She's an Easy Target, page 24
part #2 of Quinton Target Series
“What’s the matter? Has the cat got your tongue?” the man with the synthesized voice said and then forced a short laugh.”
“What do you want?”
“Not even a hello? I thought we were becoming best friends.”
“Think again.”
He forced another short laugh. “Don’t think because you’re at the JUIAF or have a police escort you’re safe from me. You should know better by now.”
“What do you want from me?”
“It’s after three. When can I expect my two million dollars?”
“Your deadline is five today. I have two more hours.”
“You better not make it one minute after five, if you want to keep that pretty face of yours.”
“How do I know you’ll leave me alone after I pay the ransom.”
“I’m a man of my word. But have you forgotten about the other things you need to do for me before I give you back your life?”
“First things first. I’ll get you the money and then go after the list in Lucas Taylor’s safe.”
“Good girl. It should be easy for you. He’d do anything to get into your pants.”
“The thought of seducing him makes me want to vomit.”
“I told you before you have other options. You can shoot the bastard if you’d rather do that than screw him. It doesn’t matter to me how you do it as long as you get me the contents of that safe.”
“I’m working on it. He invited me to his house, but I’m busy tonight.”
“Maybe I didn’t make it clear. You need to get me what I want no later than tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if I can do it that quickly. How am I supposed to get the combination to his safe? I can’t just ask him for it.”
“That’s your problem. Get me what I want or else.”
“Wait a minute.”
“I’ll be in touch,” he said and hung up.”
Chapter 50
Lawrence Hanover, a.k.a. Mike Carpenter, drove his black Toyota Camry into the Charlottesville Union Station parking lot and parked near the concrete stairs that led up the hill to the bus stop. However, he didn’t plan to take a bus. He had a ticket for the Amtrak train to New York City.
He slammed his hands into the steering wheel to express his frustration with himself. How could he have been so stupid? Not only had he made an unauthorized hit, he’d failed to successfully complete the job. He wasn’t concerned about the local police. If they were looking for anyone, it would be Mike Carpenter. It was unlikely they’d figure out his true identity in time to find him before he departed. Once he was in New York, he could fly to anywhere in the world, well beyond the reach of some local yokel police detective. The CIA was a different story. Their reach extended around the world. His only hope was that he was too inconsequential for them to waste their time to go after him.
His troubles had started two years ago. That’s when he’d first laid eyes on Savanah Clayborn. He was an executive at a high-tech company with government software contracts. His life wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty damn good. He was married with a five-year-old daughter whom he adored. The job paid well enough for him to afford a home in an upscale neighborhood in Northern Virginia.
He’d met Savanah after she’d been hired as a contract employee by his company at the insistence of one the business’ largest customers, the CIA. The day he’d been introduced to her had been the day his life had begun to unravel. He loved his wife — at least he thought he did. But like most marriages after ten years, some of the excitement had dwindled for both of them. They’d drifted apart to the point where their sex life was practically non-existent.
It hadn’t taken much encouragement from the sexy Savanah for the affair to begin. He’d never known what had hit him. After a few short weeks, she’d recruited him into the CIA, and he’d betrayed his company by providing trade secrets to the government. Eventually, his employer had caught on and fired him. Fortunately for him the CIA kept him on their payroll. Of course, the pay didn’t come close to matching what he was making as an executive in the private sector.
In his personal life, he was less fortunate. His wife found out about the affair. The divorce was contentious. She got the house and full custody of their daughter.
After Savanah had recruited him, she’d continued working for the CIA as his handler until he’d been fired by his company. As soon as he was let go, her assignment was done. She’d disappeared without any explanation to him.
Two years went by and Lawrence was still pigeonholed in a low-level CIA position. It was quite by accident that he’d learned that the former Savanah Clayborn was working a short distance away as an NSA Analyst. He’d taken a few days of vacation from his CIA job and driven two hours to visit the woman now known as Chloe Ripen.
He’d texted her that he was aware she now lived in Charlottesville. He hadn’t told her he was parked next to her apartment building while he was texting. He’d expressed his disappointment with her that she’d led him on, destroyed his marriage, cost him his job — and then left without as much as a goodbye. When she hadn’t answered his text, he’d surprised her with a knock on her door.
He’d deluded himself into believing that the CIA had forced her to leave DC and prevented her from contacting him. He thought when she saw him, they’d pick up their affair where they’d left off. That illusion had been shattered when he’d found out her current assignment was to pose as a Social Security employee to seduce and recruit another unsuspecting man.
When Dr. Bit had caught him at Chloe’s, instead of blowing her cover, Lawrence had played along and lied that he was Chloe’s boss. Outwardly, he’d been pleasant and unthreatening to both of them — but inwardly he was seething.
He’d returned to Chloe’s apartment building on Saturday evening to reason with her. She’d deserted him but he was willing to forgive her and take her back — because he still love her. He’d been waiting in front of her house for an hour, getting his thoughts organized, when Dr. Bit had arrived and gone inside. As time went by and they hadn’t come out, he’d pictured them together in her bedroom. Anger burned inside him. When they’d come out of the apartment building together, holding hands, and kissing — he’d snapped. She was to blame for his shattered life. She had to pay, and her unsuspecting lover had to pay, too.
He’d considered driving straight back to DC after the shooting but realized he wouldn’t be safe after the CIA discovered what he’d done. He’d already lingered a day and a half too long in Charlottesville, deciding what to do. It was time to go.
Lawrence shrugged his shoulders as if to say, it’s done now. I can’t undo it. “The bitch deserved it,” he muttered to himself.
He got out of his car, removed his overnight bag from the back seat, and started walking toward the train station main building. He didn’t see the man with the beard and long greasy hair who was a hundred yards behind him with a rifle resting on a car rooftop. He might have heard the shot a split second before it entered the back of his head and ripped a hole through his frontal lobe.
Lawrence Hanover was dead before he hit the pavement. He didn’t hear Rasputin say, “That’s for Dr. Bit.”
Chapter 51
When QT heard his phone ring and saw the name, Stephanie Winters, on his caller ID, he was surprised his reaction wasn’t more negative. Perhaps the novelty of reconnecting with her, on a professional basis, was wearing off and the old hostilities between them were fading with time.
“Hello Stephanie,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
“What’s up with you? Are you smoking weed or being a wiseass?”
“If those are my only two choices, I’m being a wiseass,” he said. “Any luck finding Mike Carpenter,” he said in a more serious tone.
“There doesn’t appear to be any Mike Carpenter. At least there isn’t one who works at the Social Security Administration. On the other hand, the SSA does have an employee named Chloe Ripen. I’d ask her who the guy she’d introduced to Dr. Bit, really was, but I can’t because she’s still in a coma.”
“Dr. Bit told me he’d meet with a sketch artist if you need a picture to issue an APB for the suspected shooter.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
“Why not?”
“I’m at the train station, standing in the parking lot next to a dead body. I think it’s our shooter.”
“Does he have any identification on him?”
“Yes. His name is Lawrence Hanover and he has a CIA ID in his pocket.”
“Why would the CIA want to kill Dr. Bit and Chloe? It couldn’t have been a sanctioned hit.”
“Why not?”
“Because the CIA isn’t legally allowed to operate within the US. And, they definitely aren’t authorized to assassinate US citizens.”
“We found the dead man’s car in the parking lot and it’s a Toyota Camry. We also found a pistol in an overnight bag that he was carrying when he was killed. I bet we’ll find that the bullets that were removed from Chloe and Dr. Bit came from that gun.”
“That makes it neat and tidy to close your shooting case.”
“I’d feel better if I had a clear motive.”
“I’m guessing it’s personal. He’s probably a jilted ex-boyfriend.”
“Chloe can answer that for us, provided she ever wakes up.”
“You never know. She could fool the doctors and pull herself out of that coma.”
“I would’ve preferred to capture the shooter alive, so I could’ve questioned him.”
“Yeah, the dead body may solve your shooting case but it’s going to open a new murder investigation.”
“Is there going to be a jurisdiction pissing contest between the FBI and the Charlottesville Police Department?”
“I’ll check with my boss, but this is going to be a political hot potato. I’m sure they’ll want to bring in some FBI heavyweights from DC to investigate. The Feds won’t want a city police department to take the lead on a CIA agent’s possible misconduct and his subsequent murder.”
“That’s fine with me. I’ll process the crime scene to gather evidence until I’m officially given the word to turn the case over to the FBI or some other agency.”
“How was Lawrence Hanover killed?”
“A single bullet to the back of the head. It looks like it was fired from about a hundred yards away. It was definitely a professional hit.”
“Did anyone in the vicinity see the shooting or any suspicious acting people in the area? It’s pretty brazen to do a hit in the early afternoon at a busy train station.”
“We haven’t found anyone who saw the actual shooting, but we have a couple of witnesses who claim they saw a man with a long, straggly beard in the proximity of the car where we believe the single shot came from.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
“No, it isn’t. They probably saw some homeless man who hangs out at the train station.”
“Sounds about right to me,” he said.
“I’ll let you know if I come up with anything additional.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
QT checked the time on his phone. He needed to find Blaire and go to Dr. Bit’s house to initiate the ransom transfer. He hesitated for a moment, thinking about what Stephanie had told him. The witness’ description of a suspicious person at the scene of Lawrence Hanover’s assassination meant nothing to Stephanie.
To Quinton, a man with a long, straggly beard with precise shooting skills described only one person he knew — Rasputin.
Chapter 52
They were through the JUIAF security gate and onto route 29 before Blaire told him. She had a slight quiver in her voice when she finally let the words out.
“He called me around three o’clock,” she said.
“Who? Your attacker?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted the ransom money. I reminded him I have until five to transfer it. He agreed but seemed impatient. He said at one-minute past five, he’d throw acid in my face, if the money wasn’t transferred.”
“You know that’s an empty threat. I’m going to be with you at one-minute past five. Besides, as far as he’s concerned, the money will appear in his account prior to five.”
“He also said I have until the end-of-day tomorrow to bring him the contents of Lucas’ safe.”
“We’ll worry about that after we see how the money transfer goes.”
“... Lucas invited me to come to his house tonight.”
“For what purpose, need I ask?”
“A career planning session,” she said and smiled.
“I can imagine what that entails.”
“He’s going to help me get promoted.”
“Out of the kindness of his heart?”
“Because he likes me.”
“What do you have to do to get this promotion?”
“We didn’t get into specifics. In general, he says it’s like all promotions. It’s all about reciprocity. I do something for him, and he does something for me.”
“It sounds like our Quid pro quo arrangement. I don’t suppose he clarified what the something for him would be.”
“No. We need to discuss the details at his house tonight.”
“I’m sure the place he has in mind to discuss it is in his bed.”
“That’s the way I interpreted his comments.”
“What was your response?”
“Who could refuse an offer like that?” she said
“Yeah, right. A great new job and a roll in the sack with Lucas Taylor. What more could a woman ask for?”
“I told him I’d let him know later today.”
“I really don’t like the idea of you going to his house even if it is to set him up and steal the contents of his safe.”
“If we catch Cayden with his hand in the cookie jar, we can arrest him, and get him to turn on Lucas.”
“It might not be that easy. We need hard evidence.”
“... That’s Dr. Bit’s house on the left,” Blaire said, pointing at the brick colonial with the porch.
“Yeah, I know. I was here on Friday night to pick up Lieutenant Mad and Rasputin to bring them to Crozet with me,” he said. “I’ve never been inside, though. You can show me around.”
Blaire smiled at his sarcastic reference to her recent break-in at Dr. Bit’s but didn’t acknowledge his dig. “It’s 4:45 p.m.,” she said, looking at her iPhone. “We better hurry and have L. Ron make the transfer before the deadline.”
Before they had a chance to push the intercom button next to the front door, they heard the latch click. “Join me in the basement,” the boyish voice said. “I’m ready to press the GO button as soon as you give the word.”
QT followed a step behind Blaire as she led him to the basement door and down the stairs where an Asian looking man was waiting for them, seated in front of a laptop computer that was connected to Dr. Bit’s secure network. To the right of him, a bearded man was seated.
“I think you’ve both met Rasputin. I’m L. Ron.”
“It’s good to finally meet you in person,” QT said. “Lieutenant Mad has told me a lot about you.”
He looked over at bearded man and said, “Always good to have you around in a time of crisis, Rasputin.”
Blaire made eye contact with Rasputin and nodded her head to acknowledge him.”
Rasputin, with an impish smile on his face, gave them an abbreviated, two-fingered military salute.
“Go ahead with the transfer,” QT said to L. Ron.
The image of L. Ron’s screen was projected onto a large flat screen monitor where they could all view what was happening immediately. They stared at the monitor as the transaction was executed to move two million dollars from Benjamin Saunders account to the one registered to Blair Saunders Enterprises, Inc.
“It’s done,” L. Ron said as he pulled up the screen which showed the money was deposited but pending approval before it would be available for withdrawal.
“Now what?” Blaire said.
“Now we wait until somebody accesses the account,” L. Ron said.
QT took his phone of his pocket and dialed. The others looked at him with questioning looks on their faces. While the phone was ringing, he said softly to them, “I’m calling FBI Agent Parker from our Charlottesville office.”
“Hey Tim, it’s QT. I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Did you transmit the money yet?” Agent Parker asked.
“Yeah, we just transferred it. Is Cayden Mitchell still inside the JUIAF?”
“No, he’s on the move. He left work around ten of five. I’m right behind him on 29 headed in the direction of UVA. Wait a minute. He just turned into Starbucks. I’ll follow him inside the coffee shop once he gets out of his car.”
“I hope he tries to access the account from there,” L. Ron said to QT. “The Starbucks guest network has wide open, public internet access. He won’t be able to mask his identity or location from there.”
“I’m going to hang up,” Agent Parker said. “I don’t want to draw attention to myself by talking on the phone within earshot of him.”
“OK, call me back when he leaves Starbucks and you’re in your car tailing him again.”
After about five minutes had passed, a message appeared on the flat screen, notifying them that the targeted account was being accessed. L. Ron said with excitement, “There he is. He couldn’t wait to see that two million in his account.” As he typed rapidly, program commands and numbers that meant nothing to QT began scrolling on the screen. “I’ve got you now you weasel,” L. Ron screeched with joy. “There’s your iPhone’s MAC address which uniquely identifies your device and there’s the IP address that puts your current location as Starbuck’s on Seminole Trail in Charlottesville.”
