The Collectors

by David Baldacci

  near the White House instead of his caretaker’s cottage at Mt. Zion Cemetery. He’d noticed the van following them and wanted to do something about it.

  He quietly explained the situation to Reuben as he was getting out of the sidecar, describing the van to his friend.

  Stone said, “Keep an eye out. If the van follows you, I’ll call you on your cell phone.”

  “Shouldn’t you call Alex Ford for some backup? After all, we did make him an honorary member of the Camel Club.”

  “Alex is no longer assigned to the White House. And I don’t want to call him out on what might be nothing. But there are other Secret Service personnel here that can help me.”

  When Reuben pulled away, Stone slowly passed his tent, with the sign “I want the truth” next to it. No other protesters were here tonight, including his friend Adelphia. Then he made his way quickly toward a statue in the park of a Polish general who’d aided the Americans in the Revolutionary War. His reward for this good service had been a large memorial on which hundreds of birds crapped daily. Climbing up on the statue’s pedestal, he saw that the van remained parked on 15th Street, outside the 1600 block of Pennsylvania Avenue closed to traffic.

  Stone climbed back down and approached one of the uniformed guards who protected the White House perimeter.

  “What’s up tonight, Oliver?” the man said. He’d been guarding the White House for almost ten years and was well acquainted with Stone. For his part Stone was always polite and adhered strictly to the rules of the protest permit that he carried in his pocket.

  “Hello, Joe, I wanted to give you the heads-up on something. It might not be anything, but I know the Service doesn’t like to take chances.” He quickly explained about the van, but without pointing toward it. “I thought you should know in case you wanted to check it out.”

  “Thanks, Oliver. I owe you.”

  As Stone had learned in all his years here, there was no detail too small for the Secret Service when it came to guarding the president. Thus, a couple minutes later he watched from nearby as Joe, joined by another armed guard, approached the D.C. Public Works van. Stone wished he had thought to bring his binoculars tonight, but they sat on his desk back at the cottage. He tensed when the driver’s window of the van came down.

  The next thing that happened was stunning. The two uniformed guards whirled around and walked quickly away from the van as the driver’s window slid back up. The men did not come near Oliver Stone; they headed in the exact opposite direction as fast as they could go without running while the van remained where it was.

  “Damn,” Stone muttered under his breath.

  Now he knew. The people in the van were members of a government agency with enough clout to send the Secret Service scurrying away like frightened children. Now was the time to run. But how? Should he call Reuben? Yet he didn’t really want to involve his friend in this. A thought struck him.

  Was his past finally catching up to him?

  He quickly made up his mind and strode off across the park, reached H Street and turned left. The Farragut West Metro stop was only a couple blocks away. He checked his watch. Damn! The subway was closed. He changed direction, constantly looking over his shoulder for signs of the van. He decided to keep hoofing it down the street; he might catch a late-running bus.

  When he reached the next intersection, the public works van screeched to a stop directly in front of him and the slide door started opening.

  Then Stone heard the voice shouting at him.

  “Oliver!”

  He looked to his right. Reuben had driven his motorcycle up on the sidewalk and was speeding directly at him. He slowed just enough to allow Stone to dive into the sidecar. Reuben flew over the curb, back onto the street and gunned the motorcycle with Stone’s long legs sticking straight up out of the sidecar.

  Reuben, whose knowledge of the streets of D.C. nearly equaled Stone’s, made a series of rights and lefts before he slowed the bike, eased into a dark alley and came to a stop behind a Dumpster. By this time Stone had righted himself in the sidecar. He looked up at his friend. “Your timing couldn’t have been better, Reuben. Thanks.”

  “When you didn’t call, I circled back around. The van started to move and I followed it.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t spot you. This motorcycle does tend to stick out.”

  “Who the hell are those guys?”

  Stone told his friend about the run-in with the Secret Service.

  Reuben said, “There aren’t many agencies that can make the Service turn tail on its own turf.”

  “I can think of maybe two: CIA and NSA. Neither one gives me much comfort.”

  “What do you think they wanted?”

  “I first spotted the van outside the rare book shop. It might have been following us before then, though.”

  “At DeHaven’s?” Reuben snapped his fingers. “You think this has something to do with that Cornelius Behan prick? He’s probably joined at the hip with the spy guys.”

  “It might, considering the timing.” Maybe this wasn’t tied to his past, after all.

  Reuben looked nervous. “Oliver, if they were following us, do you think they might have had a tail on Caleb and Milton?”

  Stone was already on his phone. He reached Caleb and told him some of what had happened and put his phone away. “He just dropped Milton off at home. They didn’t see anyone, but they probably wouldn’t have.”

  “But what did we do to get spooks after us? We told Behan what we were doing there. What interest could he have in DeHaven?”

  “He might have an interest if he knew how DeHaven died. Or perhaps more accurately, how he was murdered.”

  “You’re saying Behan might have had his neighbor killed? Why?”

  “You just said it, his neighbor. It’s possible that DeHaven saw something he shouldn’t have.”

  Reuben snorted. “On Good Fellow Street, with the rich and obnoxious?”

  “It’s all speculation, but the fact remains that if you hadn’t shown up, I’m not sure what would’ve happened to me.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Since it seems no one was concerned about us until we went to Jonathan DeHaven’s house, we start there. We find out whether the man was murdered or not.”

  “I was afraid that’s what you were going to say.”

  Stone settled himself in the sidecar, this time with his legs where they ought to be. Reuben started the motorcycle and they set off.

  Just like old times, Stone thought. And that clearly wasn’t a good thing.

  The men in the van reported in to a very upset Roger Seagraves.

  “We could’ve taken the old guy even though his buddy showed up, but we figured it might be too dicey,” one man said over the phone.

  Seagraves stared at his secure phone for a moment, thinking what his next move should be. “They were at DeHaven’s for how long?”

  “Over five hours.”

  “And then to a rare book shop, and then you followed them to the White House.”

  “Yep. One of them has a tent in Lafayette Park. And according to the Secret Service, his name is Oliver Stone. What a joke!”

  “He spotted your tail, so I don’t know how much of a joke he is,” Seagraves snapped. “And I don’t like you flashing your creds around, especially to the Service.”

  “We just got in a jam and had to do it. But we are with the Agency,” the other man countered.

  “But not on official duty tonight,” Seagraves shot back.

  “So what do you want us to do?”

  “Nothing. I want to check out Mr. Stone more thoroughly. I’ll be in touch.” Seagraves hung up.

  A man calling himself Oliver Stone has a tent across from the White House, can spot expert surveillance and visited the house of a man I had killed. Seagraves could feel another thunderstorm coming on.

  CHAPTER 16

  IT WAS RAINING AND CHILLY IN Newark when the plane touched down. Annabelle now
sported brown hair, cherry-red lipstick, sleek eyeglasses, funky clothes and blocky-heeled shoes. Her three companions were all dressed in two-piece suits with no ties. They didn’t leave the airport together. They drove south and rendezvoused at a rental unit in Atlantic City.

  Being back in the town after so many years, Annabelle could feel her tension level rising. The last time, she had come far too close to dying. But being tense could easily get her killed this time around. She would have to trust her nerves to weather what was coming. She had prepared nearly twenty years of her life for this moment. She did not intend to waste it.

  Over the last week she’d wired the funds from the altered checks out of the corporate accounts. Those sums plus the stash from the ATM scam had been put into an overseas account that did not abide by a single U.S. banking regulation. With $3 million in seed money, the men were anxious to hear Annabelle’s plan for the long con.

  And yet she was clearly not ready to tell them. She spent much of the first day walking the town, scoping the casinos and in discussions with certain nameless people. The men spent the downtime playing cards and shooting the breeze. Leo and Freddy regaled young Tony with stories of old scams embellished and polished to the degree that only distant memories could inspire.

  She finally called them all together.

  “My plan is to turn our three million into a lot more, in a relatively short period of time,” she informed them.

  “I just love your style, Annabelle,” Leo said.

  “Specifically, I plan to turn our three million into at least thirty-three million. I walk away with thirteen point five, and you split the rest three ways. That’s six and a half per. Anybody have a problem with that?”

  The men sat there stunned for a full minute. Leo finally answered for them. “Yeah, boy, that just sucks.”

  She held up a warning hand. “If the scam doesn’t work, we could lose some of the seed, but not all. Everybody all right with rolling that dice?” Each of them nodded. “The amount of money we’re talking will necessitate taking certain risks on the back end.”

  Leo said, “Translation, whoever we’re ripping off will never stop looking for us.” He lit a cigarette. “And now I think it’s time you told us who it is.”

  Annabelle sat back and slid her hands in her pockets. She never took her gaze off Leo’s face, and he stared back in turn. Finally, he said nervously, “Is it really that bad?”

  “We’re hitting Jerry Bagger and the Pompeii Casino,” she announced.

  “Holy shit!” Leo yelled, his cigarette falling out of his mouth. It landed on his leg and burned a small hole in his pants. He angrily swiped at the burn mark and pointed a shaky finger at her. “I knew it! I knew you were gonna pull this crap.”

  Tony looked at each of them. “Who’s Jerry Bagger?”

  Leo said, “The meanest son of a bitch you hope you never cross paths with, sonny boy, that’s who.”

  Annabelle joked, “Come on, Leo, it’s my job to get him juiced about the scam. Keep that up, he’ll want to take on Jerry all by himself.”

  “I’m not taking on Jerry effing Bagger for three million, thirty-three million or three hundred and thirty-three million because I won’t live to enjoy it anyway.”

  “But you came here with us. And like you said, you knew I was going for him. You knew it, Leo.” She stood, came around the table and draped a long arm around his shoulders. “And if the truth be known, you’ve been waiting for a shot to take that weasel down for the last twenty years. Admit it.”

  Leo suddenly looked embarrassed, lit another Winston and shakily blew smoke to the ceiling. “Anybody who’s done business with that bastard wants to kill him. So what?”

  “I don’t want to kill him, Leo. I just want to steal so much money from Jerry that it’ll hurt him where it matters the most. You could wipe out his whole family, and it wouldn’t bother the guy nearly as much as knowing somebody got the money he’s been piling up from the poor schmucks that trip through his casino every minute of every day.”

  “Sounds cool,” Tony chimed, while Freddy still looked uncertain.

  Leo stared in fury at the young man. “Cool? You think it’s cool? Let me tell you something, you little know-nothing punk. You mess up in front of Jerry Bagger like you did at that bank, there won’t be enough left of you to send in an envelope to your mama for burial.” Leo turned and pointed a finger at Annabelle. “Let me make something real clear right now. I am not taking on Jerry Bagger. But I am really not taking on Jerry Bagger with this screw-up along.”

  “Hey, I made one mistake. You never made a mistake?” Tony protested.

  Leo didn’t answer. He and Annabelle were engaged in a lengthy stare-down.

  She said quietly, “Tony’s role is limited to what he does best. He has no face time with Jerry.” She glanced at Freddy. “And Freddy’s backroom all the way. He just has to make some good-looking paper. The success of the scam depends on you. And me. So unless you think we’re not good enough, I don’t see a valid objection.”

  “They know us, Annabelle. We’ve been here before.”

  She walked around the table and opened a manila folder that sat on the table in front of her chair. She held up two glossies of a man and a woman.

  “Who’s that?” Freddy asked, puzzled.

  Leo answered grudgingly as he gazed at the pictures. “Me and Annabelle, from a long time ago. In At-lan-tic Ci-ty,” he spat out.

  “Where’d you get the photos?” Tony asked.

  Annabelle explained, “Every casino keeps a face bank, what they call the black book, of people who’ve tried to scam them, and they share that intelligence with the other casinos. You’ve never tried to rip a casino, Tony, and neither has Freddy, which is one reason I looked you two up. I still have a few contacts in this town; that’s where I got the prints. They never actually caught us and photographed us. These were made from composites based on descriptions of us. If they had real photos, I’m not sure I’d be here.”

  “But you two don’t look anything like that anymore,” Tony said. “Some intelligence,” he added with a sneer.

  Annabelle pulled two more glossies out of the folder. These looked more like the real Leo and Annabelle. “Like the police do with missing children, the casinos hire experts to digitally alter the photos to take into account normal aging. They feed that into their black book and also into their electronic surveillance system that has face recognition software. That’s why we’ll look nothing like this when we make our run at Jerry.”

  “I’m not making a run at Jerry,” Leo snarled.

  “Come on, Leo, it’ll be fun,” Tony said.

  “Don’t piss me off, kid,” Leo snapped. “Like I need an excuse to hate you!”

  “Let’s take a walk, Leo,” Annabelle said. She held a hand up when Tony and Freddy stood to follow them. “Stay put. We’ll be back,” she said.

  Outside, the sun was coming out from behind a patch of dark clouds. Annabelle pulled a hood over her head and slid on sunglasses. Leo pulled a ball cap low over his head and donned shades as well.

  They walked along the Boardwalk, which ran between the casinos on the main strip and the wide beach, passing couples on benches staring at the ocean.

  “They’ve fixed up the place since the last time we were here,” Annabelle said. The casinos had stomped into town in the late seventies, plopping down billion-dollar gambling palaces in the middle of the seaside resort’s stark decay. For years afterward a person would not want to venture far away from the casinos because the surrounding city was not the safest place. The powers-that-be had long promised a general cleanup of the area. And with the casinos throwing off lots of money and jobs, it looked like that promise was finally being fulfilled. They stopped and watched a large crane lifting steel beams up on top of a structure that a sign announced would soon be luxury condos. Everywhere they looked new construction and rehab of existing places was going on.

  Leo veered toward the beach. He stopped to take off
his shoes and socks while Annabelle slid off her flats and rolled up her pants. They walked along the sand, drawing close to the water. Finally, Leo stopped, bent down, grabbed a seashell and tossed it at an incoming wave.

  “You ready to talk about it?” she asked, eyeing him closely.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what? Running a con? That’s what I’ve been doing all my life. You should know that better than anyone, Leo.”

  “No, I mean, why’d you come and get me, Freddy, the kid? You could’ve had your pick of just about anyone for this action.”

  “I didn’t want just anyone. We go way back, Leo. And I thought you’d want to take another run at Jerry. Was I wrong?”

  Leo threw another seashell into the water and watched it disappear. “Story of my life, Annabelle. I throw seashells at the waves, and they just keep coming.”

  “Don’t get all philosophical on me.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “Is this because of your old man?”

  “And I don’t need you playing my shrink either.” She moved slightly away from him, crossed her arms over her chest and looked out to sea where at the edge of the horizon a ship slowly made its way somewhere.

  “With thirteen million dollars I could buy a boat big enough to take across the ocean, couldn’t I?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. I guess. I’ve never had a reason to price one.” He looked down at his bare feet, crinkled the sand between his