First Thrill

by Steve Richer

  Dubious loans paid back at IPO prices had made the founder and his cohorts quite wealthy. A brokerage firm closely linked to Zaillian pushed the stock to their clients, which made the value of the shares skyrocket. The man’s ability to sell his ideas had been the key to establishing a certain significance in the industry, which was one of the reasons he wound up in Forbes magazine.

  “So with this kind of reputation he wouldn’t have any trouble getting himself a huge loan from honest banks.”

  Jeff realized that honest bank was an oxymoron of cataclysmic proportions, but it was too late to take it back.

  Bellamy brightened up as he picked up the thread. “Which means he could get banks to loan him money for him to market something he has stolen in the first place. Also, it would most likely mean that he got the loan before he got the prototype. I don’t see Hingle deliver the merchandise if he’s not going to get paid at the same time.”

  “What a cocky bastard. It takes one large set of arrogant balls to pull off something like that.” Jeff was shaking his head in disbelief.

  Chasey drained the last of her coffee. “Does that mean that y’all agree Zaillian is the buyer?”

  Everyone turned to Bellamy who shrugged. “I’ll still let my people keep an eye out on China, but Zaillian looks very attractive at the moment. So as long as we don’t have anybody else in mind, I say we go to Chicago and put the fear of God into him.”

  “You mean I go to Chicago and put the fear of God in him,” Jeff said, more of a statement than a question.

  Bellamy smiled at him. “At my age, you don’t handle the jetlag too well.”

  “I have to go to Chicago tomorrow,” he told Chasey as they drove back to the hotel in Hull. They were still using Harker’s rental.

  “I know. I was there, remember?”

  “I was thinking maybe it would be a good chance for you to go back to Emmetts Run.” It was hard for him to say. “I mean, you’re not a target, they won’t chase you down all the way to North Carolina.”

  “Yeah, I could go back tomorrow morning. We could share a cab to the airport, split the fare.” She smiled to him.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to go. All I mean is, I know you’ll have to go back eventually and tomorrow is one of those opportunities.”

  “When you said you would put the fear of God into that guy, you didn’t mean you’re gonna kill him, did you?”

  “Of course not, that’s not what I do. I… the other night was different. Harker was gonna kill you. Believe it or not, this is my first mission. I’m no government assassin. I’m just a public worker in way over his head.”

  Instead of reassuring her it made her more worried. It meant that Jeff might be in danger. She could trust an experienced professional to pull out of such a situation smelling like a rose.

  But Jeff had just admitted he wasn’t a veteran expert. It was as new to him as it was to her, even if he’d had a few briefings. She was worried.

  Did that mean she had feelings for him? Absolutely. She had never been concerned about Willard before which was a good sign for the CSE agent. She realized that with each passing moment she was holding Jeff closer to her heart.

  Now she knew what it was to have her entrails twisted by his sheer company. They didn’t have to talk, she was just happy to be by his side. In a matter of minutes, she would be madly, head over heels in love with him. It was going that fast.

  AUGUST 14

  WEDNESDAY

  Chapter 57

  By taking an early flight, Jeff was able to reach the headquarters of Zaillian Electronics by 9:30am.

  The building was a former grocery store that had been converted to host offices. At least the investors would know their money hadn’t gone in superfluous decorations and artwork. Again, Jeff had to announce himself to a receptionist.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Timothy Zaillian.”

  “Who shall I say wants to see him?”

  “Tell him Mr. Gustavo Morales is a friend we have in common.”

  The middle-aged lady called the big boss. There was a pause and then she whispered something Jeff couldn’t quite make out. It sounded like she was arguing.

  “Mr. Zaillian is sending his assistant to escort you to his office. It shouldn’t be too long.”

  Two minutes later, Jeff entered Zaillian’s office. It matched the rest of the building, all the furniture originating from a discount superstore. It was wise for such a crook to appear as if he truly cared about his shareholders’ money.

  “How do you do? Timothy Zaillian,” he greeted, extending his hand and flashing a million-dollar, shit-eating grin.

  Jeff didn’t take the hand and sat across the desk. He was in control of this situation and nothing could change that. With the help of his Glock, he had dropped by his apartment earlier to get some personal effects and stash the Hingle video CD which he didn’t trust anyone to have.

  So now he was wearing his expensive power suit and he could sense the affect it was having on Zaillian. He had to refrain himself from putting his feet on the desk.

  “Morales doesn’t want to sell to you anymore.”

  “Mora-who? I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  The man sat down behind his desk.

  “And yet you told your secretary to let me in when I mentioned his name. Isn’t that a riot?”

  “Who are you?” The grin was gone.

  “Who I am isn’t important. I could bounce my driver’s license your way and you’d be none the wiser. What I represent is more your concern. I’m with some very important people whose interest would be better served if you didn’t buy the prototype.”

  “What prototype?”

  “I enjoy talking to the village idiot as much as the next guy, but unfortunately my time is limited. I’ll admit something to you: I’m not with Morales. I rank higher in the food chain. It is in my interest and my organization’s interest that you don’t buy this prototype, the one that was stolen from Polar Tiger Industries.”

  Zaillian stood up. “I think you’d better leave now.”

  Jeff didn’t budge. “I think you’d better sit down. My organization doesn’t file lawsuits or go to newspapers. It only understands the power of Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson. It uses force where other people use a fountain pen.”

  The CEO returned to his seat. “I’m sure we can talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. My associates have a very long reach. They can get to places you wouldn’t even believe. There is not one rock you could hide under they don’t already know about. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to sound threatening.” Like hell, I’m not. “I’m just laying down the groundwork for our relationship.”

  “I’ve never had anyone bully me before and I’m not about to start.”

  “No harm will come to you or your company, if you do as you are told. As a gesture of good faith, I’ll give you something.”

  “What?” Zaillian asked, his cool fading away.

  “You might not be aware of it, but the Securities and Exchange Commission has opened an investigation about you. They know about the bridge financing, the bullshit annual reports, they are days away from forwarding your file to the FBI. You will do with this information what you please.”

  Jeff stood up and buttoned up his jacket, taking his time for his words to register.

  He continued, “But if I find out that you have bought the PTI prototype from Morales or any of his cronies, my organization will come down on you with everything it’s got. Your wife, your kids, even your neighbors will wish they had never met you. Have a pleasant day.”

  Jeff turned around and walked out. Back at the airport, he called Bellamy to let him know how it had gone. The latter told him they had checked out Zaillian’s phone records and two calls had been placed to Venezuela.

  Jeff was ecstatic that he had barked up the right tree.

  Chasey’s plane touched Raleigh ground twenty minutes
before ten. The first thing she did after having collected her luggage was buy a local newspaper. She was dying to find out what had happened in her neck of the woods during her absence. She grabbed a copy of the Herald-Sun and scanned the headlines.

  She was reading at the same time as she was walked and bumped into two different people before she reached the State section. She stopped when she read the story of how the FBI had arrested a Raleigh resident who allegedly sold stolen blueprints to crooked businessmen and terrorists alike.

  She remembered Jeff had followed some man to Raleigh. After all, that was how they had met. This man, Morales he had called him, had a great importance in this whole prototype theft. Jeff was supposed to follow him to a meeting, but had blown it to spend some time with her.

  Could the meeting have been with this man the FBI had arrested? There was certainly a story there. She hurried to a pay phone and used her calling card to dial the long distance call to Charlotte.

  “FBI, how may I direct your call?”

  “I’d like to speak to Special Agent Wade Devlin, please.”

  “May I inquire as to the nature of your call?”

  “My name is Chasey Parfett, I’m from the Clayton News-Star. I’d like to talk about the Aaron Chapman case.”

  She had never met an FBI agent who didn’t like having his name in the newspaper.

  “I’m sorry, agent Devlin isn’t meeting anyone from the press today. The Assistant Special Agent in Charge will hold a press conference at four today. What newspaper did you say you were with again?”

  Chasey hung up, putting her relationship with Jeff before the one with her newspaper. She dialed Jeff’s pager number. She caught him as he was waiting for his plane in Chicago.

  “What would you say if I told you I found out who Morales was meeting in Raleigh that time you were having breakfast with me?”

  “I would pledge total love and devotion to you.”

  “I just read in the paper that the FBI arrested someone yesterday who was illegally selling commercial blueprints. He was based in Raleigh. They said his client roster was international.”

  CSE had never found anything in their files about Gustavo Morales. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the reason he was involved with the prototype theft. There had to be a reason he needed so much money. Jeff wasn’t even going to ask for permission. He had to clarify the situation, to discover the truth. If anything, it would cover the screw up of having lost track of him.

  “Then you know what I’m gonna say. I pledge total love and devotion to you, Chasey Parfett.”

  He hung up before she had time to retort. Her answer, or lack thereof, terrified him.

  Chapter 58

  Although he hadn’t planned on asking permission, Jeff had to call Bellamy to make use of his authority.

  It worked too. His boss’s influence granted him access to the ninth floor of the Wachovia Building in Charlotte. The Special Agent in Charge let Jeff into the interrogation room and gave consent to let him talk to Chapman.

  Wade Devlin didn’t know how Jeff had managed to do that, but it pissed him off on a profound level. He knew that orders had come from Washington which meant the case was getting political.

  His superior assured him that his leadership wasn’t being questioned at all, but he was aware that the sad truth was it was only a matter of time until they gave the case to some Washington whore. He looked through the two-way mirror as this stranger who sat across the table from his suspect.

  “I’ve come a long way to talk to you,” Jeff said.

  “Is that so?” Chapman shot back, beginning to play with his ears.

  “I’ve heard we have a common friend. Friends of my friends are my friends, you know?”

  “Look, they’re serving meatloaf today, I don’t want to miss that.”

  Jeff retrieved one of the pictures of Morales he had taken in Bermuda and delicately placed it on the table in front of Chapman.

  “I want you to take a deep long look at this picture. Look at it like it’s the last picture you’re ever gonna see. Did you sell blueprints to that man?”

  “I don’t know where you got that idea. I don’t sell blueprints.”

  “Look, let’s talk like we’re not in the business of ass-fucking each other. I’m not with the FBI or any other police department for that matter. On the record, this is off the record. I don’t want a confession or clues to convict you.”

  Chapman offered a stoic smirk. “Then I guess I don’t have any incentive to help you.”

  Jeff stood up and slowly walked around the table. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. But what you fail to realize is that if I’m not a cop, there isn’t anything to keep me from respecting your rights as a prisoner.”

  When he got behind the hippie, he grabbed a handful of his dreadlocks and bashed his head forward against the table.

  He hadn’t planned on doing that until it was done. Jeff was surprised he could do such a thing. But he had reached his boiling point.

  In the past few weeks he had been held hostage, beaten, shot at, chased after, and marked for death. He was exhausted, tired of running, of chasing. It was time for this case to be resolved. He loved how he was helping to make a difference, but he needed a vacation. It was way too much to ask for a first mission.

  He banged the man’s head again.

  “Are we clients of the same cable provider now? Are we on the same wavelength?”

  Devlin was about to interrupt this session when the SAC joined him in the observation room.

  “I got to stop this,” Devlin said.

  The senior agent shook his head. “We have orders to let him do whatever he wants. If he wants to dress him up as a schoolgirl and broadcast him over the Internet, we’re to provide the computer. Get my drift?”

  “But the guy will argue the FBI did that. The case will be thrown out.”

  “The orders came from Justice and I was led to believe they had their orders from even higher. So sit back and enjoy the show.”

  Jeff probably wouldn’t have touched the man if he hadn’t been handcuffed. He wasn’t skilled in the arts of fighting; he remembered all too well his encounter with Harker. The clock was ticking and the silver bracelets were an invitation.

  Chapman touched his forehead and saw there was no blood even though it hurt as if he had a gaping wound.

  “My lawyer is gonna have so much fun with this, man.”

  “I don’t care if you win your case by arguing you were victim of police brutality. It’s not my concern. I want to know if you have any idea who the man in the picture is.” Jeff paused when there was no answer. An idea occurred to him. “Okay, let’s do something. If you ever were to meet Gustavo Morales, where would you hold the meeting?”

  Chapman scowled as he understood where the younger man was going. Hypotheses and suppositions didn’t mean anything. If it could stop the asshole from hurting him again, then it was worth it. “I’d probably do it in a public market or a park.”

  “What would a man of his stature be interested in?” Jeff returned to his chair.

  “Schematics.”

  “Of what?”

  “My guess would be that a South American fella like this would have a keen interest in cruise ships.”

  “Cruise ships? What cruise line could he be interested in?”

  “Caribbean Wayfarers might be a good guess.”

  “Could any ship in particular strike his fancy?”

  “If I had been involved in such a situation, I wouldn’t be able to remember what ship it was. If it were my business, I would just be the broker, taking orders and delivering the products. But I would remember it was one of the company’s smaller ships.”

  “That could be very useful indeed. Would there be anything else that a man like that would want?”

  “If I was in his shoes, I would’ve asked for passenger information for that particular cruise. But that’s just me.”

  “That would’ve been very helpful if I had asked fo
r it. I’d be sorry about your forehead, if I had struck it.”

  Jeff pocketed his photograph, went to the door, and knocked twice to be let out. He had what he had come here to get. Morales was up to something and he had to find out what it was before it was too late.

  Whatever it was, it would happen on a Caribbean Wayfarers cruise ship.

  After twenty-four hours, corpses cease looking like the humans they once were. Their temperature is the same as the ambient temperature. The muscles are completely relaxed. The skin is green, especially the face. The putrefaction warps the features.

  Worst of all, there is a stench of rotting meat. It takes another day or two to see large blisters appear under the skin and for the decomposition gas to swell the body. But it’s always a nuisance.

  The Golden Seagull apartment had only one bedroom. Hingle never could sleep on couches and so it was important to him that the bedroom not be used to store the cadavers. He had decided that they could do without washing for a day and had ordered his assistant to wrap up the stiffs in a blanket and put them in the bathtub.

  Even with the bathroom ceiling fan working at full speed, the disgusting odor managed to reach the living room. They were running out of air freshener.

  Hingle had to make a move. He grabbed the phone and placed a call to a Venezuelan bank. He had to get through the secretary before he could get Morales on the phone.

  “Qué tal, my friend?”

  “There’s a lot of pressure on me here. I’m gonna cross the border sometime tonight and then I’m gonna take the first flight to Nassau. It’s not gonna be a Club Med trip, I don’t wanna be there longer than I have to. So tell your buyer to be there early tomorrow. We make the exchange, collect our money, and get the hell out of there. I’ll tell the frog the same thing.”

  There was a brief silence on the Venezuelan end of the line. “We have a problem. I received a call a few hours ago from Zaillian. He doesn’t want to do business with us anymore. He didn’t give any reason, but he sounded panicked. I think someone has gotten to him.”