by David Spell
The young woman shrugged, climbing into the first cart.
“Probably. I haven’t seen any cameras but I bet every inch of this island is under surveillance. That’s why we need to get up to the house before he, or they, get a chance to come looking for us.”
Thankfully, the key was in the ignition and they were quickly heading up the long driveway towards the mansion. Jennifer stopped next to an identical golf cart at the rear of the main residence. Off to their right was the large swimming pool with the two guest houses on the opposite side. An area to the side of the mansion had been cleared to allow guests to look down on the Caribbean as they swam or lounged by the pool.
The back door burst open and a disheveled security guard wearing a white polyester shirt and black slacks rushed outside. The patches on his sleeves and the gold badge identified the young man as a security officer with BVI Security and Investigations, Ltd. The nameplate on his shirt identified him as ‘Edmond Samuels.’ It looked like they had caught him napping, if his appearance was any indication.
Jen was already out of the golf cart, striding confidently up to the bewildered guard.
“What are you doing here? This island is private property,” he said, starting to raise his voice.
“Just the man we need to see!” Hughes said, smiling brightly, holding out her phony Home and Garden TV identification badge. “My name is Jessica Hayes and I’m a producer for the television show, ‘Caribbean Dream Homes.’ This is Ethan Sharpe. He’s our director of photography. We know that this home and island are scheduled to go on the market in the next couple of weeks and we’re planning on featuring it as one of the choices on our show.”
“Ma’am,” the dark-skinned man interrupted, pulling a cell phone from a pouch on his belt, “you must leave. You’re trespassing. I’m going to call the police.”
“Edmond,” Jen said, softly, reading his nameplate, “I believe that we can help each other here. I have three hundred dollars as a gift for your kindness.”
At the sight of the US dollars in the attractive woman’s hand, Edmond’s resolve wavered. “What...what do you want?”
Hughes stepped closer, lowering her voice even more, her left hand holding the money, almost touching his chest.
“We need to walk through the house and outbuildings to make sure everything will work for our show. We won’t damage or take anything, I promise. It’ll probably take about an hour and then we’ll be gone. Plus, I’ll have another two hundred dollars for you before we leave. That’s five hundred dollars for just letting us look around.”
Jen’s left hand touched the security officer’s chest, her fingers slowly climbing towards one of his breast pockets. Her eyes never left his as she unsnapped the pocket, slipping the money inside. Edmond swallowed hard and took a deep breath. A nervous smile crept onto his face.
“American TV? I love American TV shows!”
“Well, Officer Edmond Samuels, why don’t you show us around? Give us a tour so that we’ll have a better idea of what we’re working with.”
With the greenbacks stuffed in his pocket, the security officer seemed to relish his new role as a tour guide, leading them inside the mansion. As he walked and talked, Sharpe and Hughes watched closely, looking for any computers, safes, or locked cabinets or compartments where hard drives or memory disks could be hidden. Ethan played his part well, pulling out a light meter from time-to-time, telling Jen they would need to bring in better lighting.
None of the furniture had been removed, giving the feeling that at any moment Alfie Nicholson could pop through a doorway. After a few minutes, Edmond had relaxed, smiling and laughing with his companions, regaling them with stories of his career with BVI Security and Investigations as he escorted them from room to room inside the expansive house. The two visitors snapped photo after photo with their phones as they moved through the lower level. At the top of the stairs, the first doorway to the right appeared to be a study. A mahogany desk dominated the room, an expensive leather chair sitting empty behind it. A large oil painting of Nicholson hung on the wall behind the desk.
Hughes and Sharpe both knew that was one of the two most likely hiding locations for any of Alfie’s secrets. Jen gave a slight nod to her partner and then looped her arm around Edmond’s.
“Let’s let Ethan check the lighting in there. Why don’t you show me the master bedroom?”
“Of course, Ms. Hayes,” he answered, a slight tremor in his voice.
“Please, call me Jessica.”
He led her past several other rooms to the end of the long hallway. The master was enormous, larger than some apartments. Everything was immaculate.
“Wow, this is amazing!” Jen commented, scanning the room. “Let’s see the closet. That’s one of the things that everyone always wants more of, especially women.”
The closet was bigger than her kitchen, Hughes realized, knowing she would need to come back through by herself to dig around for potential hiding places. A moment later, though, Ethan appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide as he took everything in.
“How about this closet, Ethan? Is this big enough for you?”
“Pretty impressive,” he nodded, backing up far enough into the bedroom so that the security guard couldn’t see him. He then motioned with his head back towards the other end of the house.
Jen gently guided Edmond out of the closet. “Let’s let Ethan get in here with his meter. We’ll definitely want to highlight this and the bedroom on the show.”
Samuels moved to middle of the room, waiting for Jessica, clearly enjoying the turn that his day had taken.
Hughes hung back for a second as Sharpe spoke softly. “There’s a wall safe in the study behind Alfie’s oil painting.”
The CIA agent nodded and spoke so that Samuels could hear her. ”Yeah, you’re right but I think we can make it work. We’ll just bring plenty of lights with us. Let’s keep moving. I think we need to divide and conquer so we can get this knocked out.”
Ethan and Jen joined Edmond back in the bedroom. The young woman led them back into the hallway. They were almost at the stairs when Jen stopped suddenly, turning to the guard.
“Edmond, can I ask you for a big favor?”
“Of course. Ask me anything!”
“Would you take Ethan and show him the guest houses and the pool area? I didn’t even look at the bathroom in the master. I need to use it. I’ll take a quick peek in these other rooms on my way out and join you guys in a few. I’ll take some more photos up here and then come find you. After that, maybe you can give me a personal tour around the outside of the mansion?”
Samuels hesitated, knowing he shouldn’t leave a stranger alone in the empty house. The money in his pocket, however, and the promise of more helped him make up his mind. It didn’t hurt that this was one of the prettiest women that he had ever met.
“Yes, of course, Ms. Hayes—I mean, Jessica.”
The agent gave him a little wave, watching as the two men started down the stairs. She hurried back to the master bathroom and looked out the window to see Ethan and Edmond walking around the pool towards the other buildings. She knew she didn’t have much time as she hurried down the hallway to the study.
The oil painting of the deceased Hollywood producer dominated the room. She didn’t even know all of the details of his death, she realized. She knew that Mr. McCain and his team had orchestrated Alfie’s demise, but for operational security, the two teams didn’t share the specifics with each other. Somehow, McCain’s team had made Nicholson disappear during his morning surf.
The painting was hinged, moving soundlessly as she tugged it forward to reveal the electronic safe mounted in the wall. Jen let out a sigh of relief, not realizing that she had been holding her breath. Thank God, she thought, digging into her large Coach purse. A mechanical safe would have been much tougher to get into.
Hughes opened a plastic container, withdrew the foam-covered object and unwrapped it. The silver, hockey-puck-sized magnet w
eighed almost three pounds. Jen wrapped the Neodymium magnet in a silk scarf and placed against the safe on the side where it opened, just over the handle. She paused to listen for a moment, not hearing anything to indicate the two men had returned.
Jennifer then turned her attention to the safe, twisting and manipulating the magnet with one hand, the other gently tugging on the safe’s handle. She was a little out of practice, but in less than two minutes she felt the solenoids move. Jen pulled the handle upwards and the door swung outward, allowing her to see inside.
The interior of the safe was packed, but the first items that caught her attention were three computer hard drives. These went into her purse, along with five thumb drives. Hughes flipped through a leather notebook, seeing what appeared to be a list of names of people who had visited the island, along with the dates that they had been there, how much they had paid, and several additional comments out to the side. That went into her bag, as well.
A pistol stood against the right wall of the compartment. She hesitated, knowing that the gun laws were very strict in the British Virgin Islands, as she examined and performed a press check on the customized stainless-steel Kimber .45 ACP pistol. At least Alfie had good taste in firearms she thought, pulling the slide to the rear and releasing it, chambering a round. She set the safety and placed the gun, along with two extra loaded magazines, in her purse.
Two tinfoil wrapped bricks were the next things to catch her attention. Looks like Alfie knew how to party, she thought with a smile. Carefully peeling back the aluminum, Jen found a plastic wrapped block of what she suspected was cocaine. There was no way to know without testing it and she didn’t have time for that.
Of course, on television, the narc cop would touch some of the white powder to his tongue and say something profound like, “Good stuff!” In reality, that was an easy way to get poisoned. Both bricks went into the bottom of her purse.
After removing the suspected cocaine, several stacks of hundred-dollar bills stared at Jennifer from the rear of the safe. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ she thought, tossing the money into her bag, knowing that she was probably going to need every bit of cash that she could come up with. A brown square envelope was last thing left in the safe. Jen opened it to find a stack of four by six color photographs. She didn’t have time to look through them but saw that they appeared to be stills pulled from video.
After the small vault had been emptied, she removed the magnet, securing it in her purse, and closed the safe after wiping the surfaces down with her scarf. Three minutes later, she had joined Ethan and Edmond outside, her mission accomplished.
Jennifer let the security officer show her around the grounds, pointing out the best views of the Caribbean. She smiled and made all the appropriate comments, but she was ready to leave. Ever the gentleman, Edmond drove them down to the dock, shaking their hands, and smiling broadly as Hughes slipped him the other two hundred dollars. Ethan kept looking at his partner, wanting to know if she had found anything. Jen’s expression, however, gave nothing away. By now, the computer hacker knew the agent would not say anything about the mission until they were alone again.
As their chartered yacht pulled away from the dock, Jen moved aft, staring out over the blue water, the breeze blowing through her hair as she pondered her next move. She had a couple of big decisions to make, she realized. Things were about to get very interesting.
FBI HQ, Washington, D.C., Monday, 1035 hours
“Good work. Thanks for handling this so quickly,” Burns said as the senior Digital Forensic Tech stood, understanding that the meeting was over. “Obviously, please keep all this quiet. Because of who we’re dealing with, we have to make sure that everything is handled correctly.”
“Glad to help out, sir,” the graying, forty-something woman answered. “I processed this myself because of the sensitive nature of the case. Please let me know if you need something else. I hope you guys can put this sicko away for a long, long time.”
“Me too, Maggie, me too.”
After the forensic tech left, Thomas went back over the report that she had given him. The Bureau’s facial analysis program gave a ninety-eight percent confirmation that the man in the video was Maxwell Sterling. That was the good news.
The bad news was that they had no idea as to the identity of the two young girls whom he was victimizing. Their faces were run through the FBI’s database of missing persons without a match. That was no surprise because the word was that Nicholson had staffed his island with girls from poor Central American countries.
The report was unable to provide a definitive age for the victims, either. Maggie’s best estimate had been twelve to fourteen years on one and fourteen to sixteen on the other. Maggie had also not been able to confirm a location where the tryst took place.
While the ten-minute clip that Burns had in his possession was damning, it was not nearly enough to arrest a sitting CIA Director. And while there was plenty of circumstantial evidence to point to Sterling being behind the attacks on Dunning, there was no smoking gun. The big question now was what to do next?
Thirty minutes after meeting with his boss Larry Purvis, the Director of Counter-Terrorism, the two men were seated in the FBI Director’s office. Cameron Pickard had led the Bureau for over three years. He was not a cop, but had been a successful prosecutor at several levels before accepting a position with the criminal division of the Attorney General’s office. President Asher had tapped him to lead the Bureau after the former head Fed had been fired.
After watching the movie of his CIA counterpart, Pickard sat back in his high-back leather chair, clearly shocked by what he had seen.
“How did we acquire this? Is there an investigation involving Sterling going on behind my back?”
“No, sir. A thumb drive was dropped off at the front desk,” Burns answered, “addressed to me.”
“And why you in particular?” Pickard asked, staring into his subordinate’s eyes.
“No idea, sir.” Thomas lied. “The receptionist was on the phone and the courier laid it on her desk and walked out.”
Pickard looked hard at both Thomas and Larry, clearly not buying it. At the same time, he had to trust his key leaders and these were two of the best that he had.
“Larry, what do you recommend?” the director asked his lieutenant.
“What would you think of us contacting the Royal British Virgin Islands Police? Nicholson’s island is their jurisdiction.”
“Not yet,” Cameron said, after a moment of consideration. “We don’t know for certain where this took place. The whole jurisdiction issue is going to be a problem because we have no idea at all where they were. And, it’s possible that these girls were of legal age, although I doubt it. Without having witnesses to interview, though, I don’t think we have anything.”
“So, you’re saying we just let this sick bastard slide?” Burns spoke up, an edge in his voice.
“What I’m saying, Special Agent Burns,” the FBI Director answered, matching his tone, “is that we don’t have a case yet. This is a good start but I’m not going to take a ten-minute video clip to the Attorney General. What I want you to do is to discreetly start an investigation. I want a small team of agents who know how to keep their mouths shut assigned to see what they can dig up. If I hear of a single leak, I’ll hold both of you personally responsible. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Purvis and Burns said in unison
Back in his own office, Larry plopped himself behind his desk.
“You know, Thomas, retirement is starting to look pretty good.”
“Funny you should mention that. I’ve been giving some serious thought to that very subject. But first, I want to see this investigation on Sterling through. After we get some kind of resolution, I may call it a day, myself.”
Purvis grunted. “Okay, so this may be the last big case for both of us. Who’s going to work it?”
“Val Morris. Barry Towers was assigned to her when Musa Kha
n killed him. She’s been trying to track down Khan but he seems to have vanished. We don’t know if he’s even still in the country. They have zero leads at the moment so I’m going to reassign her to this. She’s a bulldog when she sinks her teeth into something and she’ll pull in people we can trust to be discreet.”
“Do it and keep me updated.”
Lopez Transportation, Brownsville, Texas, Tuesday, 0130 hours
The twenty-five-hour drive to Brownsville had been long but the warriors were all seasoned and spent much of their time sleeping or talking quietly, discussing their mission plans. Right after they had hit the road in their rented van, Kevin turned to where Chuck was staring at his tablet, swiping through the latest intel that Sandra’s team had managed to dig up on the cartel.
“This guy the general is sending us to meet is a legend in the spec ops community.”
“I’m beginning to think those are the only kind of people that he knows,” McCain smiled.
“Sergeant First Class Alberto Lopez was in ‘Nam from ’73 to ’75. He earned a Silver Star, a couple of Bronze Stars, and three Purple Hearts. He stuck around long enough to see some action in the First Gulf War before retiring and starting a trucking company.”
“Interesting transition,” Chuck commented. “Special Ops to trucking?”
Kevin grinned. “The general said that Lopez was that guy who always had a way of getting you what you needed and could pay for. You want a specific brand of booze or cigarettes? A new rifle? Better boots? He was never assigned to supply but was a better procurement officer than the guys who did it for a living. Perkins said that him starting a trucking company was a natural fit.”
“How much is he charging us?”
“The boss gave me an envelope with ten grand. Lopez gave him the ‘old friends’ discount.’”
McCain grunted. “Seems like a bargain to me. The general got us a way in. You’ve got us a way out. Now, we just have to worry about the bit in the middle.”