The Last Hedge (31 page)

“No problem,” Steve said. “What's going on at your old place? Is the work finished?”

“Almost,” Dylan said.

“I'm glad you could use this place. I haven't been able to rent it in months. It still has furniture from the old tenants.”

“Look, I just want you to hold onto to that, in case something should happen to me.”

“Is this a will?”

“Sort of.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I may just need to go away for a little while; for personal reasons.”

“Is it a health thing? A family issue?”

“All of the above. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. If I’m gone for awhile, this letter will detail some issues. It will also cover the expenses for the gallery.”

“Dylan, you are scaring the shit out of me.”

“I hate to do this to you, but that's just the way it is.”

“Okay, I accept that.” Both men got up and walked towards the door.

“I'll leave the keys with the super.”

“Good luck, whatever it is.”

“Thank you. I will need it.”

They shook hands, and Dylan closed the door behind Steve as he exited. He went back into the apartment and checked his briefcase one last time.

Dylan had roughly eight thousand in cash, primarily in hundreds. The passport, sealed, was inside a plastic bag covered in other papers and documents. The forgery had not come cheap. He took the phone and headed up towards the roof.

The roof was on the 6th floor of the building. There was a nice little garden, and several benches. Someone had erected a small swing set for children, and a deck had been crafted out of red pine. It was a very pleasant garden. The building had a clear and unobstructed view of the gallery. Dylan glanced at his watch. It was 6:55.

Vanessa stood at the roof’s railing surveying the entrance to the gallery. Samantha was hosting an opening night party. The exhibit was of digital photography, and the main artist, a woman named Red, was actually married to a hedge fund manager. Small world, Dylan thought. The party was just getting started, and Dylan could see the crowd gathering on the street down below. Vanessa put the binoculars down when Dylan walked up behind her.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You don’t have to go through with this. We could leave right now.”

“And what about Binky?”

Vanessa looked eyes turned away, as if distracted from something out of the corner of her eyes. Instead of turning back towards Dylan, she lowered her gaze towards the floor. It seemed like minutes before she spoke again. She was frustrated, angry and then she was brutally honest.

“Have you ever considered that he might not be alive?”

“Yes,” Dylan said. “The thought had crossed my mind. But until I know that for sure, I’m not giving up.”

Vanessa kissed him. “Then I’m not giving up either.” Dylan glanced down at his watch again. It was a minute before seven.

“It’s time.”

Dylan removed the cell phone from his pocket and dialed Highland’s number. There was no answer. He hung up the phone, and tried it again. Still no one picked up the call. He trained his eyes on the sidewalk down below. The crowd from the gallery was beginning to spill onto the sidewalk, enjoying the wine and cheese on a hot summer evening. People were so busy having fun, that they scarcely noticed the three black sedans that had pulled up to the sidewalk. Dylan grabbed Vanessa’s binoculars. Each of the three cars had black license plates, black with small stenciled letters. The windows were tinted so opaque that one couldn’t see inside. Dylan handed the binoculars back to Vanessa. Just as he did, his phone began to ring. He answered it.

“Yes?” The line was silent. Several seconds later, Dylan heard the distinctive voice.

“This is Jonathan Kay.”

Dylan could feel his pulse begin to quicken. He took a deep breath to compose himself.

“I wasn’t expecting you to answer the phone.”

“Life is full of the unexpected. You wanted me here/ I’m here.”

“Good,” Dylan said. “Is Binky with you?”

“He’s here. Can you see the middle car on the driver’s side rear window?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Good.” The rear window began to roll down. Dylan could see Binky’s face, partially obscured by the tinted window, though the view was fuzzy. After a few seconds, the window rolled back up.

“Okay,” Dylan said. “I have what you want. I want you to come into the gallery, There’s an office in the back.”

“A public appearance was not my plan, Dylan.”

“If you leave, I’m out of here.”

“Really, Dylan? Where are you going? Look above you.”

Dylan looked up to see an almost silent black helicopter, hovering effortlessly above the roof less than a hundred feet away. He could see the sniper on the side with a rifle pointed directly at him.

“Jesus Christ!” Vanessa said.

Dylan dropped the phone. He scrambled to pick it up. The call had not dropped, and he was still connected. Kay’s voice came on the line, calm and assured.

“There’s nowhere to go, Dylan. But you and I need to talk.”

“The iPhone is in the office; inside the safe.”

“Good. Walk across the street towards the gallery. My men will follow you inside and sweep the place. I will then join you inside.”

“Okay,” Dylan said, as he hung up the phone.

Dylan exited the rooftop, walked down the stairs and out of the building. The walk across the street was the longest of his life. As he approached the gallery, two men in suits and dark shades exited the first car and followed him inside, filling in silently behind him as he entered through the gallery door. Samantha was the first person to greet Dylan as he walked inside.

Samantha was dressed for a party, in a bright green linen dress. She had a single flower in her hair and a wine glass in her hand. Dylan could tell that she was already tipsy.

“Dylan, I wasn’t expecting you this early. Would you like some wine?” Dylan barely looked at her as she spoke.

“Not yet. Is the office empty?”

“Sure. Do you need it?”

“Yes,” Dylan said, alluding to the two men behind them. “We need to speak privately.”

Samantha gave him a confused look. “It’s all yours.”

Dylan nodded his head towards the back room. The two men turned and followed him as Samantha stood watching.

The men entered the room first. One pulled out a hand-held electronic device that emitted a low beeping sound. He was scanning the room, looking for beepers or electronic devices. The sound remained constant, indicating that the room was clear. One of the men removed a walkie-talkie from inside of his jacket. He turned it on and began to speak. “We’re clear,” he said. The men looked at Dylan, and then exited the room. Dylan took a seat behind the desk and waited for the arrival of Jonathan Kay.

Binky entered the office first, followed closely behind by Kay and one of Kay’s men. Binky’s face was pale and drawn. He looked as if he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks.

“Binky,” Dylan said. “Are you okay? What have you done to him?”

“He’s had plenty of rest and relaxation,” Kay said. “Unlike other countries, we don’t torture our detainees. We feed them filet mignon and mashed potatoes.”

“That’s not what I’ve been reading.”

“Go on over and shake his hand.”

As Dylan moved closer, he sensed that something wasn’t quite right. Perhaps it was the shoe size, or perhaps the height, but something didn’t seem copacetic. Before Dylan could react, the person he thought was Binky used one hand to remove the elaborate latex mask that he was wearing. The grinning bald man who had been wearing the mask grinned at Dylan devilishly as he tossed the mask on the floor.

“What the fuck…”

“Too bad we had to pretend it was Halloween in order to get you here. I believe you have something I am looking for.”

Dylan made a quick move towards the door, but it was already blocked.

“Settle down, Dylan,” Kay said. “Give us what we’re looking for and I’ll explain everything to you.”

“Yes,” Dylan said. Gone were the flashy clothes from Antigua. He noticed that Kay’s demeanor and speech were distinctly different. Even his clothes were different. He had on a simple pair of slacks, an Oxford shirt and blazer. It then occurred to Dylan that Antigua was an act, poised and assured. The real Jonathan Kay was a mercenary, pure and simple, doing what was necessary for God and country.

Dylan went to the opposite wall of the room where Samantha had hung his Machiaolli painting. Dylan carefully removed the painting and placed it on the desk, revealing a small safe from where the painting had been placed. Dylan opened the safe by entering the combination code. He removed the iPod and placed it on the desk. Kay’s guard quickly stepped forward and retrieved the iPod.

“Obviously, your friend is not here. We’ve been looking for him ourselves. He managed to hack several of our accounts along with those of the fund.”

“Hacked?”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the term.”

Kay’s guard inspected the iPod while it was still in the bag. The guard removed a laptop from the briefcase that he had been carrying. He inserted a wireless card into the side of it. The guard sat down and plugged the iPod into the computer. Within seconds, the software was loading.

“Now,” Kay said to his guard, “Change the account codes. We don’t need him hacking into our other accounts.”

The guard began to work at the machine, typing silently. When he finished, he turned towards Kay and nodded his head.

“Finished?” Kay asked.

“Yes, the first part. The second will take a few minutes….”

“Good,” Kay said. Dylan stood there, watching both Kay and the guards.

“Isn’t this where you shoot me; take me out back and put a bullet in my head?”

“Is that a wish?”

“No, I actually like my life, even in the mediocre state that it is.”

“You have been watching too many movies. Why would I want to kill you? This is where I make you an offer you can’t refuse. I want you to come and work for me. I could use a man like you.”

“Work for you? Doing what?”

“Starting up a new hedge fund.”

“With whose money?”

“My money. You see, Ray Corbin wasn’t going to go on forever. I needed someone new, someone with some young blood. With your talents and abilities, there’s no question where you could go. I could also make you an extremely wealthy man.”

“Like you made Ray Corbin: Love em’ and leave em’, deader than a doorknob.”

Kay seemed taken aback by Dylan’s words. For a few seconds, he seemed to let down his guard.

“Is that what you believe?”

“It’s the truth isn’t it?”

Kay sat down on the edge of the desk. “Do you really want to know the truth?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“Luke’s death was an accident. He stumbled across who we were and learned of Ray’s involvement. Highland thought he could scare him one night on the road and contain the information. Highland’s men got a little overzealous in the rain. The accident was very unfortunate.”

“What about Ray?”

“It was a suicide. After Luke’s death and all the blowups in the fund, he thought we were coming for him. He had a nervous breakdown and went completely insane. That’s why Highland used his men to investigate the operation; Ray had become mentally unstable. That’s what led us to you.”

Dylan was perplexed. He was having a hard time processing the information flowing through his brain “So you didn’t kill either of them?”

“Not to my knowledge. But I’m not going to lie to you, either. Shit does happen.”

“So you do kill people?”

“We do what needs to be done.” For the first time, Dylan looked into Kay’s eyes and saw the dull and lifeless eyes of a killer.

“The FBI traced back fifty shell companies under Allegiance Gaming, and we couldn’t find one that tied back to any real or living Jonathan Kay. So who the hell are you?” Kay got up for a moment and picked up Dylan’s painting. He examined it, then placed it carefully back on the wall.

“Have you heard of the surge in Iraq?”

“Of course.”

“I am the surge.” Kay paused as Dylan took the information in. He smiled at Dylan as he began to speak again. “I am also a force on the `ground in Afghanistan, I have an ear to the wall in Syria, I am building bridges with former enemies in Egypt. I am everyone and everywhere that my country needs me to be. That is who I am.”

Kay turned towards the wall and took another look at Dylan’s painting.

“Do you realize what one hundred million dollars can buy? To your Wall Street friends it’s a mansion in Connecticut, or a mega-yacht that they use twice a year,” Kay’s smile had turned to a sneer. “For me, that one hundred million blows up a nuclear reactor in the Middle East. It’s a fleet of drones watching a village where Al Qaeda may be meeting that evening. It’s a bullet in the head of one of our enemies, planning an attack on the subways of Manhattan. It’s real, Dylan. It’s not a game or a movie. This is who I am. Most people would call me a patriot.”

“You can call anything call a rose,” Dylan said. Kay’s guard looked at us as he turned towards them.

“We got a problem. It looks like he hacked the other accounts. The money is gone.”

“Where is it?”

“A transaction was made several days ago in Lausanne. The rest of the money was transferred into a numbered account. ” Kay’s minion handed him a slip of paper with the account on it.

“Run this account number!” Kay barked.

His minion went back to furiously typing.

“How did he get the money out without the codes?” Kay asked.

“I think there’s another way; like there’s a hard token floating around somewhere.”

“A hard token?”

“Something like a Secure I.D., a physical piece of hardware the bank might allow you to use to withdraw money. Either that,” Dylan said, “or someone actually went to Switzerland.”

“To make a withdrawal like at a window?”

“Why not? I know a guy who once went to the Federal Reserve Window in New York with a suitcase of ten million dollars to save in a tiny little bank in Texas. Stranger things have been done.”

“Yeah, who would have had access?”