Rogues & Patriots, page 26
“The former, with great care, but when they got there, the bird had flown. Nothing was left but some random ordnance.”
A long silence I finally broke. “Okay, Cole. This explains a lot. I appreciate your candor. But tell me this. What exactly is Quincey trying to do here in the States? To the Muslim community?”
“You didn’t hear this from me,” said Cole, shaking his head. “Thomas now believes our road to salvation is to launch false flag operations here in the States designed to bring the country to such a permanent state of high alert that even the most sophisticated Islamic terrorist attacks would be intercepted and repelled. His grandiosity is astonishing. He has talked about launching a dozen terror attacks on the same day in twelve metropolitan areas, a kind of American Kristallnacht. At other times, he thinks it might be more effective to launch one attack per week for a three or four-month period. Imagine the apprehension by the fourth or fifth week. This is where you come in, Mr. Crane, at least in Thomas’s mind. He wants to utilize your courage and organizational abilities. And I do think you’d be good at it. It would be a way for you to atone for the death of Frank Constantine.” Cole lifted an eyebrow. “Although truthfully, it’s probably too late for that now, even if you were interested, which I don’t believe you are.”
Jesus Christ. Cole was a slippery bastard.
“Thomas works with a task force that debriefs so-called high-risk individuals who are intercepted at the border. Sometimes they recommend federal charges, and other times they throw the luckless bastards back across the border. And, of course, there is the third option, to be used sparingly. This is where it gets ugly. The game is to identify promising candidates and turn them into programmed killers. But Thomas wrestles with this. In the morning, he thinks one thing; by evening, he thinks something else.”
I nodded grimly. “What about him and Rowe pimping out the little girls? Turning them into sex toys?”
Cole shook his head. He wasn’t going there.
I’d heard enough. “So tell me this, Mr. Cole. What exactly do you want from me? Adara told me the plan is to arrest Quincey immediately.”
I sat back and waited.
“That is correct,” said Cole wearily. No smile at all now. A sad, drawn face, but eyes as calm and quizzical as ever. “The plan is for you and your people to arrest Thomas and hand him off to LASD. He’ll be charged with drug trafficking and will serve about twenty-four months in a federal facility. Otherwise, it would be LAPD and the FBI and God knows who else knocking down his door and dragging him away in disgrace. It would be a nightmare, and I don’t want Thomas to experience that level of humiliation. He’s suffered enough already.”
What a hoot! No doubt Thomas had suffered, but what about everybody else, all his victims? Including yours truly. But I didn’t say it. Instead, I pulled in my horns and said quietly, “What changes if I help pull this off?”
“As far as the principals are concerned, I’m not sure it changes anything. It may be too late for that. But let’s pretend it’s not. What are your terms?”
Just like with Mohammad on the Charles River Esplanade, I wanted to ruminate. Consider. Analyze. Construct a reasonable set of demands. But no time. Winging it as usual.
“I want three things. First, Adara and her father are to be set free immediately. I will finesse Mohammad’s escape and arrange for him and Adara to be reunited in a private place. After that I will vanish for six months or so. When I come back, I will be left alone to run my company. And in the meantime, Mohammad gets his money back.”
Cole guffawed. But only briefly. “Money, money. Why does it always get back to the dirty green? But all right. Mohammad gets his filthy lucre back––the money he earned off the bent backs of the Iraqi peasants. As far as total freedom for Mohammad and Adara, the answer is yes, at least for her.” Cole turned to Adara. “Your life will be much better. I can promise you that. And your father’s life will also be much better. But based on the contract he signed, he’ll still need to be debriefed from time to time, but nothing intrusive. And I’ll probably handle it myself. As for you, Mr. Crane, who can say? If it were only up to me, by all means, you could disappear for as long as you like and do anything you want when you return. But seriously, even if I were to lobby for you, which I definitely will if you help me out with Thomas’s arrest, it will be an uphill battle to persuade the principals to back off. But it’s worth a try. The first step is to have Thomas taken into custody in the most unobtrusive manner possible.”
Well, the cards were on the table. Jokers wild. I was sick of Cole’s bullshit equivocations, and, for a crazy moment, I considered shooting him in the head. Right there. At the kitchen table. But I didn’t. I had to focus on my real goals. What Cole was offering was the devil’s own bargain, but I didn’t see what choice I had. If it all went well, and that was a big if, it would take Quincey completely out of the game, at least for now. Adara and Mohammad would be much better off. And if Mohammad came through with something in the mid-six figures range, I would be able to lie low with no immediate financial concerns. Then I remembered. “What about the eight girls and women who were being abused up at the Nazi camp? They must be given the right to seek asylum.”
Cole nodded his head slowly. “They will have that right. Indeed, they will. But with expedited deportation being the order of the day, I don’t think they have,” his voice breaking, “much chance of succeeding. Of course, that might depend on who their lawyers are.” He wiped his eyes. I was astonished. Was it real empathy or a great acting job? Either way, he recovered quickly. “But what I can do is this. I will talk to the appropriate people and make sure they’re repatriated in the kindest, gentlest way possible.”
Kindest, gentlest way. Where had I heard that before? “They deserve that as a bare minimum.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Crane. I’ll take care of it. It’s the least I can do.”
Then he said he was pretty sure any monkey business with the little girls was QB Tragg’s play, and he believed it was just one or two isolated instances. I knew he was lying. If it was Tragg’s play, why was Rowe minding them for Quincey? And why did none of these bastards even care? But I was boxed in. We had to take down Quincey, and we had to liberate Adara and Mohammad. And I had to rescue the girls in Ohio. I asked Adara what she thought.
Her gaze shifted from me to Cole and back. And then back to Cole.
“I want one other thing,” she said firmly. “As soon as Thomas is in custody, my father and I—who have been unofficial wards of the State Department ever since we arrived here twenty years ago—will be given the right to apply for green cards. And our applications will be expedited.”
Cole said he believed that could be arranged.
“All right then. I accept the terms. I can’t speak for Mr. Crane, though.”
I looked at them and they looked at me. Then I gave a single short nod.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Cole wanted to arrest Quincey on Wednesday, but I told him I needed one more day. A personal matter. He hemmed and hawed, but finally agreed.
He would schedule a twelve o’clock luncheon with Quincey on Thursday at his Bel Air estate. He would arrive before us in his Lambo. He assured us no one else would be there. Only Desmond and Tom. Old friends.
“It’s like this, Mr. Crane. I want to make sure you understand. I need you to do me this small but important courtesy. LASD would love to dispatch a twenty-man team to tear Thomas’s house apart, with half-a-dozen agencies along for the ride. But that’s not what we want. We want his arrest to be as low-key as possible. That’s why we want you to handle it. Calmly and discreetly.”
“What about Quincey’s soldiers?”
Cole waved off my concern. Said Quincey’s soldiers were not allowed on his estate. Adara agreed that was generally true. Who wants hired guns hanging around when you don’t need them? It was different out in the big world. There, they were a necessary evil. Cole said there would be no resistance whatsoever. He would personally disconnect the security system before we got there.
“Look,” said Cole. “I hate like hell to do this to Thomas, but at least his last few minutes as a free man will be pleasant ones. He and I will be enjoying moussaka on the patio. With his favorite endive salad and a bottle of Tempranillo.”
I nodded. “We can do it. Without too much trouble, if, as you say, there is no resistance. If there is resistance, all bets are off.”
Cole’s turn to nod. He told me to sit tight. Called his security team and told them to bring the firepower. He didn’t want us to carry our own guns. If things went south, and we had to shoot our way out, he wanted the bullets to be fired from untraceable guns. So much for his “no resistance” claim.
Ten minutes later, Dagmar and his goons lugged a good-sized chest into the living room and flipped open the latches. Manhunter’s paradise. For myself, I selected a fifteen-round Glock 22 and an eleven-round Beretta 96, complete with suppressors, belt holsters, and cartridges. For Bobby, I grabbed a Sig Sauer 226P and a HK P30, with the requisite ammo and trappings. I checked each gun carefully. Cole was right. No serial numbers. I also chose four fifty-thousand-volt Tasers. Adara reached into her handbag and gave me five gate clickers. Then she retrieved a gym bag from her bedroom. To carry the weapons. It made a tidy little package.
Plan was I would meet with my crew and Adara at my office at eleven o’clock on Thursday morning. We would arrive at Quincey’s estate at noon. Cole wanted us to be prompt because he had a wedding reception in Holmby Hills that afternoon. Which is why he had wanted to arrest Quincey on Wednesday. He asked us if we liked his white tux. Said he had just picked it up at a discount and was breaking it in. “Looks great on you,” I said lightly.
“No, seriously, Mr. Crane. What do you think?”
“I think you wear it well.”
“I do, don’t I? There’s something about good clothes that makes me feel like a million bucks.”
Before I got in my car, Cole and I faced one another in the early morning light. First, he thanked me for escaping on my own so that he didn’t have to engineer my rescue himself at great cost and aggravation.
“How would you have done it?”
“I had already called in my alpha team. They would have found a way.”
Then he moved closer and put his right hand on my shoulder. Told me a warrant for the arrest of Thomas Quincey, aka Miles Amsterdam, was being fast-tracked based on Javier Fincus’s proffer. They would notify Diego Smith. He suggested I arrange to have Diego and LASD meet us outside the gates of Thomas’s estate. We would walk Quincey out to the street and hand him off to Diego.
“Simple as that,” I said.
“Simple as that. LASD will keep Thomas in protective custody for a few days while we put the pieces in place. We have to make sure Thomas is not turned into a misunderstood hero who ends up getting a slap on the wrist. He needs to suffer to a reasonable degree; doing some time will wake him up. We’ll do what we can to make sure we get the right AUSA when his case goes federal. I want him hit hard, but not too hard. This could make a huge difference in Thomas’s life. It could bring him back to reality. And it could make a big difference in yours. I’ll do everything I can.”
Odd speech. I nodded grimly. Then we shook hands, one man measuring another. Then I got into my old Corolla and drove away.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
With a trunkful of unmarked firearms, I started west on Santa Monica Boulevard. Angled up to Sunset. A late breakfast at Carney’s, the railroad car diner across the street from the House of Blues. Then east on Sunset. Really just killing time while I made some phone calls. First Jack Snow. I tried to apologize but he cut me off. “I appreciate the sentiments, Nick, but no one on earth could have predicted those cocksuckers were going to bust in like that.”
“Yeah, but what about your face?”
“It’ll heal. I’ve been more scared taking a big hit on the gridiron back when I was a 130- pound wide-out.” He laughed. “And my balls are intact. That’s the good news. Ironically, the invasion was a good excuse to rearrange my books and weed out the duplicates.” That’s Jack. His world awash with silver linings. “It’s a good lesson, Nick. Always lock your doors and keep a loaded gun close at hand. By the way, how did you escape from those maniacs?”
I told him that was a story for another time. We signed off.
Next, Caroline. She was at the ranch, her voice warm and friendly. A wave of relief. She told me her lawyers were rather mystified when she told them she was harboring eight refugees at her Grenada Hills stables, but when she told them they’d been rescued from a group of evil men and women, they came around.
“So they agreed to keep it on the down-low for a week?”
“They did. They better. I pay them a small fortune to keep their lawyerly mouths shut, except when it’s time to open them. They told me that based on their workload, it would take them several days to research the legality of what I was doing.” Then she said she was getting to know everybody except for Amy Li Kong’s mother Soon Lin, who kept apart from the others and kept muttering about the river. I said I’d tell her why when we had more time. Then I sprang it on her, apologizing profusely for such short notice. Told her we had to fly to Ohio. Tonight. If she was shocked, she didn’t show it. I asked her to text me the registration information for her private jet, a Citation XLS she stored at Bob Hope Regional Airport in Burbank. She laughed and said my tab was getting big enough to keep her in polo ponies for at least a year. I told her I was serious; we had to leave no later than five or six o’clock. She said okay and that she’d text me the information as soon as she got home.
After we hung up, I took a deep breath and called BK Knox. BK knows how to fly airplanes. I had talked to him right after my romantic interlude with Caroline. He’d told me he planned on hanging around for the next few weeks playing blackjack and lowball in the South County casinos. I had met him through Barry Camus, who told me BK was a good pilot and the soul of discretion. I had asked BK for his business card. For times like this. To keep the iron hot, I take him out to lunch once or twice a year.
Delighted when he picked up on the second ring. Not so happy when he told me he was having a wet lunch at the Cat ’n Kitty Lounge on South Normandie in South Los Angeles. “I’m sucking down some Tecates. Maybe you wanna join me?”
“I’d love to, BK, but I can’t. Remember that job I mentioned?”
“Yeah, you need to go to Indiana or one of those fucked-up states.”
“Actually, it’s Ohio. We need to fly out of Bob Hope Regional no later than six p.m. tonight.”
“What? Today? That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I’m off today. Kickin’ it. Life is good.”
“No, man, I really need you to do it. I’ll pay extra if necessary.”
“What the fuck! Barry warned me about you.”
“You mean he told you I always keep my word and pay on time?”
“No, he said you’re a pushy bastard who gets under people’s skin.”
“Sorry. I’m a little keyed up. You see, we’re flying to Ohio to rescue two little girls from a sadistic foster home.” Silence. I could hear him slurping on something.
He finally spoke. “It does sound interesting. And knowing what kind of company Barry keeps, what you’re doing is probably highly illegal.”
“Depends on how you look at it. We’re the good guys here, and we’ll be flying with a wealthy woman who’s dedicating herself to saving these girls.”
That worked. “Hmm? How much does she wanna pay for this?”
“She’s not paying. I’m paying. What’s your standard charge for a rush round trip flight to Gallipolis, Ohio.”
“I don’t have a standard charge for something like that.” I could feel him nibbling at the bait. “Her plane, right?”
“Yessir. A Citation XLS.” Silence.
“Ah, hell! Gimme five large, and I’ll do it. And you pay all expenses, including refueling charges. When do we fly back?”
“Around noon tomorrow, I think. That’s my goal.” Damned good thing Adara had replenished my cash cache.
“What the fuck! I’m in.”
“Good. I’ll see you at five o’clock sharp at the airport. I’ll text you the registration information for the Citation so you can get us cleared with the air traffic folks.”
“Ten-four, baby. Old BK knows the good people up at Bob Hope. I’m all over it.”
“Beautiful.” We signed off.
Phoned Caroline. Told her we were on, and I’d meet her at her house at four p.m. Asked her to rent us a car in Gallipolis and to make hotel reservations for three separate suites for one night only. And to put it all on my tab. This time, she seemed to be listening closely. Sounded excited and a little nervous. We signed off. By now, I was nearly back to the Cradle Rest.
Then Tony. Told him that he and Bobby and I were going to arrest Thomas Quincey at his Bel Air estate at noon on Thursday. Based on the orders of a new mucky-muck. Said I’d give him the details later.
“Just like that,” Tony said dryly. “After all this shit. That motherfucker’s done a lot of damage. Maybe we should let him try to escape so I can shoot him in the back. That would cheer me up.” Tony’s not usually vindictive, but Quincey had arranged for the killing of Roberto. Or so Tony believed. And I was pretty sure he was right.
Then I walked him through my rescue plan. If all went well, Caroline and I would fly into Bob Hope Airport, with Roberto’s daughters in tow, on Wednesday evening, no later than five or six p.m.
One more guy to call. Lyndon Naismith, Esq. Not sure he would cooperate, but either way, we were taking the girls. It was four p.m. Eastern Daylight Time when I phoned his office. The sweet-as-pecan-pie admin told me he was gone for the day. Not sure why, but I changed my mind and didn’t leave a message. Thanked her and signed off.
