“Which fund are you researching, and why?” Beatrix asked.
“Why? Is that a national security issue too?” Leah fired back.
“What fund?” Morrison asked, his soft tone all the more menacing for how quietly he spoke.
Leah shifted in her seat and looked at Simon, who dipped his head. She sighed in resignation. “Palladium. Richard Davenport is the main partner. Or was. He committed suicide a couple of days ago.”
The agents exchanged a look. “So the interest in Terra Megatrends is tangential to your primary interest in Davenport’s fund?”
“That’s right.”
“Palladium is just an investor in Terra Megatrends. Terra Megatrends does classified work for the government, Ms. Mason, hence our presence here. We can’t discuss what kind, and I’d recommend you don’t research the company any further, or it could get awkward for you. But I can tell you that it isn’t important to Palladium except as a financial holding.”
“Right, but I need to know why Davenport invested in the company in the first place, and why it’s increasing in value on subsequent rounds by such a significant margin.”
Beatrix’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know what Terra Megatrends’ valuation is?”
“A little bird told me,” Leah fired back, her tone making it clear she was at the end of her willingness to cooperate.
Beatrix sat forward. “Here’s what I can tell you, Ms. Mason. Off the record. As in, you print a word of this and you’ll make some very powerful enemies. Understand?”
“Back to threats?” she asked.
Beatrix continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “Terra Megatrends does work that is of vital national security interest. Any discussion of its valuation, or anything else that could give hostile actors information they could use against the company, or its investors, or its employees, would be considered a violation of the National Security Act and would subject whoever was having the discussion to severe penalties, as well as endanger the government’s interests.” He paused. “Look, we’re not trying to bust your chops or tell you what to write about. We’re telling you that you just kicked a hornet’s nest you don’t want to mess with, and you’ve come to the interest of powerful forces you don’t want being your enemy. Do with that what you will. You want to continue down the Terra Megatrends road, it won’t go well for you, or for Mr. Garr here. And that would be a shame, because we have no beef with either of you. For the record, I’m a big fan of the First Amendment. But you don’t know what you stumbled into. Trust me – you don’t want any part of it.”
Leah digested that, and Simon rose. “I believe we understand each other perfectly, gentlemen. Allow me to consult with Ms. Mason and see if we can’t find a way for her story to remain unaffected by Terra’s absence from the narrative. It would seem it’s a footnote rather than a major player. I’m sure we can work something out.”
Morrison fixed Leah with a hard stare. “I hope so. It would be a shame for this to escalate over nothing.”
The agents left without another word, and Simon didn’t speak until the front door closed.
“If this Terra Megatrends isn’t Watergate crossed with the Mai Lai Massacre, I’d drop it and focus on other aspects of your story,” he said to Leah. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but I can tell you that if you have the feds show up on your doorstep to give you a proctology exam before breakfast, you should think twice about screwing with them.”
“The funny part is that I was just fishing with Terra. I wanted to see if they were a scam of some kind or not. That’s all.”
“I think we can safely say they’re no scam. So to keep the peace, leave them out of it.”
Leah held up her hands in surrender. “I got it. But tell me that wasn’t weird.”
“Oh, it was. I’ve been through a lot of things, but this was a first. They must be doing something serious for the government to warrant coming into my house and threatening to burn it down.”
“You think they’d really do that?” Leah asked.
“Let’s just say that there are few things in life that scare me at my stage, but bureaucrats who can do pretty much whatever they want since the Patriot Act are one of them. I’d take Morrison’s advice and drop Terra like it was radioactive.” Simon paused. “You said the fund manager killed himself?”
“That’s right.”
“Then is there still a story?”
Leah frowned. “I honestly don’t know. But I’m far enough down the rabbit hole now I might as well follow it through to the end.”
Simon fixed her with a hard stare. “Sans Terra. Agreed?”
“Yes.”
Simon managed a smile. “Everything else copasetic at work? You enjoying the gig? Going to make us all proud?”
Leah couldn’t help but blush. “I’m doing the best I can.”
Simon nodded. “Then I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.”
Chapter 34
Washington, D.C.
Lenny Bannister had spent the last two days rounding up every dime he could to get out of town. He’d been staying at his girlfriend’s apartment, but she’d grown increasingly agitated by his demeanor, and when her roommates had tired of him peering through the curtains at the street and acting like a fugitive, they’d read him the riot act and told him he wasn’t welcome there anymore.
Lenny’s nerves were frazzled after the call from Ron, telling him that he’d been shot and to come help him. Lenny had immediately intuited that if Ron had been hit, it was more than likely he would be too if he got anywhere near him, so he’d taken off in the car they’d hot-wired before the sirens started, leaving his partner in crime to fate.
The blackmail had been Ron’s idea, anyway. Ron was the smart one, the technically savvy one. Lenny had always been the helper, the hired muscle. Even so, he’d argued against it and cautioned that a big swinging dick like a congressman would have all kinds of clout they couldn’t even imagine, and that it wasn’t worth the risk to hit him up for money. But Ron had been persuasive, his reasoning being that Winters couldn’t afford to bring anyone else into it and that he was no doubt rich, so half a million was beer money to make a problem go away.
Lenny had kept a copy of the video, and the dongle in his pocket burned like an ember. He desperately wished he could just throw the damned thing away and rewind back a week, making good money taping johns at the whorehouse and not having to worry about getting a bullet to the back of the head or an ice pick to the spine at any moment. But that wasn’t how things worked. He’d crossed a line by going along with his buddy’s scheme, and now he was on the run, without the money and with unknown adversaries looking for him.
He assumed Ron had talked. There was no way he wouldn’t. If the situation were reversed, Lenny would have bawled like a baby and given up his own mother in exchange for mercy. He’d been in the world too long to believe in heroes, and Ron was no hero by any stretch of the imagination. Lenny tried to imagine what it must have felt like to take a bullet on a deserted Washington street, and shuddered.
Lenny hoisted his backpack and made a mental inventory of his assets. He had six hundred bucks in cash and a credit card with a two-thousand-dollar limit. He’d need to hold onto as much of the cash as possible, so he intended to pull out cash advances at as many ATMs as it took, take the metro to Virginia, and then hitchhike south until he was in the middle of nowhere. From there he’d take local buses from town to town until he made it to Texas, with his final destination Mexico. He was sure he could find some way to make a living there, even though he only spoke the Spanish he’d learned in high school. He could lay bricks or do something with his hands, and he figured maybe there was a statute of limitations on blackmail. He would check while he was killing time on the road. If there was, he could return to the States whenever the clock had run out, assuming he wanted to.
He looked both ways down the street and stepped onto the sidewalk, his head humming like a hive of bees. He was scared,
and he knew he wasn’t big in the brains department – the act of trying to think through a plan that would enable him to duck the cops had been agonizing beyond description. Lenny desperately wanted to get high, but he didn’t dare. He needed to get out of town in case there was an APB for him. He’d already stayed longer than he’d intended, but he’d been paralyzed into inaction while he’d mulled over what to do, and had figured he was safe at his shorty’s pad, at least for the weekend.
Lenny walked two blocks to a bank and slipped his credit card into the slot. He typed in his PIN, fudged it the first time, repeated the process, and requested the maximum amount the ATM would disgorge. The machine hummed and whirred, and then to his surprise a fat wad of new green bills slid into the tray and the machine asked him if he wanted anything else. He scooped up the money and counted eight hundred dollars in twenties, and tried asking for another eight hundred just for giggles. The machine hummed again and then told him that because of his account type, the transaction had been rejected.
He debated going into the bank to get the rest, but decided not to chance it. Instead, he pocketed the money and walked six more blocks until he came across another ATM. He repeated his transaction there and got another eight hundred dollars, which put a smile on his face; maybe he wasn’t so stupid after all.
Lenny stopped at a sandwich shop and wolfed down three fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies for breakfast before continuing on his way, walking rather than squandering his money on a taxi. He was strong as a bull and could walk for miles – and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.
Two hours later Lenny had taken the metro to the Vienna Metro station in Virginia and was standing on a side road that led to the freeway, with his thumb out, waiting for someone to take pity on him. He’d shaved off his goatee that morning at his girlfriend’s, so he didn’t look as scary as he usually did, and he figured that even if there was a Washington warrant out for him, Virginia cops would be unlikely to recognize him without the goat beard.
He’d been there for twenty-five minutes when an older Lincoln sedan pulled to the side of the road and the passenger window rolled down. A thin man with sickly skin and a porkpie hat looked him over and then called out to him. “Where you headed, buddy?”
“South,” Lenny said.
“We’re on our way to Front Royal. That help you at all?”
“Sure. That would be perfect,” Lenny said, and shrugged off his backpack.
“How do we know you aren’t packing or something?” the man asked. “Lotta psychos around.”
“You can look through my backpack if you want,” Lenny offered, his cash safely in his pocket.
“Lift your shirt,” the man said. Lenny did so, and the man looked to the driver. “He’s okay.”
“You wanna see my backpack?” Lenny pressed.
“Nah. Get in the car, in back, kid. You’re cool.”
Lenny swung the back door open and looked inside. Another man was seated behind the driver, reading a paper. The man looked at Lenny over his reading glasses. “What are you waiting for? Christmas?”
Lenny froze, something about the situation making him queasy. “Um, that’s okay. I’ll see if I can get a ride further south.”
The man with the paper lowered it and raised a pistol with a suppressor. “Get in the car, Lenny, or I’ll blow your kneecaps off.”
Lenny’s instinct was to run, but the driver also produced a gun and levelled it at his head. “Either get in the car or I pop you. We just wanna talk to you, is all. Don’t make this a bunch a drama.”
Lenny swallowed hard and his shoulders sagged. “How’d you find me?”
“Your phone, you dumb bastard. Now get in the car or you’ll be walking on sticks the rest of your miserable life.”
Chapter 35
Emeryville, California
Leah sat at her desk, going back through all the information she’d gathered about Ravstar, figuring that since Terra Megatrends was a dead end, the other large holding of Richard’s might yield some clues as to what he’d been up to. Even though Richard was dead, her curiosity about his fund’s actions had been sufficiently aroused, so she would follow through on the portfolio companies and his investors – if for no other reason than to tell Monte she’d done her due diligence and come up with nothing. It would look odd if she dropped a story she was working on midway through, and after her last editorial meeting, she was committed, whether she wanted to be or not.
On an impulse, she picked up the phone and called Susan Levins, the press contact for Ravstar. After a brief pause as the receptionist put her through, Susan came on the line. Leah explained that she was a journalist who was interested in interviewing Patrick Reagan, the president, and asked how she would go about doing so.
“What’s your angle?” Susan asked.
“Promising technologies of the future,” Leah said.
“How did you find Ravstar?”
“I saw an article on the scanner they’re building, and it intrigued me. I thought my readers might also find it interesting.”
“Let me have your number and I’ll see what Patrick’s schedule looks like. He tries to be available for the press, so you may be in luck. What’s your number?”
Leah gave Susan her office line. “Oh,” Susan said. “You’re in the Bay Area?”
“Yes. Emeryville.”
“That’ll make it much easier. I thought you might be calling from out of town.”
“I’d love to put this to bed for this week’s deadline, so if there’s any way to get me in to see him sooner than later…” Leah said.
“I’ll call him right now and get back to you.”
“Thanks, Susan.”
“You bet.”
Leah was watching a video interview of Patrick when her line beeped. She muted the video and answered the phone. It was Susan.
“He can see you either this afternoon or tomorrow,” she said.
Leah eyed her watch. “This afternoon would be awesome. What time?”
“Would three o’clock work for you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Great. I’ll be there to meet you in person and make introductions,” Susan said.
“Perfect. See you then.”
Leah disconnected and watched the rest of the interview to get a sense of the man she was going to meet. He seemed polished and professional but maybe a little too slick in his answers. She wondered whether she wasn’t being influenced by her perception of Richard as a huckster, and made a mental note not to walk into her meeting with any preconceptions. It was entirely possible that, like Terra Megatrends, Ravstar was legit, and that Richard’s larceny had ended with his earlier adventures – if you didn’t count his robbing his wife of their assets.
She tried not to think ill of the dead, but she couldn’t help it. For Heather’s sake, Leah hoped Richard had taken out insurance that would pay out in the event of a suicide. She wasn’t sure how that worked, so went online to research it and had her answer within minutes. Most life insurance policies would pay if the policy was at least two years old. Based on when Richard had started his fund, it might be close.
Leah scooped up her purse and stopped at Adam’s office on the way out, to remind him to check on Richard’s holdings. He smiled when he saw her in his doorway and stopped what he was doing on his computer.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
Leah frowned. “I had a weird morning.” She gave him a short summary of her meeting with the FBI.
“But in the end, they vouched for the company, right?” he asked.
“Yes. So I’m on my way to meet the CEO of the other one. But I wanted to ask if you’ve found anything on Richard. You said you were going to check with your friend at the credit bureau?”
He shook his head. “Damn. I’m sorry. I spaced on that. I’ll make the call right now.”
“I appreciate it. And also on the investors?”
“I put out feelers on them, and I pinged my buddy at the F
BI, but I haven’t heard anything back.”
Leah smiled. “I’m sorry to ask you to do all this. But you’re the one with all the contacts.”
“No problem. The favor bank is getting awfully full, though. Sounds like it might be time for a withdrawal pretty soon.”
Leah laughed. “Maybe toward the end of the week? I should be done with my research by then.”
“I’ll hold you to it. Thursdays are always popular.”
“I’ll just bet.”
Leah thumbed through her cell phone’s contact list as she made her way to the Honda. Once she was on the road, she dialed Heather’s number and put her on the car’s speaker system.
“Hello?” Heather said, her voice tremulous.
“Hi, Heather. It’s Leah. How are you feeling?”
“Like somebody hit me in the head with a brick. Why did you let me drink so much?” Heather complained.
“I tried to get you to slow down, but you were on a mission.”
“I’m paying for it today.”
“I’ll bet. Listen, I wanted to remind you to ask about insurance.”
“You read my mind. I just got off the phone with one of the juniors a few minutes ago. The short answer is yes, he had life insurance, and they’re going to have someone contact me today.”
“That’s great, Heather! Good for you.”
“Maybe. I don’t know whether it pays for suicide. But if it does, it’s five million.”
Leah was shocked by the amount, but realized she shouldn’t have been. Richard was, at least to outward appearances, a high net worth figure, so a larger policy would be expected. And if it was the fund paying the premium, why not?
“Wow. That should last you a while.”
“Assuming I get it. But remember I owe two million just on the house, so it sounds like more than it actually is.”
A Girl Betrayed (A Leah Mason suspense thriller Book 2) Page 19