Gringo Joe
Page 18
“‘…his longtime domestic partner, René Dumont. The scandal gained momentum when pictures surfaced of the two walking hand in hand in front of a million-dollar condo in Laguna Beach, California. The whereabouts of the couple is currently unknown.’
“Okay, hang on; let’s type in ‘Dr. John Grossman and René Dumont’ and see if we can find something more current.”
The results were story after story of the nonprofit ran by Dr. Grossman, his charitable work on behalf of suffering cancer patients, and the evolving treatments associated to cannabis. Also mentioned were his relentless efforts for a congressional mandate to legalize medical marijuana in all fifty states.
“Look, I’m new to the party,” said Oscar, “but I’m guessing this is an aha moment, am I right?”
Mel stood, wrapped her arms around Joe’s neck, and whispered, “We found him, Joe! We found René, and I’ll bet you a bottle of good Oregon Tempranillo that he knows who killed Gabby.”
Joe walked over to Piper who was still sitting on the couch.
“We were all numb, pal, but you came through for us, and it was a walk-off home run.”
“All right, everyone, tomorrow’s a big day so let’s add Dr. John Grossman and René Dumont to the mix and tweak our plan.”
At midnight, Joe received a text from Alex.
“Coffee—same place, 06:30.”
Joe was waiting at the same table when Alex walked in. She smiled, said thanks for the coffee, and, as she turned to leave, she slid a small brown envelope across the table.
“Good seeing you again, Joseph; call me if you’re ever off-duty.”
He stuck the envelope in his pocket, waited until he finished his coffee, then walked to his car. He drove to a large parking lot, turned off the engine, and read the document from Alex. It was a copy of the articles of incorporation for an offshore IBC.
Name of Corporation:
North of Here, Inc.
Type:
International Business Corporation
Country of Origin:
Commonwealth of the Bahamas
Registration Number:
(§80(8)-(10)).
President:
René L. Dumont 51%
Secretary:
John T. Grossman 47%
Treasurer:
William C. Crivelli 2%
CHAPTER 37
THE ARMY–NAVY GAME
“Hello, Mel. It’s Louie; I hope I am not disturbing anything.”
“Not at all, Professor Trudeau; I was expecting your call. I hope you had an enjoyable flight.”
“Flying is not what it used to be, Mel, and I thought we agreed you were going to call me Louie.”
“I’m really going to need some time to work on that, Professor Trudeau.”
“Well, Mel, I have it on good authority you will probably have a great deal of time to work on it. I mentioned our conversation with my colleagues, and they are as excited as I am to discuss an offer I think you’ll find too tempting to turn down. Enough of that for now: where can I pick you up this evening? We’ll make a quick stop so you can see our new office building, and I know I’m being presumptuous, but maybe you could pick out a location for your office.”
“Goodness, Professor … ah, Louie, you sure can be persuasive. However, I do have a few deadlines so if you will give me the address, I would be happy to meet you there. Then perhaps we can ride together to dinner—I mean if the offer is still good?”
Mel felt there was an uncomfortable pause, and thought she heard someone whispering.
“Certainly that would be fine; however, I must call you right back with the address, as I’m afraid you’ve caught me unprepared. Would that be all right?”
Once they had the address, Piper, Oscar, Pike, and Joe went over everything one more time.
The prospective office building was off Clara Baton Parkway, close to Glen Echo Park. It was suspiciously remote. The exterior, landscaping, and infrastructure of the office building had been tastefully completed, but inside, were large, unfinished rooms, left to the discretion of the tenants. However, the new office building was not the address given to Mel—that one was a half mile away.
They had agreed to meet at 6:00 PM and Mel’s cab was running a few minutes late. The driver came to a stop and, as she was stepping out, the large imposing figure of Louis Trudeau blocked her exit.
“Good to see you again, Ms. Randle, but I must ask you to scoot across the seat.”
To avoid being sat upon, Mel slid across as the professor entered the cab.
“I do apologize, Mel, but I’m afraid I muddled the address and now we are both late. But no worries, lass, it’s only a short distance.”
Before she could object, scream, or jump out, the professor gave the driver a new address, and they were on their way. It was all she could do to retain any facsimile of composure, but she did manage a smile.
“Mistakes do happen, don’t they, Professor?”
“Yes, of course, my dear. The important thing is that they are not too costly. Ah, here we go—pull over right here, driver.”
Mel noticed Louie as he glanced back to see if anyone was following. She also noticed how terribly dark the place was. The professor handed the driver a large bill and whispered something that Mel could not hear.
“Right this way if you please, Ms. Randle. I have the code for the door and we’ll only be a jiffy. I’ve asked the cab to wait.”
It didn’t hurt, but the grip on her arm by the large man was uncomfortably firm. Once through the door, Mel was sure she heard the cab pull away.
Call it fate or dumb luck, but Lt. Col. Nathaniel Pike had gotten stuck behind an accident on MacArthur Boulevard and was ten minutes late. He parked two blocks east and, as he walked to his assigned position, he saw the cab with Mel and another man drive past. Pike was dressed in black and had crouched in the shadows when he saw the car pulling away from the curb. It only took a second to realize something was wrong. He turned again to see the taillights disappearing down the street. As he reached for his cell, a group text came through from Joe.
“She’s late, has anyone seen anything?”
“She’s gone!” he screamed. “She’s in the taxi!” But no one heard.
Lt. Col. Pike had just turned forty and, for a man his age, was still militarily fit. However, as he sprinted the first two city blocks, watching the taillights turn at an intersection, his lungs were screaming for air. When he hurdled a fence, cutting through a parking lot, his legs began to ask permission to slow down. But there were the taillights of the cab again, and the shortcut had paid off. He finally had the good sense to speed-dial Joe’s cell, but as he jumped off a curb, the phone slipped from his hand and slid down a grated storm drain.
“Nooooooo!”
Pike had to make a decision whether to stay and scream into a cavernous hole or continue to follow the cab. Looking up, he read the sign, yelled the street and Mel’s name into the dark abyss, and took off like a man on fire.
As he rounded the next corner, he saw the cab leaving a building less than two blocks away. Once he was within one hundred yards, he pulled the pistol from his coat pocket and hugged the dark shadows close to the buildings. Looking toward the backside of the new office complex, he noticed faint light coming from somewhere inside the covered parking garage. Pike made his way around back, looking for a point of entry. He stopped behind a dumpster, trying to control his breathing and get his emotions under control. As he considered their well-drafted plan, he could only shake his head and laugh. He approached the door, which was slightly ajar, and as he stuck his head inside, he was greeted by a familiar face.
“Hello, Pike. Whatever are you doing here?”
But before he could answer, a tire iron tore through his skull and, with thoughts of his beautiful wife, he slipped away.
“Ms. Randle, may I present a colleague of mine, Mr. René Dumont, and may I say, Mel, next to you, one of the brightest attorneys I’ve ever known.”
“Lucrative,” interrupted Louie, “doesn’t begin to paint a proper picture, Mel. They are throwing staggering amounts of money around Washington these days, and those wise enough to capitalize … well, you get the idea.”
All Mel could think about was stalling and not bursting into tears.
Joe, being a gifted sprinter, was only seconds behind Pike, and caught a glimpse of his friend as he had entered the rear of the parking garage.
“Gentlemen, I’m honored that you would consider me, but what I’d really like to hear is what exactly you do and what would be your expectations of me?”
“Ah, there is our contractor now.”
“Good evening, everyone. Sorry I’m late and, to answer your question, Ms. Randle, I think you know exactly what we do, so let’s stop the charades. It appears our guest of honor was expecting company, as you suspected, René, but I have delayed them.”
As Joe was waiting on Oscar and Piper, he received an incoming text:
“Just discovered another bit of info that might interest you. It appears René has a brother, an ex-Navy SEAL whom I believe you’ve met—Retired Chief Petty Officer Mac Dumont. Please be careful, I think the guy’s certifiably nuts. Alex.”
Joe sent a group text informing the others that the targets were armed and extremely dangerous. He included the letters “SOS.” It was not a distress call but the acronym for “Shoot on Sight.” Then he carefully entered the back door leading to the stairwell—and found Pike lying in a large pool of blood. He took his pulse, found he was still alive, and dialed 911. After asking for an ambulance, he referenced Pike’s rank and a possible Homeland Security issue. He wanted the entire cavalry coming.
Before the assault on Pike, there was only marginal evidence to indict the suspects. Now, however, there was attempted murder and, most likely, kidnapping.
“Goodness, Ms. Randle, what a shame. I suppose I knew all along; you’re just a natural born prosecutor. Oh, well, let’s wrap this up—I’m hungry.”
René and Louie had Mel trapped in a corner of the room as she watched Mac pull a hypodermic syringe from his jacket pocket.
Joe heard his name whispered just as Piper glanced inside the doorway. He saw Pike lying on the floor and looked at Joe. Joe put a finger to his lips, nodded toward Pike, and mouthed the word “Help him.” Piper nodded and Joe made his way up the steps until he heard talking. He eased through the door at the top of the stairs and had to catch it before it closed automatically. He let it ease shut and then, very cautiously, moved down the dark hallway toward the sound of an angry woman’s voice.
“So, that’s it then, you must be the asshole who killed Gabby.”
“Please shut her up, Mac, it’ll be one less loose end.”
However, Mac, arrogant as he was, couldn’t resist the temptation.
“Actually, I waved at her as I got out of my car. She even smiled, as if glad to see a friendly face, and then I shot her twice in the head.”
“She was such a nosey-ninny,” quipped René. “Why can’t people just mind their own damned business?”
Mel was the only one who saw Joe slip into the room with his Glock at the ready position. He looked at her, nodded, then said, “Hello, Navy. It’s been awhile.”
Mac turned, with only a syringe in his hand, but still managed a cynical smile.
“Well, well … well, if the Rangers aren’t here. Hello, Army. I sure hope you brought more than that little pistol or this isn’t going to be much fun.”
Both René and Louie had their backs to Joe, keeping an eye on Mel, and both were slowly reaching inside their waistbands for their weapons. What they counted on was Mac getting to Joe and killing him effortlessly. What they didn’t count on was Mel being an undefeated, black-belt judo champion.
When she saw the pistol coming from Louie’s pants, the sound began as a low guttural noise deep in her throat but rose as a deafening scream of “Kiai!”
The sound reached the ears of Louie just as the side of Mel’s foot dislodged his patella and completely severed the anterior cruciate ligament of his right knee. He screamed as he fell to the floor, and the distraction was just enough for Mac to slap the light switch, plunging the room into utter darkness.
Mel made another kick at René, but found only air. As Joe instinctively fell and rolled away from his position, he heard the six-inch blade swish above his head. Joe could not fire his weapon in the dark room for fear of hitting Mel. Everyone heard the sirens approaching from several directions. There was a very faint glow from beneath the door as someone had turned on the hallway light, but the room was still blacked out.
“Might as well give it up, Navy. There is no way you’re getting out of this building. My team has all the exits covered and it sounds as if the cavalry’s on its way. “
“Well, that’s just the damned difference between Rangers and SEALs, Joe.”
Joe could hear the voice moving ever so slowly but could not pinpoint his location due to the shrieks of Louie, who was still flopping around in excruciating pain. Nor did he know exactly where Mel or René was.
“You see, Joe, you Army boys are always looking for a chopper to retreat in, and us Navy Frogs don’t figure we’re doing our job until we’re surrounded. Believe me, Army, I’m getting out and I’m taking this bitch of yours with me.”
The sirens had become almost deafening as they surrounded the building. Somehow, Mac had found Mel in the darkness, put his knife to her throat, and eased her to her feet. It was not a good situation, but suddenly something very providential happened: René panicked. The dark room, the sirens, and Louie still screaming out in pain, were too much for his fragile nerves and he jerked the door open.
Suddenly light flooded in, and the very first rays lit up Mac’s face as he stood behind Mel’s right shoulder. He squinted and then screamed at his brother, but he never heard the sound of his own voice. Joe fired two shots from the Glock in such rapid succession it sounded like only one. Both 9-mm rounds entered Mac’s right eye and slammed him into the blood-splattered wall. He slid to the ground just as another two rounds were fired outside the door.
“Clear!” yelled Joe.
“Clear!” came the response from Oscar as he held the door open and turned on a light.
Whether it was suicide or simply a foolhardy reaction, René had lifted his weapon in the direction of Agent Oscar Briggs, who put two close rounds into the man’s heart.
Piper walked in as Mel was crying in Joe’s arms. He looked at Oscar and said, “I sure could use a beer—how about you?”
Several city police officers and at least a half dozen FBI agents were combing the area as EMTs carried Louie down the stairs, handcuffed to a gurney. Senior FBI Agent Hawkins approached the four of them where they had huddled near the back of an ambulance.
“There’s going to be a lot of questions and one hell of an investigation. I don’t expect any of you will be leaving town anytime soon, right?”
They all agreed and asked if they could get a report on their friend, Lt. Col. Pike.
“They took him to George Washington University Hospital. If you all need a lift, I’m sure we can find you a ride.”
“Our cars are just up the street, if you don’t mind.”
Oscar and Piper stopped and picked up Chinese, and Joe and Mel drove directly to the hospital. In less than thirty minutes, they were joined by Demi Pike who was trembling and white as a ghost. They held her hand and listened as she recounted her life with a career Air Force officer. An hour later, a trauma nurse walked through the double doors and approached them.
“You should all go home and get some sleep. The colonel will not be out of surgery for at least two more hours. However, I will tell you that he’s in very critical condition and, if any of you believe in prayer, now would be a good time.”
After she walked away, Mel stood and asked what they were waiting for. They all nodded, rose, and held hands.
It was sometime after 3:00 AM when the doctor laid a hand on Demi’s foot. The five of them were sprawled out on two sofas, a chair, and the floor.
“I’m Dr. Abrahamson. Are you Ms. Pike?”
All five were standing, and all eyes were on the doc.
“You have a courageous fighter for a husband, Ms. Pike, but I have a feeling you knew that. The colonel is still in critical condition, but I expect it will be reduced to stable by 6:00 AM. We were able to remove all the bone fragments, repair his skull, and, as best as we can tell, he should make a full recovery. I might add, with as much blood as he lost, I think he is a very lucky man.”
“Providence,” said Piper. “We call it providence in this family.”
CHAPTER 38
LOOSE ENDS
At noon on the following day, Joe received a call from Special Agent Hawkins, whom he had met the previous night.
“I thought you might want to know—an ex-congressman from Oregon, by the name of Dr. John Grossman, was arrested an hour ago. Apparently he was trying to leave this thirty-eight-degree weather and board a flight to the Bahamas. Imagine that, vacationing in Nassau at a time like this, what a jerk.”
At 5:00 PM the same day, District Attorney Archie Anderson notified Joe that FBI agents from the Portland office had detained businessman William Crivelli and Steelhead’s city attorney, Kathy Sandburg, for questioning.
Moments later, he received a text from Diva asking if she could order more vanilla syrup and half-and-half.
A statement was released by the board of regents at Stanford Law School notifying students and facility that one of its own, Professor Luis Trudeau, PhD, had been arrested for crimes of a most heinous nature, and the entire board was both shocked and sickened by the news.
During a joint sting operation involving members of the DEA and Mexican Federales, arrests were made on several farms near Tijuana, Mexico. An announcement by Mexico’s Deputy Secretary Munoz stated that longtime drug czar, Señor Javier Rivera, was killed in an exchange of gunfire with Mexican authorities.