Scion (31 page)

“Who the fuck are you?” he screamed looking at the woman’s lifeless body.

“I’m what happens when you fuck with the wrong person,” replied Ernst.

“Mother fucker, Baker,” spat Ramirez.

“That’s Mr President to you,” smiled Ernst.

“Not yet,” smiled Ramirez knowingly.

Ernst instantly thought back to Baker’s warning of the father being a sneaky bastard and that there may be documentation that could damage him.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Ernst slapped Ramirez hard across the face as he asked the question.

“It means exactly that,” Ramirez spat a mouthful of blood defiantly at Ernst’s feet. “And you never know maybe he won’t win.” He smiled into Ernst’s face blood trickling down his chin.

Ernst suddenly realised exactly what he meant. When he had threatened to kill Baker, he wasn’t meaning it literally, he was going to kill his chances of becoming president.

“Where are they?” asked Ernst sinisterly.

“Where are what?” asked Ramirez.

“The documents?”

“Ah you know about the documents,” smiled Ramirez.

It took all Ernst’s strength not to smash the butt of his gun into Ramirez’s smiling face.

“Yes,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“They’re safe but if anything happens to me they won’t be if you know what I mean.”

“I’ll warn you once and only once. I don’t bargain. Where are the documents?” Ernst raised the gun to Ramirez’s knee.

“I told you…”

Ernst pulled the trigger and Ramirez’s kneecap exploded into a cloud of blood, tissue and bone. As Ramirez screamed Ernst moved across to the other knee.

“Where?” he asked coldly.

Ramirez struggled to focus as the pain swept through him.

“I tooolldd youu..,” he stammered.

Ernst’s pulled the trigger and the other kneecap exploded.

Ramirez passed out from the pain but was brought round by a slap from Ernst who made sure Ramirez saw the gun now pointing at his crotch.

“Kneecaps can be replaced, cocks and balls can’t!” explained Ernst. “Where?” he asked again.

Ramirez was struggling to remain conscious. His body in shock from the trauma wanted to shut down and heal but Ernst was keeping the mind alert enough to realise further trauma was likely if the right response was not given. But he also knew the right response was the truth and the truth was they were too late the documents had already been sent to America. Nothing they could do could stop them. Ramirez didn’t know where they were or who they were going to.

“You’re too late they’re…they’re gone,” he mumbled.

Ernst pulled the gun away, grabbed Ramirez and shook him awake. “What do you mean too late?” he asked.

“I’ve already sent them…” Ramirez began to drift off.

Ernst slapped him and instructed one of his soldiers to give him a glass of water from the nearby desk. Throwing the water in his face brought Ramirez round again.

“Sent them where?” asked Ernst desperately.

“To America!” explained Ramirez wincing as a surge of pain ran through his non existent kneecap.

“Who to?”

“I don’t know!”

“Don’t fuck with me now, who the fuck did you send them to?!” shouted Ernst, panic rising.

“My nephew took them…and is going to give them…to whoever he thinks…will stop Baker.” The moans of pain were breaking up his speech and driving Ernst insane.

“What’s your nephew’s name?”

“Eduardo.”

Ernst looked at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, another Eduardo fucking Ramirez!”

“No!”

“So what then?” prompted Ernst irritated.

Ramirez realised he was saying too much and decided enough was enough, he was going to die anyway and hopefully he’d take them down with him.

“Fuck you and Baker, you’re going to kill me anyway,” he said defiantly.

Ernst checked his watch, one minute to go. He raised the gun and shot Ramirez in the groin and then the stomach. Both bullets were lethal but not immediately. Eduardo Ramirez was going to die a slow and very painful death.

“Your call. I can end it quickly, what’s his name? I’ll get it anyway!” Ernst offered the doubled over Ramirez.

“Fuck you!” he coughed, spraying blood over Ernst’s feet.

“No Eduardo, it’s you that’s fucked.”

Ernst turned and with the wave of his hand signalled their job was done.

As the ICV’s began to make their way from the compound, the two MGS’s opened fire with a number of incendiary shells. Nothing would be left of the Ramirez house by the time the sun rose.

Within an hour, the vehicles were back on board the C5 and the massive airframe was using every inch of the runway to get back into the air.

Ernst was already at a workstation barking out orders. The hunt was on. Eduardo, nephew of the recently deceased Eduardo Ramirez, was now the most wanted man in America.

Chapter 55

The old banker hadn’t stopped talking for twenty minutes and with every word, Scott became more and more entranced. His memory for detail was amazing and it seemed every detail could be recalled and replayed for any given moment.

The first revelation for Scott was discovering his name, Kennedy. His father was James Kennedy and from what the banker understood was born and raised near Glasgow in the west of Scotland. Herr Meyer had first met him when Scott’s father had turned 21 and following a number of business successes had paid himself a substantial bonus and on the advice of a business colleague had contacted Herr Meyer at Rothschild to open an account. Over the next ten years the two had got to know each other and as far as someone can be friends with a Swiss banker, they had become friends.

James had started his business at the age of sixteen and it became evident his talent for business was unrivalled, buyout after buyout resulted in one of Scotland’s largest corporations by the age of 21, Britain’s by the age of 27 and just before he died, was making major progress in America and Asia. However, before his death, Herr Meyer had little contact with James who had met a woman and become almost a recluse. In his last few months, he had hardly been seen and after the birth of Scott he had all but disappeared. The first Herr Meyer had known of his death was when a client had called and told him about the tragic car crash.

Scott asked a lot of questions about the car crash. Where, when, who else was involved, how it had happened. Herr Meyer knew little other than what the papers had reported. However, soon after the crash, a letter had arrived which had been sent by James before the crash. In it were instructions for access to his account by his son, details of the birth mark and a letter to be placed in the vault to be opened only by Scott if and when he came to claim his inheritance. The letter was business like and very different from the notes that Meyer was used to receiving from James. Meyer couldn’t emphasise enough how his father appeared to have died with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Scott then asked about his mother but Herr Meyer knew very little. After James had met her, he had never visited the bank again. Herr Meyer explained that his father had told him that he had met a very beautiful woman and was ecstatic about becoming a father but they spoke little after that.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any more I can tell you but he was a truly wonderful man. You can be proud of him. I have met very few great men in my years and your father was one of those few.”

“What became of the company?” asked Scott.

“Disappeared. Overnight it just ceased to exist.”

Scott’s look of confusion at the answer prompted a greater response.

Herr Meyer elaborated.

“That’s the biggest mystery to me. How does a successful company suddenly split and become a number of different organisations overnight? I’m not a corporate banker Scott but something very strange happened to your father’s company. Perhaps your father’s letter will explain more.”

Herr Meyer stood and gestured for Scott to follow him. Rather than walk towards the door, he walked towards a wall of books and pulling on one particular book, the bookcase opened revealing a small elevator. Guiding Scott in, Herr Meyer pressed a button and two minutes later, the elevator opened into the bank’s vault area. An armed guard waited at the first set of gates and on seeing Herr Meyer smiled and welcomed him warmly.

Once through the gates, a key code allowed them through into the main vault. A wall of small doors surrounded them on three sides and as they stepped inside, Herr Meyer passed a key to Scott before removing another from his pocket. He approached one of the doors.

“Please put your key in the left hand hole,” he instructed before placing his in the right.

“Now if you can just turn it clockwise 90 degrees on my count 3, 2, 1.”

Both turned and the lock turned easily despite not having been used for nearly twenty-five years.

“Impressive,” remarked Scott,

“Swiss engineering, some of these vaults have not been opened since the day the bank opened nearly 200 years ago and I guarantee that every lock works as well now as it did then,” he winked. “Although most have been replaced over the years.”

“Now I will leave. There is a private room just to the left outside the vault. Please take as long as you like. All day if you wish. Just ring the buzzer when you’re finished and I’ll come and get you. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I am going to entertain that rather lovely  young lady of yours.”

Scott nodded his approval without his eyes moving from the box. As Meyer left the vault, Scott reached forward and grabbed the handle on the end of the box and pulled it clear. 2 feet long, 8 inches high and 1 foot wide, the box was made of metal but seemed much lighter than he would have expected. He walked out of the vault and entered the private room where a desk and chair sat waiting. He placed the metal box carefully down on the highly polished desk and took a seat.

He lifted the lid with trepidation. His father’s things would be inside. A man about whom he could only dream of. He had no image to call on, no personality to remember. A man who Scott felt had deserted him, a man who was nothing more than a stranger.

The first thing he saw was the letter, ‘Scott’ was written across the envelope with the words from ‘your father’ beneath it. The words set him off, tears streamed down his face. He removed the envelope and before he had a chance to open it, spotted the photo beneath, a man and woman cradling a baby. A man who, as all who had met him had commented, bore an uncanny resemblance to Scott. The picture was of his mother, father and himself as a baby. His mother was truly beautiful just as the islanders had described. Scott held the photo and cried like he had never cried before, staring into the faces of the two people he wanted more than anything in the world to have met.

Placing the photo in his pocket, he pushed the letter to one side and checked what else lay inside. The deeds to a plot of land somewhere in Scotland, the details of two bank accounts, one was opened very shortly before Scott’s birth, the other he could only assume from the date was the one opened on his father’s 21st birthday. The final item detailed the holdings of one JK International registered in Scotland in 1967. Scott, like Meyer, was no corporate expert but the document detailed a huge list of company names and dates of incorporation for each and the shareholding, each listing James Kennedy as the only shareholder.

Scott turned back to the envelope and breaking the seal,  withdrew the handwritten pages.

Dear son,

If you are reading this letter my greatest fear has come true.

The first few words of the letter ensured any sentiment could wait. His father was telling him what had happened. As he raced through the letter, his anger rose. With every new sentence, the hatred within him grew more intense. Even before he had finished reading, he had already buzzed the buzzer. As he read the words.

‘Yours always, Dad’

Scott screamed. “MOTHER FUCKERS!!!”

Chapter 56

It was his first trip to the US and the first job his uncle had ever entrusted him with on his own. Seventeen year old Francisco Ignacious Eduardo Ramirez, Eduardo to his family, was the illegitimate son of Maria Ramirez, sister of the recently killed Eduardo Ramirez and was not sure what to do next. He had tried when he landed in Miami to call home but the line was dead. He had tried again from the airport and even tried his mother’s mobile but it too was dead. The guard house line was dead also and Francisco thought the lines must have a fault, they couldn’t all be out at once.

That left him with one major dilemma. His uncle had merely instructed him to take the boat to Aruba and get the first flight with a connection to Washington. Once there, he’d tell him what to do. All Francisco knew was that the papers were dynamite in the right hands and deadly in others.

He hailed a taxi. The Ramirez shipping business had an office in Columbia Heights. From there, he could at least find somewhere to stay and wait for his uncle to let him know what was happening. For years one of the roughest neighbourhoods in Washington, the area had seen a sharp rise in house prices due to the ever widening gentrification of the Washington area. However, it was still home to a large Hispanic population and was the base for all Ramirez business in the DC, Maryland and Virginia areas. It had also returned a significant profit over the last couple of years following the sale of a number of slum buildings Ramirez had acquired over the years.

***

The search had returned nothing. Every flight to and from Venezuela had been checked for any individual with the first name Eduardo. They had also searched for any children Eduardo Ramirez’s sister had had but came back with nothing to suggest she had ever had a child. Ernst, on hearing the news had racked his brain for any other clue. He was certain Ramirez had referred to him as his nephew and scoffed at the suggestion he was called Ramirez. Why had he scoffed? Ernst looked again at the notes in front of him. Maria Ramirez was listed as single, never married. A good catholic family. Of course, the nephew was a bastard born out of wedlock and as such would have been all but a pariah but his name would be Ramirez.

He immediately widened the net but again nothing came back. No Ramirez had flown in in the last 24 hours from Venezuela. It was only thanks to the map on the wall that he widened the net to include Aruba. He hadn’t noticed how close the small island was to the Paraguana peninsula but did know it had a huge number of flights daily to the US. Within minutes, the first hit came back. Francisco Ramirez had boarded a flight from Aruba to Miami with a connection to Washington Dulles and had landed just three hours earlier. CCTV footage was instantly requested and received and within ten minutes, the photo of Francisco Ramirez was being sent to every agency that Transcon had any sway over which meant just about every law enforcement officer in the greater Washington metropolitan area was now looking for the young Ramirez.

***

The taxi drew to halt outside of a run down bar on the corner of Irving and 14th. Francisco was sure the bar used to fit with the surroundings but not anymore. Columbia Heights was definitely up and coming and the bar was very much out of tune with its deli and swanky coffee shop neighbours. Keen to prove his business acumen, Francisco started to consider a proposal for his uncle. They did not need the bar in that particular location and judging from the money being spent in the area, the property value must have sky rocketed. He would advise his uncle to sell the bar and relocate to a cheaper neighbourhood. As he walked towards the door, he was formulating the words to use. It was important that he came across properly. So, busy considering his proposal, he failed to notice the bouncer that was following his move towards the bar’s door.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“For a drink!” replied Francisco sarcastically. Francisco had been drinking in bars since his 16th birthday, having always looked old for his age and with the legal drinking age of 18 in Venezuela, he had never once encountered a problem. He pushed on the door.

“ID,” demanded the bouncer placing his hand across Francisco’s chest.

“Take your fucking hands off me,” demanded Francisco staring the much larger man deep in the eye. Francisco couldn’t believe how much of a cliché the bouncer was. Tattoos covered both arms and were on show by virtue of a white vest top. The man looked like every two bit Hispanic punk Francisco had had to endure on TV.

The bouncer did not take well to being eyed by a little punk and firmly pushed Francisco back onto the street.

“Fuck off, and don’t come back.”

He turned his back and opened the door to enter the bar himself, in a you don’t worry me attitude. Francisco had had the benefit of an excellent education and, had it not been for his insistence on joining the family business, would have been destined for university. However, academic studies were not the only education he had received. His uncle had made sure he knew how to fight. Not any type of fighting but dirty street fighting where the only rule was to make sure you won no matter what.

Francisco turned around and storming back towards the bouncer kicked, him with all his might between the legs. The bouncer didn’t see it coming and the first he knew of the attack was the intense pain in his groin. Looking down, the top of Francisco’s designer shoe was firmly lodged between his legs and was still pushing up. The bouncer crumpled to the ground in agony.

Francisco stepped over the bouncer and walked into the bar where the barman was reaching for what seemed to be a baseball bat.

Francisco had had enough, it had already been a long day and he wasn’t in the mood for any more bullshit.

He pointed to the barman and shouted. “Enough, my name is Francisco Ramirez, my uncle is Eduardo Ramirez!”

The barman immediately let go of the bat, the mere mention of the Ramirez name enough to convince him Francisco was to be obeyed.

However, before calm was restored and the barman and bouncer had a chance to apologise, four men rushed from the back of the bar area. One Francisco recognised as Victor ‘Vic’ Garcia, the boss in Washington. He had been to Paraguana many times.

“Francisco, thank the lord you are OK,” he screamed as he hugged the somewhat bewildered Francisco, tears streaming from his eyes.

Without a word, Francisco was swept through to the back area.

“What the fuck is going on Vic?” protested Francisco as the door was closed behind him.

“I spoke with your uncle,” the tears continued to stream down his face. “He’s dead, had just enough time to call and tell me you were coming. Everybody’s dead at Paraguana.”

Francisco’s legs gave way and he slumped into a chair which had just been placed behind him.

“He said you had papers that would nail the fucker who killed him and asked that whatever you do you make sure you get him.”

“So boss, who is this fucker?” asked Vic, looking towards Francisco Ignacious Eduardo Ramirez, the new head of the Ramirez organisation.

***

“Mr Ernst?” the trepidation in the caller’s voice had Ernst on edge instantly. It was the sort of trepidation that was always accompanied by bad news. The Unit Operation centre number showed on his caller id screen which meant the bad news was going to be dreadful.

“Yes?” he barked.

“We’ve picked up a call that was made from Paraguana to Washington early this morning,”

“So?”

“I think you’ll find it interesting. I’ll play it for you,” the noise of clicking a keyboard echoed down the line.

“Vi…icc?”

“Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s Eduar…cough…do”

“Jesus boss are you OK?”

“I’m dead…some fuckers…just shot us up, everyone’s dead…Everyone……….. Francisco is coming to you…he has papers that’ll nail the fucker…Look after him for me!”

“Of course boss.”

Three distinct booms could then be heard before the line went dead.

The caller from the operations centre came back on the line. “That’s it Sir. Not sure what the booms were but the line just went dead after that. The call was made at…”

“That’s OK,” Ernst knew exactly when the call had been made and couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. His anger had got the better of him and had allowed him to leave Eduardo alive and near a fucking phone. It was only thanks to the incendiary shells that Eduardo hadn’t given detailed descriptions of his killers. “Do we have the address in Washington?”

“No, it was a cell phone but we have a location, the phone hasn’t moved, it’s in a bar in Columbia Heights.”

“Hit it and hit it hard!” Ernst almost screamed down the phone.

Chapter 57

The anger was etched on Scott’s face as he entered Krauss’s office.

“Would you mind giving us a minute please,” asked Scott of Krauss and Meyer.

Ashley had been sitting on a sofa in the corner of the room, a pot of coffee steaming in front of her but was now standing, anticipation etched on her face. The contents of the box could explain almost as much to her as to Scott.

As Krauss and Meyer left the room, Ashley rushed to Scott and seeing the pain in his eyes hugged him. They both stood motionless for a few seconds before Scott broke away, wiping his eyes he took a seat and asked Ashley to sit with him.

“My father and your parents all died in the same crash.” exclaimed Scott. “And from what my father says in his letter, they were probably murdered.”

Ashley’s face went white as Scott broke the news. Scott let the news sink in before continuing.

“It seems people within his organisation turned against him, just as he was completing a major deal. The deal was make or break and required every piece of spare cash the company had. Just as the deal was about to go through, a large hole was found in the company accounts which meant not only could the deal not go through but the company would fail to meet its requirements and would default on a number of payments. The company would be bankrupt and overnight thousands would lose their jobs. My father knew it was not the case but his accounts department and the bank agreed if he didn’t find $50 million to complete the deal, the company would have to close.”

“A person he refers to as ‘a dear friend’ suggested they may know where to get the money quickly and it seems the deal went through. However, the whole thing was a scam, the loan agreement changed and was not the one my father signed. Even his lawyers betrayed him, switching the copies. Suddenly, a new clause was included that handed over power to the loan company in the event of my father’s death.”

“Oh my God,” Ashley’s hands covered her mouth as the horror of the story unfolded. “Your father was murdered just to get his company!”

Scott nodded. “It seems so. But that’s not all, there is one condition that remains. Should any direct descendant of James Kennedy fail to lay claim to the estate before their twenty fifth birthday, all power, assets and control will revert permanently to the loan company.”

Ashley’s mouth dropped, she knew Scott’s twenty fifth birthday was less than a month away.

“Mother Fuckers!” exclaimed Ashley as the anger began to take hold.

“My thoughts exactly,” replied Scott angrily.

“So how do we find them?” asked Ashley eagerly.

“I’ve got a few leads, the lawyer in London, the name of the loan company registered in England and the Swiss bank they used in the deal, based in Zurich,” said Scott.

Ashley knew what was coming next. Her lack of passport was going to ground her in Switzerland while Scott flew off to London.

Scott could already see the disappointment in her eyes. She was an intelligence agent without a passport. She knew she was getting the waste of time trip to Zurich. Swiss banks didn’t divulge information, period. But they had to try.

“I’ll do Zurich,” offered Ashley before Scott had to ask.

“Are you sure?” asked Scott, playing along.

A sarcastic smile suggested they could stop playing and move on.

“OK, but take this,” Scott handed Ashley the FN 5.7 he’d picked up at the Marina back in Kota Kinabalu. It was amazing how lax entrance checks could be when an exceedingly rich royal paved the way.

Once the pistol was safely out of sight, Scott opened the door for the bankers.

“Please come in gentleman,” he offered, stepping aside.

Scott had considered whether he could trust the bankers but on hearing his own thoughts had chastised himself. These men had kept his father’s secret safe for twenty-five years and their knowledge of Swiss banking could unlock an important key.

“Gentleman,” he addressed the bankers gravely as they sat. “My father did not die in an accident but was in fact murdered to cover up the theft of his company!”

Much to Scott’s surprise neither banker blinked, it was as though Scott had just told them the weather forecast for the next day.

Herr Meyer cleared his throat.

“I can see you are surprised by our reaction but unfortunately I always held the death of your father and the disappearance of his company with the utmost suspicion and did in fact contact the authorities, anonymously of course, to inform them of my suspicions.”