Danger-Close: A Jake Thunder Adventure (The Jake Thunder Adventures Book 1)

by Jon F. Merz

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I was working on developing a better rhythm with the speed bag the next morning. Sometimes boxing helps me think. Sometimes all it does it help me work up a helluva sweat.

  And that's okay, too.

  I exhaled in time to the steady bippitta-bippitta-bippitta of the bag swinging under the swivel joint, alternating hands then switching to my right and then to my left. All the while, Metallica blared in the background. I had Load on today, and "King Nothing" blasted out of the speakers I'd had installed in the corners of my basement.

  I stopped long enough to hear James Hetfield growl, "And you point your finger, but there's no one around."

  Damned if that wasn't exactly the way I felt.

  A world of depraved people and not one of them ready to take the fall for what was going on around me.

  I went back to the bag and kept drumming it for the rest of the CD, finally stopping for a water break at about ten o'clock.

  Vanessa had left at seven, leaving me to bask in the joys of another hour's worth of sleep before getting up and launching into a particularly strenuous workout.

  Some people do their best thinking on the can or in the shower. Me, I realize stuff when my muscles are screaming obscenities at me, while sweat floods the ground beneath me.

  When I can focus on other stuff.

  I sucked down some more water and mopped my brow. I leaned back into my chair and felt the sweat already turning cold against my back.

  My doorbell rang.

  I clicked the intercom, "Yeah?"

  "Your old pal, Frank."

  "Downstairs."

  I checked the position of my USP pistol just in case and turned toward the elevator as it came down and suddenly dinged as the doors opened. Some day, I'd have to disable that annoying bell.

  McCloskey walked out and blanched. "Remind me. This Christmas. You get a powerful fan for this place."

  "You know, in some cultures, the sweat of a man is considered an aphrodisiac."

  McCloskey frowned. "I look like I'm in the market for aphrodisiacs?"

  "Not really."

  McCloskey tapped the heavy bag affectionately. "Damn, I miss this."

  "So, get back to it."

  "No time."

  "Bullshit, Frank. You can drop over here for a quick workout in the morning and you know it. There's always time, if you want to make it."

  "Yeah." He nudged the bag again, closed his eyes, and listened to the creak of the chains as they moved. He savored the sound. There was a time way back when Frank was being groomed for a boxing career. But that was years away from where he stood today.

  He opened his eyes and sighed. "So, what's new?"

  "Met a pal of yours yesterday."

  "Pal of mine? Who's that?"

  "Lou Dobbs."

  "Never heard of him."

  I stopped drinking. "Please tell me you're kidding."

  McCloskey shrugged. "Why would I kid you?"

  I sighed. "C'mon Frank, the guy works for the DIA. He stopped by my office and gave me the dope on Viktor and Gregor."

  McCloskey grinned. "Hold on a sec. What'd he look like?"

  "About your age. Square jaw. Hair brushed off to the left side. Bushy eyebrows. One of his teeth was crooked."

  McCloskey laughed. "Oh, you mean Dave."

  "Dave?"

  "Yeah."

  "He told me his name was Lou Dobbs. He had the identification to back it up."

  McCloskey shook his head. "You really have been out of the loop for a long time."

  "Almost ten years."

  "Ol' Dave never uses his real name. Lou Dobbs is one of his covers. He likes using aliases that are the names of newscasters. His way of putting a humorous spin on things."

  "And the ID? That looked real enough."

  "Guy like Dave has enough juice to get any kind of ID made he wants. Hell, he could walk around with Mickey Mouse in his wallet and people would believe him."

  "Is he legit?"

  "You mean is he with the DIA? Oh yeah, sure. He's the real thing, no doubt."

  "You known him for a long time?"

  "Few years. Not well, but enough to know he's not always what he seems. You guys talk for a long time?"

  "Fifteen minutes."

  "Yeah, that's Dave. He's got some sort of inner clock that keeps him in conversations only as long as it takes to get something done and then he moves on."

  "He always like that?"

  "Most definitely."

  "He told me to back off of Darmov."

  "Back off?"

  "Well, at least not to kill him."

  "You planning on killing Darmov?"

  I shrugged. "Accidents happen."

  "Not with you they don't." McCloskey nudged the heavy bag again. "Why's he need Darmov alive."

  "Sorry, classified."

  "Bullshit."

  I smiled. "Said that our esteemed government needs Darmov because of his inside knowledge of Afghanistan."

  "And what with us tracking down terrorists, that kind of info could prove very valuable, is that it?"

  "Bingo."

  McCloskey shook his head. "Damn. That's a shame."

  "My thought as well."

  "What makes him think Darmov would even consider giving up that kind of precious information?"

  "Well, a complete pardon for crimes committed while on US soil would probably go a long way toward getting his help."

  "Sure, and then forcing us honest cops to look the other way afterward anytime his name comes up. That'd help seal the deal, too, huh?"

  "Probably."

  "Shit."

  I frowned. "Can they really do that? I've seen government juice in action before, but this would be pretty extreme. Don't you think?"

  "They can do it," said McCloskey. "I've seen them do it right here in Boston. We're working a sting and get word that one of main targets is not to be harassed. So, we go round Ôem all up and let one of them go. It sucks. And it's not just DIA. FBI does it, State Department, you name it. If the government wants it done, it gets done."

  "Sounds like it'd be easier cutting a deal with spooks than it would be getting a driver's license."

  "You're not far off the mark."

  "You know that Viktor and Darmov served together in Beirut? Darmov was Viktor's commander."

  "Yeah? What about Gregor?"

  "Met them later."

  "Interesting."

  "Got some more for you if you're still listening."

  "What Ð you mean besides Darmov being married to Vanessa?" McCloskey looked ready to spill over laughing.

  "What's so damned funny about that?"

  "It's the best news I've heard all day."

  "How's that?"

  "You're working for the guy and screwing his wife. That's gotta be some kind of adolescent fantasy come true, isn't it?"

  "Most of my adolescent fantasies involved getting marooned with a squad of nymphomaniac cheerleader nurses."

  "Cheerleader nurses?"

  "You think it's a stretch?"

  "For you? Nah. Not at all."

  "Needless to say, that fact isn't sitting too well with me."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, aside from the fact that I'm messing around with a very dangerous man's wife, there's more information to go along with that bombshell."

  McCloskey leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "Can't wait."

  "Darmov and Melinda Patterson had an affair."

  "What?"

  "Yup."

  "No way."

  "Way."

  "Jesus."

  "Yeah."

  "He killed his mistress? His sister-in-law?"

  "Looks like it."

  "But why?"

  "I'm working on that."

  "You got any ideas?"

  Well, basically, the Patterson family has been involved in criminal activities for years. Turns out dear old dad was something of a bastard and his one hundred million dollar inheritanc
e would only go to his children provided they fulfilled certain requirements."

  "What kind of requirements?"

  "The women had to be married and one of the children had to assume command of the criminal activities."

  "Weird requirements." McCloskey frowned. "Old man Patterson have a judge and lawyer on the take?"

  "Don't all rich whacked out criminals?"

  "I wouldn't know, not being one."

  "Well, it certainly doesn't sound like the elder Mr. Patterson was a very balanced soul."

  McCloskey nodded. "What else?"

  "My thought was that Melinda was trying to take command. Darmov was in the way. She confronted him. He killed her."

  "That was before you found out they were sleeping together."

  "Yeah."

  "Okay."

  "Darmov told me he wasn't interested in taking over the Patterson syndicate."

  "Right."

  "But a hundred million bucks can make a guy think twice, you know?"

  "I sure would."

  "Vanessa told me she married Darmov to fulfill part of her obligation."

  "What about the other part?"

  "Said she wanted no part of it."

  "Any other siblings?"

  "Yeah, but they're all too removed to be of concern."

  "So, you got a lot of questions."

  "And not one damned answer."

  "Well, someone shot up Black Falcon Terminal the other day."

  "And someone killed Gregor."

  "They aiming at Darmov you think?"

  "I don't know. Maybe not."

  "They could have killed me as well. They chose not to."

  I nodded. "And I wasn't exactly a fast moving target."

  "A hundred million bucks, huh?"

  "Yep."

  "You think Darmov could be staging all of this to throw suspicion on to Vanessa?"

  "Either that or Vanessa's doing it to screw Darmov."

  "Now I know why so many marriages end in divorce," said McCloskey.

  "You're a great help here."

  "Meanwhile, what about the kids Darmov is running?"

  "I haven't had a chance to think about them, to be honest."

  "Well, allow me to redirect your attention," said McCloskey. "Because someone snatched a kid out of Brigham & Women's hospital earlier this morning."

  "Shit."

  "Yeah, tell me about it. You still working for Darmov, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "Line up another buyer and bust them both," said McCloskey. "We want that baby back. We want Darmov out of business. Let Dave handle him how he wants but if we get the drop on him, he goes to jail as far as I'm concerned."

  "You really think Dave would let that happen?"

  McCloskey sent a right jab and a left cross thundering into the heavy bag, making it jump on the chains. I'd forgotten how damned fast his combinations were.

  He looked at me. "You know what? I don't much care what our lovely government does with him once we're through. As far as I'm concerned, the piece of shit goes down. I don't like guys who make their money off of kidnapping and selling little kids."

  I nodded.

  Like it or not, it was time to give Neal Thompson another phone call.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I decided pretty quickly that what it was going to take was another deal to bring the players back out in force. I felt sure the shooter from McCloskey's failed buy attempt would somehow get word and make another showing.

  It would be then that we'd close the trap, hopefully with both the shooter and Darmov safely entrenched in enough charges to send them up the river for years.

  At least, that was what I hoped.

  McCloskey's revelation that another baby had been kidnapped sent my mind into overdrive. Crimes against kids make me want to vomit and kill at the same time. It's bad enough most kids find out all too soon what a bitch this world can be without having someone infect them earlier than necessary.

  I put in a call to Darmov.

  "Jake, how are you today?"

  "Just fine."

  "And the business?"

  "I put a call into the other prospect. He's definitely interested. But we've got to move soon. Turns out he's leaving the area for another part of the country. If we're going to make a sale, we have to move fast." It was all a lie, but I hoped Darmov would bite.

  "This isn't the kind of thing we normally keep an inventory on hand for."

  "That's too bad. I'd hate to lose another prospect. Especially in light of what happened the other day."

  Darmov paused. "I think we might be able to accommodate him, however."

  "Oh? How's that?"

  "We had another sale fall apart on us earlier. We're left with a brand new child. Just a day old, in fact."

  "That would be perfect for this prospect, Mr. Darmov."

  "Yes. Yes, I think it would. Considering the child fulfills the requirements you told me about."

  I'd forgotten I'd cued Darmov into Thompson's wish list. "You said you had another failed transaction today?"

  "Similar in nature to the other day's attack. As much as it pains me to admit it, someone is most definitely trying to run me out of business."

  "No luck finding them so Viktor can change their ways?"

  "None so far. I have all my ears to the ground, but as of yet, there seems little that we can do to stop them."

  "Have you considered the possibility that someone in your organization may be rallying against you?"

  "I've considered it, certainly. I don't like considering the idea, but as an intelligent man, I am forced to. I find it difficult to believe someone would turn on me, however."

  "Nonetheless, with all due respect, you have to consider it."

  "You know, Viktor commented that the interesting thing was that these attacks only began after you came on board with us."

  "I had no knowledge of today's buy. How could I? I didn't set up the buy. Viktor's comment, while a natural progression of thinking this through, simply doesn't stand up to logic. If I had no way of knowing about it, how could I sabotage it?"

  "True enough," said Darmov. "And now I am left to consider the possibility that someone close to me is the mole."

  "I hate to ask, but what about Viktor?"

  "Viktor is currently recovering from a gunshot wound he sustained today during the attack."

  "Where was he shot?"

  "In the arm. Thank god he was moving when he got shot otherwise it would have been a heart shot."

  I chewed my lip. "Did Melinda have anyone else she could have told about her plans to give you a run for your money?"

  "I highly doubt it. She'd only just begun mustering any degree of strength. Certainly, there were her father's old contacts, but I doubt they felt any sense of loyalty to her. From what I know about her, she was usually absent growing up. She hardly knows anyone in her father's organization."

  "When you say absent, where was she?"

  "Patterson sent his children to private schools."

  "I see."

  "The grim reality is that I am facing an enemy who seems to know my business. They are also apparently well-informed of my movements."

  "Makes them a lot tougher to pinpoint."

  "Indeed. But it's not impossible."

  "You have an idea?"

  "If I do, you can bet I won't be telling anyone about it."

  "Good plan."

  "In the meantime, please call your prospect and line up the buy. I'll contact you with the time and place shortly."

  He hung up the phone and I leaned back in my chair, feeling the padding ease into my back. I could already feel the tension creeping back into my muscles.

  I didn't like the fact that Viktor had named me as a suspect. I hoped I'd been able to deflect the suspicion. I wondered what Darmov would do if he thought I was the mole, let alone what he would do if he knew I was trying to bring him down.

  The images didn't do much to cheer me up.

&
nbsp; I called Neal Thompson next and left a message asking him to call me back. I steepled my fingers in front of me and leaned into them.

  If Melinda Patterson hadn't been able to marshal the troops in her favor, why had Darmov considered her such a threat? What had made him want to kill her, especially since according to Vanessa they were lovers?

  It didn't make sense.

  Unless Darmov wasn't telling me everything. Or unless someone was lying to me. I grinned. There was a revelation.

  Melinda Patterson, Don Woolery, and Gregor Dmitov were all dead. Darmov was by his own admission the triggerman for both Melinda and Woolery. Gregor had been taken down by someone trying to get at Darmov.

  Was it simple vengeance? Or was it a larger plan to bring about the collapse of Darmov's organization?

  I needed a better picture of what Darmov was and what the Patterson family was involved in.

  And as much as I hated doing it, I knew I was taking a trip down to Government Center. I slid past Brenda, told her I was going out for the afternoon, and to let McCloskey know I was headed downtown if he called.

  I caught the 39 bus across the street from my office and rode down South Huntington and then turned right on Huntington toward Copley Square. Once there, I transferred to an inbound Green Line train and finally made it to Government Center just after two o'clock.

  Hopefully, lunch would be over.

  The John F. Kennedy government building sits amid a wide-open expanse of concrete and plaza theoretically designed to give people lots of places to walk. I know better. I know the place is designed to afford a great view of the surrounding landscape for the security of the building. It's very hard to park a car or truck laden with explosives nearby without someone seeing you.

  Ostensibly, the building houses the offices of most federal agencies. You can find almost anything inside.

  Including intelligence agency field offices.

  The Central Intelligence Agency, for example, occupies the top ten floors that are covered in heavy-duty steel shutters to discourage Joe Blow from using microwave eavesdropping equipment.

  One of those floors is leased to the Defense Intelligence Agency for the purposes of inter-agency cooperation.

  It's a lie. DIA and CIA haven't shared anything but two common letters for years.

  And I suspected that CIA probably had the DIA offices bugged so they could keep trying to one-up them. And knowing the DIA, they were probably planting enough false information to throw CIA listeners into non-stop boredom.