Bloody Basin

by John R Cuneo

  “It’s too bad they killed José,” Agent Tygard said. “He might’ve been able to tell us a lot about the Salazar empire.”

  At a quiet coffee shop in Georgetown, Fena LaStrange and Delmo Estranho were discussing the type of information that Delmo was most interested in obtaining.

  “So you see, my dear, the new supervisor reports are what I’m most interested in,” said Delmo. He produced a copy of the form from an inside coat pocket.

  “If they’re that valuable to you, then they’re worth more. Isn’t that right?” said Fena.

  “I love the way you think,” said Delmo. He reached into his coat and retrieved an envelope that he presented to Fena. “What’s this for?” asked Fena.

  “It’s just a small token of my gratitude,” replied Delmo.

  Fena open the envelope. It was stuffed with hundred-dollar bills. Looking at Delmo, she smiled from ear to ear.

  “You deserve every penny of that, and if you play your cards right, you’ll make more money than you’ve ever dreamed of,” said Delmo. “Now I want to talk to you about something I’ve been working on for several months. Through my contacts at the State Department, I’ve heard that this new president is always looking for a certain type of person to work with him in the White House. Someone that would, from time to time, have a reason to be alone with him.” Hearing this Fena, paid much closer attention to what he was saying. “What would I need to do exactly?”

  Delmo took another sip of his drink and studied Fena’s reaction to the new information. “At first, you would be assigned to the communications office. Then I would expect you to work your way into a more intimate situation with him and, of course, retrieve any documentation and information that could be of use to me.”

  Fena sat quietly for a moment, thinking about the proposition before her.

  “Is there anything else I would need to do if I worked in the White House?” she asked.

  “Let me answer that by saying that a beautiful woman with your marvelous skills would be especially useful in getting not only close to the president but also to his wife! You see,” said Delmo, “all of my friends assure me this new first lady would be thrilled to make your acquaintance and that it’s entirely possible you could create a relationship with both of them.” Fena sipped her drink, then replied, “How much money are we talking?”

  Delmo laughed. “You’ll be paid four times more than what I’m paying you now. However, we’ll no longer be meeting on the Metro, and for payment, you’ll need to come to my home. You’ll also need to remove any documentation from your apartment that could incriminate the two of us. Do you understand?

  “Up till now, our only concern has been getting past the security guards at the FBI, and, as I’m sure you’ll agree, you’ve done a wonderful job doing that. But if you work in the White House, the Secret Service will be coming to your home from time to time to make sure you’re up to their security standards. So what do you think about my proposition?”

  Fena looked at Delmo. “Did I ever tell you about my grandmother?”

  “Not that I recall,” replied Delmo. “My grandmother owned one of the best and most expensive brothels in all of South America. Her clients were rich and powerful, and some of them came from all over the world to enjoy the sexual delights provided by her girls. My grandmother oversaw every aspect of their life from what they ate, so they would be healthy, to the exercise regimens they all had to follow. From time to time, a client would become so enamored with a young woman that they would want to buy her and take her away—which they could, if they had enough money. And I remember the last thing my grandmother told me before I left home was ‘No money, no funny.’”

  Chapter 20

  Ashes to Ashes

  It was a hot, humid Friday afternoon in Washington, D.C., and tucked away in her cubicle at the FBI document control department was Ms. Fena LaStrange. She had only been with the FBI for six months and worked the entire time in the document and records storage office. She had the task of filing all the field reports and case notes that came into FBI headquarters from the Southwest.

  The Fourth of July weekend was upon them, and everyone in town would be going to the national celebration. Music, fireworks, and food were the order of business for the entire city.

  “One more case to file, and I’ll be out of here,” said Fena, and as if to show her defiance, she mumbled under her breath, “Screw it; I’ll finish it next week.”

  All the paperwork for the case—the field reports, pictures, and maps along with statements from people from all over the country—took more than a few boxes to hold.

  One more thing to do, and I am done. Fena sighed. Sitting in her private cubicle, she printed the labels that would identify the boxes for this case. “Let’s see,” she whispered to herself.

  Along with the designated case number and names of the field agents assigned to the case, she typed, in bold letters, “ARIZONA.” Fena stood up and looked around her office one more time, making sure that she was alone. Then she casually reached into her purse and removed a cloth packet that would appear invisible to the scanning machine as she left the FBI building, and with the skill and cunning of a spy, she quickly printed all of the final synopsis case documents, folded them neatly, and placed them in the cloth pouch, which would fit against the inside of her purse. “Wait for me!” called out Fena to one of her coworkers. She left the office with several coworkers, all of them talking about the evening’s events, the fireworks, the music, and the long weekend away from the office. “See you at the mall later!” shouted Fena as she boarded the Metro. There in the crowd of passengers, she saw a familiar face, the face of a man she both feared and admired. Just as they had practiced dozens of times, Fena casually crossed her legs, shifted her position in her seat, and removed the cloth pouch from her purse. The well-dressed middle-aged man, in one fluid motion, reached down and took the pouch from Fena. Then, as Fena stood up to exit the Metro, she felt an envelope being dropped into her right coat pocket. She gave a quick smile to the man. They both nodded, and then she exited the subway. After a few paces, she felt the envelope in her pocket. It was filled to overflowing with cash. I love my job, Fena thought.

  The white-paneled truck drove into the deliveries-only parking spot in front of the high-rise apartment building that Fena LaStrange resided in. The driver, dressed in white coveralls and wearing white gloves and hospital-type shoe coverings, went to the back of the delivery truck and quite skillfully removed the large box labeled “cedar chest.” After the driver loaded the box onto his moving dolly, he wheeled his cargo to the front door and acknowledged the two men at the reception desk. “I have a delivery for Ms. LaStrange,” he said.

  The two men looked at each other. “Yes, we have a Ms. LaStrange here. What are you delivering?” they asked.

  The deliveryman looked at his order sheet. “I have a custom-made cedar chest for her. I’m to deliver and unpack the cedar chest in her apartment.” One of the men behind the desk picked up his phone and dialed the apartment number. A female voice on the other end said, “Yes, what is it?” “Good evening, ma’am. There’s a delivery here for you. A cedar chest.” “Oh, yes, I’m expecting that. Have it brought up, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we’ll send the man right up. Okay, pal, she’s in apartment 911,” said the man after he hung up the phone.

  “Thanks a lot,” said the deliveryman, and he went down the hallway and pressed number nine on the elevator. As soon as the deliveryman entered the elevator and the doors closed, both men at the reception desk looked at one another. “Man, I would like to give Ms. LaStrange a special delivery from time to time, if you know what I mean,” one said, and they both nodded in agreement and laughed.

  As the deliveryman rang the buzzer for Room 911, he could hear footsteps approaching from within the apartment. “Just a moment,” he heard a female voice call.

  The
door opened, and the deliveryman spoke, “I have a special delivery for Ms. LaStrange. It’s a custom cedar chest you ordered.”

  “Bring it right in,” said Fena. She stepped out of the way. The deliveryman entered the apartment and wheeled in the large box.

  “I need you to confirm the order, ma’am. Let me open the box, and you can double-check it’s what you ordered, okay?” the deliveryman said. “Well, of course. I’d love to see it and make sure it’s what I ordered” Fena said.

  Carefully the deliveryman laid down the dolly and moved the box onto the floor. He then produced a small knife from his pocket and opened the cardboard cover.

  “Let me check the order for the description,” the deliveryman said. “But you can remove the wrapping if you’d like.”

  Fena bent forward, then went down on one knee to open the wrapping material so she could look at her new cedar chest. As she removed the wrapping, she felt a strong hand on her left shoulder and then an instant of sharp pain as a hypodermic needle entered the base of her skull. Without so much as a whimper, Fena LaStrange was dead. The deliveryman, working quickly and quietly, placed the lifeless body into the box.

  He pulled a plastic body bag around Fena, then grabbed her purse and opened it to examine the contents. Inside, he found the cloth pouch filled with FBI documents and an envelope full of cash. He placed the purse and all its contents into the box with Fena’s body, then closed the box and secured it with packing tape and large plastic straps he produced from his coverall pockets. Once the box was secure, he strapped it to the moving dolly.

  He quickly went through the apartment, looking for any new documents she might have stolen. Within moments, he found copies of several FBI field documents and notes.

  “What a sneaky bitch this woman was,” the deliveryman said under his breath. “I wonder how many more like her work in that building.”

  The deliveryman went into the bedroom, and in the closet, he found the carpet pulled back and a hiding space made big enough for a shoebox. In the space was a brown paper bag, and in the bag, there was cash—lots of cash.

  This bitch must’ve been doing this for a long time, the deliveryman thought. He took the bag of cash and replaced the carpeting, setting several objects on top of that space to make everything look as normal as possible. The deliveryman looked around the apartment one last time, making sure nothing looked out of place, and when he was completely satisfied with what he saw, he exited the apartment.

  The two men working the reception desk were curious as to why it had taken him so long to deliver his package. “Hey, what took so long?” asked one of the men.

  “When she looked at it, the stain of the wood was all wrong, so she’s sending it back,” the deliveryman said. The men nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like her. Very easy to look at but she’s high maintenance.”

  The deliveryman just shrugged. “Well, you boys have a nice holiday. I’ve got more packages to deliver.” With that, the deliveryman was out the door and gone.

  The city was bustling with excitement. The traffic was heavier than usual, as people were either trying to leave the city for the holiday weekend or come into the city to enjoy the festivities. Getting through traffic and finally leaving the populated area of Washington, D.C., the deliveryman drove for an hour or so to a small town that looked this if it had been lost in time. The small Main Street looked like it was still in 1950. All the storefronts were perfectly maintained with manicured paint and clean windows.

  The delivery truck made its way through the small town, and there on the right was the old colonial funeral parlor. The driver went to the back of the building. As he backed onto the loading dock; he honked his horn several times. In his side-view mirror, he saw the large metal door opening. An older gentleman came out and guided him into the building. The deliveryman turned off the engine, exited the vehicle, and went to open the back doors.

  The old man looked up, unsmiling with a somber look on his face, and said, “Hello, Paul. It’s been a long time. Are you working on something special today?” “Yes, I am,” said Paul. “It’s a very private job.” The old man nodded in understanding. Paul reached into the pocket of his coveralls and removed a large sum of cash. He handed it to the old man, saying, “Why don’t you take the rest of the night off?” The old man nodded and said, “Make sure you lock up when you’re done.” “I always do,” said Paul. “I always do.” The old man disappeared down the street.

  Paul loaded the cardboard box onto a gurney and moved it farther into the building, where the furnace for the crematorium was located. Last week, when Paul had assumed the disguise of a utility worker and entered Fena’s apartment, he had found the receipt for an antique cedar chest. He opened the large metal door. Before he loaded all the contents into the furnace, he opened the box and examined the contents of the purse one last time. Then, closing the doors, he went to the control panel and—with no pun intended—fired the old girl up. It only took a minute or two for the contents within the furnace to be completely engulfed in fire.

  Paul went into the funeral home to sit down and review the paperwork he’d taken from Fena’s apartment. It didn’t take long for Paul to realize he had recovered copies of the latest field documents from Arizona. Someone was paying big money for this information. He opened the bag of cash he’d retrieved from the closet floor, quickly counting it. There was over a quarter of $1 million in cash. Then he found something interesting in the paper bag.

  It was a business card with the name of a diplomatic envoy from Brazil. The name on the card read “Delmo Estranho,” the man that Fena had been meeting on the Metro and the man who lived in Falls Church. Paul kept repeating the name over and over in his head until he realized that the last name was Portuguese, not Spanish, and in Portuguese, “Estranho” translated to “strange”! The diplomat had the same last name as Fena.

  Paul then remembered that when looking at the employment records for Fena LaStrange, he’d learned she’d been recommended for the position by someone well-placed in the State Department. There was no one higher up the chain of command; it was all Delmo Estranho. Paul found himself so comfortable in the funeral parlor that he started to doze off. He stood up and stretched, then went into the kitchen and got himself a drink of cool water. Looking at his watch, he saw that several hours had gone by, and he knew from experience that there would be nothing left in the furnace but ashes.

  Time to go back to work, he thought. He turned off the furnace and opened the steel doors. He was right: nothing but ashes. He used a specially designed shovel to remove the contents of the furnace and place the ashes into a small paper receptacle no bigger than a one-gallon ice cream container. And just like he had promised the old man, not only did he clean up the furnace area, but he was also sure to lock the loading dock doors after he had pulled the van out.

  It was late. The sun was about to go down, and he had a thirty-minute drive back to where he had borrowed the white van. Double-checking that the van was completely empty, he wiped down all the doors and handles even though he wore gloves and foot coverings. Better to be safe than sorry, he thought. He cautiously and quietly took the keys into the dispatch office of the car rental company. He put the keys back where he had found them and, being cautious, looked around, making sure no one had seen him.

  He left the office, walking several blocks to where he had parked his car. Paul had the container of ashes with him. He made his way to a marina where he kept a boat, then went out into the Potomac, anchoring the craft not far from other boats that were waiting to see the Fourth of July fireworks display. Suddenly there were explosions and flashes of colored light that filled the sky. The fireworks spectacular had begun. The music began playing, and bombs were bursting in air, and the echoes of the fireworks exploding overhead could be felt vibrating the buildings on the shoreline.

  They’re really putting on quite a show this year, thought Paul. All the sp
ectators and people on the boats around him were cheering and waving for another wonderful Fourth of July celebration. And although the atmosphere was festive, Paul was thinking about the business card he’d found. If this guy is a well-liked diplomat, it will really throw a wrench into the works. After all, you just cannot kill one of these guys without somebody noticing, Paul thought. But he is involved in the drug world, and that will be another matter completely. Delmo Estranho will have to go.

  Carolyn and I were comfortable sitting in the back of our pickup truck, waiting for the sun to set and the fireworks celebration to start in Phoenix. “Hey, honey, could you pass me another cool drink?” I asked Carolyn. “How many drinks have you had? Better be careful. There’s no place around here to go to the bathroom.” I laughed. “There’s always the bushes.”

  Carolyn said, “It sounds just like a man to go pee in the bushes during the Fourth of July celebration.” We both laughed and gave each other a very romantic Fourth of July kiss. “It’s turned out to be quite a year, hasn’t it?” said Carolyn.

  All I could do was look at her. I knew that without her love and our son, nothing else in the world mattered. All the money we had was great, but now with all the millions of dollars at our disposal, we had to be even more careful on how we lived our lives.

  Not far from Carolyn and me, two other couples were sitting on their lawn chairs, waiting for the fireworks to start. Lank Tygard, Adam Gore, and their wives were waiting patiently as were thousands of other folks. “Hey, Lank,” called out Detective Gore. “How does it feel to be a short-timer?” “I have to admit it feels pretty good, and I’m really looking forward to getting away up in the high country.” “So am I,” echoed Agent Tygard’s wife. “And I’m looking forward to the two of us flying that plane all over the country.”

  “Me too, sweetheart, but first I need to finish out these last few weeks. Then we can go on our own adventure, just the two of us. I cannot wait, sweetheart. Just you and me.” They gave each other a romantic kiss. Boom boom boom—flash!