Last Ride on the Merry-go-round

by Judith Rochelle

  The man nodded. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job? They were out there doing cleanup the next day. There isn't a trace of anything left."

  "Including the woman and the child,” Mac said, his voice thick with bitterness and condemnation.

  "We'll get them. She's been isolated for eight years. Wherever she's hiding, she'll have to surface soon."

  "There are millions riding on this,” Mac pointed out. “On these pieces in particular. People are expecting me to handle this. I don't intend to have some idiot female blow it out of the water for me."

  "Trust me. It'll be taken care of."

  "What did you do with the body and the car?"

  The man curved his mouth into a humorless grin. “Start watching the news for accident reports.” He rose, tossed some money on the table. “I'll call you when I have something to report."

  "It better be damn soon."

  * * * *

  Dino drove the bike right up to the shed, waited until Jen climbed off, and then put it away. He led her up a short flight of stairs at the rear of the house and unlocked three locks to open the back door. As soon as they were inside, he turned off the security system before it could beep, closed the door, and reset the keypad.

  Immediately he opened the laptop and checked his emails. Little padlock icons indicating four secure messages blinked at him. The trick would be to read them without Jen hanging over his shoulder.

  "Well?” She was standing beside him, almost touching him. “Aren't you going to open them?"

  "Jen.” He shifted in his chair. “These might not have anything to do with you. You realize that."

  "But they could,” she insisted. “And I have a right to see them."

  "After I read them,” he told her. “I'm not about to expose my sources to unsecured eyes."

  "Unsecured eyes?” She gave a very unladylike snort and Dino almost laughed. “What, you think I'm going to run through the streets shouting their names? Or call up the local newspaper with a big scoop? Get real, Dino. All I want is to get Deanne and me out of this mess."

  "Go in the kitchen and take a bottle of wine out of the fridge,” he told her. “There're glasses in the cupboard right next to it. Pour us some wine and by the time you get back, I'll know what's what with these emails."

  Jen stomped off, ponytail vibrating with every step. Dino watched the swaying of her hips, far too conscious of the sudden tightening in his groin and the spike of lust that drove through him. The things he'd never allowed himself to feel for this woman eight years ago had never gone away, just hidden waiting to jump out and torment him. He'd need all his discipline not to drag her into bed and tell her what he wanted her to mean to him. This was business, not pleasure.

  Sighing, he turned back to the computer. Clicking on each email in turn, he read them quickly, not happy at what he saw.

  "Well?"

  Jen was back with the bottle and the glasses.

  Dino raised an eyebrow. “The whole bottle?"

  "I figured if we don't drink it I'll have it handy to beat you over the head with.” She filled the glasses and passed one to him. “So give."

  He sipped at the wine, carefully choosing his words. “I don't know any other way to say this, Jen. I've gotten some interesting emails back from my contacts. It seems your nice, safe husband happens to have gotten himself into one of the dirtiest businesses in the world. And he was probably in it for a long time."

  She dropped into the chair next to him, her face suddenly pale. “You mean more than just the last year or so?"

  Dino restrained an incredible urge to scoop her up onto his lap and cradle her against his body. She suddenly looked as if one snap of the finger and she'd crumble into dust. He wished he could sugarcoat the information but it wouldn't do anyone any good. They needed it all to backtrack to the people in charge.

  "I'd say probably for as long as you've known him. That's how he got the money to gamble with. His percentage of illegal sales."

  "But how ... But what...” She scrubbed her hands over her face as if trying to wipe everything away.

  Dino picked up her wine glass and wrapped her fingers around it. “Drink. Chug it if you want to. Get something in your system to get your blood moving, honey."

  He nudged her hand until the glass reached her lips, then watched while she took two healthy swallows. A little color washed back into her face but the stunned look never left her eyes.

  "I don't understand any of this, Dino. Nothing. How could I not know?"

  "I'd say he was very clever at it. After doing it for a long time it becomes second nature.” He sipped at his own wine. “The stolen antiquities market is so big and has been going on for so long.” He set his glass down and pulled a pad of paper and pen toward him. “Here. Let me show you."

  Jen watched as he drew a diagram with boxes on the paper.

  "This is how it works,” he told her. “Someone locally in a place like, oh, say Thailand or Mali or Egypt—one of those countries, anyway—gets hold of relics that should go to the state. Instead they contact the person they know locally as a ‘dealer.’ That person contacts his or her overseas connections and arranges to smuggle the pieces out of the country. Once they reach their destination, they move up the food chain."

  "And then what happens?"

  "Someone like John, who receives them, contacts the person he works with who makes the connection to the buyer. Voila! Dollars in, antiquities out."

  Jen pushed herself up from her chair and began pacing the tiled floor, rubbing her arms as if she was cold. She stopped in front of Dino and studied his face. “What else? I know there's more."

  Nothing you want to hear, sweetheart.

  "The people who shot John? No doubt hired by whoever is in charge of this operation. And they probably do it more often than you'd like to think. There are as many bodies littered throughout the world in this nasty business as there are items to sell. It's a damn good thing you went to Ethan or you and your daughter might be history by now. Or worse."

  "But I don't know anything,” she cried. “I can't tell them anything."

  "They can cause a lot of physical pain before they believe that.” He tossed down the pencil. “I emailed Ethan and asked him to check the background on all the museum board members. Let's see who travels overseas and where they go. It's a place to start."

  "You're convinced it's one of them?"

  Dino nodded. “I'd say it's our best bet. And I'd also bet money John had been doing this before and that's why he was hired.” He watched her chew on her lip, trying to absorb it all. “Jen, assuming John did take the pieces, can you think of any place he might hide them?"

  "No. Not at all.” She shook her head, then collapsed into her chair. “God, Dino. What am I going to do?"

  He took one of her hands in his, wondering if she, too, felt the jolt of current that zapped the air. Did she hold onto his hand a little longer than necessary or was that just his imagination? Again he had to remind himself that Jennifer LaCroix was a body for him to guard. Period.

  Get your act together, buddy boy.

  He squeezed her hand and sat back, forcing himself to release his hold on her. “Why don't you finish your wine and get into bed. You've had a hell of a ride for the past few days and you could use the rest."

  "You want me out of the way,” she guessed.

  He didn't argue with her. “I have to do some follow up on those emails I got. It looks like we're going to have to tear John Sutherland's life apart, along with all the people at the museum. The less you know about the people I contact the better off you are."

  "But I want to know what you find out,” she protested.

  "And you will. Tomorrow. When I have something to tell you. Now go on. Let me do my job, okay?"

  He could see she wasn't happy but she was also too tired to argue with him.

  "Just yell if you need anything,” he told her retreating back.

  "I'm fine.” The screen door banged behind
her and Dino pulled out his sat phone. First call was to a contact in Mali, where most of the pieces he'd learned about seemed to come from. Then he'd try Van Dine one more time.

  * * * *

  Jack Smiley was making his own contacts, this one in a neighborhood bar in Farmington, just west of Detroit. The place had been around forever, making its name in the heyday of the folk music era, then drifting into its current identity as a darkened gathering spot where people could come not to be seen. It had somehow managed to stay under the radar, so it provided a relatively safe meeting place.

  Jack had slipped in the back door from the gravel parking lot and found a spot in a corner booth away from everyone's view. The man who joined him five minutes after he arrived didn't look too happy.

  "If it weren't for the fact that I don't trust telephones,” he told Smiley, “I'd never have agreed to this."

  Smiley raised an eyebrow. “You think your phones are bugged?"

  "I think everything is bugged. And I use a new cell phone every day."

  "That could get expensive."

  The man nodded. “That's why this is going to cost you a hefty sum."

  "Then it better be worth it.” Smiley shoved a drink across the table. “Here. I took the liberty of ordering for you and told the waitress to get lost. So give."

  The man downed half of his drink, then reached inside his jacket for two folded sheets of paper and slid them across the desk.

  "Here's what I could find out."

  "Thanks. Appreciate it."

  "Hey.” The man gave a short laugh. “Couldn't have you getting shot at again, now could I?"

  Smiley took the sheets and smoothed them out, moving the tiny lamp on the table so he could read better. “How'd you get this stuff?"

  "From people you'd rather not know, and that's saying a lot."

  Smiley took a sip of his drink. “So Sutherland was brought here and put in this position just for this purpose? That's what my guys thought."

  "Whoever did it was aware he knew the ropes and they needed someone who wouldn't make waves."

  Smiley looked up. “What about the gambling?"

  "A cover. They applied pressure to get him to continue."

  "Do it or we'll make sure the police know you've been doing it all along?” Smiley quirked an eyebrow. “Exactly how would they do that without revealing themselves?"

  The man grunted. “I think the message was, do it or we'll kill you and your family."

  "But you still don't know who's behind it?"

  "There are at least four possibles. Maybe all of them. But someone will have to dig deeper than I can to find out."

  Smiley folded the sheets and put them in his jacket. “And I know just the people.” He held out his hand. “Thanks for everything.” When he released the handshake, a thick wad of folded money had passed from one man to the other without anyone being the wiser.

  Smiley dawdled over his drink until the other man had been gone a good half hour. He didn't think anyone had followed him to the bar. He'd taken a pretty roundabout way to get there. But there was no use in taking chances in them being seen together.

  Checking his watch one last time, he drained his glass, rose from the booth, tossed some money on the table and left quietly by the back door.

  The lights were out in the parking lot again, which for Smiley was both good and bad. There was no moon tonight so there was nothing to illuminate him. High hedges ran along two sides of the lot, providing covering for the space where he'd parked his car.

  Still, he was extra cautious as he made his way to his parking space, checking the area all around him, using the other cars for cover as he moved slowly along. He had reached his car and was just pushing the button for the automatic lock when he heard a familiar sound that made his stomach knot.

  Snick!

  Before he could identify exactly where it came from and drop to the ground, it was followed by a soft pop and the bullet found its way into his heart. Two more shots peppered him as he fell, but he was dead before he hit the ground.

  A slim figure crept out from the hedges, bent low, watching the parking lot for other patrons. He quickly searched Smiley's pockets, found the folded papers and took them along with Smiley's wallet. Then like a wraith, he was gone, leaving nothing but the dead body behind.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Seven

  Dino had about decided to call it quits for the night. It was nearly one in the morning and he'd made the calls he needed to from the secure phone. The rest would have to wait until tomorrow when he was out on the water and away from ‘accidental’ listening devices. His scrambler worked well but he always believed in giving himself the edge. Already he had people in all the corners of the world looking into what he needed, and he had to give them time to get results. Now he was at a standstill until someone got back to him.

  Damn that Van Dine.

  He was the best source and still unreachable.

  Dino rose from his chair and was heading inside the house when the phone vibrated in his hand. He'd shut the ring tone off to make sure Jen didn't hear all the call backs and ask him what was happening. He wanted to keep things close to the vest until he had something concrete to tell her.

  He looked at the incoming number and frowned. What now?

  "This can't be good news,” was his greeting to Ethan.

  "The worst kind.” Ethan's voice was thick with emotion. “Jack Smiley was meeting with a source tonight and was supposed to get back to me hours ago. When he didn't, I tried his cell. No answer."

  "And?” Dino's body tightened in anticipation of bad news. “I know there's more."

  "His cell has a GPS chip in it. I tracked it and called another old contact up there. Someone Jack uses now and then. Dino, Smiley's dead."

  Dino's hand tightened on the phone. In any mission, when the bodies started falling it was time to get out the body army armor and to be extra careful. It also meant they were squeezing someone's balls and getting a response.

  "Are the cops on it yet?"

  "Yeah.” He could tell Ethan was keeping a tight rein on his anger. “The body was in the parking lot of a bar where he sometimes meets people, shoved back under a hedge where it was barely visible.” Ethan grunted. “The lights were all out. Big surprise. Thank God there was no one in the parking lot at the time. Anyway, my guy checked to make sure Jack had nothing on him to trace back to us, then called 9-1-1."

  "Whoever killed him could have searched him for anything leading back here.” Dino rested his hips against the porch railing. “Anything taken?"

  "His wallet and his watch, but I think just for effect. To throw people off."

  "Well, hell.” Dino ground his teeth. “We need to find out what information he'd gotten. Can your contact follow up on this?"

  "All right.” Ethan's sigh was like a soft breeze over the phone. “But I think we need to assume whatever he found has to do with members of the museum board. There's no way this could have gone down without at least one or two of them involved. Someone waxed the slide for Sutherland to get the job and that same someone or someones made sure they kept him in a bind. We have to pick up where Smiley left off."

  "Fine. I'll make some calls, send some emails, and hack into some data bases. See what I can find from here. But E, we do need someone active up there. Smiley was obviously onto something. Let me handle it, okay? You need to keep a very low profile on this one."

  Ethan chuckled but there was no humor in the sound. “Think I'm too old and out of shape?"

  "No. I think you're too married and too lucky to put what you've got in jeopardy. I can keep Jen hidden away and still follow this up."

  "I find it interesting that nobody's found Sutherland's body yet."

  "I'm willing to bet whoever's in charge sent a cleanup crew."

  "Listen,” Ethan paused, “I don't know if we should tell Jen about this latest development. Or what we suspect about the body."

  "Jesus, Etha
n.” Dino straightened and began pacing his porch. “She saw her husband killed. This can't be worse than that. She needs to know things are escalating so I can keep her under control."

  "All right. Do what you think best,” Ethan told him. “Just keep her safe."

  "Working on it, buddy. You know you can trust me."

  He had a sickening feeling in his stomach that the body count was just beginning to pile up. He disconnected the call and rubbed his hand over his eyes.

  It was hard to believe he'd lasted in the business he was in for so many years, the calendar telling him forty-four was right around the corner. Wasn't it just yesterday he'd been holding his shiny new diploma when a man in a black suit approached him with an offer that changed the course of his life? It wasn't until he'd arrived at Langley, Virginia, for intense training that he realized just how much of a change and what was expected of him.

  He had special skills they were looking for, like the ability to blend in with any crowd or community. An aptitude with languages. A quick mind and an extraordinary ability to think on his feet. No desk job for Nina and Tito Brancuzzi's little boy. Before he could finish telling his parents his cover story, he was whisked away into the shadowy world of spy and counterspy, doing whatever was asked of him and doing it so well he surprised even himself.

  Along the way he collected two things—a rash of enemies and the friendship with Ethan Caine. Of all the people he knew in the world there was no one he trusted more. They met during a joint operation when Ethan was working for another one of the alphabet agencies and hung together whenever possible. It always amazed him how many times their paths crossed as they went about their jobs.

  If he lacked for anything it was time to spend with his family, something brought home to him when, on a snowy night on a twisting road, a semi rolled over the Brancuzzis’ car, killing both of his parents. He resigned from Langley the next day, dug into the money he'd saved and found himself a hiding place in Key West where he could watch the world go by.

  He'd always wanted a boat, so he bought one and spent his days on the water, fishing. One day as he was getting ready to go out, a couple of stranded tourists asked if he'd take them out for the afternoon, and Blackwater Charters was born. Then Langley came calling and asked if he'd take a fishing charter of a different kind, and the new pattern was set.