Jack shrugged his shoulders. “He must have been the one who killed Robert Lohman. It seems logical that the next target would be Gilbert.” He looked at Gilbert who seemed a bit pale. “I'm not trying to be flippant; I really thought you two were both thinking the same thing. I mean, he didn’t kill you. Now that he has missed his chance, you're on guard.”
Gilbert’s mind had completely shut down. Though he was a field agent, he always thought of himself as more of a strategist never a ‘spy’ who might be eliminated. Normally he would have been furious to think Jack had figured something out before him but now it just seemed petty, especially since Jack might be right.
Gilbert got himself a drink and offered one to Jack. When he handed Jack his drink, he did something he had never done; he paid him a compliment. “Jack, I give you a hard time, but your analysis seems to be the most logical. Thanks. It may have saved my life.”
Jack raised his glass and clinked it with Gilbert’s glass. Nobody was going to be sleeping for a long time.
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
He didn’t know why he had kept the meeting with Jack from the FBI guys as they were much more polite than the CIA had been. He decided it was just his nature. Then his mind started to drift. He wasn’t in the mood to be a detective. He called Luna and talked with her for a little, but she didn’t seem to be in a great mood. He decided against asking her if she wanted to go out for dinner.
Henry dialed a number. The phone only rang once, “Bonjour.”
“Francis, it’s Henry, how is the novel going?”
“I've written about 7000 words this week, and some of them aren’t too bad. How is the detective business?”
“It has been a crazy week. I thought I would give Mike a call, and we could meet at
The Dublin Rogue
if you aren’t working tonight.”
“No, I went to a great restaurant last night and already finished the review. How about seven o’clock? I want to bang out a few more pages.”
“Sounds good, I’ll call Mike.”
Henry heard feet in the hallway, but they stopped and went into another office. He dialed Mike, and the phone rang three times. He was about to hang up when Mike answered, sounding tired, “Hello, Mike here.”
“Were you sleeping?”
“Oh, hey, Henry. Yes, I was, but it's okay. Did you look into any of those names?”
“I’ve had an interesting day. You want to meet Francis and me at
The Dublin Rogue
around seven?”
“Sure, I'll be up from the second half of my nap by then.”
“Go back to sleep.” Henry hung up the phone and realized he was feeling rather beat, too. He went out and locked the office door. Grabbing his hat, he returned to the chair. He leaned back, put the hat over his eyes, and propped his feet on the desk. Any detective worth his salt knew how to sleep almost anywhere. It didn’t take long before he was out.
Henry was dreaming of being chased when the knock at the door woke him. The rapid, almost apologetic, rather frantic knock could only be one person. Henry yelled, “Be right there, Bobby.” He lumbered out to the door and let him in.
“Hey, Henry, how you doing? Were you asleep? Sorry about that. I was talking to Ivan, and he said you were working today.”
“Well, I did for …”
Bobby interrupted, “Sleeping on the job, eh?” Then he laughed in his nervous sort of way. “I haven’t found anything new. I just wanted to know if you had. I'm sure there is more to this case than we think. I was thinking the other day, I think it was before the game, no it was after. Boy, that was fun, thanks again for taking me. Did you see the Dodgers won again last night?”
“I did.” Henry answered quickly, knowing that a longer sentence didn’t have a chance of being wedged into his stream of rambling.
“I know, I know, I know, it's exciting. They are going to do great this year. So I was thinking about the Daniel Kupton case, and there has to be a lot more going on here than we can tell.”
“I agree.”
“You do? Great minds, I guess. So you got any new leads? Where is Celine?” Bobby slapped himself on the head, then continued, “Oh, wait a minute, it's Saturday. She doesn’t work. I can’t believe I just asked that. Anyway, Ivan said some guys came to see you. I was talking to him downstairs. He had to repair the sink in the women’s bathroom on the 7th floor and was just coming back from the hardware store, but that isn’t important. I guess they didn’t know you usually don’t work on Saturdays. Why are you working?” Bobby stopped and looked at Henry, almost surprised he didn’t answer immediately.
Henry wasn’t sure if he was just pausing for a breath or if he really wanted an answer. When a second passed and Bobby hadn’t started up again, he said, “To be honest, I forgot it was Saturday. I got a call from Mike this morning, and, to answer your other question, I do have more to fill you in on.” Henry stopped for a moment, expecting some sort of dancing about, but Bobby just stared at him. He did have a smile on his face, though. “Tell you what. I'm meeting Mike and Francis for dinner at
The Dublin Rogue
. Why don’t you come along? I’ll tell you all about it then.”
Now he was excited. “That sounds great. What time?”
“7:00 p.m. as Francis wanted to finish up some writing.”
“Got it, see you there.” Bobby wheeled around and dashed out of the office.
Henry liked the strange little man, though he couldn’t really explain why. He looked at his watch and kicked his feet up on the desk. He napped some more.
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
Lawrence looked everywhere but couldn’t find his jacket. If his mother found out, she would be really sore at him. He didn’t want that; she had the ability to yell for what seemed like days, then follow it up with a guilt trip that never seemed to end. She was listening to the radio, so he snuck out the kitchen door and crept past the living room window to reach his car on the street. He started the car and pulled out before she had a chance to stick her head out and holler at him.
He was supposed to meet his friends in an hour, but Lawrence really wanted to find his jacket. He was going to be late. The drive out to Long Island Iron Works was uneventful. He pulled up to the gate and showed the guard his badge; he explained that he had left something in his locker before the guard could ask what he was doing there on a Saturday night.
It was strange to see the plant at night. The guys had explained that a few years ago there were three shifts per day, seven days per week. When the company started to struggle, they had to cut back. They laid off a bunch of workers. The parking lot had a few old cars up near the door, so Lawrence parked next to them. He figured they were either guards or janitors. The buildings looked strange; there were but a few lights, and it was eerily quiet. Lawrence walked up to the door. It was open, which seemed strange. He had expected the guard in the lobby to need to let him in.
Lawrence was painfully aware of his footsteps as he approached the desk; they seemed to echo. It was so empty and quiet. He peered over the desk. The tiny lamp was on and a crossword puzzle was partially finished in pencil, but there wasn’t a guard. He must be on rounds, Lawrence thought. Still, he wished he could see someone.
He went down the hall and through the door and made his way to the plant floor. His locker was in the next building. Lawrence stuck to the wide paths between the massive machines and made it to the side door. He crossed over to building B, and it was just as empty as the last one. The stillness was upsetting. He wanted to check for his jacket and get back to the car as quickly as possible. Lawrence eased the locker open and there it was, hanging right where he had left it.
As soon as he saw it there, he remembered why he had left it. He was going to the bar with the guys and didn’t want to get drunk and forget it there. Instead, he had gotten drunk and couldn’t remember much of anything. He looked at his watch after sliding on the leather coat and flicking up the collar. He really liked how cool he felt when he put it on.
Lawrence nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the talking. There were three men walking towards him, but what were they saying? It wasn’t English. He didn’t know why he felt the need to hide, but he did anyway. He moved behind the machine nearest the lockers and, as the men walked past him, he noticed their tone. It was very serious. The one man seemed to be giving commands or instructions while the other two kept saying ‘dah.’ He saw them through a gap. They looked like normal guys until the guy in charge said something, and one of the other guys raised his hand in a sort of salute. It was dark, but they were passing under one of the lights, and it was easy to see the leader had a gun in the waistband of his pants.
Maybe they were guards, he thought, but they weren’t wearing uniforms. All the other guards had them on. Also, why weren’t they speaking English? Lawrence peered into the walkway as the men neared the other end. He was about to get out of there when he saw them turn towards the restricted area.
In his entire life, he had never been brave. There were times, when he was with his friends, that he had gotten into scraps, but it wasn’t because he was tough. It was because he was more afraid of getting teased or being called a coward. In his mind, an argument was raging. One side wanted him to get out and report to Henry while the other side was clear that more information would be better. It might even be vital. He could hear Henry asking what he did after he saw them go into the restricted area. Lawrence didn’t want to say he ran like a frightened school girl. He stood there for at least three minutes, unable to move forward and unwilling to flee. Finally, he imagined uncovering something important and Henry telling their client, the very attractive Amy, how brave he had been.
His legs started walking towards the restricted area. His mind was thinking about how he had run into Amy at the beginning of the week and how good she smelled. When he arrived at the door, the thought that it might make a noise brought him back to reality.
Was his breathing really loud?
It seemed deafening. Lawrence couldn’t hear the men talking; still, he waited a few more moments. The sound of a pry bar opening a crate was distinctive but muted through the heavy metal door. Lawrence eased the door open, holding his breath. It was well oiled and silent. He started to breathe again.
They weren’t in the production area, but he could hear them near the final inspection and packing section. Lawrence crept over to the machine he had worked on. It was a massive contraption with a ladder so that one could get on top of it to service it. He slowly climbed to the top. It was dark and seemed safe up there. He watched the men open the crates. Lawrence watched for almost half an hour. He couldn’t figure out what they were doing. They would pull the parts out of one crate, then carry them to another one and put them inside. The parts from the second crate were then moved back to the first crate. When they finished with the first set, they started on another pair. It was a clue, he was sure, but he had no idea what it meant. It was time to leave, and he made his way out of the plant without being seen or heard. Lawrence was quite proud of himself; he could barely contain his excitement as he drove to meet his buddies. He had been brave. He hoped Henry would say something to Amy.
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
Oleg was energized by the cold and damp. The fog painted the New York streets. To him, it looked exactly how he imagined it would when he was first recruited to be a spy. In his entire career he had never felt more alive. The walk would be longer than required not only because he was cautious but also because he wanted to savor the sights and smells.
He lit a cigarette, turned down an alley, and came out the other side. Oleg pulled his hat down over his eyes, playing the part, and smoked as he leaned against a building for a minute. Nobody followed him through the alley. It was a bit disappointing. He would have preferred to shake a half a dozen foreign operatives, but the truth was that the CIA was running in circles. It was really much less challenging than he had imagined. Still, he checked his coat pocket for the Markarov PM and, feeling it, continued evading imaginary pursuers.
Oleg didn’t know his contact’s name or anything about him. He knew that he had been a deep undercover operative for many years waiting to be put into service. How many nights must he have checked the first drop point? Oleg thought. It must have been something to finally see the bolt lying there. A lone cab slowed down, and the driver asked if he wanted a ride. Oleg wondered if it was another agent, so he leaned in and politely said, “No, thanks.” He didn’t know what most cabbies looked like in New York, but he imagined this one was typical. He looked and smelled like the foul beasts he knew from Moscow, though perhaps a little more sober.
When Oleg arrived at the heavy metal door, he knocked. A little panel slid to the side, and two eyes peered out at him. “I’d like a piece of pie,” Oleg said.
The panel slid back closed and a massive bolt clanked. A man, probably 6’ 7” tall, weighing well north of 350 pounds and in a tuxedo, opened the door and held it while Oleg went inside. There was a brick hallway and another door at the other end. Oleg wasn’t sure what sort of place this was, but, when he got to the end of the hall and heard the door behind him close and lock, it became apparent. The crowd noise was unmistakable; it was an underground casino.