Just a few more seconds, and she would be gone. Just a few more hours, and the next step would be complete. Just a few more days, and the mission would be over and he would be worth twenty-five million dollars. Their faces were only inches apart, and for a moment, as he stared into the pretty eyes that begged for mercy, Vargus considered raping her. It had been a long time since he had sampled female flesh, and he was hungry for it. She was prettier than he had remembered, and she would put up no resistance at this point. But that would leave evidence that plastic surgery could not alter.
The boy was outside playing, as he was every night. That was whom he really wanted. But he had to finish her off first. If he took the boy without killing the woman, she would quickly realize that the boy was gone and alert her husband. That could imperil the entire mission. Before entering the house, he had considered showing mercy—taking both her and the boy—but had dismissed the thought quickly. The man in Washington was furious enough because of the West Virginia intruder. There would be no deviation from the plan. Vargus leaned over farther and pulled at the ends of the rope even harder. And then Janice’s eyes rolled slowly back into her head.
“Get off her!” Eight-year-old Bobby Dolan screamed at the huge man as he tore across the bedroom and hurled his small body into Vargus. More than anything the impact surprised Vargus, and he tumbled off the woman, releasing his hold on her neck.
Her hands were suddenly released from beneath her body as Vargus fell from the bed. Janice grabbed the comforter and tried to crawl away. She tried to scream too, at whoever might be passing outside the house, but no words, only gasps, came from her throat.
At once Vargus was on his feet again. He glanced at the woman and realized that she would be incapacitated for several minutes. He turned to the boy, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and threw him into the closet. Within seconds he had immobilized Bobby with two of his father’s ties hanging from the rack on a far wall of the closet and stuffed a third down his throat so he could not scream.
Seconds later Vargus emerged from the closet and was back on the woman as she crawled toward the bedroom door. He picked her up by the neck and slammed her against the wall. The towel fell to a heap at her feet, and for an instant he gazed down at her nude body.
With all her strength Janice shoved two long fingernails deep into the man’s left eye. The eye filled quickly with blood. Vargus screamed in pain but did not release his hold on the woman even as the blood began to drip down his face. With a fury now driven by vengeance he wrapped both massive hands as tightly as he could around her neck and held on even as she beat him over and over about the face with the last strength left in her body.
Her death struggle did not last long. After a few moments her arms dropped to her side, her muscles began to twitch, and her eyes rolled far back in her head. Still, Vargus did not release his hold on her neck. He allowed her body to fall prone to the floor but maintained his grip on her delicate neck with both hands. The blood from his eye dripped onto her face, and still, he did not stop. The strain of the last two months rushed to the surface, and he vented his frustrations on her tiny body. Only when he became aware that she had lost control of her bodily functions did he pull back. She was quite dead now.
Vargus rose and moved purposefully toward the closet. The pain of his injured eye was excruciating, but he had endured pain far more brutal than this before, and the end of the mission still lay in front of him. The loss of one eye was a small price to pay for twenty-five million dollars.
He rolled the closet door open. Certain that there were just seconds remaining in his life, the young boy was terrified. But he was wrong. With a groan Vargus bent down and picked him up, carried him down the stairs to the first floor, turned out the porch light before leaving the house, and carried the boy quickly to the back of the Ford Taurus parked on the dark street in front of the house.
Vargus laid the small boy down on the snow behind the car for a moment, looked about quickly as he fumbled through his pants pocket for his keys, finally located them, and then attempted to insert the key into the trunk’s keyhole. It took several moments to focus on what he was doing through the blood already beginning to cake over his eye, but at last the thin silver key slid into the lock, and the trunk clicked open.
Vargus bent down, picked up the struggling child, hurled him into the trunk space, and slammed the door shut over him. Calmly the dark man glanced up and down the quiet street again, then moved to the driver’s side of the car, opened the door, and slid behind the steering wheel. He inhaled deeply several times, wondering if he should check the woman one more time to make certain she was dead. Far up the street he saw the faint glare of headlights and decided against the move. She was dead. There could be no doubt.
For a moment Vargus thought about the tracks he had seen in the West Virginia snow this morning. Tracks leading away into the woods. The only glitch in the plan. But there was nothing he could do about that now. He gunned the engine and guided the car smoothly away from the murder scene, which would not be discovered until it was much too late.
* * *
—
The Rotunda, the mammoth ivory-domed brick building that has served as the focal point of Thomas Jefferson’s University of Virginia since the school’s inception in 1819, rose into the night sky like a lighthouse over a calm sea, its pillared porticoes brightly illuminated by recessed high-voltage bulbs. The classic architecture of the building soared above the northern end of the Lawn, a tiered grassy area stretching away several hundred yards to the south. Lining the Lawn were the pavilions and hearth-heated rooms that had served as the classrooms and dormitory rooms of the university during its early days. Now the pavilions served almost exclusively as venues for social occasions, and only the best and the brightest students were granted the privilege of residing in the Lawn rooms.
Mace leaned against the smooth whitewashed wall of the entranceway to the vaulted tunnel running beneath the entire length of the Rotunda. He stood in the shadows at the bottom step of the adit with his arms folded across his chest and looked out at the historic ground through glazed eyes. Typically Mace would have appreciated the rich tradition of this place, but he had not slept now in almost two days, and his attention at the moment was focused only on keeping his eyes open and remaining alert. They could be anywhere, whoever the hell “they” were. And if they found him…Well, that was something he simply could not consider.
It was long after two o’clock in the morning, and the catacombs under the huge building were deserted. He shivered. The February night air was cold. He would have given anything to put his head down on a soft pillow and pull the thick blankets of a comfortable bed up over him. But that was out of the question right now. There was one last thing that had to be done before he could climb back on the motorcycle and head for a hotel.
Suddenly a dull crash echoed toward Mace from the far end of the dimly lit, eerie tunnel, like a gentle wave rolling up on the shore. Mace turned in the direction of the sound. For a moment he swore he saw a shadow fade into a distant corner of the catacomb. He squinted to make certain the shadow had been just his imagination. But there was nothing there. Paranoia was already beginning to play tricks on his mind.
Mace turned back toward the Lawn and, as he did, came face-to-face with Slade Conner. “Jesus!” Mace stepped back instantly, then smiled. “I wish you hadn’t done that.” His words echoed away into the darkness of the tunnel.
“It’s part of my job description to be able to do that whenever I want, a prerequisite for employment at CIA.” Slade smiled back at Mace for an instant, then glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s walk,” he said firmly in a low voice. It was never a good idea to stay in one spot too long. It made you vulnerable. A moving target was always harder to hit.
Mace nodded.
They walked up the stairs together and began moving slowly toward the dark open area of the Lawn, away from the
Rotunda.
When they reached the darkness beyond the arc emanating from the Rotunda’s lights, Slade broke the silence. “So what’s going on? You sounded upset on the phone.”
Mace nodded. “I was upset.” He hesitated. “First, I want to thank you for coming all the way down here from Washington to meet me.”
Slade waved a hand. “It wasn’t a problem. It’s only two hours from Washington here to Charlottesville, and it’s on open road. I’ve endured much worse, believe me.” Slade stopped for a moment when he remembered the long dirt road to the remote airfield in Honduras. “But what in the hell are you doing down here away from New York?”
“Let me get to that in a minute.”
“Okay, Brother.” Slade held up his hands. He did not want to seem too interested.
They reached the edge of the first tier of the Lawn and shuffled down the steep five-foot slope to the next level.
“You said if I ever needed a hand, I could call.” Mace’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Of course.” Slade’s expression became serious. He had a strange feeling about this, about what it entailed and who might be involved. He had hoped against hope that the subject of this meeting would involve something totally unrelated, that he wouldn’t have to make the horrible choice if the reason Mace had called him here was what Slade thought. “What is it?”
Mace stopped walking and turned toward Slade. “I called you from a little town in West Virginia.”
“West Virginia?” Slade stopped moving as well. “So that’s why you wanted to meet here. It’s on the way back to New York.”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing in West Virginia?”
Mace did not bother prefacing his explanation with a request for confidentiality. That was a given now. “Remember I told you when you were in New York awhile ago that I had taken on new responsibilities at Walker Pryce?”
“Yes,” Slade said firmly, attempting to mask his trepidation.
“That we were raising a large fund to invest in Manhattan real estate and stocks on the New York Exchange.”
“I think a billion was the figure you mentioned.”
“Exactly.” Mace smiled. “So you do listen.”
“That’s another part of my job.”
“Well, don’t ask me how, but I came upon some strange information with respect to how the money for the fund was raised and what some of it was being used for. I thought at first that I was just imagining things, but…”
“But you weren’t.” Slade finished the sentence.
Mace hesitated for a few moments before speaking again. “It doesn’t appear so. There’s something very wrong with the fund.” He paused. “Some of the damn money was being used to fund some sort of…well, the only way I can describe it is covert activity.”
Slade laughed, seemingly unimpressed. “Brother, are you sure you weren’t secretly CIA-trained? Covert activity? That sounds awfully official and awfully suspicious. Even coming from the mouth of an investment banker.”
It was unusual for Slade to be so casual, Mace thought. There was something amiss. “I’m not kidding.”
Slade knew his friend was serious, dead serious. But for the first time in his life he did not want to face the responsibilities of a friendship. “I know you aren’t.” His voice became eerily calm. “Tell me more.”
“I tracked a wire transfer out of the fund’s account to this tiny town in West Virginia. To make a long story short, more specifically I tracked the cash to what was supposed to be an abandoned coal mine about ten miles outside the town. Except that the mine wasn’t abandoned anymore. As near as I can guess, it was being used as some sort of training facility.”
Slade’s eyes shot to Mace’s. He said nothing, but Mace understood the question anyway.
“I hiked through the woods last night, went into one of the buildings on the grounds of this place, and found a huge cache of weapons and ammunition. Unfortunately I went a little too far. Somebody heard me, and he and his hound from hell chased me across the snow. Obviously I escaped.”
“So who transferred the money out of the account? I thought you were in charge of the fund.”
Mace shook his head. “My job with respect to the fund was to raise the bank money and identify real estate investors. I didn’t have anything to do with raising the equity, and I had no authority to transfer money out of the fund’s accounts. I didn’t even have authority to look into the account.” He pursed his lips. “Only my direct superior could do that.”
“Who was that?” Slade asked.
“Do you remember the woman I was with in Washington that day not too long ago? Leeny Hunt.”
Slade nodded slowly. He hoped that Mace had not seen his physical reaction to her name.
“She transferred the money to West Virginia.”
“But surely she isn’t the only one with access to the account.”
“There’s just one other person with the authority to go into that account. Lewis Webster, the senior partner of Walker Pryce.” Mace looked over Slade’s shoulder at the huge oak trees, which were beginning to sway back and forth in an icy breeze. Again he thought he saw shadows, but it simply had to be his imagination.
“You’re afraid that Leeny or Webster, or both, are involved in whatever was going on in West Virginia.” Slade’s expression became grim.
Mace nodded. “And I can’t go back to Walker Pryce because if one or both of them are involved and the activity down there is actually something illicit…”
“You’re a dead man.” Slade finished the thought. “Because you haven’t been to work and they will have been informed that there was an intruder. They might assume it was you.”
“I wasn’t going to call myself a dead man yet, but yes, something like that. It certainly wasn’t a Boy Scout jamboree going on at the abandoned facility. Not the way the guy and his dog came after me.” Mace paused. “A billion dollars is a lot of money. It could make people do funny things, especially if they are already involved in something they shouldn’t be.”
“Such as?” Slade’s tone was terse.
“I have information that indicates that there was some sort of coverup at the job Leeny Hunt held before coming to Walker Pryce.”
“How did you get that information?”
Mace did not want to drag Rachel into this by name if he could avoid it. “A little knowledge about your co-workers never hurts. You know that. I have friends in the business. A little digging, and I uncovered some troubling questions. But I don’t have any answers yet.”
“Uh-huh.” Slade wasn’t satisfied, but he didn’t press. “Was there anything else strange going on in the fund’s account?”
Mace nodded. “Yes. Almost all the equity money came through Capital Bank in Washington. It came to the fund in a roundabout way, but a friend traced all the money back as far as he could, and most of it went through Capital Bank. Nine hundred million of it anyway. And he couldn’t get farther back than Capital. Except in one case.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was able to get one of the account names at Capital Bank, an account where the money originated. But he couldn’t get past the account. In other words, he couldn’t find out how the money got into the account at Capital Bank.”
“What was the name of the account?”
Mace smiled. Slade was on board now. He was asking all the right questions. “Pergament Associates.” Mace hesitated. “Look, I need your help because I’m kind of cut off from my information sources. And well, honestly I don’t know how to deal with the kind of firepower I saw in that building in West Virginia. I didn’t know who else to go to. The local authorities probably would have thought I was nuts without some kind of tangible evidence. Obviously I couldn’t go to Leeny or Webster.”
“It’s all right. I’ll help. I’m your best frie
nd. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I appreciate it, Slade.” Mace looked around. “So let me get a little sleep, and we’ll head back down to West Virginia together in the morning. I figure you ought to be able to go to the state boys down there. You’ll have credibility.”
Slade shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “I want you to drive to Washington tonight. Go to the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown, and check in. Wait for my call.”
“What?” Mace stared at Slade.
“Do it.” Slade’s tone bordered at the edge of anger. “You came to me for help, didn’t you?”
Mace nodded. He had never heard this tone before, not directed at him anyway.
“Then do as I ask. And don’t call anyone.”
Mace nodded again.
Slade stared at Mace. The choice was appalling. It was the awful choice. He inhaled slowly, showing nothing to his close friend through his facial expression. “So how did you pick this place for us to meet?”
Mace smiled. “We played the University of Virginia in football down here our senior year. Coach had us come to the Lawn the day before the game so he could feel as if he were actually educating us. Don’t you remember?”
So many years. How was he supposed to remember some silly history lesson from so long ago? “Sure. Sure I do,” Slade said quietly.
29
Liam’s eyes fluttered open as he heard the door of the guard tower burst open. Instantly there were four of them, dressed from head to toe in black, standing before him, wielding impressive-looking hardware. Why in the hell did they need newer, probably more expensive guns just to shoot paint canisters?
The Vulture Fund Page 31
