Lust, Money & Murder (16 page)

Elaine smiled and sipped her champagne, but she was so exhausted, and still so keyed up from the climactic last few weeks, that she couldn’t really enjoy herself.

Lassiter looked at her sympathetically. “Young lady, when I get back from my trip, I want you to take an entire month off. Go to Aruba or Cancun or somewhere and do nothing but lie in the sun and drink pina coladas all day.” He pointed at her. “That’s an order.”

Elaine nodded vaguely.

And who am I supposed to share this wonderful vacation with?
she thought.

* * *

A worldwide release of the new software was scheduled to begin March 1
^st
. However, as Russia was the country that was suffering most because of the counterfeits, Lassiter’s plan was to introduce the software there, first, as a “field test” to make absolutely sure there were no glitches. Lassiter’s latest theory was that one of the most powerful Moscow Mafia groups had somehow acquired one of the Giori machines from an impoverished third world country.

* * *

Lassiter was due to leave on February 14th, Valentine’s Day. His plan was to fly to Moscow, meet with the Bank of Russia, test the software, and then take a week off in Germany, where he had relatives. He wanted Elaine to remain in Washington until the test was complete, just in case.

Elaine came into work earlier than usual to see him off. When she arrived at his office, she was alarmed when she found him slumped over on the leather couch. His face looked pale. His cane lay in the middle of the floor.

“What’s wrong?” she said, rushing over to him.

“I’m...I’m not feeling very well.” His hands were shaking more than usual. He coughed a couple of times. “Would you get my pills, Elaine? They’re in my desk.”

Elaine quickly went to the desk and opened the top drawer, but she didn’t see a pill vial.

“The side drawer,” he gasped

She opened the left-hand side.

“No, the other side.”

Elaine finally found the vial and twisted the top off for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He popped two tablets in his mouth, his lower lip trembling. He closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth.

“Should I call a doctor?”

“No, no,” he said, raising his head, peering at her through half-closed lids. “I’ll be all right in just a minute.” He glanced at his watch, then struggled to sit up. “My flight leaves in—”

“You can’t go to Russia like this! Don’t even think about it.”

“They’re expecting this software tomorrow.” He took a few more breaths. “It would be very bad, politically, to delay this test—”

“I’ll go in your place,” Elaine blurted. As soon as she uttered those words, she regretted them—he might think she wanted to steal his glory.

Lassiter looked at her for a moment, then glanced over at his packed suitcase. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I’ll be happy do it, Gene. You can’t possibly travel like this.”

“You’re as exhausted as I am—”

“I’m not
that
exhausted.”

He gazed longingly at his suitcase.

“Damn it, Gene, I’m not going to let you commit suicide!”

CHAPTER 2.4

As there wasn’t time for the Treasury Department to arrange travel to Russia for her, Lassiter told her to go down to the street to a travel agency and buy a business class ticket to Moscow with her credit card, one way, and that the return ticket would be delivered to her hotel room once she arrived. He told her he would call the Secret Service office in Moscow and tell them of the change in plans, to put his hotel reservation in her name, and to meet her at the Sheremetyevo Airport and give her “first class treatment” the entire time she was in Russia.

Lassiter put the software on an ordinary, password protected data key, which she attached to her key chain.

She would only be away for three days, so took her satchel and smallest suitcase. As she often worked late, she kept the small suitcase in her office. In it were a business suit, a change of underwear, and some cosmetics.

Also in the suitcase were a couple of things that Lassiter did not know about. One was the fake Irish diplomatic passport Nick had made for her, which had $3,000 in cash tucked inside it—her own “emergency” money. The other was something else she had been given by Nick when they had gone to Belarus on the undercover assignment to carry in her suitcase. It was a silencer-equipped .357 pistol made especially for the U.S. Government by Sig Sauer. The gun was disassembled into three small pieces and hidden inside various mundane items—a can of hair spray, a hair brush, and a blow dryer, and it would pass through any airport security scanner. Nick had never asked for it back.

Lassiter had not told her to arm herself, but the software she was carrying was so important she thought it was a good idea.

One other thing she kept in the suitcase—the most cherished item she owned—was the silly little wind-up turkey that Nick had given her as her one-year anniversary present. As she rearranged the items in her suitcase, she clutched it lovingly in her hand, then carefully put it in one of the pockets.

* * *

By the time the taxi dropped her off at Dulles Airport, she was a nervous wreck, but she was also excited.

She was looking forward to seeing the results of her last six month’s efforts.

The Bank of Russia would certainly be impressed.

CHAPTER 2.5

Moscow, Russia

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your tray tables up and seats into the upright position in preparation for our landing at the Sheremetyevo Airport...”

Elaine peered out the window. It was very early morning, but still dark outside. She could make out the farmland below, covered in snow. She could even see some of the so-called “dachas” dotting the countryside, massive brick mansions standing half-finished and abandoned. She remembered Nick telling her about them, leaning over her, looking out the window, his cheek almost touching hers.

The Russian Mafia built those things after the Soviet Union collapsed. Then the gang wars started, and they killed each other off before the dachas were even finished.

Elaine told herself not to think of Nick. She said a silent prayer for him, hoping that wherever he was, he was all right.

The big aircraft soon landed and rolled to a stop at the gate. When the stewardess opened the door, Elaine was one of the first passengers to deplane. She knew there would be a big line at Passport Control and wanted to get through it as soon as possible so as not to keep the Secret Service agents waiting for her.

As she stepped out into the gate area, there were two men in gray suits and trench coats watching everyone who walked by. She could spot the Secret Service image a mile off. She was surprised—she hadn’t expected them to meet her right here at the gate. That really was VIP treatment.

The eyes of one of the men locked on her face.

She stepped up and offered her hand. “Elaine Brogan. Thanks for meeting me, guys.”

The man grabbed her wrist and the other one took hold of her arm. “U.S. Secret Service. Come along quietly, please.”

“What are you—wait a minute—”

“Move along,” the man on the left said, his arm tightening. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“My name is Elaine
Brogan
. Aren’t you with the Secret Service?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They were moving her towards a door on the corridor marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Struggling against their grip, she said, “You’re supposed to meet me and take me to my hotel.”

The two men exchanged glances, and one of them chuckled. “You’re going to a hotel, all right. One with bars on all the windows.” He keyed in a code and then they forced her through the door. They continued down a corridor.

Elaine was suddenly panic-stricken.
They must have gotten me confused with someone else
.

They took her through a door marked
DOPROC
. She was well versed in Russian, and she knew that word: Interrogation.

Elaine was terrified.

The windowless room had a long, scarred rectangular table with a few metal folding chairs surrounding it. Some empty coffee cups and ragged looking Russian newspapers were scattered about.

“You’re in deep shit,” one of them said. He was taller and older than the other one, and had a pockmarked face.

“Hand it over,” the younger man said.

Elaine looked at them, bewildered. “Hand
what
over?”

“Look, we know you took it, so you can stop the innocent act. You can voluntarily give it to us, or we’ll strip search you.”

“And that won’t be fun,” the other man said, with a smile. “At least, not for you.”

Elaine swallowed, looking from one face to another. What in the world was happening to her? This didn’t make any sense.

“Look, my name is Elaine Brogan, and I work for—”

“Give me your bags,” the pockmarked man said, and wrenched both away from her. He dumped out the contents of both her handbag and suitcase onto the table.

“You’re really screwing up,” she said, trying to maintain her composure. “I’ll have you both fired.”

When it was evident that whatever they were looking for was not in the bags, both men looked back at her.

“I told you you were making a mistake,” Elaine snapped. “Now would one of you kindly call your office and—”

“Strip, lady.”

Elaine recoiled. “I
beg
your pardon?”

The pockmark-faced man nodded to the younger one. “Give me your knife.” He looked at Elaine as he slowly drew out the blade, the silver glinting in fluorescent lights.

Elaine was paralyzed with fear. These two were out of control. They could do whatever they wanted with her in this interrogation room—there were no cameras that she could see, no two-way mirrors.

The man picked up her suitcase and opened it wide. She winced as the knife cut through the lining.

“You’re going to pay for that suitcase,” she said, her mouth dry.

Her eyes widened as the man withdrew a sleek black cylinder. It was the “salt shaker,” the high capacity data key for the project she had just finished. It contained all the data—the 14 common mistakes in the counterfeits, hundreds of super high resolution scans of the fake banknotes, the three crucial errors that the new software would look for. In short, all the research data that had been used to create the software updates.

Elaine’s heart went into her throat.

“You’re under arrest,” he said flatly. “Gene Lassiter told us this was missing from his safe yesterday afternoon. You can look forward to twenty years in a federal penitentiary, with no chance of parole.”

The other man produced a plastic EVIDENCE bag and he dropped it in, and he started writing on the label.

“Somebody planted that there!”

“Sure, lady.”

“I’m being framed!”

“Uh-huh.”

The room was spinning. Elaine’s mind raced from one thought to another. Somebody had set her up. Gene Lassiter. It had to be Lassiter! No one else had the combination to his safe...

Then she remembered what had taken place in his office yesterday, when he was slumped on his couch.

Would you get me my pills, Elaine? They’re in my desk.

She had opened every one of his desk drawers! Her fingerprints were all over them.

She pulled her phone from her pocket. She had to call someone— Nick?

The pockmarked man snatched it from her hand. “You’re not making any calls.” He set it down on the corner of the table, far out of her reach.

The two men stepped over to the other side of the room out of earshot, talking to each other in low voices. This couldn’t be...how could Lassiter have done this to her?

Elaine was only dimly aware of the men’s conversation—she felt like her ears were filled with cotton, and the voices were far away.

“...the extradition papers...”

“...hold her at the American Embassy while...”

“...they’ll want to fly her back to D.C. on a diplomatic jet for formal charging...”

This can’t be happening
, she thought dazedly.
This can’t be happening.

The two men walked over to the door. “Keep your ass in that chair,” the one with the evidence bag said, pointing at her. They both went outside and pulled the door shut behind them.

A sense of unreality swept over her. Elaine gaped at her open suitcase, all her personal items scattered around the table.

You’ll spend the next twenty years in a federal penitentiary, with no chance of parole.

She saw herself wearing numbered orange coveralls, standing in line holding a metal food tray, shuffling around with shackles on her wrists and ankles...