Jack massaged away the oncoming headache between his eyes. “Not good.”
“Tell me about it. Even Bruschetta is wigged out.”
It took Jack a moment to decode that one. “Is Brunelli with you?”
“Yeah, we’re still at the motel. Right now the cops don’t even know where I am. He’s afraid if we go out, someone might call the police and I’ll end up arrested.”
“Has an arrest warrant been issued?”
“No. I don’t think so. Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Let me talk to Brunelli.”
“He’s on his phone.”
“Tell him to call me.”
“Hey, hold on a second, I got another call.”
“No, Theo, don’t take it!”
Too late. Theo had him on hold, and Jack had an all-too-real fear that the call was from the Bahamian chief of police. A minute or so ticked away as Jack took a walk around the traffic circle outside the entrance to the surgical center. He had the phone to his ear, still waiting, when a nurse came outside to get him.
“You can see your wife now, Mr. Swyteck. She’s just coming out of her anesthesia.”
“Coming out? It was supposed to be local anesthesia.”
“It ended up being more of a twilight.”
“Is everything okay?”
“She’s fine. A little groggy, but that’s normal.”
Jack followed the nurse inside, allowing Theo just a little more time to come back on the line. He was about to give up and disconnect when Theo suddenly returned, his voice racing.
“Dude, it was her again.”
“Who?”
“Josefina.”
Jack stopped cold, halfway across the lobby. The half-deaf old man clutched the TV remote and said, “Don’t even think about changing the channel.”
Jack spoke into his phone. “What does she want?”
“A million bucks, cash,” said Theo. “First installment of the ten million. And she wants you to deliver it. In Cuba.”
The nurse was holding the door open to the surgical suite. “Are you coming, Mr. Swyteck?”
“Are you gonna go, Jack?” asked Theo.
“It’s time for the Fami-leee Feud!” the television blasted.
Jack told Theo he’d call him right back, tucked his phone away, and followed the nurse down the bright, sterile hallway.
“You don’t happen to have any of that twilight anesthesia left over, do you?” he asked.
Chapter 60
The post-op recovery room was a collection of patient bays separated by privacy curtains that hung from the ceiling. On any given weekday morning it might have been abuzz with surgeons, nurses, and a steady stream of patients wheeled in and out on gurneys. But not on a Sunday afternoon. For almost forty-five minutes, Andie was the only patient in the room, and Jack sat at her bedside until she shook off the effects of her twilight anesthesia. A nurse came by to ask how she was doing. Then she pulled Jack out of the bay to give him a little advice.
“There’s an emergency C-section coming in here in about five minutes. You should probably keep the curtain closed.”
“Understood,” said Jack. “I hope it went okay.”
“Perfect,” the nurse said.
Jack returned to Andie, curtain closed. She was starting to look like herself, but it was clear that she didn’t want to talk about the procedure, the miscarriage, or how she felt. At first, she didn’t want to take any telephone calls, and Jack watched her let a call from Seattle—her mother—go to voice mail. The next call was different. It was an invitation to dive into work, a healing strategy that he had seen Andie use before. The call was from Agent Brunelli in the Bahamas.
“Hold on one second,” she said into her phone. “Let me ask Jack to step out.”
Jack gave her the required privacy and went to the other side of the empty recovery room. He was standing near the entrance, checking his phone for messages and passing time, when the double pneumatic doors opened. In came the new mother, flat on her back and unconscious, nurses’ aides on either side of the gurney. Jack assumed that the young man bringing up the rear, eyes of confusion peering out from over a surgical mask, was the father.
“Congratulations,” said Jack.
“Thanks,” he said. “Twins!”
A wave of mixed emotions washed over Jack, and he wondered how long such feelings would linger. A week? A year? Until Andie got pregnant again? What if she couldn’t get pregnant again?
Jack’s phone vibrated with a text. It was from Andie: Come back now.
He went back to her bay on the other side of the room and closed the curtain.
“Does Brunelli know about the phone call Theo got?” asked Jack.
“Yes. Theo told him, and then he passed it on to our team leader.”
“Which you can’t say anything more about, of course. I know, I know.”
“Actually, I can,” said Andie.
“Andie, don’t go breaking any rules for me.”
“I’m not,” she said. “We’ve reached a very strange intersection of our worlds where I would need to have this conversation if you weren’t my husband. I’m not going to avoid having it because you are my husband.”
Jack pulled up a chair. “Are you actually going to ask me to deliver some money?”
“Here’s the situation, Jack. The man who kidnapped you knows enough about what happened to the Scarborough 8 to give us the exact sequence of alarms immediately prior to the explosion. He’s credible, and if he gets his million dollars, he’ll tell us who sabotaged the rig. I guess he thinks the more valuable information is why and how it happened, which he plans to milk for even more money. But for now we’ll settle for who. Right now, the FBI has no bigger priority than that.”
“But in addition to kidnapping me and Theo in Cuba, he just murdered a Bahamian banker. I know the FBI pays informants, but you can’t pay a million dollars to a kidnapper and a murderer.”
Andie didn’t answer.
“Seriously,” said Jack. “You can’t. Right?”
“No,” said Andie. “We can’t. But we can pretend to do it.”
“When you say ‘we,’ do you mean . . . me?”
“We know things about this man that you don’t know. He’s smart enough to insist that the money be delivered by someone he considers safe. Someone he will recognize immediately by sight, who he will know is not an undercover FBI agent. Someone who is an American civilian, whose safety the FBI won’t take any chances with.”
“Someone like me.”
“Yes. Someone like you.”
“Are you asking me to do this?”
“No. I’m conveying the FBI’s offer to you.”
“What kind of offer?”
“Brunelli is a very sharp guy. He’s plugged himself in with the Bahamian homicide squad. The Royal Police are circling Theo like sharks. They need to make an arrest.”
“Theo didn’t kill Jeffries.”
“I believe you. If you agree to let the FBI fly in a polygraph examiner, and if Theo passes the test, the Bureau will believe you, too.”
“So what if the FBI believes me?” said Jack. “The Royal Police will want to give Theo their own polygraph, and I’ll never agree to that.”
“That’s where the deal kicks in,” said Andie. “The FBI will take Theo out of Nassau before the Bahamians can make an arrest. And once he’s stateside, the Justice Department will oppose extradition.”
“The Justice Department will give me that in writing?”
“Yes,” said Andie. “If you keep the last part of the deal.”
Jack knew exactly what she was saying. “If I deliver the money to Josefina.”
“Yes,” said Andie.
“Do you want me to do this?”
“If I told you I didn’t, what would you say?”
“I wouldn’t do it,” said Jack.
“I thought so,” said Andie. “That’s why it’s up to you.”
“This is a decision
we should make together,” said Jack.
Andie’s expression showed neither agreement nor disagreement. “The pressure is on the Bahamian police to make an arrest. Everyone from the Bahamas Ministry of Tourism to the Caribbean Association of Banks is beating the drum. Brunelli tells me that Theo will likely be arrested tomorrow morning. The charge is going to be first-degree murder. So ask yourself this question, Jack: Do I really want my wife to talk me out of this deal? Because that’s what I’m going to do, if you let me.”
Jack said nothing for a moment, the silence hanging between them. Finally he answered. “I think there’s one more flight to Nassau tonight. Tell Brunelli I want to be there for the polygraph.”
Chapter 61
Theo passed,” said Brunelli.
Jack had expected no less. The polygraph examination was administered inside Theo’s motel room in Nassau, and Jack had waited right outside the door. Step one—the easy part of Jack’s deal with the FBI—was over. Or so Jack had thought, until the examiner invited Jack and Brunelli back into the room.
“I need to redo it,” said the examiner. “It’s not Mr. Knight’s fault, but I have some reliability concerns.”
“I don’t understand,” said Jack.
The examiner walked past the double beds to the desk, where his computerized eight-channel polygraph system was set up. Theo was seated in the chair, still connected to thoracic and abdominal respiratory sensors, a pulse and blood-pressure cuff around his arm, and galvanic skin sensors attached to his fingers.
“Let me explain something about polygraphs,” said the examiner. “To get a reliable reading, the first thing I have to do is see how my indicators behave when the subject lies. I do this by asking a control question that I know the subject will answer untruthfully. For example, I might ask a religious person if he has ever thought about sex in church. He’ll answer no, which is almost certainly a lie, and then I know how his lie registers on my instruments.”
“I’m guessing Mr. Knight is not much of a churchgoer,” said Brunelli.
“Shows how much you know, Biscotti.”
“Brunelli.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you called me—”
“Never mind!” said Jack. “What does all this have to do with the reliability of Theo’s polygraph results?”
“I used a different control question for him,” said the examiner. “Tough guys like Mr. Knight tend to lie about their sexual prowess. So I asked him: ‘Have you ever had sex with two different sets of twins on the same night?’ The ‘twins’ fantasy is a well-established male phenomenon, but two sets of twins in one night is over the top even for an X-rated movie. As I had predicted, however, Mr. Knight answered yes.”
“So you caught him in a lie,” said Jack. “What’s the problem?”
“Now that I’ve gone back and looked more closely at the data, I suspect Mr. Knight wasn’t lying.”
Jack made a face. “Dude, I have to say the whole siblings in bed thing creeps me out.”
“Y’all are full of shit,” said Theo as he ripped the Velcro fastener from his arm. “Lemme take this from the top and set things straight. First off, Bacci ball: my Uncle Cy has dragged me to the Greater Bethel AME Church of Overtown at least a thousand times. Second, Swyteck: let he who has celebrated without sin on the night of his release from death row cast the first ‘creeps-me-out’ stone. Third, the ‘twins’ thing ain’t just a guy thing. If you don’t believe me, come into my bar, mix three margaritas for any woman who read Harry Potter as a teenager, and then ask her if she ever thought about doing Fred and George Weasley.”
The examiner paused, as if not quite sure how to respond. “In any event, the bottom line is that I can’t give a clean certification without a reliable reading on my control question.”
“Whoa,” said Brunelli. “We don’t have time to redo the test.”
“Then no certification.”
“Technically speaking,” said Theo, “it was one set of twins before midnight, and the other set after midnight. So not the same night.”
“There you go,” said Brunelli.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” said Jack.
“Certify the results,” said Brunelli. “We’re outta here.”
Theo disconnected himself from the remaining instruments, and Brunelli whisked him and Jack out the door. The ridiculously compact rental car was parked right outside the motel entrance, and as they piled in, Jack would have sworn that it had actually shrunk since their ride to the New Providence Bank and Trust Company. Cramped inside, Brunelli behind the wheel, Jack in the back with his knees to his chin, they sped away to the airport. A Cessna Caravan 675 was waiting for them on the lighted runway, its single engine humming. Brunelli handed out passports before they boarded. Jack and Theo were suddenly Bahamian citizens.
“Damn, I was hoping to be Swedish,” said Theo.
Brunelli had finally learned to ignore him. “This is not an FBI aircraft or an FBI pilot,” he said. “It’s a private charter straight into Havana. Just follow my lead, and all will go smoothly.”
The Caravan 675 was large enough for eight passengers, but the seating on this particular plane had been reconfigured to accommodate just four adults, two seats facing aft and two facing front, with a table mounted between them. It wasn’t hard for a criminal defense lawyer to imagine a kingpin at the table counting his money while sampling long white lines of merchandise. Jack and Brunelli sat with their backs to the pilot, and Theo sat on the other side of the table, facing them. They were airborne by nine p.m., headed to José Martí International Airport. Jack peered out the window as the plane leveled off. With the cabin gone dark, the skies were a celestial light show, billions of bright stars on a pitch-black canvas far removed from city lights. Jack was searching for Orion when, for no apparent reason, the aircraft heaved, dipping sharply and then rising before leveling off again.
“By any chance, are we in the Devil’s Triangle?” asked Jack.
“We’re actually just leaving it,” said Brunelli. “Cuba sits to the south-southwest of it.”
Jack’s gaze turned back to the stars, but Brunelli switched on the overhead light. It brought him back to earth, even if they were twelve thousand feet above the Caribbean. Brunelli laid a map of Havana on the table in front of Jack.
“We land at José Martí around eleven-thirty,” he said, his finger on the map, giving directions as he spoke. “You and Theo will take a cab to Hotel Nacional in the Vedado district. Everything you two need for the drop will be delivered to your room before noon.”
“Me and Theo? We’re doing this together?”
“Yes,” Brunelli said. “Not my idea, but I was overruled. We want this guy to believe that you came to Cuba without the FBI following you. It’s just not believable that any sane human being would carry a million dollars in a duffel bag without someone to watch his back. That’s Theo’s role.”
“Would be more believable if I was Swedish,” said Theo.
“Deal with it,” said Brunelli. “The drop is three p.m. at Coppelia’s ice cream parlor.”
“I know it well,” said Jack. “Theo and I met Josefina there.”
“That’s one reason he chose it, no doubt. It’s also a very public place, which is good from both your standpoint and his. It makes it virtually impossible for one side to ambush the other.”
Jack glanced at Theo, the blink of the Cessna’s wing-light reflecting in his eyes. “Just to be clear: the plan is for Theo and me to go there?”
“Yes. The guy knows both of you, knows that neither one of you works for the FBI, so he shouldn’t have a problem with it. I can’t get approval for you to tote a million bucks through Havana by yourself, even if you are being watched.”
“We’re using real money?”
“Yes. Of course there will be a GPS tracking chip in the bag and a microchip embedded in various bills.”
“Where will you be?”
“You won’t see me, but I
will be shadowing you at all times. At various points along the way there will be other U.S. cooperatives keeping an eye on you.”
“Will I be wired?”
“Yes. Earpiece and microphone, both so small no one will notice. The only voice you’ll hear in the earpiece will be mine.”
“Where’s the mike?”
“You’ll have several in your clothing and on the bag. But the microphones are not for any back and forth conversation between us. The only function of the mike is to pick up your conversation with Josefina.”
“So I shouldn’t respond to anything you tell me?”
“It’s best for you to forget you even have a mike. Unless things break down and it becomes a matter of your personal safety.”
Unless.
They sat quietly for a moment, the engine humming steadily as each seemed to contemplate the “unless” scenario.
“What if something does go wrong?” asked Jack. “What’s the contingency plan?”
“I’m working on that,” said Brunelli.
“Working on it? The drop is tomorrow.”
“Hopefully by then I’ll have things resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. Right now, I’m not happy with what the Bureau is prepared to offer you. I want to do better for you. If nothing else, just for your wife’s peace of mind.”
“As it stands now, what’s the contingency?”
Brunelli breathed in and out. “All international operations are complicated. This one especially. We’re in Cuba, in the heart of downtown Havana. The FBI doesn’t even have a legal attaché office here. I know it sounds crazy. We have legates in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Yemen, but none in Cuba. If something goes wrong, there’s no relationship with local law enforcement. We can’t exactly have a bunch of FBI agents popping out of the woodwork, guns drawn.”
“I don’t suppose I’ll be armed,” said Jack.
“No way.”
“What if the shit really hits the fan and I’m arrested?”
“There’s the rub,” said Brunelli.
“Explain.”
Black Horizon Page 29