Henry Wood Detective: Boxed Set (Books 1 - 4)

by Brian Meeks

  Henry heard feet in the hallway, but they stopped and went into another office. He dialed Mike, and the phone rang three times. He was about to hang up when Mike answered, sounding tired, “Hello, Mike here.”

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “Oh, hey, Henry. Yes, I was, but it's okay. Did you look into any of those names?”

  “I’ve had an interesting day. You want to meet Francis and me at The Dublin Rogue around seven?”

  “Sure, I'll be up from the second half of my nap by then.”

  “Go back to sleep.” Henry hung up the phone and realized he was feeling rather beat, too. He went out and locked the office door. Grabbing his hat, he returned to the chair. He leaned back, put the hat over his eyes, and propped his feet on the desk. Any detective worth his salt knew how to sleep almost anywhere. It didn’t take long before he was out.

  Henry was dreaming of being chased when the knock at the door woke him. The rapid, almost apologetic, rather frantic knock could only be one person. Henry yelled, “Be right there, Bobby.” He lumbered out to the door and let him in.

  “Hey, Henry, how you doing? Were you asleep? Sorry about that. I was talking to Ivan, and he said you were working today.”

  “Well, I did for …”

  Bobby interrupted, “Sleeping on the job, eh?” Then he laughed in his nervous sort of way. “I haven’t found anything new. I just wanted to know if you had. I'm sure there is more to this case than we think. I was thinking the other day, I think it was before the game, no it was after. Boy, that was fun, thanks again for taking me. Did you see the Dodgers won again last night?”

  “I did.” Henry answered quickly, knowing that a longer sentence didn’t have a chance of being wedged into his stream of rambling.

  “I know, I know, I know, it's exciting. They are going to do great this year. So I was thinking about the Daniel Kupton case, and there has to be a lot more going on here than we can tell.”

  “I agree.”

  “You do? Great minds, I guess. So you got any new leads? Where is Celine?” Bobby slapped himself on the head, then continued, “Oh, wait a minute, it's Saturday. She doesn’t work. I can’t believe I just asked that. Anyway, Ivan said some guys came to see you. I was talking to him downstairs. He had to repair the sink in the women’s bathroom on the 7th floor and was just coming back from the hardware store, but that isn’t important. I guess they didn’t know you usually don’t work on Saturdays. Why are you working?” Bobby stopped and looked at Henry, almost surprised he didn’t answer immediately.

  Henry wasn’t sure if he was just pausing for a breath or if he really wanted an answer. When a second passed and Bobby hadn’t started up again, he said, “To be honest, I forgot it was Saturday. I got a call from Mike this morning, and, to answer your other question, I do have more to fill you in on.” Henry stopped for a moment, expecting some sort of dancing about, but Bobby just stared at him. He did have a smile on his face, though. “Tell you what. I'm meeting Mike and Francis for dinner at The Dublin Rogue. Why don’t you come along? I’ll tell you all about it then.”

  Now he was excited. “That sounds great. What time?”

  “7:00 p.m. as Francis wanted to finish up some writing.”

  “Got it, see you there.” Bobby wheeled around and dashed out of the office.

  Henry liked the strange little man, though he couldn’t really explain why. He looked at his watch and kicked his feet up on the desk. He napped some more.

  CHAPTER 53

  Lawrence looked everywhere but couldn’t find his jacket. If his mother found out, she would be really sore at him. He didn’t want that; she had the ability to yell for what seemed like days, then follow it up with a guilt trip that never seemed to end. She was listening to the radio, so he snuck out the kitchen door and crept past the living room window to reach his car on the street. He started the car and pulled out before she had a chance to stick her head out and holler at him.

  He was supposed to meet his friends in an hour, but Lawrence really wanted to find his jacket. He was going to be late. The drive out to Long Island Iron Works was uneventful. He pulled up to the gate and showed the guard his badge; he explained that he had left something in his locker before the guard could ask what he was doing there on a Saturday night.

  It was strange to see the plant at night. The guys had explained that a few years ago there were three shifts per day, seven days per week. When the company started to struggle, they had to cut back. They laid off a bunch of workers. The parking lot had a few old cars up near the door, so Lawrence parked next to them. He figured they were either guards or janitors. The buildings looked strange; there were but a few lights, and it was eerily quiet. Lawrence walked up to the door. It was open, which seemed strange. He had expected the guard in the lobby to need to let him in.

  Lawrence was painfully aware of his footsteps as he approached the desk; they seemed to echo. It was so empty and quiet. He peered over the desk. The tiny lamp was on and a crossword puzzle was partially finished in pencil, but there wasn’t a guard. He must be on rounds, Lawrence thought. Still, he wished he could see someone.

  He went down the hall and through the door and made his way to the plant floor. His locker was in the next building. Lawrence stuck to the wide paths between the massive machines and made it to the side door. He crossed over to building B, and it was just as empty as the last one. The stillness was upsetting. He wanted to check for his jacket and get back to the car as quickly as possible. Lawrence eased the locker open and there it was, hanging right where he had left it.

  As soon as he saw it there, he remembered why he had left it. He was going to the bar with the guys and didn’t want to get drunk and forget it there. Instead, he had gotten drunk and couldn’t remember much of anything. He looked at his watch after sliding on the leather coat and flicking up the collar. He really liked how cool he felt when he put it on.

  Lawrence nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the talking. There were three men walking towards him, but what were they saying? It wasn’t English. He didn’t know why he felt the need to hide, but he did anyway. He moved behind the machine nearest the lockers and, as the men walked past him, he noticed their tone. It was very serious. The one man seemed to be giving commands or instructions while the other two kept saying ‘dah.’ He saw them through a gap. They looked like normal guys until the guy in charge said something, and one of the other guys raised his hand in a sort of salute. It was dark, but they were passing under one of the lights, and it was easy to see the leader had a gun in the waistband of his pants.

  Maybe they were guards, he thought, but they weren’t wearing uniforms. All the other guards had them on. Also, why weren’t they speaking English? Lawrence peered into the walkway as the men neared the other end. He was about to get out of there when he saw them turn towards the restricted area.

  In his entire life, he had never been brave. There were times, when he was with his friends, that he had gotten into scraps, but it wasn’t because he was tough. It was because he was more afraid of getting teased or being called a coward. In his mind, an argument was raging. One side wanted him to get out and report to Henry while the other side was clear that more information would be better. It might even be vital. He could hear Henry asking what he did after he saw them go into the restricted area. Lawrence didn’t want to say he ran like a frightened school girl. He stood there for at least three minutes, unable to move forward and unwilling to flee. Finally, he imagined uncovering something important and Henry telling their client, the very attractive Amy, how brave he had been.

  His legs started walking towards the restricted area. His mind was thinking about how he had run into Amy at the beginning of the week and how good she smelled. When he arrived at the door, the thought that it might make a noise brought him back to reality. Was his breathing really loud? It seemed deafening. Lawrence couldn’t hear the men talking; still, he waited a few more moments. The sound of a pry bar opening a crate was disti
nctive but muted through the heavy metal door. Lawrence eased the door open, holding his breath. It was well oiled and silent. He started to breathe again.

  They weren’t in the production area, but he could hear them near the final inspection and packing section. Lawrence crept over to the machine he had worked on. It was a massive contraption with a ladder so that one could get on top of it to service it. He slowly climbed to the top. It was dark and seemed safe up there. He watched the men open the crates. Lawrence watched for almost half an hour. He couldn’t figure out what they were doing. They would pull the parts out of one crate, then carry them to another one and put them inside. The parts from the second crate were then moved back to the first crate. When they finished with the first set, they started on another pair. It was a clue, he was sure, but he had no idea what it meant. It was time to leave, and he made his way out of the plant without being seen or heard. Lawrence was quite proud of himself; he could barely contain his excitement as he drove to meet his buddies. He had been brave. He hoped Henry would say something to Amy.

  CHAPTER 54

  Oleg was energized by the cold and damp. The fog painted the New York streets. To him, it looked exactly how he imagined it would when he was first recruited to be a spy. In his entire career he had never felt more alive. The walk would be longer than required not only because he was cautious but also because he wanted to savor the sights and smells.

  He lit a cigarette, turned down an alley, and came out the other side. Oleg pulled his hat down over his eyes, playing the part, and smoked as he leaned against a building for a minute. Nobody followed him through the alley. It was a bit disappointing. He would have preferred to shake a half a dozen foreign operatives, but the truth was that the CIA was running in circles. It was really much less challenging than he had imagined. Still, he checked his coat pocket for the Markarov PM and, feeling it, continued evading imaginary pursuers.

  Oleg didn’t know his contact’s name or anything about him. He knew that he had been a deep undercover operative for many years waiting to be put into service. How many nights must he have checked the first drop point? Oleg thought. It must have been something to finally see the bolt lying there. A lone cab slowed down, and the driver asked if he wanted a ride. Oleg wondered if it was another agent, so he leaned in and politely said, “No, thanks.” He didn’t know what most cabbies looked like in New York, but he imagined this one was typical. He looked and smelled like the foul beasts he knew from Moscow, though perhaps a little more sober.

  When Oleg arrived at the heavy metal door, he knocked. A little panel slid to the side, and two eyes peered out at him. “I’d like a piece of pie,” Oleg said.

  The panel slid back closed and a massive bolt clanked. A man, probably 6’ 7” tall, weighing well north of 350 pounds and in a tuxedo, opened the door and held it while Oleg went inside. There was a brick hallway and another door at the other end. Oleg wasn’t sure what sort of place this was, but, when he got to the end of the hall and heard the door behind him close and lock, it became apparent. The crowd noise was unmistakable; it was an underground casino.

  After seeing the doorman, Oleg felt he might be underdressed. Once the door opened and he saw the crowd, he relaxed. The staff was all dressed to the nines and there were people wearing formal evening attire, but most people looked pretty much as he did. There were some nice looking ladies at the tables, and he wished he had brought more cash. Oleg put the thought out of his head and went to the bar.

  The music was good and the place was packed despite the hour. The choice of the meeting place was good. It would be impossible for another agent to get in without showing a badge and, if he did that, there would be a stampede. A blond woman sat down, crossed her legs, looked him in the eye, and asked for a light. Oleg smiled and held out the lighter. She leaned in, lit it, and said, “Last booth in the back on the left.” She smiled one more time and slinked away.

  The back room was dark and smoky. There were couples in most the booths, whispering or groping, and it wasn’t as noisy as the main room. Oleg slid into the booth. “A piece of pie?”

  “It wasn’t my idea; they change it every couple of days. The place runs ads in The New York Times “Help Wanted” section. If you don’t know which ads to piece together, you won’t get the code. We could learn a thing or two from the Italians.”

  “It’s a good place to meet.”

  A couple, drunk and giggling, got up and left the booth behind theirs. Both men stopped talking for a moment until they were gone. Oleg then asked, “You have a status report for me.”

  “Yes. The CIA has been monitoring the Americans and our man at Kupton. About a week ago, the Americans started to get paranoid and stopped talking on the phones or in their offices even though most of them had no idea what was going on.”

  “What made them so cautious?”

  “I couldn’t say, but as soon as they stopped talking, the top guys really started to sweat. I can say with confidence they don’t have any idea what is going on. They both suspect we are up to something but haven’t found a single clue.”

  “So everything is water tight?”

  “Well, there is one wild card.”

  “Oh?”

  “When I had to eliminate Kupton, I made it look like a suicide and everyone bought it except for his secretary. She hired a private detective who figured out it had been staged. Beyond that, he doesn’t have anything. In fact, he is helping us somewhat.”

  “How so?”

  “Dewey and Gilbert are sweating bullets. Their careers are on the line and this Henry Wood character was talking to the FBI earlier. They are playing way out on the margins with this one. If the FBI finds out, it will be a mess. So, they are worried about getting caught by their government; they don’t know what the plan is; and you put the fear of God into your old nemesis Gilbert today. He thinks you're here to kill him. They assume that Pytor is alive, too, but, as of yet, nobody has found him. They just don’t have the resources to track him down. You will be home to your lovely wife Oxana before you know it and likely with a promotion.”

  “That is perfect.” Oleg said but wondered to himself who this guy was and how he knew about his history with Gilbert. Did he outrank him? The way he talked made him wonder. If that were the case, then he must report straight to Khrushchev or Shelepin. The man sitting across the table looked young, but it was hard to tell in the dimly lit booth. It didn’t matter; the wheels were in motion. He assumed Pytor was handling his end, so he finished his drink and went back to the main room. Oleg looked around for the blonde woman. When he didn’t see her, he left.

  CHAPTER 55

  Richard had returned from the meeting Friday night and retired to his library. He had finished off a bottle of 20-year-old Scotch, slept on the couch, and taken breakfast at his desk. He was glad his family was in London, but he knew that they were not safe if things went cockeyed. He had served in the RAF and faced death, but this was different somehow. It was his inability to put a finger on how, which kept him up most of the night.

  During the war, he flew a Supermarine Spitfire and was the squad leader. He had lives in his hand every day, and most days, there were fresh-faced kids strapping on their chutes and replacing the men who flew before. He had some who came down from Glasgow and Edinburgh, Newcastle, and Blackpool; he had twins from Bridlington, and he had a crazy ace from Scunthrope who all fought the good fight. Richard did his level best to keep them safe through training, tactics, and a keen understanding of the human spirit. He believed that if you knew a person, then their fear could be turned into a weapon and create a greater chance for victory. Richard got his knighthood because of such victories.

  When he awoke the answer came to him. He wasn’t the squad leader of his family; he was a husband and father. It was his duty to protect them even if his skill as a pilot was vastly superior to that of being a parent. He must find a way out of this mess. He spent all of Saturday sequestered in the library. He considered every option a
s best he could, and, when he finally emerged and went to bed that night, he knew who the enemies were and that he must gather his troops.

  His butler greeted him Sunday morning, “You look refreshed, sir. I trust you had a good night’s sleep.”

  “Thank you, Jeremy, I did.”

  “Shall I tell the kitchen you're ready for breakfast?”

  He snapped open the paper, “That will be fine.” His eyes traveled over the articles, not really taking any of it in. It would be unusual for him not to read the paper first thing, so he continued his routine. Routine was important for a clear head. A clear head would be paramount to his plan. He would make the first call at 9:00 a.m.

  * * *

  Charles had spent his Saturday pacing. He couldn’t get the image of John’s last moments out of his head. He didn’t talk or eat; he just walked. Charles had tried to sleep both Friday and Saturday but failed miserably. By Sunday, he was a wreck. When the phone rang, he didn’t answer it at first; he just let it ring. It rang at least a dozen times, then stopped. Twenty seconds later, it started again. He pulled himself together and said, “Hello, Charles Hudson here.”

  “Charles, old boy, how are you feeling on this glorious Sunday?”

  “I feel like crap. Why are you so, how do you like to say, chipper?”

  “I wasn’t yesterday, but today I feel better. Had a bit of the drink when I got home Friday and paid for it yesterday, but now I'm right as rain and am seeing things clearly.”

  Charles wasn’t really listening, but what he did hear didn’t make any sense at all. “What do you want?”

  “Do you remember that place we went after we met that blonde stewardess…”

  “The one from Scotland with the huge…”

  “Yes.”

  “Sure, it was over on 54th street. A place called O’Mally’s.”