Smoke and Mirrors wm-4

by John Ramsey Miller

  “How did you know he’d be here?” Alexa asked.

  “I keep close tabs on him.”

  “You don’t know everything.”

  “What don’t I know?” Styer asked.

  “You’ll see,” she said.

  “Tell me,” Styer said, taking a knife out of the pocket of his cardigan, and opening it so she could see the short serrated blade. “I’d like to know what the great FBI agent Alexa Keen could possibly know that I don’t.”

  Styer stopped smiling and stood, casually holding the knife down by his leg.

  “Oh, there’s one thing I should tell you,” Alexa said, taking a deep breath.

  Her scream was the loudest, most powerful sound she had ever made, and completely took Styer by surprise.

  He lunged at her.

  94

  Kurt Klein tried to relax, but every few minutes he checked the computer for Styer’s reply, softly cursing the empty screen. He was accustomed to business-borne intrigue and suspense, but so much was hanging on this deal that he was screaming inside.

  Kurt winced when the phone rang. Finch answered it and spoke softly into the receiver before placing his hand over the instrument and walking over. “Sir, a Senator Raffleman wishes to speak to you.”

  Kurt took the phone and waited until Finch had left the room. “Klein here.”

  A woman said, “Just a second, please.”

  After a click, Bert Raffleman’s voice came on. “Kurt, how are you?”

  “I am fine, Senator.”

  “And Freida?”

  “She’s in Paris spending money. And how is Cindy?”

  “Doing the same here in Washington, of course. Any word on when you’re going to hold that press conference on your resort?”

  “Absolutely. I will be scheduling it tomorrow, and the invitations will be going out Monday. Can’t do it unless you’ll be here to take credit, since you have been so instrumental in paving the way for it.” Not to mention the nine hundred thousand dollars I paid you and your crooked, blood-sucking pals, you slow-talking, two-faced ass.

  “Well, it’s not every day we get an investment like yours down there. Going to be a big boost to the economy. I can’t wait to get on one of those golf courses you’ll be building. And Cindy is excited about the spa. Not that she needs any help in the beauty department. Just let me know when and I’ll be there. You know I wouldn’t let you down. That’s what friends are for,” Raffleman drawled.

  After he hung up, Kurt glanced at the computer screen and saw that Styer had answered his e-mail. Sitting forward on the edge of the couch to see better, he put on his glasses and read the response.

  Uncle, Message understood. Good news on land. Girl will be home by ten tonight. Will be away from computer from here out. Wire money if satisfied. I have personal business to attend to before leaving.

  Kurt closed the connection and sat back, thinking. Styer knew he had been called off the Gardner family. The part that was of concern was the “personal business” reference.

  He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Massey’s name had been vaguely familiar to him even before Mulvane mentioned it. Kurt had learned from his source in D.C. that Winter James Massey, while he was a deputy U.S. marshal, had crossed swords with a rogue group of shadows, killing several of them in a series of firefights. He knew that when Yuri Chenchenko had betrayed Styer, he had sent him to kill an ex-federal marshal. That contract had been a ruse, designed to put Styer in a position to be killed by the CIA-sponsored shadow men. Since Massey knew Styer by name, and knew he was in Tunica, the only explanation was that Massey was Styer’s target, and that had to be the personal business Styer mentioned.

  It all made sense. Styer had pushed Klein for the assignment in Tunica after Klein had asked Styer to recommend a lesser talent for the job. Styer, claiming he needed an easy assignment to stay sharp, had asked Kurt to let him solve the Gardner problem. For the past eight months Styer had lived here among the natives, doing research and crafting a plan that would make the land deal happen by the drop-dead date Kurt had given him. That date was at hand, and, however it had happened, the land was as good as Kurt’s.

  Styer could not kill Massey. Not here or now. He stared out the window unseeingly as something came to him. The only people who could possibly take Styer out were the shadows-the cutouts who’d been Styer’s main adversaries before the Berlin Wall fell. They had wanted Styer dead for years, and had made a very expensive deal with Yuri to get their hands on him. If the two unidentified men Massey had told him were dead were cutouts, they would have been expecting to find Styer, and now that he had killed two of them, they would be looking even harder for him.

  Kurt had an idea and a new direction for his thoughts.

  95

  Pierce Mulvane had been relieved when Kurt Klein had summoned him with the news that the Gardner land transaction would be done that evening by nine. On Monday the crews would come in from their hotel rooms in Memphis, and in two weeks the ground would be raised several feet, and a trench would be dug to the base of the levee. Soon, a temporary hole would be cut in the levee to connect to the river so the actual casino could be floated there in sections from the fabrication yards. Using the Mississippi River as a highway, they would put the casino together section by section in the concrete pond. The levee would be put back as it had been by the corps, the trench filled in by private contractors, and the casino’s foundation would forever float in a few inches of water.

  Klein had invited him to have a celebratory dinner in his suite after the papers were signed. Mulvane picked up his receiver and pressed the intercom button. “Send Tug in.”

  Tug Murphy came through the door seconds later, closed it behind him, and stood in front of the desk, hands behind his back. “Yes, sir?”

  “Sit,” Pierce said, smiling. “Take a load off.”

  Tug took a seat and sat with his back straight, folding his hands on his knee.

  “I’ve been asked to have a celebratory dinner with Herr Klein tonight,” Pierce said, suppressing the glee he felt. “The Gardner land deal is in place, and I believe he wants to make my position with River Royale official. The Germans are big on formality.”

  Tug nodded once.

  “As a reward, he asked me to give you and Albert the night off,” Pierce said.

  Tug’s expression became worried.

  “You should be honored that he’s so thoughtful. Not that you don’t deserve that and a nice bonus-which will be forthcoming-but that he has thought enough of your efforts to make the gesture.”

  “A few minutes ago his man, Finch, said he wanted to go get some local color,” Tug said. “He said we-him and Albert and me-ought to go to a restaurant that had good local food, and hit the blues bar. He said Mr. Klein wanted to treat us to a big night out. He said maybe there’d be some female company later on. It felt kind of…I don’t know…weird to take us out on the spur of the moment. He’s usually such a planner. I told him I had some things I had to see to, and he sort of insisted. He said the two men who worked with him might want to come with us, if that was all right.”

  “I see,” Pierce said, thinking through what Tug had said from several angles.

  “What seems weirdest is that Klein would have all three of his bodyguards out as well, leaving him unprotected,” Tug said. “Even stranger is that he would send Albert and me along too.”

  Pierce thought it was possible that Klein felt secure enough now that the land deal was done that he didn’t feel he needed protection. But Tug’s troubled expression concerned him.

  “If Finch wants to see the sights, seeing he’s a foreigner and all…And naturally they want someone to show them around. What time did Finch say he wants to go out?”

  “Around eight-thirty.”

  “I give you my approval,” he said with a big smile. “Go and have fun. I’ll tell you all about it when you come back. One thing…”

  “Yes?” Tug asked.

  “When we move out
there to the new resort, you’re going to be getting a big raise and expanded duties.”

  96

  Kurt Klein should have felt an inner peace, since he had made one of the most difficult decisions of his life. Once he had decided that Styer had to be sacrificed, he knew how to accomplish the task. Kurt had used Paulus Styer’s skills for more than a decade, and so he was very familiar with Styer’s methods. Styer would have infiltrated the casino in disguise in order to blend into his larger theater of operations. Klein had monitored the employees closest to Mulvane carefully, and only one employee had come in after Styer was given the nod to deal with the Gardners. That hire was a man Mulvane had asked for, but a man Mulvane didn’t know very well. He was a man recommended as being capable of performing difficult assignments, who could also be trusted to take secrets to the grave. Although Klein had never met Paulus Styer face-to-face, he was certain Styer had met him.

  When Steffan Finch came into the suite, Kurt Klein closed the computer, lit a Dunhill, and nodded for Finch to speak.

  “White is on, but Murphy says he has personal business he has to attend to. He says he can meet us at the blues club later. Do you want me to force the issue?”

  Kurt thoughtfully expelled a stream of smoke. “He said ‘personal business’? Are you sure that is what he said?”

  “His exact words.”

  “Don’t press it,” Kurt told him, comforted by hearing the expression Styer had used in his message. “I’ve got that covered.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Absolutely,” Kurt said, nodding. “That will be all.”

  After Finch left him, Kurt crushed out his cigarette, opened the computer, and typed his contact in D.C. a short message. After he had finished, he felt no relief at all. He knew that in business a man had to do things he didn’t want to do for the greater good. He trusted that Finch and his associates would be capable of performing the future business-related jobs that he had earmarked for Styer. He reviewed the note he had typed out and nodded.

  Confidential: FYI-it may be of interest to your shadow friends now operating in the South that Cold Wind is disguised as Tug Murphy, Roundtable’s GM, Pierce Mulvane’s personal assistant. Payment will include a double amount as bonus and will be credited to your account when Cold Wind stops blowing.

  Klein parked the cursor on the SEND button and, inhaling slowly, pressed it with his trembling finger. He knew that his name would not be passed along as the source of the information, and he didn’t think it intelligent to tell anyone that he had been employing Styer. He doubted the shadows would botch things again. But if they somehow did, there was no way Styer would put together that Kurt had figured out who he was.

  97

  Alexa watched Styer clipping his fingernails over an ashtray. The tape on her mouth prevented her from saying anything.

  “Now,” Styer told Alexa as he dropped a final clipping into the glass bowl. “If you want to save the Gardners, and I assume you do, you and I are going to walk out of this casino together. While Mrs. Gardner and Massey and others, I presume, are conducting their business here with Mr. Klein, we will go to the Gardners’ home. I will collect the explosives I put there during the funeral of the unfortunate young lady with the ruined cranium. After that, I will leave Massey a note and you and I will take a ride in the country. Winter will come alone to rescue you, and he and I will have our reckoning. It will be a fair fight and I will kill him. If you try anything now, I will explode the device, and whoever is in the house will be vaporized. Do you understand?”

  Alexa nodded.

  “If you scream, I will set off the device, stroll up to Massey and Mrs. Gardner, which we both know I can do, and kill them inside this establishment. On all of this, and I mean every bit of it, you have my word. Please tell me you understand.”

  Alexa nodded again.

  “Oh, and there’s one other thing you should see. Just in case you don’t grasp the entire situation.”

  Styer stood and went into the bedroom. When he came back, he was not alone. Cynthia Gardner’s eyes were wild, her hands behind her back, her mouth covered with tape. Around her waist was a belt containing a brick of explosives with a detonator and a receiver attached to it. Styer pushed her roughly onto the couch and she blinked rapidly, looking from Alexa to Styer, confusion and fear clouding her features.

  Styer came around the table and jerked the tape from Alexa’s mouth. “Alexa, do you know Cynthia Gardner? I told you she was all right. Cynthia, meet FBI Agent Alexa Keen. She’s an abduction specialist who has found you against all odds.”

  Cynthia turned toward Alexa, alert and terrified.

  “So you didn’t know I had her?” Styer said. “You being the world’s leading abduction expert?”

  Styer picked up Alexa’s purse, took out her Glock, removed the magazine, jacked the receiver, and caught the round in the air. He slowly thumbed each of the rounds from the magazine into the bowl along with his nail clippings. That done, he slammed the empty magazine into the gun’s handle, tossed the other loaded magazines on the couch, and put the Glock back into her purse.

  “I won’t hesitate to kill her. You believe me, I hope. Cyn’s explosive is rigged to the same signal and will go off in sync with the one in her home. Double jeopardy, you see. I think I’ve covered all my bases.”

  Lifting his cell phone, he checked the readout, and put it into his left hand, thumb on the SEND button. “One queer move and I’ll press it.”

  “Okay,” Alexa said.

  “I know you may think I’m bluffing so I want to show you something.” He reached into his jacket pocket and showed her a Polaroid of him holding a bomb made of eight blocks of explosive in the foyer of the Gardner house.

  “I’m pretty photogenic, don’t you think?” he said.

  “Jesus,” Alexa said.

  “Do as I say and you will live. I want your word.”

  “It’s your game,” Alexa said.

  Styer cut the cable ties on Alexa’s ankles and unlocked her handcuffs. She sat up, rubbing her wrists slowly.

  Cynthia was sobbing hysterically.

  “It’s okay, Cynthia. He won’t do anything if we do as he says.”

  “Now, Cynthia,” Styer said. “You are going to make a call. If you say exactly what I tell you, you’ll be fine. If you screw this up, you are going to be very dead.”

  Cynthia nodded slowly as she locked eyes with Alexa. “Cynthia, do exactly what he says,” Alexa told the girl.

  98

  Pierce Mulvane had explained to his wife that with Kurt Klein visiting he wasn’t going to make it home tomorrow for his usual Sunday visit with her and the kids. He listened patiently to her long litany of complaints, all the while going over the stack of gamblers’ complaints passed up to him from his managers. Most of the complaints were no more important to him than the tripe his wife came up with about him missing his son’s soccer finals, or his daughter’s hidden candy stashes, or his wife’s inability to find decent shoes in her size that were the right color. Why they couldn’t live in Vegas, where they had everything, was simply beyond her. He promised her that when River Royale was up and running, the shops would stock her sizes and colors, and she’d never have to mention Las Vegas again-and neither would anybody else.

  By the time he finally told her he would get up on Wednesday to spend the night, he had initialed the customers’ gripe reports and placed them into a stack for further consideration, probably around the time the temperature of hell finally dropped below thirty-two degrees.

  Pierce’s phone buzzed.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Pierce,” Kurt Klein said. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “Absolutely not. I was just finishing up some paperwork. What can I do for you?”

  “One of my security men was in the model room a few minutes ago and he reported to me that he caught a man with a camera who claims to be from one of the newspapers in Memphis, taking pictures of the resort model.�
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  “That room was locked,” Pierce said.

  “Maybe one of your people let him in. My man does not think he is who he says he is, and he may be with a competitor. They found some interesting items in his room-number seven ten. I am going to go down myself in a minute. Meet me there?”

  “I’ll be right there as soon as I call Tug. He’s very good at this sort of thing. Don’t you think you should stay clear of it?”

  “Good thinking. But use Steffan’s people, no need to hassle Tug. Meet me up here after you have a look and we will decide what action is required.”

  Pierce hung up. If pictures of the resort were released before the official press conference, it would greatly lessen the impact of the announcement. When over a billion dollars was on the line, care had to be taken.

  Pierce tried to call Tug anyway, but there was no answer. He went to the elevator and got off on the seventh floor. One of Klein’s beefy security men waited in the hall beside the door. As Pierce drew close, the man gave him a troubled smile. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Mulvane,” he said, opening the door. “I think you will find this very disturbing.”

  Pierce went through the door into the short hallway and the security man came in behind him. The first thing he noticed were the leather suitcases beside a laundry cart. A sheet of plastic covered the floor and there was more covering the furniture. He wondered what the guest was up to that had made protective covering necessary. When he realized that the suitcases were just like his, the bathroom door opened, and Finch stepped out wearing a raincoat. Even as the guard muscled Pierce farther into the room and onto the plastic, Pierce had no idea why Finch was aiming a gun at him.