Deadly Promise

by Brian Crawford

  “Not just no, but hell no! I’ll find Boyd on my own.” Several faces in the busy restaurant turned to look at me. I didn’t care.

  Sampson said, “What if I told you it might already be too late?”

  “Meaning you know for a fact the Outfit is coming after me, and no one thought to tell me. Not until it was mutually beneficial. Or until after the fact so you could prosecute them under RICO or murder charges. F you, Sampson. F you, Appleseed.”

  Sampson’s eyes widened at the intensity of my response. “Dr. McCain, we realize you’re upset. Maybe you have a right to be.”

  “Maybe. Fucking maybe. I can’t remember the last time I used the f-word. That’s how angry I am. Is it palpable? Cause it feels palpable to me.”

  Sampson looked around at the faces staring our direction. “Dr. McCain, please ca—.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down.”

  I glanced down at the check, stood up, fished cash out of my pocket, and paid the bill.

  Sampson pulled a piece of paper from his front jacket pocket and started reading. “Jackson Estes. Junior Estes. Bruce Helfer. Paul Bly. Jay Karnes. Darwin Strasser.” The list contained people who died during a shootout two years ago. “Should I go on, Dr. McCain?”

  “That’s your next play? I’m not worried.”

  “You should be. You already argued about the Dixie Mafia being organized.”

  “So.”

  “Organized crime falls under our jurisdiction, Dr. McCain. We could open an investigation.”

  “Once again, so what?”

  “Let’s not forget Barry Bell. You killed him in December outside your apartment. He was part of the Green Earth Movement, a known domestic terrorist organization. Also, under our jurisdiction.”

  “Your agent killed four guys that day — two in GEM, one private security consultant, and Edwin McConnell, the director of the Criminal Investigative Division of the Environmental Protection Agency, who happened to be the leader of the Green Earth Movement. A supervisory level federal employee was the secret head of a domestic terrorist organization. You want to open that up again, be my guest. While you’re at it, go to Cambodia and dig up the guys I killed there. And there are some in the Philippines as well, although I can’t tell you about those. Confidential, top-secret, and all that.”

  Appleton said, “We’re the FBI. We can find out anything we want.”

  “Parts of my past are on a need-to-know basis, and you, my apple-loving friend, don’t have any need to know, so save yourself some trouble and shut up.”

  I saw Larry turn his head to the side to suppress a smile, then cough to cover up his laughter.

  “Sit down, Dr. McCain,” Sampson pleaded.

  “Bite me. If you had wanted to play with my life a couple of years ago, I might have said yes. I got a wife now.” I turned from the table and started to walk away.

  Sampson said, “Your mother’s name came up as well.”

  I stopped. Turned around. Walked back to the table, leaned into Sampson’s face until less than a foot separated us, and glared for several seconds. “Stop while you can, Sampson. Eventually, you will say something that will get you into trouble you can’t extricate yourself from. Something that badge won’t save you from.”

  He didn’t blink, choosing to glare back. “Are you threatening a federal officer?”

  “Sampson, if I threaten you, you won’t have to ask.”

  ***

  I furiously walked out of the restaurant without turning back despite requests from SSA Sampson and Larry. I wasn’t mad at Larry. He had been an unwilling accomplice. But the FBI could, well, my mind was flooded with the many things the FBI could do. None of them pretty. My feet pounded the concrete as I walked furiously past the US Navy Memorial Plaza, causing me to reflect upon my three years in the Navy. Easier times. Dealing with the murderous Pol Pot regime seemed better than dealing with the manipulative FBI. I crossed Pennsylvania Avenue and found myself walking past the Department of Justice Building.

  Ha. What does anyone in Washington D.C. know about justice?

  The audacity of the FBI was staggering. If they knew there were legitimate threats against me, then why wasn’t I informed. I had a good relationship with the FBI. And more importantly, why wasn’t my mother informed. Her ex-husband had once been the Lt. Governor of Illinois. Surely, that bought her special consideration. Except, it didn’t. My mother and I were pawns to be sacrificed by the FBI in their game with organized crime.

  It all comes down to Scott Oswald Beyers. He’s still stoking the flames of someone inside the Outfit. Well, if SOB wants a fight, then SOB will get one.

  I continued south on 9th Street. Past the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History. I thought about going inside but changed my mind and headed west at the National Mall toward the Washington Monument before crossing the lawn to the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. The exercise, the endorphins from the brisk walk, helped to calm my anger. I skipped the Lincoln Memorial, walked north past the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the black granite wall a somber reminder of the absurdity of that war, the unnecessary deaths, and circled back to my hotel.

  Special Agent Larry Armour was standing outside my room waiting for me, shaking his head partially in disbelief and partially in an apologetic manner as I approached.

  “You are Plan D, huh?” I said.

  “D?”

  “I figure Sampson already worked through A, B, and C. As my friend, you’re here to talk some sense into me.” I reached past Larry, placed my card key in the electronic lock, and opened the door. “You might as well come in and make your pitch.”

  Larry followed me inside. He apologized profusely, laying it on a little thick, I thought.

  “I’m feeling a little unappreciated right now, Larry. I thought my relationship with the FBI was solid after helping them last year. After the Bureau’s horrible performance at Ruby Ridge in ‘92 and their colossal screwup of epic proportions during the Waco siege last year, Jessica and I helped them save some face. Damn it, Larry. All I wanted was some help finding Boyd!”

  I was yelling by the time I finished talking, which caused Larry to stare at me wide-eyed.

  “It’s okay, Larry.” I plopped down on the bed while motioning for Larry to pull up a chair. “It’s not your fault. Let’s hear what the friggin’ FBI sent you to say to me.”

  “I’m supposed to give you a little history lesson concerning the Outfit’s fascination with you.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “It seems Darwin Strasser, the Dixie Mafia boss killed two years ago, had links with the Outfit in Chicago. Strasser helped them move some product, and now the Outfit is seeking revenge for your interference in their revenue stream.”

  “Bullshit, Larry. I didn’t kill Strasser. Junior Estes killed him.”

  “Sampson says their man in Chicago doesn’t believe the police report.”

  “Larry, the Outfit is not stupid. Organized crime is all about money, not revenge. And there’s no loyalty anymore. Do you think anyone in Chicago cares about Darwin Strasser? Hell no. You tell a crime boss in Chicago that some redneck in Mississippi is dead, his orders would be to find a replacement. Nothing more.”

  Larry nodded without saying anything.

  “And most importantly, I don’t believe Sampson. He’s making up the relationship. This all boils down to Scott Beyers somehow. I’d bet Sampson’s head on it.”

  “You wouldn’t bet your own on it?”

  “No, why risk something useful? Sampson’s head sounds about right.”

  Larry smiled. “Does that mean you aren’t completely sure of Beyers’ involvement?”

  “I’m as sure of it as I am that you are wearing a wire right now.”

  The look of shock on Larry’s face quickly transformed into a wry smile. “A wire. I’m not wearing a wire.”

  “Get that damn thing out of my room, Special Agent Armour.”

  Larry was verbally protesting, but his smile told me
he was glad to take the hidden wire off. He reached inside his jacket, undid his shirt, and removed the listening device before opening the door and dropping the microphone in the hallway.

  I mouthed, “Any more?”

  “No,” Larry said. “Thank God, I was wondering if you suspected a wire. I thought I might have to draw you a picture.”

  “I was waiting for the right time. Will this get you into trouble?”

  “No, they know you’re smart. That you have intelligence experience. But I do need to tell you they are prepared to lean on you. Follow you everywhere you go. Stifle your investigation into your friend’s disappearance until you come crawling back to them for help.”

  “Thanks for the heads up.”

  “The FBI is pretty good at this kind of stuff, so even as your friend, it is more of a warning than a heads up.”

  “Good or not, Sampson will have to ask permission for funding to follow me. He won’t get it. No one will approve resources aimed at a guy who knows nothing and refuses to offer himself up as bait. All I have to do is wait out his initial attempts to intimidate me. Probably 24 to 48 hours. Once I get past that, I’m home free again.”

  Larry laughed. “For someone who was in Naval Intelligence for only three years, you have an uncanny knack of knowing how things work.”

  “Like with the Outfit, any large organization has to worry about money and resource allocation. It only makes sense.”

  “Sampson has one trick left up his sleeve. I don’t think he’ll use it because it sounds even more idiotic when you say it out loud, but the fact he even thought about it is a sign that he’s desperate.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “They are kicking around the idea of presenting you as a vigilante with an ax to grind against organized crime. Maybe you even represent another unknown criminal entity.”

  The roar of my belly laugh filled the room as I literally doubled over in laughter. “Please stop, Larry, you are killing me. Now I wish I hadn’t had you take that wire off so the assholes on the other end could hear my response.”

  Larry smiled and waited for me to regain my composure. “The adventures of L.T. McCain, ER doctor by day, vigilante crime fighter at night.” He went on for several seconds in an exaggerated TV announcer voice, cracking himself up in the process. “Seriously, though, what’s next for you?”

  “I’d share if I could, but I know you understand the concept of plausible deniability, my Federale friend.” He shook his head in an understanding manner. “Larry, you still want to solve this kidnapping case?”

  “Damn right, I do. Partially because I owe Boyd for saving Ellen. Partially because it would be a nice feather in my cap.”

  “Then, I’ll keep in touch and give you everything as I get it. I’ll have it all wrapped up for you in a big, pretty bow that says give Larry a promotion.”

  “Deal. I have to go so I can let them know I told you everything they wanted me to. If you are getting out of here, do it before reinforcements show up.”

  ***

  I called Jessica as soon as Larry left the room to tell her about my visit with the FBI. Sampson had managed to get the f-word out of me, a real rarity. Jessica said much worse. And more than once. In the past, I had teased her about her potty mouth. After one particular incident, she responded by showing me an article from a peer-reviewed psychology journal detailing how intelligent people were more likely to swear. I think she must have been feeling particularly smart that day. On a positive note, Jessica had verified Mansfield’s address in Bethesda, less than ten miles away just inside the Capital Beltway. Larry’s warning about reinforcements was playing over in my mind, meaning I needed to cut Jessica off and get moving unless I wanted to spend an entire afternoon trying to lose an FBI tail. Jessica told me she loved me and wished me luck.

  I opened the hotel room door and peered outside. Looked down the hall. Saw no one. I was in the elevator heading down when I had a change of plans. Larry said the FBI was good at this kind of stuff. Time to see how good. I needed a different way out of the hotel other than through the front door.

  I stepped out of the elevator on the next floor and went in search of a different approach. The stairs. No good. They would watch the stairs. I need something better. I had to walk down three different hallways before I found what I was looking for — a service elevator. As expected, the elevator required a special key to activate it. I had no choice but to wait. I gave up after ten minutes and took the stairs. My nose found what I was looking for on the third floor — the smell of laundry and bleach. I walked to the service elevator near the laundry room and waited. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “You can’t use that elevator, sir.”

  I turned to see a short, plump woman in her late fifties or early sixties pushing a cart looking at me. Face neutral, like her tone. A hard read even for a human lie detector like me.

  “Hello, ma’am. You’re what I’m looking for.”

  “Why? You need an extra towel? I could see why a big fella like you might need one.” She reached into the cart and grabbed a towel. “Don’t take it down to the pool. We got different towels for the pool.”

  Poker-faced but naturally helpful. I could work with that. “Thanks, ma’am, but I don’t need a towel. I need you.”

  She smiled for the first time. “Been a long time since a man said that to ole Evelyn. Never had one as good looking as you say that to me, though. What do you need from me?”

  “Evelyn, I need a ride on your elevator.”

  “It’s an elevator. Goes up and down, same as all the rest.”

  “Evelyn, I’m wondering if this elevator stops near an outside exit. You know, some way to get out of the building unseen.”

  “You famous or something?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “No? You got someone after you, though. I can tell.”

  “Sort of.”

  “You dress nice. Casual but not cheap. You are easy on the eyes. Good looking fella even if your hair is all messed up. If you ain’t famous, then you is here on a nooner with someone else’s wife.”

  “No, ma’am. Would you believe me if I told you I don’t want certain government officials to see me sneak out?”

  Her eyes slit as she scrutinized me.

  I reached into my back pocket, pulled out my wallet, and showed Evelyn a picture. “This beautiful creature is my wife — the love of my life. I wouldn’t even dream of stepping out on her. You know the old saying: why eat hamburger whe—.”

  “When you used to eating steak,” she said, finishing my sentence. “My husband used to say that, and he meant it. God bless his soul. Who you trying to avoid?”

  What the hell, I thought. Either it will work or it won’t.

  “The FBI.”

  Her first big smile. “Why didn’t you say so? My cousin Tommy is a feeb. He’s also a jerk. Thinks he’s the cat’s meow, but he ain’t nothing more than a pimple-faced accountant who stopped coming to the family reunions once he got his mail-order bride from Taiwan, or Thailand. Something with a tie sound in it.”

  I smiled because I knew Evelyn was going to help me. Thank you, cousin Tommy.

  She took me to the ground floor in the service elevator, walked me to a back service door, and opened it with her card key. I glanced out the doorway expecting to see an alleyway but was greeted instead with the sights and sounds of a busy street.

  “You need my help again, call the desk and ask for Evelyn to bring you a towel. Good luck. I hope you run into Tommy and show him up.”

  I thanked Evelyn and offered her a twenty-dollar bill, which she promptly declined until I insisted. I let my eyes adjust to the bright sunshine of a beautiful last day of August before looking around for a tail. Found no one that looked suspicious. I approached the curb to flag down a taxi. Two passed before one slowed down.

  I climbed inside. “Bethesda Country Club, please.” I didn’t want to alert the driver to my actual destination, and the country club was walk
ing distance from Mansfield’s home.

  The driver voiced his understanding in a noticeable Indian English accent. The man looking at me in the rearview mirror had kind eyes, with a full beard and bright yellow turban that made it difficult to determine his age. My guess was mid-forties. The cab pulled away from the curb, traveled a few yards, and came to a dead stop in the heavy D.C. traffic.

  Suddenly, my door opened, and a young man wearing a business suit and sunglasses slid in next to me. I didn’t move over, meaning the man had to jam himself into the tight space. He pulled the door shut behind him, but I never heard it latch.

  “So, you thought you could slip away, huh, McCain? Didn’t Special Agent Armour tell you we are good at what we do?”

  The driver turned around in his seat and responded in a firm voice. “This taxi is taken, sir. You need to exit my vehicle right now.”

  The FBI agent said, “Don’t worry, McCain has been expecting me.”

  “Is this true, sir?” the driver said to me.

  “No. Look at this guy. He’s a pervert who wants to sit on my lap.”

  “Get out, sir!” the driver said in a firm voice.

  The young agent dismissed the driver with a flourish of his hand.

  “You aren’t that bright, are you? The man talking to you is a Sikh. They are very concerned with justice and helping people in times of need. Based on his appearance, he looks to be someone who strictly adheres to the Five Ks, meaning he probably has a kirpan on him right now.”

  The agent looked closely at the driver for the first time since entering the cab, studying him for a few seconds. “What’s a kirpan?”

  The driver said, “It is a knife worn as an article of faith. It is only used for self-defense or when coming to the aid of others in need.”

  The agent reached into his coat pocket, retrieved his badge, and showed it to the driver. “Special Agent Farrance of the FBI. I need to talk to your passenger. You need to turn around and drive.”

  “I do not think my passenger wishes to speak with you, but if you two need to talk, then do it somewhere else.”

  “We have nothing to talk about, Agent Farrance. Now get off my lap.” I reached across him and opened the door he was resting against. He nearly fell back out of the car. “I can’t stop you from following me, but I know I don’t have to put up with harassment. Get out, Farrance.” Somehow, I resisted the urge to shove him out onto the pavement.