The Guise of Another (18 page)

Drago Basta parked in a ramp near Delancy's Pub, finding a stall on the third floor of the six-story stack of concrete. From his rucksack he pulled those items he would need for the next few hours: a pair of tinted glasses, a baseball cap to block high security-camera angles, a book stolen from Jericho Pope's apartment, and the shotgun microphone. The microphone looked like a common pen but had a thin wire connecting it to an ear piece, which Drago threaded up his jacket sleeve. He slid the parking-ramp ticket into his pocket and paused to go over his plan once again. Satisfied that he hadn't overlooked anything, he tapped the Glock in his shoulder holster and stepped out of the car.

At the elevator, he peeked out from beneath the bill of his cap to see a security camera covering the elevator doors but none in the elevator itself. He found another camera in the vestibule on the first floor where, later, he would have to pay to validate his parking ticket. He made a mental note to remember to wear the tinted glasses on his return, even though it would be dark.

One block later, he walked into Delancy's Pub, taking a seat at the first barstool he found. There he waited as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the bar. Peering over the rim of the tinted glasses, he glanced carefully around the bar to see if his prey had yet arrived. That's when he spied a familiar face walking from the men's room toward one of the booths. He remembered the face from a website he found in Ianna's history. It was the Minnesota detective, Alexander Rupert. Rupert joined another man, who bore the same bone structure and genetic shadowing as Alexander. Brothers, maybe? About ten feet away from them, Drago saw an empty high-top table, a perfect location to set up surveillance.

He vacated his barstool and made for that table, but before he could go more than a couple steps, Alexander Rupert turned halfway around in his seat and looked right at Drago. Drago kept walking toward him as Rupert raised a hand as if to signal hello. From over his shoulder, Drago heard the voice of a female call, “Hey, Festus.” He recognized the voice and kept walking. As Drago sat at the high-top, he caught a glimpse of the woman detective who had visited Garland in New York.

Drago sat with his back to the three people, placed the book in front of him, slipped the shotgun microphone under the book's cover, and aimed it at the booth behind him. In a mirror over the bar, he could see the three; and in his ear, he could hear Alexander Rupert introduce Detective Rider to a man named Max Rupert. Drago ordered a cola and settled in.

The three exchanged names and pleasantries for a few minutes before getting to the purpose of their gathering. Finally, Detective Rider got the ball rolling by telling Alexander Rupert, “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Glad to,” he said. Alexander lowered his voice a notch and began telling the story of the
Domuscuta
. He told about Michelle Holla, a witness he had found in Iowa, a onetime stripper who found her way onto the yacht and into the cabin of Wayne Garland. Drago listened as Alexander Rupert reincarnated the name Prather, the false name that Drago had used back when Garland chartered the
Domuscuta
for their little excursion. When he got to the part where the wrong stripper took a bullet to the back of the head, Drago had to swallow back the bile that had bubbled up in his throat. How had he made such a mistake?

He remembered that execution well. He had secured the true names of the strippers he hired before taking them to the
Domuscuta
. Then, while Garland and Ashton were getting their money's worth, he tracked down the addresses of the two women—just in case. When Ashton refused to give in to the blackmail, Drago and Garland executed their plan B. Drago killed Richard Ashton, tied his neck to an iron weight that he had smuggled on board in his suitcase, and tossed Ashton into the sea.

With the death of Ashton, a well-known figure in political circles, there would be press coverage. With press coverage came the potential for one or both of the girls to seek their fifteen minutes of fame. Drago slipped into Hillary Wolkochek's apartment and saw her sleeping, her dark hair—cut just as he remembered it from only a few hours earlier—spilling across the ridge of her cheekbone, obscuring her face. She had no roommates, so there could be no confusion. He placed the muzzle of his gun an inch away from the base of her skull and pulled the trigger.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. Would there be no end to the mistakes born of Garland's insistence on bringing those hookers on board?

When Alexander Rupert finished his update, the booth fell silent for a moment as Max Rupert and Detective Rider took in the magnitude of the case. “If this pans out,” Max said, “we're looking at a major footprint. The head of a multi-billion-dollar corporation—a defense contractor, no less, with connections in Washington, DC—kills his partner and takes over the company. And then does what? What were Prather and Garland trying to convince Ashton to do?”

“My guess,” Rider said, “is bilk the government and make millions on kickbacks.” The men looked at each other and then back at Rider. She continued. “That's what I came here to tell you guys. We've reopened the case of Ashton's death. I began by trying to track down Prather. Turns out, there is no Prather. I have a buddy in Homeland Security who did a little digging. He found a guy named John Prather, who held the position of security consultant at Patrio back around that time. But my guy could find no true record of this Prather. His address was an abandoned lot in Newark. He had no past other than on paper. We haven't gone to Garland with this yet. My bosses are leery about opening that door, and I didn't think that I had enough for a warrant.”

“But you do now,” Max said.

Rider nodded. “With the information that Michelle Holla gave us, we'll have enough to pick up Garland for a talk, but after that…I don't know. I mean it's all hearsay. We don't have a witness who saw the murder of Ashton. All we have is what Jericho Pope said happened.
When it comes right down to it, it's the word of Wayne Garland against a stripper-slash-hooker who, by the way, may have been involved in blackmail and identity theft. If Garland doesn't hang himself in the interview, we don't have much.”

“We could just find that flash drive,” Alexander said.

“Yeah, we could do that,” Rider echoed with a smile.

Max waved to the waitress for another round and downed the last of his beer. “Getting back to Prather, if that man on the
Domuscuta
wasn't John Prather, then who was he?”

Drago watched in the mirror over the bar as Rider leaned in and summoned the guys to do the same with a jig of her finger. “That's the part I didn't want to talk about over the phone.”

A bar patron paused between Drago and the booth full of detectives, temporarily blocking Drago's microphone. Drago had been bent over his table, pretending to read a book, but now he straightened up and glanced over his shoulder. The oaf of a man had stopped there to catch something on the television on the wall. His presence blocked Drago from hearing what they knew about him. He wanted to put a bullet in the man simply to get him out of the way. After a thirty-second eternity, a commercial came on the television and the man went away.

“Drago was the name that the yacht captain remembered,” Alexander said in a way that suggested that he was filling in a blank.

Rider took over. “So my source tells me this Drago Basta is supposed to be a real badass. Grew up in the Balkans during the wars. Killed his own family. They called him ‘The Beast.’”

Drago bristled at Rider getting his name wrong, and he muttered under his breath. “They called me ‘Psoglav,’ you stupid whore.”

Rider continued. “He's a mercenary now. My contact said that they've found his stench around a number of assassinations, mostly in the Middle East. They've never tied him to anything specific, and some of his best handiwork involved killing some bad men that the United States wanted swept under the rug anyway.”

“So what are you saying?” Max said. “The Beast works for the US government?”

“As best we can figure, he works for the highest bidder, but that seemed to be Patrio, and Patrio supposedly works for us.”

“Do we know what he looks like?”

“Yes,” Rider said.

Drago slowly covered his face with his hand, trying to pass the gesture off as mere boredom.

“Here's where I have to trust you boys,” Rider said. “My friend at Homeland scored me a couple pictures of Drago Basta. My source can get fired for giving these to me, so for now these stay out of the official files. Agreed?”

“Absolutely,” Alexander said.

Rider pulled two photos from her pocket and laid them on the table. “I'm working out a secondary source so that our information can't be traced back to my friend. Once I have that, Basta officially becomes the face and name of the man who killed Richard Ashton.”

“That's the man Michelle Holla described,” Alexander said.

“Same as Captain Rodgers,” Rider said. “Right down to the scar on the cheek.”

Drago looked at the book in front of his face and wondered how long it had been since he turned a page. He licked a finger and continued his pretense while his mind churned.

He heard Alexander Rupert use the name Michelle Holla as being the prostitute from the
Domuscuta
, the one who should have died in Brooklyn but now lived in Iowa. If they don't have the flash drive, then the only evidence of what happened on that yacht is the whore and her secondhand tale. It would be a case based on hearsay. And if she were to die, they wouldn't even have that much.

Too many people were learning his name. His secret had grown roots and now threatened to sprout from the earth in search of the sun. He would need to move fast, get the flash drive and get out of the country. He would kill the whore on the way out. His objective could still be achieved, although the mission was becoming more precarious with each passing hour. Stay calm. Think—don't react. And find that flash drive.

Alexander sipped his beer and took a moment to savor his brother's interest in the Putnam case. It had become the big deal he had hoped it would be—the kind of a case that could erase so many wrongs—maybe even overshadow a momentary lapse in judgment like stealing money from a drug dealer. If Alexander could find that flash drive, and if the flash drive showed the murder of Richard Ashton, it would deliver him from those few indiscretions that haunted him—the ones that the prosecutor would skewer him with in the morning. He could feel the tease of redemption washing over him as real as rain.

“So how do we find the flash drive?” Billie wondered.

“We start with a search of Jericho Pope's apartment,” Max said.

“I've been in contact with his girlfriend, Ianna Markova,” Alexander said. “She's cooperating. I'm sure she'll let us search the apartment.”

“And if not,” Max added, “we certainly have enough for a search warrant.”

“She'll consent,” Alexander repeated.

“And if the flash drive's not there?” Billie asked.

“I have the computer hard drive,” Alexander said. “I've looked it over, but I didn't find anything like a video. If we take it to Forensics, they can dissect it and see what might be hiding in the hidden files.”

“Should we bring the girlfriend in for a formal sit-down?” Max asked. “Maybe throw the word
conspiracy
around and put the fear of God into her?”

“I don't think that'll be necessary,” Alexander said. “I'm convinced that she had no idea who Jericho Pope was or what he was up to. Besides, she's out of town at the moment.”

Max and Billie shared a glance. Max said, “And you know this how?”

Alexander shrugged off the question. “I told you, I've been in contact.”

“I was hoping to talk to her while I'm in town,” Billie said.

“I can call her and see if she'll be back by tomorrow.” Alexander pulled out his phone and began to go through his call log.

“You have her number on your phone?” Max said.

“Get off my back,” Alexander scowled at his brother. When Alexander heard the defensive edge in his own voice, he grinned and said, “I'm going to step outside so I can hear. It's too noisy in here.”

Alexander walked out the door with his phone in his hand. Once outside, he turned and looked back through the window. He could see Max talking to Billie Rider. Max was smiling, and not one of those pretend smiles of a bored host, but the kind of smile that pushed past his cheekbones and gave him a squint in his eyes.

Alexander mentally patted himself on the back as he dialed Ianna's number. The home number went to voicemail as it had done earlier. He dialed the cell phone number and she answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Ianna, this is Alexander. I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all.”

“How're you doing?”

“I'm doing okay…better now. I'm glad you called.”

“I need to talk to you about the case. That detective from New York I told you about—the one who's looking into Jericho's past—she wants to meet with you.”

“I should be home in less than an hour,” Ianna said. “I'm crossing the St. Croix as we speak.”

Knowing that she was on her way back pushed a smile across Alexander's face. “Would you be okay with meeting her tomorrow?”

“Can you be there?”

“I can't. I have this thing I have to do. You'll be alright. Billie's nice. You have nothing to worry about. I told them that you didn't know about Jericho or what he was up to. Speaking of which, I have a lot to tell you about what happened back in Brooklyn. It's a long story, but
you should at least know that Jericho wasn't as bad of a guy as I first thought. He didn't kill James Putnam.”

Alexander heard Ianna let out a tiny sigh of relief. “Do you have time to see me tonight?” she asked.

Now it was Alexander's turn to pause as he considered the churning sensation he felt in his chest.

“I'm sorry,” Ianna said. “I shouldn't—”

“No. That's not it. I'm meeting with Billie and my brother Max right now.” Then, like a child jumping into the deep end of the pool for the first time, he closed his eyes and said, “Call me when you get to your apartment. I'll come by.”

“I will,” she said.

As he made his way back to their booth in Delancy's, he saw Billie laugh and pat the back of Max's hand. She let her touch linger for a second or two longer than what might be a casual gesture. Alexander thought about not returning to the table for a while, to let the two get acquainted, but then he decided that they were adults and could work things out for themselves after they left the bar.

“Ms. Markova will be able to meet with you tomorrow,” Alexander said.

“Great,” Billie said to Alexander. “Can you set up a meeting for me?”

“I can take you,” Max interjected. “Alexander has a court appearance in the morning.”

Billie looked at Max. “Perfect,” she said with smile. “I'll put myself in your hands.”

Max appeared to blush a bit but recovered with a smile of his own. “What time should I pick you up?” he said.

“I'm flexible,” Billie smirked.

“Let's see if we can arrange something for around nine o'clock?”

Max picked up the tab, and they shuffled out of the booth and headed out the door. Once outside, a cold evening breeze filled their jackets. Billie said to Alexander, “Maybe we could meet up again after you're done tomorrow and compare notes.”

“You got it,” Alexander said. Then he asked Billie, “Where'd you park?”

She pointed at the parking garage about a block away.

“Ah, the Halsey Ramp,” Max said. “Did you bring your ticket?”

“My ticket?”

Max said, “That garage has a kiosk on the first floor where you pay. People are always getting jammed up at the exit because they think they can pay at the gate.”

“Oh, crap,” Billie said. “I feel like such a tourist.”

Alexander could see his brother contemplating something. If Alexander had to guess, he'd bet that Max wanted to walk Billie to her car. Max carried that Boy Scout gene, more than any man Alexander knew, and walking Billie to her car would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. But, in the end, Max let the moment pass, saying, “Don't worry, it probably happens a hundred times a day.”

Billie shook hands with Alexander, then turned to Max and shook his hand, again holding the connection a beat or two longer than necessary. Then Billie turned and walked one way and the Rupert brothers the other.