We believed Karen Able would go to Miami to meet with her husband and help him make bail on Friday. When she left, we planned to go into the Able residence and take it apart. I wanted irrefutable evidence that would put the woman behind bars for her perversions.
I reviewed with Ruth the calls her team would make to police forces around the country on Friday. I checked with Robert about the actor who would open and empty French's safe deposit box. I went over the details of the safe houses where we would sequester Able and French until a bench warrant was issued for their arrest and their bail revoked. I reviewed ... I checked on ... I went over ... until I noticed I wasn't accomplishing anything but getting on everyone's nerves, so I gave up and went down to the hotel bar. Marilyn joined me a short time later.
"What's the problem, lover?” she teased. “Don't you feel needed anymore?"
Just like Dianna, I thought and smiled. Marilyn reads my moods well.
"Actually, it isn't a problem. If I do my job correctly, I shouldn't be needed during the endgame."
"How do you wind down from an operation like this one?"
I laughed. “Usually, I just go back to my day job, but I was thinking before you arrived that I might resign from the day job. I don't need the money, and I'm tired of campus politics. I think I'll make my avocation my profession and quit pretending to be a professor."
"I want to finish my doctorate, Martin."
"You should. A person should do what he or she wants to do. Usually the hustle and bustle of everyday living disallows the fulfillment of simple desires, let alone the big ones. I enjoy helping unusual individuals who have thumbed their noses at the hustle and bustle and tried to achieve a dream. Follow your dream, Marilyn."
"What if you are my dream?” she said softly.
"Then you've achieved your dream. You have me. I'm in love with you. This exercise is ending earlier than either of us expected. Do you need to rush back to the university?"
She grinned. “What do you have in mind?"
"Helping you achieve another dream or two. Have you ever been to Paris?"
Her eyes lit up. “How did you know?"
"The Louvre comes to mind when the word, art, is spoken. Let's spend a few days in those hallowed halls, and you can give me a lesson in art history."
Her smile brightened the dimly lit bar. “To hell with the doctorate plan for a few more days. I'll catch up later. When can we go, Martin?"
"Next Tuesday. Robert, Ruth and Vera can mop up this operation. I'm out of here on Sunday. A day in Phoenix to shuffle through the junk mail and water the cactus, and we can leave the next day. Are you game?"
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
Everyone in the bar looked at us. I believe they thought she was in the throws of an orgasm. I decided to see if they were correct, so I slipped my hand under the tablecloth and up under her skirt. They were wrong. She was wet, but she didn't have an orgasm for about ten minutes. That time, no one noticed but me—and Marilyn, of course. Shortly, she jumped up and dragged me to our room to try to get even. Naturally, given the differences in the male and female orgasmic abilities, getting even wasn't possible. I did appreciate that she tried, though.
On Thursday afternoon, we received a surprise.
"Martin, Gantry jumped the gun and has the little girl—eight years old, blond and blue. When the sick fucks finish with her, they plan to sell her to another sick fuck in Japan. Able needs the money.” Robert was seriously agitated.
"That's not good, not good at all,” I said. “Do you have an extraction team you can send to Miami?"
"Not one with an experienced leader. I'll have to go."
"I need you here, Robert. You're like a right arm. Now isn't the time to amputate."
"I've thought about this, Boss. Give me a listen. Harry can lead the team we send into French's studio. I can run the drug planting operation by phone. That's how I planned to do it anyway. I'll go down to Miami, get that little girl, and be back here before we're finished at the studio at 4:00 AM. I called Jill. She's meeting me in Miami at eight o'clock this evening, and she will take the little girl off my hands as soon as I can get to her, and I'll hop the next plane back up here. With a little luck, I might even be back before we enter the studio at midnight."
I knew Robert had built up a real hatred for Able, French and their cronies and decided it would be healthy for the big man to get some of the anger out of his system before the operation wound down.
"Robert, what time does French's flight leave New York for Miami?"
"Seven o'clock."
"And what time did you plan to extract the little girl?"
"At eight. That's when Gantry would leave to pick up Able. Able is arriving in Miami earlier than French."
"Yes, I know. Let's do it this way. Make certain both French and Able are in the air with the drugs planted in their luggage. Then go on in and get the little girl. Don't wait until Gantry leaves. You're not opposed to kicking a little butt on this one, are you, Robert?"
The big man grinned from ear to ear, quite a sight considering the width of his head.
"You've got it, Boss. Just to be safe, I'll break his jaw so he can't talk, and maybe a few bones in his hands so he can't write."
"Don't kill the fucker, Robert. I don't want the gendarmes after you. I've already helped you once. I have a policy against helping someone twice."
His grin disappeared and a serious look entered his face. “I understand, Boss. I won't kill the cock sucker, but when I get through with him, he'll wish he was dead!"
Christ! I've created a monster, I thought, but grinned. “Get back here as soon as you can, big guy. I need my right arm. I feel lost without it. And keep me informed."
"You've got it, Boss."
He spun gracefully on his heels and left. I don't believe I had ever seen Robert move gracefully before. I stood with my mouth agape, shocked by the sight of the big man with a spring in his step. I didn't envy Gantry, but then the sick fuck deserved every broken bone Robert would inflict.
Ruth walked up to me. “What's with Robert? He's so tickled he nearly skipped across the living room like a teeny bopper."
I smiled. “He's going to kick butt,” I said and explained.
Ruth didn't smile. “Good for him,” she said seriously. “Excuse me, Bro. I'm going to go ask Robert to kick the bastard in the nuts for me."
She strode off purposefully. I had no doubt she would tell the big man her desire, and no doubt he would do just as she asked.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My cell phone rang. “Yes,” I said.
"The product is in place. Competent checked the bag,” a voice said and hung up.
The endgame had begun.
The drugs had just been planted in Able's bags.
We waited.
The phone rang again.
"The product is in place. Napoleon checked the bag.” A different voice but with the same message, except the caller referred to French.
I glanced at my wristwatch.
"Yes,” I said, answering my cell phone.
"The bird is in the air."
I nodded to Ruth. She dialed the D.E.A. office in Miami on an untraceable cell phone. A device that altered her voice was attached to the mouthpiece.
I could hear the phone ringing in Ruth's ear and mumblings when someone answered.
"Listen carefully and turn on your recorder if it isn't already running,” Ruth said and waited a moment. “Are you ready? Good. I'll tell you only once.” She hesitated. I assumed the voice had asked her to identify herself. “Mrs. Anonymous,” Ruth said, flippantly. “No more questions or I'll hang up. Two men are carrying drugs to Miami tonight. The drugs are in their suitcases. A man named Frank Able is aboard TWA, Flight 479, arriving in Miami at 8:10 PM. In his luggage, which he has checked, are approximately 45,000 tablets of Ecstasy. The other man carrying drugs is named Evan French. French is aboard American Airlines, Flight 207, scheduled t
o arrive in Miami at 8:55 PM. In his luggage, which he has checked, are approximately 45,000 tablets of Ecstasy. Able and French are trafficking in drugs and should be arrested and put behind bars. I repeat. Frank Able (she spelled the names). TWA, Flight 479. 8:10 PM. 45,000 tablets of Ecstasy. Evan French (again, she spelled the names). American Airlines, Flight 207. 8:55 PM. 45,000 tablets of Ecstasy. The two men know each other and work together. Between the two of them, they have marketed over one million tablets of Ecstasy over the last three months.” Ruth hung up and smiled.
Forty minutes later, my cell phone rang again. It was Robert. “The blond and blue has been extracted. The Miami connection is in the hospital and won't be meeting his leader. Tell the lady the nuts were cracked. Will call when blond and blue is with Nightingale.” He hung up.
"Ruth,” I said. “Your wish was granted. Robert says the nuts were cracked. The little girl has been extracted."
I believed she would smile. I was wrong. Ruth took her nut cracking seriously.
Twenty minutes later Robert called again. Jill and Sherry had picked up the little girl. Robert couldn't get a flight out of Miami until ten o'clock, too late to lead the insertion team.
We waited. Again my phone jangled.
"Competent is cuffed,” the caller said and hung up.
"Able has been arrested,” I informed everyone.
Nine o'clock came and went, and I started to get nervous. We should have received a call informing us of French's arrest. I paced and glanced frequently at my wristwatch. When finally my phone rang, I juggled it and it nearly squirted from my hands.
"Yes,” I said when I gained control.
"Napoleon is cuffed."
"Everyone, French has been arrested,” I announced. A cheer went up. The two bad guys had been taken down.
I called Mikey, my hacker in Mesa, Arizona, and told him to burn down the web sites and keep them down.
Mikey laughed. “Little Nasty is evolving and multiplying as we speak."
My next chore was almost three hours away. I planned to join the insertion team after they were safely inside French's studio. I couldn't sit and wait that long and went to my suite. I actually tried to watch television but couldn't concentrate. Marilyn joined me, curled up next to me and kissed me—a nice distraction, but I wasn't interested in sex.
Marilyn, wise to my moods, asked, “Do you like sculpture?"
"Yes. Rodin is my favorite."
We sat and talked about art for roughly an hour, and then I became restless again. I stood and paced for a few minutes.
Surprisingly, the phone in the suite rang. I picked up the receiver.
"Martin, it's Jill."
"How's the little girl?"
"She's fine, just frightened. Gantry took a series of photos of her from fully clothed to naked, but other than that had not molested her. In Able's hands, things would have changed. I'm happy Robert intervened so quickly. What's the status?"
"Able and French are under arrest, and Robert is en route to New York. I'm waiting, impatiently as usual. We'll enter the studio at midnight and will be finished in four hours or less. Where are you now?"
"In a hotel suite in Miami. Sherry is with the girl. Rebecca, that's her name, ran away from home. She was living with her father. He wasn't sexually molesting her, but he gets violent when he drinks. She has some old bruises on her little body. Becky wants to be with her mother, but that won't work either. I had my people check out her mother. She's a drug addict and a prostitute. I've made arrangements for Becky to live in a private foster home, run by professionals. Sherry will take her there tomorrow. I'm flying back to California early in the morning."
"How is that experiment working?"
"It's too soon to tell, but the kids have all calmed down. After a day at Disneyland, we made believers out of them. Little Marcy is a doll. She's got them marching to our directions. When I say marching, I mean marching. Your tough-love friend has them marching from their rooms to the bus, from the bus into Disneyland. Many of the kids are responding positively. Some remain distant, but we'll be able to help a few of them. Frankly, I'm encouraged."
"Are they having fun?"
"Most of them.” She chuckled. “It's difficult for kids not to have fun at Disneyland, but some of these kids aren't kids, if you know what I mean."
Jill and I talked twenty more minutes before she hung up. I glanced at my watch. Less than hour to wait—the home stretch.
Marilyn left the suite while I was talking with Jill, so I was alone. I turned the television back on and flipped through the channels. Nothing. Marilyn returned with Christie in tow, and the three of us chatted for a while. Then Ruth arrived, looking for Christie, and I teased Ruth about Tarzan by beating on my chest. Christie looked at us as if we were batty. I had stopped watching the clock, and when I next looked at my watch, it was after midnight!
My cell phone rang. “We're in,” a voice said and hung up.
"It's time for me to go to the studio,” I said and pulled myself up and out of the chair.
Before I could leave, Christie accosted me and demanded a kiss. For luck, she said. When she finished her kiss, Ruth wanted a turn, and finally, Marilyn stepped into my arms. Kisses are good things.
"I'll call when I have news,” I said and stepped from the room.
A man let me into the studio (I couldn't remember his alias—no one used real names). He handed me a pair of surgical gloves, and I slipped them onto my hands.
Harry Masters, a retired safecracker, had come out of retirement to help Robert take French down. The diminutive man looked at me when I entered the room and smiled. I almost laughed again when he flashed his sour-beer commercial look at me.
"Howdy, Boss,” he said with a Western drawl. No one in the studio knew my name, except Harry. He had been instructed to refer to me as Boss, my alias.
I looked around the room. The desk was empty. Someone had already accomplished that task. One man sat at a computer. He was copying data files onto a zip drive. When he finished that chore, he would reformat the hard drive. Two other computers in the studio would receive the same attention. Another man was pulling files from a cabinet. He glanced at the contents of each file and placed them in one of two piles on a desk. Another man shredded one of the piles, the one that contained files unrelated to our effort. The other pile would be boxed and delivered to our surveillance team headquarters as soon as we were finished, along with the discs from the zip drive and any other information relevant to the success of the operation. Like they did with the surveillance tapes and reports, Robert's operatives would organize the material, digitize it, and summarize it for our use, and then destroy the files and zip disks taken from the computer. We felt this second effort was necessary should the information we collect point to a situation that needed our attention. This same insertion team would enter the Able residence tomorrow under Robert's watchful eye, not mine.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry waved at me and grinned. I giggled. I couldn't help it. His toothless face was a riot.
Harry turned the handle on the safe. The door gaped wide. I stuck my head inside and methodically removed each item I found within. The albums, negatives and photos of Jill and all the kids French had abused took up over half the volume in the safe. One of the men shredded the documents after I looked it over. The bags of shredded material would be taken to an incinerator and burned immediately after we left the studio.
The safe deposit box keys were on the top shelf of the safe. I put them in my pocket. On the second shelf, I came across a long list, about thirty typewritten pages with three columns to the page, of names, addresses and phone numbers with annotations under each name. It took only a cursory glance to determine this was French's customer list. The annotations indicated the type of pornography each customer preferred. I folded this list and put it in my pocket as well.
Robert arrived. I brought him up to date and left him to finish up. Back in my suite, I called Jill on the landline at her hotel in Mia
mi.
"The negatives and photographs French was using to blackmail you have been shredded and will be put in an incinerator and burned within the hour, Jill. When we leave the studio tonight, the safe will be closed and locked with nothing inside. The filing cabinets will be closed and locked, but empty, and his computers will open when turned on in the morning, but nothing will exist on the hard drives. Finally his kiddy porn web sites have been destroyed."
"And more importantly, he's under arrest and can't hurt any more children,” Jill said. “Thank you, Martin. I owe you."
"Yes, you owe me one free one. That's the deal."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Thirty
I slept late the next morning. I showered, shaved and dressed, skipped my run, and strode to the command center. Ruth and her callers were busy. She waved and smiled but continued to speak with the person on the other end of her phone line. The butterfly team would provide about three hundred anonymous tips to law enforcement agencies around the country. The information would be detailed, providing enough facts, we hoped, to break the imposing inertia of jaded police officers and move them to action. If not, local members of the press would be given the same information. An idea struck, and when Ruth finished her call, I motioned her to me.
"How are the calls going?” I asked.
"So, so. The recipients are pretty blasé about the information being provided."
"That's what I thought. You know we decided to mail packages to the press regarding the top five on your list, instead of calling the police about them. The media will crucify them. Try this with your calls. Tell the police if they don't act on the information, we will turn it over to the local members of the press with the statement that the police were given the same data but didn't act on it. That should reduce our follow up effort."
She smiled. “Good idea, Bro. Let me pass it to my callers."
I watched while my sister passed on my suggestion. Heads nodded and expressions lightened up.
Looking around, I couldn't see Marilyn, Robert or Christie. I strolled to Vera. “Good morning, Vera. What's happening?"
The Butterfly Effect Page 17
