Betrayal j-2

by Russell Blake

  The drizzly, cold dawn had barely broken, but when she got to the hotel, the staff leapt to attend to her in spite of the early hour. The suite was fifteen hundred dollars a night, with every amenity she could have wanted. She unpacked the briefcase and secured the fifty million dollar package in the room safe, then retired to the bathroom and savored a long hot soak in the bath — her first in months.

  The diamond buyers weren’t expecting a call until nine a.m. at the earliest, so she went downstairs and imbibed a pot of steaming dark roast coffee in the restaurant as she read the newspaper, which was thoughtfully provided in six different languages by the front desk.

  The weather was forecasted to be in the forties all day, so she had a clothing problem — no coat. She’d seen nothing suitable during her shopping in Bangkok, so she’d had to content herself with a navy blue knockoff Ralph Lauren sweater that was far too light for any real cold. She asked the concierge at the front desk about nearby shops, but they apologetically informed her that the stores wouldn’t open until ten, at the earliest.

  Jet waited in her room, pacing in front of the window, until nine thirty, when she called the buyers. After a brief back and forth, they agreed to meet at one of Zurich’s largest private banks at eleven and warned her to allow several hours for the verification process.

  She exited onto the boulevard in front of the hotel and followed the concierge’s directions, arriving at an upscale women’s apparel store that exuded prohibitive pricing. The shopkeeper was just opening, and after browsing the selection while the hawkish woman looked on, she paid three times more than she would have anywhere else in the world for a heavy wool Italian coat. Jet checked her watch as the woman counted out her change and then made for the bank, stopping across the street at a bakery to watch the foot traffic going into the building while she waited for her appointment time.

  When she entered, she was directed to a private suite with two armed security guards flanking the door. After exchanging polite introductions with the buyers, she placed the briefcase on the table, flipped the latch, and withdrew the package containing the diamonds. The two men carefully inventoried each stone, noting color, clarity, cut and carats, grading each with the precision of a locally-manufactured watch. The entire process took an hour, at which point the haggling began. Twenty minutes later, she walked out of the bank, nine million seven hundred thousand dollars richer, having made a concession in the interests of getting the deal done. The buyers hadn’t batted an eye when the banker stamped the transfer agreement, instantaneously moving the money to her bank a block away — one of the operational accounts she’d set up years earlier, requiring only the account number and a passcode to access from anywhere in the world.

  Once in the branch, she confirmed the balance and withdrew a hundred thousand dollars in cash. The bank vice president confirmed the amount and returned ten minutes later with two packages of new hundred dollar bills, which she counted and then slipped into her briefcase.

  Logistical necessities concluded, she returned to the hotel and had lunch, and then used one of the hotel computers to locate several jet charter companies. The second one she contacted had a Gulfstream G-550 that could be ready for her within twenty-four hours at a cost of a hundred and ten thousand dollars. She booked it, and the company volunteered that it would be delighted to handle the visa she would require for up to a thirty-day stay. Ordinarily it would require a full business day, but the company had strong relationships with the people at the embassy and could arrange everything, if she would be kind enough to stop in as soon as she could. She got the bank information and committed to doing a transfer within the hour, and then made her way back to her bank and signed the order.

  Jet now had over nine and a half million in her account, as well as a card that would allow her to access another two million. Three million in loose stones. And of course, fifty million for Arthur. Good old Arthur. There was something primal inside of her that couldn’t wait for their reunion.

  The following day, after a two-hour workout at the hotel gym and a one-hour run, she packed and prepared to meet her plane after lunch. Takeoff was smooth, and she settled into the jet’s plush swivel chair as the plane whispered into the sky, ready for seven hours of travel before she landed in Washington in the late afternoon, local time.

  Chapter 33

  The difference between Washington and Zurich was striking, although the weather was largely the same — cold, with snow threatening. Customs was straightforward with no search of her bags, the diplomatic passport working its little miracle again in a town where the officers were accustomed to diplomats arriving by private jet at all hours of the day or night. The experience at the cab line was completely different, though, having to stand in line in the wind chill for ten minutes, and when she told the driver to take her to the Four Seasons, he practically sneered at her.

  The hotel was gorgeous, the service impeccable, and the room nosebleed expensive, but she’d decided that it was better to hide right out in the open than skulking around in motels — especially with the payload she was carrying.

  Once she was settled, she went downstairs to the business center and booked a rental car online, and then took a cab to the rental yard to collect the keys to her new Ford Focus. First stop was Walmart, where she chose four disposable phones, and then a superstore where she selected a laptop computer, paying cash. She went to an internet cafe and activated all four of the phones and then placed a call on the first to Matt’s satellite phone, which just rang unanswered.

  They’d agreed that she should try him every three hours at thirty minutes past, Pacific Time, so she resolved to call later.

  She’d thought about both Matt and Lawan a lot on the flight over, forging their way through the jungle while she was flying on a lavish private jet, and had sent a silent prayer that they would get to their destination safely.

  A web search showed a list of gun shows taking place over the next few days in nearby Virginia, and a cursory perusal of the laws told her that she could buy whatever she needed, within reason, without a permit or any kind of background check. That would save her the trouble of having to source weapons on the street. There was one at the fairgrounds the following day in Richmond, Virginia, a hundred miles south. She calculated it would take two hours to drive there — perfect — far enough away so that she’d never be remembered if any questions were ever asked.

  Evening came without her reaching Matt. She called his phone every three hours at the appointed time, but he never picked up, and by ten, she decided to call it a night and resume her efforts in the morning.

  “I’ve only fired it maybe twenty times,” the heavyset man assured Jet, beaming a boozy smile, beer on his breath. “A nice ladies gun.” He pronounced ladies: ladeeeeees.

  Jet hefted the Beretta and then regarded the owner; an orange T-shirt with a silhouette of a man shooting a pistol strained in vain to contain his substantial belly.

  The gun appeared brand new, and experience had taught her that Berettas could take a substantial amount of abuse and still perform. She cocked the slide and peered down the barrel. It had a thin film of oil and looked unused.

  “Kind of pricey for a used one, don’t you think?”

  “Not hardly. That gun’s a winner. One of the most popular in the world.”

  “Really.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you. But, tell you what. Seeing as you’re interested and you seem to know your way around a weapon, I’ll knock twenty-five bucks off, assuming it’s cash.”

  She considered the proposition.

  “I had my heart set on getting a spare clip or two as well. You know anyone selling those?”

  “Seem to recall old Clovis over on the end of this row had a few. He’s a character, but he knows his stuff. Might want to look there.”

  “All right. I’ll take it. Where can I get some ammo for it?”

  “’Bout a million sporting goods places in town. Should be able to get a box of shells.” />
  “Shame you don’t have any. That would be a lot more convenient.” Jet winked as she pulled a small wad of hundreds out of her pocket. The seller almost salivated when he saw the money and rubbed the stubble on his face with a grimy hand.

  “Didn’t say I don’t have any shells, did I? Got a carton out in my truck.”

  “Want to meet me out there in fifteen minutes? In the meantime, I’ll go see if I can find another clip.”

  “Sure thing, little lady. I’ll see if one of these trailer trash will watch my gear for a few minutes. Hey, Marty!” he bellowed, and an old man wearing a battered Hooters baseball cap looked over at him. “Gotta hit the can in a few. You watch my stuff?”

  “Lemme know when. Won’t be hardly any stealing going on while you’re gone.”

  Both men had a good laugh, and then she handed him the money.

  “I’m supposed to check your driver’s license, but for another fifty I could sorta skip that part.”

  “You drive a hard bargain. How about fifty including the bullets?”

  “You got it.”

  “I’ll give you the money when you give me the shells.”

  “Seems the right way to do it,” he agreed. “I’ll meet up with you out by the bathrooms in fifteen, okay?”

  “I’ll be looking for you.”

  Clovis had one extra clip as well as a shoulder holster for the Beretta, and a quick turn around the booths located one more — more than sufficient for her purposes. She slipped everything into her purse and then went out to meet her new admirer.

  He was waiting by the bathrooms, as promised, and she proffered a smile as she approached him. He had a plastic bag with a box in it in one hand and a beer in the other. She took the bag from him and peered inside, then slipped him the fifty and moved off, his eyes burning holes through the back of her jeans as she walked to her car. She fished her cell out of her pocket as she unlocked the door and dialed Matt’s number again, and was surprised when he picked up. He sounded exhausted and got straight to the point.

  “My contact couldn’t find anything obvious on likely sites for your daughter, but was able to discover Arthur’s home address. You got a pen?”

  “I’ll remember it.”

  He rattled off the address, and she repeated it back to him.

  “If my contact doesn’t find out anything more in the next twenty-four hours, you should plan to do this the hard way. And she’s working on the other two who run the show with him. Hopefully, she’ll have those soon as well. Oh, and before I forget, she was able to arrange to get you the chemical breakdown of the drugs you asked for. She’ll leave it at a dead drop we arranged.” He recited the location and details of the drop.

  “Okay. Got it. I’ll swing by now. I’ll call you again at this time tomorrow, okay?”

  “Fine. We made it to one of my camps okay. No drama. Lawan says she misses you. I’m hiring a woman to help out with her and recruiting some new guards from the local warlord. Everything fine on your end?”

  “Never better.”

  “Good luck with the drug manufacturing.”

  “Thanks. Talk tomorrow.” The line went dead.

  Now she knew where Arthur lived.

  Which was probably his worst nightmare come true. If not, it soon would be.

  Her next stop was at a hardware store, where she bought a vise, a padlock and some welding gear, and then a machine shop supply store where she paid cash for several pieces of specialized machinery and sundry odds and ends that she loaded into the trunk, along with a collapsible work bench. When she was within an hour of Washington, she pulled over at a monthly storage facility and rented their biggest stall for six months, and then unloaded her gear into the unit and locked it. She would be back tomorrow to start her project — it would take a day, two on the outside.

  Jet drove to the drop — an office supply superstore — and retrieved the single page document that had been left for Elyse. On it were two strings of chemical sequences only a chemist would be able to make sense out of, and a name and address. Twenty minutes later, she was sitting with the director of R amp;D for the company — a pharmaceutical manufacturer. She passed the slip of paper to him and waited for a price.

  He seemed agitated, but after a number of admonitions about how difficult it would be to synthesize the drug, he named a number. Six figures. She agreed to it without hesitation, and he assured her that he could have it ready within two days. They shook hands, and when she promised to have him half the money within the hour, his demeanor relaxed. He would probably blend the cocktail himself that night, she figured, and wake up tomorrow a hundred grand richer.

  She hummed along with the radio as she drove back to the city, tapping her fingers with the beat, and realized that her spirits were better than they had been for some time. She was finally doing something, preparing for the encounter that would get her daughter back and rid the world of a dangerous parasite.

  Now it was just a matter of time.

  Chapter 34

  Jet lifted the welding mask from her head and studied the result of her efforts with approval, then loosed the vise and moved to the grinder to create a smooth seam. The internal baffles had been the most difficult part, but she’d studied the physics and understood the concept of attenuation, and had dismantled enough similar devices to understand how they worked.

  Once she was finished, she screwed the tube onto the barrel of the Beretta and checked it for fit. Satisfied, she turned and fired a shot at a pile of sandbags she’d placed in a corner of the workspace. The pop was loud, but no worse than any of the professionally-crafted silencers she’d used. It would do.

  She had already reloaded the fifty shells so that they would be subsonic with the silencer, further reducing the sound, and she fired one more round to make sure. It would take a little adjustment for a miniscule drop in the bullet’s trajectory at greater range, but for her purposes, it was more than suitable.

  After dusting the silencer with a coat of flat black primer, she checked the time and picked up her cell phone. Matt answered on the first ring.

  “Bad news is nothing more on Hannah. Good news is my contact’s gotten the address of two of the other top dogs. The operational side of this is Arthur and his counterpart at the DOD, and the associate director of the CIA. If you eliminate Arthur, his DOD buddy and the associate director, you’ve hopelessly crippled their operation. By the time the underlings are able to regroup, the natural competitive pressure in the market will have flattened them, and the Russians or whoever else will have taken over the supply side. We can’t eliminate the drug trade, but we can make it so the CIA is no longer the largest trafficker.”

  “Give me the info. I’ll add them to my shopping list.”

  “The DOD man’s name is Briggs.” Matt gave her the details. “And here’s the director’s information.”

  She scribbled a note on the back of a reloading materials brochure.

  “Okay. Got it. How are you holding up?”

  “Good. I’ve now got thirty men from one of the largest opium warlords in the Shan. All seasoned fighters, or at least so he claims. They look tougher than the last bunch, so that’s a positive. Lawan is doing well, settling in. I hired two women, one to cook and keep the camp presentable and the other to tutor her. Although I don’t think she’s had more than an eighth grade education herself. But it’s better than nothing.”

  “I take it you’re able to recharge your phone.”

  “The miracle of solar power. Even in the jungle.”

  “All right. I’m about ready to move.”

  “Wait another day or two. Let’s give my contact more time to see if she can dig up anything more. She’s working on blueprints and security diagrams for all three of the targets’ houses. That will come in handy, I’d imagine.”

  “It will. You think I’ll have it within forty-eight hours?”

  “Absolutely. She was confident. And another couple of days shouldn’t change anything.”
/>   “It’s another two days without my daughter.”

  “I know.” He paused. “Have you decided how you’re going to do this with Arthur?”

  “A hybrid of plan A and B. I’ll try B first. Although I suspect you’re correct — there’s no way he’s going to give me Hannah back and let me go.”

  “No, now that you know the whole story, you can see why he won’t.”

  “Which is why I’ll lead with B and then be prepared to shift to a modified A. On the others, it will just be straight sanctions. All on the same night so nobody has time to figure out what’s happening.”

  “All right. Figure on making your move forty-eight hours from now. Call me tomorrow, same protocol.”

  “Will do.”

  Waiting was like Chinese water torture, but the stakes were high, and Matt was a seasoned field agent and operational planner. If he felt her chances were best waiting, then difficult as it was for her, she would wait.

  Jet moved to the sandbags, taped a piece of paper to the front one, and walked to the far end of the twenty foot space. She fired three shots in rapid succession at the black circle she had drawn on it. The grouping was within a half inch. Admittedly at twenty feet it wasn’t much of a test, but she could extrapolate. The weapon would do the job.

  She spent the next two hours cleaning up every trace in the stall and moving the equipment back to her trunk. She’d get rid of it on the way back to Washington, eliminating all evidence of her preparations.

  By the time she was finished dropping the gear at the dump, it was late afternoon, and she mentally ticked off another checklist item completed. The car clock reminded her that the day was winding down, so she needed to get busy on her next task.

  It was time to buy some vehicles.

  Muzzle flashes illuminated the night as the tribesmen’s Kalashnikovs chattered from defensive positions around the camp. The answering fire from the jungle was smaller caliber, three round bursts, cutting away at the camp defenders with precision. Matt darted to a cluster of rocks, pistol in hand, and retrieved one of the fallen guards’ rifles, then flipped Jet’s night vision goggles in place and scanned the jungle.