The Riddle Man, page 29
He’d called his ex-wife for help when she collapsed on him in the Green’s Motel, en route to Coeur d’Alene. Her presence had the opposite effect on her. It was energizing. Even her name had that frisky bounce to it—Carmelita. She spent the night with her head in Carmelita’s lap, soaking up the life-energy the woman gave off. If not for her presence, she’d not have been able to make it to her destination. She never got to thank her for it either. The Marshal made her leave as soon as he saw that his witness was able to function. She sensed that the Marshal didn’t want to spell it out that his ex was an FBI agent and as such, should not be in Idaho, helping her ex-partner settle down his witness.
“I called her because I trust her,” the Marshal said to her, even though she didn’t ask anything about his ex-wife. Then again, the woman wore a windbreaker with the FBI logo.
“I know. I could feel it,” she’d replied. “She might be your ex on paper, but she will never be an ex to you…and vice versa. I think you should just rip-up the paper that stands between the two of you.”
She cleared her throat. It was one way to banish memories and reflections that came when she couldn’t afford to bask in their comfort.
“Are you trying on a second career, Marshal?” she asked, motioning at the reception desk.
“After tonight, I’ll probably have to find one,” he said and stepped out of the shadows to where she could see him.
“No guns?” Amusement crept into her voice. “The hospitality sector can be brutal.”
He raised his hands to show they were empty. “No guns. I keep my holstered. Out of sight. Yours, I imagine, is where it used to be—stuck in the back. I bet that was the first thing you went for when the shit-storm started swirling around you. Old habits die hard,” he chuckled.
“Actually, the first thing I went for, once I got over the shock of seeing my living room wall pock-marked with bullets, was my car keys.”
“Did Agent Pallaton get to them first—is that why you’re here?”
“Hell no. But he tried. I offered to be his getaway driver. It was my Mustang. I wasn’t going to let a corporate toy-boy strip my gears.”
“He’s a little more than a mere corporate toy-boy. Wouldn’t you say so?” the Marshal tipped his head at her.
“He’s a riddle man. I bet that if you got a representative from all those factions that are after us together in one room, they couldn’t agree on what he was, what he is now, what he did and why.”
“It’s only been six months since Agent Pallaton lost his wife and four children. He’s entitled to feel confused. I can’t imagine what must be going on inside the man,” he said.
“I’ve never known a man who was not conflicted—about something, anything,” she said.
“Did that include your late husband?”
“Gareth was conflicted about many things, Marshal. His chosen career wasn’t one of them. And neither was mine. The only thing I regret is not being able to sit beside him when the law of this land riddled his car with bullets.”
“Not Salazar…?”
He was testing her. Then again, he was a lawman. It was his job.
“We both know it wasn’t Salazar’s posse that caught up to Gareth down in Oklahoma. The old professor wasn’t after us. He had no idea the hammer was coming down when the FBI stormed his estate. We were set up. And I was used to bring Salazar down. That part I didn’t mind all that much. I did mind—a lot that it cost Gareth his life. I’d like to find out who exactly set us up, but it’s not an overwhelming issue with me right now.”
“Unlike Agent Pallaton, who can think of nothing else but revenge at this time. What do you mean old professor?” Suddenly, the Marshal craned his neck as if someone was hiding behind her, in the shadows.
“Santiago Salazar used to teach humanities at the Cuban Universidad Central Marta Abreu de Las Villas, back in the nineties. He taught at one of the more remote campuses, known as the Universidad de Montaña. It’s located in Topes de Collantes—a nature reserve park in the Escambray Mountains. It’s where he found his second career—organizing small-time drug runners into an empire that he controls today. He’s quite an art connoisseur. Does his Cuban roots proud. Don’t you have all this information in his file?”
He shook his head. “No one does. I’ve never heard this before. None of the law agencies have this info. I know that for sure.”
“Consider that a freebie—and use it wisely.”
“A freebie? That’s uncharacteristic for someone in your…field.” He hesitated before he found the right word.
“The barter system is very strong, especially in my field. At some point down the road I’ll need a favor from you. It’s the condition of me letting you in on my plan.”
“Will that be the only way of staying in touch with you?”
“Pretty much.”
“All right, shoot.”
She laughed. “That’s an unfortunate expression, Marshal. Especially when inviting someone who’s a marksman. Salazar is chilling in super-max. He won’t be there for long.”
“Do you have any actionable intelligence on that?”
“No. Just my feelings and Gareth taught me to never disregard those. Not if I want to stay alive. When we crossed into Kentucky, and stopped outside of Liberty at that dinner, Gareth had a feeling that we should not continue along the roads. There was an airfield nearby where you could charter a plane to fly you out to the coast. But I wanted to go to that arts and crafts fair. The local quilt shop had a website. They were showing a really nice baby quilt…it would have been a hint for Gareth that perhaps it was time to leave the home shores and head for the islands. He didn’t follow his feelings because he wanted to please me. I won’t make that mistake again…besides, I can’t,” she finished in a strained whisper.
“So, you want me to keep tabs on early-prison releases and parole board hearings?”
“I want you to leave me a message the moment you hear any whispers that Salazar might be getting out—parole, break-out, buy-out—he has endless means of getting out. I need to know when one of those means is going to be put into play.”
“That might be difficult,” he said, frowning.
“Yes, because you’re an honest man. You will have to check that honesty-hat in the waiting room, before you enter the tar-pit of what now represents your legal system.”
“I’ll see what I can do without compromising too much of my honesty,” he said with a dry chuckle. He continued, “I got your message. That was pretty clever to contact my daughter. However, I would appreciate if you didn’t get creative with my family. It’s not safe—for you or Nayla.”
“Your side of the communication highway was compromised. They tapped your cell phone. They read your text-messages. Apologize for me to your daughter for waking her up in the middle of the night. It was a one-time emergency response. On my way in, I stopped by here and spoke with a lady receptionist. I don’t think she was the owner of this place. Did you make her leave?”
“Not exactly; I didn’t give myself away, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.
She dropped the subtlety act. “She was a cop. Normally, this office is occupied by the marina owner, Ricky Dolanto. Do you know where he is?”
“I didn’t find his body anywhere, if that’s what’s worrying you and I searched this place pretty thoroughly. Let’s just hope that he’d been sidelined with a creative story. Besides, they can’t afford to draw attention to this place. I’m sure he’s still alive.”
“Is the body of the lady-cop lying somewhere in this office?”
“Now, Ms Davis. I am still an officer of the law. An U.S. Marshal can’t go around retiring police officers permanently. In this case, I didn’t even have to knock her out. She was called away, though she might be back. We don’t have that much time. Where is Agent Pallaton?”
“Safe…I hope; still asleep and I fervently hope that’s the case or I’m going to put him to sleep, permanently. Do you know what’s going on, Marshal?”
“I do, but probably not as much as you. Care to share your insights with me?”
“My neighbor’s house blew up while he came over to help me move the fridge so I could clean. After that, it was one high-speed car chase after another, dodging bullets and avoiding entrapment almost every step of the way. And all along I had this dead federal agent besides me—avoiding answers or lying to me outright. I tried to walk out of this fantasy scenario more than once, and every time I tried, someone else came gunning for me—with cars or guns or both. The cemetery was a trap—this time for you. I hit the road but these guys kept catching up to us. Agent Pallaton had a GPS tracker in his tasseled loafers. That’s how we stayed on the grid. Once I got rid of his shoes, things improved…until I came here. There is an unfriendly army hiding in those boats down at the dock. There are thirty boats; more than half of them have bodies hiding inside and I doubt very much they are sailors or owners of those boats.”
“Do you know who’s after you?”
“You’re here, Marshal. So, you must know too. The EPA crowd and probably a few bodies from the Bureau and maybe a truckload of local law enforcement officers for good measure. It’s a crowd, that’s for sure. At times I had a feeling that the individual factions of that crowd are at cross purposes,” she said, maintaining the light tone.
“So, basically everyone in the law enforcement—except the mob?” he tested.
“Mob is last decade’s news, Marshal. Today, it’s cartels. And no, I don’t think Salazar’s people are after me.”
“How can you be sure?” he asked.
She knew he was just trying to confirm his suspicions.
“Because I’m still alive. Salazar is in super-max and he’s busy. But I’m way down on his bucket-list. He’s got a number of points to go through that lead to his freedom; only then he’ll turn his attention to lesser matters. Salazar’s people would not have let me leave my house, never mind let me take a scenic tour of the Pacific coast. I’m being used.”
“Yes, you are,” he said flatly. “And I didn’t see it coming. They’re using you to get to Pallaton. To me it feels like there is still a lot that didn’t come out at the trial of those DuFresno executives. It’s not just about bribes to lackeys in our Defense Department. Pallaton’s holding on to some powerful incriminating evidence that he didn’t surrender back then.”
“He didn’t surrender everything because he thought he had a strong enough hand to keep his family alive. He was wrong. Now he just wants revenge.”
“Are you going to help him along those lines?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Besides, he only knows me as Angela Davis, a mediocre real estate secretary…except he somehow convinced himself that I am an FBI agent, planted in the house next door to keep an eye on him. It actually suited my purpose. It explains some of the things I was able to do, that a real estate secretary wouldn’t dream of. He thinks I’m his guardian angel.”
“Are you?”
“He’d have never made it out of Coeur d’Alene alive if it wasn’t for me. For those first few hours, maybe I was. Afterward, I was just looking out for my own safety.”
“Is that why you came here?”
“Gareth’s boat is down there,” she waved at the door. “It’s a big-ass yacht. He was the hands-on sailor. I was merely a passenger—reluctant one at that. However, Agent Pallaton is a sailor. It’s what gave me the idea.”
“Where would you go to get lost? It’s a lot of water out there.”
She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “The situation evolved into something very, very ugly, Marshal. I don’t think either one of us can get lost—anywhere. We’re not dealing with gangs and drug cartels. We’re now dealing with very powerful players, who hold key positions in our government. And when it’s your own government that’s gunning for you, there’s not enough water out there for you to run or hide.”
“Do you know why Agent Pallaton broke his cover and came out after nearly fifteen years as a mole at DuFresno?”
She moved her head without giving anything away.
“He wasn’t extracted, Angela, nor was he ordered to break cover. I figured that out for myself…well, my ex-wife helped a lot. He bolted. Now, why?”
“He was a Chief Financial Officer. He controlled a raging money river,” she said, avoiding direct answer.
“The bribes scenario was just a cover. He had to deliver something to the Bureau to justify his exit, but that’s not what made him leave the corporate ranks. Now, you know what it was…tell me, please.”
“He found out that our Defense Department gave DuFresno a billion dollars to develop a weapon that should not exist.”
“Chemical warfare?”
“More upscale than mere toxins,” she said.
The Marshal came to stand in front of the counter. “So, deadly toxins are too mundane for our Defense Department…?”
“Think selective population control, Marshal. They contracted DuFresno’s R&D to develop a chemical agent—a virus, really—with a “gene-specific” target. Project name: White Cloud. That was its scientific name. The military re-christened it Project Pruning Shears. It would be carried out on a ten-year schedule.”
“Some of that stuff came out just before the trial but it was quickly squashed and discredited,” the Marshal said.
“He managed to get out some of it. He had ideals. He believed. His family paid for it with their lives. You can’t blame the man for wanting a revenge.”
“You know, that kind of stuff can only be brought out before a Senate House Committee. From where I stand, there’s a snowflake’s chance in hell that he’d get an opportunity to do it. If both sides worried about it, they’d have eliminated him a long time ago. Instead, they installed him next door to you. There has to be something else he has, Angela, that the crowd that’s on your tail, wants.”
She remained silent for a long time. The Marshal didn’t urge her to tell him. He merely stood there, letting her decide whether she trusted him with the dangerous information or not.
She took a big breath, exhaled and said, “He has their research—and their money.”
“Ah, now it all makes sense,” he said. “How crucial…?”
She shrugged. “Without the research, there is no virus. Without the money, there is no means to mass produce the virus. The Defense Department is not about to hand over another billion dollars to a contractor who lost the first payment.” She wasn’t going to tell him about Aroldo, or the woefully short shelf-life of the new weapon. It wasn’t time, nor was it her tale to tell.
“Well, there’s good news in that blockbuster revelation and there’s bad news,” the Marshal said.
“Good news first—always,” she said and cracked a smile.
“They need him alive.”
“And the bad news…?”
“Their patience has limits. When it runs out, they’ll grab him and make him tell them what they want. They’ll use you to do it.”
“I’m just a pawn, Marshal. An innocent bystander that Agent Pallaton grabbed to have a car and a driver.”
“Don’t kid yourself. They wouldn’t have installed him next door to you in Coeur d’Alene if they didn’t know who you were. They’ve cracked many codes, opened many back doors to set up that scenario in Idaho that culminated in you driving Agent Pallaton. You are a pawn—their pawn; but you’ve kept the man they want alive this long. That means you’re helping him. Your skillset is impressive. They’d know that too. They’re counting on the fact that the two of you have formed a bond. That’s what they plan to use to make him talk.”
“There is no bond, Marshal,” she said flatly. “I just feel sorry for the man. He doesn’t know who to trust. One moment someone’s throwing him a lifeline, the next, they’re drowning him. This is really your job. I wish you could take over.”
“I can’t. I haven’t even started testing loyalties in my circles.”
“You can count on your ex-wife. She’s in the Bureau….”
He interrupted. “She retired; very recently.”
“Well, there goes that life-line,” she commented.
“I asked her to retire. Her life was in danger—because two years ago, I asked her to come to Idaho, to Green’s Motel.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
He shook his head. “I’m not putting this on you. I’m just explaining. My ex-wife was actually dismissed from her position in Mobile. She’s not disgraced but she is an unhappy ex-Bureau agent. As such, I encouraged her to apply to the private sector. The EPA; or more precisely its Palo Alto chapter. We’re heading down there for a job interview. I’m on vacation.”
She fell silent for a long time. Finally, she said, “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Marshal. Back in Kentucky, watching that diner outside of Liberty, I got an impression these people were something more than an organization. They were all cops; and I found out later, the ex-military also seek membership in the EPA. But whether the ex-cops keep the communication link with their still-active-law enforcement brothers alive, there is more to this private sector organization than employment.”
“They’re ‘elite’ thugs,” he said.
“More than that, Marshal. They’re a clan—with clan-chapters all over the country.”
“Their hiring practices aren’t discriminatory. They have solid representation from all major ethnic groups,” he observed. “Their ideal candidate is a disgruntled and disaffected ex-law enforcement officer, who is leaving behind a very large network of contacts in the police force. Or the army.”
“Not the kind of clan that wears hoods and carries burning crosses. A few years ago, Gareth and I took a working vacation. Costa Rica. Northern Pacific Coast. Natural beaches, good snorkeling. A contact there brought me some intelligence on a resident. He’d hired a private security agency to look after his señor’s compound. He brought escuadrones familiars from as far as Cartago. I was baffled why would a drug lord staff a security agency with his family. Surely, they weren’t that disposable. I received a quick education in finer nuances of Spanish language. Seems that private security outfits down there have a diverse clientele. For protection, they send escuadrones familiars—family squads. And to fill their clients’ other needs, they send escuadrones de la Muerte—fondly known as death squads. Most of the private security agencies in those countries have a dual purpose. My contact assumed, matter-of-factly, that it was the same in our country.”
