by Ian Miller
"Well, this is more interesting," Rhonda said at last. "Interesting, but not entirely relevant. I think this is a fairly good clue that your Dennis was going to defraud someone."
"My guess is, Irving Goldfinch. Rutherford would be too dangerous for Dennis, and he doesn't know many other people with lots of money –"
"As far as you know," Rhonda corrected him.
"True, there might be others, but that doesn't help us now."
"It might," Rhonda said. "If we need an excuse to arrest him . . ."
"Using material from an illegal search?"
"He won't know what we have." She paused then added, "Sure, he will eventually work it out, but you'd be surprised how a bluff can open up someone trying to do a deal that would apply to something more serious."
"So, now what?" It was obvious they had not found anything of substance.
"Your boss's office."
"You think you can bluff him? Or you think Dennis was working for him?"
"I don't know," she answered, "but we might as well find out if we can."
"It'll be interesting to see what he was up to," Burrowes said with a grin.
"Probably financial fraud. We've had our eye on him for a while, but we said we'd leave him alone while he was managing you and Ms Antonovna."
"In which case," Burrowes said, "he may have put two and two together and scarpered."
"You may be right," Rhonda said when she opened the door. "He has a remarkably empty desktop."
It was not long before they found that the drawers were empty too, and the desk computer had been removed.
"I wonder where he went," Burrowes asked, somewhat rhetorically.
"I don't care," Rhonda said. "If he stays in the country, that is." She pulled out her mobile and began texting. "That will have him, or Dennis, apprehended at any border if they try to leave."
"So now what?"
"You know where your Dennis lives?"
"I know where he's supposed to live."
"Then let's go there."
Once again, Rhonda drove, while Burrowes gave directions. Since it was an FBI car, probably only Rhonda would be permitted to drive it. Burrowes certainly would have appreciated a go, if only because it was a modern car with plenty of horsepower in the motor, as opposed to the tired old motor he had.
They knocked on Dennis' door, but there was no response. There was also no sound inside. Rhonda then began to pick the lock.
"More breaking and entering," Burrowes noted.
"Definitely not," she retorted, "unless Mr Clumsy turns up and starts breaking things."
"I guess we'd better leave him at home," he agreed.
The door opened and they entered. Again a quick search found nothing of immediate interest except one letter. It was a local tax statement for a property on Delaware Bay.
"The question now is, do we assume Dennis is at his alternative property?" Burrowes asked.
"Any better ideas where he might be?"
"Nope, so I guess we drive down there."
"Your plan," she said with a grin. "With only one clue, we have to follow it."
"Will you get backup?"
"You think we need it?" she asked with a frown. "This Dennis, he's not dangerous is he?"
"I don't know, but I know Rutherford hires some muscle from time to time, and, well, better to be sure than sorry."
"True. I suppose it won't hurt. I'll make a phone call."
* * *
Rutherford parked his car on the road just behind what he knew was Dennis' car, and because the light was beginning to fade, he put a small torch in his pocket. He began walking up the somewhat overgrown path towards Dennis' country house, and as soon as he saw it, he moved off the track and made his way through the rather sparse shrubbery. He was beginning to wonder whether this attempt at concealment was worth the effort when he felt his foot sink slightly into softer ground. He looked down, and felt the ground. Someone had been digging there. He decided to ignore it, as it could be anything, including the grave of a dead pet. He crept onwards.
He wanted to surprise Dennis, but when he finally reached an open space where he would have to cross at least twenty-five yards to get to the house he began wondering why he had bothered with the cautious approach. He studied the windows carefully, and he finally decided that Dennis was not keeping a watch. Still, he would lose nothing by being careful. He took a pistol from his pocket, brought a cartridge into the chamber and moved the lever to the fire position. Then, keeping as low as he could, he ran in a zigzag fashion across the ground. Nothing happened and he reached the house with no incident. He opened the front door, entered, and noticed a light in the room at the end of the hall. He crept carefully to that door, then, after a pause to check nobody was behind him, he flung the door open and entered. Dennis was at the table, eating. Dennis looked up, and fear crossed his face.
"You're the one who stole McKenzie's torpedo data." It was a statement, not a question.
"Look, I –"
"Arsehole! You see what you've done? You've got the FBI onto us now. What got into your mind?"
Dennis stared, seemingly unable to say anything.
"Dennis, I don't know what you were thinking, but right now we have to get it together. If we're going to get out of this, we have to improvise quickly, so tell me, what did you have in mind and what have you done so far?"
Dennis seemed to come to some sort of decision. He looked up and became slightly more assertive as he said, "You wanted Goldfinch to be in trouble, didn't you?"
Rutherford was a bit stunned. "Yes, but how does this fit?"
"I was waiting for the theft to be discovered, then find a way to place it somewhere in Goldfinch's office where someone else would discover it, or where it would be discovered if the police searched it. It had to be recognized when seen, so I had to wait until a big fuss was stirred up."
Rutherford stared at Dennis, then shook his head slightly. "Interesting plan," he muttered. He took a seat and obviously started thinking. "I suppose it could even work, given enough time and a bit of luck. So where are these documents?"
"I hid them outside, buried is a water-tight container."
"About twenty yards into the shrubbery, and just a bit to the right of the house?"
"Yes. What –"
"I'm afraid it's not very well hidden. Look, finish your dinner while I think how we can get out of this."
Dennis was a little surprised by the 'we'. It only then occurred to him that if he were to be apprehended by the police, they would assume he was working for Rutherford. Dennis somehow found the meal to be not particularly appetizing, but he forced himself to eat. He had to decide whether Rutherford was friend or foe, and he had to decide fairly quickly.
He had noticed the gun in Rutherford's hand, although he also noticed Rutherford had put it away. He would have to trust him not to use it if he went to dig the document up. But there was no point in not doing it because Rutherford knew where it was. He would give Rutherford the documents. If the FBI were really looking for them, maybe he would be better off not to have them.
He had come to a decision, but that did not make him feel any better. Rutherford sitting in a corner with a worried expression did not make him feel any better either. Finally, he announced he was finished eating. He would get a shovel and dig up the documents.
"You do that," Rutherford announced, "and if I were you I wouldn't do a runner because if you were to, I can tell the FBI I came down here to find you but you had fled."
"And if I do bring them back in?"
"For God's sake, Dennis, get a grip. Those documents are dead useless, and if I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it already."
There was truth in that, but that truth did not make Dennis feel any better.
Chapter 37
Given that the target house was surrounded by trees, Burrowes had wondered whether they would be able to notice the entrance given that it was now dark. They passed two parked vehicles outside another d
rive on the opposite side of the road, and Burrowes wondered if he had read the map incorrectly, but he soon assured himself that the desired property was on their side of the road. They drove on a little further, then they saw two more parked cars.
"This is it," Burrowes said.
"You sure?"
"That's Rutherford's car, and the one in front is Dennis' car."
Rhonda parked behind Rutherford's car, and the other FBI car parked behind hers. Two men wearing vests that clearly identified them as FBI men stepped out of the second car, each handling an assault rifle. As Burrowes remarked, shiny shoes and suit pants might not be the right attire for this exercise. Rhonda smiled in agreement, but then her clothing was probably not appropriate either. She had not expected to be going through a semi-jungle when she got up this morning. Rhonda at least had better footwear in the trunk, so she put those boots on and then instructed the two FBI men who had been allocated to her what she intended. One of the FBI men took point, and as Rhonda took a pistol and an assault rifle from the boot, they advanced as quietly as they could. Rhonda handed Burrowes the pistol.
"Sorry you get the lesser gun," she whispered, "but it's all I have."
"That's fine," Burrowes said. "I doubt Dennis will put up too much of a fight."
"Yes, but we don't know who else is there."
"True," he whispered back. They kept on, in silence.
The man on point stopped, and held up his hand. To the left there was a light, and in that light, someone was digging. Rhonda suggested they find out what was going on. Unfortunately, their bushcraft was inadequate, especially in the dark, and as Burrowes was later to comment, a couple of elephants could have moved more quietly. The digging stopped, and the digger gave a squeal of, "Who's there?" and then he probably decided he did not want to know as he turned and began running. The two FBI men set off after him, and after a certain amount of crashing through the undergrowth they caught him. There was a cry, a thump, then more noisy movement through the undergrowth, ending with two heavily soil-stained men bringing a muddy and wet person into the light.
"Hello Dennis," Burrowes said. "Having an urge to dig?"
Dennis simply gave a sour look back.
"Where's your boss, Dennis?"
"In the house," came the sullen response.
"Anyone else?"
"No," Dennis muttered.
"I believe you. In that case, we shall join him," Rhonda said. "Find out what he was digging," she instructed one of the FBI men, "and you keep guard," she instructed the other. She looked at Dennis, and said, "Move!"
Dennis stood there.
"Dennis, if you run, I shall shoot. If you don't move, Charles here will find a solid looking branch and render you unconscious and then we shall drag you. And if he hits you too hard, tough."
Dennis elected to move.
"Sound decision," Rhonda said. "One more thing. If there are others inside and a shooting war starts out, remember you are in between the two sides, and I shall certainly use you for cover. If you want to change your story, now's the time, and if you've lied, it's maybe your only chance to stay alive."
Dennis said nothing, but with his head down, shoulders slumped, he began shuffling his way towards the house. When they reached the front door, Rhonda whispered to Dennis to open it, and walk down towards wherever Rutherford was. He should stay silent.
Dennis complied. He opened the kitchen door, but his appearance showed Rutherford that not all was well. Rutherford went for his pocket.
"FBI! Don't!" Rhonda's voice was clear. The barrel of the rifle protruding from the side of Dennis' waste was also obvious. Rutherford froze. Rhonda pushed Dennis across the room, and told him to take a seat against the far wall. Dennis took a chair from the dining table and placed it against the wall beside Rutherford, then sat down. Rhonda turned towards Rutherford and said, "Very slowly, take the gun from your pocket with two fingers, then drop it and slide it across the floor with your foot."
There was no choice. Rutherford complied.
"Now, each of you, if you have any further weapons, do the same."
No further weapons were produced.
"Now, Mr Rutherford, you will stand face against the wall, hands above your head, and Charles here will search you and empty your pockets. He will crouch, and one false move from you and I shall blow your head away."
Once again, Rutherford complied. The same was done for Dennis, and a broad collection of objects, including wallets, keys, and coins were laid across the table. The two resumed their positions on the two chairs.
"So, for the moment we wait until my two agents come back after digging up whatever you buried out there," Rhonda said calmly. "In the meantime, you might care to enlighten me as to what you were trying to do?"
There was silence.
"Yes, you have the right to remain silent, and I shall read you your rights in full before I arrest you," Rhonda said, "but if you have any reasons why you shouldn't be charged with espionage and treason, now is the time to tell me because so far you have not been charged."
"You would never make those charges stick," Rutherford said quietly, "as well you know. I have never seen, nor do I know what you think is being dug up."
"And exactly why are you here?" Rhonda asked in a caustic one. "You had an urge to overnight here perhaps?"
"Dennis is an employee of mine," Rutherford said calmly. "He owes me quite a bit of money, and he was not at work, nor was he at his apartment. I merely came down here to find out whether he was here, or whether he had fled, leaving me holding the debt."
"Convenient story," Rhonda said. "Why should I believe that?"
"Because I just got here not much ahead of you. You can check my arrival time on the nav tool in my car."
"And didn't Dennis going out to dig up something seem suspicious to you?"
"I asked him what he was doing here," Rutherford said. "He told me he had buried some documents that would be of a lot of value to Irving Goldfinch. I told him to go and dig them up. That is my involvement."
"Well, Dennis, you seem to be being hung out to dry. You get the espionage count all to yourself."
Dennis looked subdued.
"If what he told me is true," Rutherford stated in an even voice, "the espionage charge won't stick on him either. He was returning a document to the person who by contract is entitled to have it."
"Returning?" Rhonda said in amazement. "This house is not exactly on a direct route."
"No, and there is no doubt Dennis has been a little silly," Rutherford said, "and he probably did not go about getting them the right way –"
"Probably? That's an interesting take on 'right'," Rhonda scoffed.
"I don't know how he got them," Rutherford replied calmly. "I'm guessing it was not exactly an approved way, but –"
"But you're hanging it all on Dennis," Rhonda said. "How convenient."
"It happens to be the truth," Rutherford said. "By the way, Dennis, what exactly did you bury and how deep? It's taking whoever's out there a rather long time to dig it up."
Dennis said nothing.
"Charles, keep an eye on these two. I'll go check." Rhonda turned, and walked out into the hall.
"So, Charles," Rutherford said in a challenging tone. "Have you got what it takes to shoot an unarmed man?"
"You should sit still," Burrowes said. "You don't want to piss me off."
"And why not?" Rutherford had a slight smile, as if he knew, or at least thought he knew, Burrowes would not shoot.
"Because I'm a witness to a very credible defence," Burrowes replied. "My guess is, you walk free, so why risk getting shot trying –"
There was the sound of a slight scuffle outside. Burrowes held up his hand, indicating he wanted them to stay silent, and he moved to the door. As he opened the door, he yelped as a lump of wood descended through the gap between door and wall and knocked the gun out of his hand. He then found himself staring down the barrel of a light machine gun, being held by a man dresse
d in black combat gear with a black balaclava over his head. Behind him, Rhonda was dragging the inert body of one of the FBI men, and behind those two, another man dressed in black, complete with balaclava, was dragging the other FBI man.
The man pointing the gun indicated that Burrowes should put his hands behind his head and turn around. There was little choice. There was a general pat down, everything from his pockets was removed and placed on the table, then the man stepped back a pace.
"Join the other two," came the gruff command.
Burrowes walked over to the kitchen table and took another chair, then he placed that beside Rutherford's chair and sat down.
"Keep your hands on your knees where I can see them."
No choice there.
"You, against that wall as well." Rhonda was pushed into the room. She walked over to the wall, and besides the pat down, hair clips were removed and put on the table.
"Now, join the other two."
Rhonda took the last chair and sat down beside Burrowes. The two FBI men were dragged into the centre of the room and laid against another wall.
"I'm sorry," Rhonda said to Burrowes. "I should have been more careful. I should have guessed –"
"Don't be sorry," came a quiet voice. Svetlana walked into the room, holding one of the assault rifles. "These men are extremely well trained. Had you fought, you would be dead."
"Yes, but that begs the question, are we going to die anyway?" Rhonda was not going to lie down.
"Of course not," Svetlana said. "I have what I came for." With that, she held up a plastic wrapped parcel, except it had clearly been unwrapped and examined before being partially returned to its original state.
"Then why those two, and why are you here instead of fleeing?" Rhonda was clearly persistent.
"Those two will wake up with a headache in due course, and," she said, staring at Rhonda, "when they do you can tell them that their ability at keeping watch was very substandard, although to be fair, they would have needed to improve a lot." She paused, then added with a smile, "If you are their boss, you should send them off for much more training."