“Yes, Olivia… See you Monday, eight-thirty.”
* * *
A Black man who is six-foot-six and three hundred pounds, and who sports a smile comparable to Magic Johnson’s, will draw attention, and that’s even more true if he is a people person and jokes easily. That was my best friend, Lenny Brown. As he came off the plane at MIA—ahead of schedule, fortunately for me—and walked through the Arrivals door, I saw him immediately, walking with a couple from the first class section—they get off the plane first.
Lenny and I had met at Pitt. We were both freshmen at the time, with hopes of making the football team. He was so big and so fast, they made him an offensive tackle, and he started from game one. I played one game, got injured, and quit. He played all four years, was an All-American, then went into the NFL draft and was picked in a late round by the 49ers. He played there for four years, until he blew out a knee and retired. He became a celebrity cop, then a celebrity private investigator. We became good friends during our pre-season practices at Pitt, and have remained best friends ever since. He helps me sometimes, like with his PI and related skills; I help him sometimes, like with the two apartment buildings I helped him buy, and, of course, with cyber-related stuff.
“Hey, young brother,” I said as I approached him. We hugged, football-player style, which is vigorous and meaningful.
“Lenny Brown here, reporting for duty,” he responded, beaming a smile that lit up the Arrivals area. “I’ve got baggage; let’s go get it.”
“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” I responded as we disengaged and sized each other up. I had not seen him in at least three months, both of us fortunately being busy with work, and him also busy with a special woman. I didn’t have blood family to distract me, just my friends and associates, and I was damn glad to have every one of those.
“That’s what friends do, buddy. Let’s make history,” he said, one of his favorite phrases.
We went down to the luggage area. I gave Lenny a one-paragraph briefing on my work here. After ten minutes, two large, silver, custom-made Pelican travel luggage cases came out. We scooped them up immediately, as I knew Lenny traveled heavy and there was basically no airport supervision around—anyone could pick up a piece of luggage, walk out the door, and be gone, a critical weak spot for many airports. You used to have to show matching luggage tags to get out the door. And you could still transport weapons these days via the airlines if you used checked baggage, filled out the proper forms, and had the right creds, which Lenny did.
We walked to my car, loaded in the luggage, and headed to the yoga center, where I would teach my last class in this series in Miami. Lenny would probably walk the neighborhood and nearby South Beach. He was the type who was fully comfortable in whatever situation and environment he was in.
I had parked in the short-term lot for a little more than thirty minutes. The automated check-out machine told me that the bill was seventy-five dollars. Okay, convenience at Miami-style prices. When the machine gave me back my credit card and the gate went up, I punched it out of there. It was just after five, and I had yoga class at six over in South Beach… and I was not going to be late for that, no matter what.
After we cleared the lot and joined the throng of cars and RVs and buses leaving the Miami airport, I handed Lenny an envelope. He opened it and found fifty hundred-dollar bills.
“Tasty,” he said, giving me the million-watt smile.
“When duty calls…”
“That’s what friends do, brother. Now, what’s this case really about?”
We had been friends for a long time. In fact, we were best friends. We could speak shorthand. I explained the overlapping cases, Siroco, Sabra, Prime Mortgage, Lauren, and the two attacks by clowns with foreign accents. I told him we had a rare treat on Sunday morning, a live witness who had seduced an employee of Sabra and used that opportunity to hack into the system of Sabra—and to steal over two million dollars.
He drilled right in on that one. “She’s giving voluntary testimony?”
“Good point. Not sure. We’ll see. I think this company is filled with ex-Mossad guys.”
“Our kind of client!”
* * *
We arrived at the Yoga Center at five forty-five. That was close, but I had enough time to change, breathe, meditate for a few minutes, and make the transformation from cyber security consultant to Derek Randall, yoga teacher. I told Lenny that I would be finished with everything at nine, and then we would go to the hotel, where I had a suite waiting for him. I knew he’d want to walk the area and get the vibe, and I knew that he had been here before, probably several times. He was really a people kind of guy, much more so than I was. He left, and I went straight to my reserved room to make the transition.
I walked into the yoga room at exactly six o’clock and was pleasantly surprised to see seventy-one yogis there, some on their backs in relaxation pose, some doing yogic breathing exercises, and some putting their mats down. The large yoga hall was full to capacity. I could have ego-ed out on that… but I didn’t. I caught Lauren in the back on the right. My heart fluttered a little. She was sitting in Padma pose. She caught my eyes as I caught hers. She was not one hundred percent, but she smiled. That told me enough.
“Okay, class, let’s get started. Please go onto your backs in relaxation pose for a few minutes, Shavasana,” I announced to open the class. “Close your eyes, face your palms up to the heavens, take some deep breaths… Inhale one… two… three…” This series had been a wonderful experience—other than the slugs from Siroco on Night Two—and I felt good about this side of my life, helping people move in a direction toward peace and better health and wellness. That was what balanced out all the negative and weird stuff I encountered in the other side of my life. This side, the yoga side, nourished my soul; the other side nourished my bank accounts.
It was a good class. More people in a class creates more energy, especially if the teacher can harmonize it and take all the students in the same healthful direction. I finished at exactly eight. The class gave me a standing ovation. One of the students presented me with a one hundred-dollar gift card to Tommy Bahama. I thanked them with all my heart and told them dinner was waiting. There were lots of handshakes and hugs on the way out. Lauren hung back, the last student. We embraced and held each other, mutually feeling a growing relationship, if also one threatened by outside forces.
We ate dinner. When we were leaving, with lots of thanks to the staff and the director, Stephen, Lenny popped in. He was so big, some of the remaining students were not quite sure… until they saw the warmth of his smile. I introduced him to Lauren and the staff, then we left.
Outside, Jimmy and Bob were waiting at different strategic posts in the parking lot. They insisted that they follow us to the hotel, and then they would be finished for the day and the night crew would take over. I told them we would not be needing Sabra security for tonight or Saturday, but definitely starting again on Sunday morning. Bob faded back and made a call on his cell phone, probably to Ed.
At the hotel, we got Lenny checked in and met in the hotel restaurant for more food, mainly for Lenny, who could out-eat anybody. Lenny and Lauren got along well, no surprise. We decided to go scuba diving tomorrow, Saturday. I made a few calls and located a boat and crew for just us, departing at nine a.m. from a pier just off of Key Biscayne, about a thirty-minute drive from the hotel. The captain told me there were some wrecks and coral reefs and other stuff we could enjoy, and even a few blue holes further out, and so I booked it. Lenny and I had dived before in the cold waters and kelp forests off California. But Lauren? What an authentic Florida woman: open-water certified and ready for action.
Toward the end of the meal, really Lenny’s dinner, I reviewed what was on my agenda, and therefore Lenny’s agenda. We would scuba dive on Saturday. On Sunday morning, we had a meeting at Sabra, which promised to offer incredible enter
tainment, as well as provide helpful information. I was concerned that there might be something not civilized in that meeting; we’d see. Monday a.m. was the court hearing for the Siroco defendants; I wanted to be there and see what that dynamic was. Lauren would go back to her house first thing Sunday morning—with security, maybe the formidable Jimmy and Bob, maybe some new guys.
Things were falling into place, I felt good, the yoga classes were completed successfully, I was with my best friend, and a real relationship was developing between me and the beautiful Lauren Berger.
I flashed that I was in one of those moments in life where I was in the right place in the universe, with the right people. Thoughts like that come out of the soul. The universe is talking.
Then my phone chimed: Linda! And everything changed again.
10
I accepted the call and told Linda that I would be back to her in ten minutes. We left the restaurant and went upstairs to my suite, where I set up the workspace: sat phone, office phone, burner phones, and laptop, ready for action. Lenny and Lauren carried chairs from the sitting area to be around me, but not crowding too close.
I looked at Lauren. “Everything you hear is confidential. You cannot discuss this with anybody… anybody. Agreed?”
She nodded yes.
I tapped in Linda, who answered on the first ring, as usual. “Hey, man.”
“Linda. You’re on the speaker, and Lenny is here.”
“That’s not everybody,” she said churlishly.
“Okay, Lauren is here too. What do you have?”
“Filet mignon today, boss. We’re following everything. Those bugs we put in, they’re spewing gold… or high-level red meat, your choice of metaphor.”
“Okay already, give.”
“Well, Lev is definitely in charge. And he uses his email just… like… it’s… confidential. The guy who hit the Prime employee, the car accident—he’s gone. Flew to Mexico City. They said he did his job too well. Two other guys who got arrested, some kind of weapons charge—they’re gone too. Those guys went to Heathrow, then ‘back home,’ wherever that is, probably by train to get off the grid. They work fast.”
“Who makes the reservations?”
“Apparently his secretary. Then they pay cash at the airport. Round trip tickets, open ended.”
“Good,” I responded, glancing at Lauren, then Lenny. This is what I do for a living. Lenny knew how I worked, and he knew my cyber capabilities, but Lauren—the look on her face. She was starting to cry. She had just learned that her best friend Cathy had essentially been murdered. I wanted to go to her and hold her and comfort her. But I didn’t.
“Keep going,” I instructed Linda.
“Okay. We’ve got activity coming up. You’re going to be busy down there. Good thing Lenny’s there.”
“Like what?” I said.
“So, the general is coming in Monday… that would be General Kangxi. And get this, he’s coming with ‘heavy baggage.’ These guys are a joke,” she laughed.
“Not the laughing kind. They caused a death already. And they would like that for me too. How is the general getting here?”
“He’s just flying in on Air China, first class, of course. But he’s got diplomatic status, so his baggage will not be inspected.”
“‘Heavy baggage’ means something else. Drugs or money or guns, maybe even humans.” I paused for a moment, then wondered aloud, “Where’s he staying?”
“That’s kind of cool. He’s staying on a yacht, in Biscayne Bay. Check the name: XiXiCom. That’s not all. There’s another boat coming in Wednesday night. A cargo ship coming from the Bahamas, but really from Barranquilla. Name of Capadosa. Sounds like drugs, wouldn’t you say?”
“Could be, but a lot of weapons come out of there too. You got more?”
“Yeah, plenty more. They know that woman is missing, Truska. They’re looking all over for her. She went to a food market, then vanished. And that minister is also coming to America. He’ll be there Monday too. They’re both flying into MIA; both have dip status. And they mentioned that Porshenko will also have baggage… but they didn’t say ‘heavy baggage.’ A little conclave going on. And you’re right in the middle, boss,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ve got more if you want it.”
“Go.”
“They’re unhappy with Adams, who is listed as President. He hasn’t closed any deals yet. Lev is telling him to get tougher… or their ‘partners’ will not be happy. They need the Glades real estate project open so they can start—check their language—‘shoveling money into it.’ They can’t put up a hundred million in cash, so they have to have a real financial partner to get it started… and they’re down to Prime Mortgage. The other two they tried called in the FBI, so they backed off.”
“What about those other companies?”
“Lev is so upset with Adams. Lev and another guy talk a lot, name of Santo. Not sure where he is, but he has a 561 area code, Palm Beach area. Those two seem to be in charge. They’re focused on the port operations company and the trucking company, so those are their three main objectives now: Prime Mortgage, Florida Trucking, and Miami Crane Works. Sabra seems to be so they can have guys carrying guns legally and looking mean, sort of second tier. But they did mention the stolen money from Sabra, $2.4 million. Sergi in Ukraine handled that one; he got high-fives. Then he turned it over to Santo, then it’s gone. We’re still digging.”
“Interesting stuff. I want you to go deeper into Santo and Sergi—see where they bank, any other connections. Anything else? Important stuff we need to know tonight?”
“Yeah… You’ll like this. Lev knows who you are. Tall guy, kind of thin, showed up at Prime, had something to do with his two employees at a yoga place… He doesn’t like you, at all.”
“When this is finished, he’s going to be really unhappy with me. What else?”
“Everything here is fine… except I’ve got two guys trailing me around wherever I go. Is that really necessary, boss?”
“Yes! I told George to arrange it. Try to be good until this is over. Don’t give them any problems… or I’ll cut your bonus.”
“Would that be the one I haven’t received yet?”
“This is not a joke, Linda. These guys are real criminals. Don’t take this lightly.”
“Okay, okay… I’ll send anything new that I find. You be careful too. And Lauren, sorry about your friend. But you’re in real good hands down there with Derek and Lenny. Be careful, you guys.”
We paused for a moment, thinking of any other details.
“Wait, Derek, that FBI guy called—Agent Sartrelle. How do they suck the personality out of these guys?”
“What did he say?”
“He gave a name, an agent down there: Howard Ross, Agent Howard Ross. And this number”—which I copied—“said you’d know what to do.”
“I know Ross,” Lenny spoke up. “He’s a decent guy. I worked a case with him.”
“Okay, good. One more thing,” I responded. “You’re going to get a DNA analysis tomorrow. Run it through all of the usual databases, see what comes up. What about those two facials I sent you?”
“Nothing yet. I’ll check again.”
“Got it, thanks… Take care.”
We clicked off. Lauren was crying. We just looked at each other for a minute, then we all stood up.
“Let’s do the dive tomorrow,” I said. “It will be good for us. We can also take a look at the boat where this general will be staying. Maybe check out the port too.
“Sounds good,” Lenny said, clearly realizing the obvious, that Lauren needed attention and that I was the one to give it. “If we’re pushing off at nine, I’ll see you downstairs at six for breakfast. How’s that? We need to get to the shop to get our gear. Think we need wetsuits?”
“Relax, brother. I took the whole boat. It’s just
us. The captain will leave when we tell him to. But yeah, let’s meet at six.”
“Nice to know you, Lauren. You guys get some rest. I have a feeling the next few days are going to be just a little stressful.”
I grabbed Lenny’s hand and hugged him into me, bro to bro. “Thanks for being here… only a great friend does that.”
He released me, moved next to Lauren, and bear hugged her like a friend. He released her and turned to me. “It is what it is, brother… Let’s make history.”
He glided over to the door with the smoothness of an athlete, opened it, turned to us, gave a little wave and head dip, and left.
Time to take care of Lauren.
* * *
Lauren and I spent another night together in my suite in a way that was very different from my normal. I hadn’t been in a committed relationship for about three years. This one was different in the way I saw myself in this moment, with this beautiful woman who was going through hell. I was in support mode. The underlying case was just business for me, not unlike other cases I have handled. For Lauren, though, this had metastasized into a life-and-death experience. It was reality crashing down on her. She had lost her best friend, seen a physical attack up close and personal, and been in a meeting where thuggish words had been disguised threats of more violence. And I was the guy to get her through it successfully.
The idea of making love with her came up a few times, so to speak, but I felt intuitively that she did not share that urge. I held her, let her sleep, and comforted her as best I could. The night passed slowly.
We awoke in time to meet Lenny for breakfast. We left the hotel at eight and drove to Key Biscayne to the dive shop to get our equipment. The dive boat was conveniently parked and waiting at the dock behind the shop. Captain Slick Masters and his crew of two were professionals. They assisted us to get wetsuits, tanks, regulators, fins, masks, et cetera. We left the shop just after nine. After an hour cruising away from land, we were six miles out, hovering over an old sunken-wreck dive to start. It sat at one hundred and twenty feet.
Downward Dog in Miami Page 13