Burke's War: Bob Burke Action Thriller 1 (Bob Burke Action Thrillers)

by William F. Brown

  He looked at his watch. Time to call Charlie. He would not have left for work yet, but by now he might be awake with his brain in at least first gear. After locking all the doors, he tossed the car keys in the trunk and slammed it shut. He pulled the hat down to shade his face, walked back to the rear entrance of the hotel, and stepped inside. He found himself in the rear corridor that led to the main lobby and the front desk from the parking lot. There was a security camera over the rear door and a second one pointed toward him from further up the corridor. Most of these chain business hotels offered a complimentary breakfast to their guests. From the sounds and smells, he could tell that was well underway. With the front desk and the service staff occupied cleaning tables, putting out food, and handling check-out, he figured no one would be monitoring the security cameras. Up ahead, he saw the sign for the men’s restroom so he casually walked over and went inside. This was his first chance to see what he looked like since he left the alley behind his garage. He washed his hands and face and took a quick look in the mirror, but he saw no major issues. He needed a shave and some decent clothes, but this would do for the moment.

  Across the corridor from the restrooms was a small alcove with a vending machine, trashcan, and a pay phone. He picked up the receiver, heard a dial tone, and smiled. In this cyber era when everyone over the age of four owned a cell phone or iPad, a pay phone, particularly one that worked, will soon become a quaint antique relegated to the Museum of Natural History downtown. He dialed Charlie’s home phone number and waited.

  On the fifth ring, the fat accountant answered. “Newcomb residence, may I help you?”

  “I sure hope so Charlie.”

  “Bob? Are you nuts?” Charlie was completely frazzled and began whispering.

  “You can speak up. If someone’s listening, whispering won’t help.”

  “Jeez Bob the cops woke me up an hour ago. They handed me a search warrant and searched my house, my garage, my car... They think you killed Sabrina Fowler, the flight attendant! You gotta call George Grierson and turn yourself in, man; they're serious.”

  “I never touched her and you know it.”

  “I don’t think that matters very much, Bob. They’re gunning for you.

  “It was Bentley, and his pals Greenway and Scalese who did it. They set me up. But for the benefit of all of you out there in ‘Listening Land,’ in a couple of hours I’ll have their books and records, and enough proof to put them all away.”

  “In a couple of hours, you can be dead, too. Let me call George Grierson. Maybe he can convince them you panicked and ran. If you don’t, it’ll be open season on Burkes.”

  “All right, go ahead and call, Charlie. Tell him what I told you, that it was Bentley and that moron nephew of his, Bobby Joe. They’re working for Scalese, and they set me up. Tell him that, and tell anyone else who will listen; but I’m not coming in. I’ve got a job to do.”

  On the fifth floor of the Federal Building downtown, an FBI audio technician saw the red audio sensor light up on one of his taps, indicating a conversation was taking place. It would immediately go to record without any intervention on his part, but to ensure that the sensor hadn’t been tripped by some acoustical anomaly, he reached over, flipped that switch, and began listening. On his control panel were two narrow displays. The top one showed the acoustical profile of the incoming voice, while the lower one showed the profile of the voice on the receiving end. As both signals tracked along, his audio profile computers compared the voices to patterns already on file in the Bureau’s database. Within five seconds, the name “Charles Newcomb” appeared in red under the bottom voice pattern. It took seven seconds more for the name “Robert Burke” to appear under the top one.

  The sound technician picked up his phone and dialed the US Attorney’s office upstairs. O’Malley wasn’t in yet, which was none of the sound technician’s concern. Burke’s name was red flagged, at the top of the list, and any contact was to be immediately reported upstairs. He left a terse message with O’Malley’s duty officer that a call came in to Charles Newcomb from Robert Burke, that it was being recorded, and he would courier an audio CD up to O’Malley’s office in a few minutes for him to listen to. He then made a second copy of the conversation on a small cassette tape, tucked it in his jacket pocket, and headed down to the loading dock for a quick smoke and a quicker phone call.

  After Bob hung up from his call to Charlie, he stood at the payphone thinking for another moment. There was a phone book chained to the shelf under the phone. Another relic of better times, he thought as he opened it, found a listing for the Security Office at O’Hare, and dropped another quarter into the phone.

  When Travers’ secretary answered, she said the Lieutenant was too busy to take any calls at the moment. “Oh, I’m sure he is,” Bob replied. “Tell him it’s Sam Somadafatch from the Indian Hills High School Band Boosters, and we’d love to have him be the Grand Marshal in our Homecoming Parade. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to me.”

  Seconds later, an angry voice exploded in his ear. “Bentley, you asshole!”

  “Ernie, Ernie, shame on you. Do you kiss your mother with that same mouth?”

  “Burke? Is that you? Are you crazy?”

  “You know, everybody keeps asking me that today, so maybe I am. Like I told you, I didn’t kill that girl or do any of the rest of that stuff. It was Greenway, Scalese, and Bentley; and I can prove it. What I didn’t tell you in the alley was that I added a state-of-the-art security system in my apartment, inside and out, that includes video and infrared cameras.”

  “You do? After you left, I searched the place with the Arlington Heights cops, and we sure didn’t see cameras or anything.”

  “You wouldn’t, Ernie. I’ve got high speed, miniature, embassy-level tech stuff that’s ‘way above your pay grade.’ ”

  “Very funny, and I hear that a lot too, you cocky son-of-a-bitch.”

  “I have video of two of Scalese’s men dumping her body in my trunk before any of you arrived. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want them to tear my place apart or burn it down trying to find it.”

  Travers laughed. “A ‘telephone guy,’ huh? I knew you were a spook. The first time I saw that photograph from Afghanistan, I said… Anyway, can you get me that tape?”

  “That’s so ‘old school,’ Ernie. It’s saved ‘up in The Cloud,’ where they can’t get at it. As soon as I get my hands on a computer, I’m going to have some DOJ friends of mine run some face-recognition software on it and I’ll email it and the results to you. And I’m not a spook, merely a hard-working, every-day grunt, but I do know a lot of people.”

  “I don’t suppose I can talk you into coming in, can I?”

  “Not a chance. These guys need to be put out of business, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. And by the way, I’m borrowing your softball league trophy fund.”

  “The ‘trophy fund?’ You found that? Not a problem, but you’d be doing me a favor if you found some way to wreck that damn car too. Then maybe they’ll give me a new one.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  At 7:58 a.m., Linda Sylvester sat in her six-year-old Toyota Corolla in the CHC Building parking lot, anxiously waiting for the stroke of 8:00 when the magnetic door locks would open and she could run inside and retrieve the package Eleanor left for her. She was terrified to be anywhere near the place, so she carefully picked a spot where she could see the building’s rear door as well as the parking lot’s front entrance, in case she needed to run. To her shock, as she was about to get out of her car, she saw Dr. Greenway drive in and pull into his personal parking space near the building’s revolving front door. Linda froze. No, not Greenway, she thought and began to tremble. She ducked down in the seat, as low as she could go, and peeked out over the dashboard to watch him walk to the front door and use his executive key card to enter the building.

  Greenway! She hadn’t bargained for this. He shouldn’t be here for another hour, she thought. His third floor
office was down the hall and around the bend from Eleanor’s, so maybe she could still pull it off if she didn't completely lose her nerve. She watched Greenway cross the lobby to the elevators and was about to open her car door, when to her horror she saw Tony Scalese's gold Lexus 460 tear into the parking lot. He was driving like a maniac, bouncing over the corner of a landscaped median, brakes squealing, as he skidded to a halt crosswise in one of the spaces next to Greenway’s car. Scalese jumped out, leaving his car door hanging open, and ran up to the building’s front door. He swiped his key card, yanked the heavy door open, and ran across the lobby toward the elevator just as the door closed behind Greenway. This was bad, she thought, really bad! She had hoped the building would be mostly empty, but to find both of them in the office this early? What choice did she have, though? She couldn’t stay here, and she had to get that package in Eleanor’s office. Bob was right. It was her only hope to get out this mess.

  Eight or ten other women were already standing around the rear employee door, sneaking that last cigarette before they went inside. Through the window, she saw one of the security guards coming down the hallway. He stopped to punch some numbers into the keypad near the door, pushed on the panic bar, and held the door open for the women to pass inside. Eleanor’s office was at this end of the building, and there was a fire stairwell just inside the rear door, which went up to the third floor. From the way Scalese was acting, she figured he was following Greenway and would occupy him for a few minutes. Like it or not, this was the best chance she was going to get.

  Linda jumped out of her car and ran up the sidewalk, clutching her oversized leather purse to her chest as she joined the end of the line entering the building. Brushing past the security guard, she turned, pushed through the fire door, entered the emergency stairwell, and ran up the three flights of stairs as fast as her feet would carry her. When she finally reached the third floor, she stopped and took several deep breaths, to calm her nerves before she opened the door a crack; wide enough to allow her to peek down the hall. She looked in both directions, but especially toward Greenway’s office. The corridor was empty and his door closed. Thank God, she thought. She listened and heard loud voices coming from his office. Greenway and Scalese, were arguing. Praying that would occupy them for a few more minutes, she pulled the fire door open the rest of the way and scampered across the corridor on tiptoes. Eleanor’s key was already in her hand. She slipped it in the lock and was inside the office before she dared to take another breath.

  Linda didn’t waste a second. She kicked off her shoes, hiked up her skirt, climbed onto the top of the credenza, and pushed the center acoustical ceiling tile aside. Standing on her toes, she stuck her head up into the plenum and looked around. The air duct and vent were next to her head less than a foot away. She reached up with both hands and got a firm grip on the duct, twisting and turning the bottom section until it separated from the vent. There! She almost shouted aloud as a thick, legal-sized, manila envelope slid out onto the ceiling tile next to her head. She grabbed it, lowered the tile back into place, and jumped off the desk onto the floor.

  The manila envelope weighed several pounds. While she desperately wanted to stop and see what was inside, she was too terrified to try, until she got somewhere safe. She jammed it inside her big leather purse, went back to the office door, and peeked out, praying the hallway would still be empty. It was. She opened the door further, crossed the hall as quickly and quietly as she could, and pushed through the stairwell door. Clutching her bag with one hand and the railing with the other, she raced down the bare, metal stairs, flight after flight, desperate to get out of the building and back to her car. Finally, she reached the first floor landing, hit the panic bar with her forearm, and pushed through the emergency door into the first-floor corridor, only to run smack into Dr. Greenway. He was twice her size, but the force of the collision sent him sprawling. They landed on the hallway floor in a heap, arms and legs flying in every direction, with Linda on top, their faces only inches apart.

  Stunned, he looked up and saw who it was. “Linda? My God! What...? What are you…? he began to ask, until he saw the large leather purse with the manila envelope sticking out and the panicked expression on her face. His eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. “What are you doing here? You never arrive this early, and what have you got in there?” He grabbed her arm and reached for the purse, but she would have none of it. She reached up with her right hand, her fingers extended like claws, and raked her fingernails down the left side of his face, digging four deep gouges down his cheek.

  “Ahhhh!” he screamed and released her arm. As she rolled off him, he raised his hand to the side of his face and saw blood running down his fingertips. He flew into a towering rage. “You little bitch, I’ll…” he said as he reached for her again, but by then she had managed to get to her feet. He grabbed her ankle and tried to pull her back down, so she swung the heavy leather bag around as hard as she could and caught him flush in the face. The blow stunned him, and knocked him sideways. He toppled over, as she turned and headed for the rear door as fast as her legs would carry her.

  Tony Scalese had stopped by his own office to check his messages, and took the elevator down to the main lobby. He stood at the reception desk impatiently waiting for Greenway until he saw Linda Sylvester burst through the emergency stairwell door and knock Greenway flat. They struggled on the floor for a moment, before she broke free and dashed out the rear door. Scalese tried to follow, running down the corridor after her; but he was too slow and the distance too far to catch her. He had parked his car in front by the revolving door. She reached hers, got in, and fired up the engine before he could even reach the back door. Already winded, he stopped in the doorway and watched as she sped out of the parking lot. By the time he could hope to get back to his Lexus and give chase, she would be in the wind.

  Frustrated, Scalese turned around and found Greenway sitting on the floor holding a handkerchief to the side of his face. The doctor pulled it away from his cheek and held it up to show Scalese the blood. “See this!” he screamed. “See what that little bitch did to me?”

  Under the handkerchief, Scalese saw the four deep, bloody furrows she dug down the side of Greenway’s face, and smiled. “Looks like one of your ‘loose ends’ grew claws, don’t it, Doc? Your Mama ain’t gonna like that very much, you know.”

  “I’ll kill her, I swear I will,” Greenway seethed.

  Scalese looked down at him. “Really? Well, you gotta catch her first, and I think you’re already in this shit way over your head.”

  “I can take care of it… and I can take care of her.”

  “Sure you can,” Tony Scalese answered sarcastically. “And if you can’t, Mr. D’s gonna take care of you.”

  Bob Burke killed nearly a half-hour working his way from the Holiday Inn to the Bob Evans restaurant in Elk Grove Village where he agreed to meet Linda. As he left the Holiday Inn, he caught his reflection in the door glass and pulled the Cubs baseball hat even lower. As a disguise, it didn’t help much, but it might be enough, he thought, as he walked across the parking lot toward the busy road beyond. He didn’t want to arrive at the Bob Evans too early, or too late; so he walked for several long stretches, took two buses, and even hitched a ride with a delivery truck. In doing so, he was able to loop his way around behind the Bob Evans, checking to see if there were any police cars, or Lincoln Town Cars with hairy-knuckled Italians inside waiting for him. The traffic in the area was growing thicker by the minute, but he saw nothing suspicious, or anything to indicate that their meeting place was already under surveillance.

  By 8:10 a.m., he was famished, and the smells wafting out of the back door of the restaurant were too good to pass up. One thing the infantry teaches even the newest recruit is to grab food and sleep wherever and whenever you can, because you never know when those opportunities will come again. He went inside, took a seat in a back booth, and ordered the biggest steak and egg breakfast on the menu, with grits, a
side of biscuits and country gravy, and a pot of coffee. He smiled and asked the waitress to make it as quick as possible, because he had an airplane flight to catch. Cholesterol? No doubt about it, but under the circumstances, he should live so long.

  One other thing the Army taught him, particularly when bullets were flying, was the ability to “inhale” even a large meal in sixty seconds or less. However, the Bob Evans breakfast looked considerably better than your average mess hall food or, God forbid, a quick MRE, so he relaxed and allowed himself a few leisurely moments to actually taste the food. An MRE consisted of freeze-dried field rations in a plastic bag, which someone with a sick sense of humor labeled “Meal, Ready-to-Eat,” or MRE, which grunts everywhere loved to hate. He mopped up the last of the real, Bob Evans gravy with his biscuit as he saw Linda’s Toyota drive past and turn in. She headed straight for the rear parking lot, and he knew she would be in full panic mode if she didn’t find him waiting where they agreed to meet. He dropped twenty dollars from Ernie’s envelope on the table and hurried to the rear exit.

  When he got there, he saw Linda parking her Toyota in the rear row. Her head pivoted left and right, as her eyes searched desperately for him. Her hands were wrapped around the steering wheel in a white-knuckled “death grip,” and as soon as she saw him, he saw her heave a sigh of relief. He walked to her driver’s side door and motioned for her to move over to the passenger side. As she did, she picked up the heavy leather shoulder bag lying there and clutched it to her chest. The top was open and he saw a thick manila envelope sticking out.