Justified Means (Book One) (The Agency Files) (21 page)

Fiji—

“Helen, Helen, wake up.”

As a younger woman, Helen Franklin had been attractive. Her features, unique enough to be considered exotic, were striking and appealing, but every year after thirty-five added angles and harsh lines that stripped the beauty and changed her into something almost masculine-looking. In her fight against aging, she slept with ear plugs, eye mask, and face cream. She also had a facial routine, morning and night, that rivaled day spas. As a result, her sleep was usually deep and not easily interrupted—not exactly helpful when you might need to leave in a moment’s notice.

“If you tell me we’re in danger and leaving again, I’ll just die and get this over with. I’m done.”

“No, it’s over. They got him.”

“Alek? What about his men?” She sat up, pulling the earplugs from her ears. “That’s better. What about Erika? Is she still safe?”

Jill nodded. “Yep, they went after her at one of the cottages, and we were waiting.”

“Good. So, she can go home?”

“Yep. You both can.”

Helen nodded as her mind raced in a dozen directions. Alek’s men failed, but at least he was out of the picture. She’d have him removed in a transport “accident.” Meanwhile, she needed to be sure Erika didn’t know about her connection to any of it. “Erika still doesn’t know this has anything to do with me, right? I can’t imagine anyone is left who could hurt her if she does, but it still makes me nervous.”

“That’s why you hired us. We kept her completely in the dark. She’s still convinced we have the wrong Erika Polowski.”

“Good. Maybe that’ll protect her—as long as there aren’t any rogue men left from Alek’s syndicate.”

“We’ve got them. It was such a big sweep that there’s no way anyone would risk it.”

With heart pounding, Helen forced her tone to sound frightened rather than frustrated. “Well, he’s got a few who are vindictive enough to be ticked at losing out on their money. It’s all about money in that racket. That’s why I tried to get in—to take them down. Almost got me killed.” Her shudder was perfect. Maybe it was time to consider a career in acting instead of human trafficking—nah. The money was in people, and she wasn’t about to let go of the money for any reason.

“You can’t go home, though, Helen. If you come home any more than a few weeks early, it might make her suspicious and if she connects you…”

“Yeah, well, I have business in Brisbane anyway. I’ve been gone long enough to raise eyebrows, and that’s dangerous in my line of work.”

Anthony popped his head in the doorway. “Ok, I’ve got our things—She isn’t even dressed yet? Let’s go people! I have a birthday to make up for as it is. The more days that pass, the worse of a father I am!”

Helen waved him off saying, “I’ll have tickets to Disney World waiting for you when you get home. Just give me time to get dressed and make the call.”

As Jill and Anthony left the room, Helen overheard Anthony whisper, “How is it that someone with her kind of money lives in a suburban neighborhood with three bedrooms, two baths, and shoddy landscaping?”

How indeed, you idiot,
she thought to herself.
How indeed.

Mark scanned the reports before him.  The Hard as Nails franchise had locks on every door—shut down in the wake of the arrests. The FBI had Anastas in custody, and the rest of his merry band of assassins occupied a cell or morgue slab—without a single bullet and only one tranq fired.  Well, two
, if you included Erika’s self-inflicted one.  He snickered at the memory of Keith’s call.

Best of all, however, they’d managed to intercept a shipment of girls—some as young as eleven—before they left Columbus for who knew where or what fate.  The thought churned Mark’s stomach. Yes, someone would step up and take over the management of Alek’s so-called business, but it was a step in the right direction—one they hadn’t hoped to make.  It felt good.

His team would convene in just hours. Keith had already landed in Rockland, Karen was due any minute, and Jill and Anthony were on their way. He had new assignments for everyone, but first, bonuses. Helen Franklin had been generous—very generous. With Erika and Helen back in their own homes and resuming their lives, he could close the books on that case—just as soon as the files were complete after debriefing. It was a good day in the history of the Agency.

They’d chosen the name of their business carefully. It needed to be simple, memorable, and ambiguous enough to make people think of a government agency rather than a private business. Located in any other city, the name would have meant nothing, but considering that Mark’s cousin ran the most prestigious wedding coordination agency in the greater Rockland area, with the simple name, “the Agency,” it had been just one of those coincidences he couldn’t resist.

A knock sent his fingers flying across the computer keyboard as he called for whomever it was to enter. “Hey, Keith. I’m just about ready to print out your report for you. How is Erika?”

“Good. I took a cab to the coffee shop before coming here. You’d never know she took a leave of absence for almost three weeks.”

“Excellent. And how is Claire doing? She like the bike?”

“Yep. Loves it. She’s asked me to come over for dinner tonight. Says she has something to talk to me about.”

“Well, good. I’m going to go check on a few things. You just read over that, make any changes, and I’ll be back in a bit.”

Mark left the room and strolled down the hall, past the Internet division of Mayflower Trust and into the elevator. Once outside, he flipped open his phone and dialed the number for his latest client. “Are you sure it must be now? Everything looks calm for at least a week.”

The voice on the other end sounded quite decided. They’d be ready to be whisked away to safety at eight o’clock. With a family of five to protect, Mark needed his top three people on the case, and that left him shorthanded—again. They’d received three notices of threats for assessment, two requests for aid, and somewhere between four and nine emails, most of which would turn out to be bogus, but they must be investigated. As it was, Helen’s file might be closed within hours, but dozens of spiral cases had been flooding their office from the Anastas Syndicate. It’d be months, possibly years before they’d be completely free of the revolting business.

He needed to hire more people. Always a problem. The best candidates were ex-law enforcement, ex-military, or the more sane members of militia groups. Training someone from scratch meant time, money, and personnel that he couldn’t afford. His mind went to Claire Auger. Young, healthy, intelligent, and
there was enough evidence to assume she’d been recruited by Anastas—probably under the guise of “helping” her cousin—to prove she had the brains to keep from getting caught, Claire had potential. Keith could train her. That’d be good—on the job even—it might work.

He retraced his steps, waved at the receptionist of Mayflower Trust as he reentered the building, took the elevator to the fourth floor, and strolled back into his office. Keith started to speak, but something about Mark stopped him. Good. That’s exactly what he needed—uncertainty. With it, he could control just about anything.

“I need you to talk to Claire about joining us.”

“Ok, so I’ve got something to tell you, and I can’t do it without you getting mad, so I want you to promise not to yell at me until I’m done, ok?” Claire swallowed hard as she waited for Keith to agree. He would
be angry, she knew that, but setting him up like that usually meant he’d be quiet about it.

“What’s up, kiddo? If you don’t want to do the pediatrician thing—”

“That qualifies as yelling.”

Keith stared at her, visibly stunned. “Trying to reassure you is yelling.”

“Speaking is yelling. Just listen. About a month ago, I was talking with this guy I met at a coffee shop over on 34
th
.” Claire wondered if he’d blinked too quickly or not, but then brushed it off as her overly active imagination. “Anyway, he took me out to dinner—to a cool club I’ve never been able to afford to go to—and then somehow you came up and he knew you.”

“What was his name?”

“Alek Anastas.” She waited. This was where he’d start yelling. She couldn’t blame him. She knew she’d been stupid, but she’d meant well. Shouldn’t that count for something? She waited for him to let her have it with both barrels, but instead, his eyes darted around them and then he grabbed her arm and literally pulled her into the garage.

“Do you have a spare helmet for that thing?”

“Yeah, I thought maybe—”

“Good, let’s get it into the back yard. I’ll get the gate.”

“What are you talking about? Didn’t you hear me?” Claire tried to protest, but he was already pushing the Harley through the side door of the garage.

“Let’s go.”

“You’re going to ride it?”

He pulled the gate open. “Get it into the alley. If you were leaving, what would you not leave behind?”

“I—”

“Don’t argue, tell me. Now.”

“I’d take purse, backpack with makeup and hair stuff, and a change of clothes or something. I always leave a note or call…”

“Call your parents and tell them you’re going to...” She watched ideas flicker through his mind and be rejected as each surfaced. Finally, he nodded. “Tell them you’re going to Stanford for a tour.”

“You’re telling me to lie.” Claire knew her jaw was hanging open in a way that was particularly unattractive on her, but this was her cousin and she was too stunned to care.

“Do it, squirt.”

While he dashed into the house, Claire took a few deep breaths, and then dialed her father’s phone. “Hey, guess what! I just got a call from Stanford and they’ve invited me to come for a tour! Keith has been pushing me to reconsider med school, so I sent out stuff last week and they already called!”

For the next three minutes, she went over her bogus itinerary, promised to give her father her room number as soon as she got it, and thanked him when he assured her that he’d deposit money into her account so she could really enjoy the trip. “Thanks, Dad. I know I’ll be busy, but I’ll try to check in often. I might be gone for at least a week. I can’t stand the idea of being there without sitting in on a few classes and checking out the sororities and stuff.”

She was still chatting as Keith returned, making slicing motions across his neck. Once she disconnected, she stared at the bag. “You got it all in there?”

“I’m good. Ok, let’s go. Mayflower Trust.”

“Not the airport?”

“Nope. Mark wants to talk to you about joining the Agency.”

Claire’s heart nearly stopped beating. “And you’re taking me there even after I just told you I knew Alek Anastas? You know what that means, right?”

“I know.”

“And you’re still taking me to Mark.” She swallowed as she started the motorcycle. “I’m not going to die or anything, right?”

“Look, if you were talking to Alek, Mark knows. It’s fine. We’ve gotta get you out of here though. Go!”

Keith rubbed his temple, watching out into the inky blackness of the desert, and tried to relax. His head had been pounding for hours. Protection was always hard—always. Protection with kids was ten times worse than involuntary protection. Maybe a hundred. Children didn’t understand the concept of quiet, of staying inside, why they couldn’t go to school or soccer practice, or why they couldn’t play with their friends. Children whined, talked incessantly, and reacted to the tension with tantrums and fear.