The Defense: A Novel (21 page)
What would be his primary motivation?
I wondered.
Staying out of jail had to be his only motivation.
Again this didn’t sit well with the facts. Little Benny had another eleven or so years on his sentence. Why not give up Volchek for a payday and no time? Why give up enough to put a price on your head but not enough to get you paid or out of prison?
Of course, I was ignoring the ultimate game changer—stupidity.
As an intelligent, rational human being, you can always see another angle when in fact there is no angle. I was just rationalizing what I would do when the situation might have been that the person was just plain stupid and you can’t rationalize their kind of decisions.
But was Benny that stupid?
He got caught red-handed.
The answer that Volchek gave me seemed closest to the truth, that Little Benny was still loyal to some—Arturas. That was the key; I needed to find the connection between Arturas and Little Benny.
I got up slowly. My back sang with pain in protest at my movements.
I ran over the evidence again, the photographs, the witnesses, and the officers’ statements.
Something wasn’t right.
When I thought of the fat guard downstairs, the identical suitcase that Gregor put into the passenger seat of the first van before it had been driven into the parking lot, the FBI card, it all just swam in front of my eyes. My head thumped with the effort of trying to contain it all. Then one image came floating to the surface of my consciousness and stayed there—Amy. I examined every corner of her features in my mind and imagined myself holding her, telling her everything was okay, that she was safe, Daddy came for her. My body shook. I gritted my teeth, holding back the tears, and collapsed into the chair.
* * *
I must have passed out over the files. I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep, but I woke up fast when the chambers door opened.
“We leave now,” said Arturas.
Victor and Gregor said something to Arturas in their own language, and he responded to both of them angrily. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, although it sounded a lot like an argument. Threading my arms through the sleeves of my overcoat, I hefted it onto my back and folded down the collar over my suit.
“Wait,” said Arturas before launching into a full-blown argument with Victor. The blond man pointed at me.
“If you two don’t keep it down, security will come up here to see what all the fuss is about,” I said.
“Shut up and take off the—” said Arturas, before Victor cut him off.
They were arguing about whether I should leave the bomb in the chambers office or wear it out and risk having to smuggle the bomb into the courthouse a second time. I didn’t want to do that again. Their dilemma was a difficult one. If they left the bomb in the office, there was always a small chance, even with a new lock on the outer door, that security or the FBI might find it. Plus, without the bomb on my back, I had more freedom. Making me wear the bomb out gave them more security; if I didn’t come back after I’d met Jimmy, they could just press the button. That’s if they assumed I’d keep the bomb on me, which, of course, I wouldn’t.
“Do you want me to leave the jacket here?” I asked.
They stopped arguing.
“Take it off,” said Arturas. “I’m not risking you getting searched on the way back in.”
I took off my coat and the jacket. Delicately, I hung the jacket over the back of the chair in the chambers office and put my overcoat back on.
“Call Jimmy,” said Arturas, offering me his phone.
“After. I have to go to the bathroom first,” I said, and I prayed that Harry had returned from his impromptu shopping trip at AMPM Security and managed to hide my equipment in the john.
I had to go sometime, and Arturas appeared to have expected it.
He said, “Use the bathroom downstairs. Victor will go with you.”
“I’ve been using the bathroom on my own for some years now,” I said.
“You’ll be shitting in a bag for the rest of your life if you keep that up,” said Arturas.
Victor led the way to the staircase and down to the next level. The stairs were precarious in the dark. They turned most of the lights out in the courthouse after nine p.m., keeping only a few floors lit for night court.
We took our time on the stairs. I found the bathroom and ducked inside quickly before Victor could protest. The bathroom consisted of one large room directly off the corridor. The lock moved slowly and silently until it turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees and secured me. It would not save me. Victor could have that door off in seconds.
I dropped the toilet seat down loudly and imagined Victor listening suspiciously at the door, but I told myself that it just was my imagination playing tricks on me.
Where did Harry put it?
I thought as I looked around the bathroom.
My search began badly. I lifted the porcelain cistern cover and almost dropped it, creating a loud scraping noise in the process.
I waited and held my breath.
No calls or questions from Victor.
The cupboards below the basins wouldn’t open. I checked the ceiling for loose or out-of-place tiles. Then I saw a drop point beside the paper towels.
It was perfect: a disused paper towel dispenser affixed to the wall. I opened the protective cover and felt inside. I touched a paper bag. The bag came out of the casing easily. The towel holder had been broken for some time, so the cleaners wouldn’t have gone near it. I opened the bag as slowly and as quietly as I could. The items were all there. One by one I removed them.
The spray was called SEDNA. It came in a small, black spray bottle like a perfume tester, easy to hide. Then I found the flashlight, or what appeared to be a flashlight. It was in fact a black light that illuminated traces of the SEDNA, which was visible only under ultraviolet light.
The cell phone felt incredibly small, but I didn’t want it for its size—I wanted it for its features. The main feature being that the phone operated through an illegal pirate network that allowed untraceable calls and signal capture. That too would be easy to hide. The dummy detonator looked to be an exact match. I took out the detonator I had stolen from Arturas and compared the two. They were identical.
I heard a phone ringing and almost dropped the cell phone in panic. The ringtone ceased and I heard Victor talking outside the door. His phone—not mine. His voice trailed off a little, as if he paced the floor while taking the call.
Harry had done well. I turned on the cell phone, made sure that it was on silent in case anyone called me, dialed a number, and waited for a good ten seconds before the call was answered.
“Who’s this?”
“I need to speak to Jimmy urgently; it’s Eddie Flynn.”
“Hang on.”
I could hear conversation on the other end of the line.
“Call me back on this number,” said Jimmy.
I redialed to a secure line.
“What the hell’s going on?” said Jimmy “the Hat” Fellini, in a soft Italian accent.
Keeping my voice low, I said, “I’m in deep trouble. Some people have taken Amy. I’ll call you in a few minutes. Pretend we haven’t spoken. I have a deal and you
will
see me right away. The kidnappers will be listening. Don’t let me down.”
“Eddie, do you need money?” asked Jimmy.
“No. I’m coming to the restaurant to give
you
money. I’m buying a hit team.”
After ten seconds of silence, I felt pretty sure I’d gotten away with my hushed call with Jimmy. Victor’s booming voice came through every few seconds, sometimes closer to me, sometimes farther away as he walked around outside the bathroom. I let out my breath. I hadn’t even realized that I’d been holding it.
That left me with two more calls to make.
I called Harry and left him a message. It was just coming up to four a.m. and he was probably still in night court. I told him I got the bag, thanked him, and said that if I needed anything else, I would send him a text message.
The last call I had to make made me nervous beyond belief.
The keypad on the phone was small and I made lots of mistakes dialing the number, but it probably had more to do with my body coping with stress than the size of the keys. After all, I’d managed to make the other calls without any problems. My hands were shaking, not for the first time that day. It took me a good ten seconds to make sure I’d typed the correct number into the phone, rereading the handwritten number on the back of the FBI card and checking it against the number I’d typed. Satisfied, I hit dial.
I could have been making a mistake with this call, but I had to do it, and I had the phone to do it—a heavily modified Nokia with a special SIM card. The phone was very expensive and for good reason. The cell captured the network of the mobile phone it was calling. Technically, whoever I called was in fact calling themselves. For landlines, it threw out a random wireless search and hit the nearest landline connected to broadband and the call would be registered from that landline number. The same line is never captured twice.
Somebody answered my call.
“Yeah?” said a male voice with an American accent.
“Hello. Can I speak to the operator, please?” I said.
“What? Operator? You must have a wrong number,” said the voice. He sounded like a smoker. I heard the low breath and baritone drawl of a nicotine fan.
“I’m sorry. I was using technical jargon again. I’m new at this, and they tell you not to do that. I meant can I please speak to the handset owner?”
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“This is your telephone company, sir. I’m afraid I’m calling with a sixty-second warning—your phone is about to be cut off. If you have an emergency call to make, I suggest you do it now, sir. Do you have an emergency or do you anticipate an emergency arising?” I sounded like I was reading some bullshit from a prepared script, not really understanding what I was saying. Like a real telephone company employee.
“You’re not cutting me off. Why would you cut me off?”
“Your bill is outstanding, sir.”
“This is a scam. This is a group package phone—it’s paid for by the Federal Bureau of Investigations, buddy.” He gave me the full title.
“I’m afraid it hasn’t been paid, sir. Unless you can pay me sixty-six eighty in the next few minutes, I have to cut off your service.”
“You can’t do that. I already told you the FBI pays for this phone.”
“Not for a while, I’m afraid, sir. Can you pay the amount now?”
“No. It’s already been paid.”
“Then I have to cut you off.”
“You can’t do that. I mean, how could you do it?”
“I already have, sir, just now. If you don’t believe me, just try making a call after you hang up this one.”
He hung up immediately. I didn’t. I’d captured and was using his cell network. If he did try to make a call, which I was sure he would do, he wouldn’t be able to get a dial tone.
I waited thirty seconds, listened to Victor laughing on the phone, then called again.
“See?” I said.
“How did you do that?” he said.
“I just pressed a button here, sir. That’s all. Can you pay the overdue amount, please?”
He let out a sigh and paused. I thought for a moment that I’d blown it. This call was too risky; I shouldn’t have made it. I put my thumb over the disconnect button and waited. I prayed he wouldn’t take the gamble of losing his cell today, when the Russians might need him most.
“Do you take credit cards?” he said.
I almost punched the air.
“Sure, but before I take the number, can I have the name as it appears on the card, please?”
A moment’s silence followed; then he said, “No way. This is a scam.”
“Would a low-life con man be able to do that to your phone?” I asked.
“No, but…”
“Okay, so what’s the name?”
“How come you don’t know my name? I mean, you called me. I’m a customer, right? What do you need my name for?”
“I just need to verify the name on the card, sir. This is not Al Qaeda.”
It was the big weakness with the idea, which of course came to pass. I expected it.
“Sir, I have all your customer details here, but of course I don’t know if I’m speaking to the customer right now. Anyone could answer your phone, so I just need your identification details from your card.”
Another agonizing pause came.
“You said you were calling from my telephone company. What company am I with?”
I checked my signal indicator at the top of the screen; I’d captured AP&K.
“AP&K, sir. Do you want me to ask you what color pants you’re wearing?”
“Wha—” He stopped and sucked air through his teeth. This could’ve blown up in my face at any time, but I was relying on this guy being gullible. Thankfully, he was in the FBI and not the DEA. Cops and FBI agents get stung all the time. I know hustlers who exclusively target cops and feds because they’re more trusting of what they believe to be authority. Little old ladies and beat cops, ripe for the picking.
“The name as it appears on the card is Thomas P. Levine,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Levine. Can you tell me the type of card and confirm the first line of your address?”
Victor banged on the door. I already had what I needed.
I pretended to take a payment, then disconnected the call.
Creeping up the dimly lit stairs with Victor following behind me, I couldn’t help but wonder what Thomas P. Levine looked like. Back in the chambers office, I chewed this over as I made the call from Arturas’s phone.
“Could I speak to Jimmy please?” I said.
“Who is this?” said a voice.
“Tell him it’s his lawyer.”
Jimmy came on the phone. “You know what time it is?” he said.
“It’s Eddie,” I said.
Silence. I didn’t say anything. I just waited.
“Been a long time. Call me back on this number,” said Jimmy.
I memorized the number for a cell and dialed it right back.
