Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) (23 page)

Ivy thought for a moment and
said.  "Therefore the scheme from the 2007 case should not be
available to the public.  So either Astuto reinvented the scheme or . .
."

"We have a mole at the
Bureau.  Steve was worried about that though he kept it quiet.  He
only mentioned it to me after we departed."

A look of deep concern crossed Ivy's
face.  She pulled up the covers a little higher, as if she were just then
realizing the power of the perp they were dealing with.  

"You sure this is the right time
to talk about this Astuto character?"  Mathew asked.

"I need to know." 
Ivy's body language might look as if she were feeling vulnerable, but the
determination in her face told him she meant to hear it all.

"We began unraveling the owners
of more than 150 suspect accounts across the 14 different banks involved in the
transfers.  Each account belonged to one of 25 companies in six
countries.  The final destination, except for about 30% siphoned off in
Zurich, was a series of accounts at three banks in Turkey, which is not one of
the best countries at cooperating in these money-laundering
investigations.  We couldn't tell if the money was used to buy drugs coming
out of the Middle East, passed on to terrorists, or stockpiled for some other
purpose.

"We now had to bring in the FBI's
Joint Action Task Force that dealt with terrorist activities, the DEA, and
several other agencies, making for slow going at the beginning.  This was
in addition to working within the Department of Justice, and with the Treasury
Department which included the Office of Foreign Assets Control.  We began
to have far more help than was productive.  Several agencies began lobbying
for control of the case."

"Bet that made Steve happy,"
Ivy said quietly.  She had slipped a little lower in bed but was listening
intently.

Mathew laughed as he recalled that
time.  "Steve started shaking things up at HQ to either retain
control of the case or move him to another matter.  He did this with his
characteristic charm and aplomb.  We could hear a number of heated
conversations echoing out from under the door to his office.   No
agency wants to give up control of an investigation but taking all aspects together,
this operation belonged in the FBI.

"In the end the Bureau appointed
Steve to head a joint task force for the field operation of apprehending the
perps.   About five team members joined our core team to serve in the
additional coordination roles.  Steve brought in a senior HQ type to
oversee them -- a position he sarcastically referred to as the Coordinator of
the Coordinators or the
C.O.C
. which he sometimes
pronounced as ‘cock’.   He added twice-daily standup briefings with
the
C.O.C
. and his project team leaders to make sure
we all stayed synchronized."

"The ‘
C.O.C
’
-- love it.  Be a funny title on a business card."

"Yeah.  We had to keep the
other departments organized and in communication.  Anyway back to Astuto
-- of the 30% of the money siphoned off in Zurich, about half stayed in the
account.  The balance went into an account for a benevolent trust called,
'The
CCE
Charitable Foundation'.  Its alleged
purpose was to fund security and safety programs in poor neighborhoods with
concentrations of Latinos in the United States.  We went after more
detail.  Steve charged my team with researching the myriad of shell and
sham operating companies that owned the money laundering accounts.  We
were seeking commonalities in ownership, officers, signatories, type of
business, location -- anything that would lead us to the top of the
pyramid.  Moll set up a database to house these characteristics.  We
analyzed it for congruities and disparities based on both actual and fuzzy
searches -- you know, those “sounds like” type searches.”

Ivy nodded.  “We used those a lot
at my company searching client data.  We kept expanding the degree of
fuzziness until we would reach the point of diminishing returns.”

“Us too.  Nothing popped out
though.  We tried matching spellings both forward and backward.  We
translated names between Spanish and English.  Out of ideas, we sat down
with Steve to identify other approaches.  He suggested various methods of
encoding.  We tried dropping letters and shifting letters from front to
back.  Steve suggested we try to find patterns in the abbreviations of the
company names.  After numerous dead ends, we discovered that they all
abbreviated to Spanish common names of animals or plants or insects -- all
native to Latin America."

"That's odd.  Makes me
wonder why," Ivy said quietly.     

"We also scrutinized the names of
the officers, signatories, etc.  After running into a bunch of blind
corners, we found that if we took a list of common Spanish first names and
paired it with a list of common Spanish last names from each end of the
alphabet, we could create the officer names by age of the company.
  The second name on the list would be the reverse -- the first name
came from the end of the alphabet and the last name from the beginning, the
third would be taken from the middle and then the pattern would repeat itself.
 For example, the first company, which dated to the year 1998, had the
following three officers,
Presidente
: Adan
Zermeno
;
Vicepresidente
: 
Vincente
Alvarez;
Secretario
:
Luis Martinez. 

"The companies were registered in
Spanish-speaking Latin America, including Colombia, Mexico, Argentina,
Venezuela and Cuba.  Many of the companies listed shipping, tourism, or
investment management as their type of business.  Several listed ships as
assets.   As we researched, we found these ships to be very expensive
yachts.  We began to investigate the operations of these companies and
attempted to verify the existence of the named officers.  As we obtained
copies of specimen signatures from the banks for those individuals who could
authorize bank transfers, our graphologists or hand writing specialists
identified three patterns in the penmanship.  This was our most exciting
discovery to date.  We then checked to see if any of these names were
linked to travel to or from the United States.  About a dozen had been,
three fairly frequently. Six held U.S. passports. We acquired photographs from
the passports on file.   Photo and signature analysis revealed that
they likely belonged to two individuals using multiple identities.  In
fact, the two men bore a remarkable resemblance to each other and might even
have been the same person, although one had a scar on his forehead, which
possibly was applied with makeup or hidden by it.  Unfortunately, no
fingerprints were on file. 

"We were dealing with a
mastermind who had set up a brilliant web of financial transactions and likely
had a mammoth drug ring and other illegal operations behind it.  We began
an intensive action to run this man to ground.  After some weeks of
networking and searching, we finally received intelligence through the DEA that
the perp was on a yacht off the coast of Manzanillo, on the southwest coast of
Mexico.   

"Steve picked his field team of
six.  Brian, Moll and I were on it.  We now reported to Steve full
time.  It made me pleased that the four of us were working together. 
Steve's choices told me what he valued, including performance, commitment,
attention to detail and creativity.  Right when we planned to move to
Guadalajara to prepare for a possible raid in Manzanillo, the judge signed the
data order in the child trafficking case, so off I went to Guadalajara and as
you know Steve, Brian and Moll appeared in your offices that same Monday
morning. 

“On the morning of the fourth day, we
planned to board the yacht with a small team from the DEA and with support from
a Mexican SWAT team.”

“So that’s why Steve left after the
first day,” Ivy noted.

“Yeah.  Turned out the actual
sting was easy, since the crew was small and mostly unarmed.   All we
caught was an actor traveling under a U.S. passport hired to be the double of
the owner of the yacht, a man who paid him and who he knew only as El Zorro
Astuto.  We arrested and questioned the crew hired in Veracruz where the
yacht was registered under one of the Astuto corporations.  The actor and
the crew accounted for all the prints we found on the yacht.  Either the
real Astuto had never been there, or he had the yacht wiped clean after his
last visit.

"We were stalled.  Our
quarry appeared to have gone underground.  The flow of funds into the
accounts in Colombia stopped also, and the phony passports were not used
again.  Thanks to you, we had a lead to follow on the child trafficking
case and we shifted our primary attention to it.  During this time, I
never saw Steve do the bar scene, outside of a drink with the team, although we
did share a number of plates of cookies.  He told me that he began his
life as an FBI monk a few weeks after we talked back in 2007.  The
asceticism made him cranky as hell for about six months and then he was
clearer-headed and lighter-hearted.  He kept swimming, often twice a
day.  We joked that he was trying to freeze it off.”

“Glad that didn’t happen,” Ivy said
sleepily.

“I can’t say he became less demanding,
but he was different, even more focused and yet, sometimes somewhat
dreamy.  So why is all this important to you, Ivy?  Because you
should appreciate how much it meant to Steve when he met you.  As far as I
know, he had been sexually abstinent for five years and emotionally isolated
perhaps all his life.  He did personal soul searching.  If a man had
to find his dream ahead of me, I am glad it was Steve.  With luck, I still
have some time in front of me.  You should also recognize how damn
excellent he was at his work and how hard it was for him to leave the
Bureau.  Now we have to nail the bastards who did this to you.  This
vendetta has to end.  We will catch them, even if I have to rejoin the FBI
to do it."

Mathew stopped talking.  He had
been staring into space, unaware that Ivy like a little girl had drifted off to
sleep during her bedtime story.  No matter -- he could repeat the last
part in the morning.  He gazed over at Steve who lay in his bed as he had
for days now.  Mathew said a prayer for his recovery.  Although he
was not an overly religious man, unlike Steve and Ivy, he believed in some
omnipotent power.  He prayed that Steve was
Vulneratus
non
Victus
,
Wounded but not
Conquered
.

He rose, stretched and pulled the
covers up over Steve.  This man had saved his life in Mexico.  Even
without that, they had bonds of friendship and they had their new vineyard
partnership.  He bent and kissed him on the forehead, then went over and
did the same for Ivy.  He was meeting Brian and Moll for a late
dinner.  After that he would shower at the Portland house where they were
staying, put on fresh clothes and come back to the hospital for the
night. 

The next afternoon Ivy was released
from the hospital and, guarded by Brian and Moll, went to stay in the Portland
house.  Early the following morning when Mathew turned away from Steve's
bed, he saw or thought he saw a little fluttering in Steve's hand.  The
nurse came in to check his IVs, followed by a doctor to go over his incisions
and his chart, and finally a physical therapist arrived to exercise Steve's
limbs.

During this time, Mathew watched Steve
closely but he could not detect any voluntary movements.  Once the room
was quiet, he stood by Steve's bed watching him.  He called his name;
nothing happened.  He reached down, gripped his hand and called his
name.  He felt a slight grip back.  He gripped harder and called his
name more loudly and urgently.  Steve's eyes opened.  He focused on
Mathew, frowned and tried to speak.  Mathew raised the back of the
hospital bed, helped him to sit up and gave him some water. 

"Ivy, where is Ivy?" He
spoke slowly in a gravelly undertone.

"She was released yesterday
afternoon.  She should be here soon.  Moll will drive her in."

"What time is it? And where the
hell am I?" he asked hoarsely.

"9:45; you're at Providence
Hospital in Portland."

"I was out overnight?" 

"Steve, today is Thursday."

Steve looked confused.  "But
it was Sunday when Ivy came back to Spook Hills.  Is she okay?"

"Yes, thanks to you for shielding
her.  She went through surgery to have the bullet removed that did get
her.  Her arm is in a sling and she'll have weeks of healing and recovery
ahead of her, but she should be fine."

"And me?  Damn, my whole
left side aches, shoulder, chest, even my butt."

"You were hit twice.  Like
Ivy, you took one in the shoulder as you spun around to protect her.  It
passed through your upper shoulder muscles and slammed into your collarbone,
making it crack.  They had to operate and pin it together for
stability.  When you dove over Ivy, you turned the other cheek, so to
speak.   Luckily you are enough of a lard-ass that the bullet passed
through and came back out before it hit the pelvis.  As it was, you lost a
terrific amount of blood.  I was trying to plug up the bleeding on you and
Ivy while waiting for the ambulance, but it kept seeping out."

"You sure she’s okay?"

"Don't worry -- she'll be
fine.  She's been here to talk to you and hold your hand several times a
day ever since she could get out of bed."

A little smile spread across his
face.  "I heard her.  She sounded far away.  I wanted to go
to her but I was too weak."

"Let me tell you, there was so
much blood on me that the medics thought I was hit too.  Likely you were
weak from the blood loss."

He nodded and moved his mouth a bit as
if he wanted to say something.  "Toothbrush?  Mouth is like the
floor of a Metro station."

"Steve, I think I should get a
nurse."

"Not yet.  Help me brush my
teeth.  I want to kiss Ivy when she arrives without smelling totally
repulsive."

Mathew rummaged in his backpack and
brought out Steve's Dopp kit, handed him his toothbrush and toothpaste, poured
more water and found a pan for him to spit in.

Steve brushed his teeth, checked that
he was shaved, fell back against the pillows, closed his eyes and appeared to
have returned to his coma state.  Mathew hit the buzzer for the
nurse.  The nurse examined Steve and shook her head, scolding Mathew for
not calling her right away.  She bustled off to alert the doctor on duty.

Mathew decided not to tell Ivy that
Steve had been conscious and sentient, feeling that she should be the one to
wake him up.  He was pleased he had been awake and seemed
clear-headed.  A half-hour later, Ivy walked in with Moll and frowned at
Steve. 

"Why is he sort of propped
up?"

"I thought the change of position
might do him good."

She gave Mathew a funny look, then
bent over and kissed Steve.  Slowly Steve's eyes opened.  He saw her
and smiled.  His eyes went from unfocused to having that warm glow they
had every time he saw Ivy.  Using his good arm, he edged himself closer to
her and signaled for water.  After he drank, he was alert again as he had
been before.  He held Ivy's hand, stared at her and began crying. 
Ivy held on to Steve as best she could -- two victims of a battle.  

This time Mathew did ring for the
nurse.  Outside of healing from the bullet wounds and surgery, Steve
appeared to be in good shape.  He did complain of dizziness and a
headache, but said it was nothing much.  Three different doctors came in
over the next half hour.  Each one appeared puzzled by how alert Steve
was. 

Tests were scheduled on him for the
afternoon but from that morning on, he recovered quickly.  His headache
became less frequent and less intense each day.  He still slept a fair
amount, but he did not appear to return to his coma state.  Most telling
in his recovery was that several times a day, either Steve or Ivy would send Mathew
out for things to eat -- cheeseburgers, milkshakes, lattes, garden salad,
chicken soup, cookies, muffins, pie, ice cream, more ice cream.  Not only
did they send him out, but Ivy had very specific shops for each item. 
Clearly neither of them had taken a bullet to the gut. 

***

On the morning after Steve woke up,
Ivy was ready to talk about the shooting.  Steve was half-sitting up in
bed, taking most of his weight on his right side.  He appeared to be both
alert and interested.

"Tell us everything you
remember," Mathew said.

Ivy thought for a moment, "How
far back?"

"Let's go back to the night
before."

"You know I had returned to
Portland and sublet a studio on a week-by-week basis in the Pearl?"

"Brian told us," Steve
said.  "Took all my self-discipline not to grab a car and drive to
Portland."

Ivy and Steve held each other's
gaze.  Mathew could see that unspoken words were passing between them in
an invisible stream.  He waited and then cleared his throat.  Steve
nodded at Ivy to continue. 

"On the fourth day I drove to the
airport, returned the rental car, went to the Alaska counter and bought a
ticket to Seattle.  From there I passed through security, sat down, went
online, canceled my flight to Seattle and booked one to Spokane that was going
out about the same time.  I had my boarding pass downloaded to my cell
phone and then went to the gate and boarded.  Since I only had carry-ons,
luggage was not a problem.

"Once in Spokane, I rented
another car and drove to Walla Walla where I stayed overnight at the historic
Marcus Whitman Hotel.  I watched my rearview mirror closely to make sure
no one was following me.  I never spotted anyone.  From there, I
checked out at four in the morning, got into my rental car and drove back to
Portland, rotating between the Oregon and Washington sides of the Columbia
River whenever I came to a bridge, again checking the rearview mirror the whole
way, especially when I changed sides of the river. 

"In Portland, I returned the car
to Avis, went into the airport, picked up some bottled water, walked back out
and rented a car at Hertz.  Still checking to see if anyone followed me, I
drove to Hillsboro, picked up lunch, ditched the wig and fluffed up my
hair.  Then I took back roads in an unplanned, circuitous way until I
arrived at Spook Hills.  Never did I sense that I was being
followed."

"Did you see any cars as you
neared the vineyard?"  Mathew asked.

She searched her memory.  "A
delivery truck for bottled water turned on the Archery Summit dirt road."

"You remember the name or
brand?"

She frowned for a moment.

"Something Glacier.  The
sign was blue and white.  The truck was turning as I came by."

"Did you see anything right before
the shooting?"

"My back was to the shooters; I
was hugging Steve.  Hugging him and crying."  They looked at
each other at the memory of it.

Mathew smiled, having watched them
from the living room window.

"Wait! I pulled back to see his
face.  He had on those mirrored sunglasses he wears sometimes.  I saw
a little flash -- a reflection in the sunglasses and then a shot.  Pain,
Steve pushing me down, more shots, Steve landing on top of me."

She shook her head.  "I must
have passed out then."

Mathew nodded, surprised she
remembered that much.

"Mathew, where were you?"

"Inside the house.  I
followed Steve when we heard your car pull up, but then stopped because I
thought you two should have a few moments to yourselves.  Now I wish I
hadn't.  Once the shots started, I ran out, gun drawn and firing. 
They took off and I ran for you two, calling on my cell for the ambulance and
the police, telling them to alert the FBI.  I put the phone on speaker and
tried to staunch the bleeding, but you two were making a big donation to the
Red Cross.  Steve had taken off his protective vest when he was working in
the sun on the balcony by your master bedroom.  He forgot to put the vest
back on when he saw you."

"What about the others?"

"It was Sunday.  No one was
working.  You remember Fred, the diligent Hispanic kid?"

Ivy nodded.

"He works directly for Spook
Hills now.  Anyway a few minutes before he stopped by and I asked him to
go check on a leak we had patched in the irrigation system the preceding
day."

Steve looked a little guilty. 
"I ran over a valve.  Mathew wanted to be sure the patch was
holding."

"Silly the things I remember --
as I stepped out of the car and saw how much the house had come along, all I
could think was Steve having enough faith in our love to go on building it,
even though I had disappeared.  That time away taught me one thing -- it
was far harder to be alone, than to be here with you."  She reached
out and took Steve's hand.

"So nothing while you were
gone?  Nothing to make you think you were followed?"

"Oh I was followed all
right.  Brian is good, but not good enough to get by me."

"You saw him?" 

"His appealing Brian smile gives
him away.  He was a woman in line behind me in a Portland, Maine
Starbucks.  He was a
beachy
sort of guy in
sunglasses and a cap worn backwards, pumping gas into his car and joking with a
local in Bar Harbor.  He was man with dark auburn hair two rows behind me,
flirting with the stewardess on the flight to London.  Think I spotted him
a few other times.  I always notice perfect eyebrows on a man too.  I
found it comforting to have him with me."

Mathew thought for a moment. 
"I wonder what that flash was.  A car door opening, reflecting the
sun?  A signal of some sort?"

Steve shrugged and then said. 
"Sometimes working outside at the house, I felt as if someone was watching
me.  Once or twice I saw a glint, like from a mirror or glass, but then I
thought I was just being paranoid."

"You have that great sixth
sense.  Bet it was someone with binoculars or . . ."

"A high-powered rifle
sight," Ivy said, understanding someone might have stalked them for
weeks. 

They looked at each other, knowing
that from now on their best defense would be themselves.

"You're a great friend,
Mathew.  Thank you for being here and for caring for us."

"Oh heck, we're family, aren't
we?"

Ivy smiled at him, nodded and asked,
"Where was Brian by the way?  Why wasn't he following me to Spokane
and back?" 

"You would have made a good
agent.  He lost you in the gate area at the airport, so he took a chance
and boarded the plane to Seattle right when they were shutting the doors. 
He tracked you later, but he was always one stop too late."

"I changed my hat and jacket in
the Ladies room before going to the Spokane gate.  Now I wish I
hadn't.  Maybe Brian would have been there to stop the shooters."

"Or maybe he would have been shot
too.  Don't second-guess yourself, Ivy.  You did what you thought was
best."

"How did they know I would show
up at Spook Hills at that exact time?" 

"Triggerfish," Steve
muttered.

"What?"  Ivy asked,
looking at him a little worriedly as if he had just spoken gibberish.

"Tracking device.  I figure
that they planted a tracking device or software in your cell phone, your laptop,
or your iPad -- something you would have with you." A little guiltily, he
added, "We did too.  We call those tracking devices
'triggerfish'."

She nodded.  "When? 
How?"

"I installed ours before you
left.  Remember when I told you I wanted to check the setups?  They
were in case Brian lost you on a line of sight basis.  The tracker is
software that transmits and logs positional data on a server. 
Sophisticated ones like ours can be set for how often to transmit and where.
 That's why you never saw Brian tailing you in the car."