The Eighteenth Green

by Webb Hubbell

  “I thought you knew. Red left the country for a few days. Call this number. But Jack, don’t bullshit me. Do you really have something?”

  She needed reassurance. Her fellow senators were turning the screws, wondering why Lucy was keeping her powder dry. It wasn’t her style.

  “I’ve got a big something on the line, that’s for sure. Problem is I haven’t figured out quite what I’ve caught.”

  “One more day, Jack,” she said.

  “One more day.”

  69

  I COULDN’T HELP BUT WONDER where Red had gone—had he gone off with Judy Spencer? Was he with Carol at a beach resort? Maybe he was out of the country on business. Why wouldn’t he have told me? My phone beeped again; at last it was Micki.

  “You were right. The money from Israel was deposited in Parra Bank. She set up the account with the life insurance money—two hundred thousand dollars. She has received a little over four thousand dollars a month for the last two years. I have copies of the account statements and the paperwork. The funny thing is, she never withdrew a dime,” Micki reported.

  “Any possibility she didn’t know it was there?” I asked.

  “No way. She had to sign a number of forms to receive the pension money. I have copies. Besides, the branch manager told me he advised her several times to invest the money. She said she might one day, but that for now it was fine where it was. He said she seemed very sure of herself.”

  “Hmmm… anything else? I know you’re probably already on your way to Cotton’s office.”

  “It’s okay—I have time. At first the branch manager didn’t want to cooperate, but he changed his tune when I mentioned delivering a subpoena with the press in tow. He produced the paperwork for the government’s seizure order, all duly signed by the deputy who’s in charge of asset forfeiture. Think it’s possible Cotton doesn’t know about the account?” Micki asked.

  “It’s unlikely. At the time of her arrest, all the newspaper accounts suggested she was spying for Israel. He had to know what the forfeiture division was doing. How could he know about one account and not the other? I’d love to see his reaction when you ask him about the Parra account.”

  “There’s one more complication.”

  “What’s that? Don’t tell me the branch manager called Cotton. That would definitely spoil our plans.”

  “No, I put the fear of God in him. I showed him the accounting the government filed that doesn’t include the Parra Bank account on the list of assets seized. I told him if he contacted the U.S. Attorney’s office, he risked being charged with conspiracy to defraud. No, he wants nothing more to do with this matter.

  “The complication is that a little over a month ago over a million dollars was wired from offshore into the account.”

  That was a problem. Why would anyone wire that much money to Rachel Goodman? “Any idea who sent the money?”

  “No, but I have all the routing information. I hope Stella can run down the source.”

  “Good idea. When did the money hit the account?”

  “September 23, 2016,” she answered.

  It took a moment for the date to register. I couldn’t hold back a chortle.

  Micki voiced her displeasure. “This isn’t a joke Jack. No wonder the government thinks she was a spy.”

  “I’m laughing, my dear Micki, because Rachel was taken into custody weeks earlier; her assets were frozen the very day she was arrested. Check the paperwork the banker gave you. Now we know why someone is desperate to keep this account secret. In their effort to frame Rachel, they transferred big bucks into her account, but it arrived after the government had taken her into custody. What a blunder!”

  “Cotton’s office will have to tell us about the account eventually,” Micki pointed out.

  “Why? Think about it. The bad guys thought she would plead guilty to espionage to avoid the death penalty. Most lawyers would negotiate a plea in a heartbeat to avoid lethal injection. With a guilty plea, all the frozen assets would go to the government, and what she had discovered about Rouss would be locked away forever. Even if she had lived to tell her story, Rachel would have had no credibility. But she was made of sterner stuff, so they tried her in the press and then killed her. When we contested the forfeiture and made noises about proving her innocence, they knew that if they disclosed the Parra account we’d discover the deposit and its date and there would be hell to pay. Your meeting with Cotton should be interesting.”

  “That means that Cotton or someone in his office has to be part of the conspiracy. You sure you trust me to handle this on my own?”

  “My presence might raise a red flag. If you show up with just Brian, seemingly ready to settle, they may screw up even more. And, yes, I trust you, Micki.”

  She was quiet for a minute. “Okay, but if I’m the one who screws up, it’s on your head. So, while I’m out freelancing, what’s your next move?”

  “Well, I think I’ll call Peggy Fortson and ask to meet with the Attorney General. I’m sure she’ll tell me I’m nuts and refuse.”

  “Why would you do that? If you already know it won’t work, why should we give away our strategy to anyone else?”

  We had discussed this before; Micki raised a good point. Maybe it was because I trusted Peggy, or maybe it was because I had worked for the Department of Justice. Whatever the reason, I had to give them the chance to do the right thing before I did what so many others do—bypass regular channels.

  “I understand, and you may be right. But like I trust you, please trust me.”

  “You know I do,” she answered. That trust was a big part of what made us a good team.

  She and Brian left for their confrontation with Cotton, and I decided to stretch my legs and clear my head. I really missed my long walks on the beach; for now a quick jog to the lake and back did the trick.

  I tried to check on Stella’s progress with the routing number, but she told me to bug off, so I returned to my comfy chair in the family room. Hoping to avoid the office run-around, I left a message on Peggy’s cell. She called back almost immediately.

  “Jack. How nice to hear from you.” Her tone belied the words.

  “Thank you. Listen, I heard you found a tracking device under the van,” I fudged.

  “Who on earth told you that?” she responded after a bit of a pause. “Are you sure of your information?” Her hollow tone confirmed that she did indeed know about the device. I knew she must be worried about Joan, so I tried to help.

  “Since you won’t tell me a damn thing, I have to get my information where I can. By the way, I got an email from Joan Laing today. She tells me she’s no longer involved in the case, and that she and her husband have decided to move to northwest Arkansas. A less stressful lifestyle, for sure.”

  “That’s good to know. I wish her well.” She sounded relieved. “But, Jack, if you’re not going to ask me out for dinner, why exactly did you call?

  “To ask to meet with the Attorney General about Rachel’s case,” I replied.

  She made no attempt to hide either a heavy sigh or her irritation. “Give it up, Jack. There is no case against Rachel. She is dead, and as I understand it, the asset forfeiture case will soon settle. Why in the world would the AG want to meet with you about a resolved matter?” she asked, adding, “Her alleged theft of military secrets is no longer in our portfolio, it belongs to the intelligence community. We’ll be lucky to get a copy of their final report.”

  I thought about chucking it—let the chips fall, so to speak. But she was a friend, so I gave her another chance.

  “Then maybe the Attorney General should alter his portfolio. Peggy, I’m trying, but y’all need to help. Otherwise, I will go somewhere else with my story.”

  I waited through the silence, before she finally responded. “Can you hold a minute?”

  Thank goodness the Department of Justice doesn’t pipe in music while you’re on hold. After several minutes, Peggy came back on the line.

  “T
he Attorney General wants to know if you’re about to raise a stink.”

  I could only imagine where she was and with whom. “I sure am, a big stink,” I confirmed.

  I could tell she had put her hand over the phone, but I could hear a muffled “Really?”

  Her voice was clear again. “Are we off the record?”

  “Of course,” I said, wondering whose record we would be on.

  “Well, the AG’s response to your threat to raise a stink is, ‘Good!’”

  I thought for a minute. “Let me understand; the AG won’t meet with me, but he doesn’t mind if I raise holy hell?”

  “That seems to be the general idea. If it were up to me, I’d tell you to go to hell, but he doesn’t think you’re as crazy as I do. When do you expect to begin? I think I’ll take a few vacation days.”

  “It’s already too late for that, but call in sick tomorrow.”

  70

  THE POCKMARKED MAN, Bart Stone, eased himself into a reclining position behind a large stone boulder. He had a perfect view of the house. The computer console that housed the rocket launch system rested by his side, already programmed to launch the rocket that would finally rid the world of Jack Patterson. The order to kill had been given—this time he’d do the job himself. Two of his men were missing, and he was not about to leave this job to chance.

  He had doubts about the mission—not its execution, but its aftermath. He didn’t think the murder of Patterson and a few Navy SEALs could be explained away as a “gas explosion.” Well, it wasn’t his problem. As soon as he got the text confirming that Micki Lawrence had signed the release of claims, he was to fire the rocket and then leave the country; others would handle the rest.

  Getting past the electronic fence had been more difficult than he thought. He had never seen anything quite like it, and despite all his training he had come close to tripping it more than once. No wonder his sniper had gone missing. Once he settled behind the rock he texted his contact a brief description of the fencing system and suggested that its design should be acquired.

  If it were up to him, he would wait until Lawrence returned from the courthouse. He had seen her perform, and he doubted that she would go away. The same went for Jones, who had disappeared this morning, although his girlfriend was still at the house. In his estimation, Lawrence and Jones would make a very dangerous combination, but Patterson had to be eliminated. All attempts to scare him off or encourage him to walk away had failed. Too bad Jones’s murder had been botched—that would have been the perfect way to cripple Patterson without casting suspicion.

  This new Pinpoint Missile System was one heck of a weapon. The rocket itself was smaller than some bottle rockets, but had the firepower to destroy a single building and everyone in it. He remembered the first time he programmed the rocket. It had destroyed a small open-air restaurant in Israel and everyone inside with amazing force and accuracy. The coordinates for the Matthews property had been entered, he was ready. His cell phone would vibrate, he would enter the coded text, then sit back and enjoy the show. It was time for Jack Patterson to join Spencer and Goodman.

  In a matter of minutes he’d be on his way to Canada and then on to Guatemala. A smile crossed his lips as he thought of the woman who waited at his hideaway in Central America. She had been a gift from an Afghan warlord for a job well done.

  “Take your hands off the keyboard and raise them into the air. Now.” The words were spoken with calm authority.

  He was shocked to the core, but didn’t move a muscle. Then the voice shouted, “Now!” and he knew it was over.

  He lifted his hands and raised them into the air. Turning slowly, he recognized four Navy SEALs with HK Mark 23’s aimed directly at his head. Someone was standing behind them, but he couldn’t see who. For a second, he thought to touch the launch override button on the keyboard, but he knew his life would end the moment he moved. Spencer’s team meant business. Better to wait for his contractor to get him out on bail, then flee to Guatemala.

  “I want to speak to my attorney,” he stated.

  Spencer’s son spoke. “You mistake us for law enforcement. We are private contractors protecting our employer. No attorney for you, I’m afraid. It’s time to go.”

  “Where are you taking me? I tell you I want a lawyer!”

  “If it were up to me, we’d take you off in the woods and beat the holy shit out of you until you admitted you murdered my father. Then I might go after you with a rake. So if I were you, Mr. Stone, I’d keep my mouth shut and be thankful for wherever we take you.”

  The SEALs soon had him bound and gagged. They dismantled the rocket launcher and turned to Larry Bradford, the man who had led them to Bart Stone.

  Larry shook Spencer’s hand and asked, “What next?”

  “We’ll take Stone and the weapon in different cars to the military base where the others are being held. Tell Jack that the weapon is the same as the Pinpoint System and has American markings. I’m sure Rouss designed it and supervised its manufacture. I wish my Dad were alive—he would know in a heartbeat.”

  He started to choke up, but caught himself. “It’s a good thing you spotted this guy—a few moments later and, well, it wouldn’t have been a pretty picture. He’s good—I’d like to know how he got past Stella’s system. Tell Jack that weapon is a game changer. I doubt the commanding officer will be able to keep this quiet for more than a day or two.” Spencer and his men left, and Larry hurried back to tell Jack what almost happened.

  *****

  Needless to say, I was dumbfounded by Larry’s account of the incident. Martin and I thanked him profusely for spotting the guy, trying not to think about what might have been. I have to admit I was pretty shaken up. Here I’d been calmly reviewing our strategy while some guy had come within seconds of blowing me and everyone else to smithereens. Martin started to suggest that perhaps Larry shouldn’t have been wandering the grounds, but I stopped him. We were all damned lucky he’d been out there today. I asked Martin to try to track down Clovis. I missed him, and as things were getting dicier, we needed his steadying hand.

  No word from Micki, which I took as a good sign, so I called Ken Chandler at the Post.

  “We should meet,” I began.

  “Why bother? You’ve already sold Rachel down the river.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to remain calm.

  “Cotton just had a press conference to announce the settlement of the asset forfeiture case.”

  “Why is that a problem? It’s proof that Rachel is innocent,” I said.

  “Cotton insisted that she was guilty, but because she’s no longer alive, it would be a waste of the government’s assets to continue to fight over such a paltry amount of money. His magnanimity was overwhelming.”

  I didn’t think Micki would be able to get Cotton to back off Rachel’s guilt. The reference to “a paltry amount of money” meant Micki had decided not to mention the million dollars. I couldn’t wait to find out what had happened.

  Ken continued, “My editor has told me to drop the story. Rachel is dead, the civil suit settled. There’s nothing to write about.”

  It was time to put a few cards on the table. “Ken, Micki and I would like to meet with you and your editor this afternoon. After that meeting, if he still thinks you should drop the story, so be it. But he owes it to you and Rachel to hear me out.”

  “Can’t you give me something right now?” he asked.

  “Cotton said we were only fighting over a ‘paltry’ amount of money. Did Micki say or do anything to confirm that statement?” I asked.

  “No, she didn’t have to. The inventory is a now public filing; Cotton removed the seal,” he answered.

  “What if I were to tell you that the inventory fails to list a bank account belonging to Rachel containing over a million dollars? I wish to remind you we are still off the record.” I emphasized the latter.

  He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Where would she have gott
en that kind of money?” he asked.

  “Maybe a better question is why would the government, without so much as a whimper, return more than a million dollars that came from an off-shore account to the estate of an alleged spy?”

  “I can’t run with this without some kind of documentation,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to. That’s why I want to meet with both you and your editor. It’s time I told you what I know.” I figured Micki and I would have plenty of time to backtrack, if she disagreed with my strategy.

  “I’ll call you back if he agrees,” he said, hanging up without another word.

  Stella walked into the family room, and I said, “I miss your boyfriend.”

  She laughed, “I do, too. I told him he better come back soon; those SEALs are looking better every day. I finally managed to track down that wire transfer. It originated in Malta, and I traced the funds to an off-shore account belonging to a subsidiary of Rouss Military Systems. They’re turning up a lot these days.”

  “They sure are,” I said. “Do you have any documentation? Do you have a name for the subsidiary?”

  She smiled. “I gave the documentation to Maggie and Beth who are putting together your exhibits. The subsidiary is none other than Surplus Systems, Ltd. What do you hear from Micki?”

  Micki and Brian walked into the room before I could respond. Micki was in a snit. She’d found out that Larry had discovered the sniper and had gone with the SEALs to capture him.

  “I may kill him myself,” she said, fuming. “Imagine wandering around without clearing it with Martin or anyone.”

  “He saved our lives,” I reminded her, quick to come to his defense.

  “I know, I know, but he shouldn’t be taking chances. Where is he?”

  “The last time I saw him he said he was going for a long shower,” I joked. With Micki, showers carried a special message. “Why don’t you go talk to him? Brian can tell me what happened with Cotton.”

  She looked angry for about a second and then smiled. “He saved your lives?”