There it was.
An outbound wire transfer in the amount of $16 million. When she hacked into another bank server in New York City, she discovered a corresponding inbound transfer. The account’s owner had a familiar name—Alec Specter.
As eleven o’clock rolled around, Specter and a roomful of law enforcement types stood in his study, waiting, staring at a cell phone on his desk. Beside the phone lay a pouch containing $20 million in precious stones. Specter had been surprised to learn that a fortune could be held in a sack no larger than a soda can.
At precisely midnight, the mobile phone made a beeping sound: a text message. The Chief picked up the phone, read it to the others.
“Get into the black Mercedes immediately. Head south on Interstate 95. Maintain speed at 55 M.P.H. Wait for further instructions.”
A group of four men attached to the Greenwich Police Department’s Special Response Unit, also known as the Swat team, crammed into the Mercedes carrying automatic weapons. The team leader exited the driveway as a second vehicle, a black SUV carrying another Swat team of four men, tailed the Mercedes from a distance. Following instructions, the driver of the sedan headed toward downtown Greenwich and onto the entrance ramp to Interstate 95.
Earlier in the day, James had timed the route in the Chevy from the Specter estate to the delivery location. He knew, at any given point, exactly where the Mercedes would be.
Twenty-two minutes after the sedan set out from the estate, James sent a text message.
A moment later, the cell phone beeped in the Mercedes.
LOOK FOR A RED FLAG ON THE GUARDRAIL. PULL OVER AND STOP BESIDE IT. YOU’LL FIND AN OPEN PIPE NEXT TO THE FLAG. YOU HAVE SIXTY SECONDS TO EMPTY THE DIAMONDS INTO THE PIPE AND DRIVE OFF.
The Mercedes rolled along an elevated section of the freeway above the Bronx. Three minutes later, the driver saw the flag. He pulled over to the shoulder and brought the sedan to a stop. The second Swat team following the Mercedes was left with only one option, continue past the sedan and drive to the next freeway exit ramp—a five-mile trip—then double back to the drop location.
This particular stretch of Interstate 95 was elevated fifty feet above the ground, a rail yard stretching out below. Moving with lightning speed, the team leader bolted from the car, fully clad in body armor, his machine gun at the ready. Quickly, he emptied the bag of gems into the open pipe.
Now realizing the plan didn’t involve the recipient collecting the gems on the freeway, the Swat team leader shouted commands to his unit. They lashed ropes to the bridge railing and slid to the rail yard below. In a blur of frenzied movement, the team searched the yard, ultimately finding no one. One of the men noticed a small PVC pipe extending from the bridge railing to the ground and through a small hole in a manhole cover. They scurried to remove the cover, only to discover it had been welded shut.
The team leader shouted, “Spread out and find some more manholes.”
In minutes, two were located, but they also were sealed. The team leader aimed his flashlight into the hole of a manhole cover, shouted again.
“Somebody find out where this tunnel leads!”
Damn it.
A man on his team spoke into a small microphone, echoing the request, but the evening’s late hour would cause a delay in getting the information.
Below the manholes, an eight-foot square storm drain collected surface water from a nearby watershed. The underground tunnel ran a long distance before discharging into Long Island Sound.
Beneath the feet of the Swat team members, James was in the tunnel.
Waiting.
A cascade of diamonds came pouring into a bag he had attached to his end of the pipe.
Only fifteen feet of earth separate me from a pack of angry men who’d like to kill me.
As he turned his attention to the bag, he found among the sparkling gems a tiny electronic transmitter. Dropping it on the concrete, he smashed the device under his boot. He placed the bag in a jacket pocket and closed the zipper. He then sat atop an all-terrain vehicle and started the engine. A light on the ATV cut the pitch darkness as he sped through the enclosed concrete box. The knobby tires hydroplaned above a four-inch base of storm water. His speed now topping 40 M.P.H., liquid displacement shot water at the tunnel walls. Thirty seconds later, James completed the half-mile journey from the delivery location to the tunnel’s opening at the Sound.
Emerging from the darkness, the cool night air enveloped him as distant lights glistened from the Sound. He quickly abandoned the ATV and scaled a nearby embankment. At the peak, Kate awaited him.
“You made it.” She looked him over. “And in one piece.”
He removed his wet suit. “That was a blast.”
“And the diamonds?”
James patted his jacket pocket. “Right here.”
Kate packed a pair of night-vision binoculars into a duffel bag. “A small army was roaming above your head.”
“I’m not surprised.”
After lugging the gear a hundred yards, they came upon the Chevy and James lowered a duffel bag from his shoulder, putting it in the trunk.
“Time to get the hell out of here.”
James settled into the driver’s seat.
Ten minutes later, the Swat teams located the tunnel outlet near the Sound, an ATV sitting nearby. The first Swat team leader kicked the ATV with brute force.
“Damn it.”
The second team leader looked on.
“Easy! That’s evidence.”
His head slumped to his chin. “Somehow, I doubt it.”
James drove fifteen miles to a hotel surplus parking lot where he ditched the car. Now an orphan, the Chevy was sanitized, the plates and VIN numbers removed. The gear was burned, bagged and tossed into a dumpster. Afterward, he hailed a taxi and rode with Kate to an all-night diner in New York City. Settling into a booth in a back corner, they were approached by a waitress who brought coffee. James set about inspecting the gems, pulling one from the bag and glancing around to be sure no one was paying attention. He rolled the gem between a finger and his thumb and held a magnifying glass in his other hand.
Kate eventually spoke. “Well?”
He scrutinized the gem.
“Flawless.”
She fidgeted in her seat as he inspected a few more stones.
“We’re good,” James told her.
Kate took a sip of coffee and glanced at the bag of diamonds.
“We have to convert these into cash. After Kowalski’s death last night, it’s obvious this isn’t over.”
“I’m not exactly overjoyed about the things we’re doing, but it beats winding up in the morgue.”
“What now?” Kate asked.
“Do you recall the concept of asymmetrical warfare? We’ve discussed it in the past.”
“Sure, The Art of War, by Sun Tzu. The Chinese military strategist.”
“Right.”
“In the book, he describes his strategy. If you’re the weaker opponent, seize the resources of your stronger opponent, then use them against him.”
“Like with Alec Specter. Get at his ill-gotten money and use it against him.”
“Exactly.”
James eyed the diamonds. “It’s Europe or bust.”
“Europe?”
“Antwerp, Belgium. It’s where the exchange is located, the largest diamond center in the world.”
Kate raised an eyebrow.
It was time to get going and catch the Amtrak train back to Washington. But one more thing needed to be done. Send a delivery confirmation to Specter.
James removed a cell phone from his pocket.
Kate looked at him. “But he tried to double cross us.”
James sighed. “I cannot argue with that.”
A long silence.
James held the secure phone in his hand.
“Oh hell, do it,” Kate finally said.
He grinned and typed a text message into the phone, then he pressed the Send key.
DELIVERY APPROVED. HAVE A PLEASANT NIGHT. JACKASS.
CHAPTER 15
Senator Henry Ward stared out a window in his office as early glimmers of sunlight bathed the National Mall in a yellowish glow. He had come into the office early, and an hour would pass before his two assistants arrived, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Having scrapped his way up through the ranks, he was now a five-term U.S. Senator and his sixty-fifth birthday was not far off.
But he had a problem.
He was burned out.
Somewhere off in the distance, a phone was ringing, and the noise jolted him back into the present.
Let the service pick it up.
Ward reminisced about seeing freshmen legislators coming into Congress, brimming with optimism and plans for change, only to see their aspirations dashed. Senator Ward had once been such a man.
He then decided to make a phone call, and as the phone rang at the other end of the line, he waited.
Three rings … four … five …
Finally, a female voice.
“Hi there. It’s a little early for business, isn’t it?”
“I need to see you.” His tone was urgent.
“When? I’m not even dressed.”
“Now!”
“Why the rush? Can’t it wait until …”
“No. It can’t,” he told her. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Okay.”
He exhaled a sigh of relief.
The drive over to her place was a blur, and his car literally steered its way there. He found a parking spot near a condo building—a low-rise in downtown D.C. Entering the outer lobby, he stepped to a directory mounted on the wall. Scrolling down, he pushed the button opposite a name. The door buzzed, and he entered an elevator and rode to an upper floor. He stopped outside the door to an apartment, glancing quickly up and down the hallway before wrapping his knuckles on the door.
A moment passed.
Then the door swung open.
Standing before him, a striking brunette flashed a radiant smile displaying white, straight teeth as locks of dark brown curly hair fell lightly on her shoulders, framing the delicate features of her face. Her low-cut silk blouse revealed abundant cleavage, and a short skirt clung tightly to her firm backside and shapely legs.
“Hey, stranger!” she beamed.
Ward stepped quickly inside, pressing his mouth firmly against hers. His hands moved immediately below her waist. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He drew back to get a better look at her.
“You’re gorgeous,” he gushed.
Her voice was playful.
“Happy to see me?”
He grinned and moved past her to the sofa.
“How about a drink, Tiffany?”
“I’ve got a bottle of champagne in the fridge.” She went into the kitchen and opened it.
“Perfect, we’ll celebrate.”
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, curious.
“Something really big, huge. It’s going to change our lives.”
She sat next to him on the sofa, a glass of champagne in each hand.
“This is intriguing.”
He filled her in on the details of the covert operation involving the U.S. Senate. Unknown to either of them, their conversation was being videotaped by one of several cameras discreetly planted inside ventilation grills within the apartment. Six blocks away, in a hotel room, Boris monitored every movement, every word spoken.
Tiffany stroked Ward’s thigh with her fingers, her nubile body rubbing against him. Fantasies of stealing away to the tropics with his mistress raced through his mind. At this moment, he could think of nothing more appealing. He adored her.
She began life on the mean streets of inner-city Detroit. Drawn to the excitement and power of Washington, D.C., she applied—and was quickly accepted—as one of Ward’s interns. He taught her the ropes, placing her in touch with his considerable connections around town.
Tiffany eventually became a lobbyist with ten years of experience under her belt. The Senator felt a sense of pride: he had played a big part in her swift rise to the top. A natural, she played the game better than anyone, though her moral compass had been misplaced somewhere along the way. It had been gradual, but money and power soon changed her. Behind Tiffany’s beauty and sensuality lurked a different person.
Ruthless. Hard as nails. Just like the Senator.
Feeling the champagne, he began to paw at her blouse, groping her. With the bottle emptied, the unlikely pair scampered into the bedroom. In no time, their clothing was shed and scattered on the floor. Both of them on the bed, Tiffany reached down and scooped up his belt and necktie, then lashed his wrists to her bedposts. Slithering on top of him, she was like a wild cat.
He pleaded with her.
“Take it easy. You’ll give me a heart attack.”
“I can’t think of a better way to go, can you?”
He tasted her in every place, and she performed acts on his wish list.
“Your lips. The way you use them.” His voice was spasmodic. “You’re amazing.”
The fun and games continued into late morning, and Ward eventually exhausted himself. Completely naked, Tiffany bounced into the kitchen, searching for food.
Close by in the hotel, Boris stared at his computer screen. He leered at her body, lewd fantasies running through his mind.
Turning to his duties he prepared a detailed report for the Deacon. The task complete, he began imagining the things he would do to her.
When the time comes.
CHAPTER 16
James entered the living room of the townhouse in Georgetown and found Kate asleep on the sofa, her face aglow in yellow rays of sunlight coming through a bay window. He leaned in and gently planted a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes opened and when she sat up he settled beside her, stretching his legs from an early-morning run.
“I guess we’re wealthy,” she joked, referring to the diamonds they had liberated from Alec Specter.
“Very funny.”
“I’ve decided to go with you,” she said, her tone serious.
“To Europe?”
“No. The North Pole. Where do you think?”
“Why?”
“I don’t feel comfortable being here alone. If I am going to be hunted, I’d rather have you at my side. Besides, I was thinking of going to Belgium by way of Paris.”
“That’s sweet. Alright with me.”
Kate went into the kitchen and began preparing breakfast while James made a call to an old friend. Having known each other for several years, James and Thomas Lynch had met at a time when James was becoming involved in Special Operations. These sometimes required advisory roles played by influential people.
In his late-thirties, Lynch had been a regular fixture of the Washington scene for a long time. An only child, he was born into a position of wealth and privilege, and when his parents passed away in recent years, the bright young man was left with a considerable fortune.
Since then, Lynch Industries had grown rapidly. He had leveraged a handful of companies built by his father, both in government contracting and the oil industry.
Thomas Lynch was a very wealthy man.
Charming and handsome, he and James had been drinking buddies prior to James’ marriage to Kate. Meanwhile Lynch had remained single.
And while Thomas Lynch enjoyed the life of a jet-setting playboy, he was an active philanthropist, making sizable donations to a variety of prominent charitable organizations around the nation’s capital, and in the process gaining a position in Washington society. Having been appointed by the President as the United States Ambassador to France, he enjoyed certain privileges applying only to persons of his position. Specifically, relaxed Customs procedures for American diplomats at private jet terminals—exactly what Kate and James needed.
“How are you, James?” Thomas began, pleased to be getting a call from his close friend.
�
��Good thanks.”
James tried to keep the conversation casual.
“How’s Kate?”
“Fine, never better.”
They talked for a few minutes, covering a variety of topics. When James mentioned his plans for traveling to Europe, Thomas generously offered the use of a plane owned by Lynch Industries, a Challenger 605. It’s range was more than four-thousand miles, allowing for trips across the Atlantic.
“Take the Challenger,” Thomas insisted, not interested in asking a lot of questions. By now, he had grown accustomed to his friend’s unconventional lifestyle.
When James told Kate about the kind gesture, she asked whether Lynch would be joining them on the crossing.
Somewhat puzzled by the question, he turned and looked at her. “No. It’ll just be the two of us, and the crew, of course.”
Before they packed the luggage, James inserted the diamonds—two hundred gems in all—inside a pair of half-inch diameter round tubes. Both were painted black to match one of the suitcases. Placing caps over the ends of the tubes, he situated the thin cylinders in the suitcase so that, to a casual observer, they appeared to be a part of the bag’s metal frame.
“What about the FBI,” Kate said. “They might knock on the door of the townhouse and find we’ve gone.”
“It’s only for a day or so. We’ll just have to chance it.”
At Dulles International Airport, a taxi delivered the couple to a tarmac where the Challenger was parked beside a private jet terminal. It was an impressive sight; the aircraft had been polished to a bright luster, the mid-morning sun glistening off its sleek exterior. Two customs agents drove up in a van, checking passports and conducting a brief cursory inspection of the plane’s interior. James presented falsified documents for Kate and himself. After an agent looked them over, they scurried up the stairs and entered the plane.
Ten minutes later the jet barreled down the runway, its nose climbing into the air. Once the aircraft leveled off, the crew served food and beverages. The couple then settled into a pull-out sofa for the seven-hour trip. Kate began reading a mystery novel and James slept through most of the flight, exhausted and wanting to escape their troubles.
The Tangled Webb Page 5