by Linzi Basset
“What trust?” Keon growled in his usual guttural tone.
“It’s called the Wattley Trust, but that’s the only information we’ve been able to uncover. All the details about ownership have been tightly sealed,” Richard said.
“Is it possible the Sixth Order confiscated the company? I mean there’s no doubt they were responsible for Flint’s death.” Ethan got up to fill his cup. “Anyone want a refill?”
“Yeah, please.” Keon held out his cup. “It’s one possibility. They’d be stupid not to have taken the precaution before they killed him. The liquidity of the company alone would benefit them. I won’t be surprised if someone from the Sixth Order owns shares or sits on the board of Crown International. It’s how syndicates and the mafia operate, to ensure they maintain some control over their operatives.”
“Not to mention that it’s probably the shell company they use for their money laundering operation,” Lance interceded.
“You said the transfer happened a week before his death, Richard.” Bruce waited for his verification. “In that case, how could they have managed to take over while he was in charge?”
“Easy.” Jack leaned forward in his chair. “They could’ve convinced the board to issue a vote of no confidence in him as the owner/CEO and take over in that way. It verifies Keon’s speculation that they might have someone on the board.”
“Brad Flint was able to fool the world; I shudder to think who else is involved, let alone the main leaders of the Syndicate,” Ethan said.
“Doesn’t Flint have any siblings?” Bruce asked Alex. “If memory serves, he was married in his early twenties, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. He fathered twins, a boy and a girl.” Alex frowned in thought. “Flint just turned fifty-five, which means the twins must be at least thirty years old. From what I know, he never had a relationship with them. The divorce was anything but amicable and his ex-wife moved to Europe after it was finalized.”
“We’ll look into that.” Max turned to Richard. “Keep digging into that trust. If need be, we’ll visit the County Recorder’s Office. You have a contact there, don’t you, Ethan?”
“Yes. My cousin is one of the department heads but we’ll have to approach it carefully. I wouldn’t want to compromise her integrity or the position she’s in.”
“Of course. Whatever information she could safely provide might be more than we have at the moment,” Max said. “It would be to our advantage to know who the beneficiaries of that trust are.”
“And theirs, I’d say,” Rhone interjected. “Whoever they are, is in danger if the Syndicate wasn’t involved in the transfer. They might be after the company now that Flint is dead.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Richard maneuvered the wheelchair around the table, heading toward the door.
“While you’re at it, remember to see what you can find out about Flint’s twins and his ex-wife,” Jack called after him.
“Roger that.” Richard’s baritone echoed from the hallway just as the door closed behind him.
“What are you thinking, Jack?” Max studied him closely.
Jack shrugged. “Just a hunch. Let’s see what you can find first.”
“Anyone for another fill-up?” Ethan asked as he filled his cup again.
“One would think as a doctor you know too much coffee isn’t good for you,” Bruce taunted him. He threw a bottle of mineral water at Ethan who caught it deftly in the air. “There, have one of those.”
“Not before I’ve had at least two more of these,” Ethan quipped. “Bottoms up, mate,” he taunted Bruce with a salute of his cup before he took a deep sip.
“Now, mates, for the real reason I’m here,” Alex’s booming voice drowned their banter.
“I knew it was more than sharing our morning refreshments with us,” Rhone said with a chuckle. “Shoot, mate.”
Alex looked around the room. They still treated him with the same camaraderie and love they always had, even after he took the role of Governor. It was friendships like theirs that a man treasured above all else in his life. He felt bad that he was pushing the boundaries of their friendship with the request he was about to make. But they were the best qualified for the operation. He dragged in a deep breath.
“I know you mentioned you didn’t want further involvement with Government issues, but I need your help. It’s a case of National Security and potentially involves one of the major syndicates in the US, possibly the Sixth Order.” Alex’s voice echoed around the room until it settled in the silence that followed. He sat quietly. Waiting.
Rhone looked at his friends and partners in Precision Secure. None showed any emotion, but he knew all of them felt like he did. He sighed heavily.
“As long as the Sixth Order is out there, we’ll never be able to stop. For one thing, they have their sights set on us. We’re not going to give them a head start. We want to be the ones up their asses, not the other way around.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Keon interjected. “They use people and don’t care who they hurt or kill in the process. We need to find out who runs the Syndicate. If this operation can bring us closer to an answer, we’ll do everything in our power to put an end to their reign of murder and mayhem.”
“Remember I told you a while ago that the U.S. Missile Defense Agency, or MDA, asked system designers of the Boeing Ace Co., Panther Co., and the Locklear Corporation to work on a design for technology, related to the Multi-Object Kill Vehicle risk reduction,” Alex prodded as he looked from one to the other.
Jack searched his memory. “Yes, MOKV technology, a ballistic guided missile defense multi-warhead killer, intended to detect, track, and kill several different incoming enemy missile warheads and decoys with only one counter-missile launch. It made headline news as well. It’ll be quite impressive if they can pull it off.”
“That’s correct.” Alex scratched his head, a habit from his youth when he was concentrating. “The initial designs and tests have been done. The MDA officials have since appointed the Locklear Corporation for advanced development and manufacturing of the MOKV program. They have ironed out all the initial problems, improved the performance, and reduced the risk for MOKV advanced communications, engagement management, and the system's discriminating seeker. The final schematics were encrypted and kept safeguarded on a separate and secure server at the MDA.”
“Is that the norm? To have all components manufactured by one developer?” Lance queried with a deep frown.
“No, nor is it their intention. With the design finalized, each of the three groups will be allocated a section of the system to design. That is, until the server where the encrypted file had been secured, was stolen.”
“Don’t they have a backup system?” Max started tapping on his iPad.
“They do but that’s not the concern. If the Russian mob gets their hands on that design, they could sell it to any militant group. Imagine the power they would have. It would be within their power to use that technology to bypass any future missile destroyer system from the US. They would have full control over any and all missiles across the globe. We’d be sitting ducks for destruction.” Alex’s voice vibrated with the concern he could no longer hide. He got up and started pacing.
“We’ve received Intel that the Russian mafia has colluded with a US Syndicate to obtain a classified, encrypted file. We had no idea which one, and all the Government divisions had increased their data systems immediately at the time.”
“Then how did they manage to steal the entire server?” Max flicked an image onto the overhead screen. “Look at the size of that thing. It’s as big as my fridge at home.”
“Inside collusion. Someone on the inside got them in. In this case, we suspect that a couple of people were involved. Because the file can only be recovered from the server with an encrypted password, they obviously decided to take the entire fucking thing and blew a hole into the side of the building where the server was stored. Security footage shows how the server was moved with a mobil
e conveyor belt into the back of a black van. The entire operation took less than five minutes. By the time first responders got to the scene, they were gone.”
“That means it was a well-planned operation and as you say, they had to have had inside information to know exactly where to set the charge to blow the wall. Do you have access to that security footage?” Lance asked.
“Yes. I’ll send it to you when I get back to my office. Forensics is busy with a covert internal investigation at the MDA. We don’t want to put the bastards on alert.” Alex sat down again. “We’re relatively sure the server is still on American soil.”
“Which is where the Syndicate comes in, I imagine,” Jack said.
“Yes, but, at the same time, we have information that four Russians arrived at JFK two weeks prior to the theft.” Alex scrolled through his phone and then looked at Max. “I’ve just mailed you their identikits.”
“Got it.” Max opened the mail and flicked the images onto the large screen. Alex pointed to the white-haired man first.
“From the left is Andrei Smirnov. According to Intel, he is the supposed main Avtoritet, or Brigadier in charge of the Support Group Brigade of the Russian mob. Then his second in charge or Brodyaga, Yerik Volkov. Third, is Maxim Pavlov, and lastly the female, Tasha Alenichev. They have all been connected with the Russian mafia—or as they are known in most circles, Bratva—in some way or other in the past. Nothing has been significant enough to have them prosecuted though. The female has the strongest connection to the Bratva. Her father, Vladimir Alenichev, was—”
“He was placed on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Fugitives list in 2010 for his involvement in a complex multimillion-dollar scheme that defrauded investors in the stock of his company, DBC Alinex International, swindling them out of $200 million,” Jack interceded. He shrugged at the surprised looks he received from around the table. “I’ve always had a fascination with the Russian mob since I was little.”
“That’s correct. Vladimir was indicted in 2003 and arrested in 2008 in Russia on tax fraud charges, but because the US doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Russia, he was released on bail,” Alex continued.
“Yeah, and it’s speculated that Vladimir Alenichev is the most powerful mobster in the world,” Jack concluded. “Or rather, was, until rumors surfaced about his assassination by a Navy Seal sniper two years ago.”
“That’s all it is, speculation. There’s no proof of such an act or any orders given by the Government to that extent. And no body was found to bury. We all believe he’s in hiding somewhere, and this act against the US Government is right up his alley.” Alex stabbed his finger on the desk in emphasis.
“Revenge? Is that what he’s going for?” Rhone asked.
“Could be. We won’t know until we find the ones who helped them. We need to get that server and the encrypted files back, Rhone. If they find an IT expert to decipher the encryption, we’re fucked.” His voice thickened with the concern he couldn’t hide.
“Consider us signed up,” Rhone rasped.
“Seconded,” the rest of the team said in unison.
“And you only thought to inform me of this now?” Dexter Powell bellowed. His chin trembled with obvious anger.
William Seely took a cautionary step back. It was only the second time he was in the presence of one of the top leaders of the Sixth Order. As the Operations Director of the Syndicate, recently appointed, the responsibility as the Bossam had been handed to him. Courtesy of the untimely demise of Paul Burgess, of course. Not that William was shocked or had shed any tears over his gruesome death. He was used to how crime syndicates disposed of unwanted bodies. The mafia, where he’d started his career, was well known for decapitating their victims and leaving only the head to be found as a warning to others.
“I only just learned about it myself, sir. It seems Paul Burgess had already been making plans to disappear before he was eliminated. I imagine that’s why he had the ownership of Crown International transferred,” he defended himself.
“To whom?” Dexter barked. He paced back and forth along the fishbowl window of the boardroom at the Massage Parlor—the codename for the Sixth Order’s secret operations room—that was only accessible via the underground tunnel from the train station on 86th street, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. His entire body was strung tight, like a caged tiger ready to attack the moment the gate opened.
William realized why Paul Burgess had been leery of Dexter. He exuded power and strength without effort and it instilled fear in his subordinates.
“The Wattley Trust. The team is trying to uncover who the beneficiaries are of the trust. So far, we’ve had no luck. All the details of the trust are sealed. The only information the public has access to, are the names of the trust and the attorney who officiated the registration.”
“There’s always a way, Seely. Money talks and there are enough greedy and corrupt officials at the County Recorder’s Office to bribe for the information. You have been given access to the Syndicate’s trading account. You know the limit you’re allowed to spend without contacting me.”
William nodded. “Very well, sir.”
“Let me be clear, Seely. This is your only priority at this point. We need that company to continue as the shell to launder money. We don’t have the time to set up another production point. Make it happen.”
Dexter picked up his keys and cell phone from where he’d flung them on the table when he’d arrived and strode toward the door.
“I’m on my way to a meeting with our shell company managers of the pharmaceutical groups. Keep me informed, Seely.”
“Will do, Mr. Powell,” William said, belatedly realizing he wasted his breath as Dexter was already running down the stairs. He watched him walk with confidence and squared shoulders, nodding and smiling at the operation team as he left.
William glanced around the luxury of the massive boardroom. A wide smirk formed on his lips. He had never expected to reach Bossam status this quickly, if at all, for that matter. Burgess had made it clear that he was going to be in charge for a long time to come.
“Yeah, and so the mighty has fallen.”
Being the Bossam was the highest honor any of the loyal Sixth Order operatives could receive. He was aware Dexter Powell had done a thorough background check on him after Burgess’ death. It didn’t concern him; his life was an open book—a highly corrupt one—but he was proud of everything he had achieved in his career of crime.
His was a name to be reckoned with. All thanks to the mighty Don of the Occhipinti Crime Family, Luca Vitale. The years he had mentored William had paid off. He knew how to leave his mark, and he had every intention of making a permanent one as the Bossam of the Sixth Order.
Only until the Occhipinti family called on his services again, and they would, of that William had no doubt. He had been warned and was biding his time, playing the role they were paying him extremely handsomely for in the meantime.
The day they made their move, would be the day the Sixth Order learned that the most feared Crime Family in the US wouldn’t die a quiet death.
They didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.
Chapter Four
The knife hit the cutting board with meticulous accuracy. The even rhythm was seamless and produced evenly sized pieces of potatoes, bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms. Jack had knife skills many chefs would envy. In the kitchen, he used the same precision as he did in combat.
Jack’s thoughts were far removed from the effortless actions of the tool in his hand. He cursed when he realized the green shade that swam in front of his vision, weren’t the peppers he was cutting but rather the deep moss colored peepers of the most irritating sub he’d ever met.
“Get the fuck out of my mind,” he grunted as he grabbed a cast iron skillet and quickly cooked the chorizo sausages he sliced earlier. He removed it from the pan and set it aside to drain the excess fat. His movements were methodical as he sautéed the vegetables and seasoned them bef
ore adding the sausages to warm up again.
“Jackie?” A hesitant voice penetrated his mind that he had forcibly been keeping blank.
“Yeah, Rosa?” He didn’t turn around to acknowledge his housekeeper. Instead, he piled on cheese and left it to melt while he whisked eight eggs and poured them over the mixture.
He glanced over his shoulder when Rosa remained quiet. She stood in the doorway wringing her hands.
“Is something wrong, Rosa?” A concerned frown furrowed his brows.
“Eh … not exactly but there’s a woman at the front door. She claims she’s moving in today.” Rosa looked over her shoulder briefly before she continued in a whisper. “And she’s got a ton of luggage with her, Jackie!”
Jack’s lips twitched at the annoyed look on the aged woman’s face. He loved Rosa Marx like he did his own mother. She’d been his and then Joanne’s nanny when they were growing up. No one else would dare to call him Jackie, but Rosa wasn’t intimidated by the size he’d grown into. With it came an extremely motherly protectiveness over her boy, as she referred to him from time to time, especially since the Selina Parker fiasco. She clucked around him like a mother hen, doing her best as the self-appointed protector of his heart to keep him from being hurt again.
“Send her packing, Rosa. I don’t have time for shit,” Jack responded in a gruff tone. He checked that the eggs had started to set on the edges before he placed the skillet in the oven for the frittata to cook.
“Ahh,” he breathed in the dark aroma of the coffee he’d brewed as he poured a cup. Hot, strong, and black as the night. He took a deep sip as he leaned his hip against the counter.
Rosa reappeared in the doorway again, frustration clear on her face. “She’s the most stubborn little chit I’ve ever come across. She refuses to leave, Jackie. She claims you’re expecting her.”