Whispers of the Dead (Tom Gabriel #2)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘I guessed that was the case. How come you know so much about them?’

  ‘We have someone on the inside.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, and you can imagine how distasteful that would be.’

  He nodded. He looked at the photographs of the other three men and read off the names: General Jim Brodie, Ronald Dixon, Herbert Gerhart, but none of them were familiar. Dixon was a pastor in Louisiana, and Gerhart a commercial pilot.

  ‘Now, we need to know what you know.’

  ‘Me! In comparison with what you know, I know nothing.’

  ‘I’ll decide whether what you know amounts to nothing, Mr Gabriel.’

  He started from the beginning and told Brock about Barbara Harrison coming into his office; about searching Harrison’s bedroom and finding the double-bit key belonging to a safe deposit box in the Schweizerische Eidgenössische Bank in Lausanne . . .

  ‘Just a minute . . . Can I call you Tom?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And you can call me Special Agent Brock.’ He turned to the woman who had jabbed him in the back with her gun. ‘This is Agent Marita Hansen, over there we have Agents Ruby Barnes, Alex Shaw and Stephen Eagle. There are a couple more people here from the Jacksonville office, but you don’t need to know everyone. Okay, Marita is going to add your information to the boards. You see, we didn’t know about the safe deposit box in the Harbour Bank, and we sure as hell didn’t know anything about one in a Swiss bank . . . No, you haven’t been there – we would have known.’

  ‘I don’t have the password apparently.’

  ‘The FBI don’t need passwords. Have you got the key on you?’

  ‘No – it’s hidden at the hotel.’

  ‘No matter. We’ll get it later. Carry on, Tom.’

  ‘I also found Blanche Rainey’s telephone number in his bedroom . . .’

  ‘We obviously know about Bruce Effron’s mother.’

  ‘Why did Harrison have her number?’

  ‘Here’s what we think happened: Harrison discovered the original crash report when he opened Clarence Winter’s safe deposit box on his death and decided to keep it to blackmail Rosalind Winter. Mrs Rainey was simply a client, but when she died a month ago – or maybe just before – he must have found out about the death of her son, matched up the dates, added two and two together and put a name to the dead kid Rosalind killed all those years ago.’

  ‘Do you know what’s happened to Harrison?’

  ‘No idea, but we think he’s probably dead. We’re dealing with people who think nothing of taking a life like that . . .’ He clicked his fingers together. ‘. . . to keep their secret safe.’

  ‘Is Harrison one of the eleven?’

  ‘No. As soon as he tried to blackmail Rosalind Winter he was a corpse looking for an autopsy table to lie on.’

  ‘They were responsible for Senator Raeburn and Doc Ratchet’s death, weren’t they?’

  ‘Of course. Once those two were taken into custody – they were dead men.’

  ‘Why didn’t you protect the Senator and make him talk?’

  ‘We might very well have done, but The Broken Circle got to him first. If you recall, he and Ratchet never made it out of lock-up.’

  ‘If Harrison wasn’t involved, except for the attempted blackmail, what’s in the safe deposit box in Switzerland?’

  ‘That’s a good question. If I was to hazard a guess, and based on his proclivity for helping himself to other people’s possessions from the safe deposit boxes in his own bank, I’d say it contained the proceeds from blackmailing a good few of his other clients.’

  ‘What about the code book?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve been monitoring your reporter friend’s emails. It’s not his codebook, but it is connected to what we’re working on.’

  ‘Which means he probably obtained it from another safe deposit box in his bank.’

  ‘Yes, but we don’t know who that could be. We’re guessing it’s another member of The Broken Circle, but we haven’t been able to identify who that is yet. Also, if he resorted to blackmail again, it might also have got him killed.’

  ‘Interestingly, he met someone from a law firm called Greiner, Tibbs & Myrick who have offices at 100 Old Mission Avenue in a shopping centre car park the day before he disappeared. An envelope was passed between the two cars.’

  Brock nodded at Hansen who wrote the details on the board.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know what was in the envelope?’

  ‘Not a clue.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll follow that up. Probably a pay off. As for the three-letter airport codes, our inside man says they’re location codes. Each code – as well being that of an airport – has been re-designated as somewhere else.’

  ‘John Doe and the stencilling brush?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Do you know who John Doe is?’

  ‘Yes – Samuel Kopec, but his name is unimportant. What is important is why he was killed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He had information for us.’

  ‘And The Broken Circle found out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What information?’

  ‘We don’t know, but we think it was the identities of the eleven.’

  ‘Maybe Rae and I have that information.’

  ‘If you did, we’d know about it.’

  ‘You do know about the dry-cleaning tags?’

  ‘They mean nothing.’

  ‘The copy of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Kopec was carrying?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What! Even the indented code on the last page?’

  ‘Rubbish. We’ve had our best people on everything you’ve found, and they’re convinced it’s all just smoke and mirrors.’

  ‘What about the gold loupe?’

  ‘No idea what that’s for, but a magnifying glass isn’t the key to this.’

  ‘What was Kopec doing in St Augustine?’

  ‘He was here to pass on the information to us.’

  ‘It seems like The Broken Circle are one step ahead of you all the time. Are you sure they haven’t got an inside man of their own?’

  ‘All of my people are hand-picked.’

  ‘What now then?’

  ‘We carry on with the operation until we find out who the other seven member of The Broken Circle are.’

  ‘And in the meantime, children are being taken, abused and killed.’

  ‘Don’t be so sentimental, Tom. I’m sure their sacrifice will be rewarded in Heaven.’

  ‘Surely you could shut them down with what you’ve got . . .’

  ‘It would be a minor interruption only. We have to find the eleven – it’s the only way.’

  ‘They’re too powerful, aren’t they? You’re never going to get them.’

  ‘We’ll get them sooner or later. Have a little faith.’

  ‘I’m not big on faith. So, am I okay to go?’

  ‘Yes, but your involvement in this is now at an end.’

  ‘What do I tell Mrs Harrison?’

  ‘Whatever you want. As long as you leave out any mention of Rosalind Winter, Blanche Rainey and The Broken Circle.’

  ‘And Rae’s investigation of John Doe?’

  ‘You don’t need me to answer that, do you? She’s a newspaper reporter. I’m sure she’s capable of fabricating a story to satisfy the curiosity of her adoring readers. The Broken Circle will see that she’s taken the warning on board, and leave her alone.’

  ‘That simple?’

  ‘You and Butterfly are fleas on a dog, Tom. Don’t bite them, and they won’t scratch you.’

  He could see that Special Agent Brock’s priority was to destroy The Broken Circle regardless of the amount of children that were sacrificed. Tom could certainly see the merit of that, but how long would it take? And how many children would be sacrificed? There had to be another way.

  He retraced his steps.

  The keys to the Nitro had been left in the i
gnition. It occurred to him that he’d left Rae with a tablet and a cell. Now, he needed to stop her using them before The Broken Circle realised that Rae hadn’t taken a blind bit of notice of the warning.

  ***

  Rae was still asleep when he reached her room. The tablet and cell were where he’d left them. He took them back and put them on the bedside table next to the grapes and the orange juice.

  He decided to go along to the cafeteria while he had the chance. The way things were going, he had no idea where his next meal would come from.

  The food wasn’t much better than the shrivelled offerings during the night. He ordered a coffee and twelve pieces of buttered toast.

  ‘Twelve pieces?’ the obese female assistant said, staring wide-eyed at the pile of bread on the plate.

  ‘You think it’s not enough?’

  ‘I’m merely checking that I have the number right.’

  ‘Maybe I should have a few more.’

  ‘That’ll be seven dollars fifty.’

  ‘How much for another ten slices?’

  ‘Next.’

  He pocketed the change from a ten and sat down.

  The FBI! He demolished a couple of pieces of toast and took a swallow of coffee. It was hardly surprising that the FBI were involved. Murder and transporting abducted children across state lines were federal offences. What was surprising was that it was only now that the FBI were getting involved.

  It beggared belief that as well as a trucking company, Clarence Winter had buried a child trafficking business so deep within its workings that it had remained hidden for over sixty years.

  All those children!

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  And it was Mercy Hebb – a small town investigative journalist – who had seen a pattern.

  Was he going to walk away? He didn’t really have much choice if the FBI were involved. What he didn’t want to do was alert The Broken Circle that the FBI were hunting them down.

  Rae wouldn’t be happy.

  He finished off his toast and coffee, and went back to Rae’s room.

  ‘You’d be the perfect subject in a sleep study,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks. Did you get . . . ?’

  ‘Three hours ago, but you can’t use it.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  He sat down and told her what had happened.

  ‘A scoop, and I can’t print any of it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So, you’re giving up?’

  ‘We’re giving up. There’s no other choice.’

  ‘They won’t be caught – you know that as well as I do.’

  ‘And explain to me how we’ll make a difference when we’re dead? We’ve both been warned. Next time, they’ll just kill us.’

  ‘Pass me the tablet.’

  ‘The FBI have been monitoring your emails.’

  ‘Bastards.’

  ‘And I expect The Broken Circle have seen them all as well.’

  ‘Fucking bastards.’

  ‘Swearing isn’t helping.’

  ‘It helps me. They’re not the only ones with some tricks up their sleeves, you know.’

  He passed her the tablet.

  ‘Okay, let’s see if we’ve got anything from Lillian Taylor first.’ She tip-tapped her way to her email account. ‘Nothing – that’s good.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Neither the FBI nor the paedophiles will know what she’s found . . .’

  ‘If she’s found anything.’

  ‘You can be a stick-in-the-mud sometimes.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She did more tip-tapping. ‘There – I’ve opened another email account under the name of Elmer Fudd.’

  ‘Very imaginative.’

  ‘I thought so. I’ve sent her an email telling her to ignore my previous address and send anything to this new one.’

  ‘I don’t want to pour cold water on the tricks up your sleeve, but don’t you think the FBI and The Broken Circle will be monitoring her account as well?’

  ‘You’re not being very helpful.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Did you get me a cell as well?’

  He passed the box to her.

  ‘Hey, you did something right for a change.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve.’

  She keyed in the password to access her voicemails. ‘You sound grumpy on the phone.’

  ‘I was worried about you.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ She switched the phone off.

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘A couple of dirty calls from a weightlifter, and one call from the paperboy who found John Doe, and stole the key and knife – says he needs to see me. He probably wants to know if he can have the knife back yet.’

  ‘We don’t need it anymore.’

  ‘No. When I get out of here, I’ll go and see him.’

  ‘You’d better come and stay with me again.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Your apartment is a complete mess.’

  ‘It’ll be better than lying on the floor in a pokey little room next to the washing machine.’

  ‘You’ll feel vulnerable all on your own.’

  ‘I’ll get the locks changed – Mr Franchetti can pay.’

  ‘You were certainly kidnapped in the line of work.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  The tablet pinged.

  It made her jump and began slipping off the bed onto the floor.

  She made a grab for it.

  At the same time, there was a crack, and then a thud in her pillow where her head had just been.

  Tom dived on top of her. Like a double-sided snake they slithered out of the other side of the bed, onto the floor, along the vinyl flooring and crouched underneath the window.

  ‘Oh God! They tried to kill me.’

  ‘What did you expect? They gave you a warning, which was very clear. You ignore the warning. They shoot you in the head. Seems to be a logical sequence of events to me.’

  ‘Okay know-it-all, what are we going to do now?’

  ‘Ah! Now you want my help?’

  ‘Well?’

  He took her hand. ‘Come on.’

  ‘I have to get dressed first.’

  All she had on was a green hospital gown that fully open at the back with the exception of a tie at the neck.

  ‘You think we’ve got time for you to get dressed, brush your hair, put your make-up on and . . .’

  ‘But . . ‘

  He pulled her towards the door.

  There was another crack as the bullet from a high-powered rifle smashed through the window, ricocheted off the floor and crunched into the far wall.

  ‘Do you still want to get dressed?’

  ‘You know what? I don’t think I do.’

  They duck-walked along the wall to the corridor. Once they were clear of the room he gripped her hand, and they ran to the stairs.

  Rae’s gown was billowing out behind her, which attracted wolf-whistles and cat-calls.

  ‘Tell me you’re wearing pants.’

  ‘I wish I could, but if you recall I had my bed shorts on, and they must have removed them in the ER.’

  ‘Well, at least you have a nice butt.’

  ‘Very kind. Where are we going to go?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  They reached the ground floor, found an exit and hurried to the car park. He had a bad feeling about using his new Nitro, but what else could he do? They climbed in, he started the ignition, rammed the gearstick into first and put his foot on the accelerator.

  Would they follow?

  Where was he going to go that would be safe? He couldn’t go to the hotel, or Rae’s apartment. The only place he might have aimed for – the Cadiz Winery – wouldn’t be a good idea. Special Agent Nelson Brock definitely wouldn’t thank him for revealing their presence.

  Rae screamed.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he said to her, as he yanked the steering wheel to the left to avoid a he
ad-on collision with a truck.

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but someone’s shooting at us.’

  ‘Screaming won’t help. It just hurts my ears.’

  ‘Where’s your gun?’

  ‘At the police station.’

  ‘A fat lot of good it is there.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Have you worked out where we’re going yet?’

  ‘I can only think of one place – Mona’s house.’

  ‘She’s going to love you.’

  ‘I’m open to other suggestions.’

  Rae kept quiet.

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘What about the car that’s following us?’

  ‘I’m going to try and lose him. Hang on.’

  His Nitro was accumulating a good collection of bullet holes, and it felt like a lumbering ox as he turned corners, ran through traffic lights and careered across traffic lanes. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t seem to shake the red Ford Taurus, which in comparison to his tank, was a sleek racing car.

  It gave him an idea though. He found a tunnel, drove through and spun round.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Rae said.

  ‘We’ll never lose them before I run out of gas. I’m going to ram them.’

  ‘You’re going to do what?’

  ‘Hang on.’

  ‘Oh God!’

  He slammed the accelerator to the floor and rammed the oncoming Taurus at a forty-five degree angle against the wall of the tunnel. The Nitro came out of it relatively unscathed, but the Taurus crumpled up like a piece of tissue paper.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Huh! As if you care.’

  He climbed out of the Nitro and walked to the Taurus. He checked the life signs of the two men in the front of the car. They were alive, but unconscious. As he leaned into the open passenger window and helped himself to an Uzi submachine gun and a Mamba pistol, he could smell gas.

  ‘Time we went,’ he said as he climbed back in the Nitro.

  ‘Are they dead?’

  ‘No, but they soon will be.

  As he pulled away, there was a massive explosion that threw out shards of glass and metal, and a fireball mushroomed into the air.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  He knocked on Mona’s door.

  ‘Is she in?’ Rae asked, holding the back of her gown together with a clenched hand.