by Alan Chaput
“And you trust your superior to always know the bad guys from the good guys?”
“Like I said, your husband is a mighty fine man.”
Patricia swallowed.
“Are you concerned about your own safety?”
“I don’t fear it, if that’s what you mean. Fear inhibits. To do what I do, I can’t afford to be inhibited.”
“Ruthless or just a dedicated patriot?”
“I reckon a bunch of both, ma’am.”
* * *
Trey met Vladimir Olneki outside The French Bakery. Trey recognized him from the photos in the case file Hempfield had assembled on the man. Vladimir’s suit was as black as his hair and looked to be expensive. As did the Rolex watch and diamond ring he sported.
After ordering coffee and sandwiches, they went to the back of the shop and sat at a small, isolated glass-topped table that Trey usually used for meetings like this. Being able to see both above and below the table was imperative. Both were seated with their backs to the wall so they could observe the room.
Their coffees arrived promptly.
“Good to finally meet you, Mr. Falcon,” Vladimir said in flawless English.
“I wish I could say the same, Vladimir.” Trey looked around to make sure they were not being observed. “I’d like to remind you that my primary mission is to protect this city.”
“Ah yes, you and your friends, the protectors of the city.”
Trey locked eyes with Vladimir, whose unsteady eyes were buried in sockets made deeper by his high cheekbones and bushy eyebrows. “There is a matter that troubles me. Murder and attempted murder are suddenly on the rise in Savannah. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Perhaps you are not protecting your city as well as you think you are. In fact, I myself had a man go missing for several hours yesterday. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Vladimir, if you plan to do business with me, you must be honest. I assume you’re aware of the power I represent.”
“I’m aware you are quite influential in Savannah and have a considerable reputation for getting things done.”
“That’s not the awareness I’m talking about.” Trey cleared his throat. “I was hoping you were aware your life as you know it would be in jeopardy if you disturbed the peace in Savannah.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“It’s only a threat if you misbehave. Otherwise this is just a straightforward conversation between two people who could have a long and mutually beneficial relationship ... under the right conditions.”
“And what conditions are you proposing?”
“I’m not proposing anything. This is not a negotiation. I’m demanding you operate peacefully in my city. Which you have not.”
Vladimir’s head jerked backward.
“Vladimir, if you insist on not being truthful with me, then I must ask you to take your operation elsewhere. Immediately. I want you and your cohorts out of Savannah by midnight. If not, you’ll all find yourselves immediately on a one-way trip to the operating room.”
“Operating room?”
“A place where we extract the truth one way or the other.”
Vladimir clenched his teeth and straightened. “You want war, you get war. You see four of us today. In twenty-four hours there will be four hundred more. I give orders, not you.”
With his eyes fixed on Vladimir’s, Trey slowly shook his head. “Not in this city.”
“You want four hundred assassins in your town?”
This tiresome man is an idiot. “What you’re suggesting is illogical and suicidal. Let me spell it out. I assume you’ll send in your top twenty or so troublemakers. My retired Rangers and retired Special Ops contractors will kill your people before they do much damage. And then what? Twenty more? The second, less competent squad will go down quicker than the first echelon. At some point, you’ll realize your strong-arm tactics don’t work against the best-trained, best-equipped paramilitary force in the world. Why go through all the trouble?”
“You’re bluffing. Nobody but the US government has a force like that.”
Trey leaned forward. “And where do you think those elite combat veterans prefer to live after their active duty is completed? Certainly not in a crime-infested city. They want to live where they were based for active duty and where their families were raised. Savannah. And they have an exceptionally low tolerance for anyone who disturbs the peace in their community.”
Vladimir pushed back in his chair. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Your skepticism would prove fatal. Check around. See how many criminals have disappeared in Savannah. Ask yourself why. Before you bring another person to Savannah, do your homework. Quickly. And when you’re ready to talk, and talk honestly, contact me.”
Vladimir stirred his coffee, staring into Trey’s eyes.
Trey counted the seconds, preparing to leave. When enough time had passed, Trey pushed back his chair.
Vladimir let out a long sigh. “I’m ready.”
Trey’s neck hairs bristled. “Okay. My next questions are critical. I want you to be absolutely honest with me. First, are you responsible for the murder of the port official?”
“Yes.”
Steady eye contact from Vladimir affirmed his answer. Or was he a well-schooled liar? The rapid-fire questions would make it hard for Vladimir to simultaneously create lies and tightly control his physical reactions. “Are you responsible for the murder of Henrietta Snyder?”
“No.”
Good so far. “How about the murder of Sonny Carothers.”
“I didn’t realize he was dead. I’ve had important business dealings with him. He seemed like a nice guy.”
“He’s missing without a trace. Did you arrange for his death?”
“No.”
“His disappearance?”
“No.”
“Did you have anything to do with the shooting of Meredith Stanwick?”
“Who’s that? No. I know no such person.”
Trey would have an expert go through the high definition video of the interrogation later, but on the surface Trey was satisfied with Vladimir’s candor. “Okay, Vladimir. I believe you.”
Vladimir seemed to relax a tad on that news.
Trey took a sip of latte. “I need you to do something for me.”
“What would that be?”
“I need you to make sure a certain Savannah Post reporter doesn’t write another word about Henrietta Snyder.”
“Does this reporter have a name?”
“Willie Maye.” Trey shoved an eight-by-ten photo of Willie and a dossier of background information across the table.
Vladimir scanned the photo. “I assume he must survive.”
“Most certainly.”
“Do you have any suggestions on how I might accomplish the task?”
“I suppose Willie could be taken on a trip to Russia for a couple of months.”
Vladimir smiled for the first time. “Consider it done. Now about the Port of Savannah, we have ships we would like to dock here with no interference. Could you arrange that?”
Trey leaned back in his chair. “What cargo would they discharge?”
“Nothing. They would be here solely to take on cargo.”
“I can arrange that, provided the export cargo has no military use.”
“Not to worry. Only American-made civilian items not readily available in Russia will be loaded.”
“How many loadings?”
“Initially, one a month. Once my supply channel is well established, as many as one per week.”
“Why be so secretive?”
Vladimir took a large gulp of espresso. “The import of such items would be frowned upon by the Russian authorities, and my funding source to purchase the goods in America wouldn’t make your financial regulators happy.”
“Anything else?”
“I want a docking facility and some warehouses.”
“Not possible. They’re in privat
e hands beyond my control.”
“I know. I propose to build new facilities for my exclusive use. I just need permits.”
“You have land?”
Vladimir nodded. “But no permits.”
“Recently acquired land?” Trey though of Henrietta’s property.
Vladimir nodded.
“I can arrange permits.”
They shook hands.
“No more killings,” Trey said, still grasping Vladimir’s hand. “Ever.”
Vladimir glanced to the left and nodded.
The lie didn’t surprise Trey. Vladimir would have a tail until he left Savannah.
Chapter 20
Patricia watched the locksmith, a short, plump man, install a biometric deadbolt on the front door. “Not many historic homes have heavy-duty steel doors and doorframes like y’all,” he said. “From the looks of it, they’ve been in place for quite some time. When did you have them installed?”
“That steel door has been there as long as I’ve been here. At least twenty-five years.”
“Well someone spent a lot of money to make this home secure.” He hitched up his wrinkled khakis. “Unfortunately, your old lockset was the point of greatest vulnerability. Not anymore.” He patted the new lock. “No one’s getting through those doors unless this armor-clad baby lets them in.”
“The lock is armored?” Patricia asked.
He gave a wide smile. “It’s made to absorb the full force of a battering ram and to deflect .45 mm armor-piercing bullets. As strong as your steel doors are, they can’t deflect steel-tipped bullets. These locks cost plenty, but they’re worth every penny. Yes indeed.”
Before starting on the entrance doors, he had installed the same kind of deadbolt on the steel door to their safe room, Trey’s walk-in closet. She’d always thought of the closet as a sturdy place to go in case of bad weather. Now, safe room had taken on a more ominous meaning.
A chauffer/bodyguard arrived with a new car similar to hers and a new, secure phone for her. Eager for contact with her friends, she went to the kitchen and sat at the table, going through the phone instruction manual.
Someone close cleared their throat.
Startled, Patricia looked up.
It was Simon.
“Do you know someone named Rhett?” Simon asked flatly. He held a cell phone identical to her new one.
“Yes. Why?”
“One of our outside men has him detained until you authorize his entry. Your friend, Rhett, says he has something important to tell you. Do you want to speak with him?”
She closed the instruction manual. “Yes.”
“In person?”
She nodded, wondering what could possibly be on Rhett’s mind.
“Send him in,” Simon said into his phone.
Moments later, the entrance chimes sounded. Simon left the kitchen, presumably to let Rhett in. When Simon didn’t return, Patricia went to the foyer, arriving just as Simon finished scanning Rhett with a black wand. “What can I do for you, Rhett?” she asked.
Rhett’s eyes darted. “What’s going on with all the security?”
“Don’t answer that question, Mrs. Falcon,” Simon said.
Patricia shrugged. She supposed the extreme caution was justified. “You said you had something important to talk about?”
“Yes, ma’am. That black truck I saw before was back last night after midnight for about two hours. You told me to let you know if it returned. It had an out-of-state license. I wrote down the number.”
When Rhett reached into his pocket, Simon stepped between them, blocking her view. Simon’s hand rested on his sidearm.
She went rigid. Unlike her, this man had instincts, reflexes. And he liked to kill people.
“Take your hand out of your pocket slowly,” Simon said to Rhett.
“Hey, man, I don’t want no trouble. I was just getting the paper with the license number.”
“I’ll get it,” Simon said. He retrieved the paper and turned toward her, note in his hand.
“Will you trace the license number?” she asked him.
“Sure,” he said, offering her the note.
“Won’t you be needing the number?”
He pointed to his head. “I’ve got it.”
“Thank you kindly, Rhett,” she said, taking the note from Simon.
Rhett smiled and nodded.
She tucked the note into her shirt pocket. “By the way, do you have time to trim some bushes today?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Patricia gestured to Simon. “This gentleman wants the shrubs trimmed away from the house and windows to make the grounds more secure. He’ll instruct you on what needs to be done.”
After Simon left with Rhett, Patricia returned to the kitchen table to put phone numbers into the new phone. When she was done, she took Rhett’s note from her pocket and studied it. The out-of-state truck had been outside twice, maybe more. The license number might be the breakthrough they were looking for.
* * *
“Do you have a hedge trimmer?” Simon asked as they descended the stairs to the front yard.
“It’s in the garage,” Rhett said. On rounding the side of the house, he noticed a large, smartly dressed man get into Patricia’s car and back it out to the curb. “Who’s that?” he asked.
“He’s with us,” Simon said flatly.
“Why’s he in Mrs. Falcon’s car?” Rhett asked, following as Simon entered the garage.
Simon stopped and turned to face him directly. “You ask too many questions.”
Simon’s unquestioned authority grated Rhett. He expelled air and grabbed the battery-powered hedge trimmer. “I’m just trying to stay on top of things,” he said, hoping to keep irritation out of his voice. “Okay, what do you need removed?”
Simon led Rhett to the front of the house and explained.
Rhett started up the trimmer and brought it down the backside of the first bush, removing eighteen inches of growth. “Like that?” he asked.
“Exactly,” Simon said. “And keep the height below the window sills.”
Rhett passed the trimmer through the top of the shrub, removing six inches of height, then shaped the shrub.
“How do you know Mrs. Falcon?” Simon asked.
“We met over there.” Rhett pointed toward the square. “She asked if I’d like to do some yard work.”
“You’re pretty handy with that trimmer.”
“Thank you.”
“Why were you watching the Falcon house last night?”
Rhett looked up from the bush. “After the first night the truck was here, Mrs. Falcon asked me to get the license number if the truck returned.”
“How long ago was the first time?”
“Three nights ago.”
“And last night was the second time?”
“Right.” Rhett went back to trimming the next shrub.
“There could be a pattern developing here. The next time you see anything suspicious, you come to me immediately, not to Mrs. Falcon. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” He didn’t like the idea of bypassing Mrs. Falcon. She’d done so much for him. But Simon seemed like the kind of person who could make a lot of trouble for him if he didn’t cooperate. Trouble he didn’t need.
“Very well. When you’re done with the trimming, let that man over there know.” Simon gestured toward an old man sitting on a park bench at the edge of the square, then headed back toward the front of the house.
Though the old overseer wore shabby clothes, he hadn’t fooled Rhett. He knew all the street people in this area, and this person wasn’t one of them.
* * *
Patricia activated the phone and called Alisa.
“Thank you for the new phone,” Alisa said. “I just activated it.”
“I told Trey that if I had a new phone we all should have secure phones. I called your old number. You must have your calls forwarded to the new phone just like I have.”
“My husband d
oesn’t think I should leave,” Alisa said.
“I’m staying too,” Patricia said. “Trey arranged live-in security, a chauffeur/bodyguard, and secure phone service.”
“Yeah, that’s what my husband is suggesting we do.”
“How are you coming on ferreting out Sonny’s relationships?”
“He’s had plenty,” Alisa said. “But he seems to break up with the women peacefully. I can’t find anyone who speaks poorly of the man.”
“That’s odd.”
“Yeah, I thought so too. He’s too perfect.”
“Okay. Keep at it. You’re bound to find someone who hates the man enough to spill the beans on him.”
Patricia was about to call Trey when Simon returned.
“About the truck parked outside last night,” he said. “Do you have any ideas about why it was out there or who it might be? Theories? Guesses?”
“No. Not a clue.”
“We’ll keep an eye out. If they come back, we’ll let them know to park elsewhere.”
“The truck was there before,” she said, opening her laptop.
“That’s what Rhett said. We’re taking a more thorough look outside to make sure we didn’t overlook anything, and we’re bringing in a bomb sniffing dog to check—”
“Bomb?” Her hands froze over the keyboard.
“That truck was out there for some reason. Given the circumstances, we can’t rule out any possibilities.”
“Oh my heavens.”
Simon came over and sat across from her. “We’re here to assure your safety.”
She certainly hoped so. She returned her attention to the laptop and opened her email in-box.
“That’s it!” Simon said, standing. “Are you using a home-based wireless network?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Patricia replied. “You’d have to ask Trey.”
“Let me take a look at your computer.”
She pushed the laptop toward him.
A few clicks later, he said, “You’re on a home network. What’s the network password?”
“I have no idea.”
“I’ll call Mr. Falcon,” he said. “Meanwhile, do you mind if I check what was accessed on your computer last night after midnight?”
She sat up straight. “Why?”
“I suspect the people in the black truck were looking at your computer files or, worse yet, copying them.”