Rank: Lighthouse Security Investigations Series

by Maryann Jordan

  “I saw her as a mission. I was determined that all I was feeling was just concern over a witness.” Sighing, Mace added, “I was a fool.”

  Blinking, he struggled to not show his surprise at Mace’s words.

  “I have no idea what Helena Jernigan is to you, but when one of my best men loses their focus, then I figure she means something more than a mission.”

  Coming to his own defense, he said, “I’m not going to fuck up the mission.”

  “Didn’t say you were.”

  Clamping his mouth shut, he waited.

  Mace continued, “I think that, like I did with Sylvie, you’re denying your attraction to Helena and I’m telling you there’s no reason to.”

  “Believe it or not, I told Walker that I wanted to go for her.” Shaking his head, he added, “I’ve just got no idea how to do that and run the mission at the same time.” Hearing his own words, he startled, quickly adding, “Fuck, Mace. That was not an admission that I can’t do the job.”

  Mace chuckled. “I never worried about the mission. I guess what I’m saying is that when it comes to my staff I never worry about the mission. It’s just, now that I have Sylvie and David in my life, I understand that there can be more to life than just work and that doesn’t mean you are compromising the mission. As long as you can remain focused when you need to be and mentally and physically present when on the clock, it’s fine for you to go after wherever your heart leads.”

  They stood for a moment, breathing in the clean, fresh air while watching the gulls swoop and dive into the surf.

  “I can see why you like to come up here,” he said.

  Nodding, Mace agreed. “I’ve been coming up here since I was a little boy. My grandfather used to tell me stories of pirates and then he’d switch over and tell me stories of the lighthouse keepers that saved people. Lotta little boys want to be a pirate, but I don’t mind telling you the real stories scared the shit out of me. But the lighthouse keepers? I thought they were the greatest heroes in the world.”

  Mace shifted around and looked at him. “When we were doing Special Ops, the only name I knew for you was your call sign, Rank. I guess it was years later when I found out your name was John Rankin. I couldn’t believe the coincidence…or maybe providence. In the 1800s, there was a James Rankin who emigrated from Ireland and became a lighthouse keeper in California. He was a lighthouse keeper for about fifty years and is credited with having saved over eighteen lives. That was so impressive, the US Coast Guard named a ship after him.”

  Stunned, he said, “No fuckin’ way, boss.”

  Smiling, Mace nodded. “Honest to God truth. You can look it up.”

  He shook his head, grinning at the knowledge of his similarity to a keeper from long ago.

  “Growing up, the stories my grandfather told me made a real impression. In a modern military, with all the weapons and equipment we had at our disposal, we knew what it meant to face death and could prepare for it, try to make sure it didn’t happen. But those lighthouse keepers of many years ago had no special equipment when they jumped in the water to save someone. When I built this security business, I wanted it filled with my version of modern-day keepers.”

  Standing to his full height, Mace stretched and said, “You’re not afraid to head up the mission and run straight into the line of fire to save someone. Don’t be afraid to put that kind of tenacity into a relationship when you find the right woman.” With that, he turned and started around the lights, moving toward the steps. “Come on down when you’re ready.”

  He stayed for several more minutes, watching the waves crash upon the rocks below. With the sound of the ocean in his ears and the sun on his face, he felt invigorated. Strenth renewed, his mind moved to the task at hand. His gut told him that Frank Tercelli was involved with Anatoly Kozlov. Whether or not the Senator was involved, was still in question. And, whether he liked it or not, there was the possibility they were trying to involve Helena. If he truly wanted to protect her, he had to figure that out—and fast.

  Tapping his hand on the rail as he stood to his full height, he turned to head back down the lighthouse. Mace was right. This was about more than just the mission. He wanted to do a lot more than just protect Helena. He wanted to get to know her…see where things led. Now, how to make it happen?

  10

  At work the next day, Rank was just about to head out to lunch when Mace turned to him and said, “It’s official. I just got word from Jerry Dalton, the FBI Director, that he wants us continuing on the Lawrence Griffey case. Rank, your liaison with them will be Edwin Martin. We’ve never worked with him before, but I can’t imagine that it won’t be a good partnership. My understanding is that he has been briefed and is expecting you this afternoon.”

  Nodding, he headed into the locker room and grabbed a clean shirt, tie, and sports jacket. After briefing Walker and Drew, he moved over to Sylvie and Babs’ desks.

  Seeing him, Sylvie lifted an eyebrow. “You’re heading to the New Hampshire FBI office, so remember to keep track of your mileage so that you can turn it in when you’re back here.”

  He sighed heavily and the Keepers behind him chuckled. “You do know it’s a pain in the ass to have to keep up with all this, right?”

  “I know Mace runs a tight ship when you guys are out on a mission,” she quipped. “But the paperwork and timesheets and mileage tracking and expenses? They were a total mess!”

  Grinning, he accepted some of the forms from her. “You know I’m just teasing. If it weren’t for you and Babs, we’d be totally lost.”

  Babs rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and you just keep remembering that, big boy. If it wasn’t for us, LSI would fall right down into the ocean and take you with it.”

  Barking out a laugh, he shook his head as he left the compound. Moving through the kitchen upstairs, he looked down to make sure he was not stepping on one of the cats Marge had circling around. “I’m heading out,” he said, moving to the ever-filled coffee pot. Marge handed him a travel mug and he quickly filled it before snapping on the lid. As he turned to head outside, she handed him a bag.

  “Here’s a sandwich you can eat on the road.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek and, with a wave toward Horace, made his way out to his SUV.

  It took several hours to drive from the LSI compound in Maine to the head FBI office in New Hampshire. Images of Helena continued to pass through his mind and he had to force himself to think about the case. What had Lawrence found out? What did he know? Was it information just on Frank, or is Thomas involved as well?

  Once he passed through the initial security at the FBI building, he was led upstairs. He knew what he was seeing was typical of a government building, but could not help but compare it to the cavernous compound of LSI, filled with the latest technology. Passing several rooms filled with utilitarian cubicles and plain metal desks, he realized how grateful he was for Mace’s invitation to join his company. If I had to work in this environment every day, I’d lose my fuckin’ mind.

  He continued to Edwin’s office, passing several more sections of cubicles on the way. As he neared his destination, he noted that one wall was clear glass and, as he passed, he was able to see a man inside. Walking through the open door, knocking once to announce himself, he confirmed, “Edwin Martin?”

  The man looked up and immediately stood from behind his desk, making his way around to him. “John Rankin?” He held his hand out in greeting.

  Taking his hand and shaking it firmly, he requested, “Please, call me Rank.”

  “Rank it is. Please, have a seat,” Edwin motioned to the empty chairs in front of his desk.

  Nodding his thanks, he took a seat and got comfortable. Edwin appeared fit, his dark hair now sprinkled with some gray, but his face mostly unlined. His suit jacket hung on the back of his chair and he had the feeling that the senior agent would have preferred to ditch his tie as well.

  “Rank, this is Agent Bob Feldon. He’ll be working the case with
me.”

  He shook the man’s hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Bob replied, taking a seat.

  Bob was younger than Edwin, his face filled with an eagerness that came with inexperience. He was a new agent, ready to right the wrongs of the world.

  Taking a seat, Edwin began, “The Bureau has had their eye on Anatoly Kozlov for over a year. His business office is in Boston, but he manages to have associates all over New England. While any overt ties to the Russian mafia are slim, his immediate rise in the business world put him on our radar. So far, we have not been able to connect him to any illegal activities, but could easily call him a person of interest. We suspect he has been involved in dealing arms with countries that are not currently allies to the US. We also suspect that he has been laundering money through someone close to a senator. It was not until we were contacted by Lawrence Griffey that we were able to start connecting the dots.”

  “Our manpower here is thin,” Bob said, his face betraying his frustration. “That’s why the Director asked your company for assistance.”

  “What information did Lawrence give you?” Edwin asked.

  “I first made contact with him several weeks ago and he agreed to speak to me just a few days ago. I assured him of the security of our communication, but he was extremely nervous. He didn’t want to talk on the phone or by computer. He wanted to meet face to face. He told me that he had come across some information but was uncertain of its meaning. When I asked him further, he simply said that it worried him. I made arrangements for us to meet in secret, but the meeting was compromised and he left before we had a chance to speak.”

  “Compromised?” Bob asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Did someone find out about the meeting?”

  Tamping down his irritation at what was clearly an unintended insult, he replied, “No. There was no leak. We planned to meet one night after he had dinner with Thomas and Frank. Unfortunately, Lawrence got spooked and left quickly. I tried to contact him later that evening and also the next day. I wanted to arrange another place to meet, but he was killed before we had a chance to do so.”

  Edwin, rubbing his chin, settled sharp eyes on him. “Did he give you anything specific?”

  “The last time I spoke to him, he said he was bringing me some papers. He didn’t tell me what they were, but my assumption was it would either be proof of what his concerns were or at least some kind of tangible evidence of concern.” He looked between the two men, and asked, “What can you tell me about his death?”

  Edwin flipped open a file on his desk and picked up a photograph. Handing it to him, he said, “The autopsy report shows what you can obviously see. He was strangled before being thrown into the river. If he had been dumped in an area where the water moved faster, who knows how long it would’ve been before we found him. Lucky for us, the area he was dumped in had several tributaries feeding into it, slowing the water considerably. Obviously, there were contusions, but the Medical Examiner said most of those appeared to have come post-mortem from the rocks and debris in the water.”

  “This seems sloppy,” he thought aloud, staring at the photograph.

  Nodding his agreement, Bob confirmed, “We thought the same thing, too. My guess is that we’re dealing with someone who wanted to make a statement. The Russian mafia is deeply organized and it’s not always easy for us to discern where someone is on their hierarchy. There are those at the top, those who do their financial wheeling and dealing, and the soldiers who do the footwork. Obviously, that footwork includes torture and execution. This makes me wonder if Kozlov has those resources and he used them, not caring how it was done, just that it was done.”

  “You think he’s expanding? Looking to join the big boys club?”

  “That’s what we’re thinking,” Edwin said. “He’s got legitimate businesses, but we suspect his hands are into illegal arms deals as well. The risks he’s taking could be completely dependent on where he is in their hierarchy. If he’s still trying to prove himself to the Eastern Russian Mafia, then he’ll be more willing to take risks to make a statement.”

  He pondered a moment, then said, “Or they’ll see him as a liability and he’ll find himself with the same fate as Lawrence.”

  “Exactly. And we want to find him, find out what the fuck he was doing, and nail him for it and Lawrence’s murder before he finds himself either protected by the mafia or dead by their hands.”

  “And my involvement?”

  Edwin held his gaze. “The Director’s agreement with your company is that whatever evidence you find, you turn over to us. We understand that you can work…let’s just say, outside the bounds that we are trapped by.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Agreed.”

  Helena sat at her desk, ripping open the file Frank’s assistant had just had couried over, ready to enjoy her favorite part of her job. She loved notifying the nonprofits and charities that they would be receiving donations, especially sizeable ones. Normally, she chose who to send money to after researching current state and needs, but Frank had given her some specific organizations he wanted to work with and she was eager to see what those were.

  Looking inside the envelope, her eyes widened at the number of papers he had sent over. As she began to skim through the volumes of paper, her brow furrowed, seeing tax forms, lists of donors, and what appeared to be a vast amount of information on the charities he supported.

  As she studied his list of charities, she noted a few that were not familiar to her, even though he assured her they were all part of her vetted organizations. Ticking off the ones that she knew, she opened her laptop and began researching the ones she had not heard of. She cross-referenced their IRS forms to ensure that they had tax exempt status. Then she looked at the organization’s financial health and budget breakdown.

  After she had gone through all the organizations he had selected, there were still two on her list that she could not find information for, but she did not want to bother Frank again today. Sending an email to his assistant, asking for clarification on those organizations that she was unfamiliar with, she then turned to his list of donors knowing she would need to provide a receipt for the donor’s tax information. Once again, she was surprised at the sheer number of papers. Rubbing her forehead, she leaned back in her chair just as Todd popped his head around the corner.

  “What’s all that you’re working on?” he asked.

  “I’m coordinating the charitable work for Frank Tercelli’s business,” she replied.

  His eyes dropped to the pile of papers spread across her desk and his brows lifted. “Do you need help with that? I can easily put a few things aside and work on that for you.”

  “That’s okay, but thanks for the offer. He’s an old family friend and I’d prefer to work on it myself.”

  “You’re the boss,” he smiled. “I’m getting ready to head out and I think Anna is getting ready to lock the door.”

  “See you tomorrow,” she said, then turned back to the work on her desk. Todd’s reaction had been pretty close to her own. It struck her as strange that Frank would have given her so much paperwork just to match up donations with charities. It’s almost as though he wanted me to be so overwhelmed that I wouldn’t notice the little details.

  As soon as that thought struck her, she gave her head a quick shake. Letting out a huff, she determined to pore through all of the information tonight. Checking the time, she made a quick trip to their workroom and grabbed a yogurt from their small refrigerator to have for dinner, then settled back at her desk, ready to work.

  An hour later, her frustration was mounting. What should have been a simple matter of money matching charities, with little work for her to do other than write checks and prepare thank you letters for his business associates and employees who had made donations, had become complicated and much more convoluted than it needed to be. Digging through the large stack of papers and forms, she happened to see a notation for A. Koz
lov. Could that be Anatoly Kozlov?

  Remembering Rank’s words from the other evening, she leaned back in her chair, her thoughts racing. He had called Mr. Kozlov a “person of interest.” Ominous. Frank had mentioned that Mr. Kozlov was a business associate, so it was not that unusual that he had made a donation to the Tercelli Charitable Fund, but if he turned out to be guilty of whatever it was Rank was looking into…

  She reached into her purse, digging around near the bottom until her fingers latched onto the business card that he had given her. Before she could change her mind, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

  He picked up immediately, sounding a little harried. “Helena. What can I do for you? Are you all right?”

  Startled by his rapid-fire questions, she stammered, “Ye—yes. I’m fine. Just fine. I called because you said to let you know if I heard anything about Mr. Kozlov.”

  “Did he contact you?”

  She heard the concern in his voice and assured, “No. He didn’t. It’s just that I came across something and, well now it seems silly, but I thought maybe I should tell you.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m still at my office. My staff left a little early today, but I wanted to try to get some work done. I was just about ready to leave.”

  “I want you to stay there,” he ordered. “Make sure you’re locked in since you’re alone and I can be there in about thirty minutes.”

  “Well,” she hesitated. It felt like he was overreacting, but she conceded this was his area of expertise. “I will if you’re sure that’s what I should do. I feel a little silly. After all, this might be absolutely nothing. It could be a wasted trip for you.”

  “Helena,” his voice softened as he said her name and, despite her best efforts, she shivered. “Any time I get to see you is definitely not wasted. I don’t want to take a chance on your safety, so stay and I’ll be there just as soon as I can.”