The Riddle Man, page 22
Two cops, shooting it out with four perps. This wasn’t a situation she could deal with. She had to get back in the car and get the hell out of there.
She’d have to ram the gate—and probably scrape the Marshal’s car in the process but she had to get away. Five miles down the road was an I-5. Ten hours heading south would take her down just past Eureka. And just past Eureka was a nice little marina where Gareth kept his seventy-foot motor yacht. He’d bought the GaleonFly brand new because he didn’t’ believe in re-branding or re-naming boats. He named her “Zara of the Morning” and broke a bottle of two-thousand-dollar champagne against her bow. She smiled all through the antiquated ceremony—until he broke the bottle of champagne—then she cried.
“This is turning out to be a very expensive night, Jim,” Carmelita remarked tossing her bag down on the elegant, pale blue sofa.
“Yeah, well, four-hundred dollars-a-night suite is all you’re offered when you check into Sheraton at two o’clock in the morning,” he said, shaking his head at the rest of the plush furnishing of the elegant suite. “We couldn’t go to Olympic Hill anymore. I’ll release my reservation on it in the morning.”
“Of course not, but that’s what happens when you lie to local LEOs,” she said with a tight smile.
“One of us is still the officer of the law and that one had to call the local cops to explain and justify why he discharged his service weapon—in a cemetery,” he said, maintaining the light tone of voice even though the issues they were discussing were anything but light.
“That was very creative, Farmer. I’m impressed that you were capable of such quick thinking, considering the kind of shit we fell into. Either someone’s cloned your cell phone or there’s a bug in your car.”
“What…?”
“You texted her the location for the meet twenty minutes before we got there. In that woefully short time, they managed to scramble four guys from a local gang and send them after her—what does that tell you?”
“Big organization, run better than anything in the army, navy or the air force—or local law enforcement.”
“And here we come, a cop and an ex-cop, cruising along and looking for a ramp to I-5 south when we see a sign for the cemetery—and a carload of partygoers with guns, heading for the aforementioned cemetery. Naturally, we follow the fledgling mischief-makers…I mean who’d not want to follow a car full of thugs to the cemetery…” She ended up chuckling.
“They bought it, didn’t they?” He defended himself.
“It was a decent story, but not something that would hold up under closer scrutiny,” she said.
“They weren’t overly scrutinizing,” he said.
“They were young cops, on shit-duty—night patrol; you intimidated them by just looking at them. Fortunately for us, the foursome with illegal guns were not newcomers on the Seattle crime scene. Things worked out—but I’m still not sure why they’ve gone sideways to begin with,” she said.
“She texted me that her Mustang was being watched. They know where she’s staying in Seattle and they’re watching the place.”
“Then they followed her to the cemetery,” Carmelita said.
He shook his head. “No one could follow that girl—no one in the ranks of LEOs is that good. If she wants to give you a slip, she will find a way to do it. You were right. Someone’s listening on our side.”
“Then maybe it’s time to stop using your work cell phone,” Carmelita advised.
“She won’t trust a text from unknown,” he said.
“She won’t trust a text from anyone now,” she said, grimacing.
“I might have lost all means of how to get in touch with her,” he said with a heavy sigh.
“But she knows how to make contact with you…?”
He nodded. “For that girl, making contact has never been an issue. You can be standing in a line at Starbucks and the next thing you know, she’s handing you your coffee and wishing you a pleasant day.”
“Do you really think she knows what’s going on?” Carmelita asked as she walked around the spacious suite, patting cushions and tapping furniture.
“I don’t think they’ve bugged this room, Carm.”
“You never know.”
“Our luxurious foray into five-star hotels was not a planned affair.”
“Oh, Farmer, you’ve spent hours convincing me that we’re playing in the big leagues now; don’t start backpedaling.”
“She’s been with Agent Pallaton for a few days now. She’d have figured out what’s going on. Maybe not all of it, but she definitely knows more than I do. She was willing to meet with me because she doesn’t have all the answers—yet. But she knows she’s in danger much more so than Agent Pallaton does. He probably still trusts his handler, Sam Lynch. And that’s what puts her life in danger.”
“So, this cemetery meet was to convince her that she should dump her companion and run solo—if running is still her game?”
“More or less. I wanted to find out her perspective on the whole situation.”
“Really?” Carmelita came up to him and patted his face. “That does not sound like you, my darling. Not at all. You wanted to find out if she knows who might have penetrated the U.S. Marshals Service and compromised the entire WITSEC program.”
He took her hand and turned it palm-up then kissed it lightly. “You could always see through me, Carm. My poker face could never fool you. I can’t even begin to guess where I should start looking for the rot—it feels like it’s all around me. I always thought it was my choice to place her in that house in Coeur d’Alene. But I’ve been played. I just don’t know for how long.”
“Sam Lynch has a lot of powerful connections in Washington,” she said.
“Sam Lynch is just the tip of the iceberg,” he said with a sour smile.
She remained silent for a few seconds then said, “Jim, what if Sam Lynch is the whole iceberg?”
“Are you saying that I’m complicating it?”
She shook her head. “Not complicating, just taking it to the next level—when there is no next level.”
“You’re saying that this whole shit-storm is Lynch’s show?” He sounded unconvinced by her suggestion.
She raised her index finger. “Pace me on this, Jim. The Bureau placed an agent, fresh out of the academy, in DuFresno corporate pond because they couldn’t figure out how to crack the corporate firewalls. DuFresno is just the visible player of a very large, and very powerful conglomerate that can make or break economies on a global scale. Fifteen years ago, Sam Lynch recruited Daniel Pallaton to be the eyes and ears for many law agencies—not just the Bureau. Today, Lynch is heading for the Assistant Directors’ job. The rumors in Washington are that he’s a shoe-in. A just reward for a man who cracked quite a few corporate heads sufficiently for the sleeping hydra to wake up—and tremble.
Pallaton’s testimony sent an awful lot of rich and powerful men to prison; a maximum-security prison at that.”
“Where are you going with this, Carm?”
“Daniel Pallaton could have remained at DuFresno until he was ready to retire. I’ve read such speculations in the media. He was in no danger of being discovered. He could have just fingered the guilty culprits to any senior contact in the Bureau and let them deal with them. Staying in DuFresno in his capacity, would have been lot more useful to the Bureau and all the rest of the law agencies, than yanking him out. Why do it then?”
He stared at her, trying to read from her face what she was trying to tell him without spelling it out for him, and couldn’t quite figure out where she was going with it.
“Well, something must have happened to change the balance….” His voice trailed off.
Carmelita smiled. “Yes, my dear ex. Something must have happened—but it didn’t happen on Lynch’s side and it didn’t happen outside of the corporate towers of doom.”
“Are you saying that Pallaton chose to break his cover on his own…?”
“Yep.” She nodded and pushed up her brows to underscore the significance.
“But why? It’s like you said. He was entrenched. He could provide information to external agencies without fear of discovery. He was a perfect mole. He was safe….”
“Something happened. Something that broke the status quo,” she said.
“Sam Lynch wasn’t prepared to have his mole break cover.”
“He sure as hell wasn’t,” she agreed.
“But he scrambled well enough to keep Pallaton safe until the trial.”
“Yes. He kept him and his family safe—until the trial,” she said.
“Then…what?” He still didn’t know where she was going with this.
“Then he found out why Agent Pallaton broke cover and walked out of the corporate fortress.”
“Ah, that’s why he staged that dramatic death in a hail of bullets on the courthouse steps,” he said.
But Carmelita was shaking her head. “The hail-of-bullets melodrama was step two, after Sam Lynch made his point. Carme to guess what step one was?”
“Pallaton’s family.”
“Yep. Lynch found out why his mole stepped out of the shadows and moved quickly to create the illusion that the corporate henchmen were after him and his family. That their power eclipsed that of the Bureau and the rest of the law agencies.”
“An illusion…? Come on, Carm. They still are after him.”
“Pallaton believes they are. The reality is a little bit different. Lynch is after him, using his proxy, the EPA,” she said, tapping her head.
“But we still don’t know why?” He shook his head.
“Pallaton has something that Lynch wants,” she said.
“You mean Agent Pallaton knows something that Sam Lynch wants,” he expanded on what she said.
“No, Jim. If Pallaton had knowledge detrimental to Sam Lynch, he would have died on those courthouse steps for real. He has something that Lynch wants—badly enough not to have anyone stand in his way.”
“Certainly not a young girl who was placed in WITSEC program, and relocated to Coeur d’Alene,” he said, tightening his lips.
Carmelita raised herself on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “He may not know who your witness is, Jim.”
“If you’re trying to cheer me up, don’t bother.”
“No, really. I mean it. Lynch may know just the bare bones of her case. She’s in WITSEC, placed there by the Marshals Services and therefore she can be used any way he wants to. There’s no love lost between the Marshals Services and the Bureau. Lynch wouldn’t hesitate a second to use your witness as a bullet shield if that’s what would get him what he’s after,” she said.
“But what is he after?” He exclaimed and scratched his crewcut from frustration.
Carmelita shrugged. “Most people are after power, prestige and money; though not necessarily in that order.”
“Well, Lynch is poised to step into a very powerful role. He doesn’t strike me as a lawman who care much about prestige. He’s more of ‘behind-the-scenes’ man.”
“Then it has to be money,” Carmelita said.
“Well, Pallaton was the Chief Financial Officer of one of the largest corporate conglomerates in the world,” he said.
“Not one of the largest, Jim—the largest. Pallaton had access to money that you and I can only dream about—with help of some magic herbal vitamins.”
“He could have siphoned serious money into off-shore accounts. And when he deemed he had enough, he walked out of the corporate tower and…what, why are you shaking your head?”
“There’s more to it than simple embezzlement.”
“Why? Why can’t it be that simple?”
“Because Pallaton is still on the run,” she said.
“So?”
“They’re letting him run.”
“Hoping he’d lead them to the money…he wouldn’t be that stupid, Carm. He’d not have lasted fifteen years swimming in the corporate shark pool.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Carmelita agreed without any real conviction. She turned around and started to re-trace her steps.
“Stop pacing, Carm,” he said and went to sit on the huge bed.
“It helps me think. Do you remember when the DuFresno shit hit the fan?”
“The trial was about six, seven months ago. It went on for about four weeks,” he said.
“Would you say that Agent Pallaton died on those courthouse steps about five months ago?”
“Sounds about right.”
“Then he was turfed out to Idaho and installed next door to your witness.”
“Maybe a bit later but it sounds about right too. What are you after?”
“What charges were those DuFresno executives brought up on?”
“A shitload of charges. I didn’t bring my laptop. It’s in the car and I sure as hell am not going to go down to the parking garage at this time of the night—or more precisely, morning.”
“I’d make you go down there if only you’d have left your car in the parking garage, like most normal people. But you had to be cheap. You left it on the street. Don’t you remember?” She faced him with hands parked on hips.
“I am not cheap. It was more convenient…and I wasn’t focused on DuFresno or Pallaton. I told you that I started looking into those claims that my witness made during her deposition, because I needed to understand why she so suddenly clammed up. I mean she just stopped answering all questions that dealt with law enforcement.”
Carmelita made a deep throaty sound and took out her cell phone. “Free Wi-Fi—that’s how you know this is a classy hotel, Farmer,” she commented as she scrolled through the screens. After a while, she must have found what she was looking for because she raised her finger. “Listen to this. It reads alike a shopping list. RICO Act, Espionage Act, Patriot Act, Electoral Fraud, computer crimes, tax evasion—everything and anything but child pornography; though I’m sure that could have come up if the judge had been willing to continue with the shit-storm. What does that sound like to you, Farmer?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is that you’re going to tell me at length,” he said, looking resigned to a long lecture.
“It’s a screen, Farmer. A very heavy, very thick screen used to obscure the real crime.”
“Which is….?”
“The one they were not charged with.”
“Carmelita, I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to join me and talk all you want. I doubt I’ll be able to make a sound.”
“The real crime has to be something so serious and so horrible that Pallaton knew no one would believe him if he brought it out. I’d bet you a case of your favorite beer that Pallaton could have walked out the corporate door after five years with that shopping list of crimes; never mind staying another ten.
He stayed to learn what the big game was about.”
“And walked out when he gathered enough evidence—that he never revealed or turned over to any law agency. Yep. That’s a sound theory, Carm. Good night.”
“He walked out when the big game started to threaten his family.”
“Yep, sure. Okay.” He kicked off his boots and crawled higher up on the bed to reach the pillow.
“Farmer!”
“I’ve grown immune to that big voice of yours, Carm. After all, it’s been a few years since you bellowed at me like that,” he said and buried his face in the pillow.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Eugene, Oregon
She was driving a stolen car. She had an FBI agent who died in a hail of bullets on the courthouse steps, in the trunk of the stolen car. And all her guns, money and IDs were blown up with her Mustang—that used to be parked just up the street from Triton Arms. The league of LEO-nations was watching her Mustang. Then it blew up on them. The fireball must have singed a few of them. And to cap this horrible fiasco, she lost her connection to the Marshal.
She could not continue driving down the coast in a stolen car. To steal another one, would be just reckless—and stupid. Gareth impressed it upon her every chance he got not to underestimate cops—in any state, in any country.
“The police live to catch car thieves,” he would say to her.
“Car theft is rampant—here, there, everywhere,” she told him. “As crimes go, it’s way down, low on the totem pole of crimes.”
“Don’t kid yourself, sweetie. Police love catching car thieves because it gives a boost to their conviction rate. Car thieves are easy to convict. As crimes go, there is nothing ambiguous about car theft. You steal a car. They catch you in it. You’re a car thief and you’re going to jail. Conviction rate—that’s what it’s all about.” He never missed an opportunity to lecture her about it. He also made her promise to ‘clear’ it with him first, before boosting a car.
“You should never do it on a whim, or just because,” he said. And as time went by, she came to appreciate wisdom of his warning.
She unfocused from uplifting memories and glanced at the gas gauge. Soon she was going to need gas. She was driving a 2005 Toyota Camry. It was a totally inconspicuous silver sedan. Not beat up but not shiny either. It looked calm, dignified like all middle-aged vehicles on the threshold of old age. It had been gently driven because it had only one-hundred-and-twenty-thousand miles on it. If its owner continued looking after it, the car would serve him well for another five, six years. She stole it because it wasn’t burdened with shrieking technology.
She would have to abandon it soon. Briefly, she considered leaving the FBI ace in the trunk. She’d crack it open, of course, to give him air. But considering how many problems he’d already brought into her life, he didn’t deserve to be rescued. Not from his FBI crowd, and not from himself.
“No, no. That would be overly cruel,” she whispered and looked up just as the car headlights swept across a big road sign. Two miles further down the road, was a gas station, a roadside restaurant, a convenience store and washrooms. And if all those amenities failed to entice the traveler to stop, he could continue another twenty miles, for the big-time food and entertainment—Eugene, Oregon.
