Duty Bound (1995)

by Leonard B Scott

  Faraday studied the vault door. "Wasn't this thing rigged with alarms?"

  "Yes, but they were deactivated. Mr. Lynch had the sequence code to do that."

  Tired of the games, Eli took out his FBI identification card and held it up in front of the assistant manager's face.

  "Bud, what do the big letters on this card say?"

  "FBI."

  "Right, you think that means Funny, Blind, and Incompetent?"

  "Of course not."

  "Really? 'Cause you're standing there shucking us like we're stupid. We're not stupid, bud. We hear all kinds of stories and see all kinds of slick people like you who think we're dumb. We're not. We know you were involved because an operation this big can't be run by just one man.

  Think about that. It's common sense, isn't it? You make, what, thirty, forty grand in salary a year?"

  "Thirty-six." The young man was beginning to sweat very heavily.

  "Now, what's it going to mean to us when the White Collar boys find out you have a lot of money in one of those safety deposit boxes? But you may be smarter than that. You might have put your cut into an offshore bank. But we'll know that because we'll check. Are you getting the picture here? We know you were involved. And it's just a matter of time before we find out how much. The key word you need to be thinking of right now is the word co-op-er-ation.

  Because if you cooperate with us right now, we'll be grateful, and that means opening the possibility of dealing down to lesser charges. Look at me. No, look me right in the eyes.

  Good. Now I'm going to Mirandize you. That means I think you're a suspect. It also means when I'm finished you'd better start cooperating with us because you know and I know you're involved. Do you understand?"

  The young man's eyes filled with tears, then he sank down to his knees. "Oh, God, I told him we couldn't keep doing it . . . I told him."

  "You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney . ."

  Once he'd finished, Eli helped the young man up to his feet. "Okay, I see you're going to be smart and cooperate with us. First tell us what was in the vault."

  "Ten million, six hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars."

  "In trunks."

  "Yes. The money was in twenties, fifties, and hundreds.

  We received a little over four million two weeks ago in addition to the six we already had."

  "Where's the money?"

  "I don't know, and that's the God's honest truth. I came in early yesterday morning and found the vault door open. I also found the note from Mr. Lynch saying he was leaving on vacation. Everything is gone, our books, all our records, everything that we used to manage the Yona account."

  "Who else was involved in the recordkeeping-now don't start getting stupid on me. That kind of money takes more than two people to manage. Who else?"

  Ashley stood tapping her foot as two handcuffed female bank employees and the young assistant manager were placed in waiting cars. She stared at Eli, who was looking through the notes he'd made. Feeling the heat from her eyes, he looked up at her.

  "How did you know others were involved?" she asked.

  "Because, just like I told him, one guy couldn't handle all the accounting. And you can't keep that much money a secret from key employees; they had to bring them in to keep them quiet."

  "You were lucky, Tanner; you pushed him too hard. If he had lawyered up, we would have got nothing."

  "Sutton, I knew he wanted to come clean; it was written all over him."

  Ed Faraday smiled. "I liked that look you gave him. It said, 'I'll tear your heart out and eat it if you don't talk to me.' Is that look legal?"

  Ashley kept her gaze on her partner. "Agent Tanner's methods are not by the book, Detective. He seems to have his own rules."

  Faraday lifted an eyebrow. "Did you believe their story that they didn't know it was dirty money?"

  Eli nodded. "I believe that's what they wanted to believe; if they knew who delivered the money and picked it up, they'd be like their boss . . . on vacation."

  "You think they killed him?" Ashley asked.

  "Oh, yeah, that's a for-sure," Eli said. "He knew too much. Mendez is making sure there are no loose ends. It's how he does business."

  "How is it you know so much about this Mendez player, Tanner?" Faraday asked.

  Eli lowered his head and was silent a long moment before finally responding. "Eight years ago in Miami, I was the agent in charge of a case similar to this. We suspected Mendez was laundering through a guy who owned a chain of grocery stores. The guy finally got the guilts and came to us. We thought we had Mendez put away, but our grocery guy was whacked a day later, along with his entire family.

  That was just the beginning. Over the next two days eight others who were involved were also killed--every material witness we had. My partner and I got smart on how Mendez worked and tried to set him up, but we weren't as smart as we thought. We walked into an ambush. Gus, my partner, was killed and three other agents were wounded, including myself. Mendez was in another country at the time. End of story. We lost--the bastard was better than me."

  Faraday gave Eli a consoling pat on the shoulder. "We'll get him this time, Tanner. Is he Colombian?"

  "Cuban," Eli said, finally raising his head. "He was Castro's secret police operations officer for five years before he decided to defect and put his training and expertise to work for him here in the States. Once he arrived, it didn't take him long to acquire the services of ex-Cuban military types who had defected. They went into the drug-running business and became very successful, but he realized the real money was in distribution and sales. When he became strong enough, he eliminated the people he was working for and took over their operation. It was just the beginning. He later knocked off their chief competitors and expanded his business until he became one of the major players in Miami.

  He even became the Colombian cartels' U. S. distribution front man. When the cartels' major players went down, he alone survived the Drug Task Force's shakedown. That should tell you something about his survival abilities. The guy is good."

  "We're better," Ashley said.

  Eli looked at her for a long moment before lowering his head in silence.

  Bey Biscayne, Florida Within the huge estate facing the bay, Raul Ortega quickly walked down the marbled hallway to the polished-oak door where two bodyguards stood on duty. Ortega nodded to the bigger man. "Is he working or is he talking to them again?"

  The bigger guard spoke as he opened the door. "He's with them again. . . . I think they're talking back this time."

  Raul rolled his eyes and entered the huge office. He strode past the conference table and his boss's desk to the double glass doors of the large adjoining greenhouse. Pausing at the doors, Ortega unbuttoned his suit jacket and set his shoulders. He hated going into his boss's playroom because the heat and humidity always ruined his shirts. He wondered why his boss couldn't have had a hobby like stamp or coin collecting. Why did it have to be tropical plants?

  Raul took a deep breath, opened the doors, and stepped into a small glass-enclosed anteroom that was ten degrees warmer than the office. To his front was another set of glass doors. Exhaling, Ortega thought the name his boss had given the office greenhouse was inappropriate. Carlos Mendez called the place his Green Heaven. To Ortega it should have been called Green Hell because it was always hot as hell and looked like a jungle right out of one of those black-and white Tarzan movies. Hell or heaven, one thing was for sure: Stamps would have been a cheaper hobby. His boss had spared no expense in obtaining all kinds of species from every tropical jungle and forest in the world. According to the accountant, his boss had spent more than ten million perfecting his heaven.

  Raul Ortega sighed; he would never understand what his boss saw in the plants. They were green, big deal. Granted they were every shade of green, but green just the same.

  There were green ferns, green bushes, green trees, green long spidery plants, and little green leafy th
ings, but they were all green, so what was the point?

  Raul opened the second set of doors and entered his boss's green obsession. A strange bird cawed. Raul shook his head as he began his search. It wasn't a real bird, just the computer sound system re-creation of birdcalls and the sounds of a waterfall and wild animals. The quack plant doctor who sold the system to his boss had said the sounds made the plants feel as if they were in their native home.

  Right, Ortega thought. The plants really could hear the birds and the waterfall. But the boss thought the idea worked, and if the boss thought it worked, then it worked.

  The glassed-in computer by the entrance had cost the boss fifty grand. The damn thing looked like one of those computers in the ads for fifteen hundred bucks at Radio Shack, but of course those computers couldn't automatically turn on the mist spray and keep the temperature a constant 78 degrees and the humidity high and make bird sounds and bug sounds and waterfall sounds and wild animal sounds.

  No, this fifty-grand computer talked to plants . . . right. Raul walked down a path in the small world of Carlos Mendez, who knew every plant's name and how it was faring. They were Carlos Mendez's children, his green children.

  Raul wound his way around some huge ferns and finally caught sight of Mendez as he stooped over some little green something that looked as if it had hair.

  "Colonel, we think we found her," Raul said.

  Fifty-four years old, slightly overweight, but still raven-haired, Carlos Mendez stroked the plant's leaf. "See my new baby? It's a Sigma dahlia--very rare."

  Raul wanted to say, Yeah. And it's green like the others, boss. Instead he nodded and said, "It's very nice, Colonel.

  You were right--the dog gave us the lead. A woman fitting Bonita's description took her Rhodesian Ridgeback to a vet in north Atlanta. I have the Fat Man visiting the clinic now.

  We'll soon have her address."

  "Northern Thailand, that's where this beauty is from. It's very delicate and sensitive," Mendez said. He stroked the plant one more time before standing erect. "Such a pity my lovely Bonita is not a plant. I would place her here with my children. She was such a joy to me. What instructions did you give to our friend on how I want her handled?"

  "I told him to question her and find out if she had spoken to anyone in addition to the police. And, of course, to find out who hid her from us."

  Mendez smiled. "Come, Raul, you know as well as I who would gain by taking my beautiful blond flower. They are such fools. I will be most interested in what she tells our friend. Ensure he keeps her lovely. I will need her as proof the Italians are violating the truce. Once our friends hear her story from her own mouth, we'll strike first and teach their organization a lesson they will not soon forget."

  Raul nodded. "I've already instructed several of our unit leaders to start planning the strike. I have other news from Georgia--our investment is safe and is only waiting for transport. The delay is being caused by the large number of police and FBI in the area. It seems there are very few access roads. Tonight we'll begin the transfer. I have Logan and his unit going in for a pickup."

  Mendez nodded as he bent over another plant. "Excellent.

  Do you see this one here? It is a rare orchid from Burma.

  Beautiful, no?"

  "Yes, Colonel, it's . . . it's a beautiful green. What color will its flower be?"

  "A very light green."

  Figures, Ortega thought, backing up. "I'll report back to you as soon as the Fat Man calls and says he has Bonita. It shouldn't be long."

  Mendez glanced up. "Remind our friend that I want my wayward flower returned to me without damage. Later, once she has told our associates of the competition's treachery, we will deal with her disloyalty."

  Ortega raised an eyebrow. "How do you want it done?"

  "Painfully. Very painfully."

  Raul nodded and made for the glass door. Bonita Rogers had made a tragic error in taking her dog to the vet.

  .

  6:30 P. M., Lake Lanier, Georgia.

  "State your business," said a voice over the small speaker.

  The Fat Man leaned out the car window. "I'm doctor Tony Rawlins, veterinarian of Buckhead Animal Clinic. I've come to see Mrs. Stone about her dog, Baby."

  "You have an appointment?"

  "No, I'm sorry. I tried calling but always got a busy signal. They have found rabid skunks in this area, and I felt I should stop by and give Baby a rabies shot to ensure his safety. I'm sure Mrs. Stone will want to see me."

  "Rabid skunks? Eh . . . yeah, okay. When the gate opens drive in to the cabin entrance. I'll meet you out front."

  The Fat Man smiled as he pressed the button causing his window to close. He turned slightly and glanced at the two men in the backseat. "Stay down till I tell you. I'll take out whoever meets us while you cover me. Once the target is down, go for the door and get inside. We take out everyone but the blonde . . . and watch out for the dog. Kill it on sight."

  Bonita stepped down from the stair climber machine and was about to pick up a towel when she heard Duwane calling for her from the hallway.

  She scooped up the towel and walked from behind the partition. "What is it, Duwane?"

  "Ma'am, your vet is drivin' in to give your dawg a rabies shot. He says he tried callin' for an appointment but the phone was busy. Says there's rabid skunks runnin' around."

  "My vet?"

  "Yeah, a Doc Tony . . . Tony . . . ah shit, forgot his last name."

  Bonita dropped her towel and stopped dead in her tracks.

  "His last name? Was it a man?"

  " 'Course it was a man. I know a man's voice when I hear it."

  "Oh God! Toni Rawlins is a woman. They've found me!"

  "Now don't get riled, ma'am. I won't let 'em in the house. Shit, I'm sorry. I'll make it right. I'll . . . I'll tell your ex you ain't here and to get off the property."

  Bonita ran to her purse and pulled out her small pistol.

  "You don't understand. He's going to kill me. He'll kill you, too, as soon as you open that door."

  "Kill me? Hey, them guys who hired me said nothin' about your ex being a nutcase. What's goin' on?"

  "Duwane, there's no time to explain. We're all going to be dead unless we can get out of here right now. Where's Halley?"

  "Gone to get groceries--what d'ya mean dead?"

  "Talk to me, Duwane. Is there another way out except for the road?"

  "The lake. There's a ski boat in the boathouse down by the pier."

  Bonita spun around and looked out the huge windows toward the pier. She spun again. "You take Baby and get the boat ready. I'll be down once I slow them down. I'll be doming on the run so be ready to haul ass."

  "Not with that little peashooter you ain't," Duwane said.

  He pulled out his nickel-plated .357 from his shoulder holster.

  "You take this. It's got the kick of a horse, but it'll stop an elephant. Pump a few rounds into his car when he pulls up.

  That'll make him stop and think."

  Bonita took the big weapon from Duwane's hand. "Get going!"

  The Fat Man eased the Buick to a stop and spoke calmly.

  "Okay, it's party time. I don't see anybody yet. I'm going to get out and meet whoever comes out. You two stay down but be ready to move."

  Bonita had opened the front door a crack and held her breath, seeing the Buick's front driver's door open. Oh God, please help me do this, she prayed. The driver, a large, obese man, stepped out of the car and lowered a pistol to the side of his leg. Bonita exhaled slowly, pushed the door open with her foot, raised the heavy pistol, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. The heavy weapon bucked in her hand. Oh God, she thought, Ted was right; you hit them in the face and they go down.

  Lowering the pistol to her new target, she fired again and again. The Buick's front windshield spider webbed. A rear door opened. Bonita shifted her stance, fired into the door, and heard a man grunt. The other passenger door opened and a large man jumped out with a
small submachine gun resembling those she'd seen in the movies. I'm dead, she told herself. Suddenly there was a thunderous ka-bloom sound and the man was flying toward her. Too scared to move, Bonita watched in fascination and horror as he crumpled onto the steps in front of her.

  Duwane stepped away from the corner of the cabin holding a shotgun. He approached the Buick cautiously and barked, "Don't move, shithead, or I'll blow your ass away!