Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1)

by Robert W. McGee

  “Hi. We’re here. We just pulled into the parking garage.”

  “OK. Meet me in the lobby.”

  They got out of the car and walked toward the Commerce Department building on Southwest 1st Avenue. They arrived just as Wellington stepped out of the elevator. They waited for him by the front doors. Morris leaned slightly, keeping most of the weight on his good leg.

  Wellington couldn’t help but be amused, seeing Morris balancing on one leg and Heverly with a black eye and a splint on his broken nose.

  “You guys look pathetic. You can’t even beat up an accounting professor.”

  “Yeah, but he’s no ordinary accounting professor.”

  Wellington smirked. “Yeah. I forgot to tell you he competes in karate tournaments. Sorry about that.”

  He motioned toward the front doors. “Let’s go to my other office.”

  They knew what he meant. They walked through the doors, turned left, walked a few feet, and then turned left again, into the alley between the Commerce Department building and the one next to it. Wellington led the way. He stopped after they were about fifty feet into the alley. He turned around, ran his fingers through his longish, dark blond hair, and adjusted his round-rimmed glasses.

  He tapped Morris’s cane with the side of his leather loafer. “I suppose I should chew you guys out again, but it looks like you’ve suffered enough.”

  Wellington turned to Heverly and looked him directly in the eyes. “George, I don’t know how Paige got your name and address, but it doesn’t matter. What we have to do now is damage control. Killing him is out, for now, at least. We’ve got to calm him down so he doesn’t expend any more energy digging into places where we don’t want him to dig.”

  They nodded in agreement. Heverly started to speak. “I think what we’ve got to do is …”

  “Shut up! You guys aren’t paid to think. You’re paid to do what I tell you to do.” Wellington was getting animated. His pasty white face started to turn red. He looked Heverly directly in the eyes and stabbed his finger at him. “You’re going to keep an eye on Paige, and you’re going to be so good at it that he doesn’t notice it. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  35

  Paige’s otherwise pleasant drive to downtown Miami kept getting interrupted by thoughts of Sveta, who was in danger because of his investigation of Raul’s murder. Should he just drop it? The meeting he was about to have with Wellington could stir things up even more. There was a reason Wellington lied about the evidence from the university parking lot confrontation with Heverly and that other guy. How was Wellington involved with Raul’s murder?

  Paige rolled down the front window and let the breeze flow over his face. It provided a distraction. He arrived at the parking garage and looked at his watch. Four twenty-two. Wellington would still be in his office. He seldom left before five, even if he had nothing to do. He had to lead by example.

  The pungent smell of hot churros assaulted his nostrils as he exited the parking garage and headed toward Wellington’s office. As he walked by the alley separating the Commerce Department building from the one next to it—Wellington’s other office—he turned his head instinctively to check it out. The two of them had held numerous meetings there over the years.

  He was startled to see Wellington, jabbing his finger at a man who looked like Heverly, with a bandage on his nose. He focused to get a better look. It was Heverly. There was a man standing next to him. Tall. Heavy-set. Leaning on a cane. Probably the other assailant he encountered in the university parking lot.

  He felt the urge to get out of sight before they could spot him. He scurried to the side of the building and tried to listen in on the conversation. The street noise blocked out most of it. He could only hear a few words here and there – “slut … better things to do … Paige.” He perked up at the sound of his name. He had heard enough. He had to get out of there. But he wanted to stay close by to observe what would happen next.

  He looked around and noticed a variety store down the street, in the direction of the parking garage. He walked toward it, thinking about what to do next. He ducked in and looked around for the stationery section. When he spotted the sign, he walked over, selected the cheapest notebook he could find and a packet of pens. Then he walked toward the cash register located by the front door. The guy behind the counter looked Indian, or maybe Pakistani. Or Bangladeshi. Paige couldn’t tell the difference by looking.

  The candy counter was right by the cash register. He spotted a Hershey’s milk chocolate bar with almonds and placed it on the counter, along with the notebook and pens. Good Pennsylvania chocolate, like the kind he used to eat as a kid.

  He paid for his purchases, then walked toward the front door but didn’t open it. He looked out the window toward the alley, took the chocolate out of the bag, opened it and began to nibble, while keeping his eyes focused on the alley across the street.

  A few minutes later, he saw Wellington, Heverly and the man with the cane emerge from the alley. Wellington turned toward his office. The two men turned in Paige’s direction and walked toward the parking garage. After they entered the garage, Paige exited the store and walked across the street, toward the garage. He gave them about 30 seconds, hopefully enough time to get out of sight.

  Paige entered the garage and found a pillar close to the exit. It provided a good vantage point to watch the cars as they stopped to pay while keeping out of sight. The garage had just one exit, so they would have to stop at one of the two cashier stations that were now just a few feet away.

  A few cars stopped to pay before exiting. Heverly sat in the passenger seat of one of them. There were two cars ahead of them in line, which gave Paige time to jot down the license number. He took out his cell phone and snapped a few photos of the car. After the injured man and Heverly drove off, he walked toward the elevator to get to his car on the second floor.

  He thought about what to do with the new information. He couldn’t take it to Wellington. All he knew was that Wellington had something to do with his attempted mugging, which explained why Wellington lied about the evidence Paige had given him.

  How deeply was Wellington involved in Raul’s murder? Had he ordered the hit, or merely been involved indirectly? Was he part of the hit team? That was unlikely. Wellington was more of a coordinator than participant, although, from conversations the two of them had had over the years, Paige was convinced that Wellington was capable to pulling the trigger.

  The more Paige thought, the more questions he had. Was Wellington behind the Nathan Shipkovitz and Martin Kaplan assassinations? If so, could Saul Steinman be next? Wellington had assured him Steinman wouldn’t be hit, but if Wellington lied to him once, he could very easily lie again. Steinman was the same kind of professor as the two who had been assassinated. They all were vocal in their opposition to some federal government activity.

  As soon as he got home, he booted up his laptop and went to the same web site he’d used to obtain Heverly’s information. He typed in the license plate. Up popped the name. Edward Morris, age thirty-seven, and an address on Southwest 22nd Street. There would be no need to go to Facebook to look for photos. He had the information he needed.

  36

  James Young stopped by one of the several law firms within walking distance of his office during his lunch hour. He had tried to find an attorney twice before but had been unsuccessful.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Young, I won’t be able to help you. If the Department of Homeland Security placed a freeze on your bank accounts, you won’t be able to pay me, and I don’t work for free. Besides, if I took your case, they might do the same thing to me that they did to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The law allows DHS to confiscate the assets of anyone who provides aid and comfort to the enemy. I read of a few cases where they arrested the attorney who filed an appellate brief on behalf of someone who was accused of being a terrorist.”

  “But what about the righ
t to counsel? And the right to a fair trial? And the right not to have property seized without a warrant and due process?”

  “Those protections don’t apply to people the government labels as terrorists. Look, Mr. Young, I’d really like to help you, but if I did, they might arrest me or confiscate my property, or both. They could shut down my office.”

  The other two attorneys he contacted told him basically the same thing. He was on his own.

  “OK. Thank you for your time.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  37

  Paige sat in his university office, killing time before his Tuesday class. He usually didn’t teach in Miami in the summer. He preferred to teach at a school in Asia, Europe, or Latin America, but the places where he usually taught weren’t offering accounting courses this summer, so he’d decided to teach at Saint Frances University and pick up a few extra bucks.

  Paige had to make contact with Steinman but didn’t look forward to it. He picked up his pen and started to scribble on a pad of paper to postpone the inevitable. He could hear some students making noise in the hallway, so he got up from his desk and walked over to shut his office door.

  As he started to close it, he looked into the hall. He saw Acirema and two other students carrying several large boxes of pizza. The smell wafted through the hall. It must be time for the Accounting Club meeting. Attendance usually spiked on the days they had pizza. Acirema generally got one of the highest grades on his exams. She was a diligent student and a hard worker.

  Acirema was an unusual name. One day before class he’d asked her how she came to get such a name. She’d explained that it spelled America backwards. Her parents had escaped from Cuba and they’d wanted to give their daughter an American name because they loved their new country. What could be more American than Acirema?

  The time had come. He had to make the call. He didn’t care for the idea of targeting people just because they exercised their freedom of speech and press in ways the CIA or FBI found offensive. Maybe what Steinman said did provide aid and comfort to the enemy, but that was a small price to pay in order to protect free speech and press. Allowing the government to stifle dissent by discrediting, harassing, or assassinating American citizens was a much larger threat to freedom.

  Steinman had office hours from two to four. It was two fifteen. He should be in his office.

  Paige hesitated. He thought about backing out of the assignment, but decided against it. If he backed out, Wellington could replace him with someone who didn’t have a problem setting up Steinman for extermination.

  At least if Paige were the one setting up Steinman there might be an opportunity to do something to prevent killing him.

  He made the call. Steinman picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Professor Steinman? My name is Robert Paige. I’m an accounting professor at Saint Frances University.”

  “Hello. What can I do for you?”

  “I just called to let you know that I admire your work. I’ve seen you on television a few times, and I read your Miami Herald column.”

  Actually, Paige did like some of the things Steinman had to say. Steinman, being a far-left liberal, usually started from the wrong premise then proceeded to reach an illogical conclusion, but sometimes he arrived at the correct solution, although for the wrong reason.

  For example, he argued that America should pull its troops out of most countries where it had troops, a position Paige agreed with. But Steinman thought we should do it because America was an imperialist nation. Paige thought we should do it because it wasn’t in America’s best interest to have entangling alliances like NATO, which required the United States to come to the defense of any member nation in the event of attack. Besides, there was nothing in the Constitution that permitted American troops to be stationed in foreign countries, at least when doing so harmed rather than fostered America’s legitimate interests. Paige also thought that the massive expenditures needed to keep troops in so many foreign countries dissipated our national wealth and made the country weaker, which was not in America’s best interest.

  “I’m surprised. I thought all accountants were right-wing Republicans.”

  Paige chuckled. “Most of us are, but a few of us have seen the light.” Paige winced a little as he said it. But he had to pretend he was on the same page as Steinman.

  Actually, he didn’t feel uncomfortable being labeled a right winger since his views on economic issues were similar to those of many right wingers, although he differed with them on some social issues. When he’d taken the World’s Smallest Political Quiz online, his score had placed him solidly in the libertarian quadrant, which meant he agreed with liberals on some social issues and with conservatives on some economic issues.

  Paige continued. “I was hoping we could have lunch sometime. I’d like to meet you.”

  “All right. How about next Friday?”

  “Yes, that would be fine.”

  “Do you know where to find me? My office is on the fourth floor of the School of International and Public Affairs building.”

  “I’ll find it. How does noon sound?”

  “Noon is good. See you then.”

  Paige hung up and let out a sigh, relieved that the call was over, but apprehensive about what he was getting into. He never felt comfortable working for the CIA, even though it was part-time and sporadic. His training as a CPA ingrained in him the view that he should never lie or mislead. Whenever he received a CIA assignment, it seemed like that was all he was doing.

  He started to think about his options.

  38

  “I’m sorry, Jim. I really am, but we have to let you go.”

  Tom Campbell and James Young had been friends for years. Tom knew what Jim had been going through ever since the incident at the airport two weeks ago. The Department of Homeland Security had just returned their computers and files, after holding on to them for two weeks.

  “You know the problems we’ve had since the Department of Homeland Security confiscated our computers and files. You can’t run a business without them. We lost a lot of business that we’re not going to get back. We can’t take the risk of keeping you on the payroll. If they come back again and confiscate our computers, we’re out of business. You’re putting all of us at risk.”

  Jim didn’t want to look Tom in the eyes, so he looked at the floor. “OK. I understand.”

  Tom placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Jim, I really feel terrible about this, not only for you, but also because I don’t like the direction this country is moving in. A government that can confiscate property without a warrant and without due process is a government out of control. I know you’re not a terrorist. Everybody knows you’re not a terrorist. But we have to let you go.”

  James didn’t respond. He just continued to look at the floor. Tom broke the silence.

  “Well, Jim, you know there is one little bit of silver lining in this situation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We have exactly fifteen employees. If we let you go and don’t replace you, there’s a whole shitload of federal regulations we’ll no longer have to comply with. A lot of federal regulations only apply to companies with fifteen or more employees. We’ll be able to save thousands of dollars in compliance costs.”

  James smiled and looked up at Tom, who was also smiling. “Well, I’m glad I’m able to help you reduce the federal regulatory burden.” They both laughed.

  ***

  Jim left work early and went home to tell Janet. After she heard the news, she put her arms around him and gave him a big hug.

  “Oh, Jim, I feel so bad, not so much for us as for you. I know how you must be feeling. All these things are happening to us and it’s not your fault. If it wasn’t for those TSA agents manhandling your mother we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Don’t blame them. They were only doing their job.”

  “Doing their job? How can you say
that? Punching you and kicking you isn’t part of their job.”

  “It was just a misunderstanding.”

  “Jim, I’m worried. We haven’t been able to draw any money out of the bank since they froze our accounts. Lucky for us my boss agreed to cash my paychecks instead of depositing my pay into our bank account, but I’m only working part-time. The company isn’t hiring anyone full-time anymore because of the health care costs.”

  “Yeah, I’ve thought about that. And who’s going to hire me, a sixty-three-year-old guy who’s accused of being a terrorist?”

  “I know. Let’s not tell your mother. She doesn’t know what’s going on half the time anyway. Her dementia seems to be getting worse. Sometimes she doesn’t recognize me.”

  39

  “An elective despotism was not the government we fought for.”

  Thomas Jefferson

  “When exposing a crime is treated as committing a crime, you are ruled by criminals.” Anonymous

  Paige got in his car. It was Friday, time to meet Professor Steinman. He felt apprehensive. He didn’t like the idea of deceiving Steinman and he liked it even less that if he screwed up, Steinman would likely be dead. Too late to back out. If he walked away from the assignment, Wellington would get someone else who wouldn’t fail.

  Actually, it was an easy assignment in terms of logistics. Find out when and where Steinman’s group met. Get the names and affiliations of as many group members as possible. Pass along the information to Wellington. The most difficult part of the assignment would be getting Steinman to invite him to join the group. The rest would be easy.

  Gathering information about Steinman’s Palestinian activities might prove more difficult, but it wouldn’t be dangerous. It’s not like trying to get information from the KGB or Nazis or other group that could kill any spies who got in their way. Steinman wasn’t a threat. He probably didn’t even own a gun. Most liberals didn’t.