by Jason Dean
‘Oh, Jesus. Are you serious? She’s okay? Really?’
‘Really. Hold on.’ He covered the mouthpiece. ‘No details, Lisa. I’ll do that. Just tell him you’re okay and that everything’s cool, then hand the phone back to me.’
Lisa nodded and took the phone. She told her grandfather she was fine, apologized for not calling and listened for a while. Then she said she was helping Bishop out with something, and quickly handed the phone back.
‘It’s me again,’ Bishop said. ‘Look, Arnie, I need you to listen for a moment.’
‘Sure. I’m just relieved she’s okay. I’ll have to call the police back and tell them.’
‘It’d be better if you didn’t,’ Bishop said.
‘But I reported Lisa missing an hour ago. They need to know she’s okay.’
‘Listen, I can’t go into the reasons now, but it would really help me out if you held off for a while. Don’t worry about the police. They get hundreds of missing person reports every day. One more won’t make much difference.’
‘Well . . . I don’t know, Bishop. This all sounds a little weird. Where are you taking her now?’
‘To some friends of mine. I’ll have her call you once she’s settled. All I’m asking is that you pretend this phone call never happened. Can you do that for me?’
‘I guess. Will you tell me why later?’
‘Yes,’ Bishop lied. ‘Does Gerry know about this at all?’
There was a brief pause. Then, ‘No. He’s not here and I haven’t been able to contact him for a while.’
Bishop thought about that pause. It seemed neither of them was being entirely open with the other. Arnie definitely knew something about Gerry’s whereabouts. Bishop didn’t want to get into it over the phone, though. Not with Lisa listening in. But he’d definitely need to have a talk with Arnie very soon.
‘Okay, Arnie. I have to go now.’ He hung up.
‘What friends?’ Lisa asked from the back.
‘I’ll tell you later. You both stay here while I look this place over. I won’t be long.’
Bishop pressed the trunk release lever on the instrument panel, and got out before either of them could ask him anything else.
He went back to the trunk and armed himself with the Glock and the .45 Compact. Then he shut the lid and walked over to the gate. He pulled out the keys, found the largest and tried it on the padlock. It opened first time. Bishop slid it through the hasp, then pushed the gate open and entered.
Fourteen minutes later, Bishop came out again, his curiosity sated. It certainly hadn’t been a wasted journey. After locking the gate behind him, he got back into the Infiniti’s front passenger seat.
Kidanu spoke first. ‘What did you find in there?’
‘Lots of dead cars stacked on top of each other. Also a very large crusher that Janine Hernandez’s husband probably had a good look at from the inside. And from what I gather, not just him. Okay, let’s head back now.’
As Kidanu started the engine, Bishop pulled out his phone and dialled a number. After seven rings, Seth Willard’s voice said, ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’
‘So much for your fortune-telling skills. So have things improved with you and your girlfriend?’
‘Kind of. Ellie’s stopped yelling at me, but she ain’t saying a whole lot either. Why?’
‘My young niece, Lisa, needs a safe place to stay tonight. I was hoping you two might be able to accommodate her.’
‘Hey, you got it. Having a guest around might even thaw Ellie out. You remember my address, right?’
‘Yeah. And can you call Doubleday and see if he can join us there? I think I might need his help. Maybe yours, too. We can talk about it.’
‘Okay, whatever you say. See ya soon.’
They both hung up at the same time.
From the back seat, Lisa said, ‘Where are you taking me now?’
‘To a little house in Jamaica,’ he said.
SEVENTY-FOUR
Willard’s home was located in 171st Place in Jamaica, Queens. It was a railroad apartment that took up the ground floor of a narrow two-storey brick house. As the name suggested, the interior was laid out like the inside of a railway car, with a single hallway running down the right side of the building from which all the rooms could be accessed. Kidanu and Willard were currently talking in the front room while Ellie, a pretty brunette in her late twenties, showed Lisa the rest of the apartment. Doubleday hadn’t arrived yet. He’d told Willard he wouldn’t be able to get there until 20.30 at the earliest. It was now 20.15.
Out on the front porch, Bishop was talking on the phone. ‘So I’d be grateful if you could get back to me ASAP on this,’ he said.
‘Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult with this Bainbridge,’ Muro replied, ‘especially now you’ve given me a jumping-off point. I know somebody who knows somebody, et cetera. The other two things, I don’t know. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.’
‘That’s all I ask. But you’ll earn yourself a fat bonus if you can get me everything within the hour.’
‘Now that’s the kind of incentive I live for. I’m gone.’ The private detective hung up.
Bishop put the phone away. If Muro didn’t come back to him in time, it was no big deal. All he’d be doing was confirming what Bishop already knew anyway. But there was nothing like being sure. He went back inside and saw Ellie and Lisa walking down the hallway towards him. They were both smiling about something, which was promising.
‘Everything okay, Lisa?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. Ellie’s gonna let me watch her finish some dress designs later. She only works at one of the big fashion design houses in town, which is like, exactly where I want to be when I finish college.’
Bishop smiled at both of them. ‘No kidding.’
She’d had him worried on the drive back. Sometimes it took a long time for a victim to get over a particularly traumatic incident. Sometimes they never did. Lisa had started exhibiting the signs he’d seen before in others. The grim silence for one. The empty stare for another. Which wasn’t exactly surprising. First her mother’s attack, then her own kidnapping and threatened murder. Most adults wouldn’t be able to handle what she’d been through. But she seemed to be doing okay now, thank God. It seemed Ellie had managed to return some much-needed normality to her life. If only temporarily.
‘I really appreciate you letting Lisa stay the night, Ellie,’ he said.
‘Hey, no problem. She’s already paid her way by pulling me out of my funk. If you or your friend need anything, just come and ask, okay? Or tell that idiot boyfriend of mine to get off his ass and get it for you.’
‘I will. Thanks.’
Lisa and Ellie disappeared into the next room along, while Bishop returned to the living room. Kidanu was sitting on one of the two easy chairs while Willard was on the couch. Bishop took the other easy chair and said to Kidanu, ‘How much have you told him?’
‘Everything I have witnessed so far,’ Kidanu said. ‘Well, almost everything.’
Willard sipped at his bottled mineral water and said, ‘Man, you two sure been busy since DC. We’d just got to the part where Kidanu came and saved your ass at the warehouse. Impressive stuff. So are those four goons safely tucked away now, or am I better off not knowing?’
‘The second one.’
‘O-o-kay. So I guess the big question now is what’s your next step?’
‘Well, Klyce said he’s got an important meeting later. Sometime around eleven thirty would be my guess. And I definitely want to be there for that.’
Willard scratched his beard. ‘Why?’
‘Klyce said the meeting was called “because of all this shit”, by which he must have meant me. So I’ve a strong hunch some, if not all, of the major players will be present tonight and I’ll get my questions answered. And once I’ve got those I’ll be free to act.’
‘Eleven thirty,’ Willard said, looking at his watch. ‘That’s only three hours away.’
‘Which is why I hope Doubleday shows up soon.’
‘And what about this other black guy at the park? The one you thought might have been Kidanu’s boss? Still no news on his identity?’
‘Nothing concrete, but I’ve a strong feeling he’ll also be at Klyce’s offices tonight.’
Kidanu furrowed his brow at Bishop.
The sound of a doorbell interrupted them. Willard got up and left the room. A few seconds later, Hector Doubleday entered, wearing a leather jacket and jeans. He’d finally gotten rid of the designer stubble, but the short, spiky hair was still present and correct. He looked at Bishop and said, ‘Willard said you needed some help, so here I am.’
‘Appreciate it,’ Bishop said, and introduced Kidanu and Doubleday to each other.
Doubleday sat on the other end of the couch and said, ‘So what have I missed?’
It took about ten minutes for Bishop to cover the main details. Once he’d finished, Doubleday whistled and said, ‘Man, trouble seems to follow you around, don’t it? But I got two younger sisters. If the same thing happened to one of them that happened to yours, I’d probably be doing the same thing. And now your niece, too? Madre de Dios. Screwing with a man’s family is a place you don’t wanna go to.’
Kidanu nodded slowly and said nothing.
Willard said, ‘So I got another question. Amy found out all this info about Klyce’s schemes and put it onto a flash drive, right? So who had she arranged to hand it over to?’
‘That’s a very good question,’ Bishop said. ‘I’ve got a guy named Muro on it at the moment. Along with a few other things.’
Willard puffed out his cheeks. ‘So you any closer to figuring out what this is all about, Bishop? It’s gotta be more than just counterfeiting or arms trafficking. Amy found out something else about Klyce, didn’t she? Some other scheme of his that fits in with all the facts you and Kidanu picked up. So what is it?’
‘It’s actually really simple,’ Bishop said. ‘Amy found out her boss was bringing the dead back to life again.’
SEVENTY-FIVE
‘Huh?’ Willard said.
‘Uh, yeah,’ Doubleday said, nodding. ‘What he said. And if I hear the word “zombies” at any point, I’m walking.’
‘No zombies,’ Bishop said, ‘but there are some real-life monsters in all this. I met one of them already.’
‘Janko Kordić,’ Kidanu said.
‘Correct. I gave this a lot of thought earlier, Kidanu. You remember McIntyre mentioning the Canadian Crimes Against Humanity and War Crimes Act?’
‘I remember.’
‘That’s what turned my head around. See, for a long time now, the Canadians have been pissed that so many war criminals end up on their territory. Not too surprising when you consider the population to land ratio, though. Once you’re out of the major cities, you can pretty much lose yourself there. But that’s why they passed this statute, so they could prosecute any fugitive found in their country without the need for an international tribunal.’
Willard shrugged. ‘So?’
‘So where others saw a troubling trend, Klyce spotted another a business opportunity. What if he was able to track these fugitives down and instead of turning them in give them whole new faces and identities? And most important of all, offer them legitimate US citizenship with all the benefits that come with it? Like a US passport, for example, which is about the strongest travel document in existence. With that in your pocket, you can go almost anywhere you want. Except Cuba, I guess. But it means these wanted murderers are able to live out the rest of their lives without having to look over their shoulders the whole time.’
Kidanu was watching Bishop with an expression of total concentration.
‘I don’t see how,’ Doubleday said. ‘From what I hear, the new biometric passports have just about killed off the fake passport market.’
Bishop nodded. ‘Right. These days the best way to become an American citizen under the table is to use an existing identity that’s already on all the databases. All the hard work’s already been done.’
‘Identity theft, you mean,’ Willard said.
‘They call it “ghosting” when the victims are no longer living,’ Bishop said. ‘But it’s the same thing.’
‘The list of names on the CD,’ Kidanu said.
‘Right,’ Bishop said, nodding. ‘Klyce simply brings the dead back to life, with his new clients assuming the roles. And with new faces, thanks to a plastic surgeon he calls on. That’s why they pick loner types with no living relatives. Too much chance of one showing up on the new Mr X’s doorstep and ruining everything. But if anybody does show up, the client’s got a common enough name to be able to say, “Sorry, mister, you got the wrong guy. Try the Mr X on the next street.” Just an added level of security to help the client fade into the background. Klyce has probably got people constantly scouring local obituaries to find recently deceased people that fit the criteria.’
‘Those letters next to the names,’ Kidanu said. ‘N, C and L. Do you know what they stand for now?’
‘Well, it finally occurred to me that there was only one name with an L next to it. Martin Garcia. And Garcia’s the most common Hispanic surname in the US. So if that L stands for Latino, it’s a good bet the other two stand for Negro and Caucasian. Not exactly official racial categories, I know, but they get the job done. Because, obviously, for this to work the deceased and the client need to at least share the same ethnicity.’
Kidanu scratched his chin. ‘And those fake phone numbers . . .’
‘. . . are Social Security numbers,’ Bishop said. ‘With an extra digit at the beginning to make it read like an area code. Muro actually checked one of the names out while we were on the phone. Pretty simple when you think about it, but it had me stumped for a long time. I’m not sure why Klyce bothered to disguise them, though. Maybe he’s just naturally paranoid.’
‘That can’t be right,’ Doubleday said. ‘I’m pretty sure once you die, your Social Security number dies with you.’
‘It does,’ Bishop said. ‘Which means Klyce must have somebody inside the Social Security Administration who can delete certain death certificates from the Master Death Index and elevate the numbers to active status again. Then all the client needs to do is move to a whole new city where nobody knows him, open up a new bank account and keep everything going as normal. Then he can get himself a new driver’s licence and all the rest.’
Kidanu sat back in his seat. ‘So Klyce uses Artemis as a legitimate way of tracking down these people and informs the people who hired him when he has been successful. Then, as they prepare to send in a seize and capture team, Klyce approaches the target and offers to provide him with a way to escape them, and his past. For a hefty fee, of course.’
‘Right,’ Bishop said. ‘Probably through a third party, though. If the target turns down the offer, Klyce won’t want any record of his approaching him directly. And I think those who do turn him down, or those who don’t have enough money to pay, he allows to be captured, thus improving Artemis’s reputation. Either way, it’s a win-win for him.’
Doubleday placed his bottle of water on a side table. ‘Klyce could charge millions for an all-in service like that.’
Bishop nodded. ‘I get the impression that most of the major war criminals still at large siphoned off large amounts from their countries’ coffers before making a dash for the border. Most of it now probably salted away in offshore numbered accounts. Right, Kidanu?’
‘Yes, that is so. At least in my experience. Many of these people plan ahead.’
‘And this farm in Ontario,’ Willard said. ‘What’s that? Some kind of safe house?’
‘Yeah,’ Bishop said. ‘It’s the perfect place for a client to rest up while his new life’s being arranged for him. And to heal after his plastic surgery, away from prying eyes. All his meals are taken in by guards, but I expect the only person to ever get to see him is the surgeon. And Klyce himself, of course. I
saw two bedrooms there in case of an overlap, but I imagine Klyce tries to make sure there’s only one client in residence at any one time.’
‘Also,’ Kidanu said, ‘it is very close to the American border.’
‘That’s right,’ Bishop said. ‘As soon as everything’s ready, Klyce hands the client his new passport and then they cross the border and go their separate ways. Another satisfied customer, free to begin his new life wherever he wants.’
Kidanu’s eyes were boring into Bishop’s like iron spikes. ‘Nine months ago in Peru,’ he said, ‘Erasto Badat fled two days before he was due to be extracted by my team. If he also used this specialized service, then Klyce surely knows the new name he lives under, as well as his new location. Quite possibly right here in the United States.’
‘More than likely,’ Bishop said.
‘Then I am closer than ever,’ Kidanu said, and slowly smiled. It was a smile totally devoid of humour. Bishop imagined it was the same one he was saving for Badat.
‘I’m missing something,’ Doubleday asked. ‘Who’s this Erasto Badat?’
Bishop’s cell phone began to vibrate. As Kidanu explained The Scythe’s history to them, Bishop got up and left the room. In the hallway, he pulled out his cell and looked down at the display. He immediately recognized the number. He took the call.
‘I didn’t think you’d get back to me so soon,’ he said. ‘Or at all, for that matter.’
Arquette said, ‘Not a very trusting soul, are you, Bishop? I said I’d keep you in the loop, although it’s still early days, you understand. For instance, I didn’t get very far with the FPT Bank in the Caymans, although one official did let slip that the balance of that Xerxes account is currently in the low nine-figure range.’
‘Impressive.’
‘That’s one word for it. And there is a company called EMC-Med Associates. It was registered in Bermuda seven years ago. Other than the fact it’s a one-man operation, I don’t have any other details as yet, but I will in a few hours.’
‘Good. Let me know what you find out.’ The phone vibrated again in his hand. He looked at the screen, then said, ‘I got another caller waiting.’
