by Roger Weston
“I said that. Why else would we be here?”
“How much did you lock it up for?”
“Nine-fifty.”
“There’s no way they would sell this for nine-hundred-fifty thousand. It’s worth twice that much or more.”
“You haven’t seen the inside yet. The bank called it a tear-down.”
As they approached the front door, a plank on the front deck cracked under JJ’s foot.
“Whoa!” He stepped back. “Watch out. This is dangerous. I could have broke my leg there. I hope you have insurance, Brandt.”
“Be more careful.” Chuck glared at him. “I am your life insurance. Don’t forget that.”
“Alright, alright, sorry. I just reacted.”
“Yeah, well next time you react, keep your voice down.”
Chuck scowled at JJ then frowned at the dry-rotted wood. His skin tingled at the thought of going inside the house again, but he resisted the urge to flee. He owned this problem. The door brought back memories of his walkthrough. The memories repelled him, made him regret that he’d ever made an offer.
The building waited patiently like a big cat ready to spring. It purred. It breathed. Chuck hesitated. A broken deck plank exposed a gaping hole where someone had once fallen through. He glanced around like prey on alert. Lead paint was peeling off the siding, and a thick layer of red dust had replaced it. He eased forward and stared through a shattered window. Inside, smashed chairs on the floor and holes in the wall told a sad story. He wiped away sweat from his forehead and shoved open the screeching door.
“Take a look,” Chuck said as they stepped inside. The first thing that hit them was the toxic smell of the thick air.
“Oh, man. You’ve got to be kidding me.” JJ grabbed a fistful of shirt and used it to cover his face.
The thick smell of ammonia burned Chuck’s lungs. The smell of animal feces repelled him.
He took shallow breaths and only through his nose. He flicked on the light. The foyer hinted that this house had once been very nice. Two Romanesque columns book-ended the single step up onto the marble floors by the curved stairway. Unfortunately, a few of the stairs looked as if they’d been attacked with a sledgehammer. Pieces of a smashed chair were scattered around the filthy marble floor. Paint was peeling, and several holes marred the walls.
“Who lived here?” JJ said.
Chuck handed him a painter’s face mask to cover his mouth and nose. “Put that on.”
“I will. Good thinking.”
Chuck slipped his on, too.
The sound of a falling object in a back room confused him. He reached for his handgun, but stood still, then started slowly down the hallway. He felt his hair bristle as he wiped aside cobwebs with his pistol. He ducked under exposed electrical wires that hung down from the ceiling like wild vines.
“Watch out for those,” Chuck whispered. “They’re live wires.”
“Who lived here?”
“Shhh.”
Chuck ignored the question and stepped up to a doorway. He gestured for JJ to stay back. Then he swung his gun around and stepped into a room. Three cats screeched in fear and darted past him. Chuck heard JJ yell in fright. “Very funny, Brandt.”
Chuck looked around the library. The shelves were empty. The filth on the windows was so thick he couldn’t see outside. Some of the wooden wall panels were smashed in. The chairs were broken. Some of the bookshelves were broken from where the chairs were evidently thrown against them.
Chuck tucked his pistol under his belt at the small of his back and led JJ back out into the hallway.
The dining room had French doors behind torn curtains. It looked as if someone had slashed the curtains with a knife. The table, which had been a beautiful antique at one point, lay at an angle. It had been attacked with a sledge hammer and lost the fight.
“I thought I’d seen it all,” JJ said.
“Really, then come take a look at the bathroom.” As they approached, the buzzing sound of flies rose in volume. At the door, Chuck didn’t enter, but reached in and turned on the light.
JJ cursed. He backed away and then hurried down the hallway. Chuck followed him.
“What is that?” JJ said. “What the hell was that?”
“A pile of cat feces. The owner put a box of cat litter in there about a decade ago and never changed it. Pretty soon it overflowed. The bathroom will have to be totally gutted.”
“This whole house will have to be gutted.”
“Help is on the way. I’ve got a hazardous cleanup crew on the way over here now. They’ll clean up the bathroom and whatever else you tell them to do.”
“Call ‘em back and cancel. I know handyman who’ll do a better job for much less.”
“Alright. You’ll need to hire a crew haul off all the junk. Remember, you’re acting as general contractor, so you’ll farm out most of the work. That way you can focus on your real purpose for being here.”
“We need to start opening windows right now,” JJ said. This place gives me the creeps, and I do this for a living.”
Chuck gestured. “Come here. You’ve gotta see the pool.”
They stepped out a door into the back yard. The pool area was all covered in a thick layer of leaves from many years. The lower layers had decomposed and weeds had sprung up. The whole pool area was overgrown with weeds.”
“It was surrounded by a ten-foot high brick wall. The pool was surrounded by statues. They looked like small versions of Moai statues you’d see on Easter Island. They had long, grim faces. They stared across the pool at each other—three on each side.
“Who would do this?” JJ said.
The pool itself looked like a forgotten pond in an Alabama cow field. It had probably not been cleaned in over a decade, and algae covered every inch. Matts of debris floated on the surface. A plastic trash can floated on the surface along with plastic milk jugs and other trash. For a moment, Chuck thought he saw a salamander on the step, but whatever it was, swam down into the murk. The bottom of the pool probably had three feet of leaves that had turned to mud. On the shallow end, the handle of a lawn moor rose out of the dark water.
“Who lived here?” JJ said.
“Some guy lived alone here with a servant and a dozen cats. The realtor says that animal control took the cats away a couple of years ago, but I guess they missed a few. The house was in the owner’s family three generations. He inherited it but had mental issues. After the servant quit, the bills didn’t get paid. The power was shut off. Newspapers stacked up on the front porch. The mailbox filled up. Finally, the lawyer for the estate called the police. They came to check on the owner. His condition had deteriorated, and he was taken to a nursing home.”
“So what’s the plan, Brandt?”
Chuck answered him in a hushed tone. “As you know, the man who hid the money in the wall of your fixer-upper was killed. He was working for me, doing surveillance. You’re going to take over that effort. You have the perfect cover because the target lives in the mansion down the street from here. You keep the work crews busy, but there’s a room on the second floor that will be off-limits to them. It’s adjacent to your new office. You’ll use the office to conduct business with your sub-contractors, but mostly you’ll keep it locked and you’ll slip through the connecting door into your observation post. You’ll be doing surveillance on a lady down the street.”
“Who is she?”
“You’ll find out when the time is right. For now, it’s enough to know that she is attractive but also dangerous. You must be very careful.”
“What about the nut job trying to kill me?”
“You’ll be safe here until I can deal with him. In the meantime, do not go home. Do not go back to your fixer-upper.”
JJ frowned but nodded.
“You’ll need to keep an observation log.”
“I’ll be safe here, right?”
“You should be. Just don’t blow your cover. I’ll drop by and take the dog watch.”
“What’s that?”
“Midnight to 4 a.m. Stick to the plan and you may get out of this alive.”
“May?”
“Just stick to the plan.”
“No, I don’t think so, Brandt. I’ve got a son, you understand? I have responsibilities. I can walk out that door, and I may get myself killed, but at least my future is in my own hands. Or I could stay here, and next thing I know a catch a bullet, and why? I would have no idea. Forget it, Brandt. This could be a lucrative job, but the money won’t do a dead man any good. I’m out of here. Find some other contractor.”
“If you walk out that door, you won’t last twenty-four hours.”
“Maybe not, but I may not last that long here. I got a bad feeling about you, Brandt. You’re the type who eats nails for breakfast and spits blood. Bottom line is if this wasn’t dangerous, you wouldn’t be so secretive. See ya, Brandt.” JJ headed for the door.
“Hold on a minute,” Chuck said. “Alright, I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
CHAPTER 10
La Plata, Maryland
Gavin Grimes pulled the white van into the lot of the Morrison’s grocery store, parked, and headed inside. He walked down the front of the store past the registers, looking up all the aisles until he saw JJ Johnson’s kid leaning on his crutches. The boy was in the candy section. Grimes walked up to him.
“Looks like you need a sugar fix, huh?”
The kid looked at him. “Uh, yeah, whatever.”
“Toss me a bag of those, will you?”
The kid handed him a bag of the Halloween size candy bars.
“Thanks. See you later.”
Grimes paid for the candy and returned to his white van. He sat in the driver’s seat and waited for JJ’s kid to leave the store.
CHAPTER 11
Potomac Neighborhood
Chuck and JJ walked into the mansion’s living room—or one of them. It was a twenty-two room house. The living room had eighteen-foot ceilings and fifteen-foot high windows. Sunlight shined in through the tall windows and lit up the seventeen-foot high yellow drapes. They were a thin yellow material and the sunlight seemed to blast through the thin drapes. The big windows and the tall yellow drapes and the sunlight pouring in gave a powerful sensation. The drapes were just like that now—yellow, shining, happy, and lively. It was as if love was shining in the windows and lighting up those drapes.
Two potted plants of the palm variety grew by the broken-out window. A beautiful, dusty Steinway piano rested between them and between two of the windows. The piano’s leg had been knocked out, and the piano had crashed down on the floor, where it remained. Expensive white cushion chairs were arranged around a glass coffee table by the fireplace. The cushion chairs were covered in little burns—dozens of them. One had caught on fire and burned to the frame, but fortunately, the fire had been put out before the whole house was torched. The wood floor all around it was curled from water damage. The shattered glass of the coffee table was spread around the warped floor boards.
At one time, however, this had been a beautiful room.
“I’ll bet there was joy in this house at one time,” Chuck said. “Sad, isn’t it? The music is gone.”
“You don’t appear as the sentimental type, Brandt.”
“We all think we’re strong, but we’re not. It hurts to find that out. The yellow curtains, they remind me of …” He shook his head. “Not much different than your situation. You’ve got your duties as a father, your hopes for your kid. You probably have some dreams. You probably thought you’d hit the jackpot when you found that money. You bought a truck. Maybe you thought of some other ways to spend cash, too. The reality is that you’re now in serious danger, and you need to be alert. You need to be armed and prepared to defend yourself if need be. Do you have a gun?”
“Yes, in my truck.”
“It’s not going to do you any good there. Keep it with you from now on.”
JJ frowned.
“As I mentioned, I hired a friend, a private investigator to follow a man. I’m sure you saw the story in the news about the senator dying when his Lear jet exploded.”
“Who are you? Are you with the F.B.I. or something?”
“I served my country. As I told you, my friend, the P.I., died while trying to help me.”
“And who was he following?”
“He was watching and photographing a former U.S. ambassador to Albania. He learned that the man ran US Shipping company in Maryland, probably a front for the ambassador’s activities. I don’t know the details. He was killed. What I’m asking you to do is safer. I don’t want you to follow anybody. I want you to conduct surveillance from inside this house. You’re going watch a woman named Delilah Vogel. As long as you don’t blow your cover, you should be alright. Keep your gun handy just in case, but you should be fine.”
“Who’s Delilah Vogel?”
“She’s dangerous. After the P.I. was killed, the US ambassador to Albania left the country. Delilah Vogel took over US Shipping. She’s well known in the Capitol. She’s a big socialite. Very close to the ambassador. She’s a creature of the DC social scene.”
“What are her crimes?”
Chuck smiled. “You’ll soon have the answers. My friend in intelligence had her home wired last night. You’ll need to monitor the audio surveillance and watch with a telescope and binoculars. You’ll need to keep a journal of everything you see over at her house—everything—and snap photos. I want details about anyone who enters or leaves that house. I need to know everything, including times—”
Chuck’s phone rang.
“Hold on second. I think is important.” Speaking into the phone, he said, “This is Chuck.” He instantly recognized Lawrence’s voice. “Okay…Alright…I see…Got it. Thank you.” Chuck hung up.
“Look, I’ve got run. It’s urgent. Are you willing to take a step and help me out here?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got a son.”
“Is there someplace he could stay for a few days other than your house?”
“His grandmother lives nearby.”
“Call your son right away and tell him to stay the night there. Working with me is your best chance to stay safe. Will you help me?”
JJ looked left then right as if thinking. Then he got out his cell phone and dialed.
CHAPTER 12
U.S. Capitol Building, Washington DC
The Atlantic Room was never used by members of Congress for official functions. It was unofficially off limits. Rumors had circulated over the years that it was the domain of a secret society, including an elite brotherhood of mega-powerful men who somehow managed to keep an unknown number of powerful members elected at all times. Because of these rumors, the room was a taboo, and nobody wanted to be heard talking about secret rooms and societies. Educated people didn’t lower themselves to that level.
U.S. House of Representatives doorman Lionel C. Ratlif had seen new congressmen ridiculed for even mentioning the topic. None of that mattered to him because he had been around here longer than most of these fly-by-night politicians. Lionel had many reasons for believing in such stories. He had more pieces of the puzzle than most members of congress. He knew what really went on in the Capitol building. He had eyes and ears in every corridor, day and night.
Lionel stood at the door to the mysterious Atlantic Room, his hands shaking with excitement to the point where he couldn’t hold the key still. He had just received word that Congressman Henderson and Congressman Rosa had both attended a second meeting in the Atlantic Room. Once again, the other participants had slipped out the side door, so their identities remained unknown.
Lionel had never been invited in here, but he had made a number of secret visits over the years. Now he would make another because Chuck Brandt needed to know what was going on around here related to the recent death of a Senator Skorman.
House and Senate leaders scoffed at the idea of foul play, but Lionel was not that naïve. Skorman had b
een under the kind of anxiety Lionel had seen in Rosa. Plus, the pilot never called in with problems. The weather was perfect. The plane was new. It just crashed, and debris suggested an explosion occurred.
Ratlif fumbled with the key but was having trouble. His heart raced because he must not be seen entering this room. This side hall had no security cameras, but the Capitol was always busy. He held the key almost still and slipped it into the lock. The door swung open. A strange smell reached his nostrils. He thought it was the smell of human sweat, but the lights were off. He knew he should not risk coming here, but he couldn’t resist the temptation. He slipped inside and turned the lights on.
The Atlantic Room featured Roman wall paintings, including one showing an old man hunched down in his chair and a skull for a head. Another painting featured ancients playing harp and flutes in timeless postures. Their joy was frozen in time. Lionel frowned at the irony. Whatever someone was doing in here recently, there was no revelry about it.
Of course, the room was strictly off-limits to tours, including private tours for VIPs. Lionel was breathless because he could smell the corruption. After decades in congress, he could actually smell it. It was a cross between sweat and money, but the feeling was in the air, too. He could sense the presence of evil or corruption with sixth sense or intuition.
His eyes inhaled the details. He looked for ashtrays and scraps of paper. He fought to control his desire to know the hidden truth. Nothing escaped his ravenous attention to detail. The Atlantic Room’s artwork included a bronze statue of a mythical she-wolf suckling the human twins, Romulus and Remus, from the myth of the founding of Rome.
A marble statue of the Roman emperor Nero dominated the corner. An Egyptian chest featured painted stills of warriors in the midst of chaos. Lionel studied the chest’s lid. He saw nothing inorganic there, no ashes or water rings.
When he heard voices, he froze, but they faded. He himself was sweating so much that his big, thick-rimmed glasses were fogging up. He took them off and wiped them with his embroidered handkerchief. He sat down on a Chippendale upholstered settee of mahogany and maple. He set his keys down by an eighteenth century Philadelphia tea-kettle on a rare oval New York mahogany drop-leaf coffee table. Slipping his glasses back on, he leaned forward and studied the table top as if he could see fingerprints or DNA with his naked eyes and big glasses. He got down on his knees and smelled the table top. He searched the rug under the table. He dragged his fingers through the carpet. Finding nothing, he slipped his fingers behind the cushion of the Chippendale upholstered settee. He felt along the edge of the cushion. Nothing at all there.
