New Growth (Spook Hills Trilogy Book 2) (29 page)

Right when the
commuter train
signaled for departure, a man stepped on who might fit Julio’s
description.
 
Once the man started to
turn away from him, Cruze snuck a photo with his iPhone and sent a text to
Julio.

TL MY CAR?
 
C U LTR. C

He decided to leave the train as intended at Paris Nord, lose
the tail and take the Metro to the West End of the Champs-
É
lys
é
es, wander around, make
sure no one followed him and then take another route to their next night stop
at Versailles, joining Julio later.

His cell buzzed with a new message.

LKS LK TL.
 
TK CR. J

Cruze was well practiced in how to shake people off.
 
Perhaps not as good as Julio, but he had lost
many a
person
over the years when
needed.
 
Unless surrounded or cut-off,
he
would rather run than attack.
 
With the prospect of his new life growing in his
mind, Cruze did not want to put the deal at
risk,
and he did not want to live as he had in the past.

He brushed the man as he exited, making sure he drew his
attention away from Julio.
 
With only a
light bag slung over one shoulder, Cruze could be mobile if he needed.
 
As he walked, he searched for signs to the
Metro,
which connected to the station by an
underground hallway.
 
As an evasive
tactic, he stepped on the escalator up to the Eurostar waiting area.
 
Going up, the unmistakable poke of a pistol barrel
jolted his back with a dull pressure to the left of his spine.
 

The escalator was not crowded at mid-morning, except for two
women up in front of him.
 
Near the top,
Cruze tightened his abs, gathered his strength, gripped the handrail and
whipped his torso backward, catching the gunman by surprise.
 
He spun to the right, slammed the man’s hand
on the rail, saw him lose his grip and topple
backward
.
 
The two women walked off the escalator at the
top.
 
He circumvented them, rushed to the
elevator, went to street level, jogged out the main exit and hopped into the
first cab in a line, telling the driver to take him to the Arc de
Triomphe.
 
As the vehicle started moving,
he leaned down, pretending to retie his shoes and disappearing from view in
case the man recovered and came out of the station in time to shadow him.
 

Cruze tempted fate by bumping into the man as he exited the
train.
 
Now they needed to get out of the
country as speedily as they could.
 
Since
the big agent had another day to verify the three criminals they passed over,
they should
leave
today for Switzerland
or Belgium and devise their plans from there.
 
He could ask for protection from the FBI
.
 
T
hey were already reliant on the FBI
for their ultimate freedom.
 
Should he
turn to them now?
 

He left the taxi at the Arc de Triomphe, squinted up at the
structure and slid into a crowd of people headed down the Champs
É
lys
é
es.
 
As he walked, he thought again about
contacting the two agents.
 
Slowing his
pace, he telephoned the number they had given him.
 
The phone went to voice mail.
 
He left a message with the name of the small
coffee shop where he now stood.
 
He
scanned the room as he walked in, ordered a café au lait and waited for the
drink.
 
After stirring in two sugars,
Cruze went to sit down.
 
After about ten
minutes, the door
opened
when the two
former agents hurried in.
 

Mathew’s face registered
recognition,
and he prodded the other man.
 
The Moll
guy gave him a lopsided grin and the two men placed their orders.

“Hey man, how are you?” Moll said by way of greeting,
holding out his hand for a fist bump.
 

Cruze reciprocated and nudged a chair over with his
foot.
 
Mathew dragged another one over
from the next
table,
and the two men sat
down.
 

Mathew studied him and said, “Something happened.
 
Your eyes keep jumping around.”

“A gun poked me in my back this morning,” Cruze
replied.
 
“One of yours?”

“No,” Mathew said.
 
He
stared at him for a moment, as if assessing how open he should be.
 
He flicked his eyes over at
Moll,
who smiled back encouragingly.

“Back when we left the restaurant yesterday.
 
Only a sensation and a glint of glass.
 
Now agents are covering us.
 
One should be across the street.
 
They are only cognizant we are here on a
case.
 
No particulars.
 
Tell me about this morning.”

Cruze related the chain of events and sent Moll the photo he
took.
 
The two men frowned
at
the man in the picture and Moll forwarded it
to Steve for identification against various criminal databases.
 
Mathew selected a number on his phone and
then related the particulars on Cruze’s experience.
 
He talked for a few minutes before clicking
the phone off.

“We’re all going to take the Eurostar over to London and fly
out of Heathrow.
 
Steve made one positive
confirmation on the criminals you turned over and expects the other two to be
sorted out by tonight.
 
Where’s Julio?”

“Versailles, losing himself in crowds of tourists.”

“Your luggage?”

 
“Stored at Gare du
Nord.”

“We’ll grab your bags on our way.
 
Tell Julio to find us in the Eurostar
Business Premier Lounge.”

Moll held out his iPhone and said, “Train to St. Pancras at
1:13 p.m.
 
See if Julio can make the
time.
 
If not, we get stuck with an hour
and a half to twiddle.
 
Mathew, I’ll grab
our stuff at the hotel and catch you at the station.
 
What about our pal trailing us?”

“Steve will handle him.”

The rapidity of how the two men acted impressed Cruze, never
doubting the veracity of what he had told them.
 
Nevertheless
he struggled with his
reservations about trusting the big agent.
 
“Before we leave for the States, Julio and I need the agreement,
otherwise . . .”

“You’re concerned we might arrest you,” Mathew said.
 
“Doubt the copy will be finalized.
 
How about a letter of intent executed by the
head of the Bureau?”

“I suppose the big agent is getting the
letter
too,” Cruze said with a scowl.

“He obtained the document on a contingency basis.
 
We’ll pick it up in London.”

Cruze sat back for a moment thinking, before he muttered,
“We’re dead men walking if any of our old associates are after us.”

He looked Heylen in the eye and said, “We prefer death to
incarceration.
 
If we are cornered, feel
no qualms about shooting us and you must aim to kill.”

Mathew regarded him steadily, likely remembering how his
brother Cristo had peppered Eduardo with bullets, even though it meant instant
death for them both.
 
Moll started to
object.

“You must attempt to escape or fire at us,” Mathew said,
struggling to keep emotion out of his voice.
 
“We will not murder you.”

Cruze smiled even though his face was sad when he said,
“Never encountered men quite like you before.”

When he went to dial his phone to reach Julio, Mathew
signaled for him to stop and said, “Surveillance gear might pick up your
signal.
 
Mine’s scrambled.
 
Use this phone.”

He reached over and took Mathew’s phone and keyed in Julio’s
number, reaching Julio on the third ring.
 
After explaining the situation, he hung up.
 
“Ticket us for the 1:13.
 
Julio will be there.
 
Don’t bother to look for him.
 
He will
simply
appear.
 
That is his way.”

Picking up his email in the town car sent for them,
Mathew noted Steve made reservations for them at the boutique hotel where they
had stayed the previous Christmas.
 
He also
reserved four business seats to Miami for the next morning.
 
Next to him, Mathew sensed Cruze tightening
with anxiety when the town car nosed down the small St. James Place into an
apparent dead
end.
 

Julio stepped out, read the name, smiled and said,
“Delightful choice.
 
I have wanted to
stay here.
 
Cruze, over there you can
walk to Green Park or up to Piccadilly.”
 
He pointed out an easy to miss, narrow walkway through a building.
 

After a gracious welcome and arrival at their adjacent rooms
in the Carriage House, Julio almost purred with contentment on seeing their
sumptuous two-story suite.
 
He glanced
over his shoulder at Mathew and said, “I guess the big agent has redeeming
qualities.
 
Dinner is on me.
 
I will book a table.”
 

Moll and Mathew went into their room where he called Steve,
knowing he waited to hear from him.

“Great
digs,
” Mathew
said by way of greeting.
 
Moll prowled
around, his eyes wide with appreciation.
 
Mathew decided to let Moll use the bedroom and enjoy the full
extravagance while he took the sofa bed.

“All going smoothly?” Steve asked.

“So far.
 
Worried
about the tail after Cruze.
 
We
overnighted their phones to you from Gare du Nord.”

“The Letter of Intent is in your safe folder.
 
Print four copies
for
signature.
 
An FBI
legat
will be there in about an hour with new
cells where communications will be scrambled.
 
Did you scan all laptops and tablets for bugs or trackers?”
 

“Found nothing.
 
I
cleaned each device anyway.”

“I dropped
an alternate
package on Moll’s server.
 
Run it on each
unit to test them again.
 
Via secure
email, shoot me a copy of the letter of intent after the Fuentes add their
signatures.”

“Any more on the two remaining
exemplar
people of interest?”
 

 
“One yes.
 
Strong financial creds.
 
Been under investigation before.
 
Nothing was
proven
.”

“The other one?”

Moll signaled he was going to shower.
 
Mathew nodded, loosened his tie and kicked
his shoes off.
 
Still
listening,
he walked over to open a bottle of
water and take a drink.

“Squeaky clean thus far,” Steve said.
 
“We should receive lists of technology
purchases as well as financial records in a few hours, which might give us some
indicators.
 
That cyberpunk is the one I
want.
 
If she penetrated Sentinel’s
security, she must use powerful and sneaky programs.
 
The Chief is talking with his contact at the
CIA to have the fellows who did the audit last year check Sentinel again.
 
This will be done without reference to the
Fuentes.
 
Why don’t these people put
their remarkable brains on making a positive impact on the world instead of
gunking it up?”

“Be educational to find out. Working with the cousins is
fascinating,” Mathew replied.
 
“They are
not wholly
bad
.
 
Sad no one ever convinced them they could
succeed in legal ventures.”

“They wanted to gain money and power quickly.
 
Unless you are a Steve Jobs or a Bill Gates,
that can be one difficult path.
 
The
Fuentes are smart and not only street-smart.
 
These two may achieve a second chance to experience a decent life.
 
Let’s see if they can stay alive long enough
to find the right side of the law.”

“One more thing,” Mathew said.
 
“Julio has a new item.
 
This one is a bit dicey.”

“Dammit Mathew.
 
We
can’t keep making changes and pull all this together.”

“Hear me out.
 
Julio’s
perverse father never changed his will,
nor did the mother.
 
The daughter
Annetta, aka Julio, inherited the estate which consisted of both the alleged
drug profits and legitimately earned money as well as other properties and
possessions.”

“The assets were distributed to Julio?” asked Steve.

“
Yes and he put
all
the money into a foundation to support organizations giving refuge and guidance
to abused children.
 
The arrangements are
the usual thing where grants are reviewed and approved.
 
The account is administered by Credit
Swiss.
 
The board is comprised of the
four, now two, Fuentes.
 
In reality
Julio makes all the decisions on how
any monies are disbursed.”

“And?” Steve asked.

“Here’s the intriguing part.
 
Julio
decided to turn over those
positions to me, Moll, Ivy and you.
 
For
obvious reasons, he will step away.”

“Whoa, that is at least in part dirty money.”

“Over two decades ago Steve,” Mathew said.
 
“We lack any indications he, or she back
then, had any involvement in his father’s drug business.
 
I think continuing this beneficent trust on
Julio’s behalf is right to do.
 
No
authority ever prosecuted his father.”

“Let me think about this and discuss it with Ivy,” Steve
replied.
 
“If she is supportive and I
become comfortable with the responsibility, I will take a proposal to the
Chief.
 
I don’t want any of us besmirched
by granting their request.
 
Send me the
balance in the fund, both at the beginning and now.
 
Tell Julio to direct the annual financials
for the last five years to me, along with the legal papers.
 
What do you and Moll think?”

“We can handle serving on the Board.
 
In some
ways
I find it an honor, as crazy as that sounds.
 
Anything we can do to benefit youth, we ought to do.
 
After the child trafficking case in Bulgaria,
child abuse causes became
more real.
 
T
he issue merits our backing.” he
said.
 

Mathew paused to take another swallow of water and
resumed.
 
“Remember the CCE Foundation?”

“Don’t tell me Cruze is asking for the same thing for the
fund he established with his brothers?” Steve asked.

“He is, as long as the proceeds are used for the original
purpose of sponsoring safety programs in poorer Hispanic communities.
 
What did the Bureau do with the money in the
CCE Foundation?”

“Those Foundations can be squirrelly.
 
Attempts to touch the money might lead to a
court case dragging out for years.
 
We
can’t infringe on its resolution.
 
Is he
considering the same conditions with the four of us?”

“You got it,” Mathew said.

“Even me, huh?
 
I
thought the brothers considered me enemy number one,”

“Cruze said Cristo referred to you as his nemesis.
 
In 2013 when we started sniffing around,
Cruze told his brothers he wanted to leave.”

“So he says.”

“The timing supports it.”

Mathew heard the faint tap of Steve hitting the end of a pen
on the desk the way he did when assessing an issue where each little beat
reflected an aspect resolved on his mental checklist.
 
The slow, staccato patter meant he was
exploring the possibility.

“I’ll call you with my decision on this later today,” Steve
said when the tapping stopped.
 
“Mathew,
I don’t need to tell you these are bizarre additions.
 
The establishment of the two charitable
trusts does show that they have a conscience.
 
What else?”

“Nothing much.
 
Julio
is taking us to dine.
 
Someplace swanky.”

“Could be a trap.”

“I believe he wants to show his gratitude for our help and
for you reserving the
wonderful
accommodation for them.
 
This may be his
sole
opportunity to take us out,” Mathew said.

“
Still
don’t like it,”
Steve said.

“We will be
on
a plane
with these two for the next few days.
 
The agreement must be
signed,
and
the names turned over.
 
If this dinner
helps grease the skids, we should go.
 
Besides the first meeting with them could have been a setup.
 
The
coffee
shop
hookup . . .”

“Understand.
 
Be armed
and don’t lose the London-based agent when you go out.
 
You want a town car?”

“Julio is scheduling one from the hotel,” replied Mathew.

“Text me when you leave.
 
Again from the restaurant and when you arrive back.”

“You want a tracker installed in the back of my head?”

“I might consider the option if you take too many risks,”
Steve said with a grim chuckle and ended the call.

Moll came out into the room wrapped in one of the
complimentary fluffy terrycloth robes and with a big grin on his face.
 

“What a
pad
!” Moll
said, then looked at the clock.
 
“Yowza,
better give Brian a jingle.
 
What’s the
time in Boston?

“About 12:30 – mid-day,” Mathew said.

“Pitch for the newbie should be over,” Moll said, grabbing
his phone and selecting speed dial.
 

Mathew walked over and moved Moll’s suitcase near the
closet.
 
He took his and opened it on an
ottoman.
 
In a few
days
this mission should be
done,
and he could be back at Spook Hills with
Callie and moving on with his life.
 

Ivy worked in the office while Steve went for his daily
workout and swim.
 
When his
cell phone
rang,
she answered it, pleased to hear the Chief’s voice.
 
He might be
retired,
but he always made himself available for her husband.
 
She talked with him as she walked towards the
pool to turn the phone over.
 
Seeing her,
Steve flipped back to the end of his lane to towel off, grabbed his robe and
jogged over.

“Hey Mule,” Steve said into the phone.
 
“Sorry to keep pestering you.
 
This is one weird requirement from the
Fuentes.”

Ivy kept her attention on the recap of his dialogue with Mathew.
 
What they asked on the foundations might take
months to sort out, which none of them wanted.
 
From what she heard Steve echo back, Mule suggested incorporating the
gist of it as a term to be finalized later as an addendum.
 
The circumstances with each fund might be
murky on transitions of board members with two of them dead and their estates
now held by the FBI.
 

“One
other thing,”
Steve said.
 
“No one should be aware of
where the Fuentes are, right?
 
Well,
except me, Mathew and Moll.
 
Any thoughts
on how the tail and possible assassin found them?
 
I want to rule out a renegade agent from our
suspects.”

Steve was silent and then said, “Their phones have been
overnighted to me.
 
Mathew will pop his
and Moll’s into a DHL box as soon as the Legat gives them new ones.
 
They scanned all their
devices,
and
they
are redoing the search now with a new detection program I sent him.
 
What can you tell me about current
technology, like sneaking an implant into a shoe or whatever to serve as a
geotag?”

He listened again.
 
Ivy recalled a newscast on the elderly with memory loss issues tracked
by transmitters implanted in their insoles.
 
She wished Steve had put the phone on speaker.

“I’m wondering about a geotag about dime-sized and inserted
into a heel or hidden in a change purse,” Steve said and then paused.

“We’ll work on it.”
 
He hung up and headed for his laptop to do quick research, talking to
Ivy as he went.

“Once we find descriptions of these
geotrackers
, I’ll call Mathew even though he’ll be out to dinner by
now.
 
If the Fuentes unwittingly carry
one, their location will be made.
 
Why
didn’t I think of this before?
 
For
someone to plant a GPS communicator, they accessed their clothes, wallet or
other belongings when they vacated their hotel room.”