Crown's Law (48 page)

“She hired you to find her brother? So you’re
the one who ran the prints?”

“Our L.A. office did. I collected the prints.
Then I got a court order—personally delivered by Carl
Fenster—telling me to turn over everything I had and get
amnesia.”

“Where did you get the prints?” asked Bo,
intrigued by his story.

“From the envelope William left with Carole.
She let Pearl lift prints off it. Then we gave it back. So the
process kind of went like ‘oops’ in D.C., the Mrs. Wellington sting
blew up, and then William turns up dead. I can see the bureaucracy
grinding to a halt in D.C. Then you show up.”

“What happened to the Wellington sting?”
asked Bo. “How did you get involved in that?”

Sam was now on dangerous ground. He had to
leave out the hot sex part.

“Carole Winston hired me as a bodyguard to
escort her to the gala. That turned out to be a mistake. I don’t
know why she hired me. I shouldn’t have been there. She knew what
was going down that night.”

Bo smiled. “I know why she hired you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. She’s a woman and you’re . . . well,
you. She fell under your spell I would guess. As I did. What
happened at the gala?”

He told her.

“So she underestimated you, too,” laughed Bo.
“Why do we women do that? I guess we never see beyond the charm . .
. and sexual aura. Should I be jealous?”

“That was before I knew you. She’s long gone.
She was a client. I didn’t know she was FBI until much later. I’ve
never had a case where I knew so much and still couldn’t nail the
bad guys. If your damned JTFE doesn’t get off the pot and wrap this
up, I will end up killing someone.”

“God, don’t do that, Sam! We’ll nail those
guys!”

“When? Before or after they get another shot
at us? Or Becky? The way I see it, your JTFE is only after some
mole. They didn’t send you to Santa Ana to solve Winston’s murder.
You were just there to make sure nothing got in the way of your
investigation.”

Bo was silent. She knew Sam was right.

Sam went on, “Not a slam at you personally,
Bo. It’s just that the system is wrong. Top heavy. Power games at
the top. I know more about this case than anyone and I’m powerless.
That says something.”

“You know even more than you’ve told me,
don’t you?” whispered Bo.

“A bit. Not that any of it does me or
you any good. Bobby D’Orr is a thug who doesn’t mind torturing his
victims.
Dynology
smuggles
most anything except drugs—weapons, diamonds, cigarettes,
electronics. Even people. That’s why someone should be watching
their container ships. These are evil people, Bo.”

“How do you know they don’t smuggle
drugs?”

“Because they’re smart. They would have a
serious turf war in drugs. Nobody gives a shit about the other
stuff.”

Saturday, July 7, 2001

Big Bear Lake, CA

Bo said, “People do care about all of
that—but I do agree that JTFE is focused on espionage. That is a
matter of national security, you know. Very high priority.”

Sam shrugged. “Tell that to William
Wainwright. He’s dead.”

Bo snuggled up to Sam, put her hand on his
inner thigh. “Let’s not argue. Tomorrow, I’ll call my boss and give
him some of these facts you’ve summarized—get someone watching
their ships. And tell him we need to find their alternate
headquarters.”

“I’m not arguing. I’m just frustrated—and
worried about how to keep Becky safe until this is over.”

She kissed him. “I know. Let’s table it for
now—revisit everything tomorrow. This is such a romantic setting.
Why don’t we get comfortable?”

She removed her shirt. He smiled.

***

Early the next morning, Bo called her boss at
home and they talked for an hour. Sam spoke to him for ten minutes
and gave his version of what had happened in the Colorado
Mountains.

“He’ll get some things moving, Sam,” said Bo
after they hung up.

“Maybe,” shrugged Sam. “I won’t entrust our
safety or Becky’s to him. I’ll have to take care of that. Let’s
pack up, get some breakfast, and get off this mountain. There’s a
lot to do.”

They drove down to the
Teddy Bear Restaurant
on Pine Knot
and Sam ordered eggs, country potatoes, and chicken-fried steak
with country gravy. Bo had a plain omelet and an English
muffin.

Sam said, “You should eat more than that.
You’ll need your energy.”

Bo sipped her coffee. “I can’t imagine how
you’re going to eat that conglomeration you have in front of you.
That’ll give you energy for a week! Or clogged arteries!”

“I know it’s more than I usually eat for
breakfast, but I always order this when I’m here. It’s just too
damn delicious!” He changed subjects. “I called my dad and briefed
him. They will be flying in from Spain tomorrow. I need to figure
out a way to keep Becky safe for the next few days.”

Bo wrinkled her brow. “The Bureau may not
solve this in the next few days.”

He laughed. “You can bet on that. How much
vacation time do you have left?”

“I took all of next week. I thought we would
be romping around the Colorado Mountains—getting to really know
each other,” she replied.

“Good. You can act as bodyguard for Becky. We
need to decide on a place to stash you two until I can put an end
to this.”

“If I’m with Becky, what will you be doing?”
she asked, alarm in her voice, her eyes wide.

He answered, “I’m going into the
streets, talk to people. If those
Dynology
assholes are still in Orange County,
I’ll find them. That is, my snitches will. If they moved to a new
building recently, it will be easier. Realtors will know which
buildings have had activity.”

Bo shrugged. “Sounds improbable. You’re just
one man. The FBI will have an entire team looking for them.”

Sam laughed. “Unless the FBI knows something
I don’t know about, they’ll never find them before I do. This is my
county. I’ll put the word out on the street. I’ll have hundreds of
people looking for them. And I won’t need court orders and search
warrants to look where I need to look.”

Bo frowned. “Don’t you dare get yourself in
trouble! And it sounds dangerous! I should be with you!”

“You have to be with Becky. Besides, your
badge will get in the way. No one will talk to me if you’re with
me.”

“Promise me that if you find them, you’ll
tell me. Let the FBI handle it,” pleaded Bo.

“I have to find them first,” he replied, not
giving her an answer. “Where can we hide you and Becky for a few
days? Somewhere that no one would ever guess? I’ve already called
Pearl and told her to lock up the office and make herself scarce
this week. She’s flying to San Francisco to visit a sister.”

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t
you?”

“Very. If they’re looking for the tapes from
those bugs, they might break into the office. I had Pearl call a
roaming security firm and the Santa Ana police to keep an eye out
for a break-in. I certainly don’t want them to get their hands on
Pearl. It could get ugly.”

Bo didn’t speak for a beat, then said, “If
you’re determined to do it this way—and I’m still not sure I agree
with you—then maybe I could take Becky to Durango for a few
days.”

Sam forked some scrambled eggs into his mouth
and chewed as he pondered her suggestion.

“They know about Durango. They’ll probably be
watching there. I want you somewhere that I can get to in a hurry
if you need me,” Sam finally replied.

“Well, let’s finish breakfast and get on the
road. We can kick it around on the way down the mountain.”

Sunday, July 8, 2001

Capistrano Beach, CA

Sam drove the rented Tahoe through the Beach
Road guard gate at 11:30 A.M. When he got to his parents’ beach
house he drove slowly past it, giving it a quick onceover. He
spotted nothing out of the ordinary. He drove on down the road for
a few houses, then turned around and came back. He parked in front
of the garages because his door opener was in his Camaro. He and Bo
got out of the car and walked along the side of the house to the
front door.

Sam said, “This house has a very
sophisticated alarm system, so I doubt if there are any bad guys
inside. But let’s walk out on the deck and check the beach. Got
your nine?”

“Yes. You’re spooking me out,” replied
Bo.

“Better safe than sorry, as the old cliché
goes. Follow me to the deck.”

Sam walked down the flagstone walk, past the
small garden, and down the path to the beach-side deck. No one on
the deck, no one on the beach. Then they went back to the front
door. Sam used his key, walked in and entered the appropriate code
into the security keypad. Then he went quickly to the entry closet,
opened the door, and entered another code into a second keypad. Bo
was amazed.

“Wow! Double security?” she exclaimed.

“Yeah. If someone defeats the first one
somehow, the second one gets them. However, to be sure, let’s clear
the house.”

He reached up on the closet shelf and
retrieved a wooden box. A small key on his keyring opened it. He
took out an object wrapped in an oily cloth. A 9mm Baretta.

“House gun,” he explained.

He shoved the ammo clip into the handle,
pulled the slide.

“Let’s do it.”

She drew her nine.

***

Twenty minutes later, house secured, they sat
on the deck at an umbrella table sipping lemonade that Sam had
found in the fridge.

Bo said, “Maybe you’re being a little
paranoid, Sam. No one has been here.”

“They’re watching from somewhere. Or will be.
Let’s stay alert. Mom and Dad and Becky are flying into John Wayne
tomorrow at 3 P.M. We need a plan by then,” he said. “A ’Nam buddy
of mine owns a motel in Oceanside. I can call him and see if he has
a room for you and Becky. It’s not the Marriott, but it’s a block
from the ocean and should be just fine for a few days. For now, I
guess we can go turn in the rental Tahoe. My Camaro is locked up in
the garage by the Mickey office—with my favorite gun in it. I took
a cab to the airport. I didn’t want to leave the Camaro in airport
parking. We can turn in the Tahoe in Santa Ana, then we’ll come
back down here for cocktails and dinner.”

***

When the two of them were comfortably
strapped into the Camaro, Sam asked, “Did any of that useless
surveillance performed by the FBI happen to get any pictures of the
bad guys? D’Orr? Bryce? Chase?”

Bo stuck out her tongue at him. “Yes. We’re
not completely imcompetant!”

“Can you get some copies? I would like my
grapevine to know who they’re looking for,” he replied.

“Swing by Fenster’s office. I can get them by
using his computer—then make a bunch of copies.”

***

The next stop—much to Bo’s
surprise—was
Sparky’s
. It was
5 P.M. by then, so Sam ordered a draft beer and Bo a white wine.
Sam waved at Boomer, who was at one of the pool tables, and
motioned for him to come to the bar. He introduced him to Bo, then
told Boomer and Sparky what he wanted. He gave both of them sets of
pictures of the unholy three.

“Make more copies if you need to, Boomer, but
I want all your people looking for these assholes. Pass the word.
If anyone finds them—or even one of them—call my cell. Don’t take
any action. And be careful. They’re armed and dangerous. And more
importantly, the FBI is looking, too, so keep an eye out for them.
Don’t let them make you,” explained Sam.

Boomer looked at Bo.

“You said Bo was FBI, Sam. Are we at risk
here?” asked Boomer.

“No. Bo is on board with this, but the
FBI will be doing it by the book—slowly. I want some results
now!
Comprende
?” said Sam.
“Bo will be guarding Becky while I make the rounds.”

Sparky exploded. “Becky is a target?”

“I think so,” answered Sam.

Boomer said, “Bastards! We’ll find the
assholes!”

Bo interjected, “Remember. Don’t get in
trouble. Let the FBI handle it. Just find them for us, if you
can.”

***

On the way to the beach house on I-5, Bo
asked, “Who was that Boomer guy? He looked like a criminal.”

“He was—once.” Sam explained about Boomer’s
biker club. “He can put 40 or 50 people on the street. He also
knows the right places to look.”

“You sure have an eclectic collection of
friends,” she laughed.

He intended to call Danny the drug kingpin
tomorrow. He wouldn’t tell her about that.

“Yes . . . I do.”

They had a cozy dinner at
The
Quiet
Cannon
—overlooking Dana Point Harbor—then returned to
the beach house. They cautiously checked it again. All
clear.

“This is really grating on my nerves,” said
Bo as they went to the bar on the deck and Sam poured each of them
a cognac.

“Mine, too,” he agreed. “I wish they would
make a move at me. Then I could shoot the assholes—get this over
with.”

His Smith .40 lay on the bar, cocked and
ready.

“I don’t really want you in a shoot out with
them, Sam,” replied Bo. “Let’s just find them and let the odds be
in our favor.”

“You mean let the ‘big boys’ handle it?” he
said.

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know. I just want it over with.” He put
his arm around her and squeezed her breast. “Take me to bed and
have your way with me. Take my mind off this shit.”

***

The next morning over coffee, Bo called
her boss and got an update on FBI activity. They had finally moved
against
Dynology
in Irvine
based on the fact that they had the Top Secret equations on Becky’s
test, and the FBI crime tech people had traced the chopper in
Colorado to
Dynology
. They
were confiscating all computers, paper files, etc., in an effort to
prove espionage. If evidence of other crimes showed up, so be it.
They had not found D’Orr, Bryce, or Chase. All other employees had
been arrested and were being questioned. Twenty agents were charged
with finding the missing three. All known telephone and cell phone
numbers had been tapped. Search warrants were also obtained
for
Dynology
’s container
ships and dock warehouses. They were being searched with
drug-sniffing dogs, high-tech equipment, and Coast Guard
teams.