Kristmas Collins (29 page)

Zee pulled off to the side of the road, and watched as Agent Falcone walked slowly toward the truck.

“I thought we had a deal, ZT?”

Zee remained quiet as Falcone patted him down.

“It seems you removed the wire. And here, I thought your word was good. Luckily, I made sure I’d be able to find you.” He pointed to Zee’s necklace to let him know it contained a tracking device.

“And it’s a good thing I did, before you were able to escape with these hostages.” He turned to Nicole. “Are you okay?”

She nodded her head, and then surprised him, “But I’m not a hostage. Mr. Thomas offered us a ride home and I accepted it.”

“I have security video of Justin Duma taking your children, and then handing them over to Kris Collins,” Falcone responded.

“They were worried for my children’s safety. That woman in Macy’s threatened to choke my son. She worked for a gangster named Stone Scroggie, isn’t that correct?”

Falcone’s face contorted, as if he was fighting back an angry response. “I don’t understand why you’d protect Kris Collins, the man who helped Diedrich Kerstman … and who you publicly accused of being responsible for your husband’s death.”

Nicole held it together. “I am not pressing any type of charges, so I hope we’re free to go.”

“Once I search the back of the truck and find the stolen items that I’m sure are there, then we’re all going to be spending the night together down at the police station.”

“Nicole had nothing to do with any of this. So if you assure her a safe trip home, we can do this the easy way,” Zee said. “If not, you’re going to have to impound the truck and get a court order to search it. And I know you don’t have that kind of time tonight.”

“Our intent all day has been to assist Ms. Closs and her children. But you and Collins were able to convince her of your lies.”

“And Sophie’s identity will be protected?”

“I hope you don’t really think we would have released that information. Getting inside was the only way we could get the money back to the Kerstman families, and we needed to convince you to help.”

Zee was skeptical of his motives, but flipped him the keys. He then watched as Falcone made his way to the back of the truck.

Since the tunnels under Harry Crawford’s ranch were part of the Underground Railroad, there was also a back entrance to the property, which had been sealed up by a past owner. On the outside, the entranceway was hidden within a rock formation near the main roadway. During the reconstruction of the tunnels, Harry unsealed the entrance, and made sure it was large enough to fit a truck. So while the FBI was scouting the main entrance to his property, the trucks that contained what Falcone was looking for were headed out the back.

Zee had figured that he was being traced, even if he was unaware of the tracker being in his necklace. So he’d purposely led Falcone away from the ranch, pulling an empty trailer.

Falcone stormed back, red-faced. Instead of addressing Zee, he turned to Nicole. “You don’t know the people you’re dealing with here. And by choosing to associate with them, you could be putting yourself and your children in danger!”

“You’re right, I don’t know. But I’m starting to get a clearer picture,” she said.

In less than an hour the loot had been transferred from the trucks to the vans. The Puff Daddies drove the vans to specific locations to provide support to the Amigos, as they systematically hit the targeted homes.

Alyson and I drove just over the Connecticut border into New York, landing in the small, upscale town of Pound Ridge, where we were to set up the Command Center. A thick fog had settled over the rural, winding roads, but it didn’t slow Alyson down.

We entered the secluded driveway of my former house, even though I was rarely here during the final years of the marriage, back when Libby was busy turning it into a home. The large white colonial on three acres was a relative bargain at two million, which was the Wainwright equivalent of living in a tent.

Just as we arrived, I received a text from Zee. It simply said
Merry Christmas
. It calmed my nerves; it was code for Nicole was safe and headed home with her children.

We turned the headlights off, as to not announce our presence, and used the well-lit house to guide us. It seemed as if every light was on, along with the floodlights in the backyard. I was suspicious at first, but then I remembered Franny mentioning something about leaving the lights on so Santa wouldn’t miss them. I thought to tell her that Santa never misses the Wainwrights, but I liked that she hadn’t figured that out yet.

The driveway turned into a bridle path that led to a red barn. Back when we bought the place I had made it into a garage for my car collection, most notably my fire engine red, mid-life-crisis Ferrari. But based on the smell, it seemed as if it had been returned to its original roots.

The horse stalls that were once ripped out to make room for the cars were back. And sticking out their heads, looking curiously at their visitors, were Franny and Zooey’s new ponies. At least they would be tomorrow morning. One was reddish brown with a black mane, while the other was completely black.

Alyson went right to them and began petting, seemingly very comfortable. “They’re Welsh Mountain Ponies,” she informed me.

“You think I don’t know that?” I said with a grin. “They’re my Christmas gift to my daughters. I thought the best way for them to learn responsibility would be to care for another living creature.”

“I think I’ll get Robbie a goldfish. And I must say that
Libby
has great taste—the Welsh breed are known for their trustworthiness, stamina, and intelligence.”

All things we needed tonight. “I didn’t know you were a pony connoisseur?”

“I spent a lot of time at Herm’s family farm when we were first married. I picked up a few things.”

I detected a melancholy in her voice—the family farm was a reminder of Robbie being away from her for Christmas.

I stopped to say hello to an old friend—the Ferrari. I lovingly ran my hand over the hood, as if to tell her that one day our relationship could be out in the open once again, and not consist of secret meetings like this in the dark of night. But I forced myself to move on.

We entered the small living quarters that were built into the garage/barn. It had a small kitchen and a shower. And for tonight’s purposes, it contained the two essentials—plug-ins for the laptop and a coffeemaker.

Alyson scrambled to set up the laptop, hooking into the secure feed that would allow us to visually follow the movements of the Amigos throughout the night. She also fitted me with a headset, so I could hear the audio of the conversations between the Amigos and Hacker—and could communicate with them when necessary. I was Mission Control and they were the astronauts.

The Amigos had already hit homes from North Salem to Lewisboro, and were now in Bedford. I watched as a van driven by one of the Puff Daddies arrived. Seconds later, Tomás dropped off Gustavo and Berto, and made his way around the block.

“Give me the details,” Gustavo said.

“Occupants left forty-five minutes ago for church. Only thing you need to worry about is a German Shepherd,” Hacker replied.

“Dogs love me,” Berto said, flashing the reason why they love him to the camera—a handful of treats.

Hacker provided the security code, which Gustavo was already punching in. “Like taking candy from a baby,” he said, as Berto unloaded the items from the van, which then backed out of the driveway and left the scene.

The camera took us into the house—it was like I was in there with them. I almost jumped out of my skin with each creak of the hardwood floors, but they showed no signs of nerves. Gustavo moved from the kitchen to living room, and then to the fireplace, methodically taking care of business, while Berto moved the heavy items.

Three minutes in and out, no resistance from the dog, and even time left for Berto to take a couple of bites out of the cookies that were left for Santa, along with a sip of the milk. It was his calling card.

“Done,” Gustavo said, re-setting the alarm.

“I’m closing out of their bank account. Transaction has been made,” Hacker added. Seconds later, the van driven by Tomás slowed by the curb, and the black-clad burglars made their way across the lawn and jumped in. They were already off to the next house in North Castle before anyone spoke.

We planned on three to five minutes at each home, depending on the amount of loot involved. But nobody was naïve or arrogant enough not to expect complications at some point tonight.

The order of the houses was determined by geography and difficulty. The plan was to hit the less populated areas early in the evening, and move to the more congested areas as the night grew long, and people set in for a long winter’s nap … or at least tried to get a few hours of shuteye before the chaos of Christmas morning.

It was impossible to hit every home. First of all, many of the former Kerstman employees didn’t live in the area any longer. And for the few that still could afford to live in New York City, we couldn’t risk going over bridges, and make Falcone’s job easier.

But 78% of the former employees still lived in Westchester County or Fairfield County, Connecticut, and we targeted the ones who were left most vulnerable by the Kerstman demise. And those we couldn’t get to, we would still be able to get into their bank accounts.

I continued to watch in awe as the Amigos marched through Westchester County like Sherman through Georgia—Rye Brook, Harrison, White Plains, Scarsdale, New Rochelle. While I was a nervous wreck, the Amigos seemed to become invigorated each time the challenge heightened—getting into apartment complexes, or homes where the occupants were sleeping upstairs. Since Hacker could read the emails and texts of the residents, we knew which ones had plans tonight, and the others we attempted to get out of the house, and keep out—for example: Duma stalling the yacht on the harbor. But it didn’t seem to matter to the Amigos.

At three in the morning, they arrived at a dark home in Sleepy Hollow, the home of Jeffrey Yu and his family. Berto slipped and fell in the living room. And being no small man, it caused a loud bang. A rustling could be heard upstairs.

My screen immediately changed to boxes like in the television show
24
, and I was watching action in different parts of the house in real time. In one box, I saw Mr. Yu reach into the drawer of a bedside table and pulled out a .44. He threw on a robe, and headed toward the living room, gun in hand.

But Hacker had already relayed the information, and Gustavo was waiting for him as he stepped out of his bedroom, and chopped the gun out of his hand. Before he could get a good look at the man in the ski mask, Mr. Yu was tied and gagged, and tossed into a hallway closet. Gustavo then moved into the bedroom.

Before Sharon Yu could scream, Berto had his hand over her mouth from behind. She received the same treatment as her husband, and was placed in the closet.

I picked my heart off the floor, but my hands didn’t stop shaking until they arrived at their next stop in Tarrytown. I recognized the street—it was the one I grew up on—and suddenly I flooded with childhood memories of Christmas. As they slowly drove down the street it looked exactly the same as when I used to stare out the window, waiting for Santa in the wee morning hours, even though my parents warned me that if I didn’t go to sleep the big guy wouldn’t come.

Hacker informed them that Stu and Mary Reed planned to be spending Christmas at the home of Stu’s brother in Rhode Island.

“I have a note that Zee was able to get a copy of the spare key on a reconnaissance mission, so you should have it, and everything should be set up for you inside,” Hacker said.

I suddenly remembered who the Reeds were—the ones who accused Zee of stealing the wife’s jewelry. And that Zee did get the key, but he gave it to the absentminded professor who forgot to pass it along.

I adjusted my headset and said, “I got this one.”

The Ferrari probably wasn’t the best choice for our drive to Tarrytown in the wintry conditions—the fog had lifted as the temperatures dropped, but a light snow had continued to fall, and hidden ice was always lurking.

I’d convinced Alyson that people would be suspicious of a dark SUV driving around a suburban neighborhood in the predawn hours, but not a Ferrari. If criminals drove cars like this they wouldn’t need to be criminals, I told her. She countered that I was just looking for an excuse to drive my car one more time. She was right, but let me have my way. It was like the good old days at Kris Collins Esq.

Main Street was empty, but the marquee of the Tarrytown Music Hall was lit up like the show was about to start. I spotted the café where my parents used to bring my sister and me for lunch on summer days, and we’d eat outside on the patio. And Shea Polo’s Pizza, where Zee’s father used to bring our Little League team after wins … and losses … or any excuse he could come up with.