The Collectors cc-2

by David Baldacci

  She and Leo left.

  When the door closed behind the pair, Bagger snapped, “Tail ’em.”

  CHAPTER 19

  ANNABELLE AND LEO WERE IN A cab; her gaze had never left the rear window.

  “They back there?” Leo asked in a whisper.

  “Of course. Where else would they be?”

  “For a second there, I thought those damn goons were gonna toss me out the window. How come I always have to play bad cop to your good cop?”

  “Because you play bad so incredibly good.”

  Leo gave a shiver. “The guy’s the same nightmare I remember him being. You see him crack that nut with one hand?”

  “Come on, he’s a walking cliché from a bad mob movie.”

  The cab pulled in front of their hotel, and they got out. Annabelle walked down the street and then crossed it. She rapped on the window of the Hummer parked there. The glass slid down, revealing one of Bagger’s burly men.

  She said pleasantly, “You can tell Mr. Bagger that I’m staying in room 1412. Oh, here’s another card for you in case he threw the other one away.” She turned and rejoined Leo, and they walked into the hotel together. Her phone buzzed. It was Tony, calling to confirm he was in position. She’d bought him a very expensive pair of surveillance binoculars and had him check into a room of a hotel right across the street from the Pompeii, which had a fine view of the window line to Bagger’s office suite.

  The call to her room she’d been expecting came ten minutes later. She signaled Leo, who was standing by the window. He did a quick text message to Tony on his BlackBerry.

  Annabelle poised her hand over the phone and motioned with the other one to Leo. “Come on, come on.” The phone rang five times, six, seven.

  On the ninth ring Leo got a confirming reply right back and nodded. Annabelle snatched up the phone. “Hello?”

  “How’d you make my guys so fast?” Bagger bellowed.

  “When it comes to surveillance, my . . . employer really can’t be beat, Mr. Bagger,” she informed him. “It’s merely a question of thousands of assets on the ground and unlimited money.” The truth was she knew he’d order them to be followed, and kept her gaze out the rear window of the cab. She’d seen on their earlier recon of the casino that Bagger’s personal security all drove yellow Hummers. They weren’t that hard to spot.

  “Meaning I’m under surveillance?” he snapped.

  “We’re all being watched, Mr. Bagger. You shouldn’t feel singled out.”

  “Cut the ‘Mr. Bagger’ shit. How do you know so much about casino scams that you were able to spot two going on in my place? Makes me think you’re way too close to the con world.”

  “I didn’t spot them. We had three teams in your casino today who were trolling for something I could use as bait to get to you. The members of those teams are experts in casino cons. They relayed the intel to us, and we told your pit bosses. Simple.”

  “Okay, we’ll just let that go for now. What exactly do you want?”

  “I thought I was clear in your office about my intentions—”

  “Yeah, yeah! I know what you said. I want to know what you meant by it.”

  “This isn’t something I’m prepared to discuss over the phone. NS—,” she began, and then said quickly, “Hard-line phones aren’t very secure.”

  “You were going to say NSA, weren’t you?” he shot back. “The spooks, I know all about them.”

  “With all due respect, nobody knows all about NSA, not even POTUS,” she said, dropping one more carefully scripted initialism.

  There was a silence on the end of the line.

  “Are you still there?” she asked.

  He snapped, “I’m here!”

  “Do you want to meet at your office?”

  “That’s no good. I’m, uh, I’m already headed out of town.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re sitting in your office right now.” This information was what Tony had e-mailed Leo.

  The line immediately went dead.

  She put the phone down, looked at Leo and gave him a reassuring wink.

  He let out a deep breath. “Deep waters we’re treading in, Annie.”

  She looked amused. “You only called me Annie when you were really, really nervous, Leo.”

  He wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead and lit up a Winston. “Yeah. Well, some things don’t change, do they?”

  The phone rang again. She picked it up.

  “This is my town,” Bagger said menacingly. “Nobody spies on me in my town.”

  She said calmly, “Mr. Bagger, since this whole thing seems to be upsetting you, I’ll make it easy. I’ll report back that you turned down our second and final offer. That way you won’t have to worry about it anymore. And like I said, I’ll just go elsewhere.”

  “There isn’t a casino around here that would believe your half-ass story.”

  “It’s not just a story. We wouldn’t expect savvy casino operators to take this on faith. So we do trial runs. Let them make a lot of money very quickly, and then they decide. Either they’re in or out. And they get to keep the profits regardless.”

  She could hear him breathing on the other end of the line.

  “How much money?” he asked.

  “How much do you want?”

  “Why would the government offer me this kind of a deal?”

  “There are many forms of ‘the government.’ Just because one part doesn’t particularly care for you doesn’t mean other elements don’t see advantages. For us it’s the very fact that Justice is after you that we’re interested.”

  “How do you figure that as an advantage?”

  “Because who’d ever believe that the U.S. government would be partnering with you?” she stated simply.

  “Are you with NSA?”

  “No.”

  “CIA?”

  “I’m going to answer every question like that with an unqualified ‘no.’ And I don’t carry my badge or creds in situations like this.”

  “I got politicians in my pocket in Washington. One call and I’ll know.”

  “One call and you’ll know nothing because the field I work in, the politicians know zip about. But call away. Call the CIA. They’re in Langley, that’s in McLean, Virginia, in case you didn’t know. A lot of people think they’re based in D.C. Believe it or not, they’re actually listed in the phone book. You’ll want the National Clandestine Service—it used to be called the Operations Directorate. But just to save you the call, they’ll tell you they never heard of Pamela Young or International Management, Inc.”

  “How do I know this isn’t some kind of sting operation the feds are running?”

  “I’m not a lawyer, but I’d have to say it would be a pretty clear case of entrapment. And if you want to check us for a surveillance wire, feel free.”

  Bagger said, “What kind of trial run?”

  “A few clicks on the computer.”

  “Explain that.”

  “Not over the phone. Face-to-face.”

  She could hear him sigh.

  “You eaten dinner?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Pompeii, ten minutes. They’ll meet you at the front door.”

  The line went dead.

  She hung up and looked over at Leo. “We’re in.”

  “And now comes the flash,” he said.

  “And now comes the flash,” Annabelle agreed.

  CHAPTER 20

  AN HOUR LATER THEY WERE finishing an excellent dinner prepared by Bagger’s personal chef. Bagger took his glass of bourbon and Annabelle and Leo their wine and settled down in comfortable leather chairs near a flickering gas fire.

  Bagger had taken Annabelle up on her offer and had her and Leo checked for listening devices.

  “Okay, bellies full, livers pickled, talk to me,” Bagger ordered. He held up a finger. “First, what are you guys up to? And then tell me about the money.”

  Annabelle sat back cradling her drink, glanced at L
eo and said, “You remember Iran-Contra?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “There are occasions when the interests of America are best served by providing aid to countries and certain organizations that don’t have popular support in the U.S.”

  “What, like giving guns to Osama to fight the Russians?” he sneered.

  “It’s a choice of the lesser of two evils. Goes on all the time.”

  “So what’s that got to do with me?”

  “We have money from very discreet sources, some of it private, but it needs to be ‘finessed’ before it can be deployed,” she said, sipping her wine.

  “You mean laundered,” Bagger said.

  She smiled coyly. “No, I mean finessed.”

  “I’m still not getting the connection.”

  “El Banco del Caribe. You know it?”

  “Should I?”

  Leo spoke up. “Isn’t that where you park some of your casino cash? They specialize in disappearing money, for a price. No taxes.”

  Bagger had half risen from his seat.

  Annabelle said, “It’s part of our job to know things like that,” she said. “Don’t take it personally. You’re not the only one we have a file on.”

  Bagger sat back down and eyed her spiky hair. “You don’t look like a spy.”

  “Well, that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?” she said amiably, rising and pouring herself another glass of wine.

  “Look, how do I know you’re legit? I call anybody, they never heard of you. Where does that leave me?”

  “Money talks and bullshit walks,” she said, sitting back down.

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “Meaning call your money guy in here.”

  Bagger looked at her suspiciously for a moment and then picked up the phone.

  The man appeared a minute later. “Yes, sir?”

  Annabelle took a slip of paper out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Pull this account up on your computer. It’s at El Banco del Caribe. That’s a onetime password along with the account number. And come back and tell Mr. Bagger the balance in that account.”

  The man looked at Bagger, who nodded. The man left and returned a few minutes later.

  “Well?” Bagger said impatiently.

  “Three million twelve thousand dollars and sixteen cents, sir.”

  Bagger stared at Annabelle, the new respect clear in his gaze. He waved his money guy gone. After the door had shut, he said, “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

  “To further allay people’s concerns, we usually do a trial run or runs, as the case may be.”

  “You mentioned that. How does it work?”

  “You park money at El Banco for two days in an account of our designation; you collect the ‘interest,’ and then the money is put back into your account at your home bank.”

  “How much money are we talking?”

  “A million is typical. The money you wire down gets ‘mingled’ with other funds. After two days you walk away with a hundred grand in profit. You can do it every two days if you want.”

  “Mingled? Don’t you mean finessed?” Bagger said.

  She raised her glass. “You learn fast.”

  Yet Bagger was scowling. “You want me to put a million bucks of my money in an account of your designation and wait two days for my money plus interest to come floating back to me? Do I look like I got cowshit for brains?”

  Annabelle sat down next to him and gently touched his arm. “I tell you what, Jerry, I can call you Jerry, can’t I?”

  “I’ll let it slide for now.”

  “For the two days your money is hanging out there, my associate and I will stay here at your hotel, with your boys watching us night and day. If your money doesn’t come back into your account with interest just like I’m telling you, we’re all yours. And I don’t know about you, but public servant or not, I like my life way too much to give it up for a bunch of money that I’ll never even see.”

  He looked her up and down, shook his head, rose and walked over to the window and looked out through the bulletproof glass. “This has got to be the craziest damn thing I’ve ever heard. And I’m a nutcase for even listening to it.”

  “It’s not crazy when you look at the world today. Things have to be done to protect this country, action that is not always completely legal or popular. If the American people knew what really went on?” She shrugged. “But that’s not my field task. My job is to make sure the money gets to where it needs to go. In exchange for your help, you get paid an extraordinary premium, it’s that simple.”

  “But this money is all electronic. Why do you have to launder it?”

  “Even digital dollars can be traced, Jerry. In fact, they can do it more easily than with real cash. The funds need to be commingled with other sources of money that are nongovernmental. It all gets washed out electronically, sort of like wiping fingerprints off a gun. Then the funds can go to where they’re needed.”

  “And you say Vegas already does this? So if I call up and ask—”

  She interrupted him. “They’ll tell you nothing because that’s what they’ve been instructed to do.” She rose and stood beside him. “There’s tremendous upside for you here, Jerry, but there’s a downside too. And let me just lay that out for you. It’s only fair that you know.”

  She led him back to the couch. “If it ever comes to certain people’s attention that you’ve told anyone about this arrangement—”

  Bagger laughed. “Don’t threaten me, little girl. I invented the art of intimidation.”

  “This isn’t intimidation, Jerry,” she said quietly, her gaze directly on him. “If you tell anyone about this arrangement, men will come for you wherever you might be. These men will have no fear of anyone you could possibly hire to protect you. They are not bound by the laws of any country, and they will kill anyone remotely close to you, man, woman or child. Then they’ll take you away.” She paused to let this sink in. “I’ve been in the business a long time, and done some things that would probably surprise even you, but these are men I would never want to face, even with a squad of Navy SEALs surrounding me. They aren’t the best of the best, Jerry. They are the worst of the absolute scum. And your last memory will be how could it have hurt so damn much.”

  Bagger exploded, “These whack jobs are on our government’s payroll! No wonder we’re so screwed up.” When he took a sip of his bourbon, both Annabelle and Leo noted that his hand shook a bit. “So why the hell would I—” Bagger began.

  Anticipating what he was going to say, she cut in. “But as I told my superiors, Jerry Bagger won’t talk. He’ll just collect his exorbitant profits and keep his mouth shut. I don’t throw darts at names on a wall, Jerry. Guys like you are ideal for our purposes. You’ve got brains, guts, money, and you don’t mind playing close to the edge.” She studied Bagger closely and added, “I’d hate to give the action to one of the other casinos, Jerry, but my mission is clear.”

  After another minute he grinned and patted her leg. “I’m as patriotic as the next son of a bitch. So what the hell, let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER 21

  THE CAMEL CLUB HELD A hastily called meeting at Stone’s cottage at the cemetery the morning following their visit to DeHaven’s home. Stone explained to Milton and Caleb in greater detail what had happened the night before.

  “They could be watching us right now,” a frightened Caleb said as he glanced out the window.

  “I would be astonished if they weren’t,” Stone replied calmly.

  His cottage was small and sparsely furnished: an old bed, a large, beaten-up desk covered with papers and journals, shelves of books in various languages, all of which Stone spoke, a small kitchen with a battered table, a tiny bathroom and a scattering of mismatched chairs arranged around the large fireplace that was the cottage’s main source of heat.

  “And that doesn’t concern you?” Milton asked.

  “It would have concerned me much more had they tried to kill me, wh
ich they easily could have despite Reuben’s heroics.”

  “So what now?” Reuben asked. He stood in front of the fireplace, trying to work the chill off. He checked his watch. “I need to get to work.”

  Caleb added, “So do I.”

  Stone said, “Caleb, I need to get inside the vault at the library. Is that possible?”

  Caleb looked uncertain. “Well, under normal conditions it would be. I mean, I have the authority to take people into the vaults, but I’ll be questioned as to why. They don’t really like people just bringing in friends and family without advance notice. And with Jonathan’s death restrictions are even tighter.”

  “What if the visitor was a scholar from overseas?” Stone asked.

  “Well, of course, that’s different.” He glanced at Stone. “What foreign scholar do you know?”

  Reuben broke in. “I think he’s talking about himself, Caleb.”

  Caleb looked sternly at his friend. “Oliver! I cannot possibly assist in perpetrating a fraud on the Library of Congress, for God’s sake.”

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I believe we are now the targets of some very dangerous people because we’re involved with Jonathan DeHaven. So we need to find out whether his death was natural or not. And looking at the place where he died may help me determine that.”

  “Well, we know how he died,” Caleb countered. The others looked at him in surprise. “I just found out this morning,” he said quickly. “A friend from the library called me at home. Jonathan died as the result of cardiopulmonary arrest, that’s what the autopsy reported.”

  Milton said, “That’s what everybody dies of. It just means your heart stopped.”

  Stone looked thoughtful. “Milton’s right. And that also means the medical examiner doesn’t know what actually killed DeHaven.” He stood and looked down at Caleb. “I want to go into the vault this morning.”

  “Oliver, you can’t just show up unannounced as some scholar.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just not done. There are protocols, procedures to follow.”

  “I’ll say I was in town for a visit with family and wanted very much to see the world’s greatest collection of books; a spur-of-the-moment thing.”