“Alicia had a dance recital yesterday. Tell Sveta about it.”
“Yeah, I had a dance recital yesterday. It was kinda fun.”
Sarah went on to give the details, but only Sveta was paying any attention. Wellington was thinking about the assignment the Boss had given him to assassinate Nelson Fuller, and Paige was thinking about how he could prevent Wellington and his boys from executing Steinman, assuming that that was their plan. He wondered if Rona, Steinman’s wife, was also on the hit list. Both he and Sveta had grown to like them after having dinner with them a few times. They had become friends.
Paige liked Wellington and his family. They were good parents. Their kids seemed well-adjusted, although that could all change as they hit their teen years. He wondered how Wellington could be a family man and a cold blooded killer at the same time. But more importantly, Paige wondered whether he had the ability or the will to stop him from executing Steinman, if it came to that. Time would tell.
79
Today would be Nelson Fuller’s last day on earth, or at least it would be if John Wellington had anything to do with it. Wellington looked at his watch. It was 12:57pm. Three of the four restaurants where Fuller ate were in the same general location, so there was a 75 percent chance Fuller would be walking by soon. He planned to whack him when he was about a block from the restaurants. Fewer witnesses that way.
Wellington waited for him, dressed in a white t-shirt with no identifiable characteristics, wearing a black baseball cap, also with no identifiable markings, old looking blue jeans and sneakers. He wasn’t wearing his regular glasses. He had on sun glasses instead. He had left his suit, dress shirt and black leather shoes in the trunk of his car, which he parked around the corner, pointed toward a side street for a quick getaway. He would change into them later, before returning to work.
The car had a phony license plate on it, just in case. He had a small supply of them, which he collected as part of his work. He would replace it with his real plate later, in a dark, indoor parking garage a few miles away.
He wore transparent skin-hugging plastic gloves. He didn’t plan on touching anything, but he didn’t want to leave any finger prints, just in case. He was carrying his Beretta Model 92 Custom Carry 9mm in a cloth bag. The attached suppressor made it too bulky to tuck into his jeans.
Wellington didn’t want to look conspicuous just standing there, so he stopped to look into a few store windows, keeping his hands in his pockets so no one would notice his transparent gloves. Occasionally he would look in the direction where Fuller would likely be coming from. After about a minute, Fuller appeared. He crossed the street and was about a hundred feet away, walking directly toward Wellington.
Wellington stepped to the next store window and pretended to be looking at the merchandise. He transferred the cloth bag to his left hand, reached in, clicked off the safety and waited for Fuller to pass by. As Fuller walked by, he reached into the bag, pulled out the Beretta, assumed the firing position with both hands on the gun, pointed it at the back of Fuller’s head, who was now about five feet in front of him, and stopped.
Two women had emerged from the store and were directly in his line of fire. One of them saw the gun pointing at her and screamed. She just stood there, staring at him, not moving. Her friend looked to her left and saw Wellington pointing the gun. They both just stood there, frozen. They were blocking his line of fire and Fuller was getting farther away.
The woman’s scream caused everyone within ear shot to turn in her direction to see what was going on. There were a half dozen people on the sidewalk, on both sides of the street, all looking at Wellington. Fuller, who was now about 20 feet away, also turned around to see what the commotion was all about.
Wellington took a side step, which put Fuller within his line of fire. Fuller was too far away for a good head shot. Those should be done at close range. Since the head was a small target, he needed to be really close to make sure he could hit it. Wellington’s adrenalin was pumping. He was nervous. His hands shook. Although he had killed before, he could never get rid of the shakes immediately before a hit. He had to be closer.
The women’s sudden appearance and scream threw off his plan and his concentration. Rather than make a single shot to the head, he decided to pump a half dozen rounds into Fuller’s torso and let the hollow points do their job. If he didn’t die immediately, he would probably bleed out before he could get to a hospital.
It didn’t really matter whether he killed him or just wounded him. The point was to send a message to Washington. He would make his point whether Fuller lived or died.
The first two rounds hit Fuller in the torso, knocking him backwards. The third round tore into his right thigh just before he hit the pavement, ripping through the main artery and shattering his leg bone. The last three shots missed. Wellington wasn’t a great assassin, but he was good enough. Fuller died on the way to the hospital.
His original plan had been to plant one hollow point in the back of Fuller’s head, watch his head explode like a melon, then pick up the shell casing and run to his car to make his escape. In all the excitement, he forgot to pick up the shell casings. After firing six rounds he turned around and ran to his car. No one followed. They were all too stunned by what they had just seen. After a few seconds, all that remained were the spent shell casings and the smell of gunpowder.
Leaving the shell casings behind wasn’t a good move. They provided ballistics evidence, but it probably couldn’t be traced back to him, unless they found the gun in his possession. He made sure to load the clip with gloves on so he wouldn’t leave any finger prints on the shell casings.
He pulled into the dark parking garage a few minutes later, changed his clothes and the license plate and headed back to the office. His hands were still shaking. The adrenalin was still pumping. He was reliving the scene in his head, again and again.
***
He had sent the message to Washington, so to speak, but they wouldn’t be able to understand what it meant unless he spelled it out for them, so he pulled into one of the mini mall parking lots along the way, took out a laptop that he had purchased under a phony name, and connected to an anonymous server so they couldn’t know where he was located. He typed out the message.
“Those who debase America’s currency will pay a heavy price. Nelson Fuller was the first to pay. There will be others. No one who works for the Federal Reserve Bank will be safe.”
Sons of Liberty
He sent it to at least one news person at each of the major television and radio stations in Miami as well as a few in Washington, DC. Then he sent it to a dozen patriot web sites as well as the Huffington Post to make sure the feds wouldn’t be able to suppress the message.
It went viral. All the radio talk shows were talking about it during the evening rush hour. It was the top story on the evening news. That night, Fox News tried to have a fair and balanced debate on the issues it raised, but they couldn’t find anyone who would take the side of the assassin. Supporting the assassin could be construed as advocating the violent overthrow of the government, which was treason. The assassin was immediately labeled a terrorist. Anyone who had anything positive to say about what the assassin had done could be arrested for giving aid and comfort to a terrorist.
The message started to cause a panic at the Federal Reserve Banks throughout the country. There weren’t any plans to assassinate any more regional Fed chairs, but they didn’t know that. All the regional Fed chairs thought they were being targeted. It didn’t change their monetary behavior, of course. They continued to debase the currency. They continued to make secret loans with secret terms to secret people in secret countries, some of which were enemies of the United States. But it was no longer business as usual. They knew they wouldn’t be audited, but they didn’t like the increased visibility.
80
“When in doubt, tell the truth.”
Mark Twain
When Paige heard the news about Nelson Fuller he
suspected immediately that Wellington had something to do with it. Over the years, they had had several discussions about how the Federal Reserve Board was able to work in secret for more than a hundred years without an audit, and speculated about what kind of criminal activity might be discovered if it ever was audited. Paige used to talk about it in his financial accounting class every semester, including the semester when Wellington took his MBA class. He wondered whether his class discussion of several years ago had led Wellington to the conclusion that something had to be done about the Fed.
He decided to schedule a meeting with Wellington and bring up the subject to check his reaction. He was also curious to know why Wellington was talking to George Heverly and Edward Morris in the alley shortly after they assaulted him in the university parking lot, and why he lied about the fingerprints on the guns and the stolen van that turned out to belong to Heverly. Depending on how the conversation about the Fed went, he might confront him about Heverly and Morris.
“Hello, John? Bob Paige here. I was wondering if I might stop by in the next day or so for a little chat.”
“Sure. Is everything alright? Do you have something to report?”
“No, nothing like that. I’d just like to bounce some ideas around.”
“OK. I’m going to be in my downtown office the rest of the week. Which day is good for you?”
“How about tomorrow afternoon around four? I’ll call when I get to the parking garage.”
“OK. That will be fine. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“See you then.”
Wellington was curious to know what ideas Paige might want to bounce around, but didn’t think much about it, and went back to work. Paige was starting to get nervous about what he would say and what Wellington’s reaction would be. He would have to wait until tomorrow.
***
The next day, Paige left his condo at around 3:15 pm. If traffic was normal, he would pull into the parking garage by Wellington’s office around four. He arrived at 3:57 pm. He drove a little faster than usual because he was nervous. He didn’t know quite what he was going to say or how he was going to say it, but he was anxious to see the expression on Wellington’s face, and wondered whether he would be truthful or would continue to lie.
He picked up his cell phone. “Hi, John? Bob here. I just pulled into the garage.”
“OK, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Paige walked into the lobby and didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before Wellington got off the elevator. Wellington walked toward him and extended his hand. Paige reciprocated. They shook hands. Paige opened the conversation.
“Hi John. Sorry to pull you away from your important Commerce Department work, but I had a few questions for you.”
“Fine.” He motioned toward the front doors. “Let’s go to my other office.” They went outside, turned left, as usual, and then left again, into the alley. After about 50 feet, they both stopped and looked behind them to see if there were any curious onlookers. There weren’t.
Paige took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “John, when I heard about the Nelson Fuller assassination, the first person I thought of was you.”
“Me? Bob, I’m flattered, but as I recall, you’re the one who always talked about the Fed and how something had to be done.” Wellington was caught off guard by the question. He had expected the conversation would revolve around Steinman, or Mossad, or perhaps both. Raising the topic of the Fed threw him off balance. Paige could sense it by the tone in his voice.
“Well, yes, I have been saying for years that something had to be done about the Fed, but I was thinking more along the lines of an audit.”
“Are you upset that someone decided to assassinate a high-ranking local Federal Reserve Board official?”
“No, not really, but I would have preferred an audit. Killing a Fed official won’t change anything. Having an audit probably would.”
“Hmmm. I get your point. Well, I wasn’t too upset when I heard about it, either.”
Paige decided to push a bit. “Is that all you did was hear about it?”
“Of course. What are you implying?”
“I know you and your crew would like to cleanse America of certain elements that are weakening the country. I was just wondering whether you decided to do more than just talk about it.”
“Bob, you know I have to deny that I had any involvement in that assassination even if I did it myself, since something like that would be on a need to know basis.”
“Of course. I understand completely. I think you’ve already answered my question. I’d love to ask who else might be on your list, but I know you wouldn’t tell me, and probably wouldn’t even admit there was a list.”
“You know the rules, Bob.”
“Yes, I do, and I understand the reason for the rules. You can’t go around telling people who you’ve whacked and who you plan to get next.”
“That’s right, and Commerce Department employees don’t go around killing people anyway. They only kill potential trade deals.” Wellington was referring to the many trade deals that were killed as a result of federal regulations that restricted or prohibited trade. With tariff rates dropping, the favorite tools of the protectionists had become the antidumping laws and the environmental and labor standards that were included in most trade agreements, all of which prevented otherwise good trade deals from becoming reality. Paige smirked as he heard the words coming from Wellington’s mouth.
“Well then, let me ask you another question. Why did you send George Heverly and Edward Morris to rough me up in the university parking lot?”
Wellington was blind-sided by the question. He thought that Paige might suspect something because Paige was able to find Heverly when he apparently could not, but he had put that question out of mind because he was busy focusing on the people who were being placed on the hit list.
“Ah, ah.” He stammered because he didn’t know what to say or how to respond. He decided to feign ignorance. “Who are George Heverly and Edward Morris?”
“They’re the two guys I saw you talking to in this very alley a few days after they paid me a visit. One of them was leaning on a cane. The other one had a splint on his broken nose, a nose that I broke, by the way.”
Wellington knew he wouldn’t be able to feign ignorance any longer. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what to say and how to begin. He decided to tell the truth, or at least as much truth as it would take for Paige to stop asking questions.
“OK. Here’s the deal. It was the Boss’s idea. I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted. He was getting nervous about your investigation of the Raul Rodriguez assassination.”
“And why would he give a shit about my investigation unless he was somehow involved? Did he order the hit? And was Gabriella Acosta part of the deal, or was she just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Bob, you know I can’t answer that question.”
“I think you’ve already answered it. And what about the professor Shipkovitz and Kaplan assassinations? Was he behind those, too? Why were they executed? The only common element is that they spoke out against the government. Is that sufficient reason to kill them?”
Wellington was looking at the ground, swaying back and forth, placing the weight first on his right foot, then the left, with his hands in his pockets. Finally, he said something.
“Yes.”
“What? Merely criticizing the government is sufficient reason to get you killed? What kind of bullshit is that?”
“It wasn’t just what they said. It’s the effect what they said had.”
“What do you mean by that? Please explain. I don’t get it.”
“The things they were saying were impeding the government. They were making the government’s job harder. They were also giving aid and comfort to the enemy. What they were saying was treasonous.” Wellington had stopped being on the defensive. He went on the attack.
&n
bsp; “You don’t really believe that, do you?” Paige was practically screaming.
Wellington’s voice became calm. He looked Paige directly in the eyes. “Yes, I do.”
Now it was Paige who didn’t know what to say. He could tell from the look in Wellington’s eyes that he meant it, and that there was more to come.
A light bulb came on in his head. Now he understood where Wellington was going with the Steinman assignment. Steinman had been doing the same things that Rodriguez, Shipkovitz and Kaplan had been doing. He was destined for the same fate. He already knew the answer to his next question, but felt compelled to ask it anyway.
“Do you intend to add Steinman to the list of recently deceased?”
Wellington looked him straight in the eyes.
“Yes. He’s as guilty of treason as they are. He deserves the same fate. But first we’d like to learn more about what he’s doing and what he has planned. We’d also like to learn more about the other members of his group.”
“Do you plan to whack them, too?”
“Maybe. That hasn’t been decided yet.”
Paige knew he couldn’t continue to assist them in their venture, but he also knew that if he resigned from the assignment, they would only get someone else to replace him, and his own life could be in danger if he quit. He couldn’t quit, but he couldn’t continue either.
“Well, are you with us or against us, Bob? We need to know.”
Paige knew his answer to that question could determine his fate. He had to stall. He had to have time to think about his options, none of which seemed good. He also knew that he couldn’t allow Steinman to join the list of recently deceased.
Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1) Page 27
