The Fitzgerald Ruse

by Mark de Castrique

  “And our payment is in there,” Nakayla said, emphasizing “our.”

  “Right, partner.”

  She circled behind me and gently massaged my shoulders. “You’re tense. Are you sure you want to do it this way? Why not dig up Nathan’s decoy and simply rebury it. The area’s more isolated and you know they’ll check out what you were doing.”

  “Too many ways for them to slip away on foot. My apartment’s atop a mountain and the parking lot can be easily sealed. I want them to think I’m making a break. We need to force their hand.”

  She gave the back of my neck an extra squeeze.

  “Then let Nathan and his Blackwater buddies do the dirty work. We can spend our time dancing in front of the window.”

  “Really? That’ll draw a crowd in the parking lot.”

  Nakayla cupped her hand around my chin, closing my mouth. She kissed my ear and said in a sultry whisper, “At least no one can accuse you of having two left feet. Or even one.”

  I grabbed her wrist and ran my forefinger across her open palm. “That’s what I love about you. You’re all heart line.”

  She kissed me again. “Your Napoleon needs to meet my Josephine.”

  “That’s a dance I could get into—but not in front of the window.”

  The office phone rang, saving me from falling into a bad impersonation of Humphrey Bogart. I snagged the receiver. “Blackman and Robertson.”

  “Chief?” Calvin’s voice sounded strained. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. How about you? Everything cleared up?” I didn’t think our office lines had been re-bugged, and Calvin must have agreed. But I wanted both of us to be cautious.

  “I think so, but I heard you spent some time at the police station, and before I left town I wanted an update.”

  “The police picked up another suspect. Turned out to be a false alarm.” In case Calvin’s line was tapped, I didn’t want to mention the FBI and scare off our friends.

  “So you think we’re done?” he asked.

  “Yes. The police got a positive ID on Lucas. He’d been following us, and the so-called witnesses at that old folks home aren’t sure what they saw. I think Lucas is good for both murders.”

  “Well, I’ll pick up the trail in Baghdad. Sure you don’t want to come with me?”

  “That’s one trail I never want to walk down. Watch your back. I plan to see you again.”

  Calvin laughed. “I will. You taught me well, Chief. And good luck with the detective business. Kiss that partner of yours for me and tell her you’re a poor substitute for the real thing.” He hung up.

  “A problem?” Nakayla asked.

  “No. Calvin probably witnessed the police pick up Agent Keith and wondered if our plans had changed. He’ll be at the apartment tomorrow night. Everything’s on go.” I looked out the window at the steady drizzle. “The rain will shield Nathan’s operation tonight, but I hope they don’t leave muddy signs for tomorrow.”

  “I hope these guys keep their distance and determine you dug something up after you’re safely away.”

  “If things go according to plan, they’ll see me load the chest in the CR-V.”

  “Right.” Nakayla headed for her office. “When have things ever gone according to plan?”

  “What did you learn about the flights?”

  She stopped and turned around. “The airport manager is supposed to call me back before the end of the day. I figured that would be faster than trying to contact each airline.”

  “And if we discover Agent Keith lied?”

  She put her hands on her hips and feigned surprise. “You want my opinion?”

  “No. I like to hear myself ask questions.”

  “If Keith lied, then we postpone this ruse of yours until we find out why. And that should be left to Detective Efird. I’m not ready to take on the FBI.”

  I shook my head. “If Keith lied, then I bet we aren’t taking on the FBI but something more sinister. And that, dear partner, will be troubling indeed.”

  Ten minutes later, Nathan Armitage knocked on our door. Beads of water clung to his long raincoat, and he declined Nakayla’s offer to help him out of it. “I can’t stay, and I’d just shake water all over your floor. I’m meeting the team at my house in an hour. I didn’t want to have to explain them to my office staff.”

  “How’s the fake chest?” I asked.

  Nathan grinned. “Looks terrific. I used an old rusty tackle box. And the trick with the potato created a perfect swastika. It took a couple tries but for future reference, put the carved half of the potato in the freezer. The lead will harden before the heat eats at the mold. By the way, you need to replenish all my fishing weights.”

  “I’ll throw in a fish dinner if we pull this off.”

  “How are you feeling?” Nakayla asked him. Unlike me, she’d remembered his recent release from the hospital and his weeks of rehab.

  “Good. I won’t be doing any digging, and a little rain won’t bother me. A small price to pay.” He stuck his hands inside the pockets of his coat and pulled out two cell phones. “These will be safe. There’s a push-to-talk feature, but avoid that. I’ve taped your names on the back so I’ll know who has which number. I’ve written it under your name. Memorize them and destroy them.” He handed us each a phone. “I don’t program numbers into the directory in case it’s ever lost or stolen.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Call me when the chest is buried, no matter what time.”

  “Given the weather, we might move a little earlier. I think Beaver Lake will be quiet after midnight.”

  Our business line rang and Nakayla stepped in her office to answer it.

  Nathan backed toward the door. “See you tomorrow. We’ll get them. I can feel it.”

  Before I could reply, Nakayla said, “Mr. Garrett, thank you for returning my call.”

  I held up my hand to Nathan. “Wait. That’s the airport manager.”

  “Yes,” Nakayla said. “The flight arrivals for last Tuesday evening.”

  Nathan and I moved into her office where she stood listening.

  “So, not just the flights out of Charlotte? What did land on time?” After a few minutes of silence, she gave us a thumbs-up. “Thanks, Mr. Garrett. I hope the rest of your week is smoother.” She dropped the receiver onto the cradle. “Well, Agent Keith’s story checks out. Asheville and Charlotte weren’t the only cities with severe weather problems. A wall of thunderstorms from North Carolina to New York played havoc with the schedule. Charlotte was under a tornado watch from six to eight, and wind sheers kept the runways closed for nearly an hour.”

  “Keith claimed to leave from D.C,” I said.

  “The evening flights come to Asheville from regional hubs. Charlotte is the primary feeder. Garrett said a few flights came from Atlanta. Even though Atlanta was spared the bad weather, the connecting routes from the Northeast were delayed. Garrett speculated passengers from the South or Midwest would have been more likely to make connections, but after the storms passed through Asheville, the backlog of arrivals slowed all landings. Keith’s evening flight probably had problems in both D.C. and Charlotte.”

  Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. “So, unless he flew in earlier in the afternoon, his timing fits the conditions. I’m glad we’re not dealing with some rogue FBI agent.” He cinched the belt of his raincoat tighter. “I’ll be in touch. I suggest you two stick together tonight. I’ll have a man on watch at the apartment.”

  Nakayla looked at her watch. “It’s after four now. I need to go by my house and pick up a change of clothes.”

  “Then I’m following you,” I said. “We’re too close to the end to take any chances.”

  Although Nakayla and I went to bed at ten, neither of us could sleep. We kept Nathan’s phones within reach on the nightstands and talked about where we should be when the trap was sprung. The lower level of the Kenilworth had an outside door off the back wing that opened directly into the rear parking lot. Nathan and his team wanted my
CR-V in the center where it would be the greatest distance from the two exit driveways. Nathan expected to surround Hernandez and his cohorts in less than ten seconds. Calvin, Nakayla, and I could emerge from the Kenilworth’s rear door and block an escape route into the building.

  During our pillow talk, I didn’t argue against Nakayla’s participation, but I insisted Calvin and I go first. We had combat training and carried weapons with greater stopping power. Nakayla agreed to the plan.

  I was just drifting off when the secure cell rang. It was nearly one-thirty.

  “No problems,” Nathan said. “We buried the chest behind the concrete piling. It was raining like a son of a bitch, which will pat down the earth and wash the loose soil off the leaves.”

  “You think midmorning is good?”

  “Yes. Right after the rain ends. It makes sense you’d be out there before things clear enough for any lake activity to begin. I realized you need a shovel. Give me your access code and I’ll have one set inside the back door on the lower level for you to carry out in the morning. Also a fishing pole.”

  “Fishing pole?”

  “They’ll expect you to have devised some plausible cover for being at Beaver Lake.”

  Nathan made a good point, and I was embarrassed I hadn’t thought of it. “And you’ll have men in place all day?”

  “Only at the lake until you make the retrieval. Then we’ll be at the Kenilworth. I know Frank Howington, the owner of your building, and there’s a vacant apartment on the second floor overlooking the parking lot. Frank made arrangements for me to have it for the next two days.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I had a client who thought she was being stalked.”

  I looked at Nakayla in bed beside me. She’d propped herself up on one elbow and watched me with anxious eyes. “I’m worried about that part of the plan too—Nakayla driving to the office alone.”

  Nathan picked up on my concern and understood that I was prompting him. Nakayla wouldn’t be as argumentative if he were dictating the steps of the operation. “I get it. Tell her I’m sending a man for her in the morning. He’ll be in a silver Audi and come to the porte-cochère. That way I won’t have to waste a more experienced man tailing her. She can call for a ride from the office when she’s finished for the day.”

  I repeated his instructions.

  Nakayla frowned. “Won’t that make them suspicious?”

  Nathan must have heard her because he added, “I scanned your cars and found GPS transmitters planted on both. These guys came prepared.”

  “Or they have access to resources here.”

  Nathan said nothing, and I knew he was second-guessing his decision to involve his Blackwater friends.

  “At least I won’t have to worry about leading them to Beaver Lake,” I said. “And it might be good if Nakayla’s moving without their electronic surveillance.”

  Her eyes widened as she realized her car had been tagged.

  “What time do you want Nathan’s man to be here?” I asked her.

  “Eight forty-five.”

  I confirmed that we’d look for a silver Audi to pull in front at eight forty-five. I’d be watching from the recesses of the lobby to make sure no one intervened, and Nakayla promised to call me as soon as she reached the office.

  Somewhere around three I fell asleep.

  Fog lay in the valleys like rivers of milk. I would descend into its thickness, visibility decreasing to a few car lengths, and then I’d climb a knoll to emerge like a swimmer breaking the surface into the morning sunlight. I knew a dense covering would hover over Beaver Lake and the surrounding shoreline. My enemies might have placed the tracking device on my CR-V, but I was turning it to our advantage. The challenge would be making sure they saw me carrying Nathan’s doctored tackle box.

  When I reached the backside of the lake, I decided not to squeeze the CR-V between the gatepost and tree, as I had on my scouting trip. Instead I pulled close to the taut chain blocking access to the narrow dirt road. My walk in would be farther, but the Honda would be visible to anyone looking for it.

  I popped open the rear hatch and pulled out the fishing pole, shovel, and my new copy of The Great Gatsby. The casual observer would see an enthusiastic angler prepared to dig his own worms and then fish while reading a good book.

  I heard a vehicle approaching on the paved road above. A white van materialized out of the fog and glided past. Moisture coated the driver’s window, blurring a face into a shock of black hair and deeply tanned skin. A chill ran through me as the van disappeared in the mist. The driver had to be Hernandez, the man who had bludgeoned Ethel Barkley to death.

  His curiosity would be aroused. I hoped he would delay any action until he thought he understood what I was doing. I counted on the Ali Baba gang being clever enough to create a story out of all the pieces they would have discovered: Ethel Barkley’s fortune, William Dudley Pelley’s Silver Shirts, and the contents of the swastika-sealed lockbox, including F. Scott Fitzgerald’s papers, a gift from his paramour of 1935, and something else they’d found but didn’t understand. My unearthing the buried chest should prove irresistible to conspirators who were convinced I had conspired against them. Where I had justice as a motive, they acted out of greed and revenge, a powerful combination that could be their downfall.

  As the sound of the van’s engine faded in the distance, a light breeze fanned the fog into wisps that danced across the ground. Grabbing the shovel and fishing pole in one hand and the book in the other, I headed down the narrowing trail, putting my life in the hands of Nathan Armitage and the unseen men who had once worked with my enemies.

  The rotting picnic table and canoe appeared undisturbed, and the leaves near the water showed no sign that anything but rain had pressed them down. I leaned the fishing pole against the canoe and used the shovel as a cane to negotiate the uneven ground. I made a show of looking at my decoded page and pacing off steps from the path. I banged the blade of the shovel against the concrete piling as if that had been the marker I’d been seeking. Then I backed up a few feet and stabbed the spade into the earth.

  Digging presented a potential problem. I had to shift all my weight onto my artificial leg to put my good foot on top of the shovel blade. Fortunately, the recently turned earth yielded easily and my handicap posed no hardship. Every few minutes, I’d pause and listen. Somewhere a squirrel chattered. I wasn’t enough of a hunter to know if his noisy rant was a warning or a playful call to a mate.

  After about ten minutes, the spade struck metal. Nathan and his men had taken the time to bury the chest a good three feet deep. I knelt down and pulled up the old tackle box by its top handle. Smeared with dirt and rusted at the corners, it looked like it could have been buried for a hundred years. I set it aside and began refilling the hole. If our plan were going to go wrong, now would be the moment. The chest had been uncovered, I was alone with my back to the path, and the lake blocked any hope for escape. Nathan’s men had shown no sign of their presence, and even if they were watching, they had to be too far away to be of immediate assistance.

  I tucked the Fitzgerald book inside my jacket and hurried back to the CR-V with the fishing pole, shovel, and muddy chest. The fog had lifted and the road above was clearly visible. I unlocked the hatch and threw the shovel and pole in first. Then I set the chest right above the license plate where anyone could see it. The swastika seal appeared to be a dead ringer for the one on Ethel Barkley’s lockbox, and I wiped away the dirt to make it even clearer. I removed my jacket, not concerned that my Kimber and shoulder holster were exposed, wrapped the nylon windbreaker around the chest, and pushed everything farther into the cargo space. I closed the hatch, took a final look around, and then quickly backed onto the paved road and headed for the apartment.

  Using Nathan’s secure phone, I called Nakayla. She’d let me know when she’d arrived at the office and I’d promised to tell her when I was safely away from Beaver Lake.

  “Look
out your window in about five minutes. I’ll be driving by.”

  She sighed. “Thank God. Everything okay?”

  “I believe Hernandez made at least one pass. There could be another vehicle. Once the fog lifted, they might have been able to use binoculars to see me from across the lake. I think they’re going to bite.”

  “This afternoon?” she asked.

  “Maybe, but they’ll probably wonder why I didn’t take the chest into the apartment. They’ll assume I’m either leaving soon or waiting till after dark to remove it. Since they’ve got a GPS track on the CR-V they probably won’t come too close during daylight. Or they could swing in, smash the rear window with a crowbar, and try to snatch it. It could happen so fast we don’t have a chance to be involved.”

  “I’ll probably call Nathan’s man for a ride around four. Since I’m supposed to think you’re sick, I should leave early to check on you.”

  Her suggestion made sense, and as soon as I was back in the apartment I’d like to have her safely with me. I looked at my watch. Ten-thirty. “Anything shaking at the office?”

  “Agent Keith came looking for you. I told him you were sick. He wanted to know why you told the press you thought the case was wrapped up. Efird telephoned with the same question.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That you didn’t like the press and you’d say anything to stop them from pestering you.”

  I laughed. “Good answer.”

  “Keith asked me to join Cory and him for lunch. I said okay as long as we went someplace close.”

  Being with an FBI agent was probably a good idea during these final few hours. I certainly didn’t want Nakayla going to lunch alone. “Sounds fine. Don’t let him pump you for too much information.”

  “I’ll hold the martinis to two,” she said. “Call me if something breaks before I get there.”

  “You got it, partner.” I hung up, but the sound of her voice stayed with me. The woman was something special. I glanced up at our office window as I drove by Pack Square. She had the good sense not to come to the glass and wave.