Snake Eye

by William C. Dietz

What felt like liquid lead trickled into the pit of Dexter’s stomach and some of the concern he felt must have been visible on his face, because Pasco nodded in mock sympathy. “I know it’s a tough break sir, but you’ll notice that I kept the payment down, so you’ll be able to afford it.”

  That was when Dexter realized just how calculating Pasco really was. Rather than run the risk of killing the golden goose, the retired CPO was determined to nurture the poor bird, and thereby maximize his profit. Not only that, but he expected his victim to feel a sense of gratitude regarding the way in which the blackmail would be carried out, a notion that struck Dexter as laughable. But he couldn’t laugh, not so long as Pasco could harm Rossi. “Yes,” Dexter said humbly, “that was very thoughtful of you. All things considered I think a raise is definitely in order. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, there is,” Pasco replied, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Given the fact that you’re a trained killer and all, I took the precaution of writing up a description of the room, which I placed in my safety deposit box. Should something happen to me, my dear old mother will find it and go to the police. Oh, and don’t make any alterations to the viewing room unless you discuss them with me first. I plan to use it from time to time.”

  Dexter’s eyes narrowed and for one brief moment Pasco knew he was staring into eternity. “Stay out of my apartment,” the ex-SEAL growled, “or I may decide to take my chances with that letter.”

  Pasco was frightened but determined to hide it as he came to his feet. It required all the courage he could muster to push back. “And you can kiss my ass, pervert. Truth is that I will go anywhere I please…and that includes your apartment.”

  There was nothing Dexter could do as the other left his office, except think about the room and wish that it didn’t exist.

  Chapter Six

  There was a profound emptiness in the pit of Rossi’s stomach as she took the elevator up to Haxton’s office, where she was forced to wait for a good ten minutes before being invited to enter. Theel was present, which was to be expected, but so was Harley Demont—a surprise, and a not-altogether pleasant one, especially if the administrator had flown in because of the shoot-out. Haxton, who was concerned for both herself and Rossi, hurried to smooth the way. “Good morning,” she said brightly. “The SAC and I both wanted to talk to you.”

  “Sure,” Rossi replied neutrally, and shook the SAC’s hand. Demont’s grip was firm, almost too firm, as if the administrator was attempting to compensate for his relatively small stature. Rather than take her cue from Demont’s carefully calibrated smile, the agent looked into his eyes. They were like chips of obsidian. “Hello, Christina. How’s your daughter?”

  The question had a manipulative quality, so rather than give Demont credit for remembering Missy, Rossi felt resentful instead. She forced herself to remain civil. “She’s fine, sir. Thank you.”

  “Please,” Haxton said, as she pointed toward the dreaded couch. “Have a seat.”

  Rossi had little choice but to circumnavigate the coffee table and lower herself onto the couch. Theel, who was seated next to her, turned his head. That allowed him to deliver a wink without Demont being able to see it. The gesture was intended to reassure her but didn’t.

  “Well,” Haxton said awkwardly. “We know the past few weeks have been very difficult for you, especially given all the media attention you’ve had to endure, but there are some important matters to discuss.”

  “Yes,” Demont added ominously. “That’s correct. I’m the kind of guy who tells it like it is, and John tells me that you’re the kind of person who likes to know where she stands. So, here’s the situation: All of the preliminary data points to a good shooting. Even with the involvement by your houseguest. The technicians are still in the process of examining Lopa’s van, but we’re pretty sure that he was behind the attack on Rigg Hall, and carried out the Aspee murder as well. If so, that will deal a significant blow to the ELA, for which you deserve a great deal of the credit.

  “In fact your boss put you in for a second Award for Meritorious Service. And I would support his submission, if it weren’t for a serious breach of ethics.”

  Theel started to object at that point but Demont raised a hand. “Hold on, John. I know how you feel about your team—but Christina needs to hear this. It was a mistake to enter into a personal relationship with a potential witness. I know you were going to break it off—but that doesn’t alter the facts. When the ELA gunmen broke into your house, Mr. Dexter was sleeping in your bed. The press aren’t aware of the SNAKE EYE investigation, but that could change, and the ethical issue could become public. But even if it doesn’t the matter must still be dealt with. That’s how I see it,” Demont finished matter-of-factly. “Is there anything you would like to say?”

  Rossi was numb by then. The facts spoke for themselves and she was guilty. It took all her strength to hold her head up. “No. Everything you said was true.”

  “No excuses,” Demont commented approvingly. “I respect that—and so will the folks at headquarters. So enough about the past. Let’s talk about the future. The press are a fickle lot, and some of the same bozos who used to refer to you as ‘Rambo Rossi,’ now praise your skill and courage. That’s good for the Bureau, especially given the size of this year’s budget request, and could be helpful to you so long as you don’t let the notoriety go to your head.

  “So, given the fact that these two believe in you, it looks like you’re off the hook for now. Hopefully, if things go well, the ethics thing will never show up on the six o’clock news. Don’t look for a second award though,” he added sternly. “Not while I’m pulling a paycheck.”

  Theel, who knew how contentious Rossi could be, held his breath. Would his agent accept what amounted to a pardon? Or charge in and screw everything up? His fears were misplaced. Rossi nodded. “Yes. I understand boss.”

  “Well then,” Haxton said, clearly happy to have the whole thing over. “It’s settled. Agent Hawkins tells us that he has plenty for you to do…and the SPD is going to keep an eye on your house. Watch your back, though. There might be more wackos out there.”

  The statement was made as a dismissal and Rossi recognized it as such. She stood, and had just edged her way around the coffee table when Demont cleared his throat. “Christina….”

  “Yes?”

  “Stay away from this Dexter guy until the SNAKE EYE investigation is over. What you do after that is up to you.”

  Rossi gave a short jerky nod. “Can I tell him that?”

  Demont opened his mouth to say, “No,” but Haxton spoke first. “Yes,” she answered without looking at her boss. “You can.”

  Rossi said, “Thank you,” and left the office.

  Demont waited for the door to close and shook his head. “She won’t make SSA. Not in a million years.”

  “No,” Theel replied quietly, “but I don’t think she cares.”

  It was just past 1:00 P.M. The sun had broken through the clouds and thousands of people were in the process of returning to their offices as Rossi hurried towards the King County Jail building at 500 Fifth Avenue. The fact that the store windows were decorated for Christmas, and many of the people around her were heavily burdened with packages, combined to make the FBI agent feel guilty all over again. Because even though Vanessa had already completed her shopping and wrapped the family’s presents, Rossi had yet to start. Something which was of considerable concern to Missy, who feared a repeat of the year before, when her mother returned from Arizona just in time to go shopping on December 24. Maybe tonight, Rossi thought to herself as she pushed her way through the door and entered the lobby.

  Special Agent Olivia Inez was waiting for her FBI counterpart and had been for five minutes. She was small, only five-five or so, and had an elfin face. She wore her hair back, and her ears stuck out, which served to emphasize how cute she was. The ICE agent was dressed in a nicely tailored blue overcoat, a business-like gray suit, and low heels. The oversi
zed bag that hung from her right shoulder was open at the top, which meant she could access her 9mm Glock quickly should she need to—a fact that had surprised more than one suspect during the past seven years.

  The two women hadn’t had an opportunity to work together since being introduced inside Container 7306—but that was about to change. “Sorry I’m late,” Rossi said. “I was trapped in conference call hell. The good news is that they let me return to work.” That wasn’t completely true of course, since the FBI agent remained on administrative leave, but what was she supposed to do, sit in her hotel all day?

  “It was a good shoot,” Inez replied sympathetically. “Everybody knows that. The whole team was glad to hear that you weren’t hurt. As for being late, don’t worry about that. The gentleman we’re going to talk to has plenty of time on his hands.”

  “Thanks,” Rossi replied. “What can you tell me about this guy? I got an email from Hawk but he didn’t provide much detail.”

  Inez nodded understandingly. “We’re still in the process of putting the information together. Here’s what we have so far: The suspect, a guy named Hector Battoon, is a citizen of the Philippines. He arrived in Seattle on the ship South Wind more than two weeks ago, went ashore after the ship’s cargo was unloaded, and wound up in a knife fight. Have you ever run into a perp armed with a balisong? No? Well, I have, and don’t let them get in close.

  “Anyway, it seems that Battoon got into an argument with a wino down in Pioneer Square and cut the poor bastard up. Then, rather than return to his ship where he was almost certain to get arrested, our knife fighter went to ground. The only problem was that he chose the wrong people to hide with. Someone dropped a quarter on him and he wound up in the slammer. Now, after talking to his court-appointed lawyer, he wants to cut a deal.”

  Rossi’s eyebrows rose. “What does he have to offer?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out,” the ICE agent countered. “He claims to have information regarding human trafficking, but that could be a load of you know what, so we’ll see what he says.”

  Rossi nodded and followed Inez to security where they were required to surrender their weapons and cell phones before being led to a small holding cell where Battoon and his attorney were waiting. The Filipino had restless brown eyes, long black hair, and Rossi noticed that his left ear lobe was missing. Lost in a knife fight? The FBI agent would have been willing to bet on it.

  The Filipino’s attorney was extremely young, most likely just out of law school, and appeared to be a bit unsure of himself. Having already lost a great deal of hair, he wore what remained extremely short, and even though it was early afternoon he had a distinct five o’clock shadow. When he stood, the lawyer turned out to be quite tall. “Hello,” he said as he extended his hand. “I’m Larry Farley—and this is Mr. Battoon.”

  Both women shook his hand. “I’m Agent Inez,” the shorter of the two women announced, “and this is Agent Rossi. She’s FBI and I’m with ICE.”

  Both agents removed their coats and draped them over the back of a tired-looking plastic chair. “We would like to tape this conversation,” Inez said, as she removed a small mini-cassette recorder from her bag and turned it on. “Is that okay with you?”

  Farley frowned. “What about the deal?”

  “There isn’t any deal,” Rossi said firmly. “And there won’t be unless your client tells us something of value. Then, assuming that he does, the prosecutor will get involved.”

  Farley wasn’t pleased, but produced a short jerky nod and turned to Battoon. “Go ahead. Tell them what you know.”

  The Filipino looked from Inez to Rossi and back again. There was fear in his eyes. Like most of his countrymen he spoke good English. “The people you’re after have a very long reach. There’s no place to run in here, and if they find out that I have been talking to you, I’ll be dead within days.”

  “We’ll put you in isolation, then move you to a different facility,” Inez responded, “If you’re worth the effort. Are you?”

  Battoon wrestled with the question for a moment, decided that there wasn’t much of a choice, and nodded his head.

  “Good,” Inez said. The ICE agent checked to ensure that the recorder was taping, and ran through the usual preamble regarding his rights before placing the device on the table in front of Battoon. “So, tell us about the South Wind?

  Inez, Rossi, and Bowen all listened as Battoon described how the illegals had been brought aboard the ship in Hong Kong, locked into a storage compartment for the duration of the voyage, and rousted as the freighter entered the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Then the crewman told his audience how the survival-suited men had been ordered to walk out onto a rain-lashed plank prior to jumping into the sea. He had heard the roar of an outboard motor, but only for a moment, and had never seen the pick-up boat.

  When Battoon made mention of the survival suits Inez glanced at Rossi and both agents felt a sudden surge of hope. The suit was a unique detail, something that could tie the South Wind to the body that had been found near Port Angeles, and might help move the investigation forward. But it wasn’t to be. Yes, the crewman was in a position to finger the ship’s captain, first officer, and purser; unfortunately he had no idea who had received the illegals, where they had been taken, or what had happened to them since. And, given the fact that the South Wind had left port more than a week before, the agents knew it would be a long time, if ever, before they had an opportunity to interrogate the ship’s officers.

  Nevertheless, it was important to squeeze everything they could out of Battoon, so the women spent the better part of an hour questioning the crewman before finally bringing the session to a close. Then, having ensured that Battoon would be placed in isolation, they returned to the lobby. “So,” Inez said, as they prepared to part company. “What do you think?”

  “I think we have the officers of the South Wind right where we want them,” Rossi answered. “Providing that we can extradite the bastards. But we aren’t any closer to Chow.”

  “I agree,” Inez replied. “Take care of that, would you? It’s about time the FBI started to pull its weight.”

  Both women laughed and Rossi felt a blast of cold air press against her face as she pushed her way through the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She passed a clothing store a few minutes later. Judging from their expressions the manikins were ready for Christmas.

  It was evening and most of the day-people had already gone home, leaving Seattle to those who lived there or on one of the adjacent hills. Like most of those who existed at the city’s core, Dexter preferred to use mass transit for local errands, or to simply walk. And that’s what the businessman was doing as he headed south along Fourth Avenue towards the Westlake Mall, a small open area that fronted a shopping complex and was surrounded by retail stores. That was where he had agreed to meet Rossi. It was an appointment he had been both looking forward to and dreading.

  A few days had passed since the shoot-out in Rossi’s house and the press attention had finally died down to the point where the businessman could leave the apartment building without being harassed. That didn’t mean Rossi would be free to see him on a regular basis. But maybe that’s for the best, Dexter thought to himself. Until I can find a way to get Pasco off my back.

  It seemed that with each passing day the blackmailer became more obnoxious. Pasco’s previously slimy, almost-servile manner had been replaced by what could only be described as an attitude of breezy contempt. In fact, when the two of them were alone, Pasco took great pleasure in addressing Dexter as “Pervert.” Not only that, but the ex-CPO had taken to spending increasing amounts of time in the illicit viewing room, watching Joe Chow abuse his mistress.

  All of which brought Dexter back to Rossi, because if it hadn’t been for her, the ex-naval officer would have been tempted to simply turn Pasco into the police, and to hell with the consequences. But that was impossible if he hoped to continue his relationship with the FBI agent—and protect her
from negative publicity.

  The whole thing was a mess and the businessman pushed it out of his mind as he crossed Fourth Avenue and entered the mall. The Christmas carousel had been in operation for the better part of a week by then and a small crowd of adults and children were waiting to ride it. Music filled the air, lights whirled, and the steady clang, clang, clang of a nearby bell ringer could be heard as the businessman paused to survey the area.

  Rossi had a tendency to be late, Dexter knew that, which was why he was surprised to see her standing not twenty feet away. She wore a long overcoat with the collar turned up and was facing the carousel. Colored lights played across her face as the merry-go-round turned and a girl about Missy’s age waved to her mother. Then the moment was over as the youngster laughed and rotated out of sight.

  And it was during that brief moment that the businessman imagined a different life. One in which he had met Rossi rather than Kristen, been a banker instead of a SEAL, and never gone to Iraq. How precious such a life would be, Dexter thought to himself, and waved as the FBI agent turned.

  Rossi had made use of the hour between getting off work and the appointment with Dexter to do some Christmas shopping. That made the ensuing hug awkward but enjoyable since every time the FBI agent saw Dexter her stomach went flip-flop. Which was silly given the fact that she was a grown woman rather than a lovestruck teenager. “Here,” Dexter said, “let me give you a hand with those.”

  Rossi surrendered her shopping bags, slipped an arm through his, and thought how pleasant that was. The Westin was only a couple of blocks away—which meant it was a convenient place to have a drink and get a bite to eat. Once they were inside and seated, Dexter looked Rossi in the eye. “Okay, Christina. Let’s get the bad stuff over with. Tell me the worst.”

  So Rossi did, and even though Dexter was expecting to hear bad news, it was disappointing nevertheless. In an effort to find out how long it would be before they could see each other again the businessman inquired about the Chow case. Although Rossi was understandably evasive, Dexter got the impression that things weren’t going as well as the authorities had hoped, a fact that didn’t bode well for their relationship. Unless something broke soon that is—and the possibility of that gave the ex-SEAL an idea. Something that Rossi wouldn’t approve of, but couldn’t do any harm, and might help. He filed the notion away.