Crown's Vengeance, The (20 page)

“In English, please.”

Parker laid it out for her. “Spencer Drake could be using his client’s money to earn profits for his bank. He won’t have access to depositors’ funds much longer, as the proprietary trading we talked about is going to be illegal. While he does, though, he may be buying oil futures at this incredible rate to drive the price up. Once it gets high enough, whatever number that is, he’ll sell all the futures he bought at a lower price and turn a profit. How it relates to Revere’s letters or Ben’s death, I have no idea.”

Her duffel bag zipped shut. “Then I guess we’ll have to keep moving forward. You talk to your friends, see if you can figure out what Drake may be up to, and I’ll see if there are any other links between Aldrich Securities and Richard Lyons, the British instigator.”

A moment later Erika held a much  more sinister type of bag. The metallic black handgun case was light, even filled with the firearm and plenty of ammunition.

“Why don’t you hold on to this?” She held it out. “I have my registration and concealed carry permit in my purse.”

“Is it loaded?”

“You told me never to do that.”

A mischievous grin cracked his countenance. “Good answer. Guns are dangerous. I’m also glad we have one.”

Erika leaned into his body and squeezed tightly. He could tell this was getting real for her, with the need to leave her apartment and Ben dying. She was keeping it together pretty well, but underneath it all she still was a girl with feelings and emotions, trying to be tough.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. Nick’s going to help us out, and I’m here for you. I won’t let anything happen, I promise.”

She pulled away and walked toward the door, his shirt wet where her tears had fallen.

Chapter 32

Early morning sunlight broke through the thin curtains on Amtrak’s Acela Express train as it left Penn Station, New York, headed south to 30
^th
Street Station in Philadelphia. Michael Brown felt the warmth on his face, both eyes snapping open like a camera shutter. The seat adjacent to him was occupied by a sleeping young woman, an oversized purse clutched to her chest. Slender and petite, her flowing black tresses were immaculately curled and smelled faintly of lavender. She hadn’t made a sound since boarding almost two hours ago in New York, and he appreciated the silence.

With feline grace, Michael extracted a razor thin computer from his black leather travel bag. In seconds, biographies of Parker Chase and Erika Carr were on-screen, complete with recent photos. Spencer Drake had provided satellite maps depicting the location of every phone call or electronic transaction they’d made in the past three days, all in and around the Graduate Hospital neighborhood or just across the Schuylkill River in University City.

Of all the information with which he’d been provided, only one item was worrisome. Last night, while Michael had been on his way home from Boston, Parker had called a number that Drake’s people had been unable to identify. They had no idea if the call was ever connected, who Parker had spoken with, or where the number was registered. Michael had never seen anything like it. It was as if the phone call never happened.

Ahead, the skyline of Philadelphia loomed large, sparkling glass of the Comcast Tower rising above all. Despite its proximity to New York, Michael had only been to Philadelphia twice and wasn’t familiar with the area.

The maps on his screen also provided real-time updates of any electronic transmissions or transactions Parker or Erika made. The last call from either of their phones had been the mysterious unidentifiable number yesterday evening. Since then, no ATM withdrawals, no check card purchases, nothing. He assumed they were sleeping at Erika’s apartment. It would be the first place he visited on his mission, and if all went well, the last.

Metal screeched as the train slowed for arrival at 30
^th
Street Station, a towering edifice adjacent to the unique, slanted glass tower that housed Amtrak’s headquarters. The sun hid behind a stray cloud, and Michael could see a display of lights shine through Amtrak’s windows, the red-tinted bulbs forming a stylistic “
P.”

Pneumatic springs hissed and train doors opened to expel a tide of humanity. Michael waited patiently, moving through the mass of people toward an exit, outside of which he found a string of yellow cabs.

“Rittenhouse Square.” The cabbie nodded and took off, all the while murmuring into his earpiece in Greek.

Within minutes, the fertile green oasis appeared in front of them, materializing as they rounded a soaring apartment building. Rittenhouse Square was one of the most desirable parts of Philadelphia. Similar to Central Park, albeit on a much smaller scale, the square block boasted beautiful landscaping, brick-lined walkways and dozens of trees, all surrounded by some of the finest restaurants in the city.

The symphony of life filled the air. Pedestrians jammed the sidewalks around him while cabs honked at the bicyclists who risked life and limb on these hectic streets. On his smartphone, Michael found walking directions to Erika’s apartment. Dressed in blue jeans, running shoes, and a windbreaker, Michael disappeared into the crowd, a leather satchel slung over one shoulder.

Less than a mile away, Erika’s apartment was to the southwest, toward the river. As he neared his destination, the sidewalks emptied noticeably, with only a handful of other people in view. He passed churches, corner shops and restaurants, some busy, most empty. A warm breeze ruffled the leaves far above his head.

One block from her building, Michael stopped outside of a massive school building which a concrete cornerstone indicated had been built in 1927. The place appeared empty, another victim of city budget cuts.

Stooped to tie his shoe, he pulled the .9mm Jericho 941 pistol from the black leather shoulder bag and confirmed a steel-jacketed hollow point was racked and ready to fire. The gun vanished into a holster under his left shoulder.

Like most blocks in the city, Erika’s apartment was buried in a long stretch of row homes, no alleys in between. Michael walked leisurely past a red brick church that had been converted into a retirement home. Across the street, an abandoned candy factory stared back, the boarded windows like closed eyes, resting after a hard journey.

Connected to the candy factory was her apartment complex, a three-story yellow brick structure, two apartments on each floor. Drake’s report indicated Erika’s apartment was on the east side of the second floor. A lone metal door provided access to the building. Each window in her unit was closed, blinds on all. Next to the door was a box with call buttons. Beside each button a label identified the occupant. Next to the button for apartment 2D was a hand-scrawled
E. Carr
. Michael tried the handle. The door didn’t budge.

A glance to either side revealed several people moving around, some on the sidewalk, a few sitting on their porch steps, phone in hand as they jabbered away. None paid him any attention.

In addition to Erika’s call button, nine other black dots bore the names of occupants.

What the hell.

He pushed the first button, marked
W. Groves
. A loud buzz could be heard, but there was no answer.

The second button yielded a similar result. However, he struck paydirt when he pushed the call button for
S. Fleet
.

A chirpy female voice came through the speaker. “Yes?”

“Delivery for Erika Carr.”

“Who’s that? Does she live here?” Apparently they didn’t have community dinners.

“Yeah, second floor.”

“Hold on.” A second later, the door clicked open. Michael didn’t even blink, long ago having accepted that most people were naïve and trusting. Too bad for Dr. Carr.

Gray industrial carpeting lined the floors, a sharp contrast to the vivid white hallways and harsh overhead lights. A gunmetal door to his left and one down the hall were closed, silence coming from each.

Soft steps took him up the wide staircase, thick rails on each side. At the second floor landing, Michael found himself facing a freshly painted door bearing the designation 2D.

To his right was another apartment. He crept over and leaned close to the door, ears open. Several seconds of quiet, and he was satisfied. He slid back to Erika’s door, a suppressor now attached to the Israeli-made pistol in his hand.

There were no peepholes on any of the apartment doors. Still, he stood to one side and knocked heavily. One finger on the trigger, his back pushed against the wall.

After ten seconds without an answer, he knocked again, just as strongly. No one answered.

His ear close to the door, Michael heard nothing. No television, radio, or shower running. It appeared Ms. Carr was not home.

Michael removed a roll of clear material from his pocket which looked like clear tape. The material contained microfilaments that carried an electrical current generated by exposure to light. Inspired by photosynthesis, the overhead hall light would service nicely as a substitute for the sun.

Several inches of the material peeled off, sticky on one side. The adhesive gripped the gray door nicely, in the upper corner where it met the frame. When the door opened, the current would be disrupted, and a signal would be sent to his cell phone.

Down the stairs and back outside, Michael drifted toward a grassy lot he’d passed on his way over. After taking up residence on one of the community benches, all that remained was to wait for either the electronic surveillance net Drake had in place to register a hit, or for Erika to return home.

If Michael was fortunate, Parker would accompany her, and two bullets from his pistol would be the last thing they ever saw.

Chapter 33

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Panic alarms blared. Acrid black smoke poured from damaged engines, the helicopter suddenly transformed into a black angel of death plummeting from the sky. Parker stared up as the burning metal carriage fell, his feet rooted to the ground.

Just as the helicopter was about crush him, Parker shot up in bed. Sweat coated his chest and face, lungs heaving. Ever since he’d nearly died in a gunfight that had taken place near one of the whirling birds, the airborne device had played a role in his nightmares.

Erika was staring at him from the bathroom, sympathy in her eyes. “Easy, Parker. Everything’s fine.”

Mid-morning sunlight slanted through the windows, shadows flying up the walls as Erika opened their hotel room curtains. He must have dozed off after they’d checked in.

“Want to get some food after we check out?” She was wrapped in a towel, her blonde hair soaked.

“Yeah, sure. Give me ten minutes to shower.”

“Also, I need to go back to my apartment.”

“What? You know Nick told us to stay away.”

“I know, but I left my university keycard there. I need it to access the university archives from my home computer. It’ll only take a minute.”

He didn’t have the energy or the ability to argue right now. “Fine. We’ll grab it before we get lunch.”

Arms stretched high overhead, a spine-rattling yawn got him going. Ten minutes and one steaming hot shower later, temperate summer air whistled past his ears as they headed to a nearby coffee shop.

“So what’s on your radar for the rest of day? Any idea where to look next for a connection between Aldrich and Revere’s letters?”

They chatted softly in line at Starbucks. No one gave them a second glance. Well, at least no one gave him a second glance. Two guys sitting at a corner table had given Erika a third and fourth one.

“I’m hopeful that Aldrich’s website will point us in the right direction,” Erika said. “They claim to be one of the oldest banking institutions in America, and they have their lineage on display for everyone to see.”

“And if you find a few likely characters, you’ll run them through Penn’s archives for any hits?” Hot coffee burned his tongue. Happened every damn time and he never learned.

“You’re not as dumb as you look.”

Next to Starbucks was an electronics store. “Wait here. I need a new phone.”

A few minutes later he had the new device, along with several pre-paid cards that he loaded onto the phone. As they walked, Parker turned to Erika.

“Listen, you get in and out of that apartment. I doubt anyone’s around in the middle of the day, but I’m not trying to get into a gunfight.”

He was surprised when she answered in an equally serious tone. “I hate to say it, but you’re right. I’ll only be a minute.”

It was a short walk to her apartment building, the streets peaceful, foot traffic sparse. On her front stoop, Parker’s gaze flashed to and fro. A stare held too long. Anything that signaled trouble. The street behind them was empty, and nothing seemed amiss inside her building.

“I’ll be out in two seconds.” Her apartment door opened, and Erika disappeared inside. He chose to wait out in the hall, one eye on the stairwell as she retrieved her card.

Her voice called out from the bedroom, “I can’t find it. Can you check on the table?”

Erika was one of the smartest people he knew. At certain times, she could also be the most air-headed, infuriating woman on the planet. Parker stood on the bamboo kitchen floor, just inside the apartment door. As he searched for the missing keycard, Parker heard the outside buzzer go off, and moments later, the front door open. Someone had been buzzed in.

“Erika, we need to go. I don’t see the card anywhere.” Sure enough, the kitchen table was empty.

“Never mind, I found it.” She appeared from inside the bedroom, keycard in hand. He held the front door open with one hand, ready to leave.

“I left it—”

Her eyes saved his life.

As she spoke, they grew to twice the normal size, locked on something behind him. Without thinking, he hit the deck, twisting around as he slammed the door shut. A puff of air, and the bullet shattered her microwave.

“Get back,” he shouted at her. An arm was stuck in the door, the suppressed pistol still locked in its grip. Two more bullets ripped out, the shooter firing blindly.