by Charlie Cole
Isabelle Athabasca’s hair fell long and perfectly straight, framing her face. She wore an indigo blouse and faded jeans. Everything about her was welcoming, attractive and inviting but I felt for a moment like the fly on the edge of the spider’s web.
She danced with an athletic ease, moving to the beat, letting the music flow through her. She seemed consumed by her surroundings, at ease and yet at total release of all tension. She was dancing with her eyes closed at first but opened them and spotted Christine. She waved, her fingers bending up and down in that way that women wave sometimes.
“Here we go,” Billy said, watching the monitor.
The camera approached Isabelle and we were only along for the ride. The handbag-cam tilted up and I saw Isabelle’s face a letter better. Christine was trying to accommodate us. She was working hard to do her job. That made me smile.
The two women were talking and I could see Isabelle lean in closer to hear over the music. Isabelle pointed over her shoulder and waved for Christine to follow her. Isabelle walked away from Christine who followed, the handbag-cam aimed right at Isabelle’s bottom.
“Aww, nice a—,” Billy began.
“Shut it, rookie,” I snipped. “We’re on the job here. You can admire her ass another day when we’re not spying on it.”
Isabelle entered the women’s restroom in the back of the club. The noise died down considerably.
“So, what’s up?” Isabelle asked.
“Not much,” Christine replied. “Just blowing off some steam. Things have just been so crazy since that thing with Tom.”
Geez, she didn’t waste any time, I thought. Isabelle nodded sympathetically.
“I know. So sad,” she said. “Have you heard from Simon?”
I was sure that my disappearance had been noteworthy in our offices. A topic of gossip at the very least.
“I did,” Christine volunteered. “I just talked to him. I know exactly where he is right now.”
And in that moment, I feared that Christine had played me. She had let me think what I wanted, had led me down the path and was ready to sell me out.
“Really?” Isabelle asked. “Where is he?”
This was it. The critical moment. Would she burn me? Or come though?
“I need to talk to Max,” Christine said, her voice firm.
“Why?” Isabelle asked, but her voice didn’t sound as innocent anymore. She was negotiating now.
“Because, my information is for sale, and I want to see him before I name my price,” Christine said.
We could see Isabelle’s look in the handbag-cam. Her face hardened, her smile lost. She nodded once and pulled out a thin mobile phone and speed dialed.
“Pick me up,” she said. “In the back. I’ve got someone with me to see Max.”
With that, she hung up.
“Let’s go,” Isabelle said. She reached down then to Christine’s side and I feared that she was reaching for the handbag. But a moment later I saw, she was holding Christine’s hand. They exited the restroom together.
My cell phone rang a moment later and it was Jessica.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Just outside the ladies room,” she said. “They just came out.”
“Where are they going?” I asked. “Front or back?”
“Back exit…” Jess was still talking, but I was up and out of my seat and threw open the back door of the van. My feet hit the pavement and I took off running.
“What the—“ Billy began, but I never heard him finish.
I ran down the sidewalk, took the corner at a full run and slid to a stop beside a dumpster in the alley behind the club. I edged back, trying to find cover as best as I could, when a pair of powerful headlights came around the corner and washed across the dumpster. For a split second, while the lights held on me, I expected the vehicle to stop. But it didn’t, instead traveled on, rounding the corner and rolling to a stop at the back entrance of the club.
The vehicle was a black Cadillac Escalade. I made out the license plate to read “MAX 1”. It was Max Donovan’s car. I recognized it from the parking structure at work. My old office. A moment later, the doors opened and two men stepped out.
Agent Brock.
Agent Vaughn.
Brock held the door for Isabelle while Vaughn stood guard, eyes scanning the alley, the rooftops, the club entrance. Isabelle slinked up into the Escalade then beckoned Christine to follow her. I’d left my earpiece behind but could imagine how the conversation went… Isabelle soothingly convincing. How it would be alright, they’d just go for a ride. Max would be expecting them.
Christine looked up the alley in my direction whether she knew it or not. Perhaps she sensed me there. Perhaps she was hoping for rescue. Perhaps she was just staring into the night. And then she got in the Escalade as well and the door closed behind her.
I prayed to God that it wouldn’t be the last time I saw Christine Frost alive.
Chapter Fourteen
There was nothing I could do to stop Kendrick’s people from driving away with Christine Frost. I wasn’t armed just then. And even if I had been, what would that have accomplished?
I could chase after them. Run them down. Shoot it out with Brock and Vaughn and in all likelihood get killed. And in the end, it would serve no purpose. I’d be dead and Christine would be caught in the crossfire. It was a no win situation.
Jessica had warned me about using Christine. That she wasn’t involved the way that we were. That she was out of her element. I couldn’t disagree. But because I didn’t disagree, now I’d led another person into the fray. We were in a war now. One that would never see the light of day on the news, but still it was a war. And in any war there would be casualties. But I didn’t want Christine to die because of me.
I saw the black Cadillac Escalade power forward out of the alley and turn down a side street and then they were gone. I had no choice now. I had to get back. I ran back the way I’d come and found the van again. I ducked inside and Jessica had returned. She and Billy were watching me, waiting to hear what I had to say, what news I had to share. Jess’ face was flush and sweat was beading at her temples. She dabbed at it, trying to cool down.
“It was Kendrick’s people. Brock and Vaughn,” I replied. “Athabasca knew them. She called them for the pickup. They were in Max’s Escalade.”
“What do we do?” Jessica asked. She was eager to act, full of barely contained energy. I looked in Billy’s direction.
“I also sewed a tracking device into Christine’s handbag,” Billy said. He hit a button on another monitor and it glowed to life revealing a map, then a single green dot following a line of traffic along the city streets. “There they are.”
“Let’s go,” I growled.
Billy drove and I talked to Jessica.
“You did a great job in there,” I said. Jess scoffed.
“I didn’t do anything,” she huffed. I shook my head.
“You were there for your friend,” I replied. “Christine never would have gone through with it if it wasn’t for knowing that you were there to help her. She did exactly what I asked her to. If it wasn’t for you, she might have cracked or panicked and then it would all be over.”
Jess nodded. I didn’t voice my doubts about sending Christine. It would serve no positive purpose now. I kept my mouth shut. I squeezed Jessica’s hand and kissed her forehead before I moved into the chair in front of the monitors. I helped Billy navigate as he drove.
“Shit!” Billy said suddenly.
“What?” I shot back.
“Shit-shit-shit… they’re stopping,” he replied.
I looked through the front windshield. The Escalade had stopped, pulling to the curb without warning.
“Pass them. Go!” I directed Billy.
Billy leaned on the gas and the van accelerated, leaving the Escalade behind us. He drove us to the next corner and signaled for a right turn. I looked out the back window and could see people exiting the Escalad
e. I returned to the map.
“What is it?” Jess asked.
“We need a spot to park,” I said.
Jess looked at the map and pointed almost immediately.
“There,” she said. “Billy, take another right. Then pull in the alley.”
Jess had an eye for maps and a way for giving directions. She wasn’t one to lay back and let others do the work. She was in it to do her part too.
“Do it,” I said and Billy did.
The alley brought us out right across the street from the building the Escalade was parked across from. I pointed at the letters on the front of the building.
“What’s that say?” I asked.
“Jacobson… Jacobson Tower,” Billy squinted.
The building was glass, stone and steel and we could see Christine in the middle of Kendrick’s people. They were entering an elevator. I pulled my phone from my pocket and speed dialed.
“Simon says?” answered Nan.
“Simon says get me all the records you can find on Jacobson Tower,” I said. I was watching the elevator rise through the building’s glass atrium. I was counting floors as it ascended. I lost count after the tenth floor. Finally it stopped and the crowd exited. “I need whatever information you can get on a company renting or owning space above the tenth or eleventh floor.”
“On it,” she replied and rang off.
Billy returned to his monitors and I gave him room. He had Christine’s handbag-cam online as well as her microphone. We followed the camera shot, off the elevator, along the corridor, in front of a door and then things went dark where the light died and eventually Christine emerged and there was Max Donovan.
Max was holding a drink, scotch I presumed, in a heavy glass. The base of the glass was so thick that it could have been used as a lethal weapon, I suspected. I hoped that wasn’t the case today.
“Christine, my dear, how are you?” Max purred. Max was wearing a double-breasted navy suit which made his short, thick frame seem shorter and thicker. He walked toward her and I could hear his Italian dress shoes click on the floor. He reached for her, off camera and I imagined him touching her… shoulder or cheek… I couldn’t imagine the revulsion she felt having to stand in front of him.
“I’m fine, Max,” she replied. “I haven’t seen you in the office lately.”
Max smiled at that. His lips drew back into a wolfish grin. And in some weird way, I saw the ugliness of the man. Ugly in his heart. Ugly in his soul. As if a blackness so deep and dark had invaded him, that it had begun to seep out of him, oozing through his pores and culminating in a chilling smile.
“I’ve been busy,” he said simply.
I thought of Tom Ellis. He’d been busy killing Tom. Busy covering up Chris’ murder. Busy stealing files from the government.
My phone rang, making us all jump. I answered it quickly.
“Parks.”
“The 13th floor of Jacobson Tower is owned by a company called ‘Fifth Column Consulting’,” Nan said.
Fifth Column… son of a bitch.
“Get me everything you can, Nan. I want financial records, banking records, assets, floor plans… I want everything.”
“You want me to wake up those people on that list?” Nan asked, hesitant for the first time.
“I want it all, Nan.” I said. “If it looks like it’s connected, I want to know.”
I rang off and returned to the monitor.
“What about Simon Parks?” a voice said over the microphone.
I couldn’t see who said it on the monitor and then Max turned and I could see a shape silhouetted against the window behind him. Tall and thin, he walked forward and I knew it was Kendrick before he spoke again.
“Where is Simon?” Kendrick asked. His voice had taken on a grandfatherly lilt.
It was sink or swim time. Christine had done fine in the club, but she was in the deep end of the pool now.
“I talked to Simon,” Christine said.
I leaned closer to the monitor, watching, waiting to see what she would say.
“How delightful,” Kendrick replied. “And what did he say?”
Christine paused, no one moved and I wondered if we’d lost our video feed, but in truth, everyone was hanging on her next words.
“Are you Randall Kendrick?” Christine asked. “Simon asked me to give a message to a Randall Kendrick… Is that you, sir?”
Kendrick stepped into the light. His graying hair was combed back over his skull and I could see him clearly. He looked thinner now somehow, more gaunt. If the camera truly added ten pounds, Kendrick was frighteningly emaciated.
“I am Randall Kendrick, young lady,” he said. His voice kindly gruff. Patient, but not overly so. “What’s the message?”
“Simon Parks wanted me to tell you…” Christine said, “that he wants to return to Blackthorn. He offers his apologies and would like very much to talk to you.”
Kendrick tilted his head at the news, considering it. His eyes widened a bit at first, then narrowed, examining Christine. When he saw that there was no punchline, he nodded a bit.
“What the hell does that mean?” Max said. His voice carried more than he might have intended. It had the jarring sound of someone who had stayed at the party too long and had become borderline belligerent.
“It means that my prodigal son has returned,” Kendrick said and chuckled. His laugh turned into a wheeze and then a full throaty cough into his fist. He looked at Max. “All is well, Maxwell.”
Kendrick locked Christine in his sights.
“Ask Simon to meet us here tomorrow,” Kendrick said to her. He looked down at her handbag and I saw the corner of his mouth turn up, curl around into a half-grin and I wondered if he knew about the bag. Then I realized, if he did know, which he might have, he was proud. Proud of me, God help him. For that matter, God help me, too.
***
“What’s Fifth Column?” Jessica asked me on the drive back from the airport.
We’d picked up Christine as she left Jacobson Towers and drove her straight to the airport. Billy had a plane ticket ready for her as well as some credit cards. He’d booked a hotel in Paris for her. She had left, thankful to go, but unsure of what would happen next for Jessica and myself. For that matter, I wasn’t sure either. But I needed to know that Christine was safely out of the country. She went, promising to visit a friend from college and we wished her well.
“Fifth column is a historical term,” I replied. “It’s from a Spanish general in the 1930’s during the Spanish Civil War. He had four columns of soldiers marching on Madrid, but said that his fifth column were his supporters inside the city. It’s a term used for people inside a country trying to overthrow their own government.”
“Why would Max name his company that?” Jessica asked.
“Because he thinks he’s smarter than everyone else,” I replied. “He thinks he’s going to get away with it. That he has protection from Kendrick. That no one is watching. But someone… somewhere, is always watching.”
We returned to the brownstone and Billy parked the van a couple blocks over. Best not to keep it right outside where we were staying. We walked in and found Nan curled up on the couch, still on her laptop, music from her iPod pounding out so loud that we could hear it plainly from across the room despite her headphones.
“Nan!” I said loudly. “NAN!”
Jessica walked up beside me and stomped her foot on the floor three times. I felt the vibrations of her stomping through my feet and up my legs. Nan looked up and then turned off her iPod.
“Sorry,” she said meekly.
I looked at Jess, then down at her foot and back at her, questioningly.
“Mom was deaf,” she said.
“CODA, hunh?” I asked, meaning a Child of a Deaf Adult.
“Yeah… how did you…?” Jess began.
I shrugged.
“I know things,” I said and plopped down on the couch. “So, what do you have for me, Nan?”
&
nbsp; Nan was excited to share.
“The Jacobson Building… very interesting,” she began. “Max Donovan owns the entire building, but it’s held through a number of shell companies. The only company in the entire place is ‘Fifth Column’.”
I looked at Jess and nodded.
“He’s using those offices to run the illegal side of his business,” I said. “Donovan & Associates is the legal side and shows well for tax purposes. Fifth Column is a shadow company.”
“It may be a shadow company,” Nan said, “but the financials are very real. I went over the list you gave me and I was blown away by how much data everyone gave me.”
“What list?” Jess asked.
“I have a list,” I said sneakily, and waggled my eyebrows.
“And you’re checking it twice?” she asked.
“You’d be surprised how many offshore bankers have been naughty,” I said. “The U.S. government has tried for years to put official pressure on offshore banks to reveal their banking records. It practically never works. But at Blackthorn, we had to find a way around that hurdle.”
“Do I dare to ask what you did?” Jess asked, cringing.
“We were very persuasive,” I replied. “Usually behind the scenes… we could help the bankers, or we could hurt them. A little blackmail goes a long way.”
“Simon!” Jess made a disgusted noise in her throat and got up and walked to the doorway.
“Jess, come on,” I said. “We did things to fight terrorists that the public doesn’t want to know about. I accept that. It works. We took their money. And it financed anti-terror operations that may have saved thousands of lives. No one could trace it back to us. In the end, we have a list of bankers sympathetic to Blackthorn operations. Did you get anything from the list I gave you, Nan?”
“Donovan has an account through Fifth Column in the Cayman Islands and according to the banking officer, he’s alerted the bank to expect a sizable deposit,” Nan said.