The Clause (15 page)

“Burn a car to the ground?”

“The engine block won’t burn completely.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” I stood.

“You can thank me by taking out the bastards that killed Trudy and getting your ass out of town and into recovery.” He stood too, and guided me out of the container. “Drop me a postcard so I can have some satisfaction that I’ve done the right thing, because I fear I haven’t. At the same time I see you’d try to pull the escape using crap ordinance, and if you didn’t make it, and bystanders got hurt, I’d feel it was partially my fault. You had me over a barrel and you knew it.”

“I didn’t think of it that way, Larry, and now I feel bad.” We stopped next to my car.

“Don’t feel bad, just get the hell out with the goods and drop me a postcard.” He pointed a hook at me. “Repeat the five steps for the cell phone.”

“Turn on the phone, make sure there are no messages that will vibrate the phone. Insert the trigger. Insert the battery. Attach the gator clips, hope the cap doesn’t burn. Insert cap into the charge and place under seat and get away from the car.”

“If you blow yourself up, or injure any innocent bystanders, I’m really gonna feel like a dirtbag for helping you.”

I gave him a hug. “Wait for that postcard.”

As I drove up the gravel driveway, Larry, Marianna, and the shotgun were in my rearview mirror exactly as I had seen them when I arrived.

Tito’s watch. Two o’clock: time to call Vugovic and get the show on the road. I raced along the interstate back toward the city.

Thirty-five

EUROPEAN ORGANIZED CRIME TASK FORCE

MEETING MINUTES

1500 EDT MONDAY AUGUST 9, 2010

ATTENDANCE: LOG ATTACHED

Re: Kurac gem theft ring—recent developments re: G. Underwood

1. Agent Hurtado of forensics reported that Dell laptop (Vostro 1000) recovered from the Screen Man van contained mostly invoicing, accounting, and scheduling software commonly used by small businesses (see handout for complete list of hard drive contents). Browser history had been deleted, but cached data revealed searches on the residence (phone number, occupant identity and bio, Google Earth) of 11M at the Grand Excelsior belonging to T. Raykovic, the residence that G. Underwood burgled. Word documents limited to a handful of short poems, many of which had been deleted but were cached. Also included was an incomplete letter to an aunt in California dated in 2009 that included only the header and no text.

2. Intel Profiler Agent Laurenta noted that the poems were not included in the handout and asked that a copy be provided for circulation.

3. EOCTF Agents Brown and Acosta apprised superiors on contact with G. Underwood for exchange at Grand Central Terminal with Kurac. See transcript. Cooperation agreed in exchange for immediate medical attention for T. Elwell and probation for both. Time of exchange contingent on call from G. Underwood to Vugovic. Agents in place at station under cover and await alert and instruction of exchange location. Assuming exchange will be requested as one-on-one and that Kurac will pepper station with their people to apprehend G. Underwood and recover the cash/bond payment (ten million dollars). Agents in field equipped with lethal and non-lethal (Tasers) weapons to subdue Vugovic and G. Underwood and any Kurac operatives necessary or possible and to avoid any possible collateral damage to bystanders. Coordination with National Guard and NYPD initiated. Grand Central effectively netted for capture.

4. Intel Profiler Agent Laurenta provided input on G. Underwood M.O. Based on previous observations and meeting from same morning, Intel Profiler warned against contact with G. Underwood, as multilayered subterfuge not yet apparent but should not be discounted. Agent Laurenta repeated that it should be anticipated that G. Underwood will use the Kurac and the FBI at cross-purposes to help effect his escape. As before, if it is suspected that G. Underwood is aware of the Justice Department involvement, he will likely attempt to enact a “cascade” in which each pursuer eliminates or paralyzes the other until there is only one pursuer.

5. Agents Kim and Bola of Intel Surveillance section reported data mining of Social Security records indicate that G. Underwood #842-00-1010 DOB August 23, 1971, Clifton, New Jersey is registered as deceased as of August 2005. Death certificate indicates accidental death. G. Underwood was a window cleaner who fell twenty stories to his death in downtown Manhattan. The identity of G. Underwood therefore is in question.

6. EOCTF Supervisor Palmer asked why this information was not available previously on August 9, 2010.

7. Agents Kim and Bola of Intel Surveillance section reported that the Social Security data center servers were down for Sunday maintenance.

8. EOCTF Supervisor Palmer asked EOCTF Agents Brown and Acosta if a fingerprint check was run on G. Underwood from his apartment.

9. Agents Brown and Acosta confirmed that they had no reason to believe G. Underwood was not G. Underwood. DNA hair samples were collected and sent to lab August 8th, results not expected for at least a week from the NSA.

10. EOCTF Supervisor Palmer instructed Agents Brown and Acosta to gather the fingerprint check immediately on “G. Underwood” from his apartment. In addition, requested Intel Profiler’s assessment of G. Underwood’s actual identity.

11. Intel Profiler Agent Laurenta suggested that G. Underwood could still be the actual G. Underwood “ghosting” through identity theft.

12. Agents Kim and Bola of Intel Surveillance section reported surveillance subsystems targeting Nee Fat Tong have been successful in cell phone intercepts with the help of Tse Mo Shin, 22, male, Chinese national, illegal alien, who turned informer. Agent Kang of intel surveillance, his handler, obtained his cell phone number and service provider and subscripts of all numbers he calls leading to matrix of Nee Fat Tong cell phones. All phones being monitored for G. Underwood transmission.

13. EOCTF Supervisor Palmer initiated discussion of G. Underwood’s options. He can exchange with the Kurac or he can exchange with Nee Fat Tong. With the Kurac he obtains FBI blanket medical for T. Elwell and safety for both. With the Nee Fat Tong he obtains ten million dollars and possible escape. Which is his most likely course of action?

14. Intel Profiler Agent Laurenta suggested that G. Underwood had engineered the double exchange option as a way of dividing his enemies’ forces. FBI was lured into making contact with him so that he could use them to intercept the Kurac and make way for his exchange with the Nee Fat Tong. T. Elwell has been used as false indicator of his motivation and likely dead or already out of the state/country. Reference made to Intel Profiler’s memorandum of August 9
th
regarding the psychological profile of G. Underwood. Agents should recognize that G. Underwood is emotionally unstable and prone to PTSD relapse at any time. This could manifest itself in uncharacteristically violent behavior. G. Underwood is also highly resistant to authority figures. This combination could prove dangerous when he is apprehended.

15. EOCTF Agents Brown and Acosta suggested that the FBI obtains goals either way. If G. Underwood does not show at Grand Central Terminal, surveillance and informer with Nee Fat Tong will afford an intercept if he attempts to exchange with them.

16. EOCTF Supervisor Palmer advised extreme caution at Grand Central Terminal to ensure that the Kurac are not apprehended prematurely and that gunplay in a transportation hub is avoided at all cost. Intercepts indicate the Kurac have obtained fully automatic weapons from the New Jersey Russian syndicate. Coordinate with NYPD.

17. Agents Kim and Bola of Intel Surveillance section reported intercepts coming through currently in real time from G. Underwood to Vugovic, stand by for speaker phone:

*TRANSCRIPT OF SPEAKER PHONE*

• YES?

• IT’S UNDERWOOD.

• SO LET’S DO THIS, UNDERWOOD.

• FOUR O’CLOCK. IN THE BANANA REPUBLIC, ENTRANCE ON 42ND STREET. JUST YOU AND YOUR BRIEFCASE, TWO MILLION CASH IN HUNDREDS, STANDARD 10K BUNDLES IN STANDARD ISSUE MUSTARD BANDS. THE REST: EIGHT MILLION IN GUAT BONDS. I’LL MEET YOU AT THE RETURNS DESK. THERE ARE COPS RIGHT OUTSIDE THAT LOCATION ON 42ND STREET ALL THE TIME, SO DON’T TRY ANYTHING CUTE. AND REMEMBER, THERE ARE A LOT OF INNOCENT BYSTANDERS AROUND THERE.

• NOBODY IS INNOCENT.

• FOUR O’CLOCK.

*END*

18. EOCTF Supervisor Palmer advised agents to ping and intercept G. Underwood’s cell phone. Deploys Grand Central intercept, reminding agents to advise all operatives of extreme caution and no preemptive action. Next meeting scheduled for Tuesday August 10, 2010, time: 900 EDT.

******************MEETING ADJOURNED******************

Thirty-six

DCSNet 6000 Warrant Database

Transcript Cell Phone Track and Trace

Peerless IP Network / Redhook Translation

Target: Dragan Spikic

Date: Monday, August 9, 2010

Time: 1532–1533 EDT

SPIKIC: TALK TO ME, VUGO.

VUGOVIC: UNDERWOOD CALLED. HE IS AFRAID OF THE CHINESE NOW AND WANTS TO HURRY TO ESCAPE TO SAVE THE LIFE OF HIS WOMAN. HE ASKED THAT I MEET HIM AT THE GRAND CENTRAL BANANA REPUBLIC WITH THE TEN MILLION DOLLARS, ALONE.

SPIKIC: WHAT TEN MILLION DOLLARS?

VUGOVIC: WE’VE PUT A LITTLE SURPRISE IN THE BRIEFCASE INSTEAD OF THE TEN MILLION DOLLARS. WE WILL APPREHEND HIM AND THE GEMS AND THEN DISEMBOWEL HIM WITH POWER TOOLS.

SPIKIC: SEE, I TOLD YOU, HE IS A COMMON THIEF, A STUPID CROOK.

VUGOVIC: IS IT SET WITH THE ISRAELIS TOMORROW?

SPIKIC: YES. MAKE SURE THERE ARE NONE OF THIS WORM’S GUTS ON THE GEMS. I WANT THEM TO LOOK NICE FOR THE JEWS. CALL ME WHEN YOU HAVE THEM. BUT YOU MUST HAVE THEM TONIGHT OR WE HAVE SERIOUS PROBLEMS.

VUGOVIC: PROBLEMS?

SPIKIC: I HAVE A BOSS, TOO.

VUGOVIC: HE MUST UNDERSTAND—

SPIKIC: WHAT MUST HE UNDERSTAND EXCEPT WE HAVE FAILED AND ARE WEAK?

VUGOVIC: WE ARE DOING ALL WE CAN. THERE IS ONLY SO MUCH THAT—

SPIKIC: YOU HAVE TO ANSWER FOR FAILURE; I HAVE TO ANSWER FOR FAILURE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

VUGOVIC: AS YOU SAY.

*END*

Thirty-seven

I stopped in Fort
Lee, just before the George Washington Bridge, and parked behind Tip Top Gym. That was my other gym, another place where I kept a change of clothes and a toiletry kit and could stash sparks. In my locker I had a can of tennis balls. I emptied it, filled it with water, and slid in the incendiary grenade. Common practice is to store them in water just in case the canister develops a leak. The phosphorus inside bursts into flame anytime it comes into contact with oxygen. I didn’t like the idea of driving around with that thing in the trunk or carrying it around. A healthy respect for explosives is healthy, as Larry used to say.

Phoning was getting too dangerous—every time I turned on the phone I had to expect that my location was being mapped by somebody unfriendly. Or worse: listened to. I knew that it was difficult to monitor calls on prepaid phones, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. I couldn’t risk letting anybody know my next move. So instead of calling Doc I just drove to Queens through afternoon traffic thick with trucks.

I looked at Tito’s watch: 4:00. I would have loved to have been able to sit across 42nd Street at the outdoor café with a beer and watch the shit storm at Banana Republic, but I needed to take advantage of the FBI and the Kurac being distracted at the same time.

Parked on Union Street, I opened the car trunk. My new two-tone fly-fishing duffel and matching dual-rod case made me smile. Imagine me, fly fishing? Imagine me out of this mess zooming across the Bahamian shallows through mangrove channels, emerging into the expanse of blue bays and crystal-clear flats? I wanted to inhale that crisp ocean air and have it blow through my hair, making it thick with salt.

Zipping open the handsome duffel, I pulled out fly-fishing clothes, snapping off a jillion tags in the process. I changed in the back seat. The solid blue shirt and khaki pants looked like tropical safari gear, very lightweight and vented, with huge pockets, which was good because I had wads of cash I wanted to keep close. The legs zipped off so you could make shorts, kind of like convertible pants. Bright white running shoes went on my feet. I used some Pepsi to slick back my white hair, and put on a fresh pair of cheap CVS shades with amber lenses. A regular fashion plate.

I slid the cigar box out from under the seat and armed the explosive in exactly the way I had been instructed and slid it under the seat again. I put Phone #3’s number into the speed dial of Phone #2.

At the corner I dumped my CVS shirt, cargo pants, and straw trilby into a trash can and turned the corner toward Main Street. I didn’t see anybody unusual standing around the entrance to East Trading Jewelers, so I walked in. There was an Asian woman at the counter—a slim one this time, with long hair.

“Hi, I need to see Doc. She’s expecting me.”

“She not here.”

“Call her. It’s very important, and I know she wants to see me immediately. My name is Gill. I’ll be at the Burger King.”

One thing about fast food places is that they are crowded at all hours, especially on Main Street, which has a jillion buses and subways. The sidewalks are always packed with people like it was Coney Island on the Fourth of July.

There were so many Asians milling around on the sidewalk that it was impossible to tell if the Tong had Doc’s place staked out. My hunch was that Doc wanted this deal to actually go through and may have talked sense into the Hong Kong friends, who in turn would probably not stake out her place but wait for a call.

I sat in the corner of the Burger King, away from the windows, and waited. In five minutes Doc came through the doors in a tan pantsuit.

“You want a burger or something?”

“That’s okay, Doc, I try not to eat this stuff.”

She squeezed between rows of students and old-timers to my table and sat across from me.

“Gill, I apologize for last night, and so do the Hong Kong friends. The guy driving the Hummer, Tse Mo Shin, was the same one you bounced around at the motel, and he was pissed off.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t exactly make me trust you guys more or anything.”

“The volleyball had the paper and the tickets inside, didn’t it?”

“That’s the only reason I’m here.”

“How is Trudy?”

“Hanging in there, thanks to the voodoo stuff from Mr. Zim.”

“Good to hear. You know, the Kurac would have filled the volleyball with scorpions. You dyed your hair—has that helped stay clear of the Kurac? I don’t like you with white hair. You look like a punk.”

I didn’t like the way Doc was being so chit-chatty. It made me feel like we were being listened to, that she was wired and trying to tell the Hong Kong friends that I had changed my look.

“So, Doc, can we go ahead and do this thing, no screwing around?”

“There’s the Kurac and then there’s the FBI. After that chase last night, the cops—“

“Did the Hummer and train smash into each other?”

“Thankfully, no, but the cops grabbed the three men inside the Hummer, and tried to turn one of our guys, Shin, into an informant for the FBI. He’s been passing only the information we want to go back to the Fed.”

“Yes, I got wind the FBI are snooping around. But you don’t have to worry about them or the Kurac for a few hours, as long as Shin doesn’t flip for real.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean right now the Kurac and the FBI think I’m handing over the sparks at Grand Central Station. They’re otherwise occupied. We don’t have a lot of time, though. I’m not sure how long that will keep those guys tied up. Can your Hong Kong friends deliver right now so we can get this over with? I’m beat.”

She pulled out a cell phone. “You should have called. I could already have it arranged.”

“Your friends knew we were doing this today; they should have the cash and bonds ready. Using my phone has become too dangerous—and if I were you I’d be careful with your phone. The FBI have the Kurac totally wired, know everything they say, and I’ve got to believe they can ping and intercept anything you say when you call your friends.”

“These phones we use are protected.” Doc pushed a speed dial number and listened. “They are Taiwanese. All calls go overseas first and are encrypted.”

“Maybe the Kurac think that their phones are protected, too. You know that the FBI can actually turn on the microphone on some phones even when they’re turned off? I’d say as little as possible. Send one guy with the money in even packets. You, me, and him will go get the sparks and then part ways. Nice and easy.”

Doc began speaking into the phone in Chinese.

“Doc, in English, so I know what you’re saying.”

She put a hand over the phone. “They don’t speak English, Gill.”

“Well, don’t fuck me over, Doc, or we’re all liable to end up in the hospital, or worse. I mean it, I have fail-safes in place, tell them that. They mess around and everybody loses. They play it straight, we all win. Tell them that.”

She spoke rapidly into the phone, shielding her mouth, eyes darting toward the front of the restaurant. After a few moments she snapped the phone shut.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“They?”

“I meant ‘they’ in the sense that the Hong Kong friends are sending someone over with the cash.”

“You verify the sparks, I verify the cash.”

“Exactly. Where are we going to get the sparks?”

“You’ll know when we get there.”

“You have to tell us when we get in the car anyway, so we can know where to go. You tell me, I’m sitting here with you: how are they going to know until they get here?”

“Cute, Doc, but you could be wired.”

“Gill, you’re paranoid.”

“Paranoid and still alive. I have respect enough for your friends to know that they will pull anything they can to hold onto that cash. Don’t look insulted—I have no doubt you’d like to see this deal go through no matter what. Their motives are their own. And if they wanted you to wear a wire, you’d do it, you wouldn’t have a choice.”

“You sure you don’t want a burger or something while we wait?”

“I’d rather go around the corner for string beans with minced pork.”

“We could do that.”

“But I’m not exactly hungry at the moment.”

“You don’t look so good, Gill.”

“I know, I look like Billy Idol.”

“The stress of this situation is taking a toll.”

“Under the white hair there are a few gray ones creeping in as we speak, Doc. The only thing I can do about it is exactly nothing except to stay focused and keep moving forward. Let’s wait out front.”

We waded through the other patrons and out the door, standing in front of the Burger King plate-glass windows. I matched a Winston and scanned the masses, but it was impossible to tell if any scouts had been deployed to trail us. I had to assume they had.

Then I saw him. It was China Boss, the one from the Plaza hallway with black-framed yellow sunglasses, damaged complexion, and oversized sport coat. In his hand was a small red suitcase.

How big a pile is two million dollars? I’d spent some time thinking about that, playing with the wad of cash I had. The math was made a little easier having fifty thousand in hundreds on me, which was about two inches thick. So I was estimating that a million in one stack of hundreds would be forty inches tall, Divide that into four stacks bunched together, and the pile would be about five or six inches wide by a foot long by ten inches high. China Boss’s little red suitcase could easily hold two million, plus the bearer bonds. Might also hold a Tech 9 and bad intentions.

I stomped out my smoke as China Boss came to a stop in front of us, his eyes trained on mine. He mumbled in Chinese to Doc.

“What did he say, Doc?”

“He said you look tired.”

“Tired of people telling me I look tired. Let’s go, I have a car. He drives.”

China Boss took the driver’s seat, Doc riding shotgun, me in back with the suitcase.

“Doc, I want you to reach under the driver’s seat. Take out what you find.”

A moment later Doc was holding the cigar box, her brow knit.

“Open it.”

She did, and both her and China Boss recoiled.

I held up Phone #2.

“Any cute stuff and the deal is over with a wave of my thumb. Tell him, Doc.”

Doc rattled off some Chinese.

“Close it and hand it to me.”

I took it from Doc and set it on the seat next to me.

“I’m going to count the money now and make sure we’re not taking a trip for no reason. Doc, tell him that, and tell him to not even think about pulling one of his guns. It won’t work.”

While Doc translated to China Boss, I zipped open the little red suitcase. Sure enough, a dense pack of stacked hundreds with mustard bands: ten thousand dollars each. Since I had the cell phone in one hand, I had to feel through the cash for Monopoly money one-handed. Random stacks were pure green and random bills from those packs all had the security stripe. From my belly bag I pulled the currency marker and checked out random bills. There was a manila envelope under the money, and it contained the rest of the haul: eight million in Guat bonds in two hundred thousand dollar denominations.

A movie I saw in the hospital came to mind, one of those spaghetti Westerns. Clint Eastwood was in it, and in the end there was a three-way showdown in a cemetery over a treasure buried in a grave. Clint was the only one who knew the name on the grave, and he wrote the name of the grave on the bottom of a rock. The survivor of the shootout would turn over the rock and be rich, while presumably the other two would be dead. But Clint had an advantage. Only he knew one of his opponent’s guns was unloaded, and only he knew that he hadn’t written anything on the bottom of the rock. Why would he? If he didn’t win the shootout, why let his enemy have the treasure?

“Doc, tell him it all looks good, and if he just plays it straight and easy, we’ll both have what we want with nobody getting killed.” I stuffed four bundles of cash and ten of the Guat bonds from the suitcase in the belly bag for pocket money. You never knew in a situation like that when you might have to make a run for it. “He can drive now. Toward the Grand Central Parkway, heading west.”

“Airport?”

“No guessing.”

While China Boss took a few turns toward College Point Boulevard, I reached into the cigar box and pulled the trigger out of the cell phone. It scared the hell out of me that some chucklehead might dial a wrong number, or that AT&T would send a text message trying to sell me crap I didn’t want. The odds were long, but that’s the kind of thing that happens in an operation. The unexpected.