"Maybe not," I said. "It's been a couple of days, now. I'm sure the U.S. media will pick it up one of these days, but he was stabbed when he surprised an intruder in the middle of the night. The local police will try to keep it quiet. That kind of thing's not good for their tourist business."
Mary chuckled. "Was he alone?"
"Not exactly. There was a woman in the bed with him, but she was in a drunken stupor. Her snoring woke him up, and he went to the bathroom. That's where he got stabbed."
She laughed at that, a real laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"The symmetry. Sanders had a heart attack while his lady friend was in the bathroom. I never thought of going to the bathroom in the middle of the night as being dangerous, but I guess it is — to yourself and to your close friends."
I shook my head. "Let's finish breakfast. I want to talk with Aaron and see what's up next, since you're back in the game."
"What are you going to tell him about me?"
"I'll see if he mentions you, first. If he does, I'll be guided by what he says. If not, I'm not sure I should bring it up. You said your Uncle Bob was going to handle it, right?"
"Yes. Maybe I should give him a quick call when we get back to the room and see where he stands with it. Then you'll know what to expect."
"Good," I said. "You ready?"
"I am," Mary said. "Let's go."
I signaled our waiter for the check. When he brought it, I paid him in cash, with a generous tip.
13
Back in my room, Mary made her call to Bob Lawson while I took a quick shower. Their conversation was brief. She told me about it when I was dry and dressed.
"Uncle Bob's fixed it with Aaron. He told Aaron that I needed the time to handle some family matters. He asked Aaron to respect my privacy and told him that I would be in touch as soon as you and I reconnected. Bob thought it would be fine for both of us to call Aaron, and he knows I'm going to share this with you before we call."
"Good enough," I said. "Does he know about Rayburn and Brandon?"
"Bob?" she asked.
I nodded.
"No. Not from me, anyway. He didn't ask, and I didn't volunteer any names. Are you going to tell Aaron?"
"I don't see the point. Do you?"
"Not really, unless something else comes up. But I know you and Aaron are tight. If you think he needs to know, it's okay with me."
I shook my head. "I'm with Bob. We should respect your privacy. If something else comes up, you make the call."
"Thanks, Finn. For everything."
"Forget it. I'm just glad you're back. Let's make that call."
I turned the air conditioner's fan to the highest setting to provide some white noise. There was no reason to think anybody was eavesdropping on us, but you never knew. Using the encrypted iPhone provided by Phorcys, I called Aaron.
"Finn?" he answered.
"Yeah. I had a worthwhile trip to Eleuthera."
"Good. I gathered as much. We picked up on a robbery/murder report through a source in Nassau. They're keeping it extra quiet — bad for business. Where are you now?"
"I'm back at the hotel, with Mary."
"Put her on, then."
"Just a second." I switched the phone to speaker mode and set it on the table between us. I nodded at her. "Keep your voices down, both of you," I cautioned. "We're on the speaker."
"Hi, Aaron."
"Welcome back, Mary. We were worried about you, but Bob explained. Everything okay with you now?"
"Yes, thanks. It's good to be back."
"Good. Hey, Finn?"
"Yes?"
"Remember when you were wondering if Rayburn might be connected to more of O'Hanlon's organization? But maybe at a level below the one that was in O'Hanlon's records?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Have you shared that with Mary?"
"No. We haven't gotten a chance to get into that kind of detail. Why do you ask?"
"Never mind. You can fill her in later, but I swear, man, you're psychic. There's a whole 'nother layer; it's like peeling a damn onion. And remember our conversations about the 'mystery man?' The Russian who was trying to pick up the pieces of O'Hanlon's empire?"
"Yes. What's that got to do with Rayburn?"
"I'll get there. You got time? Or should we do this later?"
"We're not going anywhere. Now's good."
"Okay. Those three bodyguards of Rayburn's — I told you they were retired U.S. Marshals, right?"
"Yes."
I watched Mary's eyebrows rise when she heard that.
"Well," Aaron said, "it turns out that wasn't quite accurate. They were still active; working witness protection. The retired thing was part of the whole Rayburn cover story."
"Rayburn was in witness protection?" I asked.
"No. He was a confidential informant in that super-secret Department of Justice investigation I told you about."
"You told me about two super-secret DoJ investigations, Aaron. One into Senator Lee, and the other into the Russian mystery man. You weren't sure the two were related."
Early in my relationship with Mary, Senator Jefferson Davis Lee was involved in kidnapping my daughter. He was part of the O'Hanlon crime empire, and they were trying to force me to give up Mary and the incriminating records that she had stolen from O'Hanlon's bagman, but that's an old story. After O'Hanlon's demise, there were rumors that a mysterious Russian was trying to take over O'Hanlon's racket. There were indications that the Russian may have been working with O'Hanlon all along, too.
"Yeah," Aaron said. "Well, it's looking like those were two branches of the same investigation."
"I'm surprised somebody didn't shut down the DoJ, Aaron. I would have thought the fix was in. We know the Secretary of Defense was on the take. Why not the Attorney General? Or the — "
"Don't even think it, Finn. Let alone say it."
"I thought you said these funky phones you gave us were encrypted."
"Yeah. I'm not worried about the phone. It's just not good to think thoughts like that out loud. It scares me, that's all."
"You're right. Sorry."
"No sweat. Back to your question, we're still working on this. One school of thought is that the whole investigation is a coverup. They could have been using Rayburn as a conduit between the Russian and crooks in the government."
"That's an interesting thought. What other ideas are you working?"
"It's possible that the investigation itself is legit, but the fix is in elsewhere."
"How would that work?" I asked.
"Nobody's sure of anything, at this point. We need to keep all the options open, keep an open mind. We don't want to narrow our focus and miss something. I'll keep you posted on that."
"Any idea who put out the hit on Rayburn?" I figured a little misdirection wouldn't hurt anything.
"No, not yet. The cops still think it was murder/suicide, but our sources say the DoJ doesn't buy that. They're letting the cops' story stand in the interest of keeping things quiet, but we hear they're digging into the background of the one marshal who shot himself. Not sure what they're thinking there. Maybe that he wiped everybody else out and then somebody nailed him. But they can't make sense of who or how. The bad guys are convinced it was a hit too, but everybody's got a different idea of who to blame."
"And what about Brandon?"
"The cops are all over that one, but they don't have any ideas. Obviously, Brandon didn't cut his throat and pull his own tongue out through the slit. They've run through all his staffers. Most of them left the office together and went out for drinks that night, so they can alibi one another. The others all have good alibis, too. They've canvassed the neighborhood, but that didn't go anywhere. You've seen that place. Not much going on there after 5 o'clock."
"No, it was pretty quiet. So they're stumped, huh?"
"Well, they found out Brandon and Rayburn met at the Pink Parrot the night before, like I told you. Those two new hires that Rayburn
fixed up with the girls probably told the cops about the meeting. The cops talked to the two girls, but you can guess how that's going. The new hires and the waitress that was taking care of their table both mentioned a third girl. Interesting thing — her description matched the Wells woman's description of the hooker in the slit skirt. She left the Pink Parrot with Rayburn and his three bodyguards. Disappeared into thin air, unless you believe Mrs. Wells."
"It seems unlikely that Mrs. Wells would have made up a description that was such a good match for the girl Rayburn took to the Pink Parrot. Where are the cops going with that?" I asked, admiring Mary's poker face.
"Dead end, so far. Nobody noticed anything about her except the auburn hair and the skirt. They tracked down the other two hookers, but they swore they never saw her before that night. Said she was in the Hummer already when Rayburn and his goons picked them up. Ditto for the staff at the Pink Parrot. She wasn't one of their regular working girls."
"Are the cops still looking for her?" I asked.
"Theoretically, yeah. But not very hard. I mean, they've got a good story for Rayburn and his pals. They don't want to reopen the case. Could be Wells saw them drag the girl in on a different night, according to the cops. Could be it was the same night, and the girl left without Mrs. Wells' noticing. The cops don't have a big interest in finding her. Except — I can't remember if I mentioned it before — Brandon did slip her a note on the back of his business card before she left. But that's just another 'so what,' as far as the cops are concerned. And that's about everything I know, for now. You feel okay as far as the Hawkins job?"
"Yeah. If you follow my paper trail, I never left the States."
"How did you get there?"
"Sailboat. It was a throwaway. I sunk it on the way back, somewhere out in the Gulf Stream. Some guy I never heard of bought it from a private seller, never re-registered it. Cleared in at Bimini with fake ship's papers. That's the end of his trail, if anybody ever finds the beginning."
"Cool. So what are you two up to now?"
"We're chilling out, for now," Mary said. "Waiting to see what happens next."
"Why don't you take a road trip?" Aaron said. "Drive up the coast. Take your time. Plan on spending a few days in Savannah and Charleston. That's pretty country."
"What would people like us find to amuse ourselves in Savannah? Or Charleston?" I asked.
"Oh, you'll find something in one or the other. Stay in touch; I'll do a little checking. By the time you get to Savannah, I should have some ideas for you."
"We'll do that, Aaron," I said. "You've never steered me wrong yet."
"Stay safe, you two."
"Thanks, Aaron." I disconnected the call and looked at Mary.
"Are you as sleepy as I am?" she asked.
"At least," I said. "What say we take a nice, long nap? If we wake up before nightfall, maybe we can check out and drive for a few hours."
"That sounds good, but I should check out of my room next door first. That way, if anybody checks, they won't find two people in adjoining rooms who left together."
"Okay," I said.
Mary went through the connecting door and came back with a good-sized backpack. She dropped it in the corner of my room.
"You going down to the desk?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I prepaid. I'll just call the desk and leave my key in the room, but there's a voicemail on the room phone."
"Who's it from?"
"I don't know. Probably a wrong number. Nobody knows I was even here, let alone what name I used. I'll be right back."
In a few seconds, she called out to me. "Hey, Finn?"
"Yes?"
"Come here and listen to this before I erase it."
I went through the door and found her with the receiver in one hand and her iPhone in the other. She held the iPhone close to the earpiece of the room phone, and I could hear the message although not well enough to understand it. In a few seconds, she thumbed the screen of the iPhone and stuck it in her pocket.
Handing me the receiver, she said, "I'll play it for you. While you listen, I want to make sure I got a good recording of it. Then we can erase it."
"Okay," I said, holding the receiver to my ear.
She pressed a key on the room phone and then stepped away, taking her iPhone from her pocket.
I listened, not sure what to expect.
"Hello, Ms. Maloney. You don't know me yet, but I've been keeping track of your recent workings.
You impressed me; I could use someone with your skills in my business. Vasily Zaytsev — you should be checking on the web. You will perhaps see what I mean. You work briefly for the man I acquired my U.S. operations from, if that maybe help you to understand what I mean.
I will arrange to have two of my men pick you up and bring you to meet me. I do not wish to alarm you, so I tell you in advance that they will blindfold you before they bring you to me. Believe me when I say I wish you no harm. This is merely the precaution to protect both of us, so do not worry.
I know your skills, so I wish for you to consent in advance, so there will be no difficulty with my men. Please to respond by text to 912 321 1550 with the word "okay," and we will take matters in hand. Please not to call that number, as will not be answered.
Thank you in advance. I look forward to do business with you."
"The Russian," I said.
"That's my bet," Mary said. "The blindfold business matches what I heard about him after we took care of Senator Lee. What do you think I should do?"
"Did you catch the time of the message?"
"Yes. It came in at 1:30 this morning," she said.
"I heard the Eastern European accent. Did you?"
"I heard an accent," Mary said. "I don't have enough experience to place it, though."
"How's the recording you made?"
"Good enough," she said. "What do you think we should do?"
"Let's erase the voicemail, and you should check out of this room. He can't be sure you got the message until you respond."
"You think I should?" she asked. "Respond, I mean?"
"Not just yet. We'll do a little checking first. Go ahead. Call the desk and tell them you're leaving."
"I'm not sure we should stay here, Finn. Not even just for a few more hours."
"I agree. But let's take it a step at a time. You check out. Then we'll figure out how to get out of here without their spotting us."
"You think they're watching me?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, I do, too. I'm spooked."
"We're okay. Stay cool. They won't jump you just yet. I would take your friend Vasily at his word, for the moment. He's tipped you off for a reason."
"He doesn't want me to kill the men he sends? That's what you're saying?"
"Yes. He doesn't want to kill you, either. At least not yet. He may want to hire you. Or maybe interrogate you. Check out and leave. I'll be a few minutes behind you. We'll meet at the airport. Then we'll send the recording to Aaron and let him work his magic while we figure out how to deal with this."
"Okay. But where are we going?"
"Driving to Savannah, like Aaron suggested."
"Aha!" she said, grinning. "Got it."
Mary picked up the phone and called the desk. "I'm checking out of my room," she said. "I'll leave the key on the dresser, okay?"
She nodded and hung up the phone.
"Okay," I said. "I'm going back to my room. I'll hand you your backpack and we'll lock the connecting doors. You leave from your room's main door. Get a cab to the airport. Buy yourself a ticket to somewhere on a flight that's leaving soon. Go through security and get yourself a cup of coffee. Kill a half hour and then head for baggage claim. I'll pick you up curbside at the Concourse D arrivals area. Call me about five minutes before you step outside; I'll be in the car in the cellphone waiting lane."
She nodded and gave me a quick kiss. "See you soon, sailor."
I gave her a hug and handed her the backpack. She c
losed the connecting door, and I packed up my few belongings.
14
I gave Mary a 45-minute head-start and then got in my rental car. It was a 15-minute drive to the airport. I would call the hotel once I got there and let them know I wouldn't be back; they could charge the room to my credit card.
As I settled into the rhythm of the traffic, I let my thoughts wander back over what we knew about the Russian. Several weeks ago, Mary and I dispatched the crooked senator, Jefferson Davis Lee, at his house in a gated golf community nearby. He was a high-profile target, and only a few days before we hit him, Mary and I killed a crooked FBI agent in St. Thomas.
We split up, not wanting to press our luck. Lee and the FBI agent were part of the same criminal enterprise. The tie between our victims might enable our opponents to guess that we were working together. To make our connection less obvious, I flew back to the British Virgin Islands; Mary stayed behind in south Florida to do a little research.
We suspected that someone would try to take over the O'Hanlon mob after Rory O'Hanlon's death. Mary asked around, using connections from her time as a freelance contract killer. She learned that there was a mysterious, shadowy character who was making the rounds of O'Hanlon's former lieutenants.
His identity eluded her sources. No one even knew what he looked like. He would arrange for two of his troops to pick up a potential recruit and bring the candidate to meet him. The candidate was blindfolded for the round trip and the meeting.
Mary gleaned two other pieces of information. One was that the mystery man spoke with a slight accent, perhaps Eastern European. The other was more ominous.
One interviewee arranged for his own people to follow him after he was picked up. The mystery man's people lost the tail, and the meeting was uneventful. The candidate thought he secured a good deal with his new master. A few days later, he was found in his office, dead. Every bone in his body was broken. This was a trademark of the Russian Mafia; the mode of death is called zamochit. The mystery man valued his anonymity.
Back then, Mary and I were still planning to kill my former boss's boss, who was also involved in the kidnapping of my daughter. He, too, was found in his home office, every bone broken. The mystery man got to him before we did, but we didn't know why. Was the Russian worried that he knew too much?
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