Tower Down--A Kirk McGarvey Novel, page 15
“It was no accident,” Pete said. “I’d be willing to bet anything on it.”
“The engineers are thinking that it was an explosion on one of the lower floors,” Kamal said.
“Whatever, it was, terrorists did it,” Courtney said.
Kamal shrugged. “ISIS is claiming responsibility. And they may be fierce fighters but they don’t have the sophistication that bin Laden and al-Qaeda had.”
“Are you suggesting it wasn’t them?”
“On the contrary, there’s no reason to believe it wasn’t them,” Kamal said. “All I’m saying is that they could have gotten into the building somehow, planted explosives on one of the lower floors, and set a fuse or something.”
“They would have been caught on the building’s surveillance cameras,” Courtney suggested. “But there’s been absolutely no word on that issue.”
“The investigators may not have gotten to the cameras yet,” McGarvey said, watching for a reaction from Kamal. “And they don’t tell us everything. Never do.”
“Or if they have, they’re not saying anything about it.”
“You would have thought they’d have plastered the dirty bastards’ faces all over the television and newspapers,” Susan said.
“Or the Internet,” Kamal said. “Have you heard anything from your subscribers?”
McGarvey suppressed a smile. “Lots of ideas but nothing solid.”
“Do you think it’ll happen again?” Susan asked.
“I haven’t heard anything that makes any sense,” McGarvey said.
“I’m asking, because I’ve been invited to Jian’s penthouse party.”
“So have I,” Courtney said. “And just about everyone else aboard this ship will be there too.”
The sense of gloom settled even heavier on the table.
“I’m sure that the building will be heavily guarded,” Kamal said.
“It’d be physically impossible to guard every skyscraper in Manhattan,” Courtney shot back. “It seems to me that the sick motherfuckers are after us.”
“Why?” Pete asked.
Courtney was angry. “Someone’s always got a hard-on for rich people. They think we’re all crooks. Robber barons, sucking all the money away from the poor so that we can guzzle Krug on the deck of a mega-yacht.”
“The only flaw in your thinking is that the poor generally don’t have any money to suck away other than their 401(K)s and pension plans,” Tom Hammond said behind them. “Lots of municipalities and even states are dipping their toes into those ponds.” He was dressed in white linen slacks and an open-collar shirt, the first four buttons undone. He had a bottle of champagne he was drinking from.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Courtney said. “Someone’s coming after us because we’re the greedy Western capitalists.”
“Am I included?”
“We all are. And just now the symbols of our success are the outrageous buildings going up in New York.”
Hammond laughed. “And yachts like this one. And our jets, and our fifty-two-bedroom compounds, and the circuit, so we can be with people to whom we don’t owe an explanation. Courtney dear, please don’t tell me that you’re turning into a Gates. Spending your money to feed and house the poor. So much philanthropy he doesn’t have time to work.”
“But every year he’s worth more money.”
“If you’re so ashamed of your money, why don’t you give it all away and find a job?” Hammond asked.
Everyone within earshot laughed. The dark mood was broken.
Courtney dismissed him with a gesture.
“So, Señor Castillo, have you and Joe Canton had a chance to talk?”
“Not, not so far. But his blog is interesting,” Kamal said. “More geopolitics, I think, than local.”
“But I’ve heard of Señor Castillo in an indirect way,” McGarvey said. “I’m looking for investment possibilities, and I was given your name along with others.”
“The Internet is that lucrative?” Kamal asked.
“Around a million U.S. a week from my subscribers, and it’s growing. And what better company than this to discuss what to do? And at this moment the Bolsa seems to be doing well.”
If Kamal was surprised, McGarvey didn’t detect it.
“I can be of some help. Perhaps after the race, maybe before Basel, we can get together.”
“I’d like that, just one-on-one.”
“Of course.”
“Will you be at Jian’s housewarming?”
“I don’t know,” Kamal said.
“You’ll be my guest,” Hammond said. “As will Joe and Ms. Borman. If the three of you will be in New York.”
“In that case I wouldn’t miss it,” Kamal said.
“Nor would we,” McGarvey said. “Now if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” He got up but motioned for Pete to stay at the table.
He was hoping that Otto would get back to him with something. His feeling that Castillo wasn’t whom he presented himself to be was much stronger now. The man was a liar and an egotist, it was in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, like he thought every other person at the table was inferior to him.
In the salon he got another beer and then went forward to the bow, where he leaned against the rail and looked at the town and the hills behind it.
For a time he and Katy had considered moving here. She’d even contacted a real estate agent who sent her the package of legal and financial documents they’d need to complete before they would be allowed to relocate. The minimum opening balance in a checking account was five million U.S., not particularly onerous, but the prices of even tiny apartments were in the multimillion-dollar range. And no apartment in the principality, unless it was furnished, came with anything. No kitchen appliances, no floor coverings, no curtains, not even light fixtures or plates on the wall sockets. What you bought was a shell with a balcony and windows.
In any event McGarvey didn’t think the French intelligence service would have been happy about him showing up as a resident in Monaco. And the service had a great deal of influence on the principality when it concerned foreign, gun-toting intel officers.
He’d explained it to Katy, and although she wasn’t overly upset, she was vexed. It was one more roadblock in their lives because of who he was.
“Are we prisoners in our own country?” she’d asked at one point.
“No, but Monaco and especially France might not be such a hot idea.”
Hammond joined him at the rail. “Well?”
“Señor Castillo is an interesting person.”
“Should I do business with him?”
“I don’t know. That decision’s yours.”
Hammond was silent for a beat. “Is he the man you’re looking for?”
“I’m not sure,” McGarvey said.
THIRTY-FOUR
One of the stewards came onto the forward deck but respectfully stopped ten feet from Hammond.
“Excuse me,” Hammond said and he went to the steward, who said something to him that McGarvey couldn’t hear.
The steward left and Hammond came back. “I have to leave. Business. But please, enjoy yourself.”
“We will, thank you.”
“And will you be joining us for the race tomorrow?”
“I think so.”
“Good,” Hammond said and he went into the salon.
From where McGarvey stood he watched the billionaire take the stairs down.
Leaving his beer on the rail, McGarvey went into the salon and started downstairs, but one of the young women stewards was coming up.
She smiled. “May I help you, sir?”
“Tom asked to have a word with me. Said he’d be in his office. But this is my first time aboard.”
“I’ll show you.”
“That’s not necessary. I know it’s below somewhere, just point the way.”
The steward looked uncertain. “Down two decks, the first door starboard side.”
“Thanks, you’re a doll,” McGarvey said, and he passed her.
Two decks down a corridor paneled in gleaming teak, thick carpet underfoot, and fine paintings on the bulkheads, ran the length of the yacht. McGarvey stopped at the first door on the right side and was listening, when a heavyset man came down the stairs.
He looked more like a bodyguard than a steward, and he had a look of suspicion etched into his features. “May I help you, sir?” he asked.
“No,” McGarvey said. He knocked on the door and went inside.
Hammond was perched on the edge of his desk. He and al-Hamadi, who was seated on the leather couch, looked up in surprise, and, in Hammond’s case, fleeting anger.
The bodyguard came to the door. “Is everything in order here, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, Karl, we were expecting Mr. Canton.”
McGarvey closed the door. “Sorry to barge in on you like this, but I spotted Alyan coming aboard and I thought he might have come to talk to you, either about me or Señor Castillo.”
Al-Hamadi looked like a deer caught in headlights, but Hammond’s expression was unreadable.
“Despite the size of this ship, it’s actually quite small in comparison to any of my houses. And I value my privacy above just about anything else.”
“I understand and apologize,” McGarvey said. “I’ll just collect Toni and we’ll leave.” He turned to go.
“Yes, we were talking about you and Castillo, both of you here offering me business deals, one of which is not strictly legal.”
It was quite an admission. But it was unlikely that Hammond would ever be caught out by any law enforcement agency anywhere. Almost none of his business dealings were completely transparent. And in many cases, according to Otto, his businesses were at arm’s length.
“Both of us came to you through Alyan?”
“Yes.”
“In Castillo’s case, how?”
Al-Hamadi looked to Hammond, who simply nodded.
“More or less the same way you did. He heard about me somewhere, probably at one of the casinos here in France, or perhaps Vegas or South Africa. There’s that sort of circuit. Said he wanted to talk to Tom about a deal.”
“What kind of a deal?”
“I can’t say.”
The pool deck was displayed on one of the monitors. Kamal and Pete were talking, and it was obvious that Susan Patterson wasn’t particularly happy about it. But Courtney seemed to be enjoying herself.
“I haven’t had time to do my homework on you, Canton. You admit that you’re not a blogger, but are you a cop? Maybe U.S. Treasury?”
“I’m a civilian. And I can guarantee that I’m not employed by any agency in Washington.”
“But you were a cop at one time?”
“Air Force OSI.”
“So Alyan says. But I guess that you’re a contractor, then. For whom?”
“I’m not that either.”
“But your proposal to me is still on the table?”
“Nothing’s changed,” McGarvey said. “Castillo isn’t his real name.”
“It’s no business of yours,” Hammond said.
Al-Hamadi was clearly nervous.
“Castillo is a small-time stockbroker on the Bolsa in Mexico City,” McGarvey said. “At least that’s who he claims he is. But he’s not connected enough to offer you anything of interest.”
“Again it’s no concern of yours.”
“It becomes mine if my name is ever associated with his.”
“Such a connection will never come from me,” Hammond said.
“I’d still like to have an invitation to Jian’s party. I’d like to offer him a piece of the action.”
“You and Ms. Borman will be my guests.”
At the door McGarvey turned back. “I’m not sure we’ll be aboard for the race tomorrow. But we’ll be in Basel. The Grand Hotel.”
“Les Tres Rois,” Hammond said. “I wish you luck unless you booked last year.”
* * *
Back on the main deck Pete was waiting just forward of the gangway. A few of the guests had already left, but most of them were still aboard.
She started to say something when McGarvey appeared at the salon’s sliding-glass doors, but he motioned for her to hold it.
“I’ve had enough partying for today,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They hitched a ride on one of the golf carts back to the head of the docks, and from there caught a cab back to the Hermitage. But McGarvey held his silence until the cabby dropped them off at the hotel.
Upstairs in their room he went to the house phone and turned the instrument over. But if it was bugged it wasn’t obvious.
“All they do is drink and talk about money,” he said. He started around the room examining the lights, and the mirrors and paintings hanging on the walls.
“Can you think of anything more interesting?” she asked from the bedroom, where she checked the phone, the headboard, and mirrors and pictures.
They didn’t have proper electronic bug detection equipment, but McGarvey figured it was worth the effort. If they found something it would be a signal of sorts that someone was looking at them and wanted them to back off.
The room was apparently clean and when they were finished they took the elevator down.
McGarvey called Otto and told him what had happened and about their search.
“Send Pete back upstairs and leave her phone in the room. I’ll check for bugs.”
McGarvey got out in the lobby and Pete went back up.
“Castillo is a blind,” Otto said. “Someone by that name is registered on the Bolsa, but he’s not made a trade all this year.”
“Doesn’t make him Nero.”
“No. But he’s got something to hide.”
“And Hammond and al-Hamadi are helping him.”
“My darlings are still checking for a match, or even near misses with his photos. But if Hammond is helping him, it can only mean that there’s serious money on the table.”
THIRTY-FIVE
“Attractive woman, Pete,” Susan said.
“Not bad,” Kamal replied absently. There’d been something about Joe Canton that didn’t ring true, especially in light of what al-Hamadi had told him.
“She’s obviously in love with him,” Courtney said from across the table.
“That’s nothing but a feminist myth,” Martaan said rising. “There’s no such thing as love.”
“Not even a mother for her son?”
“Especially not,” the race driver said, and he left.
“Pre-race jitters,” Courtney said. “I’ve seen it before. All of them get it.”
Kamal got up. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back,” he told Susan and he went forward into the salon and took the stairs down two decks.
He knocked on Hammond’s office door, which opened immediately.
“I thought you might be coming to see me,” Hammond said.
Al-Hamadi was seated on the couch.
The image on one of the screens was of the pool deck. They’d seen everything.
“Joe Canton and the woman with him are fakes,” Kamal said. “I think he could be a cop.”
“That’s a possibility,” Hammond said. He shrugged. “He was interested in you and how you and Alyan met, and why.”
Kamal sat down in one of the chairs and crossed his legs, to calm his nerves. He’d expected someone like Canton. Once the real Pablo Valdes had dropped out of sight the American DEA and Treasury department had been alerted. But he hadn’t expected anyone to come this far so soon.
“Did you reveal my real identity?”
“Of course not,” Hammond said. “In fact I vouched for you.”
“Thank you for that, but aren’t you taking a risk, doing business with me?”
“Not at all because he’s not looking for a Mexican money launderer.”
“Who then?”
Hammond laughed. “He says he doesn’t want to be associated with riffraff.”
Kamal laughed too. “His bitcoin scheme is a stretch. Alyan gave me a couple of the details.”
“But not illegal,” al-Hamadi said.
“Maybe impossible. Maybe he’s pulling a scam on you.”
Hammond was staring at him. “Why?”
“He could be U.S. Treasury.”
“My people have found no connection between him and any law enforcement agency.”
“But he and his woman are not bloggers.”
“No,” Hammond said. “But I’m told that his bitcoin scheme could work. We’re looking into it. But in the meantime he and his woman will probably show up for the race tomorrow. Will you be here?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kamal said getting up. “If he contacts either of you gentlemen again, would you let me know?”
“Of course,” Hammond said, but it was obvious he didn’t mean it, and just as obvious that he wasn’t hiding his lie.
“I would be careful,” al-Hamadi said. “He’s a dangerous man.”
“Has there been any word about the two men who attacked him?” Kamal asked. “That might give us a clue who he really is and what he’s after.”
“Nothing,” Hammond said.
* * *
Susan was waiting for him in the salon. “What was that all about?” she asked.
“He wanted to know more about my deal.”
“Leaving me out isn’t fair. I’ve already told you that I wanted a part of the action.”
“That might not be for the best right now. It’s what I told Tom.”
“Why?”
There were a lot of people in the salon. None of them was paying attention to him or Susan, but he was starting to feel uncomfortable, as if someone were looking down at him through a microscope as if he were a bug. A bug with a deadly sting.
“Later,” he said.
“Good, let’s go back to the hotel, I’ve got something for you.”
Kamal made a show of brushing a finger across her cheek. They were lovers, and he wanted to make sure everyone knew it. It made him one of the players, or at least one of the hangers-on. “You’re in the deal, but you don’t have to pay for it with sex.”
She laughed but it was strained. “I’ve never paid for anything with my body.”
Kamal shrugged. It was a lie. She’d started out as a movie star, short on talent but not looks. “I apologize.” Killing her in the end would be good.
