Kaminski pulled into the space, and the two of them watched as Michael edged along the road, looking right and left.
“I think we might be onto something,” Crouten said.
“What makes you say that?”
“Call it intuition. After a while, you get a sense for when something interesting is about to happen.”
Kaminski pointed out of the windshield. “Look, he’s turning left.”
The Lexus indicated left onto Sullivan Street as it drove past an open-air parking area containing the decaying hulks of countless old yellow school buses. The whole corner lot was protected by metal fencing.
Crouten looked at the Sat Nav. “It’s a dead end down there where you hit the water. Pull around the corner and park up at this end. He must have reached where he’s going.”
At the far end of Sullivan was a razor-wire-fenced piece of open ground leading to the water. In the distance, beyond the compound and across the water, the office towers of lower Manhattan reached for the sky. On the sliding steel entrance gate was a large sign that read: NO DUMPING—NO TURNING. Behind the gate stood several forty-foot cargo containers and a few rusting vehicles, mainly damaged cars, but also an old fire truck and two coaches. To the right of the fenced-off area were two warehouse units constructed out of concrete blocks. Unlike the other buildings in the vicinity, there wasn’t a single piece of graffiti on the walls. There were no signs on the buildings either, just numbers: 220 and 221.
Kaminski pulled in behind a blue and white pickup truck and killed the engine. They watched as Michael eased his Lexus between two badly dented oil drums that marked the entrance to the parking area directly across the road from the warehouses. There was only one other vehicle in the car park.
Michael got out of the Lexus and pressed his key fob, checking twice that the driver door was locked before he walked toward the first building. As he crossed the road, he kept looking around, as if he wasn’t certain he was in the right place.
Crouten phoned in the license plate of the black Mercedes S-Class standing next to the Lexus. A few moments later, he heard the information he needed.
“Don’t mean anything to me,” he said, turning his head to Kaminski.
“Whose is it?”
“It’s registered to a company called South Side Logistics.”
Kaminski shook his head. “Haven’t come across it. Maybe he is here to see a client, after all.”
Chapter 30
STANDING OUTSIDE 220 SULLIVAN STREET, Michael looked for a sign on the building. There wasn’t one, but this had to be the right place. Looking back across the street to where he’d just parked his car, he wondered if the Mercedes belonged to Rondell. He reached for the buzzer to the right of the doorway, pressed it, and heard a loud bell sound inside the warehouse. A fuel truck thundered past, kicking up a dust cloud. It drove into the fenced-off area and performed a U-turn around the partly dismantled fire engine. As it came back out, the truck driver glared at Michael, as if to say: “What are you looking at?”
Moments later, Rondell opened the door. “Come on in, Danny Boy,” he said, rolling his head.
Michael looked over his shoulder and stepped inside, saying nothing to acknowledge his host. He followed Rondell into a grubby entrance area and then down a small, dimly lit corridor, passing two small offices. Their doors were open, but the lights were off. While it seemed like the place was empty now, there was a musty smell of stale cigarette smoke. The place had to be used some of the time. At the end of the passageway, in the corner of the building, they entered a small room with a window overlooking the fenced-off compound and the water beyond. The dust cloud created by the fuel truck was still swirling in the air.
Michael stared at the containers standing outside. “What is this place?”
“It’s one of our operations,” said Rondell, taking a seat behind the metal desk. He pointed to the grimy L-shaped sofa opposite. “Take a seat. We use this place sometimes when we bring stuff in by sea. It gets stored here until we move it on.”
Michael tried to find a gap between the stains on the sofa. “I guess I don’t need to ask what kind of stuff.”
Rondell threw him a knowing look and shrugged. “Use your imagination.”
“I don’t want to think about it.” Michael crossed his legs. His black lace-up shoes, which had been shiny for this morning’s partners’ meeting, were covered in a film of white dust from outside.
“I can’t offer you a drink. We don’t keep this place staffed all the time.”
“I don’t want one. I’d like to get this over with quickly.”
Rondell reclined in his chair. “That suits me fine.”
“I have a question first.”
“Shoot.”
“Why are we meeting here and not at Cedar?”
“I don’t want to keep meeting over there. There’s a chance someone will see us together and start asking questions. That wouldn’t be good for either of us. This place is more private. No one knows we own it.”
“So nothing’s happened?”
“Like what?”
“No one has seen us together?”
“Not that I know.”
“And nothing’s happened to make you think someone has picked up on the Collar acquisition?”
“No. Why would they? I told you we know what we’re doing.” There was a hint of irritation in Rondell’s voice.
“And nothing else has happened?”
“What is this? I told you I want to meet somewhere private. That’s all there is to it. Now, you said you want to get this over with. What do you have for me?”
Michael figured it was pointless pushing Rondell any further. Even if something had spooked him, he wasn’t about to share it. He uncrossed his legs and sat on the edge of the sofa cushion. It was a cheap one; he could feel the sharp wooden beam underneath.
“I have details of the next deal. The one I was working on when I was away last week.”
Rondell’s face relaxed a little, and there was an almost imperceptible curl up at the ends of his lips. “I’m all ears.” He picked up his pen to make notes.
“There may be a problem with it, though.”
The half smile evaporated and was replaced by creases across his forehead. “I don’t need problems.”
“The target is a UK-listed company. Can you handle that?”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“The UK stock exchange has its own rules. From what I understand, they are quite complex. I thought they might present a challenge.”
Rondell waved his right palm forward in the air. “No problem. We have connections in the UK. We can always use their brokers.”
Michael had been more than half hoping Rondell would have an issue with the target being overseas, but that wasn’t going to happen, so now he had to spill the beans on the deal.
“It sounds like you have it covered.”
“We do. Let’s move on.”
“Okay. The target is called K-Mines.” Somehow, it felt a little easier breaching his client’s confidence this time—still not right, but less difficult. Michael had been a criminal since he’d divulged the Spar deal, so sharing this one made no difference to that. There was no such thing as a partial criminal. However, divulging this second deal certainly meant the chances of getting caught were higher.
“How do you spell that?”
Michael spelled out the name. “Look them up. They’re on the main board in London.”
“That’s a weird name. Reminds me of Kmart. Remember we used to go down there as kids, stealing candy? You were always hungry.”
“No. I can’t say I do.”
“Something else you must have blocked out.”
“I guess so. What else do you want to know?”
“What do they do?”
“It’s a mining group, mainly based in Kazakhstan.”
The confusion on Rondell’s face was obvious. “Where the hell’s that?”
“It doesn’t rea
lly matter, but it’s next door to Russia.”
“I’ve been to the Czech Republic a couple of times.”
Michael was impressed, but didn’t show it. What would Rondell be doing in Eastern Europe? Then the penny dropped. Is that where his money came from? Was Rondell laundering money for the Eastern European mafia? That made perfect sense. His money had to be coming from some illicit source. When they’d carried out the research on the Grannis Hedge Fund, Towers had said there were rumors Rondell was bankrolled by mob money.
“It’s nowhere near there. Much farther east.”
“Okay. As you said, it doesn’t matter. What’s the deal?”
“All you need to know is that K-Mines is about to be acquired by a US company for a price that’s about two-thirds higher than it is today.”
Rondell whistled. “I like it. Can we get away with a good chunk of it? What’s the market cap?”
“Around fifteen billion dollars.”
“Nice, Danny Boy. That means we can buy a decent slug without raising too many eyebrows. I like it.”
“As I said, it’s a London listing, so you’ll need to watch out for the FCA. Their filters will be different to ours over here.”
“Who?”
That question did not inspire confidence. If Rondell hadn’t even heard of the UK regulator, what hope was there he would handle this properly? “The Financial Conduct Authority. Together with the Bank of England, they’re a bit like the SEC over here.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to our people in the UK before we do anything. I’m sure they’ll know what to do.”
“Just make sure you do. This can’t come back to us.”
Rondell put his pen down and slid his notepad to one side. “What else do you have on the go?”
Jesus. What did this man expect?
“Have you any idea how much time each one of these deals takes?” Michael’s tone was raised.
“Come on, Danny Boy. Dudek’s is a big firm, and it’s not as if you’re the only partner over there. What have the other guys got going on? There must be a ton of deals going through your place all the time.”
Michael shook his head. “I have no idea.” That wasn’t true, of course. He had chapter and verse on all the large client assignments being handled by the firm. He and his partners had just discussed them at this morning’s partners’ meeting.
“You must know what’s going on,” Rondell said, leaning forward onto the metal desk. “We have a lot more capital to deploy now. I’m going to need more from you than one deal a month.”
“I simply don’t have access to work being handled by other partners.”
“You don’t want to force me into buying too much of K-Mines, do you?”
“Of course not. If you overplay your hand on any one deal, the authorities will be all over you.”
Rondell pointed his right index finger at Michael. “And you.”
“Exactly. I told you before; you can’t afford to get greedy on any of these deals.”
“Then you’re going to have to figure out how to get me information on other deals at Dudek’s. That’s the only answer.”
“It can’t be done.”
“Then find a way to make it happen. You’re a bright guy. I know you can do it.”
The relationship with Rondell was quickly going from bad to worse. Where was it going to end? With Rondell’s greed and impatience, surely it was only a matter of time before the authorities picked up one of these deals and started asking difficult questions. And it wasn’t good enough any longer that Michael was risking his own clients’ confidential information. The man was now demanding he spy on his partners’ deals, as well. By jeopardizing the firm’s other deals in this way, they’d be exposing Michael’s partners to a potential criminal investigation if ever any of this came out. The firm itself could collapse if that happened.
“I’m going to have to think this through,” Michael said. “Gaining access to transactions being dealt with by my partners is a lot more difficult than you would think. If I start asking questions, it could set off all sorts of alarm bells.”
“Then you’ll need to be smart, but don’t take too long, Danny Boy. I don’t want to have to make another trip up to Westport.”
“You go anywhere near—”
Rondell raised his hands. “Hey. I don’t want to touch your family, but you gotta meet me halfway.”
“We’re done here.” Michael stood up to leave.
“I guess we are—at least for now.” Rondell rose to his feet.
Michael walked toward the door. “I’ll find my own way out.”
“Just remember. All future meetings will be here, not at Cedar. I don’t want you going there anymore.”
“I got that,” Michael said as he left the room, slamming the door behind him.
The glare of the sun blinded Michael when he stepped outside. It was a contrast to the dark environment he’d just left behind. When he crossed the road to pick up his car, he didn’t spot the van parked at the top end of Sullivan. But as he drove toward it, he noticed two men in suits sitting in the front. They turned their heads away when Michael slowed down. Something about them looked out of place sitting here, but there was a familiarity about them, too. Were they the same people who’d followed him from Corton Zander just over a week ago? The van seemed the same, gray and unmarked. Back then, he’d thought they were Rondell’s people, but why would they be hiding here if this was their own turf?
Then the chilling thought struck him. Could these men be from the authorities, maybe even FBI? Were they, whoever they were, already onto them? Was that the reason why Rondell had moved the meeting to this location? Had something happened to make Rondell suspect they were under surveillance?
Christ!
Chapter 31
TOWERS HAD PUT OFF CALLING CROUTEN for as long as he could. Michael had always been good to him, taking him under his wing, encouraging his development by giving him challenging work, and ready to help when he got stuck. From what he’d heard from some of the other associates at Dudek’s, they’d done little else than babysit the Xerox machine and fetch the coffee during their first year. It was the same story from friends at other major law firms. Michael was different; he wanted his associates to shine and do the best they could.
He liked Michael as a person, too. His boss always appeared grounded, approachable, and willing to share his time, no matter how busy his schedule. He was a decent man who was there when you needed him and someone who’d not forgotten what life was like on the bottom rung of the ladder. Michael would be the last person to become involved in insider trading. He just wasn’t that kind of person. So it didn’t feel right helping the FBI build a case against him. It felt disloyal—a betrayal, even. But he couldn’t just let things be. Crouten and Caravini had seemed convinced someone at Dudek’s was passing on confidential information from inside the firm. Doing nothing would mean leaving himself exposed as their prime target, and he’d certainly not done anything wrong.
The nagging problem was that phone call, the one from Grannis on Michael’s cell phone when they returned from Kazakhstan. What was that all about? No matter how much he tried to rationalize it away, it defied all explanation. Why would Grannis have Michael’s private cell number if he wasn’t a client? And why would Michael have Grannis in the named contacts list on his iPhone? They weren’t friends. Michael had said he didn’t know anything about Grannis when he asked him to carry out the research on the hedge fund.
The open-plan area was no place to make the call. Towers put Crouten’s card back into his suit pocket and rose from his workstation. Once he’d found a suitable quiet corner in the staff cafeteria, he glanced around the room to make sure no one was close enough to hear the conversation he was about to have. Only a couple of the tables were occupied. As he’d expected, it was quiet in the middle of the morning when most people were at their desks. He waited, nursing a coffee for fifteen more minutes, anything to put off making the call. Pretty soon,
people in the open-plan office would start noticing his absence if he didn’t return to his desk. If he was going to do it today, he couldn’t delay things any longer.
“Crouten,” said the abrupt voice at the other end of the line when Towers finally called the number on the card.
“It’s Glen Towers.”
“From Dudek’s?”
“You have a good memory.”
“I remember the names of all of our suspects.”
“I told you, I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s not how it looks to us.”
Towers almost choked and thought twice about ending the call. “I have some information for you.”
“Then we need to meet.”
“Can’t I just tell you over the phone?”
“No. We don’t do it that way. What are you doing this afternoon?”
“I’ll be working here. At Dudek’s.”
“Then make some excuse and meet me at our offices at four thirty.”
“That may not—”
“I don’t want to hear what you can’t do. Make it happen.”
“Okay. Assuming I can get there, where are your offices?”
“Twenty-six Federal Plaza. Just ask for me when you arrive.”
Towers stared into his empty coffee cup. Was he still doing the right thing? In order to save his own skin, he was about to share details of the firm’s business with the FBI. If anyone ever found out, his career would be over before it started. He’d never work in the law again. Worse still, he was about to hang his partner, a man he respected and admired, out to dry.
Towers met Crouten in the FBI’s reception area on the twenty-third floor at 26 Federal Plaza. He dried his clammy palm on his trouser leg before shaking Crouten’s hand and following him along an airless corridor until they reached an internal meeting room. The contrast with the meeting rooms at Dudek’s was stark: no modern art on the walls; no well-stocked refrigerators offering a choice of snacks and soft drinks; no freshly brewed coffee on the table with a selection of cookies. Instead, on one wall, there was a single framed photo of the local FBI director, whose name Towers couldn’t read, and a small American flag perched on a plastic stand in the corner of the room. In the center was a dark wooden table that had seen better days. It wasn’t mahogany, but it had been painted to make it look like it was.
Once a Killer Page 16
