by Jeff Siebold
Candi paused for a minute, then she took his hand and pulled him closer and kissed him on the cheek. “Whoops. Sorry. I’ve been drinking shots,” she said.
“No worries,” said Zeke. “I’ve been sipping bourbon.”
“Hey, no fair. You know my name. What’s yours?”
“I’m Zeke.”
“Short for…?”
“For Ezekiel.”
The song changed to a heavy metal retro number.
“How about you, Candi. Do you work around here?”
She nodded. “I’m in a band, lead singer,” the girl said. “And I wait tables to get by.”
“What’s the name of your band?”
“‘Gypsy Moths’. We do indie music.”
“Where do you usually play?”
“Usually at the Parkside Lounge, just down the street.”
“Where else do you work?”
“At a bistro on Eleventh Street. Hey, you’re not a stalker, are you?”
“No. Not a stalker.”
“You’re in a relationship,” said Candi, stating a fact.
“I am.”
“And it’s a serious relationship,” she said, watching his face.
Zeke nodded.
Candi’s face changed to a smile. “I understand,” she said. “I was in one of those once.”
Zeke said, “And that’s the reason I’m not hitting on you.”
The girl thought for a moment.
Then she said, “Well, OK, then, Mr. Ezekiel, you’d better give me your digits.”
Chapter 14
“I’ve been monitoring the camera and mic we put in Julia’s apartment,” said Zeke. “She’s getting ready to go. Sounds like she’s planning a cruise on a private boat, maybe a yacht. If she handles it right, she could disappear.”
Kimmy, on the other end of the phone line, said, “Do you want me to come down there? To Savannah? I feel like I owe her, after she sent those two assassins to kill us.”
“Check with Clive. If you can get away for a couple of days, it’d be great. We may be able to find out more about her change of plans. And her current status. Where she’s heading and who she’s going with.”
“This all started with the phone call from New York, and with Byblos, LLC,” said Kimmy. “Sally told me.”
“Right. She was quietly hiding in Savannah, keeping a low profile. And suddenly she’s veering off on a tangential path.”
“Sally said she’s dangerous,” said Kimmy. “She’s involved with the Provisional IRA.”
“We think she is,” said Zeke. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s part of the radical fringe.”
* * *
Zeke sat at a table near the window of the diner, down the street from the brownstone. It was a busy New York day, with pedestrians walking briskly in every direction and no available parking spaces in sight.
He was lingering over a plate of cheesy eggs and a toasted bagel with lox and cream cheese.
“More coffee?” asked the server.
Zeke considered the offer, and then said, “Sure, thanks,” and set his cup on the table. The server poured and moved on with a fluid motion born of experience.
At nine-fifteen exactly, the limo that Zeke had seen before pulled into a reserved parking space in front of the brownstone. The large man in the passenger seat opened his door and got out of the car. He opened the back door and Ghafran Khoury stepped out. Accompanied by two bodyguards, he walked directly to the front entrance of the brownstone and disappeared inside.
Zeke took out his smart phone and activated an app, swiped and typed, and in a moment had a reservation for the Rumpus Room for eight forty-five that evening.
* * *
Zeke dialed his phone and waited as it rang once.
“7463,” said the female voice. As always, she reversed the last two digits of the phone number he’d dialed.
“Hi, Susan,” he said, using their word-code, calling her by a name that started with the same letter as the day of the week to confirm his identity. “I need something from you.”
“How can I help?” asked Sally.
“Check Ghafran Khoury’s relatives, his father, uncles, see if one of them could be in charge. Something’s not right about this guy.”
“Can do,” she said. “What are you thinking?”
“I’ve been watching Ghafran. He isn’t acting like a CEO. He acts more like an entitled offspring. See what you can dig up.”
“OK, will do,” said Sally.
“I also need background on a woman named Candi. She’s lead singer for the ‘Gypsy Moths’ band here in New York, so you should be able to track her down from their website. She’s a possible connection to Ghafran, a way in.”
“Will do,” said Sally. She sounded almost breathless.
“Also, if you can find any pictures of any of the older Khourys, show them to Kimmy. She may recognize them.”
“I can do that,” said Sally.
“Oh, and Susan?” said Zeke.
She was quiet, listening.
“Next time you’re in New York, you’ll need to check out the Rumpus Room.”
* * *
“Nice digs, Zeke,” said Kimmy, as she slid into the overstuffed corner chair. “This seems like a cool town.”
“Have you been to Savannah before?” asked Zeke, easing onto the small couch.
Kimmy shook her head. “Most of my travel has been international, except for my work with The Agency. But this town has been around for a while.”
Zeke smiled and nodded. “It has, for a U.S. city. But nothing compared with, say, Jerusalem.”
Kimmy nodded. “What’s the latest with Julia?”
“She has a plan now. Definitely. It sounds like she suddenly got direction and is about to take off with it. Like when you take a new job. That’s the feeling.”
“Then why escape on a yacht?” asked Kimmy. “That doesn’t sound like a very productive place to be.”
Zeke nodded again. “Depends on why you’re on the yacht. And what the objective is.”
“So she could be going aboard to rob the yacht.”
“Or the patrons, yes,” said Zeke.
“Like a jewelry heist. She’s pretending to be on the crew and then she robs them?”
“Or, bigger, she plans to hijack the yacht. Sell it internationally.”
“Is that really a thing?” asked Kimmy.
“Piracy? Sure,” said Zeke.
“Or?”
“Another option is that she did, in fact, get a new job,” he said.
“On the yacht?”
“Yes, but not as crew. More likely in security,” Zeke said.
“That does seems more likely,” said Kimmy. “If it were me, I’d do that.”
“Do we want to stop her before she gets to international waters?” Kimmy asked.
“Well, that’s where the Feds authority stops,” he said.
“But we have a little bit more, uh, ‘flexibility’ in our geography,” she said.
“International borders don’t mean much to you, do they,” said Zeke.
“They’re really just political lines in the sand,” said Kimmy. “Put there long ago for reasons that are mostly forgotten.” Then she said, “Julia Conners is dangerous.”
“How so?” Zeke raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“I checked on her with my Mossad connections. She’s been involved with the Provisional IRA for a long time. Lost her husband in the fight. They built car bombs and with a few other IRA-loyalists they blew up much of Belfast.”
“The Irish claim that wing of the IRA shut down around 2005,” said Zeke.
Kimmy shook her head. “No, the Brits conducted a study about it in 2015 after one of the IRA’s leaders was murdered. They said the Provisional IRA was smaller and less organized, but still a force. And they still classify it as a terrorist organization.”
“Perhaps they’re less political and more self-serving now.”
“Probably.
They’re little more than a gang of criminals. There’s no chance of the Brits withdrawing from Ireland. And that was their main purpose, their rallying point,” said Kimmy.
“Were you involved in any of the troubles back then?” asked Zeke.
“I can’t say,” said Kimmy with a Mona Lisa smile. “But what we appear to have here is a woman with deadly experience and a score to settle, namely, her dead husband. I’d think she has some very specific goals in her long game.”
“I agree with you. It may be best to hang back and watch for now. Deal with Ms. Conners at the right time.”
“Did Sally talk with you about Ferman Khoury?” asked Zeke.
“She found a picture somewhere,” said Kimmy. “A European newspaper or something. I recognized him.”
“Really. From…?”
“Guns. Rumor was that he was an arms dealer a few years ago, in Beirut. So I checked with my source and they say he’s still in the business.”
“Then Ferman may have made the call to Julia Conners, not Ghafran,” said Zeke.
“Ferman’s got a track record, but it’s possible he’s handing the business off to his son. Can you find out who contacted Julia? Through Ghafran, I mean?” said Kimmy.
“I can if I get close to him. I’m working on that.”
Zeke’s phone rang, and he checked the Caller ID.
“I’ve gotta take this,” he said. “Just a minute.”
He answered the phone.
* * *
“Hello?” Zeke answered his phone.
“Hi, Ezekiel,” said Candi. “Miss me?”
“Of course,” said Zeke. “What’s up?”
“I’m heading to the Rumpus Room later. Thought I might see you there.”
“Hmm, tempting. But not tonight,” said Zeke. “I’m actually out of town.”
“My loss,” said Candi. “When do you get back?”
“I’m planning on being back in New York this weekend,” he said. “Are you going to the Rumpus Room with G?”
“Yep, he invited my girlfriend and me.”
“I’ll try to join you next time,” said Zeke. “Always fun.”
“Oh, and this week Gypsy Moths play gigs Friday and Saturday night…”
“…at the Parkside?” asked Zeke.
“You got it.”
“I might stop by, then,” Zeke continued. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy your music.”
“Thanks!”
“Will G and his friends be there?” Zeke asked.
“No. But he is planning to be at the Rumpus Room again next Tuesday night. He’s invited me and my girlfriend, Fahima. It’s his birthday.”
“Do you get to bring a ‘plus one’?” asked Zeke.
“Why Mr. Ezekiel, are you asking me out on a date?”
“Let’s call it a double date,” said Zeke. “What time?”
“The usual, around eight thirty or nine,” said Candi. “Want to grab dinner first?”
“Good idea. Don’t want to drink on an empty stomach. Especially not Blue Kamikazes,” Zeke said.
“Agreed. No more blue drinks!” she said. “Tell you what. Meet me at Freemans. It’s on Chrystie Street. We can walk around the corner to the Rumpus Room from there.”
“OK, I’ll be there at seven thirty next Tuesday,” said Zeke.
“Good. I’ll be the girl in the Yankees jersey.”
“Let me guess. Number 13, A-Rod…”
“You got it. See you then!”
* * *
“She’s getting her things in order. Planning a trip, I’d say,” Kimmy said. She was watching the video feed from Julia Conners’ apartment, as the woman packed a few boxes with her personal possessions.
“She’s rented a storage unit. I heard the call,” said Kimmy. “Looks like she’s right on track with her plan to move out this weekend.”
Zeke nodded. “Did you see the name on her shirt?” he asked.
Kimmy nodded. “‘Gun Runner’ on an Izod shirt. Yep, I saw it. That looks like a crew uniform. Did you Google it?”
“It’s the name of a mega-yacht registered in Lebanon. Owned by guess who?”
“Byblos, LLC would be my guess,” said Kimmy.
“Bingo,” said Zeke.
“Where’s the Gun Runner now?” asked Kimmy.
“Sally found its present location online. It’s moored on Hilton Head Island, about fifteen miles from here.”
* * *
“How do we want to play this?” asked Kimmy. “Do we let her board the ship? Or do you want to shut her down while it’s still in port?”
“Let’s give her some rope, see what happens. We’ll keep an eye on the Gun Runner via satellite. Even if she’s in international waters, it’s an arbitrary boundary when you’re dealing with arms dealers,” he said. “I doubt anyone in law enforcement would object.”
“We could take her before they leave port.”
“On Hilton Head Island?” asked Zeke. “That’s pretty public. Lots of potential for interference by vacationers with nothing else to do.”
“I guess it might be better if we avoid the public show for now,” she said.
“She’s a pro,” said Zeke. “She won’t give anything away. Provisional IRA and all, they don’t talk.”
“What are you thinking?” asked Kimmy.
“The FBI isn’t interested enough in Ms. Conner to chase after her to Savannah,” Zeke said. “Maybe their interest would be higher if we can connect her with a federal crime. Say, international gun sales…”
“Quite possibly.”
“But we do seem to have some other leverage,” Zeke continued. “I wonder what Sally’s found out about her daughter Erin.”
* * *
“Her name is Erin McCarthy,” said Sally. “She lives in County Derry in Northern Ireland.”
“Technically, County Londonderry, since 1613,” Zeke said to himself.
Sally was silent for a beat. Then she said, “We were able to track the number that Julia called just before she boarded the Gun Runner. You remember the conversation.”
“Are we able to locate this Erin McCarthy?” asked Clive.
They were in Clive’s small conference room, in a briefing with Sally.
“The call was received on a cell phone, but we were able to track it to the nearest towers, through the service provider. It took some time, being overseas and all.”
“They tracked it using the same technology as a StingRay device?” asked Clive. “The tower was able to find the phone and determine its general location?”
“Sure,” said Sally. “As long as the phone’s on, it can be located by the towers. And the provider can get a dump of information from the phone, just like the StingRay.”
“And you say this is Connors’ daughter?” asked Clive.
“Based on their conversation, she is. And they sounded like they’re close,’ said Zeke.
Clive nodded.
“Are you heading back to the prison soon?” asked Sally.
“Tomorrow I’m due at Cumberland,” he said. “We’ll see what happens there.”
* * *
“We’re dropping another box of bananas off tonight,” said the voice on the phone. “Same deal as last time.”
Zeke said, “Kirby, right? OK, well, I’m here now, so come on by.”
Kirby hung up the phone.
Zeke, in the house on Seymour Street, stepped out on the porch to wait. Dusk was near, and the streetlights had come on already. In a few minutes, the blue Chevy truck rolled down the street leisurely and pulled to the curb in front of Zeke’s house. The headlights went out, and Kirby and his partner stepped out of their respective doors.
Kirby walked up the short driveway while his partner went to the back of the truck, opened the camper top, and took out two boxes of bananas.
Kirby said, “Same as last time. Take ‘em in first thing when you get there in the morning.”
Zeke nodded.
The partner set the boxes on the porch near Z
eke, and the men turned and left without another word.
* * *
“Maryland plates, XLY-4409,” said Zeke. “Blue Chevy truck, a Silverado.”
“You’re sure it’s his?” asked Sally.
“Fairly certain,” said Zeke. “He treats it like it’s his baby. It has a custom camper top and a custom paint job.”
“Jazzy,” said Sally, as she searched the state records for the plate’s owner. “You know how much of a truck girl I am.”
Zeke chuckled.
“Here we go. Registered to a Kenneth Kirby.” She gave him the address in Cumberland.
“Does he have any connection with the federal prison?” Zeke asked.
He heard the keys clacking over the phone line.
“He was a prison guard for several years,” said Sally. “Looks like he was dismissed, fired a year ago. Not sure why.”
“And he hung around. Where is he from originally?”
Sally was quiet for a minute. Then, “Let’s see. Looks like he moved there for the job. Before that, he was working at FCI Beckley in West Virginia.”
* * *
Zeke carried two large boxes into the correctional kitchen. The box marked “Dole Bananas” was on top, held closed with red strapping tape.
“Just set the bananas here on the floor,” said a voice from behind him.
Zeke turned to find two of the prison guards, Simpson and Cornfeld, leaning against a wall in the food preparation area.
“Sure,” Zeke said. “Hey, what’s inside the box, anyway? Besides bananas?”
As Cornfeld leaned over and picked up the boxes, Simpson said, “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“How are you guys connected with Kirby?” Zeke asked.
Cornfeld said, “He’s the banana distributor. Whatdaya think?” Then he snorted.
Both guards turned and started to walk away.
“I know you’re smuggling something into the prison,” said Zeke. “I’m just not sure what it is.”
The guards stopped in midstride and turned around. Cornfeld leaned down and set the boxes on the floor. Then both men walked closer to Zeke, crowding in on him.
