THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS: A DOUGLASS CRIME AND ROMANCE THRILLER SERIES (THE KING TRILOGY Book 1)

by Stephen Douglass

“No thanks. You can keep them.”

  “Servito keeps an airplane at his farm north of Toronto. Almost all of the flight plans he’s filed in the last several years are to a single location. An island. Can you guess which one?”

  “Grand Cayman,” Hill responded without hesitation.

  McDowell smiled and nodded. “And you can bet your ass they aren’t pleasure trips.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Alone in her cream nightgown, Karen stood facing the expansive windows in the living room of her penthouse. She cradled her coffee mug with both hands, sipping it slowly while surveying the city below. At least three inches of snow had fallen on Toronto during the night, causing enormous traffic jams in the morning’s rush hour. The clouds had broken enough to allow the morning’s sun to melt the snow covering the concrete ledge above the window. Water droplets sparkled as they fell.

  When the phone rang, she hurried to the kitchen.

  “I just wanted to tell you I love you and miss you.”

  Karen smiled, thrilled to hear Mike’s voice. “Me too you,” she said.

  “I want you to phone me at my office from a pay phone at exactly four-thirty. Will you do that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. I can’t live another day without being with you.”

  “Don’t tell me about it, King. Do something about it.”

  Servito chuckled when he read the police press release. He was surprised to learn that Dianne’s body had been found so soon, but delighted to read that the trail was cold. According to the release, the police had not been able to determine any motive for the shooting and did not have any leads.

  The loud slamming of a number of car doors outside the farmhouse made him rush to the window. One car blocked the entrance to the lane, while two other cars had stopped in the parking area. Five men, dressed in dark suits and overcoats, approached the front door. Servito raced to lock both the front and back doors, managing to complete this task just before he heard a loud knock on the front door. He spread the curtains covering the window in the door and stared at his visitors.

  The tallest of the men had closely shaven brown hair and dark sunglasses. “Are you James Servito?” he shouted.

  “Who the hell wants to know?”

  The man stepped forward and reached into his vest pocket, removing a badge that he slammed against the window. “My name is William Dare. I’m an inspector for Canada’s Security Intelligence Service, and I have a warrant to search this premises. Would you open the door, please?”

  Servito released the dead bolt and opened the door.

  Dare waited until the last of his colleagues had entered before turning to Servito. “Are you James Servito?” he asked.

  “Yup,” Servito replied, glaring defiantly at Dare.

  Dare removed a folded document from his vest pocket. He opened it and dangled it in front of Servito’s nose. “Mr. Servito, we have sufficient reason to believe that you and your companies have been involved in unlawful activity. Accordingly, a warrant has been issued to search this premises and to seize whatever material we deem necessary to support that belief. I would very strongly advise you to cooperate with us in every way possible. If you do resist, you will do so at your peril. Is that understood, sir?”

  Servito glared at the warrant, and then swatted it with a descending blow of his right hand. Before the paper hit the floor, three of the five men accompanying Dare had removed their pistols and were pointing them at Servito.

  Dare calmly bent over and picked up the warrant. He folded it carefully and returned it to his vest pocket. “I’ll say it again, Mr. Servito. If you resist, you will do so at your peril.”

  Servito feigned surrender by raising his hands, and the three agents returned their pistols to their shoulder holsters.

  “Go ahead,” Servito challenged. “You can search this place until hell freezes over, but you’re not gonna find a damn thing. You better enjoy it, because this’ll be the last time you’ll ever be here. I’m gonna have a restraining order slapped on you so fast, you won’t know what hit you.”

  Dare and his four agents proceeded to search the farmhouse from top to bottom. Dare and two others went directly to Servito’s office while the remaining two searched the rest of the interior.

  Servito stood near his office door and watched passively while the agents opened each of the drawers of his desk and searched through the contents. They proceeded to the drawers of his filing cabinets and sifted through numerous files.

  Dare turned to Servito. “Mr. Servito, are you familiar with a company by the name of XG Petroleums?”

  “Why?”

  “We would like to confirm that at least one of your companies is supplying gasoline to that company.”

  “I can assure you that none of my companies is supplying gasoline to XG Petroleums,” Servito replied. Technically he had told the truth. Reserve Oil, owned entirely by Karen, was currently supplying gasoline to XG.

  After almost two hours, Dare and his agents had removed well over half of Servito’s files and invoices from their drawers. They had stacked and bundled them on the floor and carted them to their cars. Dare faced Servito to announce his departure. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Servito. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. We’ll return your files as soon as possible. In the meantime, if you should require the use of any of the files that we’ve removed, please contact me at this address in Toronto.” He handed his card to Servito.

  Servito crumpled the card and hurled it to the floor. “Fuck you!” he hissed with a defiant sneer. He knew the feds would take months and spend a fortune chasing hundreds of dead end paper trails in the evaluation of his files and invoices. He had scrupulously filled his filing cabinets with thousands of dummy invoices issued by fictitious companies. In addition, he had papered his files with records of gasoline and tax payments from hundreds of fictitious customers. With the exception of sales by Reserve Oil to XG Petroleums, all of his real gasoline transactions had been completed in cash, which was substantially more difficult to trace than checks. Only one business relationship was accurately represented in the material seized by Dare’s agents: Servito had deliberately seeded his files with copies of all the Reserve Oil invoices to XG Petroleum.

  CHAPTER 41

  Martha Perkins led eight-year-old Phillip Servito into the penthouse. She was under strict instructions from Phillip’s father to ensure that no harm came to him during the twenty minute walk from his school to the penthouse. When Phillip burst into the kitchen, Karen wrapped her arms around him. “Hi, darling. I missed you,” she said as she kissed and hugged him. “Did you have a good day at school?”

  Phillip nodded. He a miniature carbon copy of his father, she thought.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m starving.”

  Karen gave Phillip the two peanut butter and jam sandwiches she had prepared, and then turned to Martha.

  “I’m leaving now, Martha,” she said. “I’ll be at the hospital until eleven.”

  Karen’s taxi stopped in front of the Medical Arts Building at the corner of Bloor Street and St. George Street. “Wait for me here,” she said, handing the driver a twenty dollar bill. She got out, waved and smiled at Lanotti, who was parked inches behind her taxi, and hurried to a bank of pay telephones in the lobby of the Medical Arts Building. She inserted a quarter and dialed Mike’s office number.

  “Hi, babe,” Mike answered before the first ring had ended.

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “I just guessed. You’re right on time.”

  “I told Martha I was going to be at the hospital until eleven—I’m at Bloor and Avenue Road. I’m going to take a taxi to the hospital, walk in the front door, and leave from the back. Then I’m going to walk to the southwest corner of Bay and College. I should be there by five-thirty. Can you meet me there?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Karen entered Toronto General Hospital and marched directly toward Becky Singer, w
ho was on duty at the reception counter.

  “Hi, Karen,” Becky said with a big smile.

  “Hi, Becky. I need you to do me a giant favor?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “I want you to tell whoever calls me tonight that I’m in the hospital, but can’t be reached. Will you do that for me?”

  Becky winked. “You walking on the wild side tonight?”

  “Just making up for lost time.”

  Karen saw no sign of Mike’s car when she arrived at the southwest corner of Bay and College. She glanced at her watch and realized she was five minutes late. Her heart beat faster. She imagined Lanotti’s black Mustang pulling up to the sidewalk, its slimy driver relentlessly staring at her with a grin.

  The shrill sound of a car horn caused her to turn to sharply, and she saw a sparkling new, dark green Jaguar XKE at the curb, no more than five feet away. Mike waved to her from the driver’s seat.

  Karen hurried to the car and quickly climbed into the passenger side.

  “When did you get this?” she asked with a big smile.

  “Yesterday. It’s a little extravagant, but it beats the hell out of driving a station wagon. I thought it was about time I enjoyed some of my hard-earned money. Your husband could make me one of the richest men in the graveyard if I’m not careful.”

  Karen frowned. “That’s a poor attempt at humor,” she scolded, and then hugged Mike hard. “Let’s go somewhere and get naked.”

  Mike drove to the Inn on The Park, a luxury hotel overlooking the Don Valley in Toronto.

  After drinks in the Copper Lounge and a candlelight dinner in the elegant Cafe de L’Auberge, the happy lovers toasted their rendezvous with an expensive bottle of merlot. They danced briefly after dinner, and then disappeared to the Presidential Suite. The king-sized bed was the focal point of two glorious and passionate hours free from the perils of the dangerous world to which they knew they would soon have to return.

  Alex McDowell telephoned John Hill two days later. “Good morning, John. I thought it was about time I brought you up to date.

  “Go ahead. I’m holding my breath.”

  “We conducted a search and seizure operation on Jim Servito’s farm on March fifth.”

  “That must have been fun. How did Servito enjoy it?”

  “He wasn’t happy. His behavior was described as extremely hostile.”

  “Catch any fish?”

  “We did, and we still think Servito’s our man, but I’m afraid it’s going to be extremely difficult to get an indictment. His paper’s a joke. It’s obvious he went to a lot of trouble to set up smoke screens. Most of what we seized were copies of bogus gasoline invoices. Tracking them is like taking a trip through Disneyland—it’s all make-believe.”

  “I’m confused. What the hell is it that makes you still think he’s our man?”

  “He made one mistake. Mike King.”

  “You said he was a big player in the retail gasoline business. You have something on him?”

  “One of Servito’s companies sold a lot of gasoline to King’s company. We found a ton of invoices corresponding to the sales.”

  “That’s wonderful. Then you’ve got him.”

  “Not quite.”

  “Why?”

  “Jim Servito isn’t the owner of the company that made the sales. His wife is.”

  Hill shifted in his seat. “So where do we go from here?”

  “At this point, I really don’t know, John. One thing is immutable, however. The burden of proof is ours. We have to prove the son of bitch evaded, and that isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Do you have a game plan?”

  “I wish we did. Suspicion of guilt and seventy-five cents gets you a cup of coffee. We’re dealing with an extremely smart and slippery individual, and he’s also extremely well advised. He’s retained some pretty high priced lawyers, and they’re giving us all kinds of flack. The hell of it is that the politicians are putting serious pressure on me to find the money. They want a perp and I really don’t think they give a shit about who takes the fall.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Three government-issue, dark blue Fords slowly rolled into the parking area of Mike’s office at precisely 10 a.m. the following day. One stopped to block the entrance to the lot, and another blocked the exit. William Dare and two muscular agents emerged from the middle car and marched to the front door.

  When Mike saw the three cars through the window of his office, he went directly to the front door and opened it. “May I help you?” he asked.

  Dare stepped forward. “Are you Michael King?” he barked.

  “Yes.”

  Dare immediately removed his badge and held it up for Mike to see.

  “Mr. King, my name is William Dare. I’m an inspector with Canada’s Security Intelligence Service. We have sufficient reason to believe that you and your company have been involved in unlawful activity. In that connection, we have a warrant authorizing us to search this premises, and to seize whatever material we deem necessary to support that belief. I would strongly advise you to cooperate with us in every way possible, sir. If you refuse, you will do so at your peril.”

  Dare replaced his badge, and then showed Mike the warrant.

  “May I ask what the sufficient reason is?” Mike asked, staring at the warrant in disbelief.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not at liberty to disclose that to you at this time,” Dare replied. His face was stone.

  Adrenaline rocketed through Mike’s blood vessels. “May I ask what you’re looking for? Maybe I could save you some time.”

  Dare’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. King, could you confirm that you are the sole owner of XG Petroleums?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you also confirm that XG Petroleums has recently been purchasing gasoline from a company by the name of Reserve Oil?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Do you have records of those purchases?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where would those be?”

  “Everything related to those purchases is in a filing cabinet in my office.” Mike led Dare and the two agents to his office. “In there,” he said, pointing to a gray metal cabinet against the wall behind his desk. Dare’s two agents opened the cabinet and removed all paper related to transactions between XG Petroleums and Reserve Oil. As each file was removed, it was placed on the floor in one of several growing piles. When the cabinet was emptied, the stacks of invoices and files were bundled and taken out to the waiting cars.

  Dare interrupted Mike’s deliberations. “We’ve completed our work here, Mr. King. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you. As you can see, we’ve found it necessary to remove some of your files. If you require the use of such files while they’re in our possession, please contact me at this address in Toronto.” He handed his card to Mike.

  “How long do you plan to keep them?”

  “I’m unable to answer that question at this time, but I will contact—”

  “Mr. Dare!” Mike interrupted. “I’m a tax-paying citizen of this country and I have never knowingly broken the law! What you and your agents have done here today is a travesty and a violation of my rights!”

  “I’m sorry if we have inconvenienced you, Mr. King. I can assure you that we have operated entirely under the process of law,” Dare said. He turned and left Mike’s office with his two agents following.

  Mike waited until the door closed behind them, and then rushed to his desk and placed a call to Marc Peterson, a partner in the large and prestigious law firm of Turner, Peterson, Greenwell, and Worthy. “I think I’m in some kind of trouble, Marc. I need your advice. I had a visit by five CSIS agents this morning. They just came in here like Nazis and took my files.”

  “All of them?”

  “No. Only the ones related to our deal with Reserve Oil.”

  “Did they tell you why?”

  “No.”

  “Can you speculate?”

  “The point man, William
Dare, said they had reason to believe that me and my company were involved in unlawful activity.”

  “Have you?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Then it sounds like a typical fishing expedition. I suggest you try to cooperate with them in every way. Absolutely the worst thing you can do is to alienate those guys. They can make your life miserable.”

  “Do you have any idea what the hell I should do?”

  “I’m a commercial lawyer, Mike—this situation is outside my area of expertise. I think any further advice should come from Dan Turner… he eats this stuff for breakfast. Hold for a second. I’ll transfer your call.”

  Dan Turner was an internationally renowned and respected litigant specializing in the area of government-business interface. After graduating as an engineer from MIT, he worked in private industry for three years in Connecticut before obtaining a law degree from Yale. Before entering private practice, he had spent six years serving the Canadian government in External Affairs.

  “Turner,” he said in deep baritone voice.

  “Dan, it’s Mike King. Marc—”

  “Yes, Marc just told me. From what little information he’s given me, I think his advice was correct. We could harass the hell out of the feds at his point, but I think we should conserve that option. I want you to stay in close contact with me on this—it’s vitally important that we stay on top of it. Don’t say another thing to these men under any circumstances. I’m going to contact CSIS now. Unless you disagree, I plan to advise them that you have retained me as counsel.”

  “I agree.”

  “Good. Marc told me the contact is William Dare. Is that correct?”

  Mike confirmed and gave Dare’s telephone number to Turner. “What happens next?”

  “I’ll talk to Dare. Then I’ll have my secretary call you to set up an appointment. I want to see you here as soon as possible.”

  Mike hung up, feeling only slightly more comfortable. He had a heavy hitter in his corner, but now the meter was running. Gnawing on his mind was the knowledge that he had no idea who, or what, his opponent was.