The Insiders

by Craig Hickman

  “What about the other FBI informants?”

  “It’s time to pull the plug, Bob. You know what to do. I’ll see you in seventy-two hours,” Tate said, finally looking over at the acupuncturist, who was now staring at him in fear.

  Tate placed the phone down slowly. What had she heard? He’d uncharacteristically forgotten all about her. He began gently removing the acupuncture needles until one of them disturbed a nerve, causing him to flinch with pain. He ripped the rest of them out, leaving several bleeding pinholes on his face, neck, and shoulders. When he turned to look at himself in the full-length mirror, it was a reflection that disturbed him greatly.

  The startled woman ran to the bathroom for a warm damp towel. As she tried to wipe away the blood on Tate’s neck and shoulders, he pushed her away and walked into the bedroom. When he returned, he held a long-barreled pistol in his hand. He fired it once into her head. She’s heard too much, and I feel like killing.

  As Tate stood above her, watching the lifeblood ooze out of her body, he vowed to himself that he would never be caught. He immediately called Morita to activate their exit strategy. Then he called Kamin and Malouf to let them know about Carter. The partnership was no longer of any use to him. It would soon be exposed. His firm and his clients would have to fend for themselves. The only thing he could do now was to protect himself and his key relationships.

  Twenty minutes later, a cleanup crew dressed in business attire arrived at suite 2301. Tate smiled as he watched them go about their work. With money you can buy anything in this world, he said to himself. Two men attended to the lifeless body of the acupuncturist while others cleaned the room. Two women escorted him to the bathroom where they began working on a new disguise—an artificial nose, raised brow with bushy eyebrows, new receding hairline, sandy blonde wig, and an extended chin were carefully put into place, transforming Tate in a matter of minutes into a completely different-looking person. When they were finished, Tate got dressed while going over the documents of his new identity.

  Thirty minutes after they arrived, the cleanup crew exited the suite looking like a group of business associates who’d just concluded a late night meeting—some were going out for drinks while others were leaving to catch flights. Three suitcases carried the remains of the acupuncturist.

  55

  Hap – Boston, MA

  Hap Greene was sitting at the dining room table eating a leftover sandwich from a nearby deli when Wilson joined him. It was two in the morning, and Wilson couldn’t sleep or bring himself to eat anything. “Anything else from Driggs?”

  “No changes. She’s safe and sleeping.”

  “This is taking too long…and I still can’t figure Carter,” Wilson said as he sat down.

  “I think you’re right about him. He’s still manipulating you, but probably in an effort to protect you. And no, I don’t think he’s done,” Hap said.

  “Explain,” Wilson said.

  “I think he’s left the country because he’s getting ready for the next round, whatever it is. I don’t believe he’d leave you alone in the middle of all this if there wasn’t a damn good reason,” Hap said. “Unless I’m totally wrong about him, which is certainly a possibility.”

  “So what’s motivating him right now?” Wilson asked.

  “His family’s safety, your family’s safety, the final disclosure, and a complete dissolution of the secret partnership,” Hap said. “I think that’s why he left. He’s made it easier for you to do what you have to do to rescue Emily, protect yourself, your father, and your family. His family left from Canada for somewhere in Europe or Asia. Disclosure is guaranteed. Now, the only remaining question is dissolution of the partnership.”

  Just then, one of Hap’s associates entered the living room. “There’s a Detective Zemke from Sun Valley on my cell phone. He wants to talk to Wilson.”

  “How did he get the number?” Hap asked.

  “He must have called the office. Anne Cartwright has the numbers. I told her that Detective Zemke should have access to me if he called,” Wilson returned.

  Hap shot him a look of concern. “He’s outside the loop. Be careful.”

  Wilson nodded as he stood up and took the phone from Hap’s associate. Hap went to the kitchen to listen through the recording equipment. Wilson pressed the connection button. “Detective Zemke, it’s been a few weeks since…”

  Zemke interrupted, “There’s been no movement until now. But something always breaks—we have a tape of what happened that night.”

  “What?” Wilson said in shock.

  “The room was wired. Some kind of remote microphone. The tape showed up this afternoon. Strange circumstances, but seems legit. Looks like the Zollinger women hired a PI from Chicago to eavesdrop. He was killed in an automobile accident in Hailey the next day. We had nothing linking him to the White Horse murders, until the PI’s brother started poking around a week ago. Apparently, the PI spent a couple of late nights at Lefty’s Bar and struck up a relationship with the bartender, Jake Pitt. He left the tape with Jake and told him that he or his partner would be back to get it. He must have suspected a tail. According to the PI’s brother, he never had a partner. Strictly solo. But Jake never heard about the accident, so he kept the tape in the bar’s safe until the PI’s brother showed up. No one had listened to it until his brother did. That’s when he brought it to us. There’s an introduction on the tape from the PI, explaining the circumstances and the reason for the wire. The brother already verified the PI’s voice. Of course, you’ll need to verify your father’s voice and the Zollinger family will need to verify the women’s…”

  “What’s on the tape, Detective,” Wilson interrupted impatiently. His stomach tightened like a fist.

  “Seems the two Zollinger women were murdered by a professional,” Zemke said, pausing for a few moments. “We think your father was shot by someone named Carter.”

  The living room began spinning as Wilson braced himself against the wall. Zemke was still talking, but only bits and pieces were registering. “…prolonged argument…women were convinced…it was too risky…the PI must have tried to negotiate…But Wayland evidently hired…killed the two…Carter and…another long discussion…your father wanted to end…there was more…”

  “Wait,” Wilson finally managed to blurt out, trying desperately to regain focus. “What did my father want to end?”

  Detective Zemke hesitated for a moment. “Seems he wanted to kill all of them, including himself.”

  Wilson was too numb to speak.

  “Your father apparently tried to stop the two Zollinger women from being shot. After the two women were dead, Wayland called off the assassin and took the gun. There was a heated exchange of words, and then a fight. Your father took the gun from Wayland and told the others to back off. That’s when your father kept saying this was the best way to end it. But another person—we think it was Carter—wrestled the gun away from your father and then shot him.”

  Wilson could barely breathe but managed to utter the words running through his head, “Carter shot my father.”

  “That’s our take on it.”

  “Who else was there besides my father, Wayland, and Carter?”

  “Name was uhh …” Zemke paused a moment before answering, “…Jules and of course the unnamed assassin.”

  “When can I hear the tape?”

  “A copy is already on its way to you. Overnight. Should arrive at your office tomorrow morning. We’ll need you to verify as many voices as you can. Thought about doing it by phone, but the tape isn’t that good, and we want to make sure it’s legit before we turn it over to the FBI.”

  “The FBI?”

  “They said you were working with them,” Zemke said, sounding surprised.

  “That’s right,” Wilson said, quickly, “Have they heard the tape?”

  “No. I called your office and talked to your assistant Anne. I told her it was vital that I track you down. Then, I called the Zollinger family.�
�

  “Why didn’t you call the FBI?” Wilson said.

  “They were all over us yesterday, six of them, confiscating everything we had on the White Horse case. Put us through the ringer, if you know what I mean. They won’t be getting anything else from me until I know exactly what it is.”

  Wilson remained silent, trying to think.

  Hap motioned for Wilson to keep the conversation going.

  “Mr. Fielder,” Zemke said.

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “We assume Carter is your father’s associate Carter Emerson. Do you know where he is?”

  “No,” Wilson said, abruptly.

  “They’re coming back here tomorrow at noon to officially take over the investigation. If I don’t hear from you by eleven o’clock my time, I’ll call you,” Zemke said. “All I need to know is whether the voice on the tape is your father’s.”

  Wilson agreed to listen to the tape and call Zemke in the morning. When he ended the call, Hap tried to console him, but strangely, Wilson was already over it. All of a sudden, everything had become sickeningly predictable.

  While initially dumbfounded that Carter had pulled the trigger of the gun that shot his father, the pieces of the puzzle had been there all along—the contingency plan that Carter wished he’d never agreed to, his father’s coma convincing the other partners of Carter’s loyalty, their relentless quest to finish what they’d started, the repeated attempts to protect Wilson, and that faraway look in Carter’s eyes whenever he talked about Wilson’s father. What weren’t they willing to do for disclosure?

  “I still can’t believe it,” Hap said.

  “I can,” Wilson said, Zemke’s words still ringing in his head: this is the best way to end it. “It was all part of their contingency plan,” Wilson said. Why had it taken him so long to accept it?

  “What?” Hap blurted.

  For the next twenty minutes Wilson tied together the bits and pieces for Hap’s benefit. Carter had indeed already told Wilson everything—what they had done, what they expected to happen, and what yet remained to be done. When Hap’s doubts were addressed and he had no furthers questions, Wilson said, “Call Driggs. I want Emily extracted now. Her parents and sisters are going to need immediate protection.”

  56

  Emily – Princeton, NJ

  Feeling her body being gently lifted off the cot, Emily thought she was dreaming. Then, as her consciousness grew, she assumed she was being raped. She immediately arched her back and attempted to kick her legs. Driggs pulled off her earphones and whispered, “We’re taking you to Wilson.”

  Emily stopped breathing. When her blindfold came off, she was staring into the face of a sympathetic-looking black man whose finger was pressed vertically against his lips.

  “My name is Driggs. I work for Hap Greene. We need to hurry,” he whispered as he removed the tape from her mouth and helped her stand up.

  Emily nodded, still trembling as she placed her feet on the ground. After a few steps, they began running along the wall of a dimly lit, nearly empty warehouse. She hung onto Driggs’ arm as they ran. She could see the exit door ahead of them. The nightmare was over, she thought.

  Suddenly, a volley of gunshots echoed throughout the cavernous space. Four of Hap’s men and four FBI agents hit the floor surrounding the makeshift office where three armed men were taking cover. All three guards outside the warehouse had been subdued without a single shot being fired, but not before one of them alerted the others inside. The woman who had been attending to Emily was lying on the restroom floor in a fetal position.

  Driggs gripped Emily tightly under the armpit, speeding up their pace as he steered her toward an open door ten yards away.

  Quickly positioning himself behind a large filing cabinet, one of the trapped captors spied Emily and Driggs heading for the exit door. “If we’re going down, so is she,” he said before training his scope on Emily. He would only have one shot—his last.

  “Breech!” was the only word spoken in the radio silence amongst FBI agents and Hap’s operatives.

  Just as he squeezed the trigger of his M110 sniper rifle, the captor and his two cohorts were blown off their feet—their bodies riddled with chunks of debris from the blast of a fragmentation grenade.

  Driggs slung Emily in front of him, toward the open exit door six feet ahead. Tripping on the door’s threshold, Emily tumbled onto the asphalt outside the warehouse. She glimpsed a black Range Rover and a man running toward her. Then, Driggs’ body slammed down on top of her.

  “Nooooo…” Emily screamed, struggling to remove her legs from under Driggs’ body, so she could reach his face. The man running toward her was Mike Anthony, who’d been with her and Wilson in Venice.

  “Secure,” was the second word spoken over the radio silence.

  Anthony quickly examined Driggs’ body and turned him over. Emily scrambled to her knees. The captor’s bullet had struck Driggs squarely between the shoulder blades. Anthony snapped a small plastic vial and placed it under Driggs’ nose.

  Thanks to the bulletproof vest, Driggs was only unconscious with a painful bruise in the middle of his back. “Let’s get her out of here,” Driggs said as he opened his eyes and began coughing.

  Anthony helped Driggs stand up and then guided him to the open door of the black Range Rover. There was another man dressed in black, just like Driggs and Anthony, sitting in the driver’s seat. When everyone was seated, the Range Rover began speeding away from the warehouse along a graveled access road. Anthony immediately got on the phone with Hap.

  “Are you okay?” Emily called out, looking over at Driggs.

  “Nothing a hot tub won’t cure,” Driggs said as he leaned back in his seat. “How about you?”

  “I’m fine now, thanks to all of you,” she said, still feeling overwhelmed. “Where’s Wilson? Is he safe?”

  “Yes ma’am. We should have you reunited with him in a few hours.”

  “Where are we?” Emily asked.

  “Just outside Princeton, New Jersey.”

  “How did you find me?” she said, rubbing the skin around her mouth, trying to remove the remaining pieces of adhesive.

  “We’ve had you under surveillance since you left Teterboro Airport.”

  “The clues worked?” she said, her eyes beginning to glisten with tears. She had almost given up hope that anyone would ever find her alive.

  “You’re damn right they worked,” Driggs said, handing her a bottle of Gatorade from a pouch on the back of the seat in front of him. “Whatever you did to make them stop the truck when they were moving, you allowed us to find you. As soon as they got out of the truck to deal with you, we were all over it. Our night scopes caught you struggling inside. Otherwise, we would have missed you. They had you in an in-flight service truck that was leaving for the airfield at the same time as forty other identical trucks.” Driggs paused. “It was Wilson who decoded your message.”

  “Oh god…I need to talk to him.” Tears were now spilling down Emily’s cheeks. Driggs flinched as he put his arm around her. She laid her head on his chest. “Thank you for finding me, but I really need to talk to Wilson,” she sobbed.

  “Hap is already arranging the call. As soon we have him on the phone, we’ll let you know,” Anthony injected while glancing at Driggs. Both of them knew what Wilson was currently dealing with.

  “We’re just glad you’re safe and unharmed,” Driggs said, attempting to give her as much comfort as he could. “We’ll get Wilson on the phone as soon as we can.”

  Emily sat back in her seat and tried to relax for the first time in what seemed like months, but she couldn’t. She desperately needed to hear Wilson’s voice. Was it finally over? Were they still in danger? Then she reflected on the words that had saved her life. No more fear. She reminded herself of her vow: she would never let her fear control her again. Ever.

  57

  Wilson – Boston, MA

  Jerked from the exhausted sleep that had engulfed
him after talking to Emily a few hours earlier, Wilson could vaguely hear someone calling his name. When he opened his eyes, he saw her above him. She was stroking his hair and kissing him. “Wilson, it’s me,” Emily said tenderly.

  “At last! Thank God, at last,” Wilson cried as he leapt from the bed and embraced her.

  They held each other tight for several moments, releasing unspoken prayers of gratitude. Just as they relaxed their embrace to stare into each other’s tear-filled eyes, Driggs came running into the bedroom yelling the word “compromised.” He shoved a cell phone into Wilson’s face. Wilson grabbed the phone and heard Hap’s voice on the other end.

  “Counter-surveillance is springing up all over the place. We have to move you now. I’ll be upstairs in five minutes. Be ready.”

  “What’s been compromised?”

  “I’ll talk to you when I get there. Bring the escape bags.”

  “What’s been…” Wilson said before the connection ended. Hap was gone. Wilson screamed at Driggs, “What’s been compromised?”

  “Your safety, Mr. Fielder. Somebody inside. Word on the arrests is out.”

  Emily clung to Wilson, this new shock coming too soon on heels of her trauma and the relief of reuniting.

  “Get dressed; we gotta get outta here,” Driggs demanded.

  Wilson threw on his clothes and grabbed the pre-packed escape bags that contained food, water, clothes, and various other survival items. Forty seconds had passed. Suddenly, from the corridor outside the apartment came several crashing thuds and a muffled blast. Commands were shouted. Three heavily armed FBI agents burst through the door of the apartment. One of them turned to Driggs and shouted, “Get them out of here, now! Use the escape route.”