by Brian Drake
He walked along the side of the house. Yard equipment sat against the wall, the trash cans covered, no flies evident. He made it to the backyard. Still nothing out of place. Moving around to the back patio doors, he cupped his hands over his eyes and looked in. Dane had said the room just in front of the patio doors was where he and Nina had had their chat with Gallagher. The room looked spotless and, frankly, unlived in, almost too clean. None of the mess Dane had described, or the body, remained.
The police hadn’t contacted the agency about the murder of a retired employee because they hadn’t found the victim to begin with.
Lukavina hopped the fence again and returned to his car.
AS HE drove, Lukavina dialed Dane’s cell.
“Where are you?” the CIA man said.
“At the hotel.”
“Well I have some news.” Lukavina updated Dane about Gallagher’s missing body. “Which means they’re looking for you.”
“Good.”
“I have an idea that might move things along a little bit.”
“I’m listening,” Dane said.
“I’m on my way to meet a cop friend. He’s one of our regular sources. I’ll ask him who benefitted from an arrangement with Royce.”
“We’ll stay here till you call back.”
“You sound awfully mellow, Steve.”
“I needed a reality check, and I got one. Thanks, Len.”
Lukavina hung up and presently he parked curbside near a coffee shop, where some patrons were sitting outside. One in particular had on a blue shirt and black slacks, his white hair combed straight back, a string tie down the front of his shirt. He had a wiry runner’s body and was reading on an iPad.
Lukavina approached. The man looked up and smiled, stood with an offered hand.
“Len, good to see you again,” said Detective Sergeant John Bishop.
“Likewise.”
“I got you a regular,” Bishop said as they sat, gesturing to the second cup of coffee on the table.
Lukavina took a drink. “Very good. I hope my text wasn’t too vague.”
Bishop closed the tablet’s cover. “Why don’t you fill in the gaps?”
Lukavina scooted his chair closer. “We’re looking at a corruption case, some of our own people getting in deep with the mob.”
“Very interesting.”
“We have part of the story but not all of it, and you’ve been with the department long enough that we can probably put some stray chapters together.”
“Okay.”
“Think back over the last twenty years, maybe more,” Lukavina said. “We know the mob has a D.C. element. Were there any major killings of important people in that time, and who would have benefitted?”
Bishop let out a whistle.
“And the people you’re investigating filled the gap created by those murders?”
“Exactly.”
Bishop sat back, folded his arms and thought for a moment. Lukavina watched him, almost tuning out the street sounds and other activity around him.
“Well, everybody talks about Gino Moligoni,” Bishop said.
“Who’s he?”
“He was nobody twenty years ago, but he’s the big boss of D.C. today. He got there when his boss, and most of his boss’s lieutenants, were killed. Actually, they had accidents, very convenient accidents.”
“And the murders remain unsolved?”
“We couldn’t prove they were murders,” Bishop said. “And it’s hard to say we cared about a bunch of gangsters blowing themselves away. As long as civilians weren’t hurt … you know…”
“The top bosses in New York didn’t step in?”
“Oh, they did. They sent somebody to make sure the violence stopped. That’s when Moligoni was crowned big boss. We don’t know what kind of deal they made, but there were no more accidents.”
“And he’s been untouchable ever since?”
Bishop nodded. “The FBI has tried to get him on a RICO charge many times, but there was always interference.”
“Well, it’s a place to start.”
“I don’t wanna know what you do next.”
“Yes you do,” Lukavina said.
“Yes I do. But I don’t. Get it?”
“Thanks for the coffee, John.” Lukavina picked up his cup and shook Bishop’s hand before leaving.
HAL MILLER watched the exchange between Lukavina and Bishop from across the street.
Royce had supplied a picture and an address for Lukavina via their man at HQ; it wasn’t hard to pick up his trail from his home and follow him around. For a former field man, he’d become very sloppy. His surveillance evasion, a few turns here and there while driving, was easy to defeat.
He didn’t follow Lukavina as he left the coffee shop, but called Royce instead.
“He talked to somebody. A cop, I think.”
“About what?”
“I wasn’t close enough to hear. Short chat. Probably just asked a few questions.”
“We have to assume they’re going to be onto us soon.”
“Should I take him out?”
“No. Not yet. I want the one he’s working for. Let’s put Gino on alert.”
“Okay.”
Miller started the car and drove away.
6
A Man With a Thousand Thoughts
DANE WAITED alone.
The meeting he’d arranged earlier in the afternoon was between him and one other man only. Nina remained at the hotel, where she swore up one side and down the other that she would not go out and buy a bottle of wine or any other alcoholic beverage, but she probably had already done so out of spite. It wasn’t like he could do anything to stop her, but maybe for once she’d understand the importance of his wishes and remain sober. He’d see for sure when he returned.
He stood under a streetlamp in a quiet business park in Dupont Circle, the sky dark, the chill of the night biting through his suit jacket. He was unarmed and felt naked.
A black Town Car turned the left corner, and the bright headlamps illuminated him. He didn’t raise an arm to block the glare. The car pulled over and stopped. Nobody exited. Dane approached the rear passenger-side door and climbed inside, settling on the plush leather seat and snapping his seat belt as the driver, without a word, accelerated away. Dane placed his hands on his lap and stared ahead. The outside scenery held no interest.
The Town Car pulled into the rear entrance of the White House, where Secret Service agents put Dane through their security protocols, which included a body scan, a pat-down, a retinal scan and visual confirmation from the chief of staff. The chief of staff then escorted Dane through the quiet hallways to the Oval Office, where President Peter Cross waited. The president thanked the chief of staff, who left them alone, closing the office door quietly.
Cross stood tall behind the big oak desk, where his predecessors had made tough calls and major decisions affecting millions. He smiled at Dane and came around with a hand extended; Dane met him halfway and they shook, the handshake turning into a hug.
“I can’t believe how long it’s been,” Cross said. “You look well, Steve.”
“And you, sir,” Dane said. He took a deep breath. “You probably know why I’m here.”
“I’ve been waiting a long time for this meeting.”
Dane followed Cross’s invitation to sit, and the president resumed his position behind the desk. As soon as he sat down his face looked tired, worn out. Cross and Dane had known each other for two decades. Cross had been in charge of Dane’s department at CIA and later rose to the DCI position prior to entering politics, enjoying a short congressional career and ultimately winning the presidency.
Despite Dane’s attempt to sever links with his past, Cross remained somebody he could never fully abandon. He had known Cross as a tough but fair boss who always looked after his troops and had taken a vested interest in the case of Dane’s father. Dane knew Cross and his father had not been close, but they’d worked on projects t
ogether, and Cross felt from the get-go that something about Richard Dane’s death seemed false when other agency officials rushed to embrace the treason story.
“Been a long couple of weeks,” Cross said, “but nothing compared to what I’m sure you’re going through.”
“As usual, sir, it sounds like you’re a few steps ahead.”
“It’s not a mistake that the Trust found you,” the president said. “We’ve been waiting for events to accelerate to the point where we could bring you fully up-to-date and finish this.”
Dane frowned.
“I’ve known Daniel Gallagher was sick for a long time. He was the weak link in Royce’s chain, but without his death sentence we couldn’t have reached him. Once we knew he could be broken—”
“You’ve known all this time? The whole story?”
Cross raised a hand. “Stephen, the last time we spoke about this, you were hurt and angry and ready to murder a man who had nothing to do with your father’s death. You weren’t ready then.”
“It might have been nice to make that choice myself.”
“Even if I had told you, there’s no way you’d have gotten anybody to talk, even Gallagher. He’d have run to his friends and they would have disappeared. It was important we give them time to get settled in their organization.”
“And kill more people?” Dane said. “Do more damage?”
“It wasn’t like that. Royce, DeRocca and Gallagher were only just starting when they plugged in with the local Mafia. Their goals were always international, and they’ve finally found a sponsor who will take them to take them further.”.”
“Some sort of benefactor?”
“Who he is, we don’t know. Neither do we know where he is. There’s more to this, now, than the three men who killed your father.”
Dane sprang from the chair, his jaw clenched. He turned his back to the president; turned around again.
“You aren’t going to convince me I should have told you sooner, Stephen. You had some growing to do. The best thing you could have done for yourself was take off on your own.”
Dane’s expression softened. He stepped over to the window overlooking the White House garden. The bright lights showed him some of the greenery, but shadows covered the rest.
“It’s just like the old days,” Dane said.
“Old spymasters never die,” Cross said. “They just change offices.”
“I have a file,” Dane said. “From Gallagher’s computer. I don’t think it’s the whole story, but I can prove they targeted U.S. citizens.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But we aren’t releasing anything to the press, are we?”
“Not if we can handle this in-house. Same as we handled your father’s death. But we will establish the truth for those in the community who need to know. We will clear your father’s name.”
Dane turned from the window. “I don’t know where to find Royce or DeRocca.”
“Between you, Nina and Lukavina, that won’t be the case for long.”
“It’s going to get bloody, sir.”
“We wouldn’t have it any other way, would we?”
Dane nodded.
“I still light a candle for you every day,” Cross said.
“I think it helps.”
DANE RETURNED to the Watergate and paused at the entrance of the downstairs restaurant and adjoining bar. It wasn’t the only bar in the hotel, but if Nina was going to give him a hard time about his sobriety order, she’d do it in the open where he could find her.
But she wasn’t there. A hostess asked if he wanted a seat, but he excused himself. In the elevator, he watched the floor numbers above the door light up until the car stopped.
He found her at the table with a game of solitaire spread in front of her.
“I might get used to this not-drinking thing,” she said.
“No you won’t.”
She set down some more cards. He kept his eyes on her. He wasn’t going to insult her by checking the wastebaskets.
“How did your meeting go?”
“Cross has known everything for a very long time.”
She stopped halfway through a move and looked at him. “And he held it back because…?”
“I had some growing to do.”
“He’s probably right. You were certainly a mess when I met you.”
Dane didn’t smile. He knew Cross was probably right, and he hadn’t argued, because the man had always been right. Dane had matured to understand that, then and now. But that didn’t make it okay for him to hear. He had enough of an ego to want to argue just on principle.
“I bet you want a drink,” Nina said.
Dane swallowed. His throat was dry. “You’re right.”
“Enough to break the fast?” She cracked half a grin.
“No.”
She shrugged and returned to her card game. Dane went into the bathroom, turned on the light, filled a glass with water and downed it. He set it on the countertop. Hands on hips, he looked at his reflection. He saw a face tight with concentration. A man with a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.
“We’ll talk to Len again tomorrow and see where he’s at,” he said.
“This one’s kind of boring so far,” she said.
He went over and rubbed her back. “The game?”
“Every time I think I have a match, I don’t,” she said. “I would probably have more fun with a vodka tonic or two.”
Dane offered no reply and kept moving his hand around Nina’s back.
“What’s bothering you?” she said.
“What has been a mystery to me for so long,” he said, “has been known for just as long to other people.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“That’s not the problem. The problem is that the answers are being handed to me on a plate.”
“So?”
“The obstacles will be ten times harder later on.”
She let out a frustrated grunt. “Like this stupid game.”
He laughed. “When this is finished, I’ll buy you a distillery.”
“Two,” she said, gathering the cards to reshuffle.
7
Mistakes
THE NEXT day Steve Dane, with Nina Talikova in tow, crossed the lobby seal of the Central Intelligence Agency and proceeded to the check-in desk. Lukavina came down to greet them and oversee the issuing of their green guest badges. The badges offered them very limited access, and they couldn’t move about the building without an escort.
In the elevator, Nina said, “Back home we used to dream of entering this building.”
“I bet,” Lukavina said.
“We wanted to see how many bugs we could plant,” Nina said.
“CIA headquarters has never been penetrated from the outside, and there have never been any listening devices discovered within these walls that our own people haven’t put there.”
“We wanted to change that,” Nina said.
“Kids and their dreams,” Dane quipped as the elevator doors opened.
Lukavina led them into Figg’s office, where the DCI rose from behind his desk.
“Mr. Dane, I apologize for the circumstances of our meeting.”
“All is forgiven.” Dane crossed the office to shake the older man’s hand. He introduced Nina. “I understand we’re going to be able to work together on this.”
“Not officially. Let’s have a seat over there.”
Figg sat everybody on leather couches with a glass coffee table between them, upon which were empty glasses, two pitchers of ice water and a plate of mini-carrots and celery. Figg told everybody to help themselves. Lukavina joined them last after collecting a tablet computer from the DCI’s desk.
“I knew your father,” Figg said.
“Really.”
“Not very well. We passed each other in the hallway and worked on one project together.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We need to do whatever we can to expose thi
s corruption.”
“The president doesn’t want to go public,” Dane said.
“He told me the same thing. I meant figuratively. What’s the Bible passage? ‘Bring the darkness into light’?” Figg said with a slight chuckle.
“I’m not a religious scholar,” Dane said.
“I used to be, but that was before I discovered this world isn’t black and white.”
Dane poured a glass of water and handed it to Nina, then poured another for himself. “I’m also not one for small talk.”
Figg nodded. “Len has told me a lot about you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Len?”
Lukavina tapped the tablet’s screen. He described his conversation with Detective Bishop and showed Dane and Nina pictures of Gino Moligoni, his major lieutenants, as well as recent photos of Perry Royce and George DeRocca.
“George isn’t aging well,” Dane said.
“He’s also in another line of work,” Lukavina said. “We tracked him to a casino in Atlantic City. It’s owned by one of Moligoni’s front companies. DeRocca is also in charge of a trucking company, and we think it’s used as a cover to move contraband.”
“How did you find him so fast?”
“He’s using his real name, Steve.”
“Probably no reason not to. What about Royce?”
“He’s in Maryland, got a place on Chesapeake Beach. Lives alone, collects his pension, goes fishing now and then.”
“And Moligoni?”
“Nearby on a large estate with half a company of troops.” Lukavina punched up the photo on the tablet, and Dane and Nina examined the aerial shot of the estate and the large amount of property.
Dane sat back and crossed his legs.
Figg said, “I don’t think I need to advise you on any next steps, Mr. Dane. You probably already have some in mind.”
Dane nodded. “Thank you both. But there’s something missing.”
