Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1) (21 page)

“Well, that’s a start. At least you’re not stonewalling me.”

“I try to be helpful when I can.”

“Does he ever wear high heels on weekends?”

“No. You’re getting him confused with J. Edgar Hoover.”

Paige knew he wasn’t going to get any information out of Wellington, but he did wonder who the Boss was and how active he was in this project. Failure to know the Boss’s identity might cause problems for him later and he knew it. He just hoped that failure to know wouldn’t prove to be fatal.

Paige picked up his phone. “Hi, Bob? Saul here. I’m going to have a little get-together tomorrow evening. Can you make it?”

“Sure. What time?”

“How about 7?”

“That will be fine. Your place, right?”

“Yeah. It’s not Friday but I might have some meat anyway, probably sandwiches.”

“Fine. See you then.” Paige hung up and immediately called Wellington.

“John? Hi. It’s Bob.”

“Hi. Do you have some news for me?” Wellington stood by the window of his Commerce Department office, giving instructions to his assistant. She sensed it was a personal call and left the room.

“Yes. I just got off the phone with Steinman. He’s going to have his next meeting tomorrow night.”

“You know what to do. Let us know what he’s up to and get the names of the people who attend. Use that pen I gave you.”

A few months ago, Wellington gave Paige a pen that took photos and could record up to three hours of conversation.

“OK. Will do.” Paige didn’t feel comfortable spying on his new friend, yet he continued to commit overt acts that would put Steinman one step closer to extinction, like telling the CIA about the meeting. He didn’t like what he was doing, but he kept doing it anyway. He was in too deep to back out now.

After they hung up, Wellington placed a call to his Boss to inform him of the meeting.

Steinman also called Rachel to invite her to the meeting. He hoped to get another look at her … assets. She immediately called Turetsky to give him the information.

“Sergei, it’s Rachel. I just got off the phone with Saul Steinman. He has invited me to his next meeting. It’s tomorrow night.” She was squeezing a pen in her other hand. She was tense, but it was a good kind of tense, one borne of excitement.

“That’s great news. Try to determine who the mole is. Get as much information on him as you can, where he works, where he lives, anything else that would be useful.”

“Can I also ask him how they plan to kill Steinman? Maybe I can lend him my gun.”

“Not funny, Rachel. Try to be cordial to everyone in the room. I know it’ll be a stretch for you. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

“Yes, I know. I’ll learn what I can.” After she hung up, she took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Her breath was stale, but there was no one else in the room, so it didn’t matter. Exhaling gave her the opportunity to taste her breakfast a second time. She looked out the window, more or less in a day dream. The tops of the palm trees were swaying in the breeze. It was another sunny day in south Florida. Life was good.

Rachel Karshenboym thought along the same lines as John Wellington and his Boss when it came to Steinman and his kind. She thought the world would be a better place without them and their ilk. People who gave aid and comfort to the enemy were guilty of treason, like vice president Cheney said after 9/11. They should be liquidated. But she decided to bide her time and limit her involvement to collecting information and passing it along … for now.

“An evil exists that threatens every man, woman and child of this great nation. We must take steps to insure our domestic security and protect our homeland.”

Adolf Hitler, 1933, on the creation of the Gestapo, the Nazi secret police.

“Arms discourage and keep the invader and plunderer in awe, and preserve order in the world as well as property… Horrid mischief would ensue were the law-abiding deprived of the use of them.”

Thomas Paine

People began drifting in to Saul Steinman’s place around 7 p.m. for the get-together. By 7:30 everyone had arrived. There were ten people in attendance altogether, Saul and his wife Rona, six professors from various universities in the Miami area, Paige and Rachel Karshenboym. They were engaging in small talk when Rona walked into the room.

“OK everybody. The sandwiches and coffee are ready. They’re in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

“Bob, I’d like you to meet my wife, Rona.”

“Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand to shake.

She didn’t feel comfortable shaking a man’s hand but she did it anyway. The Orthodox Jewish family she grew up in had a rule forbidding women from touching a man other than their husband. She drifted away from orthodoxy after marrying Steinman, which caused some tension within her family. They had two rabbis preside at their ceremony, one Orthodox and one Reform. She tried to keep a kosher home, but it was difficult because Saul liked bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches. She refused to make them. He had to make them himself, using a separate fry pan for the bacon.

“I won’t be participating in the meeting, but I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

Paige turned toward her. “Oh, why aren’t you participating?”

Saul chimed in. “She’s bored with politics and economics. The things we talk about depress her.”

“I’m a librarian. I like to talk about literature. Saul prefers talking about current events.”

“Ah, a librarian. Some of my favorite people are librarians. Where do you work?”

“At the North Miami Beach Public Library. It’s a schlep but I enjoy it.” Saul and Rona lived in southwest Miami, close to the main campus of FIU. The North Miami Beach Public Library was in the northeastern part of town, about 30 miles away and close to the Orthodox temple she used to attend before she married Saul.

She looked like a librarian, short gray hair and frumpy, with rimless glasses. Her smile gave her a certain sex appeal, though.

Paige noticed one wall was lined with bookshelves. As he walked closer, he took a whiff. He liked the smell of books, but the smell from these books wasn’t as strong as the smell in Steinman’s university office, probably because there weren’t as many of them and because the living room was a more open space than his cramped, cluttered office.

Most of the titles were in political science and political philosophy. He recognized a few of the titles, mostly by left-wing authors. But one shelf was different. It was filled with art books. Paige was curious and decided to ask.

“I noticed that one shelf of your book case has art books. Is there an artist in the family?

Rona stepped closer to the book shelf and adjusted one of the books. “That would be me. I studied art at Brown University as an undergraduate. I thought about going to the Rhode Island School of Design for an MFA but decided to become a librarian instead. It’s a steadier paycheck, you know.”

“Yes, as an accountant I understand completely.”

“I’ve maintained my interest in art, though. I order the art books for the library, and I have a small art collection.”

Paige noticed a few paintings and prints hanging on the far wall. She saw he was looking at them.

“Come on over and I’ll show you my collection.” She motioned to the left side of the wall. “I did these two after I graduated from Brown.” She pointed to two autumn landscape scenes. “I have a few others strewn about the house, but these are the only ones I feel comfortable enough about to display in the living room.”

“They’re very good. I like the way you use color.” Actually, Paige did like them, although he was no expert. They were oil paintings, not water colors. The paint was mostly smooth, not too lumpy. He didn’t know much about painting styles, but he knew that van Gogh and most of the impressionists were lumpy painters. They spread the paint in thick layers. He concluded that lumpy was ok, since they were lumpy painters and they became famous, partly because of the lumps.

“Thank you.” She motioned to a large print that appeared to be the centerpiece of the collection. “And this one over here has a story.”

“Ah yes, I remember it well,” Steinman interjected. He could hardly get a word in edgewise. Once Rona got started talking about art, it was difficult to shut her up.

“One Saturday afternoon, or maybe it was Sunday, I don’t recall, Saul and I were attending an art exhibit in Manhattan and some of Irina Urumova’s work was on display. I really fell in love with her work and I mentioned it to Saul. I thought he wasn’t paying attention. He doesn’t really appreciate art. But when I went to the ladies’ room he approached one of the staff and bought it for me. He had it shipped here to Miami. It arrived a few days before my birthday.”

Saul chimed in, “I’m quite proud of that purchase. One of her art friends told me it’s gone up in value about 500 percent since I bought it.”

“Oh, Saul, you shouldn’t look at art as an investment. He’s always like that.” Paige could relate to his viewpoint. Paige didn’t know much about art either, and tended to form his opinions based on market value.

After everyone returned from the kitchen, Saul made the introductions. Paige reached for the outer pocket of his sport coat and clicked a button on the pen that Wellington had given him. It started recording the introductions. The chip in the pen could store up to three hours of conversation. It could also take photos.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have two new members this evening. Since we have one of each, I’ll introduce the lady first.” Steinman extended his arm in her direction. “This is Rachel Karshenboym.” She was seated on a metal folding chair, bent slightly forward with a plate of food on her lap. She brought her boobs to the party and they were tastefully displayed, to the enjoyment of everyone. As the only woman in the group, she had the best boobs in the room.

One of the men asked, “Welcome Rachel. What do you do?”

She was happy to reply. “I’m a sociology professor at Miami Dade College.”

“You have a lovely accent. Where are you from?”

“I’m from Saint Petersburg, Russia. I also lived in Israel for a while.” She deliberately failed to mention that she also spent some time in the Israeli army, where she learned some very efficient killing techniques that she fantasized about using on some members of the group.

“Welcome to the group.”

Paige took notice, not only of her boobs but also the fact that she was a new member of the group and that she had an Israeli connection. He discreetly clicked the button on his pen to take her photo. He planned to send it to Wellington after he returned home.

Then he motioned in Paige’s direction. “The other new member is Robert Paige. He’s an accounting professor at Saint Frances University.”

Rachel perked up when she heard
new member.
She suspected he might be the CIA mole when she saw him click the button on his pen. Her suspicions were confirmed when Steinman revealed that he was a new member of the group. She had her man. She knew where he worked. Now all she had to do was find out where he lived. Mission accomplished, more or less.

She leaned forward in her chair. “Where do you live?”

“In Sunny Isles Beach. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes, of course, just north of Miami Beach. It’s a Russian neighborhood. I’ve been there many times.”

“Yes, sometimes I feel like I’m in Odessa when I walk out the door.”

“I know what you mean. Everyone there speaks Russian.”

Actually, Rachel’s statement wasn’t quite true. Some residents of Sunny Isles Beach also spoke Polish and a few other Eastern European languages as well as Spanish. The Brazilian woman who lived down the hall from Paige spoke Portuguese. Some of the snowbirds who inhabited his building in the winter were from Quebec and spoke Canadian French. The service personnel spoke Haitian Creole. The language on the beach and on the sidewalks was mostly Russian.

She tried her best to be cordial but took an instant disliking to Paige. She didn’t like Americans as a general rule. She thought they were undereducated, uninformed, naïve and uncultured. She made exceptions for some of the Americans she met in New York. She felt more comfortable with Jewish doctors, lawyers and professors. Most of the men she had slept with over the years had come from one of those three categories, although she once had a Catholic lover who could give her multiple orgasms.

Steinman called the meeting to order. “OK, let’s get started. Although you’re free to discuss any topic, I’d like to start by discussing the TSA and its Gestapo tactics.”

Most of the group nodded in agreement. Rachel was appalled. She thought what the TSA did was necessary to protect the country from terrorists. Giving up a little freedom was necessary in the interest of national security. Then she remembered she was there as an observer. Keep a low profile. Don’t do or say anything that would draw attention. She kept her mouth shut and pretended to go along, while every fiber of her being screamed to say something to defend the TSA and its actions.

“As you know, the TSA has been in the news a lot lately for its abusive search policies at airports. Last night there was an item on television about them strip searching a woman who had a double mastectomy. She was wearing some kind of temporary metallic support device to keep her skin stretched, pending implant surgery.”

Daniel Harris added, “Yeah, I saw that on the news. A few days before that they ran a story about a TSA agent who squeezed a guy’s urine bag, causing it to leak piss all over the guy’s pants and the floor. He had to get on the plane with wet pants.” Daniel Harris taught philosophy and theology at Barry University, one of the local Catholic universities. Although he was no fan of the Constitution — he wanted to do away with the Second Amendment’s right to bear arms — he got outraged whenever some government official conducted a warrantless search without probable cause.

Keith Martin chimed in, “I saw a story about them forcing a 90 year-old woman in a wheelchair to take off her diaper. We need to respond to that sort of tactic and make sure things like that get publicity. The public has to be aware of what’s going on in this country.” Kenneth Martin was an English professor at Saint Thomas University, another Catholic college in Miami. Although he liked the fact that the courts were dismantling the First Amendment protections on free speech by punishing people for saying things that offended women, minorities or any other protected group, he got upset whenever the feds violated the Constitutional protections against unreasonable searches.