Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1) (28 page)

After fifteen minutes he left the condo, got on the elevator and took it to the parking garage. He got into his twelve-year-old Nissan Sentra and headed out. He bought the Sentra shortly after arriving in Miami ten years before, after completing an assignment for the company in Bosnia.

The first few cars he owned were Chevys and Fords. They always gave him trouble. He had to keep taking them in for repairs. After a few years he got tired of the hassle and has been buying Japanese and Korean cars ever since. Technically, the Nissan was an American car, since it was made by non-union workers in Tennessee, but it was made to Japanese specs, so it was the best of both worlds.

He first became acquainted with the auto union shortly after completing his undergraduate degree. He had moved to Warren, Ohio and the General Motors assembly plant was just down the road in Lordstown. He used to drink beer on weekends with some of their workers, who bragged about how they put beer cans in the door jambs to see if they’d pass inspection, which they always did. The doors wouldn’t start rattling until the car reached a speed of five miles per hour and the cars were driven off the assembly line at three miles per hour. No one noticed any rattles until some customer bought the car or took it for a test drive.

Waiting the extra fifteen minutes paid off. The traffic on I-95 was still heavy but it moved fairly quickly until about a half a mile from the downtown exit. Paige parked in the parking garage down the street from Wellington’s Commerce Department office shortly after nine-thirty. He called Wellington as soon as he got out of the car to give him some time to get down to the lobby. Wellington was waiting for him when he arrived. The glasses, gray suit, dark blonde hair and tall, slender figure always reminded Paige of what an Indiana prep school graduate might look like 20 years after graduation.

“Hi Bob, let’s go outside.” The short walk from the quiet, air conditioned lobby to the hot, noisy streets of Miami was a contrast in decibels, smells and textures. Even though it was not yet ten o’clock, the concrete started to heat up. The smell of auto exhaust fumes mixed with those of churros and doughnuts from the shop down the street provided a certain atmosphere, similar to that found in some New York City neighborhoods and a number of Latin American cities.

After exiting the building, Wellington turned left and Paige followed. When they came to the alley, they turned left and walked for about 50 feet into the alley before stopping. “You sounded concerned about something on the phone. What is it that’s important enough to come down here?”

“When I went to Sveta’s on Saturday, I noticed there was a camera over the door of the neighbor across the hall. It pointed at Sveta’s apartment. It’s the same type of camera you guys removed from my neighbor’s door. After I left I took it down.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and gave it to Wellington. “Here’s the chip I pulled out of it.”

Wellington had a puzzled look on his face. “Hmmm. Sergei told me they would lay off. I guess he changed his mind.”

“Or maybe he was just lying to you. People in your profession aren’t exactly known for telling the truth when it doesn’t suit them.”

Wellington looked annoyed by the comment but let it pass.

Paige continued, “If they’re expending resources to monitor my activities, they must be monitoring Steinman as well … and maybe you, too, since you’re a bigger fish than me.”

Wellington looked concerned. “I’ll have to confront Sergei about this, but I doubt he’ll tell me the truth. It’ll be interesting to watch him squirm. Maybe I can learn something from his body language and eye movements. I doubt the bastard will look me in the eye when I confront him. I’ll have someone look at the chip to see if there’s anything interesting on it. Thanks for bringing this to my attention.”

With that, Wellington gave Paige a slight pat on the shoulder, turned and started walking back to his office. As he left, Paige wondered if Wellington knew more than he was letting on.

Wellington pulled out his cell phone as soon as he walked into the lobby and called Jim Bennett. He figured the FBI had the equipment and the expertise to see what was on the chip. No one in his Commerce Department office had the skills or the equipment, and even if there were someone on staff, he wouldn’t use staff resources for this assignment.

“Jim, this is John. Could you stop by sometime today? I want to give you something.”

“It sounds important. You know I’m a big shot FBI guy who doesn’t have time to spend on trivial matters.”

“Yes, I know, that’s why I’m going right to the top.” They both chuckled.

“How about three? I have to be downtown for a meeting anyway. I assume you’re at the downtown office today?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“OK. I’ll call you when I arrive.”

“See you then.”

Traffic in the downtown area was a little heavier than usual that afternoon, and there wasn’t much of a breeze on the side streets, which meant the ocean breeze couldn’t blow away all of the exhaust fumes. The smell of the churros from the street vendors had to compete with exhaust fumes and street noises. The side streets were a little dirtier than usual, too.

Bennett arrived on time, which was a little unusual. Miami was on Latin American time, which means three could also mean three-thirty. As he walked into the lobby, Wellington was there waiting for him. After shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, Wellington got right to the point. He related the conversation he had with Paige and handed over the envelope.

“I can probably have something for you tomorrow morning. I’ll give it to one of my guys and tell him it’s important.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Neither of them expected to find anything of importance, just Sveta coming and going. What they found surprised them.

Bennett had the results the next morning. He put them in a flash drive and called Wellington.

“John, this is your favorite FBI guy. I have something for you. Where can I drop it off?”

“I’m at the Rickenbacker Causeway office today. Is that convenient for you?”

“No, it isn’t. Why is it you Commerce Department fucks get all the nice offices overlooking Biscayne Bay while
real
Americans like me have offices overlooking a parking lot?”

“Funny, Jim. I’ll tell J. Edgar Hoover the next time I see him.”

“You do that. I really can’t get away before four. I can send it with a messenger, but not one of our guys.”

“OK, that’ll be fine. Thanks.”

The messenger arrived around three with the envelope. Short. Hispanic. Probably in his early forties. Tattoos on both arms. Apparently he forgot to put on deodorant that day. From his appearance and smell, he would fit right in with one of those police lineups they show on television. Maybe he wasn’t a poster boy for the American free enterprise system, but he served a valuable function. Wellington’s secretary signed for the envelope. She noticed the odor and his dirty fingernails.

“Mr. Wellington, a package just arrived for you.”

“Thank you.” He opened it and looked inside after she left. The envelope contained a flash drive and a note on plain white paper with just one word – Jim. The return address on the outer envelope was completely phony.

He plugged the flash drive into his laptop. The first few seconds recorded the installation and a brief shot of the face of the person who did the installation – Rachel Karshenboym. It was all the evidence he needed to confront Sergei. He printed a copy of the frame with her face in the camera and put it in an envelope. Then he took out his cell phone and called Sergei.

“Hello, Sergei? This is your favorite Commerce Department official. How’s commerce in your neck of the woods?”

“Hi John, the Miami real estate industry’s a little slow these days. I only sold two properties this week, but the week’s still young. Maybe things will pick up.” He took a sip of his mojito. He was ensconced at an outside café on Lincoln Road, the walking street on South Beach, people watching. He had just finished a meeting with some of his Mossad colleagues.

“I’ll be at my downtown office tomorrow. Let’s get together for a little chat.”

“I like our little chats, John. They’re always nice and short, and after them I always have more work to do.”

“This one won’t be any different. Same place? Around five-fifteen?”

“OK.”

“See you then.”

As Sergei put the cell phone back in his pocket he noticed two young, scantily-clad women walk by his table. One white, one black. The black one had long, slender legs, tight shorts and platform high heels. The white one had sandals and a cut-off shirt that revealed a silver piece of jewelry in her belly button.

After they passed, he motioned to the waiter for the check. He wondered what the meeting could be all about. He thought the Steinman thing had been settled. He took out his cell phone, called his boss, Aaron Gelman and filled him in.

“Sergei, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not good. The Steinman thing’s behind us as far as Wellington knows. The fact that he’s scheduled a meeting isn’t a good sign.”

“I know. I’ll keep you posted.”

“You do that.”

He hung up and went back to his people watching while he waited for the check. He watched some people more than others. He specialized in people in high heels and/or short shorts or skirts. Usually they were women but some of the people who wore high heels and short shorts in South Beach were of another persuasion. He liked to watch them, too, but only out of curiosity. They didn’t have anything like that in Moscow, at least not on public display.

They met at the appointed time, at Bayfront Park by the Anton Cermak plaque. Sergei arrived first.

Wellington extended his hand. “Hi Sergei, always nice to see you.”

“Same here, John.”

Actually, they were both just being cordial. Whenever they met, it always made more work for both of them. They really didn’t like seeing each other.

“I have a photo I’d like to show you.”

“Oh, John, you didn’t catch me with those Mexican midget twin sisters, did you? I can explain. It’s not what it looks like.”

“No, Sergei, I have those photos in my personal archive. I’m saving them for a rainy day.”

“Whew! I’m relieved.”

Wellington opened the envelope and took out the photo. “This photo came from a camera that someone installed across the hall from Bob Paige’s girlfriend’s apartment.” Wellington checked Sergei’s reaction as he showed it to him. He looked genuinely surprised.

“You recognize her, of course? She’s the little mole you planted …”

Before Wellington could finish his sentence, Sergei interrupted, “Of course I recognize her, but I don’t know what she was doing by Paige’s girlfriend’s apartment. What she did was totally unauthorized.”

“Well, if what you say is true, you need to have a talk with her. We don’t like it when our allies are spying on our girlfriends. We take it personally.”

“Of course, I understand completely. Some things are off limits. I’m really sorry this happened. I’ll have someone talk to her about this indiscretion. She’s completely out of line.”

“And you can guarantee that it won’t happen again?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You can keep the photo … in case you run out of toilet paper.”

The comment took Sergei by surprise. Wellington turned and walked away before he could respond. Wellington wasn’t in the mood for shaking hands or being cordial.

Sergei called Aaron Gelman and related the conversation he had with Wellington. Gelman was furious.

“That bitch is out of control. I had reservations about using her right from the start. Call her and ask her what’s going on. And make it very clear that she’s off the case.” Gelman didn’t like to get involved with details, especially when it included someone lower on the food chain. He didn’t like dealing with women in general, especially the ones who were confrontational. Dealing with his wife, Shona, was enough.

Sergei called Rachel on her cell phone but she didn’t answer. That wasn’t like her. The only time she turned off her cell phone was when she was in class or on an op, and she didn’t have any classes this late in the day. He wondered what she was up to.

“Let’s go to Hollywood Beach for dinner. That Thai place.”

Sveta was referring to the
Sushi-Thai
restaurant on the Boardwalk in Hollywood Beach. It had both inside and outside dining and was right across the Boardwalk from the ocean. It was toward the end of the two-mile Boardwalk, so there wasn’t as much foot traffic as in the middle, and the chance of finding a parking place was better.

“OK. We haven’t been there in a while. Let’s go.”

Paige liked Thai food. He had been to Thailand several times, usually in the summer. He had a short-term summer teaching gig in Bangkok for each of the past six years.

They were already in the car, going north on Collins Avenue. As they approached 186
^th
Street a car pulled up next to them on the left. Paige sensed something. He looked left. Rachel Karshenboym was in the car, pointing a gun at him from the driver’s seat. He slammed on the accelerator, just in time. He saw a muzzle flash, followed by two loud noises. BLAM! BLAM!

He heard the back window shatter. Hitting the gas had turned out to be a smart move. It thrust the car forward just enough to throw off her aim. He instinctively sped into the right lane and accelerated even more, slamming the gas pedal to the floor and zigging and zagging in and out of traffic like the Company had taught him to do as part of his training at the Company farm in Virginia some years back. Sveta was screaming.

Karshenboym also accelerated. She wanted to get in a few more shots but Paige was too far ahead. She decided to abandon her plan to kill Paige, for the moment at least. She turned left at the fork in the road, across the bridge to the mainland. Paige didn’t notice. He kept on speeding through traffic, changing lanes to avoid crashing into the cars ahead of him. He didn’t have the option of turning onto a side street because there weren’t any. That section of the island was too narrow. There were only a few hundred feet separating the intercoastal waterway on the left from the ocean on the right.