by Rob Sinclair
She tutted. ‘Carl, I know you don’t want to talk about this –’
‘Then let’s not,’ Logan said, as though picking up on where she was going.
‘Carl! Stop being so goddamn nonchalant! This matters to me, even if it doesn’t matter to you!’
‘I never said it didn’t matter,’ he said.
‘Look. You can’t just ignore it and hope that it’ll go away. I want to know when we’re going to see each other again.’
‘I want to know that too. But why do we have to fight about it? Why can’t we just enjoy the time we are spending together?’
‘Well, that’s just about as non-committal as you can get.’
‘I didn’t mean for it to be. I just want to enjoy this time together now. Not try to complicate things that don’t need to be complicated.’
‘You’re right. It’s not like we even really know each other that well, is it?’ she said, angry as much as she was hurt. ‘I mean, I don’t really know who you are. And you don’t really know anything about me.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, you don’t. Tell me what you know about me. I’m an FBI agent you like the look of naked and who’s a good fuck. Is there anything more than that?’
He didn’t say anything, just stared at her.
‘There isn’t, is there?’ she said, angered even more by his lack of response. ‘You know nothing about me. Other than my name and who I work for. Hell, you don’t even know where I’m from, where I live.’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said. ‘You live in Virginia.’
She looked at him, confusion now etched on her face. ‘How do you know that?’ she snapped. ‘I never even told you that.’
‘Yes, you did. You told me about how your dad used to take you hunting in the Appalachians. You’ve lived in Virginia your whole life.’
Was that true? Her thoughts immediately went back to the night before. She’d certainly talked to him about her dad. About how he’d take her hunting in the mountains. About how, on her thirteenth birthday, she’d been allowed to fire her dad’s rifle for the first time. The fact that the recoil had knocked her off her feet into the wet snow. That she’d cried for days when she realised she’d killed the poor deer with that very shot.
She’d told Logan numerous intimate details about the good times she’d spent with her father.
But she’d never told him where she was from.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But it was.
‘I could have lived anywhere and gone to the Appalachians with my dad. How did you know I live in Virginia?’
Logan fidgeted in his seat, his cheeks burning red.
‘I had a colleague look up your profile,’ he said, unable to look her in the eye. ‘Check out that you were who you said you were.’
‘You what?!’ Grainger said, standing up out of her seat, arms folded.
‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to know who I was dealing with. Wouldn’t you have done the same? But that was before any of this happened. Before me and you. It was right after you dumped me on the side of the road!’
‘What else did you find out about me?’ she said, a feeling of real unease creeping over her.
‘It was just a simple check! It was completely innocent.’
‘Well, I hope you got from it what you wanted. I’m glad it didn’t put you off.’
‘Jesus, Angie, you’re making far more out of this than you need to.’
‘I don’t think I am! I think I’m kinda proving my point! We don’t know each other. Not really. Like I didn’t know that the man I’m sleeping with was going around checking up on me behind my back!’
‘Look, why are we even arguing about this? We had a great time last night. We should be having a good time now. Can we not just enjoy this time together?’
‘What, so you buy me dinner, then we go back to a hotel and fuck? Then what? See you later? Is that how this works?’
He had nothing to say to that. Not for the first time, his lack of response didn’t calm her down at all and she moved away from the table, storming towards the bathroom door.
He jumped up after her and grabbed her arm.
‘Angela. You are the most amazing person I have ever met,’ he said. ‘I’ve never felt like this before with anyone. You’ve made me feel alive – I mean really alive – for the first time in my life. And I spend every waking minute and every second I sleep thinking about you.’
The anger on her face began to ebb away, leaving a look somewhere near bewilderment. She looked deeply into his eyes and could feel tears forming in hers. She shrugged, trying to pull away from his grip. But he wouldn’t let her; he held her tight.
‘You’ve changed my life,’ he said. ‘For the better. I was a mess before you walked into my life, pointing that gun of yours in my face. Before you, I never had a single meaningful relationship. For the past five months I’ve been struggling with a condition I didn’t even want to think about, let alone deal with. And look at me now. Do you know what I dreamt about last night? I dreamt about you. Not a nightmare. I’ve had nightmares nearly every time I’ve slept for five months. And when I don’t have nightmares I don’t dream at all. Last night? Last night I dreamt of me and you. Together.’
Her bottom lip was quivering. She tried with one last feeble attempt to free herself, but she soon gave up. Tears were now rolling down her face.
‘And when I say I’m not sure how it’s going to work out between us,’ he said, ‘it’s because I’m scared. Scared that you might not feel the same way about me. And scared because things might not work out how I want them to. I want you, Special Agent Grainger. Surely you must see that by now. And I damn well know that I need you.’
He finally stopped his monologue.
Without saying another word, Grainger buried her head in Logan’s chest. What he’d said had really touched her. It was exactly what she had hoped to hear. Because she was feeling much the same way for him, too.
Yet she knew that despite their mutual attraction, their relationship would likely never get the chance to blossom. Not now, not ever. How could it?
And as she stood with her head nestled into his chest, longing for his touch and the warmth of his body next to hers, a strange sensation crept over her: the most euphoric feeling she’d ever known, mixed in equal measure with sadness.
Chapter 57
The streets of Paris were quiet as Logan walked the short distance to the safe house – it was, after all, early morning on a weekend. The weather had returned to its seasonal self and there was a bitter wind picking up, making it feel colder than it really was. Logan hunched down into his shirt, which was the only clothing he had on his upper body.
It had been hard to leave Grainger. He wasn’t even sure what he had just said to her. The words had come straight from the heart – there was no premeditation in that, no ulterior motive. It was like someone had opened him up and pulled out everything that he had been wanting to say but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.
But for all of his heartfelt words, they still hadn’t confirmed one way or the other whether they would ever see each other again. He couldn’t understand why it was such a fraught subject. He’d tried to remain relaxed about it, although his offhand approach had only seemed to rile her. As far as he was concerned it was a no-brainer. He didn’t know where and when, but what was to stop them seeing each other again?
For some reason she seemed to have got it into her head that that wasn’t the case.
In a way, he could understand why the training he’d gone through all those years ago, when he’d first met Mackie, had been so concerned with trying to suppress emotions. The truth was, they were hard to deal with. He would even go so far as to say that they were a big hindrance. When you should be concentrating on catching a sadistic terrorist and all you could think about was when you might get to kiss your woman next, that could make the difference between success and failure. In a way, it already had. And when you were kissing you
r woman and all you could think about was how the hell you were going to find the baddies, that was equally likely to result in failure.
Feelings got in the way. Right now, he needed to focus on the investigation. Fagan had said that Logan would be going to America. The only thing he could think was that someone had found a lead on the originator of Modena’s kidnapping.
Logan reached the safe house and walked in, heading for the lounge. Mackie was there as he entered, dressed casually and standing by the desk next to Evans. Evans was on his feet too and Logan saw that he was tall and wiry; it didn’t look like there was an ounce of muscle on him.
‘You’re looking pretty dapper there, Logan,’ Mackie said, gesturing to the clothes that he had arranged for Logan at the clinic. ‘Much better than that normal crap you wear.’
‘You could’ve got me something warmer,’ Logan responded, taking a seat.
Evans came around and sat next to him. Mackie stayed standing.
‘You can sort yourself out at the airport,’ Mackie said without sympathy. ‘How’s the shoulder?’
Logan still had his shoulder heavily strapped but he hadn’t bothered to wear a sling; it would just get in the way.
‘It hurts like hell. But the drugs are helping.’
Mackie shrugged. ‘We’ve got a very good lead,’ he said, jumping on topic. ‘And with the twenty-four hours extra that we’ve had to dig, we think we may be getting to the bottom of this now.’
Logan’s interest perked up at hearing Mackie’s words, and all of a sudden his thoughts of the awkward conversation with Grainger were banished.
Mackie carried on. ‘As you suggested, everything points to Selim just being a hired gun in this. But that means we’re still looking for the missing link.’
‘By the missing link, you mean those who put together and funded this thing in the first place,’ Logan said. ‘Right?’
‘Exactly. Go ahead, Evans.’
‘This is just preliminary,’ said Evans, turning to face Logan, ‘but we’ve identified money coming across to Blakemore. Eight million dollars was transferred into his account two days ago, right about the time you stormed his farmhouse, I’m told. A few minutes later the whole lot was wired out to another account in the Cayman Islands. From there we don’t know where it went, if it went anywhere at all. We’re still looking into that.’
Evans pushed some papers across the desk towards Logan. He glanced at them without picking them up, determining that they were financial records of some sort. He didn’t need to inspect them any further than that. He was sure Evans and Mackie were about to tell him all he needed to know.
‘But you don’t think the money just went on to another one of Blakemore’s accounts?’ Logan asked.
‘We don’t know yet,’ said Evans, shrugging.
‘Why? What do you think?’ Mackie asked Logan, eying him almost suspiciously.
‘I’d bet my hat on it having gone to Selim. I think Blakemore was supposed to distribute part of the money to Selim and the others. But Selim had other ideas – he killed Reggie Graham, tortured Blakemore and transferred all the money to himself.’
‘Well, that would make sense,’ Evans said, picking up another piece of paper. He handed it over to Logan, who took it but didn’t look at it. ‘We can see a cancelled transfer for two million dollars to an account in England held by a Reginald Graham.’
‘Just one cancelled transfer?’ Logan queried, putting the paper on the table.
‘No, there’s another for the account which ended up with the whole lot. That was also for two million dollars. Straight after the cancellation, the transfer for eight million was made.’
‘That account has to be Selim’s then,’ Logan said. ‘So the eight million was transferred a couple of days ago? To Blakemore, I mean?’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Evans.
‘So something did happen in the farmhouse. They weren’t paid anything before that?’
‘We can’t identify anything unusual, no,’ Evans said.
It all seemed to fit with what Selim had said.
‘Well, that brings us back to the question of why they nabbed Modena,’ Logan stated, looking at Evans then Mackie. ‘They hadn’t even been paid anything up front. A few days in and all of a sudden they’re eight million dollars richer. Selim said it was for a name. But what name, and why was it worth so much money to someone?’
‘Which is exactly why I’ve called you in,’ Mackie said, finally taking a seat.
‘What? You know the answer?’
‘No, not yet, but we think we know where the eight million came from.’
Mackie looked over at Evans, indicating for him to continue.
‘We traced the eight million back to an originator. There was quite a paper trail behind the transactions. There’s money coming in and out of accounts all over the world. For many of the transactions we don’t know who the bank accounts actually belong to – it’s all obscured by the use of trusts, shell companies, fake names and the like. But we’ve found that the origin of the eight million dollars is a client account of a lawyer in New York. Alan Rosenberg.’
‘A lawyer? Well, that’s unexpected,’ Logan said.
‘Not when you find out who’s on his client list is, it isn’t,’ Evans said, pushing more paper Logan’s way. ‘And it wasn’t eight million. It was ten. The account that paid the eight million to Blakemore is with a bank in Bermuda. We’ve traced ten million dollars being transferred into that account. Like I said, though, it’s a whole catalogue of transactions, but the ten million definitely came from Rosenberg in the first place.’
‘So two million has gone to someone else?’
‘It would seem so.’
‘But we don’t know who owns that account? The one in Bermuda?’
‘No. We can see the money, but we’re working on who the account actually belongs to and we need to do some more work to unwind the other transactions.’
Mackie stepped in. ‘It’s the link to Rosenberg that we want you to check out.’
‘You said something about his client list?’ Logan said.
‘Yeah, this guy has a penchant for representing high-profile figures,’ Mackie said, ‘Usually pretty controversial figures as well. His biggest case was representing Tony Carlucci. That was also his biggest failure, as the guy is currently serving five life sentences for everything from racketeering to aggravated homicide.’
‘Tony Carlucci?’ Logan broke in. ‘The mafia boss?’
‘Yeah. Old-school Mafioso. Alleged to have headed up one of the East Coast’s biggest crime families. How much of that stuff is actually real is anybody’s guess, but he was certainly a pretty powerful guy.’
Logan’s brain was racing. This was a lot of information to take in, but things were starting to click into place now.
‘Lucky,’ Logan recalled. ‘That’s what Modena said to me. It was lucky. That’s the guy’s nickname, isn’t it? You know what these gangsters are like. Louis Mad Dog or whatever. Tony Carlucci is known as Lucky Tony. I remember reading about it when he went to trial. Modena was telling me who it was, giving me the answer.’
‘Jesus. Modena knew who was behind his kidnapping?’ Mackie said. ‘How did he know?’
‘Because Selim and Blakemore were trying to get a name out of him,’ Logan said. ‘They got their money when they got the information Carlucci needed.’
‘So you don’t just think this Tony guy’s got a beef with Modena and that’s why they nabbed him?’ Mackie suggested. ‘You know, he could hold Modena responsible for his being in jail. He wasn’t the presiding judge, but who knows what kind of role Modena had to play in the investigation, the trial, even the sentencing.’
‘It could be that,’ Logan conceded. ‘But the timing of the transfers doesn’t work for me if that was the case. And wouldn’t they have just killed Modena if it were? It’s more than that. Modena had a name that was worth ten million dollars to Carlucci.’
‘Okay. You need to go and p
ay Rosenberg a visit.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Logan said, remembering something. ‘Does anyone else know about this lead? The Feds, I mean?’
‘Of course not,’ Mackie said, offended. ‘This information is ours. No-one else will know about this until they need to.’
Logan thought back to the house in Dunkirk – holding Modena in his arms, the look on Grainger’s face when he’d recounted what Modena had said. Had she known about Carlucci?
Logan got up to leave. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’
Mackie stood up. ‘Logan, where the hell are you going? Your plane leaves in two hours!’
‘I have to check something out. I’ll be on the plane. I promise.’
When he was outside he took out his phone and called Grainger’s number, but it didn’t even ring out, just went straight to voicemail. He tried again twice more but the same thing happened each time. Frustrated, he stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He thought about heading back to the hotel to find her, but he wasn’t sure he had time.
What did Grainger know about Carlucci?
Maybe she had been right about him not really knowing her. He didn’t know what was going on, but Grainger knew something and she had kept it from him.
But there was nothing much he could do about it now. He had a flight to catch.
Chapter 58
Logan was driving the short distance from JFK airport to Manhattan in a rented Saturn, heading for Alan Rosenberg’s office. He’d taken a flight from Paris just after noon, landing in New York mid-afternoon. It’d taken him longer than expected to pass through immigration and it was now early evening. He’d toyed with the idea of paying a personal visit to Rosenberg, but in the end opted for the safer course of heading to his office in the first instance. It was the weekend, and Logan was banking on the office being close to empty. He wanted to go through the man’s belongings and his files, see whether there was anything in there to link Rosenberg and Carlucci to Blakemore.
Coming out of the Queens–Midtown Tunnel into Manhattan, Logan turned onto 41st Street, heading west He called Mackie as he drove. It had been a number of hours since they’d spoken in Paris, and given how quickly the investigation seemed to be moving, Logan wanted to make sure he was fully up to date.
