“How is Murat? Have you seen him since you got back?”
“No. Officially, I am on disability leave, but I will not go back to Ottoman Trading Company.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said sympathetically. “I haven’t talked to him in weeks. The last time was just before you got that loan from your brother. What do you think you will do next?”
“I am still sorting things out.” A few ideas were bouncing around in his head, but he did not want to share them with her. Nor did he mention the upcoming Sotheby art auction.
“Do you want to talk about us?” she asked. “I thought that might be why you called. I’m sorry about the way I behaved, slamming down the phone on you. I just went ballistic when I saw that video clip.”
“I can understand your shock. I didn’t tell you about the nightclub in Mexico City because I didn’t think it was that important. That’s the style of business in Mexico. Rest assured, I do not intend to return to Mexico anytime soon.” He gave her what he hoped was his most appealing smile.
Andrea returned his smile tentatively, then she became serious again. “After you called this week, I thought about us starting over. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered whether Humpty Dumpty can be put together again. We were sort of rushing into marriage without having talked about the trade-off between children and careers.”
“I thought we would get around to it when the time is right. I don’t have children from my first marriage to complicate matters.”
“I appreciate that, Bob. But my career is very important to me, and it has taken off in the last two years. I don’t want to go on maternity leave in the foreseeable future to have a child. Your career is—how would you describe it—unsettled. You’re smart and ambitious, and I’m sure you will be back on your feet again soon. It’s only a matter of time. But let’s face it. We really don’t know each other that well.”
Bob swallowed hard. Was this why he had called Andrea? To flush out the issues and deal with them? He sensed that he was at a tipping point. Did he want to start over with Andrea, or did he want a clean break with the past?
As he pondered how best to respond, Andrea pulled her phone from her purse to check her emails. She squealed with delight. “Great news! Dwayne Nelson has agreed to replace Fred Sanford on my television program. What a relief. I have been interviewing dozens of job applicants, and he seems perfect for the role.”
“That’s great,” said Bob. “How did you manage to find him in such short order?”
“Derek Taylor introduced him. He’s known him for a few years. Derek has been just wonderful, giving me moral support and helping me to think through the kind of person I would need to replace Fred,” she gushed.
“Have you started seeing Derek socially?” Bob asked since Andrea’s eyes lit up when she talked about him.
“Yes,” she admitted with a hint of embarrassment. “We have so much in common. We dated a lot years ago, and when you and I broke up …” She hesitated, not wanting to venture any further into tricky waters.
The expression on her face resolved any lingering doubts that Bob had about the end of their engagement. He acknowledged that she was physically attractive, even glamorous, but he wondered how he could ever have thought that he loved her or that she loved him. She could sense his waning interest. He asked a few polite questions about her old flame but could only think about Becky Moran. The conversation faltered. She cut the lunch short, claiming that she had to attend to urgent business.
The past could not be kept at bay forever. He received a telephone call from Connors and an email from Shafer asking why he had not contacted them after his return from Mexico City. They suggested a debriefing session at the Hilton Garden Inn near his office. He wanted to rebel, but he feared their power to destroy his life by pressing criminal charges against him. He decided to stall for time until he figured out what to do next.
He rented a Ford Mustang at a Hertz agency, packed his bag, and headed north on the New England Thruway with Jack beside him. He stopped at a gas station to send an email to Shafer and Connors that he was traveling. He did not say for how long, but he promised to get back to them after his trip. He toyed with the idea of crossing the Canadian border from Vermont but decided to check into a hotel in Boston instead.
For two days, he explored the possibility of establishing a false identity in Canada. His internet research—using a computer at a branch of the Boston Public Library—revealed that there were seven men with the name Robert Bigelow in Vancouver. One of them, a man in his early thirties, had recently died unexpectedly from a stroke. He had lived at 95 Cedar Crescent. But to pose as this man, he needed to get his date of birth and his Canadian social security number. How could he do that? There were a number of websites offering assistance in creating a false identity, but he concluded that they were mostly scams.
Still, he did not despair. The Sotheby auction of his father’s paintings would be in a matter of days. Once he had his share of the money, he would have international mobility. He could travel anywhere in the world and go into hiding before the FBI and the DEA could find him. However, he needed a bank account that they did not know about.
Walking back to his hotel, he noticed branches of both TD and Europa Bank on opposite corners of the street. TD, a Canadian bank, would have branches in Vancouver; but Europa Bank, a British institution, had operations in many countries, including both Canada and Switzerland. A Swiss bank account appealed to him because Switzerland’s bank secrecy laws would protect his identity. He might need that as a last line of defense.
By the weekend, an escape plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. To avoid arousing their suspicion, he sent an email to Shafer and Connors agreeing to meet Friday afternoon at the Hilton Garden Inn. That would give him a few days of leeway to establish an account at Europa Bank and to purchase a one-way Delta ticket to Vancouver departing Thursday morning. On Tuesday, he would attend the Sotheby auction with his brother, Dave, who had suggested in an email that they meet for dinner immediately after.
Chapter Fifty
Both Bob and Dave greeted each other somberly before the Sotheby auction began. Apart from an exchange of emails, they had not spoken to each other since their return from Mexico City. Bob was preoccupied with his secret plans and said little. Dave was moody, finding it difficult to adjust to the stark contrast between the elegant salon, filled with art connoisseurs and enthusiasts, and the squalid motel room in which they had so recently been imprisoned.
Memories of his near brush with death still depressed him. At times, he felt remorseful. He thought about the two hostages who had been executed at the cathedral in Morelia: Fernando Velasquez and Father Antonio Cardozo. If only he had not encountered his brother at the restaurant in Mexico City. If only the concierge at the Four Seasons Hotel had recommended a different restaurant to him. Then Bob’s ransom of Demir Ozmen would have gone smoothly, and no innocent lives would have been lost. Bob’s gratitude for saving his life was misplaced. Their unexpected meeting at the Villa Maria had caused Bob to forget his mobile phone, and his chasing after his brother’s car to return the phone had aborted the ransom attempt.
“Are you all right, Dave?” Bob asked.
When Dave revealed his thoughts, Bob gave him some good advice. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking that way. Accidents happen. You are not responsible. We survived, thanks to a lot of people. Some of their names we will never know. Now we need to get on with the rest of our lives.”
As the auction proceeded, with the final bids exceeding their expectations by nearly 10 percent, their spirits rose. Bob and Dave were euphoric, shaking hands and slapping each other on the back. For a moment, their differences melted away. Then the old differences started resurfacing.
“Bob, would you mind if we skipped dinner tonight? Next week would work better for me.”
Bob’s
voice revealed a hint of irritation. “I won’t be here next week, Dave.”
Dave seemed surprised. “Going on a business trip? We can always have dinner when you get back.”
“I may be gone for some time.”
“An around-the-world cruise perhaps?”
“Something like that. That’s why we need to talk now. It will only take a minute.” Bob pulled a piece of paper from his wallet. “I would like to have my share of the money—less the one million dollars that I owe you—deposited in my Europa Bank account. This is the account number.”
“Europa Bank? Didn’t you use to have a Citibank account?”
“I switched.”
“I hope that you are not thinking of hiding your money overseas. The IRS is cracking down on Americans who fail to reveal foreign bank accounts.”
“The IRS is not my main worry.”
Dave looked warily at his brother. “You’re not in trouble again, are you, Bob?”
“No more than usual. I’ve got to go, Dave.”
Dave grabbed his brother’s arm. “I need an explanation. What’s going on?”
Bob’s gaze faltered, and he looked away. “I’ll give you a hint. Your friend, John Shafer!”
“What has Shafer got to do with you?” exclaimed Dave.
“Shafer has got me by the balls! He is blackmailing me to force me to inform on Ottoman Trading Company!”
“What does he have on you?” The words exploded from Dave’s mouth. He felt as if someone had slugged him in the stomach. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place—the call from Shafer in August asking if he and his wife could stop over at Dave’s house on the way back from New Haven, the familiarity Shafer had revealed with the details of Bob’s life and movements, even though they had never met. Shafer had been stalking his brother!
“I would rather not say. Look, Dave, I’ve got to go. Thanks for giving me that loan when I needed it. I haven’t apologized before, but I am really sorry about dragging you into that trouble in Mexico City! Melanie and Helen will probably never forgive me.”
“They were pretty shaken up, but they are getting over it. They are happy that we are both safe.”
Bob swallowed hard. “They are more forgiving than I would be. Give them my best!”
“You are not saying goodbye, are you?” asked Dave. Then sighing in resignation, he gave Bob a hug. “Look, you do what you’ve got to do, but remember—I’m your brother. If you ever need help, you call me, understand?”
“Thanks, Dave.”
As Bob turned and walked away, there were tears in his eyes.
Chapter Fifty-One
Dave watched Bob head to the exit. Then his mind switched back to Shafer. He would call him and demand an explanation. What in the hell had been going on behind his back?
Shafer and he went back a long way. They were not only roommates at Princeton but fellow members of the University Cottage Club, one of the oldest eating clubs on campus for third- and fourth-year undergraduates. They had also played together on the varsity football team, which won a coveted Ivy League championship after decades of drought. Dave still remembered the days of celebration that followed. They had been heroes on campus. At one of the parties, Shafer had introduced Dave to an acquaintance of his girlfriend, who later became his wife, Melanie. Shafer had been the best man at his wedding.
For a while, their careers had followed similar paths. Both had gone to law school—Dave at Harvard and Shafer at the University of Chicago. Thereafter, their lives had diverged. Dave had found the lure of a corporate law practice at a major firm in New York City irresistible and had urged Shafer to make a similar choice. But Shafer had decided otherwise. He came from a family that had a strong tradition of public service in the military, so his decision to join the FBI after graduating from law school had not come as a complete surprise.
Dave thought he knew Shafer as well as anyone and had never had a reason to distrust him. But there was one trait he had noticed about Shafer from their football days. Shafer played to win. He was an offensive tackle who did not necessarily play by the rule book. On the field, he did whatever he thought he could get away with, just short of incurring a penalty. His competitive spirit won him the complicit winks and laughing admiration of his teammates and the coaching staff, but his furious opponents dubbed him “Cheating Charlie.” Charles was his middle name.
Dave tried Shafer at his office first. Shafer picked up on the first ring. Dave heard voices in the background. “Am I calling at a bad time?” he asked. “This is Dave Bigelow.”
“No, my meeting is just finishing.” Then, almost apologetically, Shafer added, “Dave, let me congratulate you on your narrow escape. Just like the good old days, miraculously escaping tackles when it looked like you would be thrown for a loss.”
Dave had played halfback on the football team. “The Phantom” had been his nickname.
“You’re working late tonight.”
“Yeah, things have been crazy at the office lately. Otherwise, I would have called you right after you got back from Mexico City.”
“I thought about you in captivity. I needed a helpful tackle to spring me loose.”
“We did our bit,” replied Shafer without elaborating. “What’s up?”
“Look, John, I just had a chat with my brother, Bob. Do you mind telling me what’s been going on? He said you were blackmailing him into spying on his employer.”
“Well, blackmail is a strong word. Let’s just say we persuaded your brother to cooperate with us. He should part company with his employer anyway. A shady bunch of people we are going to put out of business.”
“What are you holding over his head?”
“I am not at liberty to say. FBI policy, you know.”
“Not even off the record?”
“Minor drug offenses. That’s as much as I will say.”
“Minor drug offense, like hell. A minor drug offense would not get him to willingly put his life at risk dealing with Mexican drug cartels.”
“Dave, the FBI did not send your brother to Mexico. His employer did that.”
“Okay. Still, why are you hiding behind FBI policy now? I’ve never known you to strictly abide by the rules.”
“I also never knew you to complain when one of my questionable tackles sprung you for a big gain.”
“So you’re not going to tell me.”
“I’ve said all I am going to say.”
Dave felt his anger building. He needed to know badly. How could he help Bob if he was kept in ignorance? But first, he needed to remove the last vestige of doubt about the time John Shafer had invited himself and his wife over for dinner in August. The dinner talk had dwelt for some time on his brother—his latest activities, the turmoil in his personal life. It was Shafer who had injected Bob into the conversation. Dave had attributed his interest to friendly curiosity, nothing more.
“Were you trailing my brother already when you came over for dinner a couple of months ago?” he blurted out.
“He was on our radar screen,” admitted Shafer.
“You shit! How could you abuse my friendship and hospitality that way?” shouted Dave.
“Keep calm, Bigelow. My job requires that I sometimes do things which are not quite kosher.”
“Well, you can consider our friendship over.”
Shafer’s voice remained steady even though he was annoyed. “I hope that will not be the case. Besides, I need your help. What’s Bob up to? He has been avoiding me ever since his return from Mexico City.”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t keep my brother’s schedule.”
“Would you know if I told you your brother’s life is at risk?”
Dave gulped. “At risk? What do you mean?”
“One of the Mexican cartels is ticked off over the role that Bob played in the tracking down and
killing of the kidnappers. They have a price on his head.”
Oh god, thought Dave. Was this nightmare ever going to end? “He had nothing to do with that,” he said defiantly.
“Oh yes he did,” countered Shafer. “Why do you think he had a tracking app on his phone?”
“Because you put it there?”
“Not me personally, but one of my Mexican associates suggested it to him.”
Dave could no longer deny to himself what should have been obvious: his brother had been a police informer, just like Demir Ozmen and Pedro Guerra had suspected. That would explain why the two police cars had trailed him when he left the restaurant in Mexico City. He took a deep breath, and in a shaky voice, he divulged what he knew. The Sotheby auction had given Bob financial freedom, and he was about to leave New York on a long trip. Maybe he would never return.
When Dave got off the phone, the euphoria of the Sotheby auction had vanished. He had betrayed his brother. Whatever his brother had done, he wanted him away from New York, the FBI, and the drug cartels. Should he have kept silent, gambling that Shafer was lying about the death threat? But if he had refused to cooperate and the worst had happened, could he have forgiven himself? He had caved in because he had no choice.
Of one thing he was certain: he would never speak to Shafer again.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Bob kept his contacts with people on Wednesday to a minimum. There were no farewells to neighbors. He did not bother to stop his mail. He did not pay the rent on his apartment early. He intended to simply disappear. His only unusual activity was to stop at a pet shop to purchase a portable kennel for Jack. He would not leave his dog behind.
The line at Kennedy Airport on Thursday morning was short when Bob checked into the Delta flight to Vancouver. He had arrived early at the airport because he had to allow extra time for checking in Jack. Everything was going as planned, or so it seemed, until he heard a familiar voice as he turned to head in the direction of airport security.
Accidental Encounters Page 20
