“Really, you’ve heard them play before? That’s interesting, since this is their first visit to Austin.”
Caine was feeling the effects of two days without sleep and he wasn’t particularly interested in what Yates was saying. He just nodded at Yates’s comment.
Yates saw the response as an evasion and pressed the matter. “And where exactly did you see them?”
Andrea interrupted Yates’s inquisition.
“Paul, don’t you have anything—”
“Let me see,” Caine said. “I attended three or four performances when I lived in Paris. That would have been at the Champs-Elysées Concert Hall. The new concert hall hadn’t been built yet. I remember attending a concert at the Royal Albert in London, and I seem to remember attending one at the Musikverein, in Vienna, but that might have been the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. I’m sorry. It was so long ago I can’t remember now,” Caine said, speaking slowly as he worked his way through the memories.
Yates’s superior smile had become fixed in stone. He glanced at his watch and said, “Well, good to see you Andrea and … John, did you say?”
“Yes. John,” Caine answered.
Yates turned stiffly and walked back to the bar. In spite of the strain from the past forty-eight hours, Andrea had to cover her mouth to hold in the giggle about to burst forth.
“What’s so funny?” Caine said.
“You’d have to know Yates. Even among his peers, who are not known for humility, he’s known as an arrogant snob. Maybe he’ll be a little more humble after discovering that someone else just might have one iota of cultural sophistication other than himself, but I doubt it.”
When she looked back at Caine, the reality of their situation returned and with it the image of Michael Bosmasian being shot. Caine saw the look and reached over and took her hand.
“He’s going to be okay, Andrea. And no, it wasn’t your fault. I only spent thirty seconds with Mr. Bosmasian, but I have an idea that he would be the first one to get upset if you even suggested that.”
Andrea looked at him and nodded. He was right. Michael would get angry at the suggestion. She forced herself to overcome the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. She needed to focus. Then she remembered Richie’s voicemail.
“John—the voicemail from Richie, you have to hear it.”
Andrea dialed the number that accessed her voicemail. Instead of the standard message requesting her private code, the message advised her that the voicemail system was not available at this time. Andrea remembered what Caine had said when he couldn’t get into his own voicemail, but rejected the possibility of sabotage. Kelly & White’s system had a top-of-the-line firewall, and the server was in a locked room in a secure commercial building. It had to be a routine maintenance issue.
“I can’t get in right now. They must be doing work on the system. I should be able to get in tomorrow.”
“Just tell me what you can remember,” Caine said.
“The message was … frantic and it was hard to hear. Richie was in a car. I could hear the engine roaring like … like he was in some kind of race. He said you owned something and that Halus, no Helius, might be willing to do something. He could have been referring to Helius Energy here in Austin.”
“The message that Steinman left me said the same thing,” Caine said, “but he didn’t mention Helius. That’s a critical piece of information. What can you tell me about Helius?”
“Not all that much. I know it’s a large energy conglomerate that has major oil and gas holdings in the United States and internationally. Their annual revenues are in the billions. I think their stock is listed on … no, actually they went private a while back, but I seem to remember seeing something in the Wall Street Journal about Helius coming out with a big bond issue on the NYSE. The company HQ is located about ten blocks from here.”
“Who runs Helius?”
“A man named Carter Mason is the CEO and chairman. The Mason family started the company and they still own a controlling stock position. Mason has a reputation for being more than a little ruthless, but that description fits a lot of people that play in the oil patch.”
“Andrea,” Caine said, “Helius could fit the profile of who we’re up against. Many of these outfits maintain private security forces—forces that hire a lot of ex-soldiers. They need this muscle to protect their people and assets in places like Africa, Russia, and Indonesia. Calling in one or more of these folks to hunt us down wouldn’t be difficult.”
“I guess it’s possible, but I have a problem with the concept,” Andrea said, shaking her head.
“Why?”
“Helius has plenty of high-priced lawyers. If they had a title problem on a property, they would either negotiate or litigate a resolution. If they ended up losing the fight, the title insurer that wrote the policy on the property would have to write a check for the purchase price. I just can’t see Helius sending a goon squad after us because of some wild deed.”
“This doesn’t have to be a sanctioned operation, Andrea. One or more people in that corporate colossus could do something like this without the board’s knowledge, particularly if they had Mason’s support. If big money is involved, he just might be motivated enough to do things way outside the lines.”
Caine could see that Andrea was still not buying it.
“Maybe. We need to find out what property Richie was talking about. That would tell us a lot,” Andrea said.
Caine stood up. “I have to go to the restroom. Don’t run away.”
Andrea grabbed his arm.
“John, Richie gave me a name on the message.”
“What do you mean, a name?”
“He said I have to talk to … Amelia Tater, no Teatro. Teatro was the name. Amelia Teatro.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. He cut out before that.”
“Do you know Amelia Teatro?”
“No, I never heard the name before, but she must be someone important. Richie was adamant.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the men’s room.”
“I’m sorry, you just said that.”
Austin, Texas
December 6, 1999 / Monday / 8:50 p.m.
Yates tried to control his rage as he turned and walked back to the bar. He could just imagine the two of them chuckling at his expense. London, Paris. Screw him! That bozo had probably never been outside of Texas. As he stood near the bar staring at the television without interest, a line of text ran across the bottom of the screen. It was a news bulletin. It said that a local prosecutor had been shot in downtown Austin within the hour. Yates turned to leave the bar, but something in the message caught his attention. The police were looking for a local attorney, Andrea Marenna, and an unknown male for questioning in connection with the incident.
Yates was stunned. He looked over at Andrea Marenna and the man sitting beside her. A slow smile came to his face. He pulled the cell phone from the holder on his hip and walked out to the sidewalk in front of the bar. He didn’t want to have any reception problems when he dialed 911. The recording of his call needed to sound just right. It might get played over the evening news.
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
Austin, Texas
December 6, 1999 / Monday / 8:55 p.m.
Severino and Paquin were searching the streets just outside the perimeter established by the police when Paquin received a call on his cell phone.
“Paquin.”
“This is Center. Our source in the Austin PD just called. Less than a minute ago, they received a tip from a credible source indicating that Andrea Marenna is in a bar. The place is called Branion’s. It’s on the corner of San Jacinto and Second. SWAT is taking the lead on the call. You should have about a five-minute head start on them if you move now.
“Got it,” Paquin said.
He called Severino. “We’ve found them. Meet me in front of a place cal
led Branion’s. It’s on San Jacinto and Second. Tell Juan and Miguel to park behind the bar and come in the back door.”
“Done,” Severino answered.
Paquin parked the Lexus across the street and opened the glove compartment. He pulled out a flesh-colored facemask that covered the bottom half of his face, and drew a Glock 17 out from the holster under the seat. The Suburban pulled up alongside the Lexus as he was getting out of the car, and Severino stepped out. Juan and Miguel drove the SUV around the block to the rear of the building.
“We go in and take them both out, quick and clean. We exit through the back door. Clear?” Paquin said as they approached the entrance to the bar.
“Clear,” Severino said, pulling a mini Uzi from under his coat.
When they opened the door to the bar, a tall, overweight man was waiting in the anteroom to the bar area. The man strode over to the two men, as if he were expecting them.
“I’m Paul Yates. I made the call.”
Yates pulled up short when he saw the masks covering their faces.
“What the—”
Severino stepped forward and smashed the Uzi into the side of the man’s head before he could say another word. Yates dropped to his knees, wavered for a moment, and then fell forward onto his face.
Severino stepped past the body and eased open the door to the bar. Paquin scanned the bar area through the opening. He couldn’t see either Andrea Marenna or Caine. He pushed the door open and moved into the larger room, followed by Severino. Paquin was holding the Glock in both hands, but he shielded the gun from the crowd sitting at the bar with his body.
The small crowd didn’t notice the men initially, giving Paquin the opportunity to look over the rest of the room. He spotted Andrea Marenna sitting at a table in the rear of the room. She was looking at the screen of her cell phone and didn’t see him. Caine was nowhere in sight.
“I have the girl,” Paquin said, “but I can’t see Caine. We can’t take out the girl unless we get him at the same time.”
Severino nodded and continued to watch the crowd in front of him.
One of the waitresses turned away from the bar with a tray of drinks and looked directly at Severino. The girl was in her early twenties. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail and she was smiling at a joke made by the bartender. She looked over at Severino and took in the mask and then the gun by his side. Her smile slowly disappeared and was replaced by a look of incomprehension, then fear.
Paquin noticed the girl and turned to Severino.
“Fire a burst into the ceiling. Get them on the floor and keep them there.”
Then Paquin started across the room to the table where Andrea Marenna was sitting. Behind him, Paquin heard Severino fire a short burst from the Uzi into the ceiling. The blast drew screams of shock and fear from the people at the bar. Severino followed the burst with a series of shouted orders.
“Get on the floor! Did you fucking hear me? On the floor! Now! Get down!”
Severino fired a second burst into the ceiling and people began throwing themselves on the floor.
Austin, Texas
December 6, 1999 / Monday / 9:05 p.m.
Andrea’s head snapped up at the sound of the gunfire. She stared at Severino in disbelief. By the time she saw the other man walking toward her holding a gun, he was only one table away. Andrea stood up, but the man cut off her move to escape.
“One step and I’ll put a bullet through your knee,” the man said.
The complete lack of inflection in his voice made the threat of violence seem that much more certain. When the man reached her, he spoke quietly, his eyes never leaving her own.
“Good evening, Ms. Marenna. Where is Mr. Caine tonight?”
Andrea surprised herself by answering the question without hesitation. “We had to separate to get past the police. We agreed to meet here. I’m waiting for him.”
The answer was the truth, just not all of it. The man looked at her for a moment and she returned his stare.
“Very well, Ms. Marenna, walk to the rear door of the bar. I will be right behind you.”
Andrea hesitated.
“You can walk, Ms. Marenna, or you can be dragged. It’s your choice,” the man said, never raising his voice.
Andrea turned and walked toward the rear door of the bar. The door to the restroom was partially open, and the inside was dark. Andrea knew Caine had the gun with him, and she also knew with absolute certainty that he would try to kill the man beside her before they reached the door. She started to ease to the right in order to give Caine a clear shot, but stopped when two Latino men burst in the rear door of the bar. Both men were armed.
The two men nodded to the man behind her and moved up against the restroom door to allow him to pass. Andrea felt as if a knife was twisting in her stomach. Caine was trapped in the restroom. There was nothing he could do to help her.
The sound of a heavy vehicle skidding to a stop outside the bar drew an instant reaction from the man beside her.
“Everyone out, now!”
Austin, Texas
December 6, 1999 / Monday / 9:05 p.m.
Caine was drying his hands in the men’s room when he heard the burst of automatic weapons fire and the screams from the bar. He moved against the wall near the door, pulled out the Browning, and chambered a round. Then he turned off the lights in the room and eased open the door several inches. He could see Andrea’s table from the opening, but couldn’t see the bar area. A man of medium height with gray hair was standing beside her. He was wearing a face mask and a gray trench coat. He was also holding a gun. The man must have said something to Andrea, because she turned and started walking toward the rear of the bar. The man followed directly behind her.
Caine put the gun sight dead center on the chest of the man walking toward him, but then he hesitated. Killing one of the men would leave Andrea open to the other shooter, who had an automatic weapon. He needed to wait until both men were within sight. At this range, there was a good chance he could get both of them before they could return fire.
When the second gunman appeared in his view, Caine lifted his foot to shove the door open, but froze when something slammed into the outside of the wall he was leaning against. He backed up a step, and then another, expecting the door to the room to burst open. For a second, he was confused and then he realized that someone had shoved open the rear door to the bar, causing it to smash into the corridor wall.
There was no reaction from the two men in the bar, which meant they were together. Caine heard someone, possibly two men, up against the door to the restroom. He backed into one of the stalls for cover, the Browning pointed at the door. Outside the door, he heard someone order everyone out of the bar. There was movement, and then he heard the rear door of the bar close. Caine waited for a second, listening, and then eased into corridor, poised to shoot. It was empty. He glanced over his shoulder into the bar. The patrons were still lying on the floor with their hands behind their heads. He turned back to the rear doorway and eased it open. A black Suburban was just pulling around the corner into the street.
CHAPTER
FORTY-THREE
Austin, Texas
December 6, 1999 / Monday / 9:08 p.m.
Caine started to run down the alley toward the street, hoping to get a shot at the Suburban’s tires, or at least to get a few numbers from the license plate. He pulled up short and dodged behind a dumpster when an Austin PD patrol car raced around the corner, heading toward the rear of the bar. The car slowed, turned on the floodlight attached to the driver’s side, and eased into the alley. Caine looked back up the alley for a way out, but there was no exit. A six-foot wall was directly across the alley from him. He sprinted for the wall, caught the top ledge, and pulled himself over the top. He heard the car race up the alley on the other side of the wall.
Caine dropped into a second alley that ran alongside a large warehouse and ran toward the street at the far end. Thirty yards before he reached the st
reet, a second police car pulled into the mouth of the alley, blocking his exit, and two officers burst out of the car. One of the men screamed “Freeze!” but Caine was already sprinting down a narrow walkway that ran behind the warehouse. Behind him, he could hear shoes pounding on the blacktop.
Caine knew he was at a severe disadvantage. The police had numbers, mobility, and centralized communications. They also knew the area. If they were able to box him in and bring in a chopper to help with the search, his chances of escape would be minimal. He had to stay ahead of the cordon they were trying to throw around the area by moving as fast and as far as possible.
Caine dodged in between two trucks that were parked behind the warehouse and sprinted for the wall at the far end of the walkway. He climbed over the wall and dropped into the darkness below, landing in a small yard behind an old dimly lit one-story house. As he crossed the yard, Caine picked up a scent that caused him to break into a sprint—dog shit. The last thing he needed was to have a run-in with a pit bull or a Rottweiler.
As he approached the nine-foot steel fence on the far side of the yard, Caine heard a rush of movement to his left—the dog. He ran parallel to the fence for one stride and then made a leap for the steel bar at the top. For a moment, he wasn’t sure whether he was going to make it, but then he felt the cold metal under his sweaty hands. The dog threw itself against the fence below him, as he struggled to get one leg over the top of the bar.
Caine looked down and saw an enraged German shepherd backing up and gathering itself for a leap at his dangling leg. Caine struggled desperately to pull his legs out of reach, while maintaining his tenuous grip on the shaking fence. The dog was about to win the contest, when one of the cops dropped over the wall on far side of the yard. The dog instantly refocused its attention on the new intruder. The cop saw Caine on the fence, yelled “Freeze!” and started to reach for his gun, but stopped and threw up a defensive arm when he saw the dog racing toward him.
Helius Legacy Page 23
