The Fitzgerald Ruse (21 page)

Somewhere around three I fell asleep.

Fog lay in the valleys like rivers of milk. I would descend into its thickness, visibility decreasing to a few car lengths, and then I’d climb a knoll to emerge like a swimmer breaking the surface into the morning sunlight. I knew a dense covering would hover over Beaver Lake and the surrounding shoreline. My enemies might have placed the tracking device on my CR-V, but I was turning it to our advantage. The challenge would be making sure they saw me carrying Nathan’s doctored tackle box.

When I reached the backside of the lake, I decided not to squeeze the CR-V between the gatepost and tree, as I had on my scouting trip. Instead I pulled close to the taut chain blocking access to the narrow dirt road. My walk in would be farther, but the Honda would be visible to anyone looking for it.

I popped open the rear hatch and pulled out the fishing pole, shovel, and my new copy of
The Great Gatsby
. The casual observer would see an enthusiastic angler prepared to dig his own worms and then fish while reading a good book.

I heard a vehicle approaching on the paved road above. A white van materialized out of the fog and glided past. Moisture coated the driver’s window, blurring a face into a shock of black hair and deeply tanned skin. A chill ran through me as the van disappeared in the mist. The driver had to be Hernandez, the man who had bludgeoned Ethel Barkley to death.

His curiosity would be aroused. I hoped he would delay any action until he thought he understood what I was doing. I counted on the Ali Baba gang being clever enough to create a story out of all the pieces they would have discovered: Ethel Barkley’s fortune, William Dudley Pelley’s Silver Shirts, and the contents of the swastika-sealed lockbox, including F. Scott Fitzgerald’s papers, a gift from his paramour of 1935, and something else they’d found but didn’t understand. My unearthing the buried chest should prove irresistible to conspirators who were convinced I had conspired against them. Where I had justice as a motive, they acted out of greed and revenge, a powerful combination that could be their downfall.

As the sound of the van’s engine faded in the distance, a light breeze fanned the fog into wisps that danced across the ground. Grabbing the shovel and fishing pole in one hand and the book in the other, I headed down the narrowing trail, putting my life in the hands of Nathan Armitage and the unseen men who had once worked with my enemies.

The rotting picnic table and canoe appeared undisturbed, and the leaves near the water showed no sign that anything but rain had pressed them down. I leaned the fishing pole against the canoe and used the shovel as a cane to negotiate the uneven ground. I made a show of looking at my decoded page and pacing off steps from the path. I banged the blade of the shovel against the concrete piling as if that had been the marker I’d been seeking. Then I backed up a few feet and stabbed the spade into the earth.

Digging presented a potential problem. I had to shift all my weight onto my artificial leg to put my good foot on top of the shovel blade. Fortunately, the recently turned earth yielded easily and my handicap posed no hardship. Every few minutes, I’d pause and listen. Somewhere a squirrel chattered. I wasn’t enough of a hunter to know if his noisy rant was a warning or a playful call to a mate.

After about ten minutes, the spade struck metal. Nathan and his men had taken the time to bury the chest a good three feet deep. I knelt down and pulled up the old tackle box by its top handle. Smeared with dirt and rusted at the corners, it looked like it could have been buried for a hundred years. I set it aside and began refilling the hole. If our plan were going to go wrong, now would be the moment. The chest had been uncovered, I was alone with my back to the path, and the lake blocked any hope for escape. Nathan’s men had shown no sign of their presence, and even if they were watching, they had to be too far away to be of immediate assistance.

I tucked the Fitzgerald book inside my jacket and hurried back to the CR-V with the fishing pole, shovel, and muddy chest. The fog had lifted and the road above was clearly visible. I unlocked the hatch and threw the shovel and pole in first. Then I set the chest right above the license plate where anyone could see it. The swastika seal appeared to be a dead ringer for the one on Ethel Barkley’s lockbox, and I wiped away the dirt to make it even clearer. I removed my jacket, not concerned that my Kimber and shoulder holster were exposed, wrapped the nylon windbreaker around the chest, and pushed everything farther into the cargo space. I closed the hatch, took a final look around, and then quickly backed onto the paved road and headed for the apartment.

Using Nathan’s secure phone, I called Nakayla. She’d let me know when she’d arrived at the office and I’d promised to tell her when I was safely away from Beaver Lake.

“Look out your window in about five minutes. I’ll be driving by.”

She sighed. “Thank God. Everything okay?”

“I believe Hernandez made at least one pass. There could be another vehicle. Once the fog lifted, they might have been able to use binoculars to see me from across the lake. I think they’re going to bite.”

“This afternoon?” she asked.

“Maybe, but they’ll probably wonder why I didn’t take the chest into the apartment. They’ll assume I’m either leaving soon or waiting till after dark to remove it. Since they’ve got a GPS track on the CR-V they probably won’t come too close during daylight. Or they could swing in, smash the rear window with a crowbar, and try to snatch it. It could happen so fast we don’t have a chance to be involved.”

“I’ll probably call Nathan’s man for a ride around four. Since I’m supposed to think you’re sick, I should leave early to check on you.”

Her suggestion made sense, and as soon as I was back in the apartment I’d like to have her safely with me. I looked at my watch. Ten-thirty. “Anything shaking at the office?”

“Agent Keith came looking for you. I told him you were sick. He wanted to know why you told the press you thought the case was wrapped up. Efird telephoned with the same question.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That you didn’t like the press and you’d say anything to stop them from pestering you.”

I laughed. “Good answer.”

“Keith asked me to join Cory and him for lunch. I said okay as long as we went someplace close.”

Being with an FBI agent was probably a good idea during these final few hours. I certainly didn’t want Nakayla going to lunch alone. “Sounds fine. Don’t let him pump you for too much information.”

“I’ll hold the martinis to two,” she said. “Call me if something breaks before I get there.”

“You got it, partner.” I hung up, but the sound of her voice stayed with me. The woman was something special. I glanced up at our office window as I drove by Pack Square. She had the good sense not to come to the glass and wave.

As I headed down Biltmore Avenue toward the turn for the Kenilworth, I dialed Nathan.

“You near?” he asked.

“About two miles out. The chest is wrapped in my jacket.”

“Good. I heard the white van circled a few times.”

“I never saw your guys.”

He laughed. “You weren’t supposed to. Although one said he buried himself in leaves where a squirrel was hoarding nuts and the critter’s squawking liked to wake the dead. Report is you played your part well.”

“We’ll know in the final act, won’t we?”

“Come in slow,” he said. “I’ve got a man in a green Subaru Forester who’ll back out of a parking spot when he sees you. Take that place, go up to your apartment, and wait for me to phone when we have activity.”

“Nakayla’s going to call your man around four,” I said. “Calvin will come after dark.”

“Fine. Suits me if it’s all over before then and we can tell them about it over a round of drinks.”

I swung into the rear parking lot and a Subaru in the center row immediately backed up. I didn’t want to go into the building with my shoulder holster visible so I tucked the Kimber in my belt, folded the holster rig, and slid it under the seat. I locked the doors and looked around. The only life I saw was a gray-haired man being pulled by a Schnauzer of matching color to what the residents called the poop zone. More than half the Kenilworth’s tenants had dogs, and the management provided poles with plastic bags and depository cans conveniently placed to encourage pet owners to scoop up their animals’ excrement. I hoped the turds we’d be scooping up would be dumped in a can forever.

Morning slowly stretched into afternoon with no call from Nathan. Odds were nothing would happen till after dark, but the waiting was still tough. I had the loaded Kimber on the kitchen counter closest to the door; I changed the sleeve on my athletic prosthesis. Finally, I resorted to the most desperate of all measures, watching afternoon TV. When four o’clock came, I sat in the chair by the window staring out at the parking lot. My apartment was on the front of the building, and I would see Nakayla ride to the entrance.

When the bells at All Souls Episcopal Church in neighboring Biltmore Village rang four-thirty, I opened the secure cell and dialed Nakayla.

“Chief Warrant Officer Blackman?” The cold, heavy voice of a man rumbled in my ear.

My breath caught in my throat. “Who is this?”

“The man you screwed over. The man you’re trying to play for a fool with your little box and parking lot charade. The man you’re going to have to deal with if you ever hope to see your lovely partner and Warrant Officer Stuart alive again.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“What do you want, Hernandez?” My question came out terse and hard. No pleading for compassion would dent this killer’s conscience.

“Like I asked you before, I want the account numbers and the passwords. You’re a smart guy, Blackman. Give me what you took and I’ll let them go.”

“Not till I know they’re okay.”

Muffled, unintelligible words sounded for a few seconds, and then Nakayla spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Sam, I’m okay.”

“How many are there?”

“He has the two of us. Calvin’s in a bad way. He tried to resist and they beat him unconscious. He’s alive, but timing is critical. Like Tuesday, his timing makes all the difference. It won’t fit unless you do what they tell you.” Her voice faded as someone snatched the phone from her mouth.

“Satisfied?” His sarcasm held a cruel edge.

“How do you want to play the exchange? I can text you the information as I see them being released.”

Hernandez laughed. “I bet you could. No, you’re coming to me. I’ve got a satellite hook-up and we’ll move the funds together. I understand you’ve done a little code-breaking. I want that as well. Consider it a surcharge for the inconvenience you’ve caused.”

Meeting Hernandez face-to-face would be suicidal. But I had no other option. “I don’t have a car. Mine’s under surveillance.”

“Then that’s your problem. Your girlfriend’s car’s still at your apartment. I had her call your friend to say she didn’t need a ride. I’m confident you’ll be able to get to it unobserved. But I’ll be watching. Any sign of police or my old Blackwater friends and you’ll be attending a double funeral. And you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your short, miserable life.”

I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the bastard. How had he gotten the jump on both Nakayla and Calvin? But she’d clued me that there were two of them when she’d answered my question “How many are there?” with “He has the two of us.” What else had she told me in those brief sentences?

“Blackman. What’s it going to be?”

“Okay. But I need a little time. My copy of
The Great Gatsby
has the code and it’s still in my car, where you know I can’t get it. I’ll have to recreate the key sentence from memory.” The code sheet was tucked safely in my wallet, but Hernandez had no reason to doubt my lie. I was playing for time. “And I’ll have better success of slipping away if it’s after dark.”

“You have ninety minutes. If you haven’t left by six, I’m moving to Plan B. Trust me. You won’t like Plan B.”

“Where are we meeting?”

“The one spot no one will look in this hick county. Beaver Lake. The scene of your little performance this morning. Come unarmed and alone.”

The connection terminated.

Hernandez had caught me in my own trap. All of our resources were focused on the wrong place. I had no doubt he’d be watching for any sudden change at the apartment building. Hidden men would have to expose themselves if they were redeployed. He would probably come to the Beaver Lake site after me, and he’d be ready to act. No doubt his computer would be programmed to handle a wire transfer, and he’d match my Fitzgerald code against whatever documents he’d found in Ethel Barkley’s lockbox. The location was not that isolated, but in five minutes, he’d have everything he needed, and either let us go or kill us. I didn’t like the odds.

Hernandez had acquired every critical piece of our plan. He knew the box I dug up was a decoy and that Nathan had brought in outside help. Someone had fed him key information, and that someone was close to us. Had Nakayla or Calvin been forced to talk? Nakayla had lunch with Agent Keith and Cory. What if she’d never returned? What did we know about Cory? She could have left Donaldson alone the night Amanda Whitfield was killed. Told him she needed to use the restroom and broken into our office. Maybe she and Keith were both dirty and she’d picked him up earlier in the afternoon. The weather delay was an added bonus for his alibi.

But Nakayla said there were two of them. If Cory were in on it, Nakayla should have given me a clue for three. Unless Cory wasn’t with them. She could be the one watching my apartment. Now I was forcing connections that lacked evidence. Nakayla hadn’t mentioned Keith directly, only that timing didn’t fit for Calvin. What an odd way to phrase it, if time was running out for my injured comrade. Nathan had said Keith’s timing fit the conditions when Nakayla checked the FBI agent’s alibi. And she referenced Tuesday—“his timing makes all the difference.” What did she mean by “It won’t fit?”

Then it hit me. Timing. I’d been looking at the whole case from the wrong perspective. Nakayla’s message had been brilliant. Pieces tumbled into place as the jigsaw puzzle formed itself, and the picture sent a wave of anger rushing to the core of my bones. I knew they’d never let us leave the exchange alive.

I also knew if I varied from their plan they would cut their losses and run. I couldn’t bluff them. Hernandez was convinced I’d sold his loot and put the cash in my offshore account. As wrong as he was, I’d have to give him my number and password. Once a thief always a thief. I counted on that giving me a sliver of hope. And I might face them alone, but somehow I’d be armed.

Although sunset wouldn’t occur for a few more hours, shadows already began to deepen as the sun dropped behind the high western ridges. I had another hour before Hernandez expected me to leave. My life depended on how I used it.

As I steered Nakayla’s Hyundai off the pavement and onto the dirt side-road, I could see ripples spreading over the dark lake water. An early fall chill had moved in behind the rain, and the dropping temperature and rising wind had sent Friday afternoon shore walkers and canoeists home for the evening. For a location in a populated community, the backside of the lake quickly became desolate, much like I imagined parts of Central Park became isolated, dangerous pockets at night, cut off from the hundreds of thousands of people living within a quarter mile radius.

I turned on the headlights as I neared the chain stretched across the road. Although Nakayla’s car could slip around the barricade easier than my CR-V, I saw no point in pulling the vehicle deeper into the woods. Instead, I turned around so I was facing out and parked the car halfway up the bank where I hoped the incline would be too steep for Hernandez’ van. If we managed to break free, I didn’t want my escape to be totally blocked.

Nakayla had given me a spare key to her car several weeks ago, and I left it in the ignition where a quick turn would start the engine. Sneaking out of the Kenilworth hadn’t been a problem. I’d waited in the lobby till a family happened to come down the elevator, a single mom and two kids. We’d chatted a few times in the hall so I walked with them out to the front parking lot. With a ball cap pulled low on my forehead, I hoped we’d passed for a family headed for pizza or burgers. The entire front expanse of the old grand hotel had hidden me from anyone watching the rear lot. Then I’d zipped down the mountain by a circuitous route that should have confused even Daniel Boone.

I opened the car door, reached up, and switched the courtesy light to the off position. One less opportunity for me to be a target.

I stepped carefully onto the weed-covered bank. My stump ached at the uneven pressure and I leaned against the hood as I gingerly made my way to level ground. I rested against one of the gateposts, waiting for whatever approached. I was strangely calm, becoming the hunter and not the hunted, all thoughts of justice driven from my mind.

The low rumble of a slowly moving vehicle came from around the bend. Then a white van without headlights coasted down the side-road and braked a few yards from me. The driver had pulled adjacent to the Hyundai, giving me a narrow but passable escape route.

The engine coughed into silence. Only a featureless shape was visible behind the wheel.

“Hands out to your side and walk toward the rear of the van. I’ll tell you when to stop.” Hernandez barked the orders with military precision.

I moved as naturally as I could with my arms outstretched like a tightrope walker working without a safety net. I passed the driver’s door and saw a swarthy face grinning at me through the open window. Although I’d never seen Manny Hernandez in person, I recognized the face of someone who would as soon kill you as look at you.

“That’s far enough.” He hopped out of the van and pointed a Glock automatic at my chest.

I stopped beside the cargo section. “Who’s going to open the door? You, me, or Calvin?”

A click sounded from inside and the sheet metal vibrated as someone yanked down a handle. Then a gap widened to reveal the interior. Calvin wore dark jeans and a black wool shirt. A few strands of thread hung where the top button should have been. He wore a shoulder holster with an ugly M1911 forty-five at the ready. He crouched in the doorway, eyes wary, the surprise he’d intended for me bouncing back on him.

“How’d you know?” he demanded.

I’d knocked some of the cockiness out of him, and I needed to take full advantage of the moment. I paused only long enough to see Nakayla lying on a remnant of green carpet, her hands and feet bound with duct tape and a single strip stretched across her mouth. Her eyes fixed on me. Between her and Calvin, a laptop sat open with its screen filled with numbers and a satellite phone plugged in its side.

I took a deep breath. There’d be one chance to tell my story. Truth and lies had to weave together perfectly. My audience wasn’t Calvin; I was betting our lives on Hernandez.

“Tuesday night,” I said. “When you and your buddy here staged that little scene outside my apartment, you gave yourself away. That was just the first time.”

“How?” Calvin asked.

“Christ, get him in the van,” Hernandez ordered. “What difference does it make?”

“The same difference it made to Lucas,” I snapped. “Or aren’t you interested in staying alive?”

Hernandez shot a glance at Calvin and I saw a flash of hesitation.

“Did you pat him down?” Calvin asked. “He carries a Kimber forty-five.”

Hernandez stepped closer. “Turn around.” He ran his left hand under one arm and then the other.

“He fingered Lucas at the Grove Park,” I whispered. “I didn’t know him from Adam. Why? Because he didn’t care which one of us was killed.”

“Shut up,” Calvin said.

“I thought you wanted to hear how you botched your plan, Cal. You’re not going to get away with killing the three of us and then staging the scene to look like you overpowered Hernandez too late to save your friends.” I turned my head and spoke over my shoulder. “He’ll shoot you with his gun, and then kill us with yours.”

I felt Hernandez’ hands stop on the inside of my left thigh before moving down the hard surface of my prosthesis feeling for a calf holster. Then he repeated the motion on the right.

“He’s clean,” he said. “Get in, peg leg.”

I stood still. “You screwed up, Cal. You told me you flew in Tuesday night, but none of the flights could land in time for you to be at the Kenilworth. The guy you saw at the police station today is an FBI agent connected to Homeland Security. He gave the police the security tapes from the Asheville airport. They want to know why you lied to them. They know you came in earlier, and you saw me retrieve the lockbox. The police have that button missing from your shirt. They found it under the body of the girl you murdered in our office. They planned to pick you up tonight as soon as you showed at my apartment.”

“Yeah. Well, I ain’t gonna show at your apartment.”

Hernandez poked me in the back with his gun barrel. “Move.”

“Whose idea was it to kill Ed, Charlie, and me in Iraq? I’m betting you came up with that bright idea too, Cal. You told Hernandez and Lucas we were getting too close, and when the hit had been arranged, you took a colonoscopy prep to insure you’d be in the infirmary with the runs. You spelled that out loud and clear to Detective Newland, smart boy.”

Calvin’s jaw tightened and his hand moved toward his shoulder holster. Hernandez poked me again, but not as hard.

“So, now you’ve managed to alert both the FBI and Homeland Security. Nice work, asshole. Good luck getting out of the country.”

“Get him in here,” Calvin ordered.

“Better do what he says,” I taunted.

Hernandez shoved me and I stumbled a few steps.

“Sorry. I’ve got to crawl in backwards.” I sat on the lip of the door facing Hernandez. “You guys took my leg from me so you’re going to have to let me get in my way.” I looked along the inside wall and saw Ethel Barkley’s open lockbox near the rear. “How appropriate. The Nazis would feel right at home.”

I stared Hernandez in the eyes. “You know I didn’t take anything from you. My offshore account has funds I got from my parents’ death. I’d say Calvin bribed some villagers to tell you I’d taken your cache when he did it himself. With me dead, why would you think otherwise? But I didn’t die, and the medics whisked me away so fast I was beyond his reach. Until I had the misfortune to make the national news and you picked up my trail. Then Calvin had to act.”

Hernandez’ thick lips started working in and out. He was either thinking things over or getting ready to hit me.