by Seeley James
Pia pressed the intercom and gave the driver instructions.
The driver sped through the small town, making several turns, before squeezing them between cream-colored houses and backing into a tight space. The driver cleared the privacy glass, opening Pia’s view through the windshield. As soon as they stopped, Carlos jumped out and disappeared between buildings.
Tania switched places, taking the jump seat in back. “What the hell? Carlos is running away? You want me to shoot him for desertion?”
“Trust your people.” Pia checked the Glock 33 in her holster.
“He’s not my people,” Tania said.
Alan observed the women. “For what it’s worth, Tania, I think the guy is a bad idea too.”
A gray Opel Astra sped by. The limo driver waited a beat, then turned into the lane and followed. It took the other car two blocks to realize they’d been tricked. The Opel sped up, taking two quick turns at the edge of town. When the car made its third turn, the driver stood on the brakes and ground to a halt.
Pia pointed over Tania’s shoulder to where Carlos stood in the road, a smoking pistol in his hand. “We boxed them.”
The women leaped out and ran wide from the cars, aiming at the Opel’s occupants.
“You sure about these guys?” Pia asked. “I’d hate to draw on innocent locals.”
“Look in the back seat—but be quick,” Carlos said. “Their pals will be here in two minutes when we don’t show at the ambush site.”
Pia approached the passenger side while Tania took the driver. When she reached the rear axle, she peered through a layer of winter grime on the window. Two assault rifles stood upright in a ready-to-grab frame.
She tapped her muzzle against the glass.
The occupants, hands up and facing Carlos, waited for his nod before getting out. Pia and Tania pressed their Glocks to the men and forced them up against the car. Carlos patted them down, tossing knives and ankle revolvers out as he went.
Pia grabbed the passenger’s head and smacked it against the car. “Who do you work for? What do you want?”
She brought his face around for an answer. He said nothing. She smashed him again.
“Take their gear,” Pia said, “plasticuff their ankles. We’ll leave them here.”
“Halten,” the man said with a French accent. “Ehm, stop.”
“Why?” Tania asked. “So your buddies can gun us down?”
“No. I swear to you.”
Pia nodded for him to keep talking.
“We were instructed to suspend your travel,” he said. “An important person wants you delayed.”
Pia nodded to Carlos. “You grab their weapons, we’ll cuff them.”
Alan came up behind her. “We’ve seen these men.”
Pia turned the man around, the barrel of her weapon pressing his jaw high. “Where?”
“They were at the château,” Alan said. “They were in uniform.”
“Nice catch, Dad.” Pia turned to her victim. “Where were you supposed to box us in?”
The man shrugged.
“Who’s in charge of this operation?”
The man’s eyes fell, his shoulders slumped.
Pia pushed him back to his car after grabbing his phone. She scrolled through the recent call lists, finding only numbers. Under contacts there was one entry, “LOCI,” and a number. She took it with her.
Carlos stood at the open door.
“You ride with them,” Pia said. “They’ll follow us to the ambush. You make sure they flash their headlights to let us know in advance. Do you have bullets or darts?”
“Both,” Carlos said. “Ever since London, chica.”
“As soon as we stop, dart them.”
Carlos pulled a magazine from his pocket, checked to make sure they were darts, and swapped it out. Moments later, their makeshift caravan was back on the road.
Pia stared out the window, her nose to the glass, her fists clenched. “Dad, could this be Müller’s idea of a welcoming committee?”
“Could be,” Alan said. “He does a lot of business with the Russians. But Metz is a long way to go for muscle. Seems unlikely.”
“Who else knew about this meeting?”
“I called DHK in Washington to set it up. Outside of them, no one.”
The driver ambled the big car through the outskirts of Langebrück. He turned on a lonely strasse and wound through open fields. Over the crest of a rise, a delivery truck filled the center of the road with a hazard triangle beside it. Behind them, the Opel flashed its lights and slowed.
Pia’s driver nosed in close.
A man came from the front waving one hand in the air, a poorly hidden assault rifle behind his back.
Tania rolled out the left door and Pia, the right.
She rolled to the shoulder, found a man hiding behind a tree, and darted him. From the sound on the other side of the car, she guessed Tania had been equally successful. She rose to her knees to find Tania and the truck driver in a stand-off. Pia fired a dart. The driver fell.
They swept the area and found no one else. The truck’s cab was empty. She checked under and around, then rolled up the door of the cargo bay.
Inside was a man tied to a chair, a gaping hole in his forehead.
Alan’s footsteps approached.
She jumped when he put his hands on her shoulders.
He wrapped her in a hug. “That was Lars Müller, of the private equity firm Müller Gruppe.”
CHAPTER 16
Rain fell on the snow-covered streets below Daryl Koven’s office window as he inhaled the aromatic coffee wafting from his mug. Rain this late in the day would turn to black ice by rush hour, making the trip home a nightmare. A light knock at his door turned his attention to Senator Bill Hyde, who stood, like a scolded schoolboy, halfway in.
“Bill, come in,” Koven said, opening his arms in welcome. “You are a rock in these tragic days. Thank you for holding down the fort.”
Koven stepped around his desk and motioned for the hesitant senator to join him at the small conference table. He reached out, shook his partner’s hand, and stopped, peering into the older man’s eyes. “Bill, have you been drinking?”
Bill Hyde pulled his hand away and tossed a thick folder on the table. “I’m fine.”
“We’ve discussed this too many times.” Koven searched the man’s watery eyes.
“You wanted to rework the arrangements Tom and I put in place only a week ago.” Hyde sat and butted the papers on the table. “Let’s get to it.”
Koven paused before taking a chair opposite him. He stroked his chin. “There is a morality clause—”
“Which is determined solely by Tom Duncan. While the bylaws turn over his votes to you in the event of his untimely death, the directions do not distribute those particular duties. After watching you insert yourself into our clients’ business dealings, we had concerns you might not value certain elements of the partnership.”
“Is that right.” Koven watched Hyde’s bulbous nose grow redder. “Well, to the heart of the matter. I want Brent Zola and Rip Blackson to swap roles.”
“Why?”
“I am relying on your sober and considered confidentiality, Bill. This is a sensitive issue. I have reason to believe one or both of them were working with the Velox men before the murder. I know Zola inside and out. I can read him like a book and would like to have him managing the day-to-day operations.”
“Rip is the stronger personality and has been groomed for management.” Hyde met his gaze. “What would either of them stand to gain from killing Tom?”
“I have yet to determine a motive, but you’ll have to trust me for now.”
“Trusting you is not in my nature.” Hyde slapped the stack of papers on the table. “You stole my clients while I was out of the office. You’re siphoning off millions for those odd social welfare groups you run. No, I’ll trust Rip Blackson. Since there are currently only two of us, as the bylaws dictate, there will be no
changes in the management of the firm.”
Hyde leaned back.
“So good of you to bring the bylaws,” Koven said. “If you’ll be good enough to check Section VII, Article 4, you’ll recall that, on a day when your thoughts were clearer, we amended the rules and appointed Brent Zola the tie breaker. Should I call him in for a vote? Or can we do this informally?”
The older man sat motionless for a moment until his hand began to tremble. “He can’t vote on an issue like that. Certainly he would recuse himself.”
Koven tilted his head. “You should’ve retired ten years ago. Now you’re just a washed up alcoholic no one trusts and I’m stuck with you because some drug addict killed Tom.”
“My name took Tom Duncan from a smalltime lobbyist for chewing gum companies to an internationally respected powerhouse. This is my company. You can’t steal it out from under me. I built this place with my reputation—”
“Then where are all your clients?” Koven’s voice boomed. “Did you bring in Sabel Industries? I had to rescue Müller Gruppe and Oman while you were on ‘vacation’. What about Esson Oil or the Sulimans?”
“I’m not the first guy to self-destruct.” Hyde looked at the floor. “You’ll do it too, everyone does. But I’ve recovered. Katy Hellman and Fuchs News stayed loyal to me. The others will come back.”
“FNC, Hummingbird, the Chronicle. Jesus, her biggest division is a newspaper. Are they even relevant anymore? They’re nothing but the last thread of your generation’s baby blanket. If it doesn’t have a video feed, it doesn’t matter.” Koven lowered his volume. “Are we agreed then? Zola runs operations.”
Hyde took a long, slow breath and sighed without looking up. “Can you at least wait until after the memorial service?”
“Fine. Is there anything else you need?”
Hyde shook his head, gathered his folder, and rose.
Koven watched him begin his slow trek to the door. “By the way, those bylaws are online. We could’ve had this discussion over the phone.”
Hyde glanced halfway over his shoulder as he left.
Brent Zola waited in the hallway, observing Hyde’s exit with a hint of empathy. Koven waved the young man in. Zola closed the door behind him.
“What happened to you?” Koven asked.
“Rip returned earlier than I expected. He caught me hacking his computer and got pissed.”
“I’d have put money on you in a fight.”
“Well,” Zola hesitated. “Jacob Stearne was there before either of us and—”
“Jacob Stearne broke into Rip’s house? Is he in custody?”
“The cops couldn’t find him and bailed on the search.”
“You failed.” Koven paced his office. “I should’ve hired Sabel Security to check out Blackson, for Christ’s sake. What was he doing there? What did he find?”
“I don’t know sir.”
“You mean he jumped you? Damn it.” Koven slammed a fist on his desk. “What kind of questions did he ask?”
“He wants to know who smoked David and why.”
“The question everyone wants to know.” Koven reflected for a slow minute then jabbed a finger at a chair, ordering Zola to sit. “You were his friend; who were his enemies?”
Zola took a seat at the oversized oak desk and picked at his fingernails. “He never said anything—”
“Don’t give me that. You already told me he was on about conspiracy theories. What are you holding back? Was it something about Suliman? Was it a racist remark made to Rip?”
“No. We’ve been friends like forever.”
“Then why did he resign? C’mon, Brent, I have a right to know. I cared about him almost as much as I care about you.”
He could feel Zola holding back on something big. Feel it in his bones. If Gottleib had a problem, Brent would have been the first to know about it. Why would the smug bastard hold back? Did Zola blame him for Gottleib’s murder? Or did he figure something out about Duncan? Koven kept staring at his protégé.
Zola sighed and twisted toward the window. “He worried that chasing the Sabel account would lead to… well, questions about how we do business.”
“Everything we do is perfectly legal.”
“That’s what I said.” Zola’s eyes wandered left and right. “But David thinks some people might characterize deals like Oman as unethical.”
“That’s bullshit.” Koven turned his chair to the window and stared for a long time. “Perfectly legal.”
“I’m just telling you what he thought.”
He faced Zola. “And what do you think?”
Zola’s mouth opened and shut twice before any words came out. “I think your work is epic, sir. You’ve worked hard and earned everyone’s respect. Especially after the Three Blondes came through like they said they would.”
“That won’t last long.” Koven planted his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands. “Have you read what Velox is saying? Velox men are drug-tested. Velox men are vetted by the highest standards. Something else must have happened.” Koven chuckled. “They even made a dig at Jacob Stearne—they said their men are mentally stable.”
Zola chuckled through his frayed nerves. “They’re a little tripped out by you right now, after those interviews. Mr. Hyde knows Shane Diabulus pretty well. Maybe we should have him chill things with them.”
Koven scratched his chin. “I’ll email him, have him set up a meeting.”
He saw Zola glance at his watch. “Am I keeping you?”
“Oh, no, sir. It’s just that I have that flight to LA in a few. The Esson Oil meeting in the morning. I should get going. Probably.”
“Esson Oil. I forgot. Be sure to mention Hyde’s been drinking again.” Koven nodded. “Will you see Philip while you’re out there?”
“Flip, sir. Yes. I thought I’d have dinner with him tonight.” Zola squirmed in his chair. “If that’s OK.”
“Do you worry about Sabel questioning how we do business?” Koven asked.
“No, sir. You have it handled.”
“Thank you, Brent.” Koven tilted back in his chair and regarded him. “Go on, have a safe flight.”
As Zola reached the office door, Marthe Koven entered, gave him a hug, and exchanged pleasantries.
Koven watched his wife. She had an elegance that he could never mimic. He came across as too cold and analytical for people to trust. She smoothed over his rough places. People liked him because they liked her. She was the half of him that had always been missing.
“You’ll be back for Tom’s service?” she asked Zola, gripping both his arms. “We’re doing a jazz funeral because he was from New Orleans and he died too young. Lots of fun and music to celebrate his life. We’ll have a feast afterward at our house.”
Zola gave her a grim smile and a nod and left.
Marthe swirled into the chair before her husband’s desk.
“Why so glum?” she asked as he stared out the window. “I’ve handled all the hard work. I found the perfect castle in Germany for the Symposium. I’ve put together a funeral for a man who has no friends or family to do it for him. I’ve even ordered your secretarial staff to send out all the invitations and handle the responses. And here you are, looking morose on an already dreary day.”
That was Marthe, taking care of everything again. He rose, came around the desk, and parked his butt on it, melting under her gaze.
“Where would I be without you, my dear?” He took her hands in his. “You’ve done so many things for us both. But I still have too many things on my mind.” He threw his head back. “Oh, god, it’s so hard worrying an employee might figure something out. Zola used to be the loyal one. Once he stepped in front of a mad soldier and saved my life. But now he scares me.”
“Why, what has he done?”
“He’s been talking to that Sabel agent, Jacob. They’ve put ideas in his head, I’m sure of it. He said he was going to California. And I know why. He’s putting distance between us before he calls the Ge
ndarmes and tells them everything.”
“He looked perfectly happy to me.”
Koven rocked from side to side. “Maybe. I don’t know. I doubt everything people tell me now.”
“Don’t let your doubts about pawns like Brent hold you back.” She stood and wrapped her arms around him. “We’ve reached our dream. You’re the respected senior partner. If we can’t be happy about that, what’s the point?”
“The Three Blondes told him his son would take over the firm. Hyde has no children. We have no children. Can you imagine, leaving all this for Zola’s bastard son?”
“We can still have children,” she said.
“Do the math. If we have a son tomorrow, I’ll be as old as Hyde when he graduates law school.”
Marthe sighed.
“Don’t underestimate Zola,” Koven said. “He started life as a surfer, but his mind never stops working. He might back me up in gray areas, but when it comes right down to it, his survival instinct will conquer his loyalties. He’ll convince himself Pia Sabel’s unfounded accusations are true, then he’ll choose what he thinks is the noble path. He’ll turn on me the way Mark Antony turned on Augustus.”
“We’re past that point.” She pressed her face to his chest. “No one listened to her anyway. No one cares about the rantings of some rich girl. Put all those thoughts behind you. What’s done is done.”
“It should’ve ended in France, but we’re not out of danger yet. I’m living in fear of every jerk who asks questions. I see deserters in every face. Jacob Stearne was in Blackson’s house last night, looking for god knows what. Jesus, I envy Duncan now. We thought taking him out would bring us happiness, but he’s the one who’s resting.”
“Relax.” She leaned back while still holding him. “Your paranoia is the only thing that can give you away. Even if you have to fake it, put on a smile and spread happiness.”
“You’re right.” He snickered. “You did the right thing with Brent. You were sweet to him. Keep that up even if I don’t. He’s dangerous to us.”
He pulled out of her arms and paced away, his face turning dark. He clenched and released his fists and came back toward her.