Omega Series Box Set 3: Books 8-10

by Blake Banner

  He shook his head and came a little closer.

  “Good.” I pointed at the two bags. “Emily is OK with being insulted. I am not. When you are ready to make me a realistic offer, you let me know.”

  He came to the desk and slowly unzipped the bags and looked inside. Then he raised his eyes to look at me and I saw what Emily had meant. His face was reptilian. His mouth was a thin, lipless line, turned down at the corners, and his skin was leathery. His eyes were hooded and a pale amber color. They were completely devoid of feeling. It was as though he was filled with rage, but rage for him was not so much an emotion as a state of being.

  “You have it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We agreed with Emily, no auction.”

  “I told you already, Gregor, you’re dealing with me now, not Emily. Emily is finished.”

  “Who are you?”

  “That’s none of your goddamn business. You want the box, come up with a realistic offer. I’ll be back tonight. If you haven’t got an offer for me by then, kiss it goodbye. Are we clear?”

  He gave a single nod. “Da…”

  I crossed the Wilton, stepped through the door and went down the stairs to the foyer. The girl behind reception watched me all the way. The two thugs in evening dress had disappeared, but there was still a stain on the carpet.

  I stepped into the morning sun and went to my car, parked by the pseudo Renaissance Chinese water torture, and drove back toward my house at a leisurely pace, letting the sea breeze slap me around a bit and ruffle my hair. I was wondering how high Gregor would go in his next offer, and who the potential buyers would have been at the auction Emily had apparently agreed not to have.

  It also struck me that the fact that she had agreed not to have an auction might be a clue to the reasons for some of her behavior, and might suggest an answer to some of my questions.

  What it did not help to answer—at least not in any obvious way—was the big, burning question: what the hell was that black tablet that Gregor feared she might auction on the open market, that was worth many times the five million he had offered her for it?

  I was beginning to have a suspicion, but I did not want to believe it.

  I pulled off the road and parked among the stilts that held my house high above the sand. Then I climbed the wooden steps to the veranda and sat looking out at the surf. The wind had picked up and what had been lazy splashes on the shore that morning were now becoming curling breakers, five and six feet high. As I watched them curl and tumble toward the shore, I wondered when Emily would call. My gut told me it would not be until that evening. She would want to see me that evening on her own ground.

  A voice in my head asked suddenly, who was she?

  A gust of wind rose and battered the house, lifting a host of sandy ghosts and dragging them along the beach, only to die down just as quickly and lay the specters to rest again.

  Ghosts. I turned the word over in my mind. Whoever she was, Emily was scared. Was she scared of ghosts? The ghosts of her own past? Was Gregor one of those ghosts? Or was this elaborate plan nothing more than a way to make good her escape from ghosts she had left behind in New Jersey; Gregor nothing more than a ticket, a means to acquiring her financial independence, a means that had at the last minute turned unexpectedly dangerous?

  There was, at that stage, no way of knowing, but one thing was clear. The story she had told about being blackmailed by Gregor and the Russian Mafia was a complex, well thought out, credibly delivered lie. She had been very believable when she told it. And yet, she must have known from the start that as soon as the exchange took place, I would know she had lied. More symptoms of fear? Or something deeper and more complex?

  There was no way of knowing until I spoke to her. I sucked my teeth, stood and made my way to the door. Even then, I told myself, as I unlocked it and went inside, even then I might not get all the truth.

  My phone rang. I checked the time. It was eleven thirty-five. I pressed green and sat in my armchair.

  “Yeah?”

  “Lacklan, it’s Emily. Can you talk?”

  “Sure.”

  “What happened last night?”

  “Not over the phone. Where are you?”

  “I’m still in Houston. I won’t be back till this evening. Can you come over then?”

  I smiled to myself. “Sure. What time? What’s keeping you in Houston?”

  “My car broke down. It’s being fixed. Can you give me some clue as to what happened?”

  “Not really. Everything was fine, why are you so anxious?”

  She was quiet for a long while. Finally, I said, “Emily?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m here. It’s just… Did they give you what they were supposed to?”

  Now I was quiet. After a moment I said, with a smile audible in my voice, “I’m pretty sure they did.”

  “And you gave them what you were supposed to give them?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  Her voice was becoming tense. “And there were no problems…?”

  “There were no problems, Emily.”

  I could hear her breathing becoming quick and heavy. “But then, Lacklan, I don’t understand. You must surely have questions for me. And, are you telling me that there was no… That they went away with the parcel…?”

  “Emily, I didn’t say that. I may have questions for you, or not, but we are not going to discuss this over the phone. You understand? Now I want you to relax and trust that I have done the right thing. I’ll see you this evening at about six. Where is your house?”

  She was quiet again, like she was thinking. Finally, she said, “Lake Jackson. Where Lake Road meets Bayou Road, on the lake.”

  “I know it. I’ll be there at six. Can you be back by then?”

  “Yes, I’ll be there.”

  “And Emily? Relax. Everything is fine.”

  After a moment, she said, “All right. I’ll see you then,” and hung up.

  I went to the kitchen, pulled a beer from the fridge and cracked it. I stood swigging from the bottle, looking through the plate glass doors at the blustery sea and asking myself, “Who is Emily…?”

  Five

  Emily’s house was set among a couple acres of broad, green lawns, dotted with cedar elms and partially concealed from the road by a hedge of cypress trees and poplars. There was no gate, but an asphalt drive ran from the road to a concrete parking area outside her front door.

  When I arrived, the sun was almost setting and the trees cast long shadows across the lawns and against the side of the house. It was a two-story construction with white walls and gray slate roofs. It wasn’t small, and it wasn’t cheap.

  I rang the bell and she opened it almost immediately. She didn’t say anything, but stepped back to let me in, then closed the door behind me. We were in an oddly-shaped hall with parquet flooring and a broad, wooden staircase curling up the left-hand wall in a semi-spiral. Ahead, the hall opened into a living area and a dining area that was on a mezzanine floor. A large, over-stuffed sofa and two similar chairs stood on a beige rug in front of a large, open fireplace, where a couple of logs were burning. At the back of the room, there was a vast, sliding plate glass door that showed more lawn and a swimming pool.

  She led me through and gestured to the sofa. “Can I get you a drink?”

  I studied her face a moment before answering. I thought she looked scared. I said: “Whiskey, straight up, thanks.”

  She went to an antique credenza where there was a tray of decanters. I watched her pour a generous measure into a crystal tumbler. She brought it over and handed it two me with both hands, like an offering. I took it and smiled.

  “It’s quite a house.”

  She caught the tone in my voice and I saw her eyes flick over my face. “It’s not mine. It’s Harry’s. He lets me live here.”

  I went and sat in one of her overstuffed armchairs, with my back to the plate glass doors. She came and sat close to me, on the sofa. I was waiting to see what she
would say, if she would offer an explanation without being prompted. She didn’t. She said:

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  I sipped the whiskey. It was good, old and smooth.

  “What were they paying you five million bucks for?” She shifted her eyes from my face to the beige carpet. “You must have realized that when I saw the bags, I would know that you had lied. Or didn’t you realize how bulky five million bucks would be? It’s fifty thousand hundred dollar bills. Two sports bags. That’s a lot of memory cards, Emily.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There is no magic form of words that is going to make this OK. You lied to me, you duped me, you put my life at risk. There is only one way this goes now. You come clean and tell me what is going on.”

  She took a deep breath and sighed, shifting her eyes to look at the orange flames wavering in the fireplace. “Would you believe me if I did?”

  “There is no ‘if’. You are going to tell me. Then we’ll see if I believe you.”

  Her eyes shifted again, this time to look at me. Her brows twitched into a frown. “And if you don’t?”

  “Let’s take it one step at a time. What were they paying you for?”

  She remained silent for a while, watching me. She was trying to read my face. “You didn’t look?”

  “You going to answer every question with a question of your own? I looked…” She straightened, there was a small intake of breath. I pretended to ignore it and went on. “I found a black, carbon fiber box that was impossible to open.”

  “You didn’t force it?”

  I sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “I figured if it was worth five million bucks, it might be smart not to damage it.”

  “How did you know…”

  “Enough. I ask, you answer. What is it?”

  She put down her drink, clasped her hands and slipped them between her knees. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Bullshit.” I said it without any particular emphasis, but she looked up, wide-eyed, as though she was shocked. “Cut the act, Emily. I know already that you are a consummate liar. You gave an Oscar-winning performance at my house the other day. You had me almost convinced. But you won’t hoodwink me a second time. So let’s start again, from the top. And I’m warning you, I am running out of patience. So I advise you not to answer with another question.”

  “All right, I’m sorry. What do you want to know? If I can, I’ll answer.”

  “Let’s start with this: what made you lie to me about the photographs, when you must have known I would spot the lie the minute they handed over the money? You may be many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

  “I was scared that if I told you the truth, you wouldn’t help me, but I gambled that by the time they handed over the money, it would be too late for you to back down and you’d see it through.”

  “That’s a hell of a gamble.”

  She gave a small shrug. “Not really, Harry had told me quite a lot about you. You don’t get to be a captain in the SAS by backing out of a fight because something unexpected happens…” She paused, still staring at her hands. “And five million dollars in cash is not something most men would give back, once it is handed over.”

  I nodded. It made sense. I asked: “Who did you have hiding in the bushes?”

  She shook her head, then looked me in the eye. “Nobody. Perhaps Gregor had somebody watching. I already told you, my problem is that I am alone.”

  I let it go and asked, “So what is in the box that is so valuable to Gregor?”

  She made a gesture of helplessness and stood, walking away from me toward the plate glass doors. I turned to watch her and saw the last of the copper light fading from the sky.

  “I have no right to expect you to believe me. All you know of me is that I lied. But we all do things, bad things that we would not normally do, when we are desperate, when we are in fear.”

  I rose and went to the fireplace so I could watch her. She was a shadow, a silhouette, with the last of the evening light touching her face.

  “I would have done almost anything, however wicked, however awful, to get out of that situation. Now it’s over, perhaps I can start to rebuild my life.” Now she turned to look at me. “Where is the money, Lacklan?”

  “All in good time, Emily. First, answer my question. What is in the box?”

  “Enough information to destroy Gregor, the organization he runs from the casino on the Caribbean Island, off Jamaica Beach, and several of his superiors, leading all the way up to the top of the Shulaya clan in New Jersey and Russia.”

  “Information? How?”

  “Because I was his personal assistant back in Jersey.” She took a couple of steps toward me. “It’s a long story, Lacklan, and you probably won’t believe me. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. The Shulaya are a powerful clan, they’re based in Jersey, but they are trying to make inroads into Texas. It’s not as easy as you might think. There is a lot of resistance to them. That’s why they took over the casino, as a kind of beachhead, but their sights are set first on the cross-border drugs and prostitution rackets, and ultimately on oil and political corruption. They don’t think small, and they are supported by the state back home.”

  It didn’t sound incredible. It sounded very believable, but then, I told myself, everything she said sounded believable.

  “You want to tell me how you came to be Gregor Ustinov’s personal assistant?”

  She gave a small snort of a laugh, took a couple of steps and sat on the arm of the sofa. “I answered an add in the local paper.”

  I laughed out loud.

  She smiled. “It’s God’s own truth. The ad was for a receptionist and admin assistant at a local gym. It turned out the gym was owned by a Russian, and the Tae Kwon Do and Krav Maga classes were taught by a Russian special forces veteran. Bit by bit, as I took on more responsibility, they let slip scraps of information: it was a money laundering operation, money from various criminal enterprises was fed through the gym… And every scrap of information they let slip was followed by a promotion or an increase in my salary. At first, you turn a blind eye, but by the time you can’t ignore it anymore, you have unwittingly become an accomplice.”

  It had grown dark. She rose from the arm of the sofa and walked to the door to flip a couple of switches. Half a dozen large, fat lamps came on and the plate glass in the doors turned black. She pulled the drapes and sat on the sofa.

  “Put another log on the fire, will you?”

  I hunkered down, added a couple of logs and stood again, feeling the warmth of the flames on the back of my legs.

  “What made you leave?”

  “I’m ashamed to admit that in the beginning, I told myself I had a job and I should be grateful for that, what the owners got up to in their private lives was none of my business. But as time went on and they drip-fed me more information, reeling me into their organization, I began to realize what the Russian Mafia was really about. You see it in the movies and on the TV, but until you see it in real life…”

  She paused, as though remembering something she would rather forget.

  “I was eventually promoted to be Gregor Ustinov’s personal assistant. I’ll admit, to begin with, I was quite excited. He seemed to have a very glamorous lifestyle. He traveled a lot and was obviously very rich.

  “Apparently, he had taken a shine to me and liked the way I worked. He gave me a very generous pay increase and, after about a week, I was invited to a small gathering at the gym. When I got there, they were all drinking champagne, and in the middle of the dojo they had a man tied to a chair. He was what they called a bratok. Like a soldier. He had been in charge of collecting protection money from a number of brothels, but he had been skimming money off the top and keeping it for himself. They forced me to watch as they beat him to death. After that, they told me I was a
n accomplice, one of the clan. One of them.

  “Then Gregor used to take me places with him. Sometimes, it was just a casino or a restaurant, or one of his yachts, other times it was one of his nightclubs, and I met girls who had been abducted in the Eastern Block, addicted to heroin and brought out to the States as sex slaves. In the end, it became more than I could bear. So I gathered all the information I could, stored it and escaped.”

  “So the whole thing about Harry being your father…”

  “Is true. And about my mother’s death. It’s all true. It was what gave me the impetus, the courage, to escape.”

  “So what was your plan?”

  “Initially, I thought of going to the FBI.”

  “That would have been the smart thing, why didn’t you do it?”

  “Because my lawyer told me I faced a real risk of doing time myself. I would probably also end up on the witness protection program, and never see Harry again.”

  “So you decided to blackmail the Russian mob instead? That has to be the stupidest idea I ever heard in my life.”

  She gave the floor a rueful, lopsided smile. “Thanks. You sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.” She looked at me, but I wasn’t going to take it back. So she went on. “What they will discover when they examine the documents is that I have kept several key pieces of evidence back, and those have been lodged with an undisclosed attorney. If any harm comes to me or my father…”

  “The oldest ploy in the game.”

  “I suppose so, but it’s effective.”

  I had a number of questions that were crowding in on my mind, but I decided not to ask them yet, because I wanted to see how this new situation played out. So instead, I said, “Only, this time it isn’t going to be so effective, Emily.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Things just got a little more complicated.”

  She sighed and flopped back in the sofa. “You want your cut of the five million. How much? Half? More? All of it? I notice you haven’t given it to me yet.”

  I smiled. “That’s not complicated, Emily. That is very simple and straightforward. No, I don’t want your money. The complication is that I didn’t give them the box.”