Targets of Deception (23 page)

“Of course,” Byrnes said. He did not offer Koppel a seat. They were standing, face to face. “We have information that you’re about to enter into a business arrangement, setting up a domestically based fund for national and international investments, correct?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I am.”

“And who are you, exactly?”

“Let’s just say that I represent the federal government, as you have suggested. That should be enough for now.”

Koppel wasn’t so sure, and he shook his head slightly. “Okay, let’s say you’re right. I’m starting a new company. That against the law or something?”

“Not necessarily.”

Koppel didn’t like the man’s tone. He also didn’t like that they were still standing. Marty was short, heavy and decidedly out of shape. He would be perfectly happy to sit down. “What is this about, taxes?”

“No, Mr. Koppel. It’s about the fund you will be establishing. I’ve been informed that it will be financed by overseas investors. Am I correct?”

Koppel saw no reason to deny what they obviously both knew to be the truth. “Yeah, you got it,” he said.

“And the investments you are to make will largely be placed in short positions with respect to various commodities, stocks, derivatives and so forth. In common parlance, your investors want you to bet that the market prices will fall in the near future.”

The extent of this man’s information took Koppel back a step. That was exactly what he understood as the intention of Mr. Groat’s bearish client or clients, whoever they were. How this man knew that was quite beyond him. “The plans of my clients—”

“Of course,” Byrnes cut him off. “I understand. We have a matter of ethics to deal with.”

“We sure do,” Koppel told him.

“Good. I just wanted to be certain I was dealing with a man of character. Please,” he said, finally pointing to one of the two chairs in the room, “have a seat. It appears we have a great many things to discuss.”

The crowd along the New River Canal, gathering closer to the burning vessel, was too concerned with the dead men on the quay to pay much attention to the three people fleeing from the scene. Andrioli led Jordan and Christine up a short set of concrete steps, around the back of the dock and down the street to a nearby parking lot.

He took them to a beige Toyota Corolla, unlocked the door and told them to get in.

“Won’t they spot us?” Christine asked.

Andrioli ignored the question as they climbed inside. He pumped the accelerator, turned the ignition key and listened as the old sedan shuddered to a start. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, then threw the car into gear and turned out of the lot onto Las Olas Boulevard.

Once they were on the main street, Andrioli was careful to maintain the legal speed limit as the blare of sirens from police cars and fire engines grew louder. “Here they come,” he said.

Andrioli was driving away from the commercial area of the city, towards the night action near the beach. He turned off Las Olas as soon as he could, the sound of the onrushing rescue vehicles receding now as they headed for the canal.

“You’ve got a plan to get us out of here, I take it?”

Andrioli nodded at Jordan. “I do. Just chill out and let me handle this.”

Christine was seated in the back, the two men in the front of the car. Even in the balmy night air, she began to shiver.

“You okay?” Jordan asked.

“I’ll be fine,” she told him.

“So,” Andrioli said, not taking his eyes from the road, “way you handled that, I guess everything they said about you is true.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“I knew a lotta guys in the service, never coulda taken my gun from me, or moved like you did back there.”

“That so? Well, just in case you forgot, I would have had my head blown off if you hadn’t come up and taken out the second shooter.”

“You counted wrong, that’s all.”

Sandor allowed himself a grim smile in the darkness. “I knew the H&K carried fifteen shots. You’d think I could have counted to fifteen.”

“Uh uh,” Andrioli said, allowing himself a smile. “You counted right. Last chamber was clear.”

“What?”

“An old trick of mine. Call it an insurance policy.”

Jordan shook his head.

“Hey, only the paranoid survive.”

“Seems I’ve heard that line before,” Jordan said.

They reached the fringes of the town’s main activity, where Andrioli turned into a small complex of squat buildings just two blocks from the shore road. He pulled into an enclosed parking garage, coming to a stop inside.

“This is what they call the moment of truth,” Andrioli said.

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning, we’re either going on together from here, or it’s
hasta la vista
. Up to you.”

“How about we make a call to Washington, first? We don’t have to turn ourselves in, not yet. But we can tell them what you know. I’ve got some friends I can reach.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Andrioli replied. He stepped on the gas again, pulling around a cement post and coming to a stop in a parking space there. They got out of the car, the sickly glow of the weak, florescent lighting making Andrioli appear older and more exhausted than before. “You just don’t get it,” he said, slamming the door shut.

“Get what?”

“Covington and his people. The way they’re using you to get to me. What the hell,” Andrioli said, as if speaking to himself. “You’re probably part of this already.”

“Part of what?” Christine asked across the top of the car.

“I don’t know,” Andrioli said with a dismissive shake of his head.

“Look,” she said, “if Jordan was here to hurt you, would he have risked his life just now?”

“He didn’t have much choice, did he?”

“Of course, he did. He had the gun, you didn’t. He could have given you up to those guys.”

Andrioli was not convinced.

“I asked him to come here with me,” she reminded him. “All this, this . . . whatever this is, it wasn’t his idea.”

The two men were staring at her now.

“So, wherever we’re going, whatever we’re doing, right now I think it’s fair to say that we’re going together.”

Sandor and Andrioli looked at each other, not speaking.

“Well?” Jordan asked him.

Andrioli scratched his beard. “That car over there is mine,” he said, pointing to a navy blue Chevy. “You and Christine take it, drive out slowly and wait on the street. I’ll dump this car down the block, then come back to meet you.” He opened his attaché case and removed a set of keys and tossed them over the car to Jordan. “Go ahead.”

Jordan caught the keys, still watching him.

“And then what?” Christine asked. “Where do we go from here?”

Jordan knew the answer. “Paris,” he said.

Andrioli nodded. “He’s right,” he said to Christine, without taking his eyes off Jordan. “We’re going back to Paris.”

The driver and his companion were sitting in the Lincoln Town Car when they heard the explosion. Their orders were to bring Traiman’s men to the canal, then take them back to the airport. They heard the gunfire in the distance, but did nothing. They had no instructions to interfere. For now they just sat and waited for two passengers who would not be returning.

THIRTY-FIVE

“You ever wonder what they’re thinking,” Andrioli asked, “in that last second? You know what I mean.”

Sandor knew precisely what he meant. “I have,” he admitted.

“You seen a lotta guys die, have you?”

“More than my share,” Jordan admitted.

“Yeah. Me too.”

They were heading up the interstate from Florida toward Georgia, Andrioli at the wheel. Switching cars had gotten them safely out of Fort Lauderdale. Even if Covington’s men tracked them to the shootings at Andrioli’s boat, it would be a while before anyone could identify and locate the old Toyota. And where would they look after that?

“I have no wife, no kids,” Andrioli said into the darkness. “All that stuff about your life passing before your eyes. I always figured you would think about your wife and kids. I don’t know.” He pulled out a cigarette, lowered his window a bit and lit up. “You married?’

“No,” Jordan said. “Never.”

“No kids then.”

“No.”

Andrioli took a long drag of the Marlboro and blew it towards the open window. “What the hell would you see, then, when the lights are going out?”

Jordan had a look at the man’s profile, the uneven nose, the prominent, bearded chin. “I have no idea,” he said. “Will it matter?”

“It might,” Andrioli said. “If there’s no God or anything, I figure those last seconds, that becomes your heaven or your hell, right then and there. It may be all you get.”

Jordan peered over his shoulder. Christine had curled up in the back seat and was sleeping under his sport jacket.

“You have a passport?” Andrioli asked him.

Jordan told him he did.

“Your own name?”

“No, I’m covered. Don’t worry.”

“What about Christine?”

Sandor had another look in the back seat. “We should leave her in Atlanta.”

Andrioli nodded. “I guess so.” He let another few miles go by before saying, “You came to see me without a weapon.”

“I did.”

“Kind of risky, wasn’t it?”

“Not any more than trying to get them through at LaGuardia.”

“No shit,” Andrioli said, thinking of their narrow escape.

“I sent a package to myself. Won’t come until tomorrow morning, back in Lauderdale.”

“Great. A day late and a gun short.”

“I guess so.”

“Well forget it. I can work it out when we get to France.”

Jordan watched him drive the car, neither man saying anything as they covered a long stretch of highway.

Andrioli took a long drag on his cigarette, blew out a cloud of smoke, then broke the silence. “Hey, about that thing that went down in Bahrain.”

“What about it?”

“I had nothing to do with it. I mean, we heard about it afterwards, but McHugh and I weren’t involved. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“It’s not like I even knew who you were. You were just the name of some guy from Traiman’s past. Anyway, I wanted you to know I had nothing to do with it, in case you had any ideas about that.”

“Okay,” Jordan said again, taking a moment to have another look at Andrioli. “So why are you really going to Paris? Why not just make a stand here?”

“It’ll never be safe for me here. You just saw that. Jimmy already bought it. This is a business deal at this point. I’ve got something they want, and if I get just a little more of it, it might save my life. Strengthen my negotiating position, if you see what I mean.”

“I’m listening.”

“Traiman believes Jimmy and I knew more than we did. The government’s not so sure. If Traiman gets to me first, I’m dead. If the government finds me, they’ll see I don’t have enough to deal with and they’ll lock me up. Either way, I’m finished.”

“What do you really have?”

Andrioli turned to him. “I already told you everything I know. I truly did. And it’s not enough.”

“Okay. So, what’s in Paris?”

Andrioli looked out at the highway and took a long drag on his Marlboro then let it out slowly. “Answers,” he said. “Answers.”

THIRTY-SIX

John Covington had flown back to Washington for a meeting with Deputy Director Byrnes. The DD was in his office, waiting.

“Coffee, John?”

“No thank you, sir.”

The director removed his reading glasses and began gently massaging the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “We may finally be getting someplace,” he said with a weary sigh. “It’s about time.”

“Yes sir. Things developed quickly in Florida.”

The DD nodded. “I received a call from the Bureau. Needless to say, they were not happy about your antics in New York.”

Covington knew that Byrnes was sensitive to criticism about governmental agencies not sharing information in the post-Nine Eleven world. He was surprised at being awarded the blame, however, since he was following the DD’s orders. “It had to be done.”

“Yes, of course it did. There’s too much at stake to risk their interference. In any case, there may be less of an issue than they think.”

“Sir?”

“This matter wasn’t going to remain within the Bureau’s jurisdiction for long,” the DD said.

“After the debacle in Fort Lauderdale, I don’t think Andrioli will make a run back to North Africa.”

“Where then?” The DD took a quiet sip of his steaming black coffee, effortlessly raising the cup to his lips without compromising his posture.

“France would be a better guess.” Covington told him. “They found a plane ticket at McHugh’s house. First class to Paris. It was in my report.”

Byrnes nodded, and Covington waited for him to say something. He did not.

“So sir, do you think he and Andrioli were planning to go back?”

“What do you think?” Byrnes asked.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“It might, if they thought they could make a better deal there than they could get here.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Perhaps there are others involved.”

Covington nodded.

“What about Sandor?” the DD asked.

“We’ve pushed him this far. Knowing him, he won’t be able to resist.”

Byrnes nodded without taking his eyes from Covington.

“You don’t really believe Andrioli has enough information to interrupt Traiman’s plans, do you?” Covington asked.

Byrnes leaned back in his chair. “Not based on the preliminary interrogation of the three men we arrested. And we’re not likely to get more from them at this point.”

“Are they explosives experts?”

“There was no evidence of that in their Washington apartment. The arsenal we found in their apartment was designed for sniper attacks, not the construction of bombs. They’ve been questioned separately, of course. Each denies any involvement in the destruction of the Loubar office building.”

“I see.”

They discussed the implications of having apprehended the team of potential assassins. Then Covington returned to the subject of his assignment.