The Money Trail

by J. C. Fields

  Forty minutes later, having removed the light bulb from the garage door opener, he backed out of his driveway in darkness. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. This could be the last time he would ever see his beloved home. He hoped not, but survival was more important. During the forty minutes spent throwing clothes and toiletries into a suitcase, he also retrieved from a gun safe his Dan Wesson Valor 1911 .45 caliber pistol and fifty thousand dollars in cash.

  The cash was a gift from a client he successfully defended on a drug charge. A day after the man was found not guilty, he showed up at Sandifer’s office and handed him an attaché case. Without a word, he left his office, disappeared and was never heard from again. Inside the case were stacks of tens, twenties and one-hundred-dollar bills. Closing the door to his office, he counted the money. Apparently, this was a bonus since the client was current on his legal bills. Sandifer never declared the money to the IRS or the firm. He simply put it in his gun safe for a rainy day. Now five years later, it was pouring and he was glad he made the decision to keep it.

  At a 24-hour Walmart Supercenter in Woodstock, Virginia he purchased a HP Chrome laptop, a Samsung prepaid no-contract cell phone, sunglasses, two pairs of Wrangler jeans, two hooded sweatshirts and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. Back on I-81, he retrieved the business card taken from his desk and glanced at the time. He would have to wait to make the call.

  Six hours and five cups of coffee later, he pulled into a rest stop near Knoxville, Tennessee, and placed the call to the number on the business card.

  “Kruger.”

  “Agent Kruger, this is Kyle Sandifer.”

  “Mr. Sandifer, thank you for calling. You have a lot of individuals at your office and at the FBI. Where are you?”

  Smiling, Sandifer answered, “Not in Washington, D.C.”

  “We gathered that. Care to tell me?”

  “Agent, I’m not sure my location is of importance at the moment. I do, however, need to speak to you privately without curious eavesdroppers listening to our conversation.”

  “That might be difficult since you won’t tell me where you are.”

  “Are you at the address on your business card?”

  “Not at the moment. I can be. Why?”

  “There is an art gallery located in Northwest Arkansas created by a client I did work for several years ago. I will meet you there.”

  “When?”

  “I will text you the information tomorrow. Since you are only two hours from this location, there should be no problems in meeting me.”

  “Okay. Are you in trouble, Mr. Sandifer?”

  “Myself and our country, Agent Kruger. We will discuss it further when we meet.”

  Sandifer pressed the end call icon. He turned the phone off, placed it in one of the Jeep’s front cup holders and started looking for an out-of-the-way motel where cash would be welcomed.

  ***

  Joseph watched Kruger as the call ended. He was back at his Christian County home to attend to a few matters and to check on everyone.

  “He wouldn’t tell you were he was, would he?”

  Shaking his head, Kruger returned the cell phone to his jean pocket. “When did you start getting cell phone reception out here?”

  “About a month ago.”

  Kruger stared out over the property at the tree line behind the house. “Has JR emerged from their room yet?”

  “No.”

  Taking a deep breath, Kruger let it out slowly. “Time to get him out of his funk.”

  After the third knock on the bedroom door, it opened. JR stared at Kruger.

  “Yeah?”

  “You done sulking?”

  “Not what I’m doing.”

  “Sure, it is. This was eventually going to happen. Now it’s time to do damage control and make sure it doesn’t disrupt your life. Besides, I need you to find someone.”

  JR stood silently as he blinked several times.

  Mia appeared behind him and put her arms around his waist. “Sean’s right, JR, time to go back to doing what you do best. We can stay here until we figure it out.”

  Glancing back at Mia and then Kruger, he nodded his head once. “I’ll get my laptop.”

  ***

  JR pointed to a map displayed on his laptop. “The call originated from a cell phone tower near Knoxville, Tennessee. A Walmart in Woodstock, Virginia, located just off I-81, sold the phone. It was purchased with cash and a thousand minutes of time.”

  “Kyle’s handled enough criminal defense cases, he could probably teach a course on how to disappear.” Pausing for a moment, Kruger rubbed his chin. “Is the phone still on?”

  Shaking his head, JR pointed to the map again. “It’s last contact with a cell phone tower was in Knoxville.”

  “He’s heading west.” Kruger paused to think. “Probably Dallas. He has a son there. I’d bet that’s where the wife is.”

  JR looked up at Kruger. “Any way to check?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have the Dallas field office contact them.”

  Joseph was looking over JR’s shoulder at the map. “I-81 becomes I-40 near Knoxville. If he stays on it, that will take him to Fort Smith, Arkansas,” he pointed. “If he’s meeting you at Crystal Bridges, it’s less than a hundred miles from Fort Smith.”

  Kruger glanced at Joseph. “You think it’s Crystal Bridges?”

  Nodding, the older man straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “A Walmart heiress developed it. Lots of walking trails meandering through the wooded area surrounding the facility. It makes sense he’d want to meet there.”

  “When do you have to be back in Washington, Joseph?”

  Glancing at Kruger, Joseph pursed his lips. “Jimmie wants to establish residency in Christian County. We’re getting an official rental agreement finalized, so it will take a few days. Why?”

  “Want to take a walk in the woods?”

  Joseph smiled.

  Chapter 20

  Northwest Arkansas

  The Next Day

  Weather in the Ozarks, especially during late September and early October, can fluctuate wildly, particularly after the Autumnal Equinox. A day can start out hot and dry and by afternoon be cool and misty. It was one of those transitional days. A twenty-mile-an-hour wind out of the northwest swept a cold front across the plains of Kansas into the region. Dark, moisture-laden clouds scurried across the sky delivering a fine swirling mist and leaving damp surfaces everywhere.

  Ignoring the weather, Kruger stood on the sidewalk leading to the Crystal Bridges art museum entrance, his focus on the parking lot. With hands tucked into pockets of the same leather jacket worn during a meeting in Paris not quite ten months ago, he stood waiting. Jeans, hiking boots, a black crew neck sweater over a blue oxford shirt and his Glock 19 in a holster strapped to his belt completed his attire. Dark aviator style Ray-Bans, while unneeded with the cloudy sky, kept anyone from knowing the direction of his focus.

  A tall gentleman dressed similarly to Kruger and resembling the actor Morgan Freeman, walked up to him and said in a low voice, “He just pulled into the parking area. Black Jeep Grand Cherokee, Virginia plates. Jimmie has eyeballs on him.”

  “Good. Sandy’s in the security office watching on the security monitors. Don’t go too far. I want him to know you’re here.”

  “Got it.” Joseph Kincaid turned and faced the same direction as Kruger but backed up several paces to his left.

  Within a few minutes, a tall man dressed in jeans, black hooded sweatshirt and a baseball cap, its brim pulled low over the eyes, approached the two. Kyle Sandifer stopped in front of Kruger and offered his hand. The two men stared at each other as they shook.

  Sandifer frowned and glanced at Joseph, “Who’s he?”

  “Old family friend.”

  “Thought we were meeting alone.”

  “You didn’t specify any conditions when we spoke. Besides, he’s the new president’s National Security Adviser. I borrowed him for a few days.”
<
br />   Even though Sandifer could not see Kruger’s eyes, he was searching behind the man to make sure no one followed.

  “I didn’t know you were so well connected.”

  Kruger shrugged.

  Sandifer’s eyes didn’t leave Joseph for several moments. “Yes, now I recognize him. Will he be reporting this meeting to the president?”

  “Depends.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It depends on what you tell us.”

  Hesitation was Sandifer’s first reaction. Then Kruger saw his shoulders slump and the stern look subside. He returned his attention to the FBI agent. “Let’s walk.”

  The two men followed the sidewalk toward the walking trail entrance on the east side of the complex. It was several minutes before Sandifer spoke again.

  “Are you going to arrest me, Agent Kruger?”

  “Should I?”

  “I would prefer you not.”

  “Have you committed a federal crime?”

  Shaking his head, Sandifer lapsed into silence again as they entered a canopy of trees. This early in the fall season, leaves still clung securely to their hosts.

  Once they were under the tree cover, the attorney said in a whisper, “If being greedy and stupid is a federal crime, maybe you should.”

  Kruger smiled slightly at the comment but did not acknowledge it.

  “You mentioned, when you called, you were in trouble and needed to talk.”

  A nod.

  “So, talk, Kyle.”

  “In our haste to sell the firm, my partner and I may have inadvertently made a huge mistake.”

  “Oh? What would that be, Kyle?”

  Sandifer looked up at the trees above him as he walked. “Who we sold it to.”

  “Dmitri Orlov?”

  The reaction from Sandifer was expected. He stopped walking and glared at Kruger. “You already know?”

  Nodding, Kruger stopped, looked at the man and tilted his head to the side. “What did Boris Volkov say to you? And why are you driving across the country instead of flying?”

  “You know more than I do. He never introduced himself, just said that he had a message from Orlov.”

  “Volkov can be that way. So, what was the message?”

  “He told me they knew I was the attorney of record for a number of U.S. senators and more than a few Cabinet members.”

  “Public knowledge.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what, Kyle?”

  “The public doesn’t threaten my family if I refuse to violate the confidentiality rights of my clients.”

  “Your family is safe, Kyle. I have FBI agents in Dallas and Chicago watching over them.”

  Sandifer’s expression relaxed noticeably, but it was temporary. A few moments passed before he responded. “Thank you.”

  Kruger nodded.

  “He did not state why they want my files, but to me, it sounded like they want to find high-level government officials they can blackmail.”

  After several moments of silence, Kruger lifted his gaze from the sidewalk to Sandifer. “They do. Did you ever meet Robert Burns Sr., the former senator?”

  Sandifer shook his head.

  “They owned him. From what we found out, after the son was murdered, most of the father’s wealth was based on funds secured from the Russians. While he was a senator, Senior helped introduce banking laws in the early 2000s that indirectly caused the financial collapse in 2008. Orlov was the one who suggested Burns introduce those bills, some later became regulations. The original goal was to help his banks make more money. They didn’t anticipate the consequences but were overjoyed with the results. The Russians are now searching for individuals that will help them create more government dysfunction.”

  With his hands buried in the pockets of his hooded sweat shirt, Sandifer studied the sidewalk as they traveled deeper into the wooded landscape. He remained quiet for a long while.

  Finally, he said. “Can’t you arrest them?”

  “For what? We can’t prove anything. Orlov stays in Paris most of the time and the gentleman who visited you is on a watch list and being investigated. How he got into the country is anybody’s guess. Plus, they have contacts all over the country we know nothing about.”

  Sandifer looked back at Joseph, who was only a few steps behind them. “Is that why he’s here?”

  “Yes. We need the president to know more about your meeting with the Russian.”

  “How many people know I’m here talking to you?”

  “A few.”

  Nodding his head, Sandifer took a deep breath. “Can we find someplace that’s not so damn wet and cold?”

  ***

  The coffee was hot and good. Kruger displayed a small grin after tasting it. Most of the tables were empty at this time of day. In a corner booth, one man munched on a club sandwich while his three companions only drank coffee. Kruger sat to Sandifer’s right and watched him eat. Joseph was to his left and Sandy Knoll next to Joseph. Jimmie Gibbs and a local Northwest Arkansas FBI agent sat at a table next to the booth, watching the restaurant and keeping others from sitting too close.

  Sandifer’s appearance was not that of a successful Washington, D.C., attorney. His hair was noticeably grayer and disheveled, white whiskers sprouted from his face and he ate the sandwich with the gusto of someone who had been deprived of food for a while.

  Kruger took a sip of coffee, “If you’re still hungry, they have good pie.”

  Glancing at Kruger, Sandifer put the sandwich down. “You eat here often?”

  “No, never been in this one, but it’s a chain. They have one where I live.”

  Nodding, the attorney returned to his sandwich. “I like chocolate.”

  Kruger motioned for their waitress and asked, “Can we have a slice of French Silk for this gentleman?” She nodded and hustled away to get it.

  When she sat the plate down in front of Sandifer, he stared at it and smiled. With his sandwich finished, he attacked the pie. After consuming the last bite, he sat back. “That was good.”

  Joseph sipped his coffee and stared at Sandifer. “Want to tell us more about your meeting with Volkov?”

  Nodding, the attorney wiped his lips with a napkin. “Gentlemen, I don’t scare easily. Too many years of dealing with individuals who feel their own self-worth is far more important than anyone else on the planet. The Russian scared me.”

  “Why?” Kruger asked.

  “Don’t know, but he did.”

  Knoll chuckled. “Volkov can be an arrogant prick when he wants to be.”

  “You know him?” Sandifer stared at the big man.

  Shaking his head, Knoll replied, “Let’s just say I’ve had to deal with him in the past.”

  “Kyle,” it was Kruger’s turn to ask the question, “tell me more about your meeting. Exactly what did he want?”

  Taking a deep breath, Sandifer let it out slowly. “Files. He wanted copies of my client files.”

  No one spoke, waiting for the attorney to continue.

  “Apparently, Orlov bought the firm not for the revenue stream, but for two other reasons: our client files and the lobbying department.” He paused and took a sip of his coffee. “Over the past few decades, we have represented a lot of politicians. Most of the time it was for mundane, boring reasons. But not always. Without going into detail, we’ve kept their embarrassing misbehavior quiet and out of the media. Behavior, which if publicly known, would end the career and family life of many of our clients.”

  “Are those politicians still in office?” This came from Joseph.

  Nodding, Sandifer sipped his coffee again. “A few have retired and some are dead. But the majority are still active in some aspect of our government. Mostly senators and a few House members who have graduated into leadership roles. Several have returned to their state and serve as governors.”

  Kruger held his coffee cup with both hands as he watched Sandifer talk, waiting for the attorney to finish his tho
ught. “How many are you referring to, Kyle?”

  With a grim smile, Sandifer turned to Kruger. “Without counting, probably close to sixty.”

  “Did you give him any files?”

  “No.”

  “Was that when he threatened your family?”

  “He asked if I had heard about the death of Jolene Sanders. I told him I had. He then paused and looked at the pictures of my family. He gave me a weird smile and mentioned how proud I must be of them. He then told me where they lived and what they did. The message was very clear.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I ignored the comment about my family and told him I would be violating attorney client privileges and several United States laws, if those files were turned over to him. He laughed and told me I did not own the firm anymore and those files were the property of the owner.

  “Why do you think they killed Jolene, Kyle?”

  The attorney shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

  “We think she had information on Vice President Pittman. Is that possible?”

  Sandier studied his coffee cup as he turned it clockwise. Taking a deep breath, he nodded.

  No one at the table spoke.

  Finally, after a half minute of awkward silence, he continued. “I represented Donald Pittman for years. Most of my work with him occurred during his tenure as the governor of Virginia.”

  “Go on.”

  After taking a sip of coffee, Sandifer closed his eyes. “I’m not proud of it, but I hid a very key part of Pittman’s past from media.” He paused. “I’m violating so many ethical principals in telling you this.”

  “The man is dead, Kyle,” Kruger said.

  “I know, but, still…”

  “If it will help us solve the murder of Jolene Sanders, we need to know.”

  “Donald Pittman was caught in a honey trap by the Russians.”

  Joseph nodded. “I figured it was something like that. When did this occur, Kyle?”