“Oh, a few of your friends, Jeffrey…. Rasul Aziz, Charlie Turner, just to name two. Everyone plays a part. Feeling left out? I could’ve included you, but I knew that you would never see the beauty of the plan. You and Wellington are such goody-two-shoes. You would’ve never gone for it.”
“Raz? So, he’s the reason Andrew was on that train?”
“Now you’re getting it Jeffrey boy! Rasul has been very valuable to us. He started out being a true believer… you know, thought he was working for ‘the cause,’ — whatever that is. But once he saw how much money we could make with so little relative effort, he joined up just for the sheer financial windfall. Of course it’s a pity now. Our operations have gotten so big, so complicated, and so successful, too many people know now. The EuroStar job was enormously successful, and will probably be our last for a while, which means we need to whittle our ranks. Unfortunately, we’re going to have to get rid of Rasul. He knows far too much, and there were far too many loose ends tying him to Andrew and the explosion. It’s only a matter of time before his face is plastered all over the globe as the prime suspect for the Eurostar explosion. If the police don’t figure out it was him themselves, then we’ll just feed his name to the press as a suspect, and in a few weeks, they’ll find his body. Case closed. You would be surprised how easy it is to orchestrate such things. Pity you couldn’t have joined us.”
“You’re insane, LaForge. You’ll never get away with this. If Andrew could figure it out, others will. It’s only a matter of time. You, Charlie, Rasul, you’ll all rot in hell for this.”
“I don’t think so, Jeffrey. You’re right, someone will figure it out. But by then, I’ll be safely ensconced in my sweet financial haven, enjoying the fruits of my labor.” With that picture in his mind LaForge started laughing again.
At hearing LaForge’s words, Jeffrey finally snapped. His mixture of fury, fear, and adrenaline boiled over. Everything and everyone he’d ever known, lived for, and fought for, was being mocked by this lunatic. Without giving another thought, he lunged at LaForge. Grabbing him around the waist, he knocked him to the floor, LaForge pulling him down along with him. LaForge struggled to pull his gun from his coat pocket. In the scuffle, the gun went off, but the bullet went straight for the ceiling and lodged in the rafters near the top of a stained glass window. Jeffrey grabbed at the gun with all of his might, twisting and turning it, trying to wrestle it from LaForge’s hand. The two rolled on the floor, first left, and then right, in a mortal struggle to overpower the other and gain control of the gun.
The gun went off again, this time the bullet found a statue of St. Stephen, knocking it off its pedestal, and sending it crashing to the floor below. Jeffrey was finally able to knock the gun from LaForge’s hand, but sent it skidding across the floor, five meters from where they were rolling on the floor near the altar.
Jeffrey jumped to his feet, and grabbed the first thing we could see, a large heavy brass chalice sitting on the table at the foot of the altar. Before LaForge could scramble to his feet, Jeffrey crashed the chalice down on this skull with all of his might. LaForge stumbled backward, blood running from beneath his hairline. As he fell, Jeffrey delivered another crashing blow, this time to the side of his head for good measure. LaForge stumbled sideways, crashing into the altar table, sending brass bowls, platters, and holy relics scattering across the floor. He landed face down, blood now running in a steady stream down his face and onto the floor of the chapel. He was unconscious and bleeding out profusely, with a steady red stream across the floor.
For a moment, Jeffrey thought about finishing him off, killing him right then and there. No one would blame him. He could make it look like it happened during the course of the struggle. He deserved to die, that Jeffrey was sure of. But as he stood there contemplating the thought, he realized he could never do it. He couldn’t kill someone with his bare hands, or even with the gun. He had spent his life making laws to protect people, to pursue justice, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore all of that now, even if a big part of him wanted revenge for Andrew, Annie, and all the other people LaForge had hurt and killed.
Jeffrey looked around for some way to immobilize him, to make sure he couldn’t escape. His eyes landed on a stack of priest’s robes and vestments neatly lying on a chair in the corner. Coiled carefully on top was a slender white rope, worn as a belt by priests, but perfect to tie up the hands of a killer.
While Jeffrey cinched LaForge’s hands behind his back, he started to moan. The trickle of blood hadn’t slowed down, and Jeffrey wondered if he might die after all. If that happened, then so be it. He certainly wasn’t going to lift a finger to help this guy survive, that much was certain.
Jeffrey still didn’t know where Annie was. Was she really dead as LaForge had insinuated? Or was she alive somewhere here in Paris? Could he get to her before she too was murdered? He realized that he’d better get rid of LaForge’s body first, and then figure out what to do next. Looking around for a hiding place, he noticed a side door in the chapel, and dragged LaForge’s heavy body across the stone floor of the church, and into the small musty room. Without turning on the light, he pulled LaForge to the corner, almost tripping over something in the middle of the room as he went. Depositing the killer’s body in a crumpled heap in the corner, Jeffrey found a velvet tablecloth to throw over the body, mostly camouflaging it in the cluttered store room. He was just about to flick on the light to examine his handiwork when he heard the echo of the front doors of the church opening and closing.
Jeffrey realized it must be a Priest entering the building to close up the place for the night. After all, who else would be entering a dark church this late at night?
Straightening his hair and clothes as quickly as possible, and composing his face into a relaxed smile, Jeffrey sauntered out of the small room to face the unwelcome intruder. Reentering the chapel from the side room, he could see the Priest walking casually up the center aisle. Strangely, he noticed that the Priest was wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt, but wrote it off to the late hour or maybe all the changes he’d heard about in the Catholic Church these days.
After almost twenty years, Jeffrey did not recognize his old college buddy Jorge Morales.
“Good Evening Father,” Jeffrey said as he stepped into the light. “I hope I’m not intruding. I just stopped in here to pray for a few minutes.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
This new little plot twist was going to dovetail perfectly with the original plan, Charlie thought smugly to himself. Still sitting at his desk, and looking out over Battery Park, Charlie was pleased with his little brainstorm. This new twist would tie up all the loose ends so nicely. Jorge had been a problem now for months. His drug habit made him an unacceptable risk, and he could no longer be trusted. Of course, it made Charlie feel a certain amount of guilt, knowing he was sending Jorge to his death. The guy had been his life-long friend, after all. But it couldn’t be helped. Jorge had chosen this path for himself when he refused to kick his drug habit. He had to go, or else risk the entire money-generating strategy that had been so hugely successful for so many years. And without Jorge in the picture, it would have the added advantage of increasing his share of the pie, Charlie was pleased to realize.
In fact, with Jorge taking out Rasul, and then LaForge taking advantage of the opportunity to get rid of both Jeffrey Hunter and Jorge on the same evening in one fell swoop, it would be such a fortuitous turn of events. Charlie’s share in the profits had just increased from 25% to 50%, after they paid off the operatives, Akeem and the others, of course. He and LaForge would double their profits, and eliminate the two biggest risks to their scheme at the same time. It was the perfect way to tie up all the loose ends. After these last little tasks were complete, he and LaForge could lay low for a while and figure out how he was going to spend it all. It was the perfect end to a most advantageous conspiracy.
Charlie looked down again as his personal phone buzzed again with Jorge’s text, al
erting him that he had landed in Paris.
“Goodbye old Pal,” Charlie said out loud to himself, “and thanks for your help.”
***
Jorge stepped into the church, not sure what to expect. The contact person Charlie had promised him must be somewhere around here, someone who could fill him in on the specifics of the plan. Someone was going to have to enlighten him in on details soon, because he sure as hell didn’t know where Rasul was, or how to go about finding him. What’s more, he was also going to need access to a weapon of some type. Hell, what if they wanted him to figure out all by himself how to kill Rasul? What would he use — a gun? Strangle him? He refused to even consider a knife… far too violent and repulsive for his tastes. With any luck, maybe somebody else will have already taken care of the ghastly deed before he even got here. He could only hope. Jorge was being forced to think about the logistics of this nasty assignment and he didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t sign up to be a damn assassin.
Jorge wandered into the chapel and looked around. It was dim and quiet in the room, no sign of anyone around. The only light was the illumination of a couple of candles flickering on a side table. Light from the full moon outside flooded through the chapel windows, illuminating the colorful stained-glass windows. Jorge looked around and was struck by the beauty of the chapel. It reminded him of Vespers back at Jesuit High School in Dallas, and for a moment, he was transported back to that simpler and happier time.
“Good Evening, Father …,” Jeffrey addressed Jorge as he reentered the chapel.
Jorge snapped to attention, catching sight of the man who had entered the chapel from a side door.
“I hope I’m not intruding. I just stopped in here to pray for a few minutes.” Jeffrey was doing his dead level best not to arouse suspicion.
Jorge stopped dead in his tracks, momentarily confused. Who was this character? He seemed familiar.
The man approached, and Jorge was struggling to recognize the face, but he couldn’t place him. He decided for the moment that he was just some guy off the street who had inadvertently wandered into a very dangerous situation.
“Oh, that’s no problem, sir. We keep the doors open late just for that purpose,” Jorge said with a pastoral smile. He might be a drug-addicted loose cannon, but his years of moving illicit money around the globe had made him an excellent improvisational liar.
The two men shook hands.
“Could I help you with something? Perhaps pray for some need you have?” Jorge was starting to enjoy his little charade.
“Oh no, Father. I was actually on my way out.” Jeffrey started to leave, but then noticed the brass relics, still scattered across the front of the church. “I’m sorry but I tripped and knocked over a table near the altar. I was just in that side room looking for more candles since I broke one accidentally.”
“That is no problem. I’m glad you came by. Please, go in peace.” It suddenly occurred to Jorge that this might be the guy he was supposed to meet, the guy with the details of the plan. Or maybe the guy would be his gun connection. Either way, Jorge needed help. Maybe the guy wasn’t recognizing Jorge as his connection either. Perhaps there was a bit of double-confusion going on.
But why was this guy so familiar? Maybe they’d met in some former operation, and that’s why he was struggling to recognize him, Jorge thought to himself. So far, this little plan wasn’t working out so well, with all the confusion and lack of communication. He was livid again for the lack of organization for this ill-conceived change of plans. Haphazard plans were going to get them all killed, he thought to himself. If this was indeed his contact, Jorge resolved to find a way out. He didn’t feel comfortable with the way everything was going down. He decided to go out on a limb.
“You seem so familiar, have we met?”
“I don’t think so, Father.” Jeffrey was mystified by the question.
Jorge wasn’t ready to write it off to coincidence. This guy must be his contact.
“It’s just that I was supposed to meet someone here.”
For the first time, it occurred to Jeffrey how odd it was that the priest was an American.
Then, as he studied the man in front of him, the recognition hit him like a ton of bricks. He was just about to exclaim the name “Jorge!” but the big picture came crashing down on him just before he opened his mouth. Jorge was involved too! He was part of the conspiracy! This wasn’t some random priest; this was Charlie Turner’s sidekick! Of course he was involved.
His brain was spinning fast now, connecting the dots. Jorge must be here to meet LaForge, the man he just stuffed under a velvet cover in the side room, the man who might very well already be dead. If Jorge was involved, who else from his past life was involved?
And then he remembered Annie. She was the reason he was here. Where was she in all of this? Dead? Hiding? He had to find out where she was.
“Actually, I think I am the man you are here to meet.” Jeffrey was thinking fast now, adlibbing and making it up as he went along. Jorge obviously was not recognizing him at all.
“Oh, really! No wonder you looked so familiar.” Jorge was relieved this first little hurdle was over. He just wanted to get the whole nasty business over with and get back on a plane.
“Yes, I was sent to meet you.” Jeffrey stalled, waiting for any hint at what exactly he was supposed to be doing at this meeting.
“Good, I’m ready to get this little task over with. What is the plan? Where is Rasul? Have you pinpointed his location? And do you have something for me? A gun, what?” Jorge stared at Jeffrey expectantly, revealing his naiveté and inexperience all in one question.
Jeffrey’s brain was in high gear, devising a plan on the fly.
“I actually have him here. In fact, I’ve already had to deal with him. I’m not sure if he’s dead or alive, but he’s tied up in that little side storeroom. That’s why I was in there.”
“Great!” Jorge was relieved at the prospect of getting out of his assignment. “If Rasul is already dead, I’ll help you get rid of him, and I’ll be back on the next plane to New York.”
“Come with me. I’ll show you where I stuffed his body.” Jeffrey turned toward the sideroom and Jorge followed. Jeffrey was desperately trying to figure out what to do next. As they walked toward the little chapel’s side room, he decided his best chance was to lock Jorge in the little room with LaForge, and then figure out what to do next. After that, his best bet would probably be to call the French police. He couldn’t keep devising plans on the fly. He needed real help, this situation had gotten way out of control. At this point, there was no way he could find Annie alone, and with their help, and LaForge and Jorge in custody, he might have a chance at finding her.
“He’s in here,” Jeffrey motioned into the sideroom. Jorge charged in.
And in that moment, the storeroom overhead light flicked on, and there in the glaring light stood Rasul Aziz. They stopped dead in their tracks, as shocked to see him alive, as he was surprised to see them there in the little chapel.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Jorge blinked in the bright light at Rasul, who had appeared out of nowhere it seemed. He then glanced down at the figure concealed under the velvet cover. Jeffrey stood frozen, immobilized by fear and confusion. Where in the hell did Rasul come from?
Rasul stared at both of them, trying to make sense of why they were here in this dark church, where he’d been taken at gunpoint, ostensibly to be killed.
Rasul, recognizing his co-conspirator, was the first to speak.
“Jorge! What are you doing here?” His face was a mashup of confusion, shock, and panic from the ordeal he’d just survived in the tunnel below.
He then realized that the second man to enter the room was Jeffrey Hunter. For a moment, the three old college friends just stared at each other, trying to make sense of the situation. Rasul defaulted to the only plausible defense he could think of at the moment, playing dumb. But tucked carefully into the back of his pants was the AK
-47 he had just wrestled from Akeem, when he ambushed him from behind down in the tunnel.
Akeem had made the rookie and fatal mistake of turning his back on a man he thought was dead down in the tunnel. He’d heard two shots ring out, and in the pitch blackness when he heard Rasul hit the ground, he assumed he had killed him. But Rasul was far smarter and more experienced than Akeem. He took advantage of the darkness to feign his own death, and then ambushed Akeem after luring him back into the tunnel with the metal on metal clanks. For Rasul, it was a simple ploy that had worked out beautifully. But unfortunately for Akeem, he had now paid for his mistake with his life. Of course, Rasul had left Annie down there to rot with the rats. He had intended to get rid of her anyway; Akeem had just done the dirty work for him.
“Jeffrey? And what are you doing here too? What the hell is going on here?” Rasul asked, now looking incredulously at Jeffrey as well.
As Rasul called out Jeffrey’s name, Jorge spun around and looked at Jeffrey in surprise, for the first time realizing that the man he had been unsuspectingly conversing with was none other than his old college pal Jeffrey Hunter, Assistant to the Prime Minister of Britain.
The three men, who had once been college buddies in Oxford, stood frozen, unsure what to do next. No one was entirely sure who was on which side, and who could be trusted. In the moment, no longer willing to trust anyone, Rasul played his trump card, the only one that mattered at this point.
Pulling the AK-47 from where he’d stowed it in his waistband behind his back, he swung it around and leveled it at both of his former friends.
“So, Jorge, I see how it is now. You and Jeffrey here have come for me too.”
Jeffrey quickly gauged that the two accomplices were obviously not on good terms. He decided that his only hope of survival at this point was to lay all of his cards on the table.
The Cornmarket Conspiracy Page 22