Ring of Lies

by Howard, Victoria

  ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

  ‘So all the FBI has to do is arrest them when they try to use it again.’

  Jack looked at his watch. ‘Make some more coffee while I call Mike, and ask him to check a few things.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘I’ll tell you if and when they pan out.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Mike Zupanik closed his files and locked them in the cabinet. He clutched his briefcase tightly and headed out to the parking lot. Already dark, a gentle breeze blew in off the ocean. His workday over, he paused to loosen his tie and unbutton the top button of his shirt. For the first time in a week he was looking forward to being home in time for dinner.

  He smiled, unlocked his car and slid into the drivers’ seat, tossing his briefcase onto the seat next to him. He planned on stopping at the local supermarket on his way home to pick up some flowers and chocolates for Chrissie, his wife.

  It had been a long week, and he could sure do with spending some time with his grand kids, but Jack’s assertion that someone within the Bureau was leaking information bothered him.

  Only six people, excluding the forensic accountant examining Elliott’s records and the computer tech dissecting the MacBook, knew what case Jack was working on.

  Apart from Jack and himself, only Diego, Mancuso, Kennedy and Anderson had access to all the relevant information and were directly involved.

  He paused at a set of lights to allow a woman with a young child to cross the road. He grinned as the small boy tugged at his mother’s hand, urging her to hurry along. He reminded Mike of his grandson, David, always rushing ahead, eager to get on with life. Another seven months until he retired, then he and David would pack up the RV he planned to purchase, and take off into the backwoods for a summer of camping and fishing.

  The car behind tooted his horn. Mike lifted his foot off the brake and set the car in motion, his mind once more on his problem.

  Alejandro Diego was the newest member of the Miami office. A dedicated career agent, he’d undertaken some tough assignments while working for the DEA, and was the last person Mike would suspect of taking a bribe from a criminal gang. Joel Mancuso had been with the Bureau for ten years, and while he might not have Diego’s quick wit or knowledge of the Cuban Drug trade, he was conscientious, polite and had an impressive record for solving cases.

  That just left Bill Kennedy and Seth Anderson.

  Mike scrubbed a hand over his temples. It was no secret that Anderson despised Jack. He had never understood why, and put it down to a clash of personalities. But now he wondered if it wasn’t something more serious.

  Jack and Anderson had completed their basic training at the Academy at the same time. Anderson had done his two-year probationary period with the Anchorage office, while Jack had completed his in Boston. Their paths hadn’t crossed again until three years later, when they were both assigned to the Detroit office. That was the last time they’d worked together until fourteen months ago when they became part of his team.

  Mike could never figure out why Jack and Anderson hated each other. He was dimly aware of the decade-long feud and had been told to watch for it. But years of experience told him that was where he was going to draw the line. Now he wondered if his non-involvement had been the right course of action.

  From day one, the animosity between the two of them had been palpable. Jack visibly gritted his teeth in Anderson’s presence and Anderson balled his considerable fists whenever Jack walked his way. Mike had seriously considered having one or both of them transferred, but then the case Jack had been involved in crossed international borders and he’d gone to work in London.

  Jack was a damned good investigator, did everything by the book, and his record for solving cases was solid. However, Jack wasn’t averse to voicing his opinions and had been on the wrong side of more than one SAC during his time with the Bureau. But for all that, Mike trusted Jack’s judgement implicitly, and had put him forward for promotion to Assistant Special Agent in Charge.

  Anderson, on the other hand, was somewhat of an enigma. He never discussed his family or socialised with his co-workers after work or at weekends. Lately, he’d been even more withdrawn than usual, as if there was something troubling him. More than once Mike could have sworn a flicker of sadness interrupted Seth’s perennially stony expression.

  Mike spun the wheel and sent the car spinning through three hundred and sixty degrees. The tyres screamed in the dusk. It wouldn’t hurt to check the personnel files of those involved in the case. He punched three on his cell phone’s speed dial—home and Chrissie.

  ‘Hey, beautiful,’ he said.

  A woman sighed on the other end of the line. ‘When I’m ‘beautiful,’ that generally means you’re going be late.’

  ‘You know me so well.’

  ‘Thank God our marriage vows didn’t include showing up for dinner…which you’re not going to do, are you, Mike?’

  ‘Sorry, pet. Got a hot date with a big problem.’

  ‘Good thing I made a casserole. It’ll be in the microwave whenever you happen to show up.’

  Mike pursed his lips. ‘I love you, you know.’

  ‘I love you too. Probably more than I should.’

  The phone went dead in his ear. It was unlike her not to say her usual ‘bye’. He felt a sudden chill. Too much air conditioning, he rationalized. So she didn’t say goodbye. It was really nothing.

  Wasn’t it?

  The FBI building was in darkness save for the lights illuminating the security desk. Mike showed his pass to the agent on duty, and then jogged his way upstairs to his office. Once inside, he flicked on the desk lamp and dropped his briefcase onto the sofa in the corner of the room.

  Mike wasn’t the type of SAC who rode his agent’s backs. Normally he trusted them implicitly, but something about Jack’s concerns resonated with him. He spun the dial on his safe and pulled out a stack of brown folders.

  According to Anderson’s file, after he’d graduated college he’d done a short stint in the US Army before applying to become an agent. He’d passed all the intensive background checks and the physical, but had failed to be selected first time around. There was nothing unusual in that—often applicants were weeded out on the grounds that too many had applied that year. Not to be deterred, Anderson had reapplied twelve months later and been accepted on to the fifteen week training course at the Academy. Since graduating, his career had been unremarkable. He was a steady worker. Showed up when he was supposed to. Reported his cases just the way he was taught. Mike rubbed his chin. He’d never really realized it before, but with Anderson, it was as if this was just a job to him. Nothing more.

  Mike turned the page. Anderson had been investigated for misconduct. Once for passing on information to a reporter, although nothing was proven, and on the second occasion, for making derogatory sexual remarks to a female agent. He knew the agent in question. She’d done very well, and held an exceptional rank for someone her age. This explained why Anderson been turned down for promotion on more than one occasion. In the Bureau, memories were long.

  Mike leaned back in his chair. Ordinarily, Jack was a fair man and always looked at the bigger picture, but could the stigma attached to Anderson’s misconduct be the reason for Jack’s animosity?

  Agents had an unspoken code of honour and wouldn’t hesitate to turn a fellow agent in if they knew he’d done something illegal. Did Jack have something on Anderson—something that would link him to criminal activity?

  Mike shook his head. There was nothing in the files to support Jack’s supposition that Anderson had anything to do with leaked information. He checked his watch, nine thirty- five. Jack would be calling shortly. He stood, and rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his head from side to side.

  So Anderson was out. That left Bill Kennedy. Fifteen years into his twenty, he was marking time until retirement. Divorced twice, he’d been with the Miami office for seven years. Kennedy was by far
the most serious bastard Mike had ever met. How many times had he looked into those steel-coloured eyes and wondered what Kennedy was thinking? And how many times could he claim he knew? He used to tell himself that inscrutability was the mark of a good agent. But now Mike had other thoughts… had Kennedy been hiding something all this time?

  The squad room was empty, the computers silent. Mike picked up his empty mug. On the way to the coffee machine he paused at Kennedy’s desk. It looked as if the man had just moved in. There were no photographs, nothing of a personal nature to indicate whose workstation it was. He reached to open the top drawer, but, feeling like an intruder, withdrew. If he couldn’t trust members of his own team, then Chrissie was right, it was past time for retirement.

  The cell phone on his belt vibrated. His stomach growled as he propped a hip on the edge of the desk, reminding him of the casserole waiting for him at home.

  ‘Zupanik.’

  ‘Sir, this is Agent Baker from the computer forensics laboratory. That piece of paper with the numbers on, the one Agent Mancuso copied to me, I’ve finished running it through the computer and it turns out that it’s an IBAN number.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘An IBAN number—an International bank account number, used by the European Banks clearing system. IBAN numbers identify accounts at banks all over the world. They’re used to speed up the transfer of funds.’

  ‘That’s fine, but can you identify the bank and country where the account is located?’

  ‘Yeah, I can. The twenty four digits represent the country code, the clearing bank and the account number.’

  ‘I don’t need an explanation. Just tell me the name of the bank and the account number. You can put the rest of the details in an email.’

  ‘The Suisse Bank in Lausanne. Account number 0C1024502871CH.’

  ‘Any news on the laptop or notebook?’

  ‘Cryptology is still working on the notebook. As for the laptop, the hard drive has been re-formatted.’

  ‘You can’t salvage anything?’

  ‘When you format a hard drive, the software writes over the previously stored data. We’ve been able to reconstruct a virtual drive and re-create some of the files. Most of them are connected with Elliott’s accountancy clients, but three are encrypted. We’re working on those.’

  ‘Thanks for the update Agent Baker. Keep me informed.’

  ‘One more thing—’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Agent Mancuso sent us some videotapes from Miami International. We managed to enhance the pictures and pull off a picture of a woman who looks like she was travelling with your guy. She appears twice. Once chatting to Elliott as they wait in line at immigration, and later walking through the terminal building. Homeland Security is trying to match her face to a name and passport, and trace her seat allocation with the airline. In the meantime, I’m faxing over some still shots.’

  ‘As soon as you get a positive ID let me know.’

  Mike cut the connection. Finally, they were getting somewhere. The fax machine in the corner of the office buzzed and whirled into life. Slowly, the image of a woman appeared. He lifted it off the tray and stared at the grainy photograph. Apart from her shoulder length blonde hair, her features and eye colour were indistinct. He swore and wished that airports would replace the videotapes in their security cameras more often instead of re-using them.

  He started to punch in Jack’s cell phone number then thought the better of it. This information he would deliver in person.

  Back in his office, he returned the files to the safe and locked it, then picked up his briefcase and turned out the lights. Twenty minutes later, he turned into the drive of his home.

  Lights showed through the gap in the curtains covering the large bay window of the family room. Mike climbed out of the car and rubbed the left side of his chest, just below the ribcage. His ulcer was playing up again. He hoped Chrissie had gone easy with the peppers in the casserole.

  He always enjoyed coming home. No matter how badly the day had gone, Chrissie always welcomed him with a smile and a hug. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. The house was silent. He stood his briefcase on the hall table. Chrissie’s Cairn terrier, Briar, came running up to greet him, jumping up at his side for a pat and tummy rub.

  ‘In the kitchen,’ Chrissie called.

  Mike ruffled the small dog’s head then went in. Chrissie sat at the counter drinking her customary bedtime cup of hot chocolate. He planted a kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Sorry for being late.’

  Chrissie stood, and took the casserole out of the fridge.

  ‘You’re never home on time, Mike. It comes with the job, something I accepted years ago. I just wish you’d been around more when the kids were growing up.’

  Mike sighed. They’d had this argument almost weekly for the last thirty-one years. ‘I know. At least I can do right by David and Angie.’ He watched his wife spoon casserole on to a plate and cover it with film. The burning sensation in his chest hit a new high. His breath caught and he winced.

  ‘You get off to bed, I’ll see to that,’ he said taking the plate from her hand.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I know how to work the microwave. Go on, I’ll be up in a minute.’ He kissed her cheek and waited until she left the room, then took the jug of milk out of the fridge and poured some into a glass. The cold liquid soothed the burning in his stomach. He drained the glass and went back for a refill.

  Pain, unlike anything he’d experienced before, tightened like a vice around his heart, and pulsated down his left arm. The glass slipped from his grasp spilling its contents on the floor. Sweat popped on his brow; the room spun. Nausea rose in his throat as he struggled to breathe.

  He staggered across the room into the hallway. His outstretched hand gripped the banister, but the effort was too much. His semi-conscious body slumped to the floor; his wife’s name an unspoken whisper on his lips.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Grace woke with a rush of adrenaline. Muffled sounds came from downstairs. Wide-awake, she lay still, hardly daring to breathe. A rustle from the other side of the bed told her that Jack had heard the noise too.

  His lips brushed her ear. ‘Stay here,’ he breathed, and reached for the gun he’d left on the bedside table. ‘I’ll check out the house. Call Anderson—speed dial two on my cell phone—and tell him we have an intruder.’

  Grace bit back her scream, and watched him pull on his jeans. She wanted to protest, but knew she wouldn’t win the argument, so merely nodded her agreement.

  Semi-naked, Jack flipped the safety off his weapon, then crossed silently to the closed bedroom door and listened.

  Another muffled thump came from below.

  Sweat slid down his spine. His pulse kicked. He opened the door a mere inch. The light in the hall was on.

  He hadn’t left it that way.

  Jack weighed up the risk of staying put versus facing the intruder and decided he didn’t like the odds either way. He glanced briefly over his shoulder. Grace sat on the side of the bed, her arms folded across her chest, her breathing ragged. He gesticulated toward the bathroom, hoping she’d take the hint and lock herself in, do anything except sit there waiting for whatever fate would befall them.

  He put his ear to the door once more.

  Silence.

  He opened it a fraction. When no one slammed it into his face, he stepped onto the landing. His fingers tightened around the stock of his gun. He leaned over the banister and peered down into the hallway below.

  Empty.

  Keeping his back to the wall, he crept down the stairs. The marble floor tiles felt ice cold under his feet as he moved stealthily through the hall to the kitchen. Another muted noise came from inside. His heart rate picked up, sharpening his senses.

  The door was ajar, a thin ribbon of light showed through the crack. A suitcase stood on the floor next to the counter. He rammed into the door with the full weight of his body. ‘FBI
,’ he shouted. ‘Don’t move!’

  The woman stood next to the sink screamed. The glass slipped from her fingers, and shattered into vicious shards.

  ‘Keep your hands where I can see them, and turn around slowly.’

  For a long moment, Jack stared at her. Slender, and of medium height, with wavy blonde hair and brown eyes, she held her hands out by her side. As he approached, she lifted her chin, and boldly met his gaze.

  ‘Let’s see some identification,’ he ordered.

  The woman stiffened at the challenge. ‘In my purse on the table. I’m—’

  Grace appeared in the doorway, eyes and mouth wide open. ‘Catherine? Catherine! Oh, thank God!’ She rushed forward and seized her sister in a shuddering embrace. ‘I’ve been worried sick. Didn’t you receive any of my messages? How did you know where to find me?’