“Someone knew. Someone knew what time I was getting in. They were waiting for me. I think they paid my limo driver to set me up. But all they got was my briefcase, which, by the way, you owe me for. I will expense it.”
“And you think that was Blake?”
“What does his security force use for transportation?”
“I don’t know. Some big thing. White. Chevy? Ford? I don’t pay attention. They have three or four of them.”
“There were only two people who knew what flight I was going to be on. My kid’s babysitter and your sister. Which one do you think told Blake?”
“You’re accusing Morgan of being part of this plot?”
“Why do you think someone tried to kidnap Morgan? Twice?”
“Blake said there was no trail. It could have been anyone. My father made a lot of enemies.”
“So, why not go after you? Or Binks?”
He didn’t answer.
“Because instead of telling that Swiss lawyer to pass on the bonds to Castillo’s guy the way your old man asked, she sent Blake or a couple of his henchmen over to squeeze the bonds out of him. For herself. Or herself and Blake. Only they fucked it up. The lawyer died before they got anything out of him and the Hondurans sniffed it out and went after her.”
“Prove it.”
“Not my job.”
“Your job,” he straightened and glared, “is what I say it is.”
“Remember the clerk? Rose-Marie Welk? She’s dead. She and her husband. She was tortured and murdered and the house was torched.”
“Morgan couldn’t have known.”
“She’s desperate. She needs one hundred million to make the drug guys go away. The rest is for her and Blake and a new life. Far away from your mother and this mausoleum.”
He was thinking about it. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to believe it, but he was thinking.
“You’re next, Virgil. I don’t know that your sister is in charge any more. If she ever was.”
“I will not believe this.” He was arguing with himself, not me.
“Fine. But don’t bet your life on it, okay? What’s the chances I’m right? Even if you figure it’s only one in four, that’s a big roll of the dice, Virgil.”
“What do you suggest?”
I checked my watch. “We have fourteen minutes until our options shrink to zero. That’s when the FBI and the Rhode Island State Police are due to arrive, unless I call to stop them. About now, they should have the main road closed and boats watching the beach. Let’s hand them Blake and all of his crew and you get to wash your hands of it.”
“How?”
“Tell Everett to take the bonds to your office back in New York. Now. Blake will insist on going along to provide security. Don’t let him. Tell him that he’s needed here.”
“He will insist. If he’s guilty, he can’t afford to let those bonds out of his sight at this point, and if he is innocent, he will argue that the safety of those bonds is in the family’s best interest.”
“Watch Morgan when he starts getting insistent,” I said.
“What do you think they’ll do?”
“I’m hoping he takes the damn paper and leaves.”
“But suppose he gets away? Suppose he gets past the police out there?”
“They’ll get him someday soon. He won’t be able to run far.”
“With a billion dollars? He could hide on the moon with that kind of money.”
“Not to worry. The bonds are all fake. Copies. I spent all afternoon yesterday at the color copier at Staples. By the way, you owe me for the copying, too. Do you know what they get for full-color copies? It’s outrageous.”
“The bonds are fake? Why? What were you thinking?”
“An FBI guy I know is holding the originals. He’s waiting to hear when you want to have him come with you to deliver them to the court. If he doesn’t hear anything by tomorrow night, he will deliver them himself.”
“You didn’t trust me to turn them in?”
“Virgil. You are one of the only people involved in this that I do trust. I was worried that you might be dead. The guy’s name is Brady. I trust him, too.” I looked at my watch again.
Virgil got the message. “What do you need me to do?”
“You’re the king. Stay in character. Move the action along and keep your eyes open. As long as Tom and Ivan are there, Blake won’t want to let things get out of hand.”
“I do hope you are wrong.”
“It’s been known to happen.”
There was a knock at the door—more a series of loud thumps than a polite knock.
“Virgil! What is the meaning of all this? What’s going on?”
“Mother has arrived,” he said rising. He opened the door and she swept in, eyes ablaze.
“Explain all this,” she demanded, waving a hand in the general direction of the library. Then, in an instant, switching gears, “Hello, Mr. Stratford. Has anyone offered you a drink?”
“I’m good,” I said, wishing that someone had offered me a drink.
She nodded politely and turned her sights back on her son. “I insist that you tell me. You must keep me informed.”
Everett’s head peeked around the door. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I tried to keep her out.”
“Exactly! Out of my own office!” she yelled. Everett’s head disappeared. “In my own house!” she continued, turning her full fury on Virgil. She was winding up for a knockdown battle. I thought I’d rather face Blake and his mercenaries.
Virgil stayed loose. Calm, kind, and definitely in control.
“Mother, I would love to explain all this to you, but I can’t do it this minute.” He touched her arm lightly, affectionately. “I realize that we have all rather taken over in here, but please bear with us for just a bit longer.”
“I don’t want those men in the house. I have told Mr. Blake that before.” She had quieted slightly, but she was still in battle-ready mode.
“If you’ll wait here, I’ll see that everything is cleared up in just a few. Then I’ll have time to sit and fill you in.”
“I’ll join you,” she said. There was no arguing with that voice.
Virgil gave a polite shrug of acceptance. “So be it.” It wasn’t surrender or even retreat; he was granting permission.
We walked back into the library. Everett was back on his knees, replacing the documents in the bag. “Just over a billion dollars, Virgil.” He looked a bit dazed and feverish, as though holding a billion dollars was scaring the crap out of him. “Again, I am sorry for the interruption.”
If Everett was kissing up to Virgil while Livy was in the room, then the scepter had been passed. Virgil was in charge and the only one who didn’t see it was his mother.
Virgil held up a hand. “Thank you, Everett. I have an assignment for you. I want you to leave immediately. Take the bonds to Rector Street and lock them in the safe in my office. You and I will surrender them to Judge O’Rourke first thing in the morning.”
I watched Blake. His eyes flared. He rose off the couch. “I’ll drive him down. You’ll want security.”
“An excellent suggestion, Blake,” Livy said.
“Not necessary,” Virgil said, not even acknowledging his mother’s interjection. His attention was on his sister. “I want to be sure that Morgan is kept safe, not the damn bonds. Besides, no one will try to interfere with Everett. No one outside this room will know what he is carrying.”
Morgan was not maintaining. Her head was snapping back and forth from Virgil to Blake. She was on a countdown to an explosion.
Blake’s two mercenaries were nervous, also. They knew the stakes.
“Really, Virgil,” Blake said. “Let me handle the security measures. This is what I do, after all. I will only take two of my men. The other six can con
tinue to watch the grounds. You’ll all be safe. Anything could happen between here and New York.”
I was sure something would happen between here and New York—like Everett’s body being tossed in the Connecticut River.
“Besides,” Blake continued. “You’ll have Stafford here and his two men as well. Morgan will be kept safe.” He didn’t look at her when he said this or he might have had the sense to shut up. Morgan didn’t like the idea of being left behind.
“Maybe we should all drive down together,” she piped up.
“Absurd!” Livy said. “You are to remain here.”
Virgil ignored them both. So did Blake. Morgan suppressed a wince.
“Mr. Blake, I have already decided the issue.” Virgil turned to me. “Mr. Stafford, I am going to have to prevail upon you, if I may. Will you take Everett and the bonds back to the city? I’m sorry to send you off the minute you’ve arrived, and I know it’s a long drive. Can we get your friends something to eat before you leave? Sandwiches? Morgan, please have Cook put something together for these people. Better yet, get her to pack it up. They can eat on the way.”
Virgil was stellar, playing the royal role impeccably. He was gracious, concerned for the comfort of the help, absolute in his decisions, and impatient only with delay.
Morgan jumped up off the couch. “Virgil, you are being impossible. You should listen to Blake instead of just dismissing him.”
Morgan was not the actor her brother was. Her voice rose in pitch, almost squeaking with nerves. She was not convincing.
Livy saw a fight she thought that she had a chance of winning. “Morgan, you are interfering. Virgil and I have had quite enough. Please do not interrupt.”
Virgil was paying no attention to them. “Everett. How early can we get in to see Judge O’Rourke tomorrow? I want to be back in the office for the opening bell.”
Morgan lost it. “Virgil!” she shrieked. “What is the matter with you? Do what Kurt says!”
Even Livy could see that there were currents flowing she did not understand. She gave a half-gasp of exasperation and then turned to impassive stone.
Virgil turned to his sister with a toothless smile and gently touched her cheek. “I know, Morgie. I know everything.”
She had no poker face. The Kid could have read her. One look at that face and he would have said, “Guilty.” Her eyes were wide, her mouth a perfect O.
Everyone in the room knew something had just changed, whether they could see Morgan’s face or not. Blake moved first. He grabbed the tote bag and stepped back. It was an act of desperation. All the bodyguards—Blake’s crew and the Albanians—drew weapons. Events were sliding toward chaos.
“Can we all play nice?” I said. I was back against the far wall and out of the way, but Virgil, my winning lottery ticket, was right in the center of the room. “Take the bag, Blake, and go. Just everybody take a breath, all right?” This was said to Tom as much as to anyone. I had no doubt that, if needed, he could take out both of the gunmen and put a round through Blake’s left eyeball in less than a heartbeat. I just didn’t want him to. I wanted Blake and Morgan and the two stone-eyed killers gone. Out the damn door and into the waiting arms of the police. And nowhere near me or my future meal ticket.
And it almost happened that way.
Virgil took a step back, gesturing for his mother to follow. She had the good sense to obey—she was heavily outgunned. Blake handed the bag to Morgan. She slung it over her shoulder like stealing a billion dollars was an everyday event. Being the good daughter to the aging queen of Newport couldn’t compare with true love—and a billion dollars. Slowly they edged toward the door. Tom and Ivan kept their weapons up and trained on them the whole way.
Then the door burst open. Shit! It couldn’t be Brady and the police. Impossible. They weren’t due for another five minutes. It wasn’t.
Ex–SEC accountant Gibbons strode into the room holding up his ID like a priest with a crucifix at an Anne Rice festival. “Everyone stand down! I have the house surrounded. Lower your weapons and no one gets hurt.”
It was a bravura performance. Nathan Lane as the Great Detective. Equal parts chutzpah and shtick. Did anyone else in the room know the guy was a fake? A has-been, a screwup? Prime dupe for that master of deceit, Billy Becker? At least he had ditched the funny hat.
The black swan had entered the room. The unpredictable uncertainty. Blake’s men were flicking glances in his direction, looking for a sign, but Blake was poker-faced, his gun still pointed directly at Virgil’s heart. Tom and Ivan didn’t blink, but I could feel the world starting to tilt. The first shot would bring a fusillade and half the people in the room would be carried out in body bags.
“Gibbons,” I called. “Look at me. You’re not holding a winning hand. Fold. Now, before someone gets hurt.”
He pointed a finger at me and yelled. “Not one more word out of you, Stafford!”
Morgan broke the standoff. In one smooth movement, she slid the heavy bag off her shoulders, grabbed the handles, and swung it in a perfect two-handed tennis power shot, directly into the back of Gibbons’ head. Venus Williams couldn’t have done better.
Gibbons’ eyes, blazing at me, registered shock for a split second, before they shut down and went blank. He hit the floor and didn’t bounce.
“Morgan! Stop this! You are being ridiculous.” Livy advanced on her daughter, directly into the line of fire, masterfully ignoring both the guns and the gunmen. “Put that bag down and get some help for this man.”
But Morgan wasn’t having it. “Shut up, you crazy old bat. I am so sick of your crap. Help him yourself, bitch!”
The b-word did it. Livy lost her cool, hauled off and swung, laying an open-handed smack on Morgan’s cheek that snapped her head around and knocked her back two steps.
No one gasped. No one breathed.
Morgan reached up as though to touch her cheek but stopped herself, refusing to allow her mother to see her hurting. She drew herself up and stepped back in range, daring Livy to hit her again. She waited a moment and then spoke firmly and without emotion. “Good-bye, Mother.”
“Let’s go,” Blake said. His voice had gone quite hoarse, ragged. We were all a bit ragged.
Morgan backed toward the door, following Blake. The two heavies were the last out, watching us with angry, confused eyes. The door slammed and it was over.
Virgil spoke first. “Morgan must not be hurt.”
Livy turned to him. “I want her trust fund to be revoked at once. Freeze her accounts!”
I checked my watch. Still three minutes to go. “I’ve got to call Brady. If Blake shoots, the SWAT team will take no prisoners. Tom, you and Ivan follow me.” I speed-dialed Brady as I ran out the door and down the hall.
He answered on the first ring.
“Problems?”
“They’re on their way out. The sister is with them. She is not armed.”
“How did it go?”
“We’ve got one down. He took a well-deserved blow to the head.”
“Will you need an ambulance?”
“Sure. But no rush.”
“Who’s down?”
“The ex-SEC guy I asked you about. Gibbons. How did he get through?”
“He didn’t.”
“Then he must have been here all along—before I got here, I mean. I thought he might have followed me.”
“Negative. We would have spotted him.”
“All right. Good luck.”
“Yeah.”
He clicked off.
We got to the front door in time to see Blake, Morgan, and the two guards fly down the driveway in one of the big white SUVs.
Tom and Ivan were looking antsy. Their part was done and neither wanted to be around when Brady and his team showed up. We had talked about it on the drive there. They needed to spend some time
visiting foreign lands—at least until the furor died down over the shoot-out on Amsterdam. “You guys go,” I said, leading the way down the front steps. “Tom, take the car. The police will lift the roadblock as soon as they have Blake. You’ll sail through. Maybe have Ivan duck down—two men in a car is always more suspicious than one. Get back on the highway and take Twenty-four North toward Boston. Stay on it until you hit New Hampshire and get on Ninety-three. You’ll pick up Ninety-one. That will take you straight to Canada. Montreal. You can be there for dinner. They rarely check people going in that direction. Wait. Wait. Change. When you get to Concord, take Eighty-nine North and cut across Vermont. It’s a little shorter, and after Burlington you’ll be driving along Lake Champlain, which is beautiful. Got it?”
Tom was smiling. He was laughing at me.
I couldn’t stop. “Or if you want, when you get to Boston, take the Turnpike to Albany and take the Thruway north. You go right through the Adirondacks. Beautiful country. Lots of prisons. That’s the long way round, but you’ve got the time and you still get to see Lake Champlain, but from the other side. I won’t report the car missing until tomorrow, so you’ll be in the clear. Long gone. Any questions?”
Tom held up his iPhone. “I have app. Is good. Is okay. You are nice man, Jason Stafford.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I didn’t think I could say the same about Tom, but he had put his life on the line for me and the Kid for a dollar a day. I pulled a manila envelope out of my jacket pocket. “Take this and go.”
He shook his head. “You owe me nothing.”
“Take it. There’s two million dollars in bearer bonds that I stole from Castillo. I swapped them for copies. No one will ever know. His bonds will be sitting in an evidence vault for years while they clean up this mess. They’re all small denom. Untraceable. Any major bank in Montreal will take these.”
He thought about handing them back. If he had, I would have let him. But he’d earned it, and I had plenty.
He nodded. “Is good.”
Ivan was waiting in the car with the engine running. I went over and put out my hand. “Thank you, Ivan. From me and the Kid. You’re a hell of a Chutes and Ladders player.”
Mortal Bonds Page 32