Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1) (12 page)

Usually he didn’t infect
YouTube
sites while at work because most of them had audio, which would draw attention to what he was doing. He did it at home when his wife, Teresa, and his son, Julio, weren’t around. That limited the amount of time he could devote to this ongoing project.

Last weekend he found a few
YouTube
videos that recorded TSA airport frisks of small children and a woman who’d had a double mastectomy. The quality of the videos wasn’t good because they’d been recorded on cell phones, but they were good enough to enrage anyone who viewed them. He was able to infect all of them.

Viewers with good antivirus software wouldn’t catch the virus. They’d merely be blocked out, but that was the purpose of infecting the videos, to prevent people from viewing them. And the people who did not have good antivirus software? Well, that would give them a wake-up call to get some.

“Tomás, are you looking at
YouTube
videos again? You know that Hank doesn’t like us surfing the Net at work.”

Jennifer Dawes, one of his coworkers, caught him in the act, although she didn’t know that he was actually surfing to find his next target. Hank was their boss.

“I was just bored and had to take a break from debugging this new software Hank bought.” He got up from his desk to refill his cup of coffee. He put a packet of hazelnut powder in the cup to enhance its taste and smell.

She smiled and looked him in the eyes as he returned to his desk. “Well, I suppose I won’t report you this time.”

She also surfed the Net at times. They used to joke about some of the things they found in cyberspace. He liked it when she stopped by to chat. She had a nice set of lips and teeth. She had good definition on her calves, too, which she got from playing tennis two or three times a week.

The time Tomás spent in Afghanistan and Iraq inspired his intense dislike for Arabs and Muslims. He took out his pent-up frustration by infecting web sites that had anything nice to say about Islam, although that wasn’t part of his assignment. He didn’t tell Wellington about it and didn’t include those web sites in his monthly report, because he surmised Wellington probably wouldn’t approve. He also suspected that some of those web sites were sponsored by the CIA and were being used to entrap potential enemies of America. After Jennifer returned to her desk he booted up another
YouTube
video.

Paige had started his workout with some warm-up exercises, then did circuit training, with extra work on his shoulders. His physical therapist had suggested extra shoulder work to strengthen his right rotator cuff, which he’d injured in a karate tournament a few years ago. He finished off by practicing the second degree black belt form, which consisted of more than eighty movements. He went through it twice, to build muscle memory, then hit the showers.

He was hungry and dehydrated after the workout, so he walked to the Starbucks on Collins Avenue and ordered a tuna croissant. He took it to an outside table, sat down, reached into his gym bag and pulled out a chocolate high-protein drink. It was tasty, even though it wasn’t chilled.

The hedges between the tables and the street cut down on the traffic noise. The pollution from the exhaust fumes wasn’t too bad at that time of day, mid-afternoon. It would get worse in about an hour.

After he finished, he took a look at his watch. 3:45. It would take 45-60 minutes to drive from Sunny Isles Beach to downtown Miami, so if he wanted to see Wellington before he left for the day, he had better get started. He still hadn’t figured out how he would open the conversation, or what he would say, but he felt confident that the words would come after he showed up unexpectedly at Wellington’s office and looked him in the eyes.

George Heverly stepped into Ed Morris’s office. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Morris reached over to the right, picked up his cane, winced in pain as he got out of his chair, and started moving toward the door.

“You know, I’ve gained four pounds since I started using this cane?”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“I’ve been eating more and exercising less. I’ve been sitting instead of walking. I’m not burning off the calories.”

Heverly didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Their walk down the hall to the parking garage was slow and silent. Morris had to hobble, and Heverly had to walk slowly to prevent getting ahead of him. As they walked into the garage, Morris pulled out his keys. “Let’s take my car. That way I won’t have to try to climb up into your van.”

They both became immersed in their own thoughts on the drive to Wellington’s office, with only occasional breaks in the silence. They pulled into the parking garage down the street from Wellington’s office at 4:17. Heverly found a space, parked, and took out his cell phone to call Wellington.

“Hi. We’re here. We just pulled into the parking garage.”

“OK. Meet me in the lobby.”

They got out of the car and walked toward the Commerce Department building on Southwest 1
^st
Avenue. They arrived just as Wellington stepped out of the elevator. They waited for him by the front doors. Morris leaned slightly, keeping most of the weight on his good leg.

Wellington couldn’t help but be amused, seeing Morris balancing on one leg and Heverly with a black eye and a splint on his broken nose.

“You guys look pathetic. You can’t even beat up an accounting professor.”

“Yeah, but he’s no ordinary accounting professor.”

Wellington smirked. “Yeah. I forgot to tell you he competes in karate tournaments. Sorry about that.”

He motioned toward the front doors. “Let’s go to my other office.”

They knew what he meant. They walked through the doors, turned left, walked a few feet, and then turned left again, into the alley between the Commerce Department building and the one next to it. Wellington led the way. He stopped after they were about fifty feet into the alley. He turned around, ran his fingers through his longish, dark blond hair, and adjusted his round-rimmed glasses.

He tapped Morris’s cane with the side of his leather loafer. “I suppose I should chew you guys out again, but it looks like you’ve suffered enough.”

Wellington turned to Heverly and looked him directly in the eyes. “George, I don’t know how Paige got your name and address, but it doesn’t matter. What we have to do now is damage control. Killing him is out, for now, at least. We’ve got to calm him down so he doesn’t expend any more energy digging into places where we don’t want him to dig.”

They nodded in agreement. Heverly started to speak. “I think what we’ve got to do is …”

“Shut up! You guys aren’t paid to think. You’re paid to do what I tell you to do.” Wellington was getting animated. His pasty white face started to turn red. He looked Heverly directly in the eyes and stabbed his finger at him. “You’re going to keep an eye on Paige, and you’re going to be so good at it that he doesn’t notice it. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Paige’s otherwise pleasant drive to downtown Miami kept getting interrupted by thoughts of Sveta, who was in danger because of his investigation of Raul’s murder. Should he just drop it? The meeting he was about to have with Wellington could stir things up even more. There was a reason Wellington lied about the evidence from the university parking lot confrontation with Heverly and that other guy. How was Wellington involved with Raul’s murder?

Paige rolled down the front window and let the breeze flow over his face. It provided a distraction. He arrived at the parking garage and looked at his watch. Four twenty-two. Wellington would still be in his office. He seldom left before five, even if he had nothing to do. He had to lead by example.

The pungent smell of hot churros assaulted his nostrils as he exited the parking garage and headed toward Wellington’s office. As he walked by the alley separating the Commerce Department building from the one next to it—Wellington’s other office—he turned his head instinctively to check it out. The two of them had held numerous meetings there over the years.

He was startled to see Wellington, jabbing his finger at a man who looked like Heverly, with a bandage on his nose. He focused to get a better look. It
was
Heverly. There was a man standing next to him. Tall. Heavy-set. Leaning on a cane. Probably the other assailant he encountered in the university parking lot.

He felt the urge to get out of sight before they could spot him. He scurried to the side of the building and tried to listen in on the conversation. The street noise blocked out most of it. He could only hear a few words here and there – “slut … better things to do … Paige.” He perked up at the sound of his name. He had heard enough. He had to get out of there. But he wanted to stay close by to observe what would happen next.

He looked around and noticed a variety store down the street, in the direction of the parking garage. He walked toward it, thinking about what to do next. He ducked in and looked around for the stationery section. When he spotted the sign, he walked over, selected the cheapest notebook he could find and a packet of pens. Then he walked toward the cash register located by the front door. The guy behind the counter looked Indian, or maybe Pakistani. Or Bangladeshi. Paige couldn’t tell the difference by looking.

The candy counter was right by the cash register. He spotted a Hershey’s milk chocolate bar with almonds and placed it on the counter, along with the notebook and pens. Good Pennsylvania chocolate, like the kind he used to eat as a kid.

He paid for his purchases, then walked toward the front door but didn’t open it. He looked out the window toward the alley, took the chocolate out of the bag, opened it and began to nibble, while keeping his eyes focused on the alley across the street.

A few minutes later, he saw Wellington, Heverly and the man with the cane emerge from the alley. Wellington turned toward his office. The two men turned in Paige’s direction and walked toward the parking garage. After they entered the garage, Paige exited the store and walked across the street, toward the garage. He gave them about 30 seconds, hopefully enough time to get out of sight.

Paige entered the garage and found a pillar close to the exit. It provided a good vantage point to watch the cars as they stopped to pay while keeping out of sight. The garage had just one exit, so they would have to stop at one of the two cashier stations that were now just a few feet away.

A few cars stopped to pay before exiting. Heverly sat in the passenger seat of one of them. There were two cars ahead of them in line, which gave Paige time to jot down the license number. He took out his cell phone and snapped a few photos of the car. After the injured man and Heverly drove off, he walked toward the elevator to get to his car on the second floor.

He thought about what to do with the new information. He couldn’t take it to Wellington. All he knew was that Wellington had something to do with his attempted mugging, which explained why Wellington lied about the evidence Paige had given him.

How deeply was Wellington involved in Raul’s murder? Had he ordered the hit, or merely been involved indirectly? Was he part of the hit team? That was unlikely. Wellington was more of a coordinator than participant, although, from conversations the two of them had had over the years, Paige was convinced that Wellington was capable to pulling the trigger.

The more Paige thought, the more questions he had. Was Wellington behind the Nathan Shipkovitz and Martin Kaplan assassinations? If so, could Saul Steinman be next? Wellington had assured him Steinman wouldn’t be hit, but if Wellington lied to him once, he could very easily lie again. Steinman was the same kind of professor as the two who had been assassinated. They all were vocal in their opposition to some federal government activity.

As soon as he got home, he booted up his laptop and went to the same web site he’d used to obtain Heverly’s information. He typed in the license plate. Up popped the name. Edward Morris, age thirty-seven, and an address on Southwest 22
^nd
Street. There would be no need to go to
Facebook
to look for photos. He had the information he needed.

James Young stopped by one of the several law firms within walking distance of his office during his lunch hour. He had tried to find an attorney twice before but had been unsuccessful.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Young, I won’t be able to help you. If the Department of Homeland Security placed a freeze on your bank accounts, you won’t be able to pay me, and I don’t work for free. Besides, if I took your case, they might do the same thing to me that they did to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The law allows DHS to confiscate the assets of anyone who provides aid and comfort to the enemy. I read of a few cases where they arrested the attorney who filed an appellate brief on behalf of someone who was accused of being a terrorist.”

“But what about the right to counsel? And the right to a fair trial? And the right not to have property seized without a warrant and due process?”

“Those protections don’t apply to people the government labels as terrorists. Look, Mr. Young, I’d really like to help you, but if I did, they might arrest me or confiscate my property, or both. They could shut down my office.”

The other two attorneys he contacted told him basically the same thing. He was on his own.

“OK. Thank you for your time.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

Paige sat in his university office, killing time before his Tuesday class. He usually didn’t teach in Miami in the summer. He preferred to teach at a school in Asia, Europe, or Latin America, but the places where he usually taught weren’t offering accounting courses this summer, so he’d decided to teach at Saint Frances University and pick up a few extra bucks.

Paige had to make contact with Steinman but didn’t look forward to it. He picked up his pen and started to scribble on a pad of paper to postpone the inevitable. He could hear some students making noise in the hallway, so he got up from his desk and walked over to shut his office door.