The Protégé (21 page)

Lana had been a striking woman in her youth, statuesque with long brunette hair. But she had a tough look about her, too, manifested by an intense, almost cruel flavor to her eyes, the way her jaw jutted out, the ramrod-stiff posture.

The first thing Gillette noticed about her was how the years had worn down that toughness. Her eyes seemed sad, the corners of her mouth were puffy, and she slumped slightly. Deep creases coursed out from the corners of her eyes into the loose skin of her cheeks, and her hands seemed old, as if they belonged to a woman in her late seventies, not her late fifties.

“Hello, Christian,” she said as he moved into the lobby.

Gillette was aware that Debbie and both receptionists were watching carefully. They knew he had no relationship with his family. That had been well documented in the articles in both
The Wall Street Journal
and
People.
“Let’s go to my office,” he suggested.

“This is so nice, Christian,” Lana said, looking around the large space as they sat on one of the couches in a corner of his office. “I love the artwork and the antiques. I can see why you make people go through that search.” She’d been searched at the lobby door by a QS agent, just like everyone else who came to Everest.

“Everyone has to do that before they come in.”

“I see. Well, I’ve been keeping up with you in the press, and friends of mine tell me what they hear about you, too. You’re so successful. I knew you would be. Your father would have been so proud.”

“It’s been a long time, Lana,” he said quietly.

“Too long.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she reached into her purse for a tissue. “I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling. “For everything. I was just so . . . hurt. No excuse, I know. What I did to you was awful, so I want to thank you for seeing me.” She gestured toward the door. “That’s why I showed up out there without calling ahead. I figured if I tried to make an appointment, you’d ignore me. I wouldn’t have blamed you, either.”

“How have you been?”

“Fine.”

“What about Troy and Nikki?” Troy was a half-sibling as well, a good-for-nothing older brother. “They okay?”

“Okay. We’re all surviving.”

“Are you still living in the Bel Air house?”

“Trying to.”

“What does that mean?”

Lana dabbed her eyes with the tissue, then let out a tiny sob. “It’s just hard.”

“Why?”

“It’s expensive, and, well . . . Oh, Christian. Nikki isn’t okay.” Lana sobbed again. “She has cancer. Lung cancer.”

Lung cancer. The words twisted Gillette’s stomach. He and Nikki had been so close right up to the day of their father’s death. He’d called to borrow a few dollars to get back to the West Coast after Lana cut him off, but for some reason she’d never answered or returned his messages. He hadn’t let himself think about her in a long time. But it still hurt deeply to hear this. “I’m sorry.”

“What makes it even worse is that she doesn’t have any health insurance. She can’t pay for the treatment she needs.”

“What happened?”

“That idiot she married. Peter. He kept telling her he had it, but he didn’t.”

Gillette hadn’t been invited to Nikki’s wedding. He’d heard about it from friends. “Are you going to help her?”

Lana shrugged. “What can I do? I don’t have much money left.”

“Dad was worth a
hundred million dollars
when he died.”

“Taxes took more than half, he gave a lot to charity, and then there was your mother. Several other women, too. I only ended up with about ten million. You’d be surprised how fast that goes.”

“Several other women?”
Gillette asked.

“You weren’t the only child he had out of wedlock, just the only one I agreed to take in.”

He could tell this was still hard for her. Any shred of toughness she’d had about her when she’d come in was gone. “How many other children were there?”

The tears were flowing freely now. “One each with three other women.”

Gillette’s head suddenly ached. Secrets, always secrets. “Jesus.”

Lana cleared her throat, trying to regain control. “Yes, your father had a problem.” She shook her head quickly several times. “But I’m not here to rehash all that, I’m here to ask you to help your sister. She needs money, Christian.”

“Have her call me.”

“She won’t, she’s too proud.”

“Then give me her number. I’ll call her.”

Lana hesitated, then reached into her pocketbook and removed a small black address book.

Gillette handed her a pen and one of his cards. “Write it on the back.”

She scribbled the number, then handed the card and pen back to him. “I need money, too,” she said firmly.

“Ten million is a lot, Lana. It isn’t a hundred, but it’s a lot. And you got the house, too. That’s probably worth another ten. I don’t believe you really need money. You can’t.”

“Well, I do.”

She had always been a survivor. Whatever it took. She wasn’t his real mother, but some of that had rubbed off on him. Maybe he owed her something. “I gotta give you credit, Lana. You cut me off completely the day Dad is killed, you don’t speak to me for sixteen years, and you walk in here today with your hands out, looking for donations. One thing I’m sure we can agree on, you aren’t proud.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she said matter-of-factly, “and I did agree to take you in all those years ago. There is that.”

“You’re incredible.”

“Will you help me?”

Gillette said nothing for a few moments. “I’ll think about it. I’ll be on the West Coast next week, we’ll get together then. I’ll call you.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered.

She seemed so much older, he realized. “Now I have a question for you. Who’s my real mother?”

Lana looked him straight in the eyes. “I don’t know.”

She was always such a good liar, he remembered.

FARADAY SAT
in Gillette’s office, staring at the phone. It was almost five o’clock. “What’s your bet?” he asked.

“She won’t call,” Gillette answered.

“I think she will. Chatham’s too poor. She’ll take what she can get.”

“She’s got too much pride.”

“I thought you said she was smart.”

“I did.”

“So she’ll do the right thing.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Faraday dug a huge spoonful of rocky road ice cream out of a bowl in his lap. “How’s Faith? She must be pissed about those pictures of you and Allison in the newspapers. She looked like she was going to kill someone when she stalked out of here the other night. I tried to say good-bye to her, but she blew past me without a word.”

Gillette smiled, glad his girlfriend was once more a topic he was happy to discuss. “She’s over it.”

“Oh? So you finally spoke to her?”

“Yeah.” Gillette jotted down a note to himself to call Russell Hughes to see if he’d arranged the CIA meeting.

“Is Faith coming out on the boat tomorrow?” Faraday asked.

“No. She’s in London doing some promo stuff for the next album. It’s coming out soon.”

“Who else is coming?”

“You, Stiles, Wright, and me,” Gillette answered.

“You still inviting David even after the way he acted at the Apex meeting?”

“He’s just young, Nigel.”

“Uh-huh.” Faraday hesitated. “You want me to bring my significant other?”

“Sure. Who is it?”

“You’ve never met her. Are you going to be stag since Faith is in London?” Faraday asked, his mouth full of ice cream.

Gillette didn’t answer.

Faraday stopped eating. “Oh no.”

Gillette glanced up. “What?”

“You’re bringing Allison.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can tell.”

“You can’t tell anything. And, if I asked her to come, it would be just as a colleague.”

The intercom buzzed. It was Debbie. “Chris, Becky Rouse is on the line.”

Faraday smiled triumphantly from behind the bowl.

“Thanks.” Gillette picked up. “Hello.”

“Mr. Gillette, this is Becky Rouse from Chatham.”

“Yes.”

“I’m calling to tell you what you can do with your offer.”

Gillette felt his cheeks flush. Becky was one feisty character. “And what’s that?”

“I’m a lady, so I can’t say what I’m thinking. You’ll just have to use your imagination. Good-bye, Mr. Gillette.”

Gillette hung up the phone calmly after a loud click at the other end.

“So?” Faraday asked.

“We’re going to war in Maryland.”

Faraday groaned. “What a waste of time.”

“For everyone,” Gillette agreed.

David Wright stuck his head in the door. “Sorry to interrupt. Could I talk to you, Chris?” He glanced at Faraday. “Alone.”

Faraday downed another spoonful of ice cream, then rose. “See you tomorrow, Christian. I’m going home. It’s been a long week.”

Wright stepped aside to let Faraday pass, then closed the door.

“What is it, David?”

Wright hesitated, looking sheepish. “I came in to apologize. I’m sorry for the way I acted in the limousine, it was stupid.”

Good, Gillette thought. The right thing for him to do. “I appreciate that, David.” He’d be sure to tell Faraday about this. “You still coming tomorrow?”

“You sure you still want me?”

“We can’t go without you. It’s a celebration cruise for your promotion.”

12

FROM THE WEST SIDE PIER,
the
Everest
cruised down the Hudson, around the southern tip of Manhattan, then north up the East River. This course took it under the Brooklyn, Manhattan, Williamsburg, and Fifty-ninth Street bridges—massive suspension structures that were even more impressive from below than from street level. By noon, they’d made it to the Long Island Sound and were headed east beneath a hot Indian summer sun. At one o’clock, the temperature reached ninety-five degrees and the humidity was thick.

Stiles stood beside Gillette on the bridge, watching the captain navigate. “Tell me about this thing, Chris,” he said over the hum of the two diesel engines.

“It’s a hundred feet long,” Gillette answered, glancing starboard toward Long Island. They were a mile offshore. “It’s twenty-three feet at the beam, has two inboard engines with two thousand horses each, carries five thousand gallons of fuel, and has four staterooms. We’ve got a crew of three, including the captain, the cook, and a mate, and sailing on it is one of my favorite things in the world to do. It’s a lot of money, Quentin, but it’s worth it to me. I love it out here.”

“You entertain a lot on it, too. That probably pays dividends.”

“It does. Last Fourth of July, I took a hundred people into New York Harbor for the fireworks, big investors we were lining up for Everest Eight. Let them bring their wives, husbands, kids. It was a great time, and most of the people who came committed to the new fund. Maybe they would have committed anyway, but I still hear about how much fun they had.”

Allison appeared on the bridge in a red bikini. “Here you go,” she said, handing Gillette a big cup of soda. “Having fun, Quentin?”

“Absolutely.”

“You like the boat?” she asked.

“It’s incredible. Chris was just telling me about it.”

“Yeah, it’s cute.” She winked at Gillette before turning and walking back out.

“Cute?” Stiles asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The Wallace boat sails out of South Beach,” Gillette explained. “It’s
two
hundred feet long. That’s a real boat to her. This is cute.”

“Oh.” Stiles gestured toward the door she’d gone through. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

“Makes that piece of sewing thread she’s wearing look awfully good.” Stiles cleared his throat. “Tempting, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

Stiles hesitated. “Is something happening between you two?”

Gillette looked off toward Long Island again. They were getting farther and farther away from land. “No.”

“I don’t mean to pry.”

Gillette ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, you do.” He hesitated. “Look, I’m attracted to her, Quentin, I’ll admit that. Who wouldn’t be, for Christ’s sake? But I won’t let anything happen. It’s business between the two of us. That’s it.”

They were silent for a few moments.

“We talked about how lonely it gets at the top sometimes,” Stiles finally said.

“Yeah,
and
?”

“And you’ve got to be careful who you get close to, especially when a lot of people are depending on you. And watching closely. Especially when there’s a lot of money at stake.”

“I told you, I’ll
never
let that happen.”

“Might be tough to resist at some point.” Stiles chuckled. “It’s funny how different people look in bathing suits, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice growing stronger as he switched subjects. “For example”—he laughed loudly—“on the other end of the how-do-you-look-in-a-bathing-suit spectrum is Nigel Faraday, who should thank the Lord for big baggy business suits. He’s white as paste, with a belly Mr. Claus would be proud of.”

Gillette laughed, too. “It’s the gallon a day of ice cream.”

“
A gallon
? Really?”

“Just about.” Gillette watched a large sailboat off the port side. There was a decent wind, and the skipper had his spinnaker up, a blue-and-gold sail that puffed out majestically off the bow. “That’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I don’t like blow-boats,” Stiles said. “They’re too slow, and they’re lots of work.”

“That’s how our ancestors got around.”

“Yours, maybe, not mine. Mine were smart. They paddled.” He motioned for Gillette to move to the back of the bridge with him. “I’ve got some things I want to go over with you,” he said when they were out of earshot of the captain.

“What’s up?”

“The first thing’s kind of a shocker. This morning one of my guys found some very powerful GPS trackers on both Everest planes. They were tiny, but he found them. They were put on recently, judging by the screws used to attach them. No rust or wear.”

Gillette cursed under his breath. Norman Boyd. He should have anticipated this. “It was probably the guys in Washington.”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. You won’t tell me much about them, and I’m not going to ask again. Even though, as your head of security, especially now that we found those things, I think you should come clean with me.” He waited for Gillette to say something. “Anyway,” he kept going when there wasn’t any response, “we removed the devices.”

“No,” Gillette spoke up quickly. “Put them back on. Right away.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Okay, okay, but—” Stiles stopped short. “Oh, I get it.”

“Any idea when those things were put on?”

“No, impossible to tell.”

“But it was recently,” Gillette pushed. “That’s what you said.”

“It could have been a couple of weeks ago, it could have been this morning. I’m not sure.”

Gillette’s mind was racing, trying to think of other ways Boyd might be watching. “What else you got?”

“We ran a background check on that guy at the hospital ground-breaking ceremony, the one who handed you the shovel. He’s definitely a member of the Carbone family.”

Gillette took a sip of soda. “Well, we got our answer about the Mafia in Vegas, didn’t we? Did you talk to any of those consulting firms out there? The ones that can help us with our issue?”

“Almost a dozen of them, and I’ve narrowed it down to two. Like you wanted. After we’re finished here, I’ll send you an e-mail from my Blackberry with the names and numbers of the people I talked to.”

“Thanks.” Gillette had instructed Debbie to get Stiles a Blackberry earlier in the week. “Like I told you, we’re going out there next week. We’ll meet with them then. Anything else?”

“Yeah, I’ve been doing some more checking on the Carbones. First of all, this guy Joe Celino, the boss of the family, makes John Gotti look like a puppy dog. Celino’s ruthless as hell. His nickname’s ‘Twenty-two,’ after his weapon of choice. His list of suspected victims is long, but he’s never been prosecuted. Anyway, from what I’ve learned, Celino gets into things for the long term. So you won’t just be doing business with him during the construction phase of the stadium and the casino. He’ll want a piece of the action on the team, maybe concessions, and the casino, part of the take. He’s not going away.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Listen,” Stiles said, leaning over so he was talking right into Gillette’s ear, “I’m getting close to something that involves the Carbones. I’m working with some people in Philadelphia on this. People from the old days, before I started QS. It’s something we might be able to use against Celino so he can’t get into your businesses. We could release it anonymously once we’ve got it tied up, and it would probably block him from doing anything in Vegas.”

“Fantastic. What is it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it now,” Stiles said, glancing at the captain.

“Come on, Quentin.”

“No, we’ll talk about it when we’re back on dry land. I should have all the information by then.” Gillette started to say something but Stiles held up his hand. “One more thing, Chris.”

“What?”

“I checked with a few more people about Allison Wallace. Still no indication she’s ever done drugs.”

“Thanks. You can call off the dogs.” Gillette didn’t want Allison hearing from anyone else that they were still checking on her. “By the way,” he called as Stiles headed toward the stairs leading belowdecks.

“Yeah?”

“Your girlfriend’s nice. I like her son, too.” Stiles’s girlfriend had brought her six-year-old son, Danny, on the boat. “I’m glad he came.”

Stiles grinned appreciatively. “Danny’s having a blast, Chris. He’s never been on a boat before. Thanks for letting him come along.”

“Of course. Hey, if you see Wright, could you ask him to come see me up here?”

“Yup.”

Gillette moved to where the captain stood and tapped him on the shoulder. “Billy, I need to use your cell phone.”

It was lying on the shelf in front of the wheel. Billy reached up and snatched it. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

“Yours out of juice?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t, but Gillette wasn’t going through the whole thing for Billy. He dialed Cathy Dylan’s number at her apartment in Manhattan.

“Hello.”

“Cathy, it’s Christian.”

“Hi.”

“I need a favor.” The GPS devices on the planes were worrying him.

“Of course.”

“I need you to call our friend in Richmond. I need you to thank him for meeting with me.”

“Is that all?”

“Call me after you talk to him, and call me on this number. It’s—”

“Already got it,” she interrupted. “It’s on my caller ID.”

“Okay.” Gillette wanted to make certain Scott Davis was all right, that Boyd hadn’t done something crazy. He took a deep breath. He was putting people in danger, and it was wearing on him. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

As Gillette hung up, Wright walked onto the bridge.

“You wanted to see me, Chris?”

“Yeah. Figured we’d do an update before people started having too much fun. What’s up with Hush-Hush?”

“I’m already starting due diligence. I’m using Cathy Dylan to help me. That okay?”

Cathy Dylan was busy these days. “Fine.”

“She should have a request-for-information list ready to go over to the Hush-Hush people by COB Monday. My buddy Hobbs is going to head up the team on their side. It should go pretty smoothly. Hobbs says Maddox couldn’t be happier. He’s already looking at real estate in the Caribbean.”

“Good. Just so you know, I’m going to Las Vegas on Tuesday afternoon to see about some things related to the casino. After we meet with that insurance company you’ve got us set up with. I’ll be out west for a few days. I’m going to the coast after I finish in Vegas. We’ll talk every morning while I’m out there, just like we do now.”

“Okay.”

“There’s one more deal I want to bring you in on. It’s a company called Veramax. Are you familiar with it?”

“No.”

“It’s a privately held drug company based outside Chicago. Allison’s introduced me to the owner out in Pittsburgh. That’s why I was there. The company’s growing fast and has some great new products coming out soon. Allison’s family has known the family who owns Veramax for a long time. We’re going to be able to get it pretty cheap because they’ve got some issues with the FDA I can help them with.”

“Nice.”

“But I want your take on it. Do some digging and tell me what you think about it when I get back from Vegas.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Good. By the way, don’t let Allison know I told you about this.”

“Okay.”

Gillette patted Wright’s shoulder. “Well, that’s it. Go back out and have some fun. It’s nice seeing your bride again.”

“Thanks.” Wright turned to go, then paused. “Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there something going on with you and Allison?”

My God, Gillette thought, don’t these people have anything else to worry about? “Of course not.”

“It’s just that—”

Billy’s cell phone rang before Wright could finish.

“Christian,” Billy called, “it’s for you.”

“Excuse me, David,” Gillette said, taking the phone. “Hello?”

“Christian, it’s Cathy.”

“Yes,” he said, watching Wright head off.

“I spoke to Dr. Davis. Thanked him for meeting with you like you asked.”

A wave of relief washed over Gillette. “Thanks.”

JOSEPH
“
22
”
CELINO
sat on the patio of his modest Staten Island home, enjoying the hazy view of lower Manhattan in the distance. It was across New York Harbor, which was dotted by pleasure craft and the two orange ferries about to pass each other. He glanced to the left at the Statue of Liberty, thinking about his Brooklyn childhood, about how the United States really was the land of opportunity—if you were willing to take risks. His father had tried to bring up nine children without taking any risks, in and out of work as a welder in the shipyards, but he’d gotten further and further behind every year, racking up huge debts, finally committing suicide when Celino was nine. As far as Celino was concerned, his father was a coward and had gotten what he deserved. No risk, no reward.

Celino had dropped out of high school to work as a bag boy in a grocery store for a buck seventy-five an hour, trying to help pay the family bills. But he’d quickly grown frustrated with the meager paycheck and agreed to make his first hit when a friend of a friend introduced him to a Mafia capo. The target was the owner of a Queens liquor store who refused to pay protection, and Celino had shot him with his twenty-two pistol as the guy was locking up one hot summer night. Celino found killing easy, sticking around a few minutes after the store owner crumpled to the ground to watch him vainly fight death, fascinated by the struggle. Celino was paid three hundred dollars later that night and never went back to the grocery store. By the time he was nineteen, Celino had murdered twenty-eight people.

Despite his small size—five six and a hundred forty pounds—he developed a reputation as one of the meanest, coldest men in New York. Never making a hit with a partner—not even another made man—so there were no witnesses. And always with his twenty-two. Now he was don of one of the most powerful Mafia families in the country—the Carbones. A name that struck fear in the heart of every other mobster and lawman in the country.