Danger-Close: A Jake Thunder Adventure (The Jake Thunder Adventures Book 1)

by Jon F. Merz

  "Uh huh." I finished loading one magazine and started on the next. I didn't tell McCloskey about the broker. If I did, he'd start bellowing about getting me to testify in court against Darmov. The way I was feeling after watching Darmov do the broker, jail was too nice a place for him. I'd get him another way. "Got myself hired too."

  "Great. So how are you going to deliver on this plan to get Darmov baby buyers?"

  I smiled. "You and Lisa don’t have any kids yet. How about you two?"

  "Are you crazy?"

  "Nope. You can wear a wire, I’ll set up the buy, and then you can arrest me and Darmov on conspiracy and racketeering charges. Then you can follow them up with murder charges once I get the evidence you need."

  "You’re serious."

  "Absolutely."

  "This was your plan the entire time?"

  "Nah, just came to me when I was blowing the head off my target."

  "That always happen?"

  "Usually no. I do my best thinking in the can."

  "Well, sure," said McCloskey. "Sitting on your brain like that can really stimulate the thought process."

  Les appeared behind McCloskey. "You planning on shooting anything today, cop?"

  McCloskey turned around and grinned. "Day’s not over yet, Les. I might find someone to plug yet."

  Les grunted. "I got a strict no loitering policy here. And you bothering one of my best customers."

  "No bother, Les," I said. "We’re just discussing a case."

  "He's bothering me," said Les.

  "I suppose if I mentioned ‘official police business’ it wouldn’t make much of an impact on you, would it?"

  Les grinned. "Make about as much impact on the revolution as one of them PR24 batons you uniforms like to beat my people with."

  McCloskey chuckled. "Nice one."

  Les smiled too. "Thanks, I been saving it up for you."

  Les wandered away and McCloskey turned back to me. "Obnoxious militant freak."

  "He’s probably saying the exact same thing about you right now."

  "Yeah," said McCloskey. "I know it."

  "So?"

  He sighed. "Okay, but you gotta give me time to talk to Lisa about it. I don’t like getting her involved in my work."

  "It’ll give it some authenticity."

  "Couldn’t I use a female cop?"

  "When I introduce you two to Darmov, he’ll know. The guy is sharp. He senses any kind of bullshit and he’s liable to start shooting and then get the hell out of the country. We’ll never find him again. And I'll be looking over my shoulder for years."

  McCloskey grunted. "All right. Let me work on her some and I’ll get back to you."

  I put a new target up and slid it back down the range. I looked at McCloskey. "Double or nothing for Friday’s tab?"

  "You nuts? I don’t shoot near as well as you do."

  "Here’s your chance to improve then."

  "Have at it," he said. "I gotta get back to work."

  I watched him go and sent another two magazine’s worth of rounds down range, watching the paper target buckle as they struck home. I wondered if Darmov would be so easy to fool.

  I didn’t think he would be.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brenda handed me a message when I got back to the office.

  "Who the hell is this Darmov guy?"

  "Why?"

  "First of all, I could barely make out a word he was saying because his cell phone is obviously crap. Secondly, he spoke to me like some second-class citizen."

  I grinned. "He’s different, that’s for sure."

  "He with that burly guy who came here yesterday?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it a case?"

  "Yes."

  "Lucky you," she said and went back to typing up some expense vouchers.

  I got myself situated back in the office and phone Darmov’s number. he answered on the second ring.

  "Hello Jake."

  I smiled. So we were on a first name basis now then. That was good.

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Darmov?"

  "I've been wondering how you’re making out. Do you have any leads? Any progress?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve got a couple who might be interested in twins, if that’s possible."

  "Anything is possible, Jake. It’s just a matter of wanting it bad enough. Do they want?"

  "Yeah," I said. "They want."

  "Excellent. It will be one hundred thousand for the pair."

  "That’s pretty steep."

  "We’re not running a charity, Jake."

  "I realize that. It’s just they’re not exactly well-off."

  "So, offer them a discount, but it comes out of your commission."

  "I might do that."

  "From now on, though, try to concentrate on well-to-do people who won’t mind parting with a lot of money."

  "Yes sir."

  "This couple, are they local?"

  "No."

  "I’ll need their names to run them down and make sure they’re not connected to the authorities."

  "Hold on that, if you can. The husband is working on his wife to get her to come around to the idea. Once they’re a go, we can check them out."

  There was a pause and I hoped I hadn’t pushed it too far. "All right then, but don’t lose them. This first sale is an important one for you. Think of it as proving to me you’re actually capable."

  "Gotcha."

  "Call me when you know."

  "I will. Say hi to Viktor for me."

  He laughed into the phone and then hung up.

  I sat back in my chair and sighed. Trying to reel Darmov in was going to be tough without raising any suspicions. I wished I’d had a chance to talk to Woolery more in-depth about his method of finding buyers.

  On a whim I opened the Yellow Pages and flipped to adoption services and found a few local ones. I wondered how difficult it would be to get into their waiting lists.

  My phone rang two minutes later. And ten seconds after that Brenda patched Vanessa into my line.

  "Hi."

  "I had a real nice time last night."

  I smiled. "You and me both. Where are you?"

  "Some dreary luncheon for the arts. I thought I’d call you and see how you were making out on bringing these bastards to justice."

  "Slow, to be honest. I’m moving into some risky territory and it’s going to take a gentle touch to bring it off okay."

  "You think it’s possible, though?"

  "Apparently anything’s possible if you want it badly enough."

  "I've heard that before. This man who had my sister killed. Is he dangerous?"

  "Extremely. I thought I told you about him the other day."

  "Just checking."

  "He hasn’t changed."

  "I want him dead, Jake."

  "I know that."

  "Maybe he’ll have an accident."

  "This guy doesn’t have accidents. He goes down in a blaze of gunfire most likely."

  Her voice grew icicles. "However it has to be."

  I sighed. "I’ll keep you informed."

  "When can I see you again?"

  "In a few days. It’s too dangerous around me right now."

  "Make it soon, Jake. I need to see you again." She hung up and I held the phone in the air for a moment before resting it back in its cradle.

  It always amazed me how quickly things could go from being clear cut and easy to a morass of sticky tendrils that could drag you down in a web of confusion.

  I wondered if anyone would throw me a life preserver before this was all through.

  McCloskey would. Hell, even Les would.

  But I wasn't so sure about anyone else.

  Ad that didn’t comfort me much.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The closest adoption agency was two miles away, but the thought of physically getting a copy of their waiting list seemed remote. And I learned a long time ago, that there are far easier ways to go about
acquiring necessary information.

  Especially in the digital age.

  I first got hooked on computers back in junior high when I was at Boston Latin School. My old friend Jonathan Jefferson and I were among the first to score a pair of Commodore Vic-20’s. Actually, Jonathan got himself a Commodore 64, a step higher than my Vic. But we both learned how to program in Basic and Pascal fairly fast. For a while we traded software, programming tips, and game strategies. Then we grew apart as kids often do at that age.

  I met Matt Wilkes in the ninth grade during a science fair. My project about dirty hands and the bacteria that grows on them caught his eye. Actually, he thought the Petri dishes were cool. He grabbed one and ran around the school draping his right hand on every possible surface before at last pressing it into the red culture plate. From what he told me, he then put the dishes into a dark, warm place and lost track of them until three months later when the bacteria grew out of the Petri dishes and ruined a good cabinet.

  Odd though he was, he also got me into hacking. In those days, there was no such thing as the Internet and our 14.4 modems dialed up at horrendously slow speeds to bulletin board services. Life back then was devoted to hacking out free long distance numbers on Sprint and MCI before dialing into various computer network systems all across the country.

  Eventually, we got good at what we did. We busted into the phone company, credit card companies, and even a spare government facility or two and never got caught.

  With the advent of the Internet, things became a lot easier. I could still hack my way into most systems pretty quickly. Sure, the big companies had elaborate firewalls set up now, but small local companies like the adoption place I was targeting weren’t likely to have much computer security.

  I found the adoption agency online and located their dialup number. From there, I popped in a zip disk that contains the latest hacking software I downloaded from a Warez site on the Net. Within ten minutes, I was comfortably cruising through the adoption agency’s files, perusing their various lists.

  I printed out several of them and even used the first site to log onto another site and gain some more lists that way.

  Emboldened with the new information, I had to figure out who on the lists was wealthy enough to risk approaching. I wasn’t concerned about getting anyone in trouble because by the time anything would really start to develop, I hoped to have Darmov either behind bars or six feet under ground.

  But having the lists would at least prove to him that I was serious about getting him new clients. And that was important. Appearances always are.

  I called McCloskey at his office.

  "What is it, Thunder? I’m busy."

  "Can you get me access to your computer system?"

  "You nuts? I can’t let you in here to dick around. I’d get canned in a heart beat."

  "Just give me the dialup number and the codes to get in."

  "Why?"

  "I need some window dressing for Darmov. I’ve got some lists of people who want to adopt kids but I need to know who among them is wealthy. Darmov only wants to deal with the rich."

  "Makes sense. They’d have the money necessary for the process."

  "Yeah, that's what he said. So, can you help me out or what?"

  "All right, but you’d better forget it when you’re done. I know about your past Ð remember? You told me about your hacking days."

  "When the hell did I do that?"

  "Two years ago over about thirty beers and a bad poker tournament. You were losing and trying to distract me from cleaning up, so you told me these dumb stories about cracking into the Pentagon."

  I’d forgotten about that. "All right, I’ll dump the info when I’m done."

  McCloskey gave me the number and codes and said, "Is that it?"

  "You talk to Lisa yet?"

  "Hey – have I been home?"

  "I'm not keeping you under surveillance, twinkle toes."

  "Well, the answer is no Ð I haven't been home yet. I’ve been wasting my time trekking all over the place so I can stay in touch with you and see what’s happening with this case. Give me some time, would you?"

  "All right. But I’ve already told Darmov that I’ve got some folks interested in twins."

  "Now it’s twins? Why didn’t you just tell him we wanted quintuplets?"

  "Call me tonight."

  The adoption lists had background information on everyone listed, including employment history, annual household income, that sort of thing. I highlighted the twenty names that grossed over a quarter million a year.

  Next, I dialed up the Boston Police mainframe and jacked into the network. McCloskey’s codes worked and after stumbling around for a few minutes, I found where I needed to be. I started inputting the names on the lists and seeing if any of them had criminal records. I was looking for white collar crimes or even a felony. People who had broken a law or two could be counted on to do it again.

  I scored on six names. Two of them had extensive speeding tickets on luxury sports cars that hadn’t been paid. One of them had an assault charge that never went to court, and three others had various misdemeanors including marijuana possession.

  Six names wasn’t a lot, but it was something. And anything right now would give Darmov the impression that I’d been a busy little bee.

  Now that I had my prospects, I had to figure out how to make initial contact without sending up alarms. I didn't want them freaking out. I was sure that being approached by a guy in a wheelchair offering to sell them kids wasn’t the type of thing most people expect to run into on a daily basis.

  I let Jim Beam out of his cage.

  Two hits later, I felt well enough to start making some phone calls.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After making a half dozen phone calls, my faith in humanity was severely damaged. Of the six calls, five of the people said they would be interested in hearing about the possibility of adopting using the Darmov method.

  Every one of them mentioned how painstaking the task was of going through the adoption process the legitimate way. After failed attempts at fertilization, most of the couples wanted to just have a baby as fast as possible.

  And while their inclination to readily break the law rubbed me the wrong way, I could sympathize, at least in some small way.

  A friend of mine back in the service once told me that he and his wife had tried for two years to get pregnant unsuccessfully. They were both absolutely healthy Ð in perfect shape – but for some reason, it just wasn’t happening. And all around them, their friends and family were all having babies with the kind of frequency you only notice when you want it real bad yourself.

  The worst part, according to my friend, was seeing people who were nonchalant about the whole thing. Like they didn’t even want to have kids. That made putting up with the disappointment even worse.

  Eventually, everything worked out, but the pain of having to wait so long seemed familiar to me, if only through the vicarious experience of my old friend.

  I set up the first meeting for six o’clock that evening at a small sandwich shop in Harvard Square called Mr. Lee’s. It was your basic greasy spoon joint but the sandwiches they served there were damned good. And the plastic laminate booths at the front of the shop by the front door would give us some privacy.

  Travel time would be about an hour riding the Orange Line to the Red Line and then wheeling myself over to the restaurant. While I was working out the exact logistics, Darmov called me again.

  "You have progress to report?"

  The guy must have been a mind reader or something. The possibility didn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy. "Got a meeting tonight with a couple."

  "The same one you told me about earlier?"

  "Different. Very wealthy. And very desperate for a child."

  "Excellent."

  A thought crossed my mind so I asked. "Is there any competition in this field?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "It seems that this is a f
airly easy way to make some serious money. I’m surprised there aren’t other players involved."

  "There are quite a few potentials. I only recently had to do away with someone who was close to cutting in on my business."

  "Really?"

  "Absolutely."

  "You had a banner week last week then, huh?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You had to kill three times."

  "Twice."

  "No, remember? You killed Melinda Patterson, Don Woolery, and then this mysterious interloper."

  There was a pause on the phone. "Melinda Patterson was the person who was trying to cut into my business, Jake. I thought you knew that."

  "Woolery told me she was going to go to the cops if you didn’t stop kidnapping kids, I thought-"

  "She was planning on going to the cops, but only because it would have cleared the way for her to take over the business here in Boston."

  "And Woolery?"

  "I’ve already told you his loyalties lay elsewhere. I have no doubts he would have aided her if he hadn't done so already. Killing him was necessary on several levels."

  Shit. Darmov’s revelation about Melinda Patterson put a brand new spin on things. And it was a spin I didn’t think Vanessa would enjoy hearing very much.

  "Jake?"

  I snapped back to the present. "Sorry, just thinking."

  "Not about ripping me off, I hope."

  "’Course not."

  "Good. Let me know how tonight goes. I’m impressed so far. Just make sure you close these deals."

  "Will do."

  I hung up and leaned back. According to Darmov, Melinda Patterson wasn’t the innocent woman I’d thought she was. She was a player in a bad business of nabbing kids and selling them off to the highest bidder.

  Was he lying? Was he tossing me some disinformation? I frowned. Why would he do something like that? So far, Darmov had impressed me as being pretty straightforward and entirely unapologetic about his approach to business.

  I grabbed the phone and called McCloskey.

  "Jesus, Thunder – again? What the hell are you calling me for now?"

  "I miss your voice. Listen, I need to know all about Melinda Patterson’s bank account. Deposits, withdrawals, credit check, that type of thing. Can you do that?"