Smoke & Mirrors (24 page)

90

WINTER CLIMBED INTO HIS JEEP, SLID HIS REEDER
.45
from under the seat, holstered it, and drove toward the plantation at seventy miles an hour, checking his rearview mirror every few seconds for a tail. He was now certain of several things. When Kurt Klein had immediately agreed to pay the five million, Winter knew that Klein had not only been informed of the land situation all along, but he believed Klein himself had put Styer in play to make it happen.

Klein would have to call Styer off the family and go through with the purchase, but Winter figured that would have little, if any, effect on Paulus Styer’s intention to kill him.

Winter approached the roadblock at Leigh’s driveway, slowed and rolled down the window so the deputy could see him.

“How’s it going?” Roy Bishop said, slinging the AR-15 onto his wide shoulder.

“Never better,” Winter said. “Any traffic?”

“Nope. Cold and quiet. Had a Memphis TV crew come up, asking to see Ms. Gardner, but I shooed them off. The sheriff is expecting you.” Winter rolled the window back up and drove toward the house.

91

WHEN ALEXA WOKE UP, SHE WAS GROGGY AND
lying in an extremely large bathtub, enclosed by marble on three sides. The frosted glass sliding doors were closed. Her wrists were handcuffed behind her. She was wearing only her bra and panties, her suit and blouse on hangers suspended from one of six showerheads above her. Her ankles were joined with cable ties, and a strip of duct tape covered her mouth.

Classical music played from hidden speakers. Her head ached, and she remembered the stream of chloroform hitting her face.

Had Styer partnered with Jason Parr, who had masqueraded as a pig farmer? They could have seen her get out of Brad’s truck. If Parr hadn’t won, and put the money in her jacket, she never would have come back. Winter had told her that nothing was beyond Styer’s diabolical planning ability. She cursed her naivete, squirming against the cold marble.

She managed to scoot forward, lie on her back, and open the doors using the bottoms of her feet. The heavy doors slid aside effortlessly and Alexa maneuvered into a sitting position. She yelped involuntarily at what she saw. Wearing a tightly stretched T-shirt, starched jeans, and cowboy boots, Jason Parr sat on the floor in a corner of the bathroom, staring out through wide-open but dry and frosted eyes. In death, he looked subtly different than she remembered. His mouth was open and his swollen blackened tongue protruded from his lips like a half-inflated balloon. Around his neck was the red silk tie that had been used to throttle him. The tie looked like the same one that the bellboys, clerks, dealers, and probably room service personnel at the casino wore as part of their uniform. The real Jason Parr looked as though he had been dead for a couple of days, which meant that the man she had gambled with was Paulus Styer.

She saw shadows under the door, and watched as the gold-plated lever dropped from the nine to the six o’clock position and was cracked open. There was a gentle rapping followed by a voice she knew but couldn’t quite place. “Ms. Keen. Are you in there?”

She felt momentary relief at hearing the familiar voice. That was replaced by horror as the man entered the room, and looked down at the corpse in the corner. “Oh, damn, you’re in quite a predicament,” he said in a honey-smooth Southern-edged accent.

When the man turned his gaze on her and smiled, she realized it was Styer in another nearly perfect disguise. Although the similarities to the man Styer was impersonating were more than superficial, his smile was an insincere imitation of the original owner’s.

“I see you’ve found me,” he said, switching to Jason Parr’s voice, indicating the body. “You’re an honest gal, but not a very careful one.”

Alexa glared at her abductor as she realized what he could do with his current disguise. Paulus Styer had found the perfect Trojan horse.

92

BRAD MET WINTER IN THE GARDNERS’ FOYER, AND
after following him to the master bedroom where a still-dressed Leigh was stretched out on the bed, he filled them in on his meeting with Klein. He didn’t tell them he suspected that Klein had been behind the plan to kill the Gardners, as the injustice would gnaw at them. The important thing was that the Gardners were no longer in danger and Cyn would soon be safe at home.

“He’s paying five million, in cash? Just like that?” Brad asked.

Winter nodded. “I think he would have probably paid more, Leigh. But it’s what you thought was fair and it is an amount he can live with.”

“What about Mulvane?” Brad said. “Does he know what he’s done?”

“He seemed convinced,” Winter said. “Hard to tell with a man like Klein. He gave me the impression that he has suspected some subterfuge on Mulvane’s part all along. After the deal is done, we’ll take the bonds, put them in Brad’s evidence safe, and you can move them to your bank when it opens.”

“I don’t care about the bonds,” Leigh said.

Winter asked, “Where’s Alexa? I want to tell her.”

“You didn’t see her? She took off to watch your back when I told her you went to the Roundtable.”

“No,” Winter said.

He opened his cell phone and dialed Alexa, his fingers trembling involuntarily. After three rings she answered.

“Yes?” she said.

“Lex!?”

“What’s up?”

“Where are you? Brad told me you followed me.”

“I saw you leaving the casino and as I was getting ready to follow you, I got a call from Deputy Director Hatcher. He insisted that I meet with some field agents from the Memphis office. No biggie. I’m driving to the FO now.”

“Okay. We’re doing the deal tonight at nine.”

“So you don’t need me right now?”

“No. I guess not. You scared the hell out of me is all. I was about to call in the cavalry.”

“I’ll be back from Memphis as soon as I can get away,” she said. “I want to be there when Cyn calls or shows up. You stay sharp, you hear?”

“There’s no danger. Klein will make sure Mulvane doesn’t pull anything.” Winter closed the phone and slipped it into his pocket.

“Can you imagine Mulvane’s face if a dozen armed deputies had thundered into the casino hollering out Alexa’s name?” Brad said.

“The only thing I know is that nothing is going to happen to Alexa on my watch. Anybody does anything to her, and it’s scorched earth time.”

93

STYER TOOK THE PHONE FROM ALEXA’S EAR, CLOSED
it, and removed the earpiece he’d used to listen in on her call. She was in an armchair, where Styer had placed her after carrying her from the bathtub, still bound. Paulus put the second phone into his pocket where she could see it. She had cooperated because Styer told her he had planted a bomb containing three kilos of Semtex in the Gardner house. The detonator was rigged to his cell phone. All he needed to do, if she tried anything rash, was to hit the
SEND
key. She had taken his word, seeing in her mind the faces of everyone inside the house. She knew he would not hesitate to kill them.

“So Cynthia’s alive?” she asked.

“She is indeed. You’ll see her very soon.”

She watched him, still so convinced by the disguise that to hear his Eastern European–accented English flowing from the familiar lips was as unnerving as having a dog talk to you.

“Why Winter?” she asked.

“I don’t understand your question,” Styer said.

“Why all this to kill Winter?” she asked. “What did he do to you?”

Styer sat in the chair across from her, crossed his leg, and studied her without answering.

“I understand you were supposed to kill him in New Orleans. Why did you lie—say you weren’t?”

Styer said, “He both knows and talks too much. He talks about me to the CIA and the FBI. I saw a photo of him meeting with the new leader of the shadow group that is seeking to kill me. I explicitly forbade him from looking for me as the condition for allowing him to rejoin his family and take care of the orphaned Porter girl. He chose to ignore that. Did he imagine I wouldn’t know everything? I thought he was smarter than that.”

“I know for a fact that he hasn’t been looking for you. A man he presumed was from the CIA spoke to him about you, in the guise of warning him.”

“I saw a picture of him meeting with a cell leader.”

“Somebody made sure you got it then. If they told anybody he was looking for you, if there was a picture of that meeting, it means they took it to spread the word, figuring you’d come after him so they could nail you. Doesn’t that make more sense?”

“Winter lied to you,” Styer said, rubbing his chin gently so as not to disturb the synthetic skin or the makeup that covered it. “He wants revenge for those old people in New Orleans.”

“You mean Millie and Hank Trammel?”

“That wasn’t personal. I explained that to him. In this line of work, there is often collateral damage.”

“The Trammels were like family to Winter. I don’t expect you to understand that. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re a killer. He isn’t.”

“Don’t be so naive. Do you know how many men and women he has killed?”

“He only kills when there’s no alternative. His life is filled with people who love him. You don’t have any idea what that is like. Despite all of your expertise, you’re never going to be more than a heartless calculating predator.”

Styer smiled warmly. “Alexa. We are all only animals of varying intelligence. Our thoughts are no more than chemical reactions. Our movements are just electrical responses to stimuli. Like all living things, we are born, we live our lives, and we die and rot right off our skeletons. Family is accidental and random, based on sexual desire and fertility. Friendships are merely selfish associations. We join together as animals to feel safer, to pool emotions others have convinced us are necessary to feel better about ourselves. He has to kill me, as I have to kill him. As long as I live, he will not be able to feel the world is more than chaos, that there is a god, that anything matters. Conversely, as long as he lives, I will have to look over my shoulder, and I can’t allow that. I gave him a chance to live, but he can’t forget about me and what I did to those old people.”

“How did you know he’d be here?” Alexa asked.

“I keep close tabs on him.”

“You don’t know everything.”

“What don’t I know?” Styer asked.

“You’ll see,” she said.

“Tell me,” Styer said, taking a knife out of the pocket of his cardigan, and opening it so she could see the short serrated blade. “I’d like to know what the great FBI agent Alexa Keen could possibly know that I don’t.”

Styer stopped smiling and stood, casually holding the knife down by his leg.

“Oh, there’s one thing I should tell you,” Alexa said, taking a deep breath.

Her scream was the loudest, most powerful sound she had ever made, and completely took Styer by surprise.

He lunged at her.

94

KURT KLEIN TRIED TO RELAX, BUT EVERY FEW MINUTES
he checked the computer for Styer’s reply, softly cursing the empty screen. He was accustomed to business-borne intrigue and suspense, but so much was hanging on this deal that he was screaming inside.

Kurt winced when the phone rang. Finch answered it and spoke softly into the receiver before placing his hand over the instrument and walking over. “Sir, a Senator Raffleman wishes to speak to you.”

Kurt took the phone and waited until Finch had left the room. “Klein here.”

A woman said, “Just a second, please.”

After a click, Bert Raffleman’s voice came on. “Kurt, how are you?”

“I am fine, Senator.”

“And Freida?”

“She’s in Paris spending money. And how is Cindy?”

“Doing the same here in Washington, of course. Any word on when you’re going to hold that press conference on your resort?”

“Absolutely. I will be scheduling it tomorrow, and the invitations will be going out Monday. Can’t do it unless you’ll be here to take credit, since you have been so instrumental in paving the way for it.”
Not to mention the nine hundred thousand dollars I paid you and your crooked, blood-sucking pals, you slow-talking, two-faced ass.

“Well, it’s not every day we get an investment like yours down there. Going to be a big boost to the economy. I can’t wait to get on one of those golf courses you’ll be building. And Cindy is excited about the spa. Not that she needs any help in the beauty department. Just let me know when and I’ll be there. You know I wouldn’t let you down. That’s what friends are for,” Raffleman drawled.

After he hung up, Kurt glanced at the computer screen and saw that Styer had answered his e-mail. Sitting forward on the edge of the couch to see better, he put on his glasses and read the response.

Uncle,

Message understood. Good news on land. Girl will be home by ten tonight. Will be away from computer from here out. Wire money if satisfied. I have personal business to attend to before leaving.

Kurt closed the connection and sat back, thinking. Styer knew he had been called off the Gardner family. The part that was of concern was the “personal business” reference.

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Massey’s name had been vaguely familiar to him even before Mulvane mentioned it. Kurt had learned from his source in D.C. that Winter James Massey, while he was a deputy U.S. marshal, had crossed swords with a rogue group of shadows, killing several of them in a series of firefights. He knew that when Yuri Chenchenko had betrayed Styer, he had sent him to kill an ex–federal marshal. That contract had been a ruse, designed to put Styer in a position to be killed by the CIA-sponsored shadow men. Since Massey knew Styer by name, and knew he was in Tunica, the only explanation was that Massey was Styer’s target, and that had to be the personal business Styer mentioned.

It all made sense. Styer had pushed Klein for the assignment in Tunica after Klein had asked Styer to recommend a lesser talent for the job. Styer, claiming he needed an easy assignment to stay sharp, had asked Kurt to let him solve the Gardner problem. For the past eight months Styer had lived here among the natives, doing research and crafting a plan that would make the land deal happen by the drop-dead date Kurt had given him. That date was at hand, and, however it had happened, the land was as good as Kurt’s.

Styer could not kill Massey. Not here or now. He stared out the window unseeingly as something came to him. The only people who could possibly take Styer out were the shadows—the cutouts who’d been Styer’s main adversaries before the Berlin Wall fell. They had wanted Styer dead for years, and had made a very expensive deal with Yuri to get their hands on him. If the two unidentified men Massey had told him were dead were cutouts, they would have been expecting to find Styer, and now that he had killed two of them, they would be looking even harder for him.

Kurt had an idea and a new direction for his thoughts.