The Nano-Thief: A Lenny D. Novel (Lenny. D. Novels Book 1)

by Michael Lieberman

  "And I'm from Serendip," M2 breaks in.

  He assures her it's true, and on the way through Italy, they stopped in Venice.

  She smiles, "Nice, and in case you don't know, Serendip is an old name for Sri Lanka." M2 is high gear. She needs to be.

  In the parking lot, Barry tells her that when they get to Sammy's, she should pull through the gate after them and park at the bottom in the small stand of live oak just to the right. "It's the only real cover between the road and the house. Turn the car around in case you need to leave fast. And stay in the car, whatever you do. It will offer you some protection. Put the gun on the front seat, turn your cell phone on. Watch and wait." Barry embraces her briefly. Both of them are surprised, but it feels right. "Be careful."

  Driving north most of the traffic they meet is empty yellow school buses that have delivered their charges and are headed for a siesta. They see the usual cars and pickups heading south—some Lenny imagines are from College Station on their way to Houston. He catches himself. He's got no idea where the cars are coming from or where they're going. Just one more bullshit conjecture without any data. Which leads him to the isolated ranch house. Plan all you like and you never know. You just have to be ready. They pass a white sedan with POLICE in black lettering on the side and NAVASOTA below in red. They must be almost there. This hypothesis, he accepts. Police cars are data. Miles driven are data.

  They drive through the old part of town. It's depressing small town USA—empty storefronts, dilapidated buildings, a theater ready, he imagines, to show The Last Picture Show. They're happy to be done with it and out the other side. Another police car is coming their way. The landscape changes. It's more pleasant, more rural. It's still a gray January morning, but the live oaks and pines are green, the houses better cared for. They cut off onto a small paved road flanked on both sides by working farms and some ranchettes, one of which is where they anticipate Sammy is holed up with his hostage. They pause at the gate.

  20.

  Biggie has picked up Sammy's call that he is leaving and his admonition that he should be ready. So far so good, Sammy and the girl are out of the house. If they've taken the bait, Biggie and his team are home free. By them, Biggie means Lenny and Barry, and that annoying little tag along. He's been monitoring the comings and goings at Lenny's all through the evening and night: M2's arrival in a gray Lexus SUV, the Domino's delivery guy, her departure, Barry's late night departure and return a few hours later, even Lenny's disappearance in his black Mercedes and his return in a Toyota Corolla. His people also know that the three have been tracking the GPS in Portia's cell phone, and that they will have deduced she is in Navasota. Biggie and his team can't be sure they know where she is or for certain that Sammy has abducted her. But he never underestimates his opponents.

  It seems to be working, he concludes, and Sammy and the girl are away. He alerts his people surveilling Lenny's place as soon as he gets the call. One of them confirms that M2's gray Lexus is again parked out front. Biggie is not surprised. When the Corolla pulls out with two men and the Lexus follows driven by a woman about 6:20, he calls Biggie, "All three are gone. Send in the clowns."

  Minutes later, Biggie sends in four—all men in running suits and light jackets with briefcases. They arrive in a black SUV with Nuevo Leon, Mexico license plates. The security expert pulls on a facemask and slips out into the grayness. He's a quick study. He checks for an armed alarm system: no. Surveillance cameras: he can't rule the latest tiny versions, but the older, clunky ones are absent. He sees no dogs. He clambers over the fence and into the backyard in seconds. Ditto: no dogs, no cameras, nothing unexpected. Then a rustling in the bushes back behind the house startles him. He pivots 180 degrees and freezes in a crouch, gun drawn and ready. An opossum is making a leisurely exit. He has finished his foraging for the night and is headed for cover. Mr. Quick Draw smiles and straightens up.

  "We're good to go," he says back at the SUV. "Ari, lead the charge." Quick Draw sits in the driver seat of the SUV. The other three put on gloves and ski masks, and they are on the street and over the fence into Lenny's backyard to bump-key the kitchen door lock. Quick Draw adjusts his shoulder holster so that his Mossad .22LRS is within easy reach. He opens his bag and checks the Uzi.

  Lenny has obliged Ari and his crew. The shades are drawn and some lights are on. "Seamless," Ari says. "Remember, this is a stealth job. Disturb nothing, leave everything the way it is. Barry is the key—his laptop, his personal effects, Jesus, his toothbrush. He's got the goods. Don't waste time on the old guy and his live-in. Biggie wants us in and out with the goods."

  They have just begun the search when Ari gets a call from Quick Draw. "You're not fucking going to believe this. Mow, Blow, and Go have arrived to do the yard. It's hardly light. I'll call you when it's clear."

  The guys all head for an inside bathroom, where they are no windows. It's excruciating, as if the jardineros are cutting the grass one blade at a time. They're so slow you can hardly hear them mowing. The dripping faucet sounds like Niagara Falls compared to them. "It's January, for Christ's sake. There's nothing to cut," Ari grumbles. Then the blowing, which starts methodically in the back, begins to work its way forward. "I'd like a blow job that took this long," one of the guys says.

  The doorbell rings. "You're going to get your wish," Ari whispers. "Sit tight."

  It rings again. And then again. The gardener is half shouting in broken English that he needs a check today. No answer. He tries again. Ari and the security guy worry that it will draw attention to the house. It does. "Holy shit," Quick Draw says from the driver's seat to Ari, "a constable, some fat old guy, has stopped. Stay tuned." In a minute he calls back. "Sounds like he and the gardener are having some sort of set to. I can't get much of it…. The gardener seems to be leaving. Stay on the line."

  "Here's trouble. He's coming to the front door." The constable rings the bell. No answer. He tries again, nothing. "Hey Mr. D.," he shouts, "It's Constable Larkin, Dennis Larkin. You in there? You okay? If these guys are bothering you, just tell me." He waits a minute and walks away.

  Ari looks at his watch. The interlude has cost them almost thirty minutes. "This guy Lenny must be a hell of a tipper at Christmas to get such service. All right, back to work. It's China we're after, anything to do with the Chinese or that we can track back to Barry about China. When in doubt, collect."

  Ari finds Barry's personal laptop on a desk in his room. He's able to get into it without much trouble. Probably means Barry doesn't think there is much there worth protecting. It's got 32 gigabytes of memory, not much of it used. Even so, no way Ari can sort through all this on the fly. He links his computer to Barry's, makes some judicious exclusions—the operating system and so on—and begins to copy. He'll get as much as he can. He figures there might be something useful—compromising pictures, personal information about family, financial records and income tax documents. Who knows what's there for blackmail or to gain leverage?

  He doesn't see anything that might be a UVL-issued laptop. Probably it's at the office. He continues to nose around on Barry's personal computer. He sees a lot of folders with one and two word titles—one is Amputation. The titles are followed by a long string of asterisks. There's a folder labeled Far East/Mediterr/Baltics and others with the names of banks and hedge funds. Ari assumes these are related to various projects in Barry's portfolio and the asterisks represent unique password codes for each folder. He's afraid to test his hypothesis on Barry's laptop. He'll try when he gets back to Biggie's with the copied folders. He installs spyware and inactive malware. Ari's not hopeful that these will help with the rerouting and capture of funds during transfer. They would need too much luck for that.

  While he copies Barry's hard drive, he joins the others in searching the house. They find the locked safe in Lenny's bedroom and give it an unsuccessful try. One of the guys shrugs. "It probably has the old guy's 1992 tax returns and a DNR document." In fact, it contains a collection of bullwhips, ammo
for his guns, and his American and Slovenian passports. They look up and see a bullwhip mounted above the bed. "What kinky shit is going on here?" They go through Portia's jewelry, cosmetics, and clothes. One of the guys holds up a lacy bra. "I'd like to meet the woman who fills this out."

  "Put it back and focus. Back just the way you found it."

  They can't find Portia's laptop. Then Ari realizes it must be with her; she needs it for work. Lenny's laptop seems to have nothing of interest on it until they come on a folder labeled, what's this? Barista. Ari opens it. It's really a breach, but he hopes Lenny won't be attentive enough to notice. It contains documents about Sammy A., Samuel Anderson, the university and PCP. Ari looks worried and copies these. Lenny has just become a person of interest.

  They find less of interest when they go through the rest of Barry's bedroom and bath. Highly sensitive material must be stored at UVL. They lift prints from his toothpaste tube and his shaving kit. They collect hair from the shower. They think they know who Barry is, but these will help confirm his identity. Then they find a small cardboard box from a San Francisco jeweler in the toe of his golf shoes. It's a good-sized unset diamond. This guy had wedding plans, it looks like.

  Quick Draw calls, "It's about time to close up. It's getting late and neighborhood is picking up. Out in ten if you can."

  If they had been out and over the fence in ten minutes, they would have gone undetected. The problem is the beefy constable, who likes Lenny. Larkin is coming back past his house on a routine patrol. He is sure everything is okay, but what with the gardeners and the commotion early this morning, he wants to confirm that they have not retaliated with a little mischief—a slashed hose or a broken flower pot.

  Then he sees three guys in jogging suits and ski masks striding from the yard gate toward the black SUV. He's out of the patrol car, gun drawn. "Stop right there. Freeze."

  "Pendejo, mueva—move, asshole," Ari says and sends Larkin sprawling on the concrete. His gun goes flying. They are in the SUV and gone before he can get to his feet. He's seen the Mexican license plates and heard he Spanish. It's a gang of burglars. He radios in a description. Long before there are any responders, the four are in an isolated parking lot in the park. Quick Draw changes the Mexican plates to Texas plates in minutes. Ari and one of the others take their jackets off and jog off in old Chevron Houston Marathon T-shirts. Quick Draw and the other guy take the trove to Biggie.

  21.

  Snorri's old, battered Corolla rolls to a stop at the gate, and Lenny gets out to undo it. No big deal. It's unlocked. He looks up the rise: he has an unobstructed view of the gray ranch house, meaning the reverse is also true. If there's anybody is inside, they have a perfect view of him. Any guy with a scope who is a half decent shot, he thinks, could take him out in a minute. He pulls forward over the cattle guard so that M2 can maneuver her Lexus into the live oak.

  Lenny snakes the car up the switchback.

  "Okay, dad, remember, we're trying to buy the place for the Winstons next door. Nice and low key. I'll do the talking, and if they ask for cards, I've got some. We can put on gloves later if we need them."

  "Got it. Eyes open, nice and friendly. Once upon a time I used to sell stocks. I know the nice and friendly drill. I'll leave the whip in the car. Look, if they wanted to take us out, we would already be dead."

  "You got it, partner. And to be on the safe side, leave your safety on. No one is Wyatt Earp in this situation," Barry says.

  The place looks pretty much like it did on the web. A one-story ranch with a two-car garage to the left, gray with faux shutters on either side of a picture window in the front. They assume this is the living room, but the blinds are drawn here and on every other window. Barry gives the place another look-see. No sign of an alarm system. No obvious cameras. A tap with a hose attached but no shrubs or flowers. No cover or obstacles of any kind. Only cut grass. Lenny knocks, then sees the bell and rings it. After several tries there is no answer. It seems like a second home that the homeowners have closed down while they're not there. They walk the perimeter. Again, nothing, no sign of life or recent activity. Barry picks up a length of the hose out front, opens the nozzle, and turns it down. "It's dry. No one seems to have used it for a while."

  "Undo the safety," he tells his father. He pulls a set of bump keys and a small bump hammer from his pocket, and in less than a minute has unlocked the front door. He draws his Glock with one hand and eases the door open with the other. "Hello, anybody home? Yoo-hoo, anyone here?" He puts an index finger to his mouth and motions his father to stay put. "Yoo…" and before he has finished the phrase, he has burst through the door, crouches, gun drawn, and scans the room. No one. He motions Lenny in. He enters, gun drawn. The two fan out from the living room to search the place, Lenny heads left. Barry goes right.

  M2 is relieved as she watches this from down below. She had expected Barry, machine pistol in hand, to rush the door and kick it down. But what she sees is two county building inspectors looking for code violations. Still, no sign of Portia or Sammy. She looks back at the road out front—only the occasional Ford or battered pickup. She sees the gate Lenny has left open, thinks to close it so it won't draw attention, and realizes it's open in case they have to scram. From up top she hears Barry—he's shouting—"Come to the kitchen. On the double. This is crazy." She pulls out the Ruger and takes it off safety. Annie Oakley is ready. No, more like a G.I. Jane doll about to come to life. The voices become muffled.

  Lenny enters the kitchen. There, in the big sink a dead feral pig is propped up against the backsplash. The abdomen has been slit open and the entrails overflow the skin toward the floor. The pig is smeared with blood. There is blood in the sink, on the sideboard and backsplash, and all over the floor. The pig's heart has been stuffed in its mouth.

  "Jesus, Barry, the guy's insane. This is a ritual murder. I'm hoping it's a bluff, maybe something to warm us up for ransom, and not an announcement of a fait accompli. He's a madman."

  Barry's more analytical: "The incision is rough sawed like he used a serrated knife. Suggests that the abductor hadn't planned the slaughter and disemboweling. He improvised. See here where the bullet has entered the rib cage on the left and exited here on the right. He's poked two pencils into the eyes. The heart's been hacked out. Sammy is a technician, an engineer, but he's improvising. If this had been planned, he would have brought a sharp butcher's knife or even a scalpel. No, he's on stage with no script."

  "So if he's making it up as he goes, what do we do? A fucking, crazy Arab barista who deals drugs and cuts up feral pigs. And he's got Portia and killed your Edie and Leon."

  "What do we do? We try to figure it out. For now, leave the kitchen the way it is. It's not our problem to clean up after him." Barry snaps some photos. He decides not to swab for fingerprints.

  They head for the garage. It's the one place they haven't checked. Lenny sees it first on the floor to the side. "That's her bag, Portia's. Holy shit." He is shaking, moving side to side, arms wrapped around himself in a gesture of self-comfort. He fights back his worst thoughts. He doesn't know what this means. Is she dead? Has the killer taken her body and been careless? Has he taken her? He is paralyzed.

  Barry reaches down for her bag, twists the brass fitting, and opens it. "So her phone is here and it's on. Sammy wants it on so her GPS will ensure we find this place. We're good. Portia's alive. If he had killed her, he would be obsessed with hiding his tracks. This is an announcement. Sammy wants us here. Wants us to find the place and know he and Portia have been her." He checks her wallet. "Whatever money she carried, he has taken it. He must be short of cash."

  Lenny looks at his son. "What now?" is all he can get out.

  "We relock the front door, gather M2, stow the guns, and find a place to powwow."

  When they tell M2 about the pig, she doesn't hesitate. "It's some bizarre ritual. She must be alive. Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered. He would have left the body in the kitchen. I mean Portia, sorry. No, be
st guess: he still plans to use her, but he might not be certain when or how. The pig is to rev us up, make us worry. He must want something we have and wants to trade her for it."

  Barry collects the Ruger Lenny has given her—she has no permit—and stows all it and the other guns in the Corolla's trunk. It's close to noon when the caravan returns to the same restaurant in Hempstead where they had breakfast. It's crowded, but they find a table. The place is noisy. Good, Barry thinks, white noise is good for black ops. He chuckles but does not share the joke.

  Lenny is somber. "We don't know anything really. Where he's taken her or why, or, God forbid, if she is dead in some out-of-the-way field. We're fucked. Mother fucked. We're at a dead end. We need to call the cops."

  Barry's experience is that the police won't be much help finding her. "A roadblock won't work. We don't know what kind of car he's driving, the name he's using, which direction he's driving, whether Portia's in the trunk or a hostage with him upfront. Is he wearing a disguise?"

  "More to the point," M2 says, "We don't know how long ago he left. If he's got her and driving and he left at, say, midnight and covers roughly 45 or 50 miles an hour, he could be in five or six hundred miles from here. You're talking, round numbers, Kansas City or St. Louis, almost El Paso. I don't think he flew anywhere. He's keeping her, and he couldn't easily get her on a plane. Don't forget, we have her purse and identification. No way he can get her on a plane."

  Lenny points out that he's emptied her wallet and is short of cash. "If we're lucky, he hasn't taken the time to make a withdrawal." He asks M2 for Sammy's bank information, and right there at the lunch table he calls the regional headquarters of Angstrom National Bank. He explains that he is Mr. Sean Abernathy and that he thinks someone has tried to make a suspicious withdrawal. He'd like to freeze his account. He's doing fine with Abernathy's name, his Navasota address, his DOB and his social. Then the security questions: what city were you born in? Lenny pauses and coughs to buy time. "Yeah, sure." He crosses his fingers. "Alexandria." "Which one?" "The only one there really is. The one in Egypt."