The Money Trail

by J. C. Fields

  Copyright © 2019 J.C. Fields

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted or transferred in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system or device, without the permission in writing by the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people and events is purely coincidental.

  Publishing Coordinator – Sharon Kizziah-Holmes

  Paperback-Press

  an imprint of A & S Publishing

  A & S Holmes, Inc.

  Acknowledgments

  I continue to marvel at the amount of support I receive as a writer. As the number of novels increases, so does the need for a support system. Before I published my first novel, The Fugitive’s Trail, there was only myself pounding away on my laptop at odd hours of the early morning and on the weekends stealing as much time as possible in my office. It is only when an author decides to publish his work that he discovers the need for assistance.

  To those individuals who have assisted along the way, I say thank you and tip my hat. Some of you have been here from the beginning and other have joined as the need arose.

  Sharon Kizziah-Holmes, owner of Paperback Press, has been there from the beginning, believing in my work and maintaining her enthusiastic support.

  The members of the Springfield Writers’ Guild continue to offer suggestions and advice as my catalog of titles increase.

  As my development editor, I cannot thank Emily Truscott enough. She continues to offer excellent suggestions and gently keeps from bruising my ego when I need to change something critical, like the title. Thank you, Emily, your suggestion was perfect.

  Alisa Trotter is the newest member of my support team. Thank you for your fine tuning of the manuscript, it is amazing what one final read through will find.

  Niki Fowler, a graphic artist extraordinaire, continues to create book covers garnering praise and providing continuity for the series.

  Paul J. McSorley, what can I say? Paul has become an integral partner in creating the Audible.com versions of my novels. He is wonderful to work with and has become THE voice of Sean Kruger.

  And again, last but not least, my wife Connie. She is and always will be my life partner and largest supporter, even while tapping her foot outside my office with a, we’re late, are you done yet, glare.

  Chapter 1

  Washington, D.C.

  Recently unemployed defense attorney Jolene Sanders was unaware an assassin sat at a Starbuck’s table across from her apartment building sipping coffee. Her thoughts were too consumed by anger after being laid off from a six-figure position at Rothenburg & Sandifer, one of the largest and best-known legal firms in Washington, D.C.

  Turning left outside the foyer of her apartment building, Jolene set out at a hurried pace. She knew where she was going and, unbeknownst to her, so did the assassin. She did not see him calmly take a last sip of coffee, stand, pick up a small plastic bag and nod at another man sitting at a different table. As she strode down the street, she did not notice him follow her a few moments later.

  Tall and slender with short black hair, she was a no-nonsense attorney with an attitude to match. Born two years after her parents immigrated to the United States from Jamaica, she spent her childhood matching wits with five older brothers. After four years at Georgetown Law School and three successful ones with Rothenburg & Sandifer, she had prevailed in the good-old-boy legal network of Washington, D.C.

  Until now.

  The day before her thirtieth birthday, the firm summoned all the members of the legal defense department to a meeting. A meeting where everyone in the room, except Kyle Sandifer, would be offered a miserly severance package and bid a good life. The only catch to receiving the package was signing a non-disclosure agreement.

  Non-negotiable.

  She refused.

  Furious about the dismissal, she could not appreciate the fact these matters happened all the time and people moved on. She possessed knowledge about certain clients of the firm. Knowledge only Kyle Sandifer and Joseph Rothenburg, the two senior partners, were supposed to know.

  Now on a mission she would be meeting, for the third time, a Washington Post reporter at a pre-determined park bench on the south side of Constitution Avenue facing the Washington Monument.

  The information she clutched in her left hand would destroy the firm, the reputation of the two partners and several high-profile politicians.

  The area bustled with tourists and locals going about their business. Both women believed they were hiding in plain sight.

  They were not.

  The reporter already occupied the bench upon Jolene’s arrival. Sitting next to her, Jolene smiled grimly, “Thanks for meeting me.”

  “My pleasure,” replied Keira Pennington, five years older than Jolene and a ten-year veteran of investigative journalism at the Washington Post. During her tenure, she had already exposed more than her fair share of stories about corruption and greed within the halls of Congress. Today she pursued the biggest story of her career and Jolene Sanders possessed insider information confirming her premise. Their meetings always occurred in public and always during the busiest time of day on The Ellipse.

  “Here are my documents.”

  The attorney handed the small thirty-two gig flash drive to Keira who accepted it and studied the object for a moment. She glanced around their surroundings, returned her attention to Jolene and smiled.

  “Everything you’ve told me is confirmed on this, right?”

  She nodded but did not return the smile.

  Placing the flash drive in her purse on the bench next to her, Keira stared out over the open space toward the Washington Monument and said, “I know I promised to try to keep your name out of this, but I will have to identify you as my source to my editor or he won’t publish.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Since I haven’t signed their ridiculous non-disclosure agreement, I don’t see a problem telling him my name.”

  Turning her head to glance at the attorney, Keira frowned and asked, “What about your severance package?’

  Jolene shrugged. “I have some money saved and it wasn’t really that good of a package. I’ll be fine.”

  “He will let me call you an unnamed source in the published story. At least he said he would.”

  “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

  “What are your plans?”

  Taking a deep breath, Jolene stared at the tall monolith 350 yards from where they sat.

  “I’ve been approached by a firm based in Chicago. They have an opening in their Minneapolis office. The offer is good with a clear, definitive path to partnership. Not the pie-in-the-sky crap offered by that scumbag Sandifer.”

  “Good. Did you accept the offer?”

  “No. Too cold there for my taste. I’m hoping for something in Dallas, Atlanta or a big city in Florida.” Smiling, she turned back to the reporter. “Regardless of what happens, I’m leaving D.C. at the end of the month. I’ll go home for a while until I find the right position. Mom and Dad will be happy.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Orlando.”

  Pennington smiled. “I’m from Jacksonville.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I hate the weather here.”

  “Me too.”

  Neither woman noticed as a tall man walked up to their park bench holding his right hand behind his back as he approached. When he was directly in front of them, he asked with a slight French accent, “Do either of you have the time?”

  Startled by the interruption, Jolene looked up at the intruder and gasped.

  Keira also glanced at the man
and started to say something when she noticed the clear facial mask obscuring his features. His hands wore flesh-colored surgical gloves and in his right hand was a small spray bottle.

  The mist from the bottle engulfed both women as the stranger calmly walked away. Passing tourists and locals paid no attention to the women as they struggled to breathe. Jolene lost consciousness first as her head rolled back and her body slumped toward Keira.

  Keira’s eyes tracked another man as he stepped up to the park bench. She could not move or offer resistance as a gloved hand took her purse. He paused briefly, smiled at her, smoothly dropped the purse into a shopping bag in his left hand and walked away. As she watched him leave, her last thought on this earth was how dangerous the information on the flash drive must be.

  Neither woman would hear the scream of a passing tourist from Cincinnati.

  Chapter 2

  Washington, D.C.

  FBI Special Agent Sean Kruger stood with his arms folded over his chest as numerous agents in hazmat suits entered and exited a temporary hazmat tent surrounding a park bench north of the Washington Monument.

  “Who were the victims?”

  Special Agent Ryan Clark looked at his notes and answered, “We didn’t find an ID on her, but the blonde is Keira Pennington. She’s a well-known high-profile reporter for the Washington Post. The dark-haired woman did have an ID: Jolene Sanders, a local attorney.”

  Kruger frowned. “Jolene Sanders?” He looked at Clark and tilted his head questioningly.

  “Yeah, according to the ID they found on her. Why?”

  “Ryan, think about it. Isn’t that name familiar?

  “Ah, shit. She was Robert Burns Jr.’s lawyer.”

  Nodding his head, Kruger continued to stare at the tent. “Yes, she was. Why was she on a park bench in front of the Washington Monument talking to a Washington Post reporter?”

  Clark glanced at his partner. “I don’t know.”

  Kruger shook his head and returned the glance. “The pieces of the puzzle are there. You just need to arrange them properly.”

  “Okay, how would I arrange the pieces?”

  Kruger smiled. “Our first task will be to determine if they were friends. If they were, we have a problem. If she was meeting the reporter as a source, we have a different and more serious problem. Rothenburg and Sandifer sold their law firm a month after the death of Robert Burns Jr. ended our investigation. To whom they sold it has been the subject of speculation ever since. Maybe Jolene Sanders knew the answer and it resulted in her untimely death.”

  “That’s a lot of conjecture without a lot of facts.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You obviously have a theory. Care to share?”

  Kruger gave Clark a grim smile. “Right now, it’s not even a theory, more of a hunch. But there’s a reason the ex-attorney of Robert Burns Jr. is dead on a park bench in Washington, D.C. along with a Washington Post reporter. We both know Junior was involved with the Russian mob.” Clark nodded as he listened and stared at the tent.

  “Now we have what appears to be the use of a Russian nerve agent in his attorney’s death,” Kruger continued. “I don’t like coincidences, so this makes me nervous.”

  Clark shot Kruger a hard stare. “Russian nerve agent? Where the hell did you get that?”

  “Iraq.”

  “Really?”

  “Summer of 2008,” Kruger nodded. “The case is still classified. But I can tell you it involved the death of several American businessmen. From the pictures I received five minutes ago of the victims over there,” he nodded in the direction of the tent, “their appearance is the same as what I saw in Iraq. A-232, a derivative of Novichok-5, was the agent used during the incident we investigated. It’s a versatile agent and can be delivered with a variety of methods without diminishing its effectiveness. Confirmation will have to wait for the lab analysis, but at this point, I bet I’m right.”

  “If you’re right, the implications are staggering, Sean.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “So, what now?”

  “We find out if Jolene Sanders and Keira Pennington knew each other and were meeting socially, or…”

  “If Sanders was a source.”

  Nodding, Kruger looked at Clark. “Yeah, now you see the pieces coming together, don’t you?”

  “Unfortunately, I do. Where do you want to start?”

  “I think we need to start at Rothenburg & Sandifer.”

  ***

  Kruger stood in front of the reception desk in the law firm’s ornately decorated lobby. Two attractive young women sat behind a dark mahogany counter. The brunette of the pair was talking into a wireless headset as she typed on a computer keyboard. The blonde was staring wide-eyed at Kruger and Clark.

  “Excuse me. You said the FBI?”

  Giving her a warm smile, Kruger nodded as both agents held their IDs so she could see, but not reach them. “Yes, Special Agents Sean Kruger and Ryan Clark to see Kyle Sandifer.”

  After blinking several times, she asked, “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, we’re on official business. Please let him know we’re here.”

  “Mr. Sandifer’s schedule is very tight. He only sees clients by appointment.”

  Still smiling, Kruger leaned forward slightly.

  “We’re not clients. I’m sure he will make an exception for the FBI.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to make…”

  Kruger glanced at the name plate on the counter as the young woman made another excuse.

  “Ms. Griffith, I don’t think you understand. I’m not going to make an appointment and come back. We are investigating the death of one of your attorneys. Now kindly call Mr. Sandifer and tell him we need to speak with him.”

  Her blinking increased as she picked up the handset of a multi-line phone.

  Three minutes later, they were escorted into the office of Kyle Sandifer. The attorney stood and walked out from behind an enormous mahogany desk as they entered the office. The desk was cluttered with various files and a laptop computer. He wore a Brooks Brother dark gray suit and white on white shirt with a maroon striped tie. Three inches taller than Kruger’s six-foot frame, Sandifer’s grip was firm as he shook both men’s hands. He was lean, athletic and appeared to be in his early sixties with a regular regime of exercise. His dark tan and lack of wrinkles or facial hair gave him the professional appearance needed for a Washington, D.C., power broker.

  He stared at Kruger and asked without preamble, “What is this about the death of one of our attorneys?’

  “Jolene Sanders.” He paused to assess Sandifer’s reaction. “She was murdered this morning on a park bench near the Washington Monument.”

  Sandifer let his breath out slowly. “Ahh…” He returned to his chair and sat down behind the desk. “She is no longer associated with this firm.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Agent.”

  As another piece of the puzzle fell into place, Kruger kept a neutral expression. He tilted his head and asked, “When did she leave the firm?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “Her choice or yours?”

  Sandifer frowned and glared at Kruger. “Hers, of course.”

  “Careful, Mr. Sandifer. Lying to a federal agent is a felony.”

  “Corporate decision. We disbanded the criminal defense team.”

  Smiling, Kruger understood. More pieces of the puzzle slammed into place like a fast-paced Tetra game. “If you don’t do criminal defense, what pays the bills?”

  “Corporate advocacy.”

  Chuckling, Kruger smiled. “In other words, lobbying.”

  “That and other services for our clients.”

  “I see. So, Jolene Sanders was let go?”

  “Yes, unfortunately, we had to let several accomplished attorneys go that day. It was purely a business decision. They were compensated, of course, and there was nothing personal in the decision.”

  �
�I’m sure that was comforting for them and their families to hear.”

  Sandifer frowned when Kruger made the comment.

  Clark spoke for the first time to ask, “Mr. Sandifer, why would Jolene Sanders be talking to a reporter for the Washington Post?”

  Most men in Sandifer’s position were experts at hiding their emotions and thoughts behind a mask of neutrality. Sandifer succeeded, but not before a momentary look of horror flashed across his face. The mask returned and he shook his head.

  “I would not be able to comment with any authority. I didn’t know much about Ms. Sander’s personal life. I knew she was unmarried and ambitious, but beyond that, nothing.”

  “What about the cases she was handling when you dissolved the criminal defense department?”

  “We consulted with each client and transferred their cases to the law firm of their choice. Some of the attorneys who were let go followed those cases to the new firms. I assumed Ms. Sanders was among them.”

  Kruger frowned. “You don’t know?”

  Sandifer shook his head.

  “I find that hard to believe, counselor.”

  “Believe what you want.”

  Clark asked. “May we have a list of cases she was working on before she left?”

  “Not without a subpoena.”

  Smiling, Kruger withdrew a folded piece of paper from the inside breast pocket of his suit coat and handed it to Sandifer. “Goes without saying.”

  ***

  “What was she working on, Ryan?”

  Kruger drove as Clark looked through the file.

  “Nothing big. It looks like they stopped taking major cases six months ago. All she was handling, according to these records, was a few DWI, DUI and shoplifting cases.”

  “That had to be frustrating.”

  “For someone with her experience, very.”

  “Go back to the date you indicated. What was she handling before that?”