Chambers said nothing as the London SureSafe head suddenly broke away and climbed into the back of an available taxi. He watched the cab disappear around a corner before walking to his hotel, where he had a drink at a small bar in its lobby. As he sat alone he reflected on the conversation that had just transpired.
In all his years on the Washington PD and during his tenure as Cale, Watson and Warnowski’s chief investigator, Cameron Chambers had never fired a weapon at anyone other than dummies on the firing range. But he realized as he downed what was in his glass and asked for a refill that if he had possessed a gun during dinner he might have been tempted to use it. He found Norris to be obnoxious; he’d been finding more people these days to be obnoxious.
While he understood his obligation to the law firm to do its bidding—as long as he continued to cash their checks—his positive thoughts were not with the firm. Elizabeth Sims took center stage. Her phone calls were being recorded, as were phone conversations by David Portland and Robert Brixton. He mumbled a four-letter word into his glass. Trevor Portland’s murder in the Niger Delta was a tragedy not only for his father. Elizabeth had been the boy’s surrogate mother and had devoted a portion of her life to helping bring him up. She’d been devastated by the news, too, and didn’t deserve the treatment she was receiving.
As he grappled with these thoughts a wave of fatigue washed over him, and he decided to go to bed. Once in his room he stripped to his shorts, performed the usual nightly ablutions, and climbed in between the covers. He’d decided to call Mr. Kelsey the following day in Barrow-in-Furness, wherever that was, and hoped to arrange to visit him. It probably would have been more efficient to first try and gain access to Portland’s apartment, but he’d have to gear himself up for that unpleasant, potentially risky task.
Elizabeth!
Her face was the last thing he saw before dozing off.
CHAPTER
39
That evening Portland and Brixton had a long telephone conversation.
“I visited Ammon Dimka’s wife this afternoon,” Brixton told his British pal.
“Really? What brought that on?”
“She called me,” said Brixton. “She wanted me to come to where she and the kids are temporarily staying to show me something her husband left for me in his safe deposit box. That envelope we rescued from the burning house only tells a small piece of the story, David. The one Mrs. Dimka handed me is filled with evidence of everything he’d been saying about Bright Horizons—and a lot more about the corruption in the Niger Delta, including damning material about SureSafe and its criminal role there. Annabel Smith went with me to see her. I spent an hour with Annabel and Mac Smith after we got back.”
There was silence on Portland’s end.
“David?”
“Right, sorry. I was just thinking how timely your call is.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, to cut to the chase, I’m about to leave for Nigeria.”
Brixton exhaled. “That’s a bit of news I didn’t expect. Why are you going there?”
“To settle accounts.”
“With?”
“With the Frenchman, Alain Fournier, and anyone else involved in Trevor’s murder.”
It was Brixton’s turn to fall silent.
“Robert?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. I was just thinking about Dimka’s widow and how much she’s like her husband, willing to tell the world about the horror show that’s going on in Nigeria. I told Mac Smith that I want to do right by her.”
“I can understand that.”
“When are you leaving for Nigeria?”
“Tomorrow night. I’m flying to London. I’ll catch a plane the next day to Lagos.”
“Want company?” Brixton asked.
“Company? What are you talking about?”
“Would you like me to go with you? Look, I’m driving Flo to the airport in the morning for her flight to L.A., some sort of fashion shindig out there. She’ll be gone for a week, give or take a day or two. I’ll be rattling around in the apartment and the office with not a hell of a lot to do. Business is slow.” He laughed. “How’s that for an understatement? Besides, I’ve never been to London.”
“Hold on, Robert. This is not some tourist jaunt I’m making to jolly old England. I’m just stopping off there before catching a flight to Nigeria.”
“I know that,” Brixton said, “and I’m not looking for a tour of Buckingham Palace. The point is that you’re not the only one who wants to settle a score. I don’t know how to explain it—Flo always says my sentimental gene was missing when I was born—but I have this need to avenge Ammon Dimka’s murder.” He paused. “And the way you lost your son resonates with me, too. My daughter Janet died at the hands of maniacs and I’ve never fully resolved that in my mind. I feel like Dimka and I are on a mission together to confront those who left his wife a widow and his kids without a father. Maybe I also feel there’s a mission where you’re concerned because of what happened to Trevor. But hell, David, it doesn’t matter why I want to go with you. I’ve made up my mind and that’s that!”
“In other words, you aren’t suggesting a trip to London. You want to come with me to Nigeria.”
“Sounds dumb, huh?”
“As a matter of fact, it does.”
“It’s not dumb to me, David. Look, you’re going off to set things right, which I understand. But from what I hear Nigeria, especially the Niger Delta where all the oil is, can be a pretty scary place. Am I right?”
“From what I read,” Portland said sarcastically.
“I read about Nigeria, too, David. Dimka left plenty of reading material behind. His wife told me she wanted her husband’s murder avenged. She also told me that she wanted his kids to know that their father didn’t die in vain. I take her seriously, David.” He lightened his tone. “Besides, you can always use somebody to cover your back.”
“Come on, Robert, you make it sound like I’m going to war.”
“Aren’t you? What are you going to do when you confront this Frenchman, Fournier, or his buddy Agu something-or-other, tell ’em that you’re unhappy that your son was killed, ask ’em not to do that sort of thing again, shake your finger at them, and fly back to London?”
“I’ll decide what to do when we’re face-to-face.”
“I’ve learned firsthand they’re not nice guys,” Brixton said.
“Not true, Robert. I’m sure they’re good and decent folks who rescue kittens and make cakes for their mothers’ birthdays.”
“In other words, they’ll shoot you without batting an eye.”
“If you say so. Look, my friend, it’s bloody decent of you to offer to ride shotgun with me, but your offer is impetuous at best, and impetuous people usually get in over their heads.”
“You’re telling me I can’t go with you?”
“I’m telling you that this is my war, Robert.”
“Do I need a visa?” Brixton asked, not being put off.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious. I need a change of pace, a change of scenery. With Flo away I’m liable to get myself in trouble, so you’ll be doing me, and her, a big favor by letting me tag along. I didn’t mention that Flo has received a threatening phone call about my involvement in the Nigerian financial scams, and somebody messed around with my car’s battery to reinforce that warning.”
“You’re lucky that’s all they did. Remember Dimka.”
“How could I not remember him? That was the wrong move on their part. Tell me not to do something and it makes me want to do it that much more. A visa? Do I need one?”
Portland’s sigh of resignation said volumes. “You’re supposed to have one to enter the country. That’s the law. But those who check passports at the Lagos airport are more than happy to look the other way for a price. At least that’s what I’m told. You do have a passport, I assume.”
“Of course I do. Flo insisted that I get one so
we can take some trips abroad.”
“And she’ll be a very unhappy woman if you make this trip overseas without her.”
“She’ll understand.”
Portland wasn’t sure he agreed with Brixton’s assessment of Flo’s reaction but didn’t debate it.
Brixton wasn’t in a debating mood either. “When do we leave?” he asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
“And we fly to Nigeria the next day?”
“Right.”
“And what do we do once we arrive there?”
“We contact someone who can help.”
“Who’s he?”
“Jeffrey Gomba.”
“A friend of yours?”
“Somebody at the embassy put me on to him. He does odd jobs, for a fee, of course.”
“So, it’s agreed. You and I go to Nigeria.”
“Provided your Miss Flo doesn’t steal your passport and break your leg. What about your friends the Smiths? What will their reaction be?”
“I’ll finesse that,” Brixton said. “Where and when do we hook up tomorrow?”
Portland suggested a time and place, and they ended the call after Portland suggested the sort of clothing Brixton should pack.
CHAPTER
40
It hadn’t been difficult for Brixton to inject himself into Portland’s travel plans. The Brit, despite his initial balking, seemed to welcome Brixton’s involvement. At least that’s how Brixton read it.
But announcing to Flo that he would be going to Nigeria with Portland would be a harder sell, a much harder sell. He decided to not break the news to her that night. Better to wait until they were on their way to the airport for her flight to Los Angeles. Which meant, of course, that he was laden with guilt as they went about preparing for her departure.
Flo packed, placing outfits in her suitcase, then tossing them and opting for different clothing. Brixton watched with amusement. As far as he was concerned, she looked good in anything she chose to wear, and he told her so numerous times. But she dismissed his flattery and continued her quest for the perfect outfits to wear in sunny California.
Her packing finalized, they dined on food brought in from a local restaurant, and watched the news on television before going to bed and making love. Flo thought that Brixton was unusually aggressive and enjoyed his ardor. As they basked in the afterglow of their romantic interlude, she asked, “So, what are you going to do with me away?”
“Do? Me? I don’t know. Maybe get together with Mac and brainstorm how I can hustle up more business.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said. “They’ve invited you for dinner. You should go.”
“Yeah, I will,” he said into the darkened room, experiencing the guilt that had been building all evening.
“I’ll miss you,” she said, her voice husky.
“I’ll miss you, too, babe. Let’s call it a night.”
He was about to fall asleep when she said, “Is something wrong?”
“What? No, nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know, it’s just that you seem, well, distracted.”
“While we were making love?”
“No, before that.”
Brixton turned on the bedside lamp.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, sitting up in bed.
“Look, Flo, I do have some plans while you’re gone.”
“Plans? What kind of plans?”
“I’m going to London with David.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m going to London with David for a few days. Actually, I’m—”
She was out of bed before he could finish and stood over him.
“When did you decide this?” she demanded.
“It was last-minute, Flo. You see—”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” she said, grabbing her robe.
Brixton, too, got out of bed. “Look,” he said, “you’re going to be away on business, so I figured it was a good time to, well, to spend a few days with him in London.”
“I’ve never been to London,” she said curtly.
“I know, and we should plan a trip there, just the two of us. But David has business there and … well, he’s going on to Nigeria to confront the people who killed his son and—”
“Nigeria? Don’t tell me, Robert, that you’re going to Nigeria, too.”
“Maybe. I mean—”
Flo flounced from the bedroom and plopped down on a couch. Brixton followed.
“I know this is a lousy way to announce my plans,” he said. Flo didn’t interrupt as he tried to explain his decision and how it came out of his meeting with Ammon Dimka’s wife. The more he talked the greater his resolve was mirrored in his voice. He sat on the edge of the couch, held Flo’s hand, and searched for the words that would justify his decision. When he was finished, he released her hand and said, “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s why I’m going with David to London and Nigeria. It may not make sense to you, but it does to me. It’s like when that suicide bomber blew up the café and killed my daughter. The scum behind it had to be brought to justice. I had to do it, no matter what it took. Sure, Ammon Dimka wasn’t a family member, but he and his wife meant something, to me and to the world. David lost his kid the way I lost mine, to some warped, evil people who spend their lives hurting others for their own gain. Sorry, hon, but it’s something I have to do.” He delivered the final words with conviction.
Flo said nothing, but Brixton saw that her eyes had welled up. She grasped his hand and squeezed.
“You are a prize knucklehead, Robert Brixton,” she said. “My question is what do you and David intend to do once you’re there?”
Brixton expected that question and hadn’t formulated a reasonable answer. He shrugged, extended his hands in a gesture of futility. “I don’t know,” he said. Then, realizing that it was a weak response, he added, “I want to see for myself what Dimka wrote about in the package he left for me. Maybe just putting a face to whoever was behind the torching of his house and his murder will satisfy me. Try to understand, Flo. I need you to understand.”
“What does it matter?” she said. “You’ve made up your mind, and once you do that’s it. Robert ‘Don’t Call Me Bobby’ Brixton is off with his British pal on an insane trip to Nigeria, and I may never see him again.” Now she wept openly.
“Hey,” Brixton said, touching her moist cheeks with his fingertips, “what’s all this talk about never seeing me again? You won’t get rid of me that easy.”
They returned to bed, where both slept fitfully until the alarm sounded the next morning. Flo disappeared into the bathroom without a word while Brixton put together what amounted to breakfast. With silence still reigning, they swapped places in the bathroom. Brixton emerged showered, ate hurriedly, and said, “Time to go.”
They rode in icy silence to the airport.
“I’ll park and come in with you,” he said.
“No,” she said, leaning across the front seat and kissing his cheek. “I’m sorry if I’m acting like a shrew, but I just know that what you intend to do will have a bad outcome.”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” he said, forcing lightness into his voice. “I’ll be back before you even leave L.A.”
“Take care of yourself, Robert, and don’t do something stupid that gets you killed,” she said, quickly exiting the car before he saw the tears running down her cheeks.
As he watched her wheel her suitcase into the terminal he had the sinking feeling that his decision to accompany Portland to Nigeria had been a huge mistake that would have serious ramifications. It wasn’t that he was worried about his physical well-being. He just wondered whether he’d driven a stake into his relationship with Flo Combes that could never be extracted.
He was good at that sort of thing.
CHAPTER
41
Cameron Chambers would have preferred to stay in bed. Nothing on his agenda motivated him; he wished he we
re back in Washington.
It was a bright, sunny day in London, a departure from the gray overcast that had recently dominated the weather. After showering and dressing, he stopped at a small food shop where he had breakfast and lingered at the table as he tried to put his thoughts in some semblance of order.
First on his agenda was a call to the former SureSafe employee Matthew Kelsey. According to Norris’s terse instructions at dinner, Chambers was to visit Kelsey to ascertain what Portland might have told him about his son’s shooting, and to determine what Kelsey had witnessed the day the shooting took place. The contemplation of spending time with a drunken ex-employee of SureSafe didn’t please Chambers, and he hoped that a call to Kelsey wouldn’t result in the need to actually see him.
He returned to his hotel and dialed Kelsey’s number.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Kelsey, my name is Cameron Chambers. I work for the law firm of Cale, Watson and Warnowski in Washington, D.C.”
“Oh, yeah, that fancy law firm that works for XCAL.”
“Yes, sir, that’s correct,” said Chambers.
“Why are you calling me?” Kelsey asked in a voice that sounded as though his vocal cords had been rubbed with coarse sandpaper.
“I’m in London on assignment to investigate the death of the son of a gentleman named David Portland.”
Kelsey guffawed, which generated a coughing spasm. “Portland? He’s a bloody fool.”
“Yes,” Chambers agreed, not wanting to challenge him. “The reason for my call is to see whether you might be willing to share with me what Mr. Portland said to you during his recent visit.”
When Kelsey didn’t respond, Chambers suggested, “I thought that maybe we could chat about this over the phone.”
“The hell we can,” Kelsey snapped. “You want to pick my brain the way Portland did, you come here, and don’t forget to bring decent grub and a few pints and some quid for me. Portland gave me a pittance for what I know. I don’t come cheap no more. You hear me?”
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