Abducted: A Jake Badger Mystery Thriller (4 page)

Chapter 6

Tuesday Morning

The
thirty-mile drive from the FBI offices to Benito's Malibu estate would take
about an hour, maybe a little less, depending on traffic. Alex had the radio
on, an oldies station. He sang along quietly. Mostly, I thought about Monica,
wondering who had her and whether or not she was safe. I found myself talking
to her.
I’ll find you
, I assured her.
Just hold on. I’ll find you
.

 
It was the second week of August, hot and
clear, with a gentle onshore breeze. As we drove up PCH, there were groups of
surfers at their favorite spots along the coast. In a couple of spots, they had
to compete with dolphins for the best waves. Catalina was visible in the
distance, as were a couple of large oil tankers cutting across the calm waters,
one going out, one coming in, to Santa Monica Bay. It would have been a nice day
to go fishing off the Malibu Pier or to
lay
on the
beach and soak up some vitamin D. But I was too distracted to really enjoy the
day. All I could think about was Monica, where she was and how she was being
treated.

Esposito's
estate was on PCH a few miles beyond Pepperdine University, on the ocean side
of the highway. There was a wide gated driveway, with the gate about fifty feet
in so you could turn in and be well off the highway while you sat at the gate
and waited to be let in. There was a camera and a speaker. Alex was driving his
agency car. He let down the driver's side window and pushed the button on the
speaker.

“Can
I help you?” a disembodied female voice asked.

Alex
held up his ID for the camera and said, “Special Agent Watson, to see Mr.
Esposito.”

There
was a pause,
then
the voice asked, “Do you have a
warrant?”

“No.
We'd just like to ask Mr. Esposito a few questions.”

“Questions
about what?”

“I'll
discuss that with Mr. Esposito,” Alex said. “Would you open the gate, please,
so we can enter?”

In
a moment, the large double gate began to swing open. Alex put the car in gear
and drove onto the plush, manicured estate.

A
circular drive led to parking spaces opposite the front door. We parked and
went to the door. Alex knocked. Since he had the FBI ID, it made sense for him
to take the lead. The door opened and a young woman that could have been Miss
Mexico stood there in a small, tight black dress.

“This
way, gentlemen,” she said without a hint of an accent.

The
house was elegant, decorated with the same kind of ultra modern white leather
and chrome furnishings Esposito, Senior had had in his office… before Monica
splattered blood all over it, his own and that of two of his associates.

Miss
Mexico led us through the house to an expansive tiled patio off the back of the
house. The view of the coast and the ocean was magnificent.

Benito
Esposito sat in a lounge chair near a large pool. Two more Latinas that would
have given Miss Mexico a run for her money lay on their backs on either side of
him, sun bathing in the nude. Our presence did not seem to bother them in the
least.

Esposito
looked up at us and gestured to two chairs that appeared to have been
strategically placed opposite him. Alex handed him his card and we sat down. As
we did, two very large Mexican men stepped out from the house onto the patio
and positioned
themselves
about twenty feet apart so
they could watch us. From the size of the bulges under their sport coats, it
was apparent that each carried a large gun. That was okay with me. Alex and I
were also well armed.

Esposito
was smallish: five six, perhaps, one-forty. He had a strong jaw and deep-set
eyes. Women might have thought him handsome. To me, he looked soft, pampered.

He
said, “So what can I do for the FBI and his companion on this fine day?”

I
smiled.

“And
his companion?” Alex said.

“If
he's FBI, he's out of uniform.”

I
was wearing Levis, a yellow Oxford button down and my tan corduroy sport
jacket.

“Mr.
Badger used to be an FBI agent,” Alex said. “He's now a private investigator.”

When
he heard my name, Esposito's
face hardened
.

“The
same Mr. Badger who was involved in my father's death?” His eyes were cold,
black orbs that radiated a palpable hatefulness directed at me.

“The
same,” I said. “Though I'm not the one who shot him. Actually, he shot me. My
associate shot your father.”

His
black eyes were malevolent.

“Do
you know her name?” I asked.

“Monica
Nolan,” he said.

I
nodded.

“Know
where she is?”

“In
hell, I hope.”

His
throat was only about eight feet from my hands. I could have killed him quickly
and easily, before the goons by the house could have gotten their weapons out
and started shooting. But that would not have led me to Monica. So I sat still
and contained my rage.

“I'm
pretty sure she's not in hell,” I said. “The problem is, we don't know where
she is because she was abducted.”

His
hateful eyes searched mine.

“Know
anything about that?” I asked.

“You
think I had something to do with her disappearance?” Esposito asked calmly.

“I
think it's a distinct possibility.”

“As
does the FBI,” Alex added.

Esposito
looked from me to Alex and then back to me.

He
nodded thoughtfully. “In your place, I would look at me as well. But I assure
you, I had nothing to do with Ms. Nolan's disappearance.”

Alex
asked, “Where were you Monday morning between five and eight a.m.?

Esposito
smiled. “Ladies.”

The
naked girls
raised
up on their elbows. The one on the
right said, “He was here, in bed, with us.” The other girl smiled and nodded.

I
tilted my head toward the house and asked, “What about your men?”

“They
are security on duty twenty-four seven. They each have their own room here, in
my home. They were here. Several others can testify to that.”

“Doesn't
mean you didn't hire other people to take her.” I said.

“That
is true,” he said. “I could have. But I didn't. Mr. Badger, Agent Watson.” He
looked at each of us as he said our names. “I loved my father. I am still
mourning his untimely passing. But I am not in the business my father was in. I
am not a drug dealer. I am an attorney. An ethical attorney.”

“Really?”
I said. “Providing legal representation for the cartels is considered ethical?”

He
didn’t respond.

“And
being a sadistic little prick who likes to hurt people is considered ethical as
well?” I added.

I
hit a nerve. He was close to losing it. But he held on, fortifying himself
against the insult. Finally, he was able to manage a smile and ask, “Am I being
charged with a crime?”

“No,”
Alex said. “Not at all. And we appreciate your cooperation.”

Alex
and I stood.

“We'll
be going now, Mr. Esposito.”

As
we started across the patio toward the house, Esposito said, “I hope you find
your friend Mr. Badger, in whatever condition she may be.”

I
turned back and Alex stepped in front of me. “You can't afford to indulge
yourself,” he said, quietly. “Save it.”

Esposito
was smiling. I made my right hand look like a gun and pointed it at him. I
dropped my thumb as if I were shooting him. He continued to smile, but in his
eyes I could see a momentary flash of fear. I turned back toward the house. His
guards had their guns out.

“Wouldn’t
have made a difference,” I said to them, and walked through the house to our
car out front.

Chapter 7

Tuesday Afternoon

“What
do you think?” Alex asked as he pulled out of Esposito's drive onto PCH.

“I
don't know. I didn't buy that crap about him mourning his father’s passing. Guy
like that probably didn't give a dog fart about his old man. When daddy's dead,
he takes over the family business. That's what he'd be interested in. He's
probably glad Monica shot his father.”

“If
that's the case,” Alex said, “why would he take Monica? Our working hypothesis
has been that Monica was taken as a form of retaliation. If he's happy that she
killed his father, why retaliate?”

“I
don't know. All I know is I don't like him and I'd like to wring his neck.”

“Sure.
Me, too.
But that won't get Monica back.”

“I
know. That's why he's still alive.”

Just
then my phone rang.

“Jake,
Vince. Got the files for you.”

“That
was fast.”

“Like
I said, she's a friend.”

“Must
a good friend. You should hang on to her.”

“I'm
thinking about it.”

“When
can I come and get them?”

“Any
time,” Vince said. “How about dinner time today?”

“Where
do you want to meet?”

“Idle
Spurs Steakhouse, in Barstow.
Old Highway 58.
Six
o’clock.”

“See
you then.”

Alex
looked at me.

“Got
all of Monica's old army case files,” I said. “Picking them up tonight at six.”

He
smiled and shook his head. “How'd you manage that?”

“Old
army buddy.”

“But
you weren't in the army.”

I
explained about the joint operations Vince and I were involved in.

“So
Jessie in the DEA and Vince in the Army ... You may have as many sources as I
have,” Alex said.

“Nothing
better than friends in the right places,” I said.

We
decided to stop at Gladstone's for lunch. I ordered a cheeseburger; Alex
ordered a chicken wrap. Seventeen bucks each. Drinks were extra. Since the FBI
was paying, I didn't mind.

Our
drinks came. We sat quietly for a few minutes. I was angry and I was
frightened. I'd find her. I was certain of it.
But in what
condition?
That depended on who had her and why he'd taken her. I was
struggling to remain detached and logical, as I needed to be, instead of giving
in to rage and desperation. But I felt like I was losing the battle. I'd never
felt so vulnerable before, so helpless. When Elaine was killed, I'd felt
responsible, guilty,
angry
. But I could not remember
ever feeling so helpless. Not even in battle. Someone had the woman I loved,
and I had no idea who or where or even why. When I thought about the
hopelessness of the situation, I wanted to lash out, to make something happen.
But I didn't know who to lash out against. My pent up rage was burning me up
inside.

“Would
it help to talk about it?” Alex asked.

My
eyes met his. I took in a deep breath.

“I
don't know.”

“It
might,” he said.

I
looked at him. I didn't know what to say, where to begin.

“You
love her, don't you?” Alex said.

I
nodded. “Yes.”

“I
think you've loved her a long time. You just didn't know it. Or you couldn't
admit it because of your feelings for Elaine.”

I
still didn't know what to say. Emotions charged through me like massive amounts
of electrical voltage permeating every fiber of my being.

“Learning
the truth about Elaine,” Alex said, “regardless of how painful it was, was
probably the best thing that ever happened to you. The truth set you free, made
it possible for you to love again.”

He
was right. Everything he was saying was right.

“And
just as you allowed yourself to feel love again, just as you opened yourself up
to someone who really loved you, she was ripped out of your life. And you feel
like if you can't get her back, you'll explode.”

I
nodded, struggling with the emotion of it all.

Alex
paused a moment to drink some of his Coke. Then he said, “You know, when I
asked if it would be helpful to talk about it, I was thinking you might
actually do some of the talking.”

I
started to reply. But as I did the emotion surged upward and I realized that
holding it in, containing it entirely, was the only way I could control it.
Even the slightest opening, to let out just a little bit of what I was feeling,
would weaken the structure containing the swirling sea of emotion. The powerful
forces raging within would overwhelm the fragile fortress and come rushing out,
destroying everything in their path. The only way to survive the flood was to
contain it.

I
realized that my eyes had become fixed on the vastness of the ocean beyond the
window we sat next to. I pulled my eyes back to Alex. He was watching me. All I
could do was shake my head.

Alex
nodded. “Okay,” he said, and took another sip of his Coke. “I got all that
stuff from my sister, by the way, the psychologist. I've got no experience whatsoever
in any of that kind of stuff.”

Just
then our food came. I was thankful for the distraction.

After
we each took a couple of bites, Alex said, “Susan's worried about you, you
know. I think she loves you, too.”

My
eyes met his once more.

“Two
beautiful women,” he said, shaking his head. “Both of them in love with you.
One of them my sister.
I don't understand it. In every other
respect they seem perfectly normal. Obviously, at some deep level there's
something seriously wrong with them.”

The
smirk on his face as he spoke eased some of the tension within. Aside from
Monica, Alex was my very best friend. I loved him like a brother. His insult
made me smile. The surging emotions within subsided enough for me to speak.

“You're
just jealous,” I said. “Even though you're afraid of women.”

“I'm
not afraid of women,” he said, pretending to be insulted. “I supervise
twenty-three female agents.”

“Sure.
And if you thought one of them was interested in you, you'd become
uncontrollably flatulent.”

He looked shocked for a brief moment, and then we both began laughing so
hard that others in the restaurant began looking at us.