Helen Hanson - Dark Pool (36 page)

“They know everything. They even knew what we bought at the spy shop. How?”

“They said they used GPS to follow us to Scarson’s.” Travis leaned forward. “They probably tapped our phone at the box outside. It’s the only way they could’ve heard both sides of the calls.”

“What if they put listening bugs in the house?” Then they know all about the emails from Dad. And the money.

Travis must have had the same thought because he held a finger to his lips. “They could be listening now.”

The words hit like a glancing blow. Not physical pain, but forcing her to reckon with the relentless assault. People had taken shots at her family the whole freaking week. Penniski’s thugs were only the newest challengers. A sensation rushed over her like an incoming tide. The same way she felt before punching Peter. Frustration. Injustice. The primal throb of anger.

“Fyodor’s probably the one who bugged our phone. Security business my ass. He’s just another mobster goon.”

“You don’t know that, Mag.”

“Damn it. I never should have gone to Penniski’s.”

“It didn’t matter either way. Dad was already on his radar,” Travis said. Besides, we’d still be stuck back there without his help.”

She sneered at her brother. “Remind me to thank him.”

“We still don’t know if Jack Scarson kidnapped Dad.”

“Neither does Penniski.”

Maggie concentrated on the winding road in order to make good time without crashing. Whoever called them understood the commute traffic. This time of day, the bulk of the gainfully employed had reached their destinations allowing others passage at a reasonable speed.

Godspeed. The phrase finally made sense.

Travis navigated the few road changes. His directions led them toward the bay. Much further and they’d hit Highway 101. “We’ve got four minutes. Turn left at the next intersection.”

They entered a rundown neighborhood where cyclone fences divvyed up the ground into auto repair shops, payday loan stores, and apartment complexes. Here, security bars clad the windows while the earth yielded to asphalt.

As they passed each street, her chest constricted. Travis watched the clock, but she knew they were at the end.

“Take the next left.”

They circled back to the commuter railroad tracks they’d already crossed. The road came to a tee as expected.

“Turn right.”

Houses backed up to the tracks and for-sale signs jutted from scrubby lawns. Plywood covered several front windows. Not a single candidate for a REMax commercial. Beyond the shabby neighborhood, large buildings loomed. The industrial end of the line.

“It’s the second building on the left.”

As she drove to the southwest corner, she didn’t see any cars in the parking lot. Vehicles were sparse at the other buildings. Like everywhere else, business suffered.

She parked near the entrance and shut off the engine, half expecting to hear a siren, a bull-horn, an explosion. Something. Overhead, the birds twittered. Unlike the residents trapped nearby, they could simply fly away.

“We’ve got one minute, Maggie. You ready?”

“Yeah.” But she wasn’t. She’d never be ready to enter this place. Typical industrial construction, it was a beige block of concrete with three loading bays facing the tracks on the western wall. A single, dingy window offered the only break in the monotonous design. Raggedy rosemary bushes lined the short path to the entrance while lava rock filled the narrow space between building and blacktop. Behind the pale-mustard door obscured by a dusty olive tree, someone held her father prisoner.

She stuffed her purse under the seat. Travis came around to her side of the car. Her knees threatened to rebel, but he helped her to a shaky stand. He clasped her hand, and they trudged toward the warehouse together.

“Where’s your laptop?” She whispered.

“Same place as your purse”

“Don’t you need it?”

He squeezed her hand. “Not anymore.”

The squeeze gave her confidence. Not in the situation, not in whatever was inside that warehouse, but it gave her confidence in her brother. No matter what happened from here on, they were a team.

When they reached the door, it creaked open as if by electronic eye. Travis stepped up to enter first. The weather was warm in the valley. She wore a t-shirt with a long-sleeved shirt over it, but still, Maggie shivered.

Inside, rows of gray pallet racks—empty and stacked to the ceiling—dominated the space. Jack Scarson cycled a round on his sawed-off shotgun and waved them in deeper with the weapon. He wore latex gloves snapped tight as if he were a surgeon. But not a mask. He didn’t care if they saw his face. Maggie knew then, Scarson wouldn’t let any of them out alive.

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Five

 

 

“So it was you all along.” Travis glared at the man who cost him over a year of his life.

 

“Where’s my father?” Maggie started toward Scarson.

“I’ll take you to your father.” He aimed the shotgun at their faces. “But first, hands up against the rack and spread ‘em.”

“Sure.” Travis leaned against the heavy shelf support and assumed the familiar position. Scarson patted him down and lifted the cell phone from his shirt pocket. There was nothing else to find.

Travis scanned the area for their father. And how soon would Penniski’s goons arrive? Their presence could only add danger.

Scarson trained the gun on Travis while he removed keys from the back pocket of Maggie’s jeans.

“Where’s my father?” This time her voice cracked.

Scarson nudged her shoulder blades with the shotgun. “Hands behind your back.” He threw a tie-wrap to Travis. “Cinch her up nice and tight.”

“Look, I’m ready—”

“I’ve wasted enough time on you, boy.” Scarson shoved the barrel into Maggie’s ribs. “You want your sister full of holes?”

She gave her brother a nod. Scarson didn’t leave Travis any choice.

“I’m sorry, Maggie.” The weapon pointed at her side while Travis secured the plastic band around her wrists. He tugged it tight enough to look convincing but not hurt her.

Scarson handed him a white washcloth and a towel torn lengthwise. “Stuff the cloth in her mouth and gag her. We don’t need her chatter.”

“Are you the one who kept calling the house for my father?” Travis let Maggie bite the washcloth and draw part of it inside her mouth.

“I’d hoped your old man would answer. That it wouldn’t come to this.”

He tied the gag as loosely as he dared.

Scarson tested her bindings and seemed satisfied. He pushed Maggie in front and nudged Travis with the shotgun. “Keep your hands up and move.” Maggie led the way but glowered at Scarson from over her right shoulder.

Fluorescent lights were on in patches, so the place had power, but the lighting was mostly dim. Along the western wall before the loading bays, they passed a bathroom and an office. Travis hoped his father was in the office, but both rooms were empty. Cardboard blocked the lone window. The office would have been a likely place to set up a computer. Instead, Scarson walked them the length of the dirty warehouse toward the northern wall.

The rows of pallet racks started on the eastern wall and ran toward the loading bays. With the shelf decking gone, the place looked forlorn, like a building gutted by fire. Oil and grease stained the floors, and the air smelled of solvent. Travis saw Maggie peering down each aisle, no doubt, searching for their father, but there was no place to hide. Was Dad even here?

The last aisle was against the northern wall. Some kind of partition covered a section of the racks. As Travis got closer, he saw a gray tarpaulin, or several, attached to the second shelf support about ten feet up from the ground.

Maggie led the pack. She turned the corner at the last aisle.

Travis heard her muffled cry, her mouth twisting in anguish as she dropped to the concrete.

He forced his way toward Maggie, his heart booming. When he reached her side, he thought it would never beat again. From a rope tied to a crossbeam suspended between two supports hanged their father. “You son of a—”

Scarson rammed the barrel into Travis’ clavicle. “Shut up.”

Maggie’s tears streamed down her face.

A noose strained against their father’s neck, forming an upside down V behind his left ear. Raspy breaths escaped his mouth. His skin was the shade of a pomegranate, and tie wraps bound his wrists. With a wooden stool barely within reach beneath him, he struggled to rest his weight and relieve the tension against his throat. His eyes bulged with panic.

“Your old man is alive for now. When I get my money, I’ll cut him down and let you go. But I suggest we finish our business before he suffocates. Or I decide to move the stool.” Scarson motioned to Maggie. “You stay right here on the floor.”

He left her near the rack that suspended their father. Her view of Dad was unfortunately clear. Beneath her tears, Travis sensed her mounting fury.

He took note of another exterior door at the end of the aisle, in the northeastern corner of the building. Scarson must have entered from there. They walked past Dad toward the door. It wasn’t until Scarson motioned toward the wall that Travis noticed the makeshift office—a folding card table, a camp chair, backpack, and Scarson’s laptop.

“Barbara Carter told me that my name came up in conversation at your house.” Scarson stood closest to the door. He moved to the side of the table and kept the muzzle pointing at Travis. “Sit down.”

Travis pulled out the chair and settled into the fabric seat. “I didn’t make the connection until then. You and Brian Carter set me up.”

Scarson shrunk at the mention of Brian Carter. Maybe the loss meant something to him. Blotchy crimson patches covered his skin. His shirt and jeans were rumpled and smelled of sour sweat. His eyes lolled in their hollows as if he’d binged on espresso and crack. Dorian Gray looked better in print.

“Your old man. We had a deal.” He waved the shotgun at Travis.

“Please, let me get him down.”

“Not until I have my two million dollars. Now, move.”

Travis needed to get the job done quickly, but first, he had to distract Jack. He went through the motions on the computer. “What exactly was the deal? I know my Dad was paying Brian Carter. I assume he was paying you too. But why?”

“That was my money. We were partners. Your father didn’t even know Brian Carter. Brian pooled his money to invest with me.” Scarson rested a shoulder against the wall. “I just want my money.”

“So setting me up was Carter’s idea?” Travis’ work from the night before was intact. Scarson didn’t suspect a thing.

“Brian knew his company would prosecute any hackers.” He smoothed his shirt with his free hand. “The CEO has powerful friends. He figured if your Dad was faking, the trial would improve his memory.”

“You helped him find me online.”

Scarson nodded. “Even after you were convicted, Brian thought your Dad was faking. So he decided to pay him a visit.” The veins on his neck bulged. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this. I told Brian to be patient, but he had money problems, too. Barbara doesn’t know how bad it is. And now Brian’s dead.” Scarson raked a hand through his hair.

“You said my father was your partner. In what?”

“Front running O’Mara’s trades. Your dad was a genius.” Open admiration swept his face. “He tapped into O’Mara’s investment servers at work. When O’Mara sent a trade request, your Dad captured the data packet and sent our trade in first, and then he sent O’Mara’s. We made a killing.”

Travis didn’t think Scarson noticed the unfortunate pun.

But there weren’t any trades to front-run. O’Mara never invested the money. He never bought any stocks. Neither did Dad, for that matter. He just stole the money from O’Mara and packed what he could into precious metals. The rest, he kept as cash. Scarson didn’t know any of this. Travis stalled. “How did you get involved?”

“I found your father’s server under the raised flooring. He promised to cut me in if I let him keep it there. He paid the earnings to me weekly. We didn’t want to attract attention by taking it all out at once. Hell, he even had it figured so we didn’t have to pay taxes on it. Then, one day, the server disappeared, and he stopped paying me.” Scarson breathed out loudly through his nose. “He’s got two million dollars, and I want it.”

Two million dollars. Scarson didn’t understand the enormous wealth at stake. “Dad really does have Alzheimer’s.” Not that Travis believed the disease accounted for his father’s depravity.

“I know.” Scarson leveled the shotgun at Travis. “And I don’t care.”

“My father can’t breathe properly. Please let me get him down.”

“After you transfer the money.”

Travis returned to Scarson’s laptop. This was his father’s train wreck. Travis suffered public humiliation, a bum legal rap, and a year in hell. Maggie bore the weight of ten Grinches, plus two, and ends up bound and gagged on a filthy floor.

Nice work, Dad.

Mom would have been proud. Fortunately, she didn’t have to be a witness. But Maggie and Travis did.

Dad’s behavior came down to simple greed. Greed winnowed him from the real treasures of life. Family, love, fellowship, even his own character. Look where that got him. Jack Scarson, Brian Carter, his father—all ranked as chaff. In spite of the past year, his age, or the gun pointing at his belly, Travis was the only man standing.

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Six

 

 

Maggie had always liked Jack Scarson. Even on the drive over here, she hoped it wasn’t him. Not because he was special in any way. He was just another nice guy who used to work with Dad. But she’d judged him to be nice. While all along, under his kind veneer, his heart pumped pure poison. Maggie’s judgment was just another piece of collateral damage. Now her car keys dangled from his front pocket, and she sure as hell didn’t like Jack anymore.

 

Her father’s neck chafed red and raw under the noose’s force. His skin brightened to scarlet. Blood trickled from his throat. The rubber toes of his shoes gripped the stool, trying to relieve his weight long enough to gulp a full breath. His eyes were wide in terror. Did Daddy even know they were here?