Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 03 - Snow Cone (20 page)

-Chapter 32-

I walked up the steps to the hospital dressed in a flower delivery man uniform.  I couldn’t believe
Galveston had talked me into such a thing.

After a couple of well-placed calls, we discovered Joe had been transferred to
University College Hospital, and we formed a loose plan to gain access to him.  We had to find out what happened and to let Joe know we were still on the case.

I entered the hospital with extreme trepidation.  My British accent was horrible, and we hadn’t done our usual preparations for this kind of caper.  I approached the receptionist cautiously, holding a vase filled with tulips.

“Good day, Madame. I have a personal delivery for room four-o-two.”  My accent was even worse than I thought.  Unfortunately I was relying on my experience watching Mary Poppins and My Fair Lady.  “The rain in Spain…the rain in Spain…” I kept repeating in my head, as if that would help matters.

“For deliveries, use the service lift,” she said without looking up and pointed to a group of elevators down the hall.  “Sign here, please.”

I nervously wrote the name, “Peter Toole”, and the time on a sheet of paper in front of her.  It was the only English name I was able to come up with.  I conveniently left off the “O” before the “Toole”; I didn’t want to seem too obvious.

“Fourth floor, turn left when you step from the lift,” she instructed without even a smile.

She handed me a visitor sticker, and I stuck it to my chest.  I was grateful she was not one to pay a great deal of attention to the details.

I found the nearest public restroom, or as in
England, the public toilet, or more simply, the “loo”.  I went in to what I hoped was the men’s room since it said “gents” and entered one of the stalls.  The stall was narrow, but I managed to take off my floral delivery man outfit.  Underneath it I had on a navy shirt and pants, consistent with the maintenance staff of the hospital.  I clipped an I.D. to my shirt pocket.  I prayed that no one would look at it and my horrendous, grainy photo too closely. 

Getting the identification tag had been no small feat.  Sally informed us of a previous talent she possessed—pickpocketing.  She picked it up working as a magician’s apprentice back during college.  It was a slight of hand trick really, and she had developed it by taking her friends’ wallets and watches.  It was always for fun, of course.

She had gone down to the hospital’s cafeteria and found a maintenance man standing in line to get his dinner.  I slight bump, a playful touch of the arm, and a look in his eyes was all it took for her to pull it from his shirt. 

Now I had the same I.D. tag clipped to my shirt with a picture we printed out using the hotel’s free computer.

I left the bathroom and searched for Joe’s room.  Galveston figured it would be guarded by the authorities, and he was right.  One man sat outside the door reading a copy of a British tabloid.

I walked in the other direction and located a janitor’s closet.  It had just what I needed—a mop and a bucket.

I returned to the man sitting alone and did my best bored routine, just as Galveston had taught me.  I decided to approach the door without speaking and acted like I was there with a purpose.

That approach didn’t work.  The man stopped me immediately.

“This room is off limits,” he growled.

“I need to clean the room.  Only a titch.” I cringed when I said the words.  I had no idea if the British even used a word called “titch”.  It had sounded British at the time, but the guard looked at me like I was crazy.  “Just a bit, sir.  I don’t wish to get in trouble for not cleaning the floor.”

The guard motioned me in.  Either I didn’t appear to pose a threat, or the man just wanted to get back to his reading.  I sighed as I pushed the bucket with the mop into Joe’s room.

Joe was hooked to a heart rate monitor and a couple of IV’s, and overall he looked comfortable.  He was asleep and didn’t even move when I accidently banged the bucket against his bed.  As I looked at his face, I could see numerous lacerations on his cheek and forehead.  At least he was alive.

“Joe,” I whispered.  “Joe, it’s me, Roger.”  I shook him gently. 

I was beginning to think he was in a coma when I finally saw him stir.  His right hand moved, and I noticed a slit as he opened his eyes.

“Roger?  Is that you?” he said groggily.

“It’s me, Joe.  You okay?”  I had no idea what else to ask the man.

“Do I look okay?” he replied sarcastically.

“You kind of look like hell,” I attempted to joke.

Joe gave me a weak smile.  “What happened?  I don’t remember anything.”

“There was an explosion.  The house we went to was blown to bits,” I answered.

“I knew I shouldn’t have volunteered,” he replied.  At least his sense of humor was still intact.  “Is Sally safe?”

“She’s fine, Joe.”  I knew at that moment I had to end the small talk since the guard could enter at any moment.  “Joe, I can’t stay, and I have to be quick.  Everyone is fine, and you just need to heal.”

“Whatever you say,” he said with a wider smile.  It was then that I realized the doctors had him heavily dosed on pain medication.

“Joe, don’t tell them anything.  Do you understand?”

“Sure,” he responded, closing one eye. 

“The man at the door; what did he say to you?”  I then gave Joe another friendly shake to get his attention.

“He was rude, said something like, ‘you’re not Veronica’.  Who’s Veronica?”

“I don’t know.”

“When I said I was here to be at the safe house, he pushed me down the steps.  The bastard pushed me down the steps,” he tried to say forcefully, his words getting garbled because of the medication.

That “bastard”, as Joe so lovingly referred to him, had saved his life.  He was shielded from the majority of the blast by the concrete steps.  The fall had hurt him more than the explosion as evidenced by the cast on his left arm.

“We’re going to find out who did this,” I told him.

“You do that.”

It was like talking to a drunk guy at this point.  I had no idea what, if anything, was getting through.  But my time was up, and I knew he would recover.

“Remember, Joe.  Don’t tell anyone anything.”  I said the words slowly, thinking it would help the information sink in.

“Gotcha,” he smiled and raised a finger.

I gave him a pat on his chest before his eyes closed again.  The hospital would be the safest place for him now because we were about to enter the lion’s den.

-Chapter 33-

The guard eyed me for a second as I left then returned to his magazine.  I placed the bucket and mop where I had found it and removed the I.D. tag from my shirt.  No sense in the poor guy we lifted it from getting into trouble.

I went down the elevator to the lobby and passed by the receptionist desk.  The woman who had signed me in looked up as I passed in the navy maintenance uniform but then went about her work.  She really didn’t have an eye for details.

Sally and
Galveston were waiting across the street.  Sally was eager for news on her Uncle’s condition.

“How is he doing?” she asked, hoping for a good answer.

“He’s fine.  A few broken bones, scrapes, and bruises, but that’s about it.  He’s going to make a full recovery.” I tried to sound as reassuring as possible.  Joe was still in rough shape, but from what I saw, he was going to be okay.

I relayed the little information Joe had told me to
Galveston and Sally.  It was mainly about the man at the door of the house expecting him to be Veronica. 

We immediately returned to the hotel to plot our next move.  Mayfield had to be on the hunt for us.  He knew we weren’t in the explosion, and he had the resources of the CIA to try to find us.

  The news of the explosion continued on the television.  New video had surfaced of the blast from security cameras positioned on a building nearby.  The video was from a different angle and didn’t show the front of the house.  I watched it again and something struck me as odd.  The explosion seemed to be very well contained.

Galveston
agreed.  “It was a professional operation.  It blew through the first floor, but it wasn’t powerful enough to reach the second.”  The impending fire had done a good job of taking care of that floor.

“It looks as if the explosion was meant for this man and not us,” I said.

Galveston nodded his head in agreement.  He was seeing the same thing.  The explosion seemed much bigger at the time, but now that we saw it on the video it paled in comparison.

“For some reason this man was the target, and we were the bait,”
Galveston concluded. “I need to call Browning and see what he has to say about this.”

Galveston
picked up his cell phone and dialed.

“Who is this?” Browning asked with surprise.

“It’s Galveston.  We need to know what happened.”

Browning’s voice stammered on the other end of the line.  “I’m so glad you’re okay.  How about the others?”

“Everyone’s a little bruised, but we’ll make it.  What the hell happened out there?”

“I don’t know.  This was never supposed to happen.  I’m sorry,” he pleaded.  “It is a CIA safe house.  I was assured it would be secured.” 

“It was a CIA safe house and assured by whom?” Galveston questioned.

“By Mayfield,” Browning answered quickly.  “He said he would have men waiting to protect you.”

Galveston knew we were right.  “I think Mayfield is playing you for a fool.  He’s in on this, and we have proof.”  Galveston really only had a theory, but figured saying we could prove it would get Browning to act.

“I can’t believe it,” he replied.

“Oh, believe it.  He was looking for us after the explosion.  Roger saw him.”

“Mayfield was there?  You saw him?” Browning asked with surprise in his voice.

Galveston thought the question was rather odd.  “Of course, where did you think he would be?”

“He was supposed to be out of the country.  Mayfield isn’t supposed to be in
London.”

“Well, that’s just another piece of the puzzle solved,”
Galveston surmised.

“I still can’t believe it.”  Browning paused.  “Who do you think he works for?”

“We’re still finding that out, but soon we’ll know,” Galveston answered.

“You need to be with me.  Don’t do anything until you get to me.  Do you understand?” Browning said emphatically.

Galveston shook his head.  He wasn’t about to trust anyone just yet.  As much as he would like to think this man could keep him safe, his gut had another thought.

“Alright, we’ll meet you.  Where should we go?” he lied, having no intention of joining the man.

“Go to Trafalgar Square and wait for me at the bottom of Nelson’s Column.  I’ll be alone with a car in one hour.  We’ll go to a place I know is safe.”

“We’ll be there.  Thank you, sir,”
Galveston answered politely.

“Remember, get there as fast as you can.  I’m sure Mayfield has his men looking for you at this very moment.”

Galveston didn’t doubt that, but Browning was going to be standing alone at the base of Nelson’s Column.  He hung up the phone and kept us abreast of the situation.

“Well, let’s get going.  What are we waiting for?” I asked, ready to get somewhere that truly was safe.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Galveston ordered.  “No, we’re sticking to our plan.  There is no one that is going to help us but ourselves.”

I couldn’t believe his stupidity.  Mayfield had tried to kill us once, why wouldn’t he be able to do it again?  I raised my arms up, ready to plead our case for safety when I realized he was thinking about the bigger picture more than I was.  How could Browning help rid us of murder accusations?  He wasn’t able to keep us safe once, why would he be able to now?  We needed a bargaining chip, something that would force Browning and anyone else to help us. 

Galveston had already laid out our plan.  Our first chip was finding out who the man was that pushed Joe down the steps.  He wasn’t just an innocent bystander. 

Sally sat silently, watching us converse about the situation.  We had been treating her as baggage, someone that has to follow along with our every whim.  “We’re staying to find out who tried to kill my Uncle Joe.  I’m not going anywhere,” she said with an amount of anger that took me aback.

“I knew there was a good reason I liked you so much,” Galveston quipped.

I didn’t argue and simply nodded my head in agreement.  They were both right.  “Well then, since we’re all agreed, let’s find out who that man was in the building.”

Galveston smacked his hands together.  “I’ve already got an idea how we’re going to do that.”

-Chapter 34-

We managed to sleep a little that night, but every bump or creak I heard caused me to peer nervously around the room.  Luckily the morning came without incident, and we went to work.

Sally checked the morning news reports.  We hoped the reporters on the ground had done the majority of the work for us.  British reporters were skilled at doing whatever it took to get answers. 

“I have a name,” Sally announced as she searched a news website.  “The man found dead in the house was Nikos Christopoulos, a Greek national,” she read.  “It says he is a known arms dealer that operates in
Eastern Europe.”

“You don’t say,”
Galveston said.  “Well, that makes things interesting.”

Sally continued.  “It also says he’s married to the daughter of a wealthy Greek industrialist.”

“And is her name Veronica?” Galveston shot in.

“And what is an industrialist?” I added, just to be annoying.

Sally ignored me, but answered Galveston.  “Nope, her name is Arianna.  Not even close.”

“Who could Veronica be?” I asked, without even thinking logically.

“Really?  It’s only too perfect,” Galveston mocked.

“I don’t get it.  Is she his sister or something?” I really had no idea.

“I doubt it.  I’ll bet my small fortune that Veronica is his mistress.”

“Come on,” I said.  “Why would you think that?”

“The guy is in London.  He’s an arms dealer,” Galveston was prodding me along with the clues.  “His wife is in Greece.  Oh, did I mention he’s an arms dealer.  What would you expect of him?”

I was beginning to see his point.  It was a logical decision but just a hunch on
Galveston’s part.  My naivety would have never allowed me to come to that conclusion, however.

“Okay, so he had a mistress.  How is that going to help us?” I asked, a little scared at what
Galveston would say.

“Roger, Roger.”  He shook his head.  “Have I taught you nothing?  These guys never tell their wives their deep, dark secrets.  That’s what mistresses are for.”

I gave him an incredulous look.

“Okay, and that other thing.  But this type of man tells his mistress things he would never tell his wife.  Hell, his wife probably didn’t even know he was an arms dealer.”

“How are we going to find her then?  She’s probably long gone by now,” I concluded.

“That’s always a possibility, but I bet she’s still in the area around the explosion.”

I didn’t really believe she would still be hanging around, but Galveston had been correct on other things so why not now.

The plan was simple, really.  We would separate and start asking questions of all the business owners and home dwellers in the area.  Surely someone would know who she was. 

I was so wrong about that one.  Everyone knew who she was.  There wasn’t a person I talked to that didn’t know the name.  She was a fixture of the area, consistently eating at the local restaurants and doing business in the shops surrounding the home.  The people were reluctant to say where they thought she was, but I got the sense they knew and just didn’t want to tell.

Sally had even better luck.  Being a woman she appeared much less suspicious.  She had a few credible leads on where Veronica could be staying.  I was impressed by Sally’s ability to bend the truth enough to get answers. 

Galveston had no luck in getting answers.  Everyone was suspicious of him.  He came back empty-handed.  No one wanted to even talk to him.  He told us he was wrong; Veronica was not in the area.  Sally and I had a different story to tell.

We took each of the leads Sally got and checked them out, one by one.  It wasn’t until our third stop where we hit the jackpot.  A shopkeeper told Sally that Veronica had a good friend that she would house sit for when the woman was out of town.  I decided Sally was the best person to interview Veronica. 
Galveston didn’t disagree.  We also made the decision to let her go at it alone.

Sally rang the bell to the apartment, and a woman answered quietly.

“Hello, Miss,” Sally began in her most pleasant voice.  “I’m looking for Veronica.  I wanted to talk to her about Nikos.”

“There is no one here by that name, I’m sorry,” the voice answered over the intercom.

“I just wanted to pass on some information I overheard the police talking about.  They have an idea of who was behind the explosion.  I just want to help,” Sally said gently.

There was no answer until a buzz occurred.  The door had been unlocked.  “Go ahead and come up, second door on your left,” the voice responded.

“Remember, find out everything you can about Christopoulos.  Don’t leave any stone unturned,” Galveston instructed Sally as she held the door.  He then gave her a hug which made her smile and blush.

Galveston
looked at me after Sally disappeared.  I was smiling at him without saying a word.

“What?” he asked.

I didn’t respond and just kept smiling.  Galveston was infatuated with the woman.

Sally knocked on the door and waited for who she hoped was Veronica.  The door opened, and a woman appeared dressed in nicely fitting pantsuit, the same style that a woman would wear to a business meeting.  She had no emotion on her face and didn’t speak.

“Are you Veronica?” Sally asked quietly, intimidated by the woman’s stature.

“Yes, and you are?” she asked in a low voice.

Sally noticed the woman had a Russian accent.

“My name is Sally.  I’m working for men trying to find out what happened to your…” Sally didn’t know what to call him, “uh, Nikos.”

“You aren’t with the papers?” she inquired.

“Oh, no.  I’m with two private detectives trying to find out who did this.”  Sally decided to be completely truthful with Veronica.   

“Good.  I don’t want to speak to those damn papers.  All they do is spread lies,” she answered. 

“Yeah, that’s what they do.”  Sally was unsure of what to say to the woman.

“And the Police, I won’t speak to them.  They’ve already tried to ask me questions.  Please, come in.  Let’s talk.”

Veronica guided her into the first room and immediately reached for a cigarette.  She lit it and puffed the smoke up to toward the ceiling.

“So what do you want to know?” she asked as she took another puff and crossed her legs.

Sally was tongue tied.  The woman’s demeanor and dress wasn’t what she had anticipated.  She expected to see a woman in distress, wearing a silk robe, and crying about how her lover was dead.  This woman had complete nonchalance—just another dead boyfriend. 

“So you were Nikos’s…” Sally still couldn’t get herself to say the word without feeling demeaning to the woman.

“Mistress,” Veronica said without a care.  “It’s okay.  Everyone around here knew about us.  They liked Nikos.”

Sally became slightly more comfortable but still felt she needed to choose her words wisely.  “Do you know who might have done this to Nikos?”

“I know exactly who did this to him,” she answered after another puff.

Sally was taken aback.  She knew already?  This was going to be easier than she thought.  “Who then?  If you don’t mind me asking.”

“The Red Hand.  That’s who killed my Nikos.”  Sally thought she noticed a bit of emotion from the woman.

“The Red Hand?”  Sally remembered us talking about the Red Hand in passing, but didn’t really know who they were.  “They killed Nikos?”

“Oh, yes.  And they will probably kill me too.”  She said the words without fear or feeling and exhausted the end of her cigarette.

“You’re not concerned?”

“When it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go.”  Veronica reached for another cigarette and lit it.  “The Red Hand doesn’t leave loose ends.  I am a loose end.”

Sally was horrified at the thought.  The woman was going to sit and wait to be killed?  It made no sense.  She composed herself and asked, “What is the Red Hand, and why did they kill Nikos?”

Veronica took another long drag from her cigarette.  “Not that it really matters now, but the Red Hand is a terrorist group, at least how I see them.  They see themselves as the supreme organized crime syndicate in the world, and they are right.  No one can touch the Red Hand.”

“But why kill Nikos?  Was he a member of this group?”

She gave out a hearty laugh.  “He was one of the fingers.”  Veronica leaned forward in her chair.  “The Red Hand is made up of five crime bosses from all over the world.  Nikos was a weapons dealer.  He made deals with the other bosses, in turn they would protect his interests.  Each member of the organization is there to aid the other members.  When one group needed guns to fight a rival gang or start a little war, they would call Nikos.  If Nikos needed to smuggle guns into an African nation, there was someone there to help.”  She paused to extinguish the second cigarette and leaned back in her chair.  “The Red Hand is based upon an earlier secret military society in
Serbia called the Black Hand.  They are believed to be the ones responsible for starting World War One.  The Red Hand started as a mutual agreement between five worldwide criminal syndicates.  Now they want worldwide control, and they want their members to be loyal to the organization.  The Red Hand is evil, and there is no way out except by death.”

“W
hy did they kill him then?”  Sally asked, intrigued at what the woman was saying and that she shared the information so freely.

“It’s a long story, but Nikos did have a heart.  It was mostly black, but it was there.” She let out another hearty laugh.  “The Red Hand started because Western governments were beginning to crack down on terrorism.  This affected the business dealings of many crime bosses.  They collectively decided to band together to protect their interests and their livelihood.  Nikos used the opportunity.  But then things began to change.  A domination mentality began to invade the group.  The Red Hand began to use assassins and foot soldiers to carry out all sorts of devilish plans—plans for world domination.  Nikos was not comfortable with this.”

Sally sat stunned.  She couldn’t believe something like this was going on.

Veronica continued.  “The final straw for Nikos was a plan to steal a nuclear bomb
or find nuclear material to make one.  The Red Hand wanted to sell it to the highest bidder in their organization.  In reality, it was so they could spread chaos and their power around the world.  Nikos did what they wanted, but he wasn’t comfortable with it and was ostracized from the group.  That is why he was killed.  I’m surprised it took them so long to find him.”

Sally couldn’t speak.  There really was nothing to say.  “I think I’ve heard enough.  Would it be possible to call you if we have any more questions?”

“Of course, darling.”  Veronica wrote down a number on a piece of paper and gave it to Sally.  “I don’t know if it helps, but I have some papers that Nikos told me to keep secured at all times.  I think you’ve been truthful with me, and I don’t want the government to have them.  I would like to give them to you.”

“Okay,” Sally accepted with trepidation.

“He said if anything was to happen to him, I should give these to the authorities.  I think you may do more with them, so here.”  Veronica opened up an attaché case next her chair and pulled out two brown folders filled with paper.  She handed them to Sally.

She couldn’t believe the woman was entrusting her with such valuable information.  As tough as the woman seemed, Sally noticed there was a deep sadness behind her eyes.  Veronica lost someone she cared for and didn’t know how to continue.

“Thank you,” Sally said softly.  “I promise we’ll do our best.”  Sally got up from the chair and proceeded to the door.  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said graciously.

Veronica smiled weakly as she fought back tears.  “I am too.  If only I had a different life.”

Sally turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.  She let out a deep breath and clutched the folders to her chest.

Galveston
and I waited anxiously outside the door to the apartment building.  We began to grow nervous being open and exposed on the sidewalk.  Sally finally appeared at the entrance to the building and walked toward us.  She had a concerned look on her face and held the brown folders out toward us. 

“Here,” she began without emotion.  “Veronica gave me these.  They’re from Nikos.  He wanted them given to the authorities if something happened to him.   Veronica gave them to me instead.”

Galveston reached out and took them from her.  He saw that she had been affected by the meeting with Veronica and decided to not ask any questions until Sally offered her own answers.

“Good job, Sally,” was all he could manage to say.  

I didn’t press the issue either.  I hailed a cab instead.  We rode in silence back to the hotel.  Sally had been successful in obtaining valuable information, but her emotions after the meeting were more than she had bargained for.

I received a text from Jane just as we approached the hotel.  She and Alex had arrived in
London.  I sent a text giving them our location. 

Galveston
‘s phone had been ringing off the hook.  It was Browning, probably wondering where we were.  Galveston simply ignored the calls.  He had no intention of talking to him until he had a look at the files.  We hoped the folders were the bargaining chip we so desperately needed.