Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 03 - Snow Cone (21 page)

In amongst these activities, no one had noticed that our taxi driver drove past the hotel.  It wasn’t intentional on his part and proved to be an important accidental move. 
Galveston informed him that he had missed the hotel.  The driver turned around and dropped us behind the building. 

We strolled through an alley to get to the front door. 
Galveston fought the urge to look into the folders.  He didn’t want to seem too eager since Sally had been emotionally moved by her meeting with Veronica.

Galveston
got to the edge of the narrow alley and was about to turn the corner when he spotted something that made him stop.  He motioned for us to get behind him.  He pointed across the street. 

I saw a man standing against a lamp post.  I couldn’t tell what was odd about the man, but it seemed an odd place to stand reading a paper.  We liked this hotel because there was no good place for someone to observe it.  The streets were too narrow for a car to park, and the buildings on the other side were mixed with tailor shops and fruit stands.  It was also a very quiet street.  We hadn’t seen anyone milling about on the sidewalks since we had been there.

Galveston whispered to me.  “I want you and Sally to go into the building first.  I’ll see if you’re followed.”

I was horrified.  I didn’t want to be bait. 
Galveston spoke to Sally, and she produced the same response.

“Do you two want to be the ones to take him down if I’m followed?” he asked us collectively.

Sally and I looked at each other.  We certainly didn’t.  I shrugged my shoulders and held Sally by the arm as we walked around the corner.

“Don’t look his way,” I instructed her as we neared the door.

We got to the front door and went inside the hotel.  Galveston watched the man’s reaction closely.  He peered at us over the top of his paper as we walked into the hotel.  When we were inside, he looked both ways before crossing the street.  Galveston peeked around the corner, and when the man disappeared inside, he gave chase.

Sally and I got in the elevator and pushed the button for the third floor.

“That’s not where our room is,” she corrected me, but I grabbed her hand before she pushed the button for the fourth floor.

“If we’re being followed, I don’t want to let him know where our room is.  We’ll take the stairs.”

She nodded her head.  Maybe a little excitement would help release her from the doldrums.  Galveston had given me the folders, and I stuck them under my shirt and in the waistband of my pants.

I didn’t see the man when the elevator door closed, but he was there.  He walked to the door of the elevator and looked at the numbers above, seeing that we were going to the third floor.  He pushed the button to go up and waited for the elevator to come back down. 

Galveston had silently moved inside the building and watched the man intently from behind a stone column.  He saw him get in the elevator when it opened as the man attempted to follow us to the third floor.

Galveston
smiled when he saw it wasn’t our floor.  He was like a proud papa when I followed something he had taught me.  Galveston went into the stairway and ran up the stairs.  He didn’t have any idea who the man was, and the element of surprise needed to be on his side.

The third floor was empty when he opened the door from the stairwell.  The slow elevator a
llowed him to catch his breath and enough time to get there before the unknown man did.  He placed himself in the doorway as the man from the street appeared.  The man looked in both directions quickly before moving to the first door he came upon.  He knocked and then stood next to it out of view.  The man moved to the next door when he didn’t receive a response, and Galveston noticed a small handgun appear at his side.

After a few more doors of knocking and waiting, the man moved around to the next hall.  He disappeared around the corner.  This was the time
Galveston would be able to strike. 

Galveston
walked to the corner and gave a glance down the hall.  The man continued his same procedure, this time getting a response and then profusely apologizing for knocking on the wrong door.  Galveston figured his most opportune time for an attack was when the man got to the end of the hall. 

The man stopped at the second to last door, the one across from an exit into the stairwell.  He knocked on the door and put his back against the wall on the right.  The man turned his head to the left toward the door as he waited for it to open, probably hoping we would answer. 

Galveston knew this was the time.  He walked quickly down the hall as the man was distracted, waiting for the door to open.  The gun was clearly in his right hand down by his thigh.  Galveston would have to get him away from the gun and into the stairwell.  His heart began pumping wildly as he got closer. 

When
Galveston was five feet away, the man must have sensed his presence.  He turned his head to the right quickly and saw the body of Galveston flying toward him.  The man attempted to bring the gun up from his side, but Galveston already had a hold of his arm.

Galveston
was able to pin his arm to the wall and gave him a knee to the stomach.  The man recovered from the blow quickly and turned on Galveston with his left hand, striking him in the head.  They grappled against the wall as Galveston struggled to release the man’s grip from the gun.

The man was smaller than
Galveston, but obviously well-trained.  He landed a few blows to Galveston’s stomach before reaching around his neck.  Galveston countered with a right hand to the man’s face and turned him toward the wall, getting the man in front of him. 

The door swung open and a woman peered around the corner.  She saw the altercation as
Galveston got the man’s right hand with the gun behind him. 

“London Police, just arresting this man!”
Galveston yelled at the woman who then immediately slammed the door.

Galveston
then began to ram the man into the wall, creating a cacophony of sounds.  He reached his arm around the man’s neck and squeezed.  The gun dropped from his hand, and Galveston applied even more pressure to the man’s throat with his free right hand.  The man tried to land a few elbows to Galveston’s gut, but it was too late.  The blood and oxygen supply to the man’s brain had been cutoff, and he eventually went limp and passed out.

Galveston
grabbed the gun and dragged the unconscious man to the stairwell.  He pulled off his belt and bound the man’s hands with it.  Galveston waited for a minute and the man began to regain consciousness.  He pulled him up to a standing position and pushed him up the stairs.

“Keep going,”
Galveston growled while pointing the gun at the back of the man’s head.  There was no way Galveston was going to kill the man, but if he had to place a strategic shot in his leg, he would.

They reached the fourth floor, and
Galveston checked the hall.  The last thing he wanted was a bystander to see him holding a gun on a tied up man.  Seeing that the hall was empty, he pushed the man forward toward our hotel room.

Galveston
rapped on the door.  “It’s me,” he shouted.

I pulled open the door to see the swelled face of the man from the street. 
Galveston didn’t look much better.  He pushed the man to the bed and shoved him on top.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I said nervously as I watched the man on the bed give us a deathly stare.  “And who do we have here?”

“He hasn’t said much.  I’m guessing CIA.  Am I correct?”  Galveston asked the man.  He responded by putting his head down.

“Check him over, Roger.  I need to splash some water on my face.” 
Galveston walked to Sally before heading to the bathroom.  “Put a couple in him if he tries anything,” he ordered her.  I prayed Sally knew he was kidding, or I hoped he was kidding.

I patted the man down.  He had no identification, of course, but he did have a cell phone.  I couldn’t access it since it had a code, and I could tell this man was not going to give one up.

Galveston returned with his face wet.  His eye was beginning to swell.  I met him out of earshot from the man on the bed. 

“I only found this,” I told him, holding up the phone.

“Good.  We’ll take it with us.” Galveston took the phone from me and put it in his pocket.  “Now, let’s strip him down.”

The man’s eyes grew wide.  These weren’t pleasant words to hear.

“Ah, come again?” I questioned, unsure if I had really heard him right.

“Yeah, strip him down.  He’s not going anywhere—oh, and tie him to the bed.”

I whispered to my colleague who I thought had lost his mind.  “Why, exactly?”

“Take his clothes off, put them in the tub, and fill it with water,” he said slowly as if that would help me understand.  “He’s not going to follow us.  If he does he’ll have wet clothes to contend with.  Get his shoes too.”

I shrugged my shoulders.  “Whatever,” I conceded.  At least he wasn’t going to be mean and have us throw the clothes out the window, but this was bad enough. 

Galveston
attempted to question the man but gave up after two questions.  We assumed he was a well-trained CIA officer that had tangled with a man of equal skill.  Galveston knew he wouldn’t answer, and he wasn’t going to try to beat it out of him.  It was something we just didn’t do.  We might have dangled him out the window for answers, but we wouldn’t try to beat him up.  We didn’t have time for either one anyway.  Galveston and I knew that the CIA, or whoever he was with, would be looking for us when the man didn’t return to them. 

Galveston
helped me get the man’s clothes off, and we threw them in a tub that was full of water.  I tied the man’s feet and hands to the bed with the phone cord.

“We’ll tell them you’re here,”
Galveston said to him.  The agent didn’t respond and only continued to stare.

“I think they’re all a little nuts,” I whispered to Sally.

“I think more than a little.  I want out of here,” she responded.

We quickly gathered our things and left the room. 
Galveston put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door for good measure. 

I sent a text to Alex and Jane informing them of our change in plans.  Alex immediately sent a text back to check the battery in
Galveston’s phone.  I did as he said and opened the back of the phone.  Everything was in place, but on the top of the battery there was a small black square.  I peeled it off and examined it before handing it to Galveston.

“Damn it.  It’s a bug.  Probably a tracking device,” he announced.

“But how?” I asked, exasperated at the notion we had been tracked.

“Probably when we were in
Iceland.  That’s when they took my phone.  I should have known,” he said, berating himself.

I sent a message to Alex, and he responded quickly again.  “Alex says to crush it.  He says those particular tracking devices only give an estimate of where we are, around a two mile radius.”

“That’s why there was only one guy.  I bet the CIA is staking out all the hotels around here.  Tell them to find us a new place, one far away from here.”

I sent the text as
Galveston crushed the electronic device under the heel of his shoe.  We didn’t know how much time we had until they could converge on the building. 

We hailed another taxi and ordered the driver to take us to the city center of
London.  From there we would wait until Alex and Jane could find us a new, acceptable hideout.

The strain from all the action was beginning to wear on Sally, but I was amazed she had lasted this long.  She was an adventurer, an adrenaline junky, and other than after the explosion, she had held her emotions in check like a pro.  We didn’t have time to think about our predicaments since things were happening so fast. 

The trip to the city center was a long one, and Galveston had held his curiosity in check long enough.  He had to see what was in those folders.

He opened the first one and began to read.  His eyes grew wide in astonishment at the words on the page.  “You’re not going to believe what we have,” he said in amazement.  “We have our bargaining chip.”

-Chapter 35-

The files read like a tell-all book.  It outlined all of Nikos’s activity with the Red Hand during the previous year; meeting places, jobs that were shared, and money that exchanged hands.  It even had an outline of the Red Hand’s layout and structure.

Veronica had been spot-on with her description of the Red Hand.  Nikos was indeed one of the fingers.  The other four were spread between the drug cartels of South America, an eastern European organized crime syndicate, a Chinese crime syndicate, and the Russian mafia.  Nikos was part of a bigger group of arms and weapons dealers that supplied the organization.

Galveston
tore through page after page of information about the syndicate.  There was no clear leader of the organization; instead they operated in a way similar to how a group of farmers would operate a co-op.  They pooled their resources to accomplish one common goal.  One faction would help another faction in their nefarious activities, be it drug running or extortion.  In return these members would receive benefits from helping the others; weapons’ sales, profits, or increased turf to control.  It was a convoluted and seemingly impossible task, but they had been doing it for years.

Nikos even explained in a daftly written letter that the group operated solely for the purpose of ease.  The Western governments had been cracking down on terrorist activities, making the activities of the crime
syndicate more detectable.  They needed a centralized system to deal with the problem.  The organization of the crime syndicates allowed them to move freely around the world, relying on criminal groups in each region to accomplish their work.

I couldn’t believe what
Galveston was telling me.  I had never heard of organized crime becoming this well organized.  It was as if a small nation of criminals had been created, and they were intent on spreading their chaos around the world.

Galveston
perused through more of the documents.  Nikos had laid out his unscrupulous activities in a neat and shocking timeline.  The Russian mafia helped him move guns into the region of Crimea in Ukraine.  The Chinese organized crime syndicate assisted him in transporting weapons to the drug lords of South America, and he helped the Eastern Europeans arrange meetings with the Russians.  The information was priceless, and it was then that I knew we truly had the ultimate bargaining chip.

As
Galveston continued to read, I began to think my usual nervous thoughts.  The Red Hand would go to any lengths to make sure the documents would never be passed to a government agency.  It made even more sense why Mayfield wanted us captured or put in jail so badly.  We were on to them, and if I believed they could be frightened, this was the information that would do it.  They had gotten to Mayfield, most likely with money, and he was our prime concern right now.

“Here Nikos talks about the operation in
Greenland,” he announced.

I pulled the page from him and read Nikos’s rather hurried writing.  Our far-fetched hunch had proved correct.  They had coerced men from
Serbia and other nations to join a mining company in Greenland with promises of high-pay and steady work.  Nikos had been assigned to find the weapon for the Red Hand’s latest coup—the discovery of enriched uranium.  This is when Nikos decided he had had enough of the Red Hand, and Veronica had convinced him to leave.  This criminal, this heinous individual, had a change of heart.  He decided he would no longer be a part of the Red Hand.  He wouldn’t be a part in the killing of scores of people just so the Red Hand could gain more power.  But this was when he sealed his fate—no one ever left the Red Hand.

I perused the last page of the documents that Nikos had left with Veronica.  My eyes shot back and forth across the page.  This was the information he wanted to get into the right hands.

The page was filled with the meeting times of various syndicates of the Red Hand.  One in particular was an arms auction that was set to take place in only a few days in St. Moritz, Switzerland.  This was where they were going to auction off the enriched uranium to the highest bidder that had affiliations with the Red Hand.  Nikos explained the rules to the auction in one succinct sentence—anyone with ties to the Red Hand could participate.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  If that nuclear material got onto the black market there would be no telling in whose hands it would fall.

I thought it was odd for a criminal organization to even concern themselves with it.  What kind of reward could they get for the risk?  But it actually made sense.  It was the ultimate leveraging piece.  If a group needed to start a revolution, or intimidate a government, this was going to do it.  The Red Hand was all about helping each other, as crazy as that sounded. 

“But how did they even learn of the nuclear bomb in Greenland and where to look?” I wondered to myself.  That was the biggest mystery.  What started the ball rolling?

Nikos wrote about how the Red Hand had begun a new program of infiltrating governments with their own agents.  It all continually led back to the CIA agent, Mayfield.  He was the catalyst.  But how did he find out from Sartine, the CEO of Terrain Scape, about the possibility of a nuclear weapon in the ice back in
Greenland?  That single question still gnawed at me.  I just couldn’t understand or fathom the link.  The answer would have to reveal itself in due time.

When I finally turned the last page over
, my eyeballs almost popped from their sockets.  In a last gesture of goodwill, Nikos had written down the account numbers and passwords to his two Swiss bank accounts and the instructions on how to use them.  His wishes were for the money to go to Veronica.

I began to place the documents back in the manila folder when I felt a round object at the bottom.  I reached in and pulled out a gray disk, slightly larger than the size of a silver dollar.  It had an inscription on the top that read,
Unitas per Sanguis
.  I knew it to be latin, but had no idea of its meaning.  The disk had five holes along the top edge with another hole at the bottom that had a piece of brown cord going through it.  The backside of the disk was blank.  There had been no mention of the object in Nikos’s writings, and I stared at it, wondering about its possible meaning.

I showed it to
Galveston who looked it over thoughtfully.  He too had no experience with latin words but stared at it intently.  Everything else in Nikos’s packet had purpose, what could this piece possibly mean?

I used my phone and searched for the latin inscription—nothing came up.  I then searched each word individually and found some answers. 
Unitas
meant unity,
Sanguis
was one of the many words for blood.  “Unity and blood,” I thought to myself.  “Sounds rather ominous.”  I found a latin dictionary and discovered the word
per
meant “through”.

“Unity through blood,” I told
Galveston.  “That’s what the inscription means, I guess.  Latin is not my strong suit.”

“That’s lovely.  They’re just a bunch of sweethearts, aren’t they,” he responded sarcastically.

“Yeah, sounds like a group I would like to join.  What do you think the holes are for?” I asked him.

“Well,
there are six holes and five are spread apart.”  Galveston traced an imaginary line with his finger from each of the top holes to the bottom hole.  It resembled five fingers and a palm.  “Does that help answer your question?”

I was convinced at that point that we had some type of identification for members of the Red Hand.  I found it rather shocking that the crime syndicate would have such a system in place.  They were far better organized than
Galveston and I could have imagined.  We still couldn’t figure out why the brown cord was attached to it, but I guessed it had some sort of meaning.

I decided to not press our brains further in figuring it out, and I put the gray disk in my pocket for safe keeping.  I wanted to make sure we didn’t let it out of our sight. 

We had almost reached the city center when the phone in Galveston’s pocket began to ring.  It was the phone we had taken from the agent, who was probably still laying on the bed in his boxer shorts.

Galveston
looked at it and said, “Game on.”  He pushed the talk button.  “Hello,” he said in a rather jovial voice.

“Who is this,” the voice demanded.

“Who do you think it is,” Galveston replied.

“
Galveston,” the voice mumbled.  “Where is my agent?”

“Just taking a short nap, Mayfield.  He got hot and decided to take off his clothes.”  I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Galveston, you don’t know what you’re doing,” Mayfield growled.  “You’re playing a game you cannot win.”

“Listen you little puke.  We know what you’re up to, and you better not try to find us.  I have enough information about your little scheme to bring down your entire operation.”

“What do you want?” Mayfield replied with anger in his voice.

“Just to see you get thrown in jail along with the rest of your pals.  If you think I’m kidding, I have papers from Nikos Christopoulos, you know, the international arms dealer.  The guy you blew up, if that helps.”

“Hold it, what?  We didn’t cause that explosion.  Galveston, you don’t know who you’re messing with,” Mayfield retorted.

Galveston
‘s personal phone began to ring.  It was Browning.

“Mayfield, I’ll call you back.  I have another call.”  Before Mayfield could respond
Galveston hung up the line on him.

He tapped the talk button on his own phone this time.  “Hello,
Galveston here,” he said as if he was answering a call at the office.

“You weren’t at the meeting point, what happened?” Browning asked anxiously.

“We had something we had to do.  I captured one of Mayfield’s men staking out our hotel.” 

There was a long pause before Browning spoke again.  “Where are you now?”

“We’re still at the hotel,” Galveston lied, “just awaiting your call.”

“You must meet with me,” he said forcefully.  “Mayfield intends to capture you, and he will kill you.  You know that, right?”

“I know,” Galveston said seriously, “but I need some reassurance that you can take care of our problem back in the states.  I have information that may interest you if you can accomplish that.”

The phone grew quiet again.  “What have you got?”  Browning asked.

“We have information about the Red Hand.  We know who was in that building, and it’s his information.  If you can get us cleared of the murder accusations then you can have the papers,” Galveston bargained.

Browning didn’t answer, and
Galveston could hear the man breathing on the other end.  Galveston figured it would be information Browning would be excited to have, but there was no adulation from him or excitement.

“I can get you cleared, but you must meet me so I know you’re safe.  The information you have won’t matter if Mayfield gets to you.  I can’t reiterate enough that he intends to kill you.”  Browning was clearly becoming exasperated. 

Galveston couldn’t understand the problem.  Browning had the tools to call in reinforcements to apprehend Mayfield, but the man wasn’t implying he would do so.  He only wanted them to meet.  Galveston was becoming skeptical about the man and his intentions.  He put his hand over the phone.

“Drop us off here, sir,” he barked at the taxi driver.

I turned to him with a confused look.  “What are you doing?”

Galveston
didn’t answer and peered at a street sign out the window.  He then spoke in the phone again.  “Browning, meet us near Leicester Square, on the corner of Bear Street and Cranborn Street in twenty minutes.  If you’re not there alone, we’re out.  I will be waiting at the corner.  Pull up and get out of your car.  I’ll take you to Roger and Sally from there.”

Browning answered immediately.  “Okay, I’m on my way.  Please, don’t leave,” he pleaded.

Galveston ignored the statement and hung up the phone.  “I don’t know what I hate more, these endless calls, or someone lying to me.”

“You think Browning is lying?” I asked as we stepped out of the taxi.

“I don’t know who’s lying, Roger.  But this guy is playing games.  I can feel it in my bones.”

I didn’t know what
Galveston was up to, and Sally just stared at us in bewilderment.  I knew he had a good reason, but being out in the open like this was disconcerting.

“Let’s go to that small park.  It will give us a good vantage point around the square.”

We walked across the street and found a bench behind a group of large trees that dotted the park.  Galveston explained his idea.

“I’m going to plan a little meeting between Mayfield and Browning.  I want to see how serious Browning is about capturing Mayfield.  I think we may be getting played by both of them.”

“Roger, you call Mayfield.  Tell him to meet us at the same place I told Browning.  If I talk to that guy again I may throw up.”

I took the phone we had borrowed from the agent and speed dialed the number of Mayfield; it only rung once before he answered.

“Galveston, you have to listen to me,” Mayfield began, imploring us to cooperate.