His eyes flicked to Don’s and then away. “This way,” he said, leading him along the carpeted hallway. The man swished as he walked, which Don hoped wasn’t meant for him.
Walt’s office was impressive. He sat at a large walnut desk with a phone in his hand. He swiveled his chair toward the windows when Don came in the door. The built-in bookcases on the side walls held neatly shelved, thick-bound books. There were two pieces of art that looked like they belonged in the DIA and facing the desk was a long contemporary sofa. The male secretary gestured Don to a round table near the door, then swished to Walt’s desk to deposit the phone messages.
“Mr. Croft and Mr. Grady will be right with you,” the secretary said passing the table and exiting.
Croft spoke in low tones with his back to the room, so Don took the opportunity to check out his surroundings. The books at the front of the office seemed to be law journals, but behind Don’s seat were political biographies and history books. On the opposite side, a bookcase held a series of photographs. Men in dark suits posed in pairs, and threes, and in small groups. Don squinted to better see a photograph of Croft with the governor of Michigan and another of a much younger Croft with President George H. W. Bush.
Don sat upright when the door opened and a man who had been in the strike force meeting entered. He shook Don’s hand. “Bernard Grady. Thanks for coming in, Mr. Curtis.”
“Sure.”
“Let’s get started, shall we? Mr. Croft will be off the phone soon. Did you bring some estimates for the work?”
Don reached into his inside jacket pocket to retrieve the folded sheet of paper Agent K had prepared for him. It listed materials and supplies with costs.
“I don’t know anything about the cost of explosives or the associated components, but these numbers seem reasonable enough.”
“Those are liberal estimates. I may need to go to two or three places to purchase the items. The sale of a lot of these items trigger alerts. So it’s better to buy these things in small quantities so as not to raise suspicion.”
“I understand,” Grady said.
When Croft joined them at the table, he’d discarded his suit jacket. His shirt was monogrammed and he wore expensive gemmed cufflinks. He looked older in the fluorescent light, and Don noticed a wedding band.
“Everything in order, Bernie?”
“Yessir. It looks good. A modest budget actually. Should we make the usual arrangements?”
“That’s right.”
Bernie left to do whatever the usual arrangements meant. Croft poured water from a carafe into a glass.
“Water, Don?”
“No thanks.”
“None of us drinks enough water.”
“My wife says that. Or, she used to,” Don said, catching himself.
“You have kids?”
“Two boys. One’s nineteen. The other is sixteen.”
Walt nodded. “I have three girls. That Robbie kid seems to like you.”
“Hmm. I don’t really know him. Just from the chat boards. He seems like a good enough kid. A little green maybe. He reminds me of my oldest boy. He likes bikes, too. Motorcycles. I helped him buy his first one. That’s why I’m driving my piece of junk truck.”
“Well, our kids . . . that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Keeping the country safe and secure for our kids. We’ve had the good days. You and I. When America was great for the white race. I’m committed to making sure we keep our way of life. Like it was when we were growing up. All our institutions have let us down. The church, the government, our corporations, even the military,” Walt said.
Don was relieved when he heard the door open and Croft ended his tirade. Bernie stepped in with a white envelope and a piece of paper.
“We’re giving you cash, Don. That’s the way we like to do things. If you’ll just sign this receipt.”
Don scanned the paper. It was succinct, and a big fat lie. “For landscaping services rendered” it read. Below the signature line was “Curtis Landscaping Company.” He signed the paper and accepted the open envelope. It was filled with one-hundred-dollar bills.
“If you don’t spend the full amount, you can keep the difference,” Bernie said.
The door opened again, and the secretary poked his head in. “I’ll see you out,” he said.
Don slipped the envelope into his inside pocket and the three gawked at his gun.
Back in the parking lot, Don squeezed into his truck. The BMW next to him had parked too close. Don noticed the Jeep was gone, but all the other cars were the same. Since the meeting with Croft and his treasurer was straightforward, Don didn’t need to contact James.
What does a guy do with a wad of cash and the whole evening ahead of him? He felt, briefly, cheerful. Then he remembered Croft’s chilling diatribe. He exited the lot and turned the Ford in the direction of home. Home, he thought dolefully.
Man, what a fool you are, Rutkowski.
Chapter 21
Charlie had switched cars with Mandy again so she could return the wheelchair, and drive Ernestine to her follow-up doctor appointment. The swelling on the ankle was completely gone, and only a hint of bruising remained. The doctor had said Ernestine could return to her normal activities, including rejoining her walking group. They decided to celebrate with lunch at Cyprus Taverna in Greektown.
“I haven’t been here in years,” Ernestine said looking at the wall of photos and Detroit memorabilia.
“Greektown has really changed since the casino was built. Hellas restaurant closed last year. I hope this one can hold on,” Charlie said.
“Your father and I used to come here quite often. It was one of our date night spots.”
Charlie smiled. “You and Daddy made a striking young couple. I carry around this picture of the two of you,” Charlie said pulling out her wallet and handing Ernestine a small photograph. “I think you said it was taken at Belle Isle.”
“Oh my goodness, yes. It was at Belle Isle. Your dad and I had only been married a year, and he’d just gotten his first job as a lawyer. We used to go to Belle Isle as often as we could for picnics, the beach, and skating in the winter.”
“I remember your stories about that. You both look so happy in that photo; that’s why I keep it in my wallet.”
The owner stopped at their table to take their orders. They both ordered a glass of red wine, and Charlie got horiatiki. Ernestine ordered the lemon chicken soup. For appetizers they got olives and hummus. The food came quickly and, as always, was delicious.
“How is Mr. Constantine? You haven’t mentioned him.”
“Oh, Gabe’s fine. He’s been very busy lately. But he calls every evening, and he’s checked on me twice since I sprained my ankle.”
“Good. He seems nice. Maybe we can do brunch now that your ankle is better.”
“He’ll be away this weekend. He’s visiting some of his grandchildren on the West Coast.”
“I see.”
“Isn’t it about time that you and Mandy had your first cookout? There’s a long weekend coming up.”
Charlie laughed. “It’ll have to wait. Mandy and I are both working over Memorial Day. Let’s plan something for the Fourth.”
“Everyone’s so busy these days,” Ernestine said wistfully. She took a sip of wine.
“Well, now that the weather’s getting nice, we’ll bring you over to the house. Watching Hamm is pure entertainment, and I’d love to get your advice on a flower garden.”
“That sounds good, Charlene. I really think I need to get out more. Do some new things. Now tell me, how is your hate crimes case going? Gabe asked me about it when he called last night. He’s very taken with the idea of a lady private investigator.”
“I can’t tell you much about the case, Mom, except to say the task force is working around the clock on these crimes.”
Ernestine seemed disappointed. “Well, I just hope you can get justice for that poor Muslim family. Your father used to say it all the time. Justice isn�
��t really blind. You know that already, don’t you Charlene?”
“I know it, Mom. Say, how about we split some of that homemade pineapple cake this place serves.”
Chapter 22
Don met Agent K at a Home Depot near Telegraph Road. They pushed two shopping carts through the store gathering nails, nuts, duct tape, rags, PVC tubes, galvanized pipes, battery-operated power outlets with remotes, and various pipe caps. Don also bought contractor’s towels, trash bags, and gloves.
K purchased his items with cash. Don used his FBI-provided credit card. They walked out with ten of the store’s brown bags stuffed with their purchases, then drove to Lowe’s and repeated the process. In the Lowe’s parking lot they stuffed all the bags in K’s car trunk and rode together in Don’s truck toward Inkster City Hall.
“This place is awfully close to the Police Department,” Don said. “As a matter of fact, the Dearborn Heights police are only five minutes away.”
“That should help us. After the first explosion we want a quick response from the police, which will keep the Turks observers at a distance, especially from the three areas where our fake injury victims will be down.”
“Okay. Let’s drive the route in reverse, and then loop back,” Don suggested.
The route wound through a sparsely populated commercial street before turning onto the four-lane Michigan Avenue headed eastbound. They parked in a strip mall, walked the route, then crossed the street and walked back.
Late May was one of the most beautiful times in Metro Detroit. Some years winter resisted leaving and a late storm could dump snow or ice, but around the Memorial Day weekend spring took a ferocious foothold on the area. The grass on the Michigan Avenue median was green and mowed, and a few flower beds were blazing yellow, purple, and red.
“This will be easier than I thought. Lots of trees on either side of the avenue, even on the median. It’s a good path for a parade. Wide road with lots of open spaces for people to stand, and lots of places to park cars. I do think the porta-johns might be a good idea. We can stack six of them side-by-side and lock two with out-of-order signs. Our agents can use those for surveillance. The Turks will be observing, too, but we’ll be watching for them,” Agent K said.
They returned to the truck where the agent made a few sketches. He took some photos with a camera that had both a long lens and a wide lens. Don suggested they drive to a Dairy Queen they’d passed, where he bought two chicken strip baskets, chocolate and vanilla milk shakes, and an Orange Julius. Charlie’s voice sounded in his ear, so he ordered one side salad.
“I got chicken, shakes and one salad,” Don announced proudly as he stepped into the truck. “Plus an Orange Julius for me.”
“Great, I’ll take the salad if you don’t mind. My wife has been on me about too much junk food,” K said.
“I have a real wife and a work wife who say the same thing,” Don said.
K put down his notebook, opened the salad, and stuck a plastic fork in it. “Ms. Mack seems quite competent. You guys have a good reputation around town. That was extraordinary work in the trafficking case.”
“Yeah, well, we sort of fell into that one. We met Agent Saleh on that case.”
“He’s a good man, a supervisory agent now. He should continue to move up the ranks quickly if he stays with us.”
“Is he considering leaving?”
“You wouldn’t believe how competitive the Bureau is, and how cutthroat. There are more than a few men, and some women, who try to better themselves at others’ expense. He’s an easy target for that kind of self-interest. I know he prefers the casework to the politics. He’s told me so.” K pointed with his salad fork. “Uh, is one of those chicken baskets for me?”
# # #
When Don dropped K off in the Lowe’s parking lot, they had a plan and a timetable. The agent would lead a team of techs in producing a half-dozen modified pipe bombs that would be more showy than lethal. Two of the bombs would be elaborate noisemakers, while the others would have enough punch to topple trees and send earth flying. They’d plant the devices early the morning of the parade, day after tomorrow, dressed as public works staff hauling porta-Johns. They’d have a crew of six, and another ten agents would be on the scene a half hour before the start of the parade. All the devices would be detonated remotely.
With any luck the charade would convince the Turks that Don was the real deal, and the incident would get enough media attention to keep this group of domestic terrorists eager to execute the big event they’d been promising for weeks. With more luck, the Turks would reveal the full extent of their reach, resources, and numbers. Then the Feds could scoop them up, like fish in a barrel, before there was any more loss of life.
# # #
Don was to meet Robbie Barrett at the MGM casino. He’d picked that location so he could later rendezvous with Charlie near the quarter slot machines. It was James who suggested the dinner.
“He doesn’t have many friends outside of the knuckleheads in these right-wing communities. My agents say he’s eager to belong, and I want to keep him close,” James said.
“Why me? He and Novak hit it off.”
“He needs a male role model. He’s monitoring some dark net activity for us, and I want to keep him curious and interested in working for the good guys. I talk to him a couple of times a day, but I’m the wrong color. He’s asked me about you a couple of times.”
“You don’t think he’s trying to sell me out to the Turks, do you?” Don asked.
“No. We’re monitoring everything he does. So far, he’s been on the up and up. We’re interested in this Walthrop Croft, and Robbie’s already managed to attach a monitoring program to the guy’s office computer. I think the kid just admires you.”
# # #
Don decided to dress up for the dinner. Instead of his tweed sports coat and khaki pants, he wore a collared shirt under a long-sleeved gray sweater and a pair of gray Dockers. Without a jacket he secured his gun to a belt holster covered by his sweater. He’d called in a reservation to the steak house but didn’t need it because the place was half empty. When Robbie showed up, he’d also dressed for the occasion, wearing a pair of clean jeans and a polo-style shirt. Don had been nursing a scotch at the bar and greeted Robbie at the door.
“You ever been here before?” Don asked.
“No. I can’t afford a place like this on my salary. Not even for a special occasion.”
“Well, you’re going to get a sample of the good life tonight.”
Don ordered a steak. Robbie opted for swordfish.
“Don’t you eat red meat?”
“Not anymore. It clogs your arteries.”
“You’re one of those health nuts? Ride a bike, carry around a water bottle, and only eat chicken and fish?”
Robbie’s face stiffened. Don realized he was getting off to a bad start. He was being Don Rutkowski, not Don Curtis.
“Listen kid. I’m just messing with you. I don’t care what kind of food a man puts into his body. What’s important are his ideas. What’s in here.” Don pointed to his head.
Robbie dropped his shoulders and leaned back into the soft leather of the booth seat. He’d ordered a beer, and a gorgeous server with short red hair and a pierced nose placed it on the table in front of him.
“Can I get you anything else for now?” she asked, showing beautiful teeth and crimson lips. She looked from Robbie to Don and back again.
Robbie couldn’t manage to say anything. “No. I think we’re good for now,” Don replied.
Don watched as the boy’s eyes followed the woman’s exit. When he finally looked back, his face was flushed.
“She’s pretty good looking.”
Robbie nodded and took a drink of his beer, licking the froth from his lip.
“How long have you been with the Turks?” Don asked.
“Only five months. First, I paid the associate fees, twenty-five dollars, to get access to the membership benefits. You know, streaming video
s, tees, and an online newsletter. After a couple of months, I started attending the meetings.”
“You like these guys?” Don asked.
“Some of them are okay. I hated Frank Wyatt. What an asshole,” Robbie said.
“Yeah. He’s pretty much a loser,” Don agreed.
“You like working for the FBI?” Robbie blurted out the question.
Don swiveled his head to take in the room. No one was within earshot. “You have to be careful with what you say. You never know who’s listening.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I was just curious, you know. You don’t look like all the other guys I saw at police headquarters.”
“I’m not with the police. I’m a private investigator. But I’ve been a cop. I also worked with Homeland Security.”
“No way,” Robbie said. “That’s serious, man. What’s it like being a private investigator? You think it’s better than being an FBI agent?”
“I don’t know that it’s better, but you have more control of your life.”
“That’s cool.”
“So the Turks like you and your work?” Don asked.
“I think so. They steal credit card and bank information so they can fund their activities. The membership and associate fees don’t go very far, you know? So, I’ve helped them set up a couple of accounts where they can phish, you know?”
Don pretended to know. “Identity theft?”
“Yep.”
So Charlie was right.
“Why’d you decide to work with the FBI?” Robbie leaned in to whisper the question. “Do they have something on you, too?”
“No. Nothing like that. I have a son. I want him to grow up in a world where he can be happy and safe, not in the dangerous world the Turks are trying to build,” Don said, taking a sip of his Dewar’s. “That shit they’re doing is crazy. How does that help anybody?”
Robbie looked at his beer. He leaned his arms on the table. Don sipped and let the boy think it through for himself for a few minutes, then offered to answer any questions he had. But before he could start, the pretty redhead was headed back their way, leading a white-shirted muscle boy with a tray. He put their plates in front of them and disappeared. She topped off their water, though it didn’t need it, and grabbed ketchup, steak sauce, and sriracha from the booth next to them.
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