The Defense: A Novel

by Steve Cavanagh

  It was as much as I was likely to get without examining the suitcase.

  10:40 a.m.

  I couldn’t risk taking any more time over this. I had to speak to Kennedy before he got his warrant.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  “Mr. Flynn, do you have any further questions for this witness?” said Judge Pike, finishing her sentence with an impatient snap of her teeth.

  “Your Honor, may I take just another few minutes with my client?”

  “Fifteen-minute recess,” said Pike.

  A nod of the head as she rose was good enough for me, and I strode quickly to the aisle.

  “Bathroom break,” I said as I passed Volchek and heard Victor get up noisily and follow me as I headed for the door of the court. My pace slowed as I approached Kennedy. I could hear the deep, resonant footsteps of Victor behind me, getting closer as I moved purposefully toward the fed.

  Five feet to Kennedy’s seat.

  I quickened my pace, putting distance between me and Victor, and locked my eyes on the FBI agent. Kennedy saw me staring at him and started to rise. I grabbed his tie in my left hand, pulled him to his feet, and came close, nose to nose, chest to chest, and my hand slipped unseen into his jacket.

  Before Victor got to me, I had time to mouth a short sentence, just two words.

  “Trust me.”

  Kennedy pushed me away like I was crazy. I kicked open the court doors, marched through the crowd in the hall, and locked myself in the disabled bathroom. After ten seconds, I heard a knock on the door and a deep, Slavic voice.

  “Don’t go nowhere, lawyer. I’m waiting.” Victor, standing guard outside. I could hear the background noise build up in the hall as the courtroom emptied for a break. Reaching into my pocket, I took out Kennedy’s cell phone and dialed the number for my secure cell. After four rings, Kennedy answered.

  “What the hell is this?” he said.

  “This is Eddie Flynn. I have your phone. You probably guessed that already. No doubt you recognized your number on the caller ID. The phone you’re holding is mine. Sorry I couldn’t take your card this morning. I needed to call you and I didn’t have your number, so I had to switch phones. Thing is, I’ve been kidnapped by the Russian mob and I need your help. Your friend Tom Levine is working for them. They’ve kidnapped my daughter, and I’ve got their bomb. Looks like you’re about to have a very bad day.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  I held the phone tight to my ear and whispered as loudly as I dared. “My best guess is that Arturas is planning to take over the Bratva. He’s setting up his boss, but I can’t figure out how he’s going to do it.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, Mr. Flynn,” said Kennedy simply.

  “Maybe, but I’m right about this. Mario Geraldo got killed because he saw Tom Levine having dinner with Volchek and he photographed them. Benny never told you why he killed Mario. It was because Mario was trying to blackmail Volchek with the photos. Plus, Arturas was meeting other gang leaders behind Volchek’s back. You don’t get in bed with the competition unless you’re either going to jump ship or hijack the ship you’re already on. You’ve got the photo of Levine; it’s in your right-hand jacket pocket.”

  This was my play. I was gambling everything on Kennedy believing me and arresting the Russians, but I didn’t dare tell him everything. The bomb in my jacket, the vans downstairs, there was nothing that linked them to the Bratva. My fingerprints would be on the vans and the bomb. I needed to be sure Kennedy believed me before I told him everything. I waited for a few seconds.

  “You got it?”

  “This doesn’t prove a thing.”

  My back hit the bathroom wall, and I slid down the tiles. A hollow feeling in my chest spread into my throat.

  “Wh-what?”

  “Not that it should concern you, but Agent Levine worked undercover for a couple of years. His mission was to infiltrate the mob. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had more than one dinner with Volchek.”

  “But I found an FBI card in Gregor’s wallet. It had a number on the back written in pen; it’s Levine’s number. If he was undercover a couple years ago, then at some stage he flipped to the other side. He’s working for the Russian mob. I couldn’t tell you any of this earlier because he was listening and he would report straight back to Volchek.”

  “Tom Levine is a decorated agent. I’d need more proof than that. I have to say, Mr. Flynn, your story is a little crazy. We know you’ve just returned to practice after a stint in rehab. You feeling okay?”

  I rubbed my face and thought hard.

  “Take a look in the same pocket as the one you found my phone in. You’ll find a flashlight. Only it’s not really a flashlight; it’s a black light. Volchek gave me a million bucks to bribe Tony Geraldo. I marked the money I got from the Russians. Check out Victor’s right hand. You’ll see the chemical mark. It matches a million dollars in cash that’s being held by a friend and that chemical signature takes it right back to the Bratva. I’m in the bathroom opposite the court. Victor’s waiting outside. Check out his hand and I’ll call you back.”

  “Just so you know, we got our hearing with Potter bumped up the line. Gimenez is waiting outside Potters’ chambers. The hearing shouldn’t take too long. All being well, we’ll have agents in your apartment within an hour.”

  I smacked the back of my head off the tiles.

  “You didn’t get bumped. The hearing was always going to be at eleven. You just didn’t want to give me a heads-up.”

  Kennedy disconnected.

  He’d played me, for the second time. First with the consent form that guaranteed he’d get the warrant and then with the timing of the warrant hearing. But more important, Kennedy hadn’t bought my story. I thought again about telling him to search the basement lot for the vans and decided it was too risky; with nothing to link the vans to the Bratva, that could backfire on me big-time. I called Harry, but he didn’t answer; maybe he saw the call and didn’t answer because he didn’t recognize the number.

  Kennedy’s phone vibrated. The caller display read Andy Coulson, the other FBI agent that I’d met that morning.

  “Yeah,” I said, doing my best impersonation of a straight-laced Kennedy.

  “We got a situation—a shooting,” said Coulson.

  “Where?” I said, trying to sound concerned. I knew it was only a matter of time before the FBI got involved with the pile of Russian bodies that Anthony and the Lizard had left in the wake of Amy’s rescue.

  “Little Italy. ATF are asking for our assistance.”

  I dropped the phone and then quickly picked it up.

  “You there, boss?” said Coulson.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Where in Little Italy?”

  “You don’t sound right. Reception must not be too good here. Anyway, it was Jimmy Fellini’s place on Mulberry. We got seven dead. It happened about twenty minutes ago. You think it might be related to the hit on Volchek’s crew this morning? I think we could have a link. It would take some serious muscle to shoot up Jimmy the Hat’s restaurant. I think it’s a Russian reprisal for the Severn Towers thing this morning. If we’re not careful, we could have a gang war here.”

  I muffled a scream, forcing my fist into my mouth as my body froze in shock.

  “You there, Bill?”

  A question became lodged in my brain and burned like a bullet ripping through my skull. I gripped the phone with both hands and opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. If I didn’t ask the question, my head would tear itself apart, but I knew if I got the answer I was dreading, I would die.

  “Is … is…?”

  “You’re breaking up, boss.”

  I thumped my head into the wall and spat it out.

  “Is a little … a little blond girl one of the dead?”

  “I’ve got an e-mail from the ATF on my phone here. Let me check.”

  Victor knocked on the door of the bathroom, and I flushed the toilet. My hand began bleeding from my nails burying in
to my palm.

  “No. I got nothing on a little girl. I’m told two guys on the door, a waitress, and three made guys. Anthony Fellini was one of ’em. Apparently, a couple of guys walked in with machine guns and left through a secret tunnel in the back. I’ll look into it and let you know.”

  Coulson hung up, and I dialed Jimmy’s cell.

  He answered immediately, and I could hear the roar of a car engine and car horns in the background. Jimmy was on the move.

  “Jimmy … it’s Eddie … The goddamn Russians hit your place. Anthony is dead. I think they’ve got Amy.”

  “I know. I heard. The Lizard and I were hiding the money you gave us when I got the call. Sit tight—this ain’t over yet. If they wanted to kill her, they’d have shot her and left her in the restaurant. She’s alive. I’m sure of it. They’ve taken her. The Lizard and I are on our way to you now. I’m handling this personally. Anthony was a good kid. My sister’s gonna kill herself when she finds out. Eddie, there’s no way anybody can think they can walk into my place, take down my guys, and leave. I have to be seen to be taking care of this, you understand. Those bastards are dead.”

  “Jimmy, you can’t start a war. They’ve got Amy.”

  “I can’t let this go. We’re going to wait outside the courthouse. Soon as we see Volchek and his crew, we’re gonna hit ’em.”

  He hung up.

  I ran to the sink and splashed cold water over my face and head. Arturas must have gone to the apartment to check on Amy. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out who double-crossed him and where they’d taken Amy. I’d been stupid. I shouldn’t have let Anthony take Amy back to the restaurant. At the same time, I never expected Arturas to declare all-out war on Jimmy. That kind of action forced people’s hands. Unless Jimmy took these guys down hard, every two-bit pimp in the district would think that Jimmy was ripe for the taking.

  Kennedy’s cell rang again. It was the number of my disposable cell on caller ID.

  “I’ve seen the mark on Victor’s hand. Wasn’t easy. He almost spotted the flashlight. I still don’t think it proves anything. I called my office and had an agent call your wife. I don’t know what kind of phone you’ve given me, but my office had a hell of a job calling me back. Anyway, your wife says your daughter is on a school field trip in Long Island. She hasn’t reported your daughter missing and neither have you. Don’t lie to me. I know you want help, but you have to start telling me the truth. We’ve got a file on you. We know your history; you used to be some kind of a hustler, but you can’t hustle me. Help me. Tell me the truth.”

  I breathed out and spoke slowly and softly.

  “Kennedy, I told you the truth. If you don’t believe me, then you can go to hell. I’m going to finish this my way.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Volchek turned to face me as I came back into court. I resumed my seat and felt him lean forward to catch my ear.

  “After you finish with the cop, it’s the dancer next, yes?” he said.

  “Yeah. They’ll keep Benny till last.”

  “After the dancer, you have to think about planting that jacket. I don’t mind, of course, if you want to keep it on and stand beside Benny when I blow you up. That’s up to you,” said Volchek. Turning around to face him, I saw the detonator in his hand.

  “Where are the rest of your men?” I said.

  “Checking on your daughter. Don’t forget what you’re here to do, Mr. Flynn. I can’t take any chances. You’ve done well, but I can’t let this go to a jury. We’ll plant the bomb during the lunch break.”

  Turning away from Volchek, I shut my eyes and thought through everything again. The soft whistling from Jean’s pen swimming through my fingers seemed to drown out the noise from the crowd. I’d blown it with Kennedy. Harry wasn’t here. I didn’t have anything solid to link the Russians to Amy’s kidnapping, the bomb in my jacket, or the vans. Not that I could risk raising a bomb scare anyway. Court security would evacuate the building and Volchek would run. No. If I let the cops know about either of the bombs, Amy was as good as dead.

  Only one option left.

  I signaled Pike’s clerk.

  “Jean, I need a favor. Tell Her Honor something has come up and I need an extra ten minutes with my client. No more.”

  “It’s five after eleven, Eddie, and she wants this case moving today. If she comes back into court and you’re not here, she’ll fine you fifty dollars for every minute you’re late. I saw her do that two weeks ago to poor old Mr. Langtree. You know he’s got prostate issues. His sister told me—”

  “Sorry, Jean. I have to go consult with my client. I’ll be quick. Just stall her if you can.”

  Volchek looked puzzled.

  “I thought of something, but we can’t talk here. Let’s find a conference booth in the hall,” I said.

  “What is it?”

  “I told you. Not here. They got eyes and ears. Trust me. It’s worth it,” I said as I packed the files into the case and started for the door, wheeling the Samsonite behind me.

  “Leave the files here,” said Victor.

  I didn’t answer him. Instead I turned to make sure Volchek followed me. After a second, he got up, buttoned his suit jacket, and strolled out with me. Victor began to protest again, but Volchek silenced him.

  * * *

  The sign on the closest conference room read ENGAGED.

  Without knocking, I opened the door and hefted the case into the corner of the room. A young lawyer and his client were talking, papers spread out on the desk.

  “Sorry. I need this room.”

  “What the hell is this? I’m taking instructions here. You can’t jus—”

  “Get out now or you’ll get hurt.”

  The young lawyer rose; he was fit, aggressive, and unwilling to have an older lawyer make a show of him in front of his client.

  “What? You gonna hurt me?” he said.

  “Ordinarily, yeah, but not today. If you don’t leave right now, he’ll hurt you,” I said, pointing to the figure of Volchek, framed in the doorway.

  The young lawyer’s client noticed the head of the Russian mob, grabbed his lawyer, and dragged him out, leaving behind their papers and the lawyer’s briefcase. Victor put one foot into the booth. I pushed the door against it.

  “Just me and the client, blondie.”

  Victor pushed back.

  “Make sure we are not disturbed,” said Volchek.

  Reluctantly, Victor exited and closed the door. A heavy insulated material lined the walls to make the room a little more soundproof. All the conference rooms had the same setup because what was discussed in those rooms was confidential and privileged between an attorney and his client. As long as we didn’t shout, Victor wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation on the other side of the heavy door.

  Volchek sat, laced his fingers across his stomach, and lazily turned his attention toward me. Placing my hands on the back of the chair, I leaned over Volchek and kept my voice low.

  “What I’m about to tell you will come as a shock, so don’t call out; it’s important that this meeting is just you and me. Cards on the table, Olek; I tried to double-cross you. I failed. Right now, none of that matters, because I’m the only man who can keep you alive.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Volchek placed his hands flat on the table, ready to spring at me.

  “You know what happens to those who double-cross—”

  “I said I failed. Some of Jimmy’s guys found Amy and took her, and yes, they killed whoever was in that apartment. You’d do the same if it were your daughter. Arturas has just busted into Jimmy’s restaurant; he’s killed some of Jimmy’s family and taken Amy back. But things have moved on. It’s not about that anymore. Look, you’ve got bigger problems than me,” I said, tossing Volchek the photograph that Mario took of Arturas in the parking lot.

  He got halfway to his feet, saw the photo, and sat back down. A vein stood out on his neck, and a low hiss escaped from his teeth. />
  “This is a copy of one of the photos that Little Benny burned after he killed Mario. I got a copy from Tony. You don’t need me to tell you what’s in that picture. That’s your boy Arturas meeting with your competition. The guys in that photo are the same men who applauded you yesterday when you came into court. A few minutes ago, I asked you how many photographs Mario was using to blackmail you. You said ‘one.’ So I figure you didn’t know this photo existed. My guess is that this is the real reason that Arturas wanted Mario dead. It was Arturas who suggested you take out Mario, wasn’t it?”

  For a moment his eyes met mine. He nodded and returned his stare to the photograph. A trembling began at the corner of his mouth before his lips drew tight.

  “Arturas had been planning to join up with the competition long before you had Mario murdered. You were told that Mario wanted money for the photo of you and your FBI informant, and I know it could hurt you to lose such a valuable asset. But killing Mario because he threatened an FBI source doesn’t warrant starting a war with the Italian Mafia. I didn’t think it merited the risk, and my guess is that you didn’t think so either. Arturas persuaded you to order the hit. He needed someone he could trust to kill Mario and destroy both photographs. That’s why he told you to use Little Benny. Arturas trusted Benny to kill Mario and clean up his mess. Then Benny got caught. Now Arturas has something else planned, and I have a feeling that whatever is in this suitcase is going to tell us exactly what’s going on.”

  He crumpled the photo in his fist. His arm shook, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the effort or from suppressed rage.

  “What? What suitcase?” he said.

  “This one,” I said, placing the case on the desk. “Last night I saw two vans drive into the basement parking lot of this courthouse. They were driven by your men, and each van is filled with explosives.”