The President Killed His Wife (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 1)

by Steve Richer

  “Safe. Far away and safe.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Safe also,” she said. “Far away from her and safe.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  Simonsen lifted both arms in the air triumphantly. “Bingo! It took you this long to ask the real question. And they say you’re one of the most brilliant FBI agents we have?”

  “Answer me, bitch!”

  Albert got ready to punch him once more but the woman stopped him with a brisk shake of the head.

  “I don’t like your tone of voice but at least we’re getting somewhere, I have to appreciate that. You’re here and your ex-wife is elsewhere because we know how you feel about her. Clear as rain. And it’s extremely valuable to us.”

  “What do you want? This is a negotiation, isn’t it?”

  “That’s two questions but I’ll allow it. Yes, we want something from you. More specifically, what we want is your $300 million.”

  Rogan frowned. Money? This was about money? “That’s the amount I’m worth, that doesn’t mean it’s lying in my bank account.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of that, Special Agent Bricks. I’m also perfectly acquainted with your portfolio. I have a list of your stocks, your bonds, your Forex holdings. You will liquidate everything and transfer the funds to our account. Simple, no?”

  Rogan said, “First of all, it’s the weekend. Second of all, it takes three days for funds to clear after a sale. You want to keep me chained to the ceiling for three days?”

  “There are other ways to make things happen,” Simonsen whispered with a wink. “Let me worry about that. All I want is a yes or no answer. Will you give up your fortune to save the life of your wife?”

  “Yes,” Rogan said promptly. “I’ll do anything.”

  “Great news! I was afraid you would put up a fight. I didn’t want to have that happen again.”

  She walked beyond the floodlight and for the first time Rogan noticed something on the floor. The woman lifted up a tarp and revealed a corpse.

  “That’s Justin Wilkinson.”

  “That’s right,” she replied. “He had to start questioning things, start to doubt his partner. So he was put down. No hesitation, that’s what needed to be done. So I’m happy you’ve decided to play ball.”

  “First I want to know that Shiloh is alive. If she isn’t, you can put me down next to Wilkinson for all I care. I mean that.”

  “I believe you.” She pulled out a phone and placed a call. “Hey, it’s me. He’s playing ball. Put the girl on.”

  Simonsen made a few commands on her phone and then placed it in front of Rogan. He saw the screen had been switched to Skype and the image was moving. He controlled his breathing and focused on gathering as much information as he could.

  The person on the other end of the line was walking down a narrow aisle. They were on a plane, some sort of small jet. At last, Shiloh filled the screen. Her hands and feet were bound and she was gagged.

  “Shiloh!”

  She was groggy, evidently having been drugged, but her eyes opened further when she saw the phone that was presented to her. Rogan realized she must have been seeing his damaged and bloodied face.

  “Shiloh, are you okay?”

  She wriggled against her shackles but nodded nonetheless.

  “I promise I’ll get you out of there. I love you.”

  He understood that he did love her. Until now his feelings had been cloudy, obscure, but it had taken the sight of her drugged and tied to a chair to listen to his heart. He knew in that moment he would do anything for her. He had lost her once and wasn’t about to do it again.

  “Enough,” Simonsen said, ending the call. “Now you give me your money.”

  “I’ll give you all my account numbers and passwords, just let her go, please…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We settle this transaction first.”

  “I’m gonna die of cold before the money is in your account.”

  It occurred to him that maybe it was what she wanted.

  Chapter 45

  The woman nodded. “We’re gonna make you a little more comfortable after you’ve played your part, I promise. I’m not completely heartless. Here’s how it’s gonna happen: we know that the bulk of your assets is handled by one brokerage firm in New York. As it happens, we have a colleague at Jupiter Mynch Financial.”

  “Convenient,” Rogan grunted.

  “Very convenient.”

  “You will call your broker and will liquidate all your assets. Let’s see…” She consulted a file on her smartphone. “You’re currently valued at $298.7 million. Our connection at the firm will agree to take on the risk and responsibility for these assets and in return he will send us $200 million cash. The firm makes a hefty profit from buying undervalued assets, we make our very own little profit. And hey, you get to keep your real estate.”

  “Fine, whatever. Give me your phone so I can call my broker.”

  “No need, we have his number. As it happens, he’s on a skiing vacation in Quebec with his family this weekend. Let me get him on the phone for you, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to speak with one of his richer clients.”

  For the next several minutes, Rogan was in a daze though probably not as much as his broker. Several times during their conversation – on speakerphone so Rogan couldn’t cry for help – the broker tried to dissuade him from liquidating his assets but eventually gave in. After being on hold for ten minutes, the man came back saying that his superior had just given his approval.

  “Thanks,” Rogan said right before Simonsen hung up. “It’s done.”

  “It’s not done, Agent Bricks. It should take a few hours until the money lands in our account. Then you will be released, free to go back to your above-peasant lifestyle.”

  “And my wife?”

  “She’ll be released as well. In the meantime, she’s cozy and warm with an ocean view.”

  Rogan’s eyes flashed brighter. They were taking her to the boat. This explained the comment, her being on a plane. He decided to keep his mouth shut.

  “Speaking of cozy and warm, you promised some comfort. Can I sit down?”

  The woman considered it then shook her head. “Albert, give him something for his feet.”

  He looked around and when he didn’t find anything to his satisfaction he went to the corpse of Justin Wilkinson and lugged it all the way to Rogan. He didn’t need to be told what to do and put his feet on the guy’s back. He felt terrible about disrespecting the dead agent but the feeling of relief in his arms and wrists was indescribable.

  “What about the cold?”

  Simonsen nodded at Albert who fetched Rogan’s sweatshirt and jacket. He couldn’t possibly put it on him so he draped each on a shoulder. It was better than nothing.

  “And now we wait,” the woman said.

  She checked her phone and then pulled a folding chair from the wall behind the prisoner. She carried it and sat in front of him. Rogan mentally cursed Albert for not giving him this chair for his feet.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “We’ve had this discussion before. Do you want to return to the game of speak-and-punch?”

  Rogan took a deep breath, measuring his words. “What I mean is, how does this fit in with GOPS and the group and the President killing his wife?”

  “Please be quiet. I’ve worked under annoying people all my life and now that I’m about to become a very rich woman I want to know what it’s like to enjoy silence when I want to.”

  “Let me speak to Shiloh again.”

  “She’s busy right now. Once she gets where she’s going, our colleagues will have to properly interrogate her about what she knows, who she’s told, the old fun and games routine.”

  It dawned on Rogan that he would never see Shiloh ever again. And that meant they were going to kill him too once the money was transferred. He only had minutes to live.

  “You goddamn bitch. I’m gonna slaughter every last one of
you until it becomes an art form!”

  “Into Dylan Thomas, are you? Rage, rage against the dying of the light and all that jazz. It’s cute. Albert, I think it’s time now.”

  “With pleasure.”

  As he came forward, he drew a .38 revolver. Rogan knew this had been coming and that’s why he had saved his energy. Resting his feet on the cadaver had helped tremendously. In a few seconds he would either be dead or they would regret ever being born.

  “Try not to make too much of a mess, Albert.”

  “That’s assuming he can shoot straight,” Rogan snapped back.

  This got to Albert and he came closer still. He lifted his gun, taking a bead on the prisoner. Rogan smiled because it was exactly what he wanted.

  Gathering all his strength, he pulled up with his hands and brought up his legs. In one fell swoop he knocked the gun sideways. A shot went off, scaring Simonsen enough for her to stand up and step back. Albert lost grip on his weapon.

  “Shit!”

  Meanwhile, Rogan lifted his legs further up and wrapped them around Albert’s neck. He tugged and squeezed and twisted his body, doing his best to choke him. Albert was panicking, clawing at the legs and unable to escape.

  Rogan then saw an opportunity. He looked down at his quarry, analyzed the angles, and wrung his body a few degrees to the left. Sharply, he moved both his knees in almost opposite directions and the sound of bones cracking couldn’t be missed in the cold room.

  Albert’s neck was broken. He was dead.

  Simonsen knew what was going on and she was rattled at losing control. “No!”

  Her eyes fell to the weapon on the floor and she rushed toward it. Rogan knew she wouldn’t make the same mistake her employee had. She would shoot from a distance and not risk being attacked.

  Before Albert’s body crumbled to the ground, Rogan used it to give himself a boost. He heaved himself high enough to get his hands off the hook. It worked! Only he didn’t get a chance to take hold of it and so he fell down, crashing on Wilkinson’s corpse.

  A shot went off at the same time, coming so close to his naked arm that he felt a sting. Without thinking, Rogan launched himself forward and tackled Simonsen.

  “Oh!” she yelped.

  He swept the gun away as she landed on her back, and running on instincts, on fury, he punched her hard in the face with the palm of his hand, driving her nose into her brain. He knew she was dead a fraction of a second before he had finished his move.

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, looking around and catching his breath.

  He hadn’t wanted to kill her, she was his only link to Shiloh, but it was too late for regrets. He figured he’d probably be dead if he hadn’t acted as he had.

  He stood up and found her phone. It was password-protected. He pocketed it, not even thinking about all the money he had lost, but he figured it might be valuable evidence against these bastards one day. Now he had to think of a way to rescue Shiloh. He couldn’t trust anyone, certainly not the government.

  He was on his own.

  Chapter 46

  Rogan wiped his hands on Simonsen’s clothes and then unceremoniously removed her jacket so he could clean his face with it. There was a lot more blood than he’d anticipated but at least it had stopped flowing. The next order of business was getting dressed. Now that the rush of adrenaline had passed, he realized how cold he was.

  He rummaged through the room and found his shoes and socks which he put on, followed by his shirt, sweater, and pea coat. He found his own phone in his pocket.

  “Good…” he whispered to himself.

  He found his Heckler & Koch P2000, methodically checked the magazine to see if it was still loaded, and he pocketed it. He did the same with the discarded .38. He needed all the firepower he could get. Searching Albert’s body, he confiscated his extra ammunition and found car keys.

  He straightened up and did a few stretches to check his condition. He was sore all over but nothing was broken, which was the important part. That meant he was mobile enough to do what had to be done.

  He looked around the room. Some of his blood was on the floor, not to mention Simonsen’s jacket. It was the most incriminating crime scene he’d ever encountered but that hardly mattered now. He had only one priority.

  Shiloh.

  They would torture her before ultimately putting a bullet in her head. The most likely scenario involved them tipping her body into the sea after so she was eaten by sharks. He would die before he let that happen.

  He couldn’t trust anyone, but the truth of the matter was that he needed assistance to get his revenge, to rescue his wife. Under the circumstances, he saw only one logical choice.

  He found the heavy steel door leading outside, it opened on an alley. The sun was almost completely gone and he checked his Rolex which surprisingly no one had yet stolen. It was just after six o’clock.

  It was hard to tell exactly where he was just from looking around but Rogan would’ve bet good money that this was Ivy City, a decrepit industrial neighborhood in northeast DC. He scanned the area and found the black van in which he had been abducted.

  He got behind the wheel, the keys he’d taken from Albert fit in, and he drove away.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  It took Rogan ten minutes to get out of the area, and to find his bearings, but then it was smooth sailing to Virginia. It took just under half an hour for him to reach Alexandria and locate the house of Rear Admiral Rick Gelhausen. He parked in the driveway – the van quite incongruous with the luxury cars in front of the other homes – and jogged to ring the doorbell.

  That Navy officer was visibly dejected when he answered the door and found Rogan on his doorstep.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he said in greeting, holding the door mostly closed to keep a barrier between them. “I told you I don’t want anything to do with this anymore.”

  “Let me in, Admiral. I have a way to forget everything I know about you.”

  “The answer is no.”

  He pushed the door further but Rogan jammed his foot in and held the door open.

  “Listen to me, you cocksucker. People like you have tried to get in my way, to kill me, and now they’ve taken my wife. So you’re gonna open the goddamn door and let me in before you make a scene in front of your nice neighbors.”

  This got him off balance and he blinked, for the first time noticing the FBI agent’s cuts and bruises. After a moment, he opened the door and let the visitor in. Rogan wiped his feet on the mat and looked around. It was a nice-looking suburban house.

  “Come this way.”

  He followed the older man to stairs leading to the basement. On the way, he made out Mrs. Gelhausen in the kitchen, washing dishes. She turned when she noticed there was a visitor.

  “Oh. Rick, you didn’t tell me we were expecting company.”

  “It’s just for a minute.”

  “Hello, sir. Can I get you coffee? Something else?”

  “No thank you, ma’am. I won’t keep your husband long, I promise.”

  She seemed pleasant and unaware of what her husband was mixed with. Rogan climbed downstairs after the Navy man.

  The basement was a man cave with a nautical theme. There were captain’s chairs, a bar, vintage navigational charts framed on the walls. The model of a schooner was in a glass case behind the bar. In the corner was a rolltop desk with a computer.

  “All right, make this quick.”

  “You tried to put a stop to these shenanigans with the group. Now is your chance to help me out.”

  Gelhausen lifted his hands. “I can’t do anything. I have my family and…”

  “All I need from you is to make a few phone calls. My wife has been kidnapped.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Call the FBI, you know more people than I do.”

  He went behind the bar and poured himself a generous tequila which he swallowed in one go. He refilled his glass and with his chin asked if his guest wanted one. Rogan shook his
head.

  “Shiloh is being held on a ship off the coast of Florida. I need a spec ops team for a rescue mission.”

  “That’s way out of my control, that’s SOCOM territory,” he complained, referring to the United States Special Operations Command.

  “You’re a goddamn rear admiral working at the Pentagon! You’re in the Navy Chief of Staff office. Don’t tell me you don’t have a little pull.”

  “Rescue operations fall under the purview of JSOC and these guys make their own rules, I have no sway.”

  Joint Special Operations Command was specifically tasked with the sexier aspect of the covert military world. Delta Force, SEAL Team Six, ISA, these were the guys Shiloh needed.

  Feeling that arguing was a waste of time, Rogan went to the computer on the desk. It was fortunately already on. He called up a browser and searched for a map.

  “I know the coordinates where my wife is being held, right here,” he said, pointing at the screen. “Between the Bahamas and Florida, 26° North 79° West.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I can’t send anybody on her behalf. You’ll just have to go through regular channels.”

  “I can’t go through regular channels, Admiral! They’re gonna know that I’m coming, you know they’re connected everywhere. If they find out I’m coming they’ll kill her.”

  Gelhausen swallowed half of his second drink. “Don’t you know anyone outside this country that could do this for you?”

  “Not really, not in such short notice anyhow. Unless…”

  “What?”

  Rogan thought about this a few more seconds, remaining silent. Then he spoke. “I’ll do it myself.”

  “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

  “Maybe,” the younger man said, not bothering explaining that he was former special ops himself. “But it’s the only chance I have to save my wife. Wouldn’t you do the same for yours? For your kids?”

  The flag officer shrugged. “I still can’t do anything for you, Special Agent.”

  “Yes you can, rank hath its privileges.”

  “I told you I…”

  “I’m not asking you to send an airstrike or anything. But what about a couple of transport orders? Think you can do that?”