Lost But Not Forgotten (26 page)

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll find out before they land somewhere. I hope you’re right about them going to New Orleans. Hell, I hope you’re right about a lot of things, Valetti.”

“Not half as much as I do,” he murmured. “When I
think of Gilly in the hands of a clown who has more to gain by killing her than letting her walk free…”

“He could off her if he finds out she really
doesn’t
know where the key is—or where to find McGrath’s list. Now
that
guy was a dummy. Why didn’t he contact us from the get-go? Or ship his information to the nearest agency?”

“That is curious,” Mitch agreed. “Especially when he had the wherewithal to contact Patrick Malone.”

Hall shrugged. “Folks in trouble often spill their guts to someone they trust. Maybe McGrath still had feelings for his ex. He might’ve figured if Malone couldn’t take care of her, he’d put her in touch with someone who could.”

Mitch looked bleak. “Yeah. We’ll never know what course of action Gilly’s ex might’ve taken if he’d given her the code outright—or hadn’t been struck down so quickly.”

“For all of Daryl McGrath’s cleverness, this organization has the resources to outsmart him every step of the way. Except for actually laying their hands on Daryl’s key.”

“So, you think it’s bigger than a money-laundering scheme? Gilly said that’s what Daryl told Malone he’d uncovered. Ethan and I thought it might be someone channeling local gambling funds. I’ve only been to New Orleans once, but I noticed a lot of cash changing hands in clubs down on Bourbon Street.”

“Son, there’s not a big city in the U.S. of A. that doesn’t have its own illegal crap going on.”

“I’ve policed big and small towns. You don’t have to tell me about the amount of sleaze in the world.” He frowned and raised his hand in a helpless gesture. “I’m worried about Gillian. I just wish to hell I could be sure
that she realizes there’s no honor among thieves,” he said as they buckled in for the flight.

“Thieves and worse,” Bob lamented.

The men drifted into silence as the six-seater plane taxied down the runway and lifted off. Once they were airborne and cleared to use electronic devices, Hall flipped open a laptop computer he’d grabbed before they left the car.

“What are you doing?” Mitch asked with mild curiosity.

“Trying to get someone at headquarters to complete a trace on ownership of that Cessna. I’m not holding my breath, mind you. Guys like we’re dealing with are too clever to own anything easily traceable. Sometimes we get lucky, though, and manage to track something back through a chain of phony corporations.”

“Won’t that take a long time?”

Bob smiled genuinely for the first time in their association. “The more powerful our computer programs become, the less clever these criminals seem. Dirty money buys a lot of muscle, but so far the white hats are still ahead. We have honor and integrity on our side,” he said smugly, “not to mention a higher level of education.”

Mitch made a sound in his throat. “The longer I worked the streets as a cop, the harder I found that is to believe. Look how fast those slick lawyers sprung Turpin and Capputo. If the good guys are so smart, why does evil like that still walk?”

“I didn’t say our system was perfect. But you gotta keep believing we’ll win more times than we fail.”

Mitch linked his hands between his knees and brooded. “I’ll tell you right now, Hall, I’m not giving up until I get Gilly back. Anything I can do to accomplish that, I will. Even if it means sinking to their level.”

“Bingo!” Hall shouted excitedly, grinning from ear to ear.

Mitch caught his excitement. “You figured out who owns the plane? That was fast.”

“Better, Valetti. One of our men uncovered Daryl McGrath’s safe. At his house. It turned up when an agent sat on the raised hearth and felt the slab of flagstone move. The safe was there all along. Right under the slab. And your idea paid off, so I owe you one. Bunch of notebooks inside.”

“What do they say? Who are these bastards?”

“Whoa. We’re good, but his notebooks are coded and deciphering them will take time. Duffy, my contact, says it looks as if Daryl detailed every move the organization made since the sailing of the
Mayflower.
But he’s written it all in number codes. Even worse, each page seems to have a different formula.”

“Good old Daryl,” Mitch groaned. “Gilly told me he was obsessive. How long will it take to get answers, does Duffy think? Soon enough to round up these guys before that plane lands?” Mitch chewed worriedly on his bottom lip.

“You’re wanting miracles, boy.”

“Damn right. I want Gilly back in one piece, and I don’t want her falling into the hands of anyone who’ll use her as a bargaining chip.”

“Huh. I’d like to promise you that, Valetti. Only I quit believing in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy a long time ago.”

Mitch slumped in his seat. He’d hate to be the one who’d handed the authorities the key, only to find out he’d put Gilly in greater danger.

“Hold on,” Bob mumbled. “My office is forwarding some tracking information on that airplane.”

Again Mitch sat on pins and needles as he anxiously awaited the new facts.

“Like I thought. A web of dummy companies. A nonexistent law firm leases the plane from a flight school that isn’t recorded as legit in any state. The flight school supposedly has the craft on loan from an East Indian rug dealer. He’s a real person, at least. He has a passport.”

“So, you’re saying this ring is international?”

“Not necessarily. Shoot, the rug dealer’s another blind. He’s in Attica doing ten to twenty for bringing more than rugs into the country.”

“Jeez, Hall. I can see I’ve never appreciated the FBI nearly enough. Pretty impressive how you’ve filtered through all those facts. Layer after layer of ’em.”

“Ah, another convert. Wait, hold the presses, I’m getting more data. The rug dealer fronted for a consortium headquartered in Turkey.”

Mitch snorted disgustedly. “Don’t tell me anymore. The mud only gets deeper. Somehow it all flows back to New Orleans. We know that because Daryl McGrath did the books dealing with huge sums of money being washed through a phony carpet company. Hmm. Maybe it’s not phony. Did anyone look into that?”

“It’s phony all right. We may finally have scraped off enough layers. The money for the plane originated with a bank draft drawn on a Swiss bank. An account set up by an American firm. Supposedly, the funds are used for the purpose of facilitating faster trading in antiques. The firm’s officers aren’t listed with the bank in Switzerland. It’s called Antiques and More. I’ll just bet if we can run that business to ground, we’ll be knocking at the door of our wheeler-dealers.”

“Antiques,” Mitch murmured. “Antiques. Damn, there’s something Gilly said about antiques. I can’t re
member. It’s there, but out of reach.” He doubled his fists, then ran both hands over a jaw in need of a shave. “Give me a minute to collect my thoughts, Hall, and I’ll try to come up with what she said.”

“Hurry up, okay? So far, it appears that our source has dried up.”

“Oh man, oh man, oh man. I’ve
got
it.” Mitch nearly vaulted from his seat. “I’ll hand it to you on a platter, Hall. Only if I’m right this time, Gilly’s in more danger than my worst nightmare. So, I want a second deal up-front. I want your word that you’ll hold off picking up this guy until you give me one clear shot at rescuing her.”

“I can force you to tell me, Valetti. You can’t withhold information from the FBI. I’ll toss your sorry ass in the slammer until you cooperate.”

Mitch’s eyes were cold and serious. “Yeah, you can do that.”

“Dammit, Valetti! Give me what you have.”

“So we have a deal? Your word?” Mitch held out his hand to the agent.

Hall took it, reluctance showing. But he did shake.

O
NCE THE INITIAL
queasiness associated with the small plane’s liftoff had passed, Gillian forced herself to relax. If she was quiet and listened to as much as possible, maybe she’d overhear something useful.

Her nerves were jumpy again. And her stomach, which had been on the verge of embarrassing her since the outset of this ordeal. Was it possible that she might be in the early stages of pregnancy? The joyous thought gave her something beyond her immediate plight to concentrate on.

Through no fault of her own, she’d lost one baby.
Surely God wouldn’t be so cruel as to take another from her.

Turpin and Capputo didn’t talk much. They seemed edgy, staring out the windows on either side of the small craft. No one paid attention to Gillian, who lay on the floor, bound hand and foot.

After what felt like hours, Gillian felt her stomach reacting adversely to another shift in atmospheric pressure. She moaned and gagged, blinking morosely up at Lenny Capputo. “Are we there?” she asked weakly.

“None of your business.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Gillian said, sliding up against the bulkhead.

Turpin started to unwind the tape from her ankles. “Can you hold off puking for five minutes? We’re landing to take on fuel. An old melon farmer in Brady—one of us—owns this airstrip. If you keep your trap shut, I’ll ask if you can use his john.”

“Yes,” Gilly murmured, fighting off the waves of nausea. “I won’t say a word if Mr. Brady lets me use his facilities.”

“His name isn’t Brady. That’s the town. Brady, Texas, you stupid broad,” Lenny Capputo snapped.

Foss Turpin cut him off with a glare.

“What do we care if she knows where we stop to refuel, Foss? Like she’s going to whisper our secret to a cantaloupe? Give me a break. We’ll have her delivered safe and sound and we’ll be hoisting a brew
years
before the feds figure out where we’ve gone.”

“Shut up, Lenny. This is the last job I’m doing with you. One of these days your mouth will get you sent upriver. I ain’t about to be on the raft with you.”

“Screw you. Think you’re so smart? Well, brains won’t get you jackshit without me. Because you’re too
squeamish to ice anyone.” He pulled a glinting steel weapon from the back of his belt and ran the tip of the barrel along Gillian’s cheek. “If the boss wants the chick done like her old man, I say you don’t have the guts.”

Gilly struggled to keep from fainting. She’d suspected these men had killed Daryl. Until now, she hadn’t known for sure.

“I do my share,” Turpin argued. “All I ask is that you zip your lip until this is over and we have our cash in hand. I got a bad feeling, Lenny, about those feds getting on our tail so fast. I’ll take the woman to the house to use the
facilities,
” he mimicked Gillian. “You see about refueling.”

“As long as you keep an eye on her. She shouldn’t’ve taken so long to find. Her cop boyfriend’s to blame. I hope he
is
on our tail. I’d like to pay him back for the night we spent in that jerkwater jail.”

As Gilly stumbled off the plane, she grasped at one hope. That Mitch was following, and by some miracle, he’d find a way to save her.

Then in the next breath, she prayed he wouldn’t come within a country mile of the boss. Whoever he was, he had to be even worse than these men. Maybe a
lot
worse.

Barely lasting until they entered the run-down house, and the gnarled old farmer showed Foss where to take her, Gilly emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet. She felt immediately better. The faint hope that she might truly be pregnant with Mitch’s baby jump-started her heart again.

After splashing water on her hands and face and patting herself dry with a towel the old fellow offered, Gillian thanked him for his kindness.

“Airsick?” he inquired sympathetically.

She glanced up and discovered that Foss had gone in
side the bathroom to use it himself. He’d momentarily closed the door. “I think I’m pregnant,” she whispered to the farmer, drawing his attention to her bound hands. It struck Gillian that this man might be her last link to anyone—to Mitch, in particular. “I know Mr. Turpin said you were one of them. But I suspect the baby’s father might be following us. If a dark-haired cowboy-type shows up here asking questions, would you please tell him I may be carrying his child?”

The old man didn’t agree or decline. Foss burst out of the privy, halting any conversation. Gillian didn’t think she’d misread the empathy in the old man’s rheumy eyes. She mustered a smile for the farmer as Turpin shoved her outside and across the field, pushing her roughly into the plane.

“What were you and the old geezer talking about?” he demanded as the plane soared aloft.

“Melons,” Gillian said, gritting her teeth against Turpin’s fetid breath. “You know how men are when you ask about their work.”

Capputo laughed. “If it wasn’t for our boss, that old fart would be rotting in an old folks home. See? The boss grants favors from time to time. He’s got a wife, but I hear he’s not averse to entertaining pretty women like you at his apartment in town. That’s where we’re going. Give him what he wants, maybe he’ll keep you around for a while.”

Gillian’s eyes blazed. “I’d rather die than give a man like that one ounce of pleasure.”

Lenny’s demeanor changed. “Nothing I hate more than an uppity broad.” He tightened her bonds.

Gillian clamped her teeth shut on her anger. She’d show them, though. She had fight left in her.

The remainder of the flight dragged, at this stage, Gil
lian just wanted it over and done with. She hadn’t slept much in two days. She wore borrowed clothes and desperately wanted a bath. Yet when they exited the plane in a spot she knew was rural Louisiana from the swampy odor, her heart almost thrashed out of her chest. It didn’t help that one of the men blindfolded her for a car ride.

Over her pounding heart, Gilly started to identify familiar city noises about an hour later. Cars honking, street vendors hawking wares. The smell of flowers floated in the open windows along with heavy, humid air. Gillian knew instinctively that they were headed for the Quarter.

The car slowed to a crawl. Gates creaked open on rusty-sounding hinges. They closed after the car passed through. Soon, she was dragged out of the back seat. Car doors banged shut, and she stumbled up concrete steps.