by L C Hayden
“What?”
“Her name is Ellen Biebesheimer.”
“I see. Not a wife.”
“It’s complicated. Why not contact her? She’d like to be with him.”
“In order to keep Mike safe, we’re going to say he’s dead. If Ellen comes, then we’ll have two to protect. That’s one too many. And the secret is more likely to get out.”
“I can understand that.” Ellen was going to kill him. “And number two?”
“You’ll continue as though nothing has happened. You’ll make all of the arrangements, and you find who that leader is, and everything we discussed before about you reporting to me stands. Can you do that?”
Mike would want him to see this through. “Yes, of course.”
“One more thing,” Pablo said.
This was going to take a while. Bronson released his grip on the door handle.
“We don’t know if Mike is … dead. If he is, you won’t allow that to interfere with your work. Your number one priority is your job, not Mike.”
A cold chill covered Bronson’s arms. He nodded and bolted out of the car.
55
The stark white walls and the tiled floors screamed at Bronson. Mike had been shot. He was here, fighting for his life. Or maybe …
Bronson trembled as he turned down another wide corridor.
The hospital was spotless, gleaming—just the way hospitals were meant to be. But Mike shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have been shot. Bronson should have done something to prevent that. He had failed him.
Again.
Oh, Mike. Please hang on. For Ellen’s sake. For your sake.
For my sake.
Bronson swallowed hard to keep the tears from falling. He entered the empty operation waiting room and headed straight for the phone.
“How can I help you?” the chirpy voice asked.
“I’m here for Mike Hoover’s status report. Can you tell me anythin’ about how he’s doin’?”
“Are you a relative?”
Bronson didn’t hesitate. “I’m his brother.”
Pablo rolled his eyes.
“Just a minute, sir.” Bronson heard her set the phone down followed by muffled voices in the background. She returned to her place. “The doctor will see you in a few minutes.”
Bronson’s grip on the phone handle tightened. That couldn’t be good news. “Thank you.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“No.” The word was barely audible. Bronson replaced the handle on its cradle and let his hand linger there for the moment. He lowered his head and whispered a prayer.
Pablo stepped forward and put a comforting hand on Bronson’s shoulder.
Minutes passed and time stretched into eternity. Each second that ticked by thickened Bronson’s burden until he felt he was swimming in a pool of syrup.
Mike.
The doctor walked in. Sorrow washed out his face, blurring his features. His eyes were sunken.
No!
Bronson and Pablo approached the doctor.
“Are you here for Mike Hoover?” The doctor’s hands were clasped tightly behind his back. His stance suggested tension.
Bronson swallowed hard and nodded.
The doctor’s eyes widened. “Oh, God, no. I’m so sorry. I just came from telling some parents that their two-year-old didn’t make it.” Without taking a breath, he hurried on. “Mike’s fine. The operation went smoothly. We removed the bullet with no major damage to Mike. He’s awake now if you want to see him.”
Bronson stood numb. The relief he felt drained his energy.
Pablo showed the doctor his FBI credentials. “I’m Special Agent Eduardo Pablo Escobar. The bullet. Where is it?”
“As instructed, I put it in a safe place. If you follow me, I’ll hand it to you.”
Bronson took a step forward. “Can I see Mike?”
“You’re the brother?”
Bronson nodded.
“Then follow me. I’ll take you to him and Special Agent Escobar can come with me to retrieve the bullet.”
* * *
Despite being in obvious pain, Mike’s face broke into a grin that spread from ear-to-ear when he saw Bronson. “Hey, Buddy. Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“Very funny.” Bronson walked over to the bed. “How are you feelin’?”
“Like I’ve been shot. I have this pounding pain in my chest that won’t go away.”
“It will. Just take it easy.” Bronson couldn’t believe how good it was to see and talk to Mike. “Pablo doesn’t want me to contact Ellen, but I’ll do it if you want me to.”
Mike considered the possibilities for a moment. “Nah, no need to worry her, and let’s not antagonize Pablo. He’s the only one who might help me get out of this mess.”
“As you wish.”
A bolt of pain struck Mike and he grimaced. “I owe you a big thanks.”
“How’s that?”
“The doctor said if the bullet had landed just a few centimeters to the left, I’d be a dead man. By pushing me, you saved my life.”
“Maybe I should have pushed harder and made the bullet completely miss you.”
“You tried. That’s what counts. But if you’re looking to make amends, there’s something you can do.”
“Oh?”
“You can finish this for me. Looks like I’m out of the equation, but you still have a shot.”
Mike didn’t need to have asked. Bronson had decided a while back, he was going to see this to the end. He nodded.
Mike continued, “Do me a favor. If, as we suspect, the senator’s son is involved, that’s going to get messy fast. The senator will do everything in his capacity to keep his son’s image squeegee clean. That’s going to cause heads to roll, and I don’t want yours to be one of them.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“That’s what concerns me. Those who deal with upholding the law are often reluctant to take on certain kinds of people—like the senator’s son, who will definitely have certain kinds of power. You, on the other hand, will push forward, regardless of your personal safety. Promise me, you’ll be careful. Don’t take any extra chances. You can rely on the FBI to back you up. Promise?”
“I promise.”
Mike’s lips formed a weak smile. He closed his eyes.
Bronson stood by his friend’s side until Mike fell asleep. Even then, Bronson felt reluctant to leave. The nurses had told him that soon Mike would be moved to a private room. Bronson would wait until Mike was settled and was reassured that the FBI was present to protect him. Pablo had promised him that the place would have better security than Ft. Knox.
Bronson flopped down on the chair beside Mike’s bed and stared at the machine that announced Mike’s statistics. The blinking lights helped Bronson concentrate. He needed a plan that would trap the senator’s son if indeed he was the culprit. His mind digested and threw out one scenario after another and worked like a runaway engine, spitting out details, absorbing new ones, and re-hashing old ones. Bronson closed his eyes and focused on the problem.
Minutes later, he had a plan, but Pablo would have to approve it. For Mike’s sake, he planned to do this by the book. Bronson picked up his cell and talked to Pablo. Once he had his approval, he’d contact Andrew and set up a meeting.
56
On the way to the hotel, Bronson stopped by Kay’s house. “Hi,” he said to the elderly woman who answered the door. “I’m Bronson, Pablo’s friend. I’m here to—”
Honey bolted from the back of the house, yipping and bouncing all the way. She stood on two paws as she greeted Bronson. Her tail wagged faster than a tumbling leaf on a storm.
Kay smiled as she stared at the excited dog. Small creases formed on her forehead and on the side of her eyes. “I guess I won’t have to ask for an I.D. If that isn’t your dog, she don’t belong to nobody.”
Bronson bent down and Honey licked his face. She bounced from side to side, excit
ement written all over her face.
“I missed you, too.” Bronson hugged her and stood up. “Thank you for watchin’ her. How much do I owe you?”
Kay waved her hands. “Not a penny. She’s such a pleasure. I’m sorry to see her go.”
“I bet you are. I’m really lucky to have her.”
“That, you are. You take good care of her, you hear?”
“Loud and clear.” Bronson headed back to the car, Honey following close behind.
* * *
Once settled in the hotel room, Bronson contacted Andrew and requested to meet.
“By all means,” Andrew said. “As far as I’m concerned, we can meet immediately.”
“Glad to hear that,” Bronson said, “but I have a special request.”
“What’s that?”
“I want this meetin’ to be just between you and me. We can meet somewhere other than your house if that helps.”
“Name the place.”
“The Four Seasons Hotel has a fantastic lakeside restaurant that serves a mean cup of coffee.”
“I’m not one for coffee, but I’ll see you there in an hour.”
Bronson tapped his forehead. “I don’t have reservations.”
“Not to worry. I’ll get us in.”
Of course.
“One more thing.” Bronson spoke quickly before Andrew hung up.
“Yes?”
“Do you know about Mike?”
“I heard. I’m sorry. I know you two were close. What happened?”
“Someone did a drive-by and shot him. Was that one of your men?”
“No, no way.” Andrew’s voice was loud and clear.
Bronson believed him.
Andrew continued, “I like Mike. I have no reason for harming him. How’s he doing?”
“I’m afraid he’s … dead.”
The intense quiet that followed seemed surreal.
Bronson broke the silence. “Did Thomas order his death?”
The seconds filled with silence stretched, causing Bronson to wonder what Andrew knew.
Bronson was about to speak when Andrew answered, “I don’t know. Maybe. He and Mike had other deals going. Something could have gone wrong with one of those.”
* * *
The maitre d’ led Bronson to a table with a clear view of the lake. “This is Master Beauregard’s favorite table. Is this satisfactory to you, sir?”
“It’s just perfect.”
“Very good, sir. Can I get you anything before I go?”
Silly question. “Yes, please, a cup of coffee.”
The maitre d’ tilted his head and stared at Bronson.
What was wrong with coffee? Bronson sat down, unfolded the napkin, and placed it on his lap. “Make that a cup of café au lait.”
The maitre d’ didn’t crack a smile. Tough audience. The employee acknowledged the request with a single nod of his head and left.
Bronson’s glance drifted toward the lake. The gentle waves filled him with a sense of peace. Maybe the breath-taking view would work the same magic on Andrew—and speaking of the devil, Bronson saw Andrew approach.
But he wasn’t alone.
57
The man accompanying Andrew was not only elegantly dressed, he was also classically handsome. Bronze-gold hair framed the almost perfect oval-shaped face. His smile radiated warmth and friendliness. He walked a few steps ahead of Andrew.
When they approached Bronson, Andrew cast his eyes down. “I know you asked me to come alone, but I wanted you to meet my best friend. He’s always so busy, and he had an opening now. So I grasped this wonderful opportunity. Mr. Alex Bentley, allow me to introduce you to Thomas Morris.”
The senator’s son!
Hot diggity dog.
Bronson’s luck had just multiplied faster than rabbits. He had set this meeting specifically to talk Andrew into introducing him to Thomas. Now, he didn’t have to. He was here, in the flesh. Bronson stepped forward and offered his hand. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”
Thomas flashed a one-hundred-kilowatt smile. “I’m sure the pleasure is all mine.” Deep-set blue eyes dominated his features while thick, well-shaped brows hinted at a touch of intelligence.
No sooner had they sat down than a swarm of waiters descended on them. Thomas addressed the head waiter, “I’ll take care of the check and make it three of my usual.”
The frown on Andrew’s face didn’t escape Bronson’s attention.
The waiter nodded while another poured wine into three crystal glasses. Bronson had no idea what Thomas had ordered. He hoped it was eatable. As the server poured, Bronson wondered if it’d be possible to trade the wine for a cup of coffee. Nah, better not rock the boat. Bronson reached for the wine glass and took a sip. Not bad.
“Tell me, Mr. Bentley—”
“I’m not a formal man,” Bronson said. “Call me Alex.”
Thomas smiled. “Very well, Alex. I’m Thomas.”
Bronson acknowledged him with a nod.
“On our way over here, Andrew and I were talking about you. We wondered how you got into this business.”
Bronson looked away and half-smiled. “My dad’s to blame. When I was little, he always hid my Christmas and birthday gifts and hand me a paper with hints to follow until I found my treasure, basically my gift.” Bronson put air quotes around the word treasure. “Ever since then, I’ve been fascinated with locating treasures.”
Thomas threw his head back and laughed. “That’s a good story. Wonder where you’d be now if your dad hadn’t done that.”
Two waiters arrived carrying what Bronson hoped was the appetizer. He had never seen anything like it—or even food that small. It looked like tiny, chopped burritos smothered in some type of sauce and green stuff on top. Two bites and it’d be all gone. He hoped it would be two good bites.
They were. Bronson had no idea what he ate, but it was oh, so heavenly.
“Now’s your turn.” Bronson wondered why the waiters hadn’t brought him his coffee. “What is it that you do?”
“I’m afraid my life is boring compared to yours. I’m what you would call a professional student. I’m studying law and hope to one day follow in my father’s footsteps. I want this great nation of ours to once again trust its politicians. I’m seeking to bring honesty, hard work, and dedication to the job. One day I’ll represent my people, and they’ll know they can rely on me.” Thomas reached for his wine but didn’t drink any. “I’ll get off my high horse now. What I really do is a lot of volunteer work—mostly research—for my dad.”
Andrew snapped his eyes shut and tightened his features as tight as a fist.
Bronson made a mental note of Andrew’s reaction but otherwise ignored it. “That must be challengin’. What kind of research do you do?”
“Just about anything. My father is considering voting for or against a bill. I search out the ins and outs of the things that affect the bill, the economy, and the people.” Thomas shrugged. “That sort of thing.”
“Fascinatin’, but there’s not much money in that.”
“None at all. Otherwise, it’s called nepotism.”
Andrew fidgeted in his chair.
Bronson made another mental note. “I can see that. It’s nice of you to do this on a volunteer basis.”
Thomas leaned back on the chair. “The way I see it, I’m gaining experience that will be useful in the future. Besides, I don’t need any money. My grandfather left me a substantial trust.”
Their conversation was interrupted by another herd of waiters.
“Ah, the chicken roulade is here. Our favorite.” Thomas pointed to himself and Andrew.
Chicken! Bronson’s world brightened. He liked chicken. A waiter set the dish in front of him. Bronson stared at it. This didn’t look like any chicken he’d ever eaten before. It looked like, well, small, light brown tires standing up, and all around the two pieces of meat a variety of what may be vegetables adorned the roulade. This was a piece of artwork, not foo
d. He waited to see how Andrew and Thomas attacked the entree.
Bronson summoned up his courage and took a bite. Best chicken ever. Even its aroma, sweet and with just an edge of spice, enhanced his appetite.
Andrew cut one of the vegetables and ate it. “Thomas has a Porsche, and I said that because I know how you love them.”
Bronson looked up from his food and met Thomas’ eye. “Yeah? You’re a Porsche man? You’re my kind of person.” Bronson pushed the vegetables away from the meat. “Tell me about your car.”
“What’s to tell? It’s a 2021 Porsche Panamera E-Hybrid Sport Turismo. The color is gentian blue metallic. I keep it in good shape. In fact, for the past three days, it’s been at the mechanic’s for a tune-up.”
Interesting. Hadn’t Andrew told him he had a red Porsche? Not that it mattered. He didn’t have access to the car. “Your car is not red?”
Thomas’ eyebrows wrinkled. “No, not red. Why would you think that?”
“No particular reason. It’s just that red’s my favorite color. I’ve been considerin’ gettin’ me one. A red one, that is. Do you know anyone who wants to sell a red Porsche?”
“I had one, but that was last year’s model. I traded it in a week ago for the blue one.”
Andrew shrugged. “I didn’t know that.”
“Is the red one for sale?” Bronson asked.
“I have no idea if the dealership has sold it or if it’s still in the lot. However, if you really want to see a red Porsche, there’s—”
Andrew snapped his fingers as though eager that he was finally part of the conversation. “I know what you’re going to say. You were going to tell him about the Porsche convention going on.”
Thomas smiled and raised his wine glass. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to say.” He turned to Bronson. “It’s a different kind of convention. Porsche owners like me take their cars and leave them there. People who can’t afford the car are allowed to take it for a spin.”
“Oh really?” Bronson temporarily stopped eating so he could focus on Thomas. “Wouldn’t that create unforeseeable problems?”