny.

  The plane was built of a carbon composite with retractable gear and was pressurized to a maximum ceiling of thirty thousand feet. The five-hundred cubic-inch, turbo-piston engine developed three hundred fifty horsepower. The plane could cruise at over three hundred miles per hour at twenty-five thousand feet. A very fast mama jama, and a cocaine smuggler’s wet dream.

  A low-level Vancouver mobster duly noted Malcolm’s take off. Once Malcolm was airborne, the man placed a call to Al Pantelli in New Orleans.

  Al took down the flight information and hung up.

  “We’ll make our move at Houston Hobby,” Al said, looking o
ver at his brother.

  Chapter 41

  Lei Chang sat in his lavish office on the fortieth floor of one of the most historic old bank buildings in Hong Kong. The building had been originally constructed in 1864, and torn down and rebuilt several times, with the last renovation completed in 1985. At the time, it had been the most expensive building on earth, having cost around $600 million U.S. dollars.

  From his windows, Lei Chang had an unobstructed view of Victoria Harbor. A strict adherer to the principles of feng shui, he believed a view of water led to prosperity. So far he’d been right. Chang also believed his company’s investment in shares of Montana Creek Mining would lead to even greater prosperity.

  Under Chang’s orders, URAN-China Nuclear Corp. continued acquiring shares of Montana Creek Mining. He knew the price for uranium ore would continue to rise, and along with it the price of Montana Creek shares. Chang knew this because his company was tying up enough uranium reserves to manipulate the price of uranium.

  Chang looked at his computer screen and smiled at the closing price of MCM.V. Four dollars and ten cents. His investment in this little Canadian mining company had already generated healthy paper profits, with more to come.

  On the other side of the globe, Trace was also monitoring the share price. Smiling, he flipped open his cell phone and called Wally.

  “Wally, Trace here. Got a sec?”

  “Sure, Trace. What’s on your mind?”

  “Toronto is on my mind. I think it’s time for a road show, and the Toronto Annual Mining Convention is coming up. I think we should make a presentation and set up a booth.”

  “Hell of a good idea, Trace. There will be twenty or thirty thousand attendees over the four-day event. Every prospector, miner, promoter, and investor who can get there, will be there.”

  “I agree. It’s a hell of a forum. We can present to a lot of private, as well as institutional, investors. It’ll get a lot of interest cranked up just about the time we list on the Toronto Exchange.”