Lazar's Intrigue (The Jack Lazar Series) (6 page)

But
then there was the subject of her loyalties and intentions. Did she really come
to the house to have sex with him, like she said, or was she there as part of
her investigation? He still didn’t know the nature of her phone conversation at
the house and whether it meant she had orders to investigate him, perhaps use
him, or even kill him. Could he ever trust her?

Indeed,
the right decision was to move on and forget about the woman with sable hair.

Yet
he still wondered…would he ever see her again?

SIX

Jack
couldn’t understand how or why he took back his old job at Benson Kohler. Not
only would Gerald Hesterling have blocked his rejoining the firm, but Jack’s
own principles virtually forbade him from such a move. What possessed him to do
it?

Nevertheless,
he was there. His chair felt just the same as it always had. Nothing in the
office had been disturbed since his departure. He gazed through the window
behind his desk at the millions of city lights of Los Angeles—a spectacular
sight he genuinely missed from those many nights working late.

The
firm’s suite was completely quiet—no printers running, no coughs or keyboard
strokes echoing throughout the floor. Only silence.

No
one else is here. It must be late.

He
turned his arm to check his watch, but it wasn’t there, a tan mark occupying
the place on his wrist where the Piaget would normally be. He shook his head
and closed his eyes to regain perspective on the moment, but was soon disturbed
by a woman's voice.

“I’m
sorry, Jack,” she said.

Jack
opened his eyes.

Sarina
sat on the edge of his desk, wearing the same outfit she did that day on the
beach, the faded stain of her blood still tainting the white silk blouse.

Jack’s
heart leapt as he grabbed hold of the arms on his chair. “What are you doing
here?”

“I
came to apologize,” she said. “I really do want a relationship with you, Jack. Please
give me another chance.”

“Of
course,” he said as he rose from the chair and walked around the desk. He took
her hand and led her to her feet so he could wrap his arms around her.

Sarina
kissed him. “Make love to me, Jack. Please. Rip my blouse like you did that
evening on the beach.”

Obeying
her command, Jack he tore the garment apart with brutal strength, the buttons
flying away wildly. There was no bra underneath the blouse this time. Just her
lovely, bare breasts.

Sarina
cried out in delight of his aggression, and she threw back her head in slow
motion, her hair dangling behind her. She gasped as Jack grabbed her by the
waist and pulled her toward him, his lips and tongue caressing one of her
nipples, and Jack could feel the sensations rippling through her. He savored
the salty taste of her skin as he tantalized her flat tummy with kisses, and he
became so consumed that he failed to realize that another person had entered
the room.

The
loud voice startled him. “Where’s the Antonucci file?”

Gerald
Hesterling’s dumpy little body and protruding stomach stood in front of them,
the expression on his face ugly and offensive.

Jack
rose up and pulled Sarina against him to hide her naked flesh, surprised that
she hardly seemed disturbed by the man’s presence.

“What
are you doing?” Jack barked. “Get the hell out of my office, Gerry!”

Hesterling
ignored his request and raised a small revolver from his side. “Cindy says you
took my file by mistake, but I don’t believe it for an instant! Give it to me!”

Jack
looked at the edge of his desk. A file lay there with the name
Antonucci,
Enzo
printed on the label. He lifted it up and offered it to the man
apologetically, struggling to retain his composure while his heart raced out of
control. “Take it easy, Gerry. I thought this was the Astor International file.
My mistake.”

Hesterling
leaned forward and snatched the folder from Jack’s grasp before stepping
backward toward the doorway, the gun still pointed at them. A wicked smile
crept up on one side of his mouth. “How convenient I found you both here.”

Jack
struggled to pull Sarina around as the gun fired, but the bullet entered her
torso in exactly the same place where she had been shot before, and she fell into
his arms.

“You
bastard!” Jack set Sarina’s limp body over the top of his desk and lunged for
Hesterling’s gun. But the following three shots were meant for him, and he fell
to the floor as the deep pain in his chest robbed his strength. He rolled to
his side in a fetal position, and he strained to look up toward the stillness
of Sarina’s body, his vision fading to black. This time he had surely failed
her.

The
Ludlum novel almost flew across the room as Jack shot up in bed to a seated
position. His breathing was fast and short, and he felt like his heart was
going to beat out of his chest. He looked around the placid room, realizing he
was safe, and gradually he began to relax.

“Oh,
thank God,” he whispered to himself as he closed his eyes and wiped his hand
down his face. He sighed in deep relief, wondering why his mind would conjure
up such a dream. Then it hit him.

“It
was the goddamn file!” he blurted. That’s where he had seen Antonucci’s name
before. He had inadvertently taken the file from the records room just two
weeks before Gerald Hesterling blackmailed him into leaving the company. The man
had busted into Jack’s office during a closed-door meeting and demanded the
file. Considering Hesterling’s frequent outbursts, Jack hadn’t thought much
about it since, but now it was perfectly clear.

Jack
knew Hesterling would never have been so protective of the file if he weren’t
somehow involved in Antonucci’s underworld dealings, and he felt a swelling of
anger within him mixed with an unfamiliar feeling of vindictiveness. His
thoughts turned to Harry Benson’s teenage son, Sean, who had died from an
overdose of crack cocaine about a year ago. The promising young man’s death
came as a huge shock since no one believed Sean was the addictive type. Yet
despite the family’s insistence of foul play, the police found no reason to
conduct an investigation.

“It’s
always the ones you don’t suspect,” they said.

Jack
had grown close to everyone in the Benson family since moving to Los Angeles ten
years ago, and he had come to spend numerous holidays with them over that time.
The Bensons were like his second family, so much that Harry took Jack under his
wing both professionally and personally, just as if he were a second son.

But
Sean’s death was a tragic catharsis that changed their lives forever. Jack
remained at the Bensons’ house after the funeral, doing everything possible to
make things more manageable for the family, but nothing could soften that kind
of blow. And after two days of terrible stress, Harry politely asked Jack to go
home. They parted with a fraternal embrace, but Jack knew things between them
would never be the same. And he was right.

Since
that day, Jack had not returned to the Benson estate, and he began to sense
through a handful of conversations at the office that Harry felt personally
responsible for his son’s death. Harry apparently believed his lack of guidance
or attention had steered Sean down a wrong path, and continuing to devote fatherly
attention to Jack meant he was being dishonorable to Sean.

So,
out of sympathy, Jack respected his mentor’s wishes and remained in the
shadows. He knew Harry had to welcome him back into the family by his own
choice with open arms, or it wouldn’t mean anything.

It
was hard to know how deeply Hesterling was involved with Antonucci’s drug
network. But even if he was just raising money or brokering transactions, he had
to know what Antonucci was up to, and taking drug money in any form was
unacceptable in Jack’s mind. Moreover, if word of the affiliation made its way
to Harry Benson, Hesterling would be on the street in a heartbeat, and Jack
couldn’t wait to see it happen.

The
most ironic part was Hesterling’s vehicle to blackmail Jack into leaving the
firm, which was a threat to tell Harry about Jack’s short affair with his
daughter, Lisa. Jack knew it wouldn’t be the end of the world if Harry found
out, but if Jack could prevent it and avoid the additional strain on the family
in the lingering wake of Sean’s death, he would. So there was ultimately no
choice for Jack but to leave the company quietly, and Hesterling won without a
fight.

Jack
thought back to the time he and Lisa had together, which began two years ago on
Christmas Eve. The two of them decided to stay up late and sit next to the fire
after everyone else adjourned to bed. They talked for hours and became ever
more attracted to each other as the night wore on.

Lisa
was so vibrant and young, just twenty-five at the time, and her azure eyes conveyed
such joy and compassion for everything in the world. She tossed her golden hair
from side to side as she spoke to him that night, her virtuous smiles drawing
him in. Jack had never met a kinder, more delightful person, and he couldn’t
help but act charming in return, nor from falling for her. And before either of
them took the time to think about it, they were making love by the fire.

After
that night, they met whenever possible, but always on the sly, and they grew to
be the best of friends, often doing nothing that Harry Benson would have
objected to. Lisa said she almost told her father about the affair, but she
couldn’t go through with it. She knew he would think it inappropriate, given
the nature of their quasi-familial relationship, for her to pursue Jack, or for
Jack to pursue her. And she couldn’t stomach the thought of bearing her
father’s disapproval.

So,
after the incident with Sean, they simply cut off their romantic relationship,
and their rendezvous regressed to simple lunches during which they spoke of “Harry
Benson’s pain”. Neither of them could handle the guilt of further deceiving the
man by continuing the affair, and throwing it out in the open would only make
things worse. Consequently, the spark between them passed, and they took new
paths toward separate lives.

Jack
never knew how Gerald Hesterling found out about the affair. He could only
assume the son of a bitch had hired a private investigator to follow him around
until they found something to use against him. But now Jack had some ammunition
against Hesterling, and he would use it to vindicate the loss of his job, not
to mention Sean’s death. The big question was how. No doubt, walking into
Harry’s office tomorrow morning and announcing that Gerald Hesterling was doing
business with drug dealers was not the right approach. All of his proof was circumstantial
at best. Besides, a man like Hesterling probably had a million ways to
discredit such an accusation, making Jack look like an idiot in the process.

No.
The possibility of letting him win a second time was not acceptable. Jack would
work diligently to build a case against Hesterling, using every resource at his
disposal to destroy the man. And not until he was fully prepared would he show
his hand.

Jack
wondered how many kids like Sean had destroyed their lives with Hesterling’s
and Antonucci’s help. How could these men look in the mirror every morning and
feel good about themselves? How evil they must be. How selfish and inhumane. They
deserved everything Jack’s imagination planned for them.

It
was time to plot his strategy, to mount his attack. And perhaps with Sarina’s
help they could nail Antonucci and Hesterling to the wall together.

SEVEN

“As
I’ve already told you several times now, Mr. Lazar, Miss Anapoulos is on
assignment out of the country.” The switchboard operator at the DEA’s Los
Angeles office sounded nasal and unconcerned.

Jack
had tried to reach Sarina for three days, but so far she had either not
received his messages or was intentionally avoiding him.

“Isn’t
there some way you can contact her? I mean, the woman must have a cell phone
with international roaming.”

“Sir,
I don’t have that kind of information.”

“Well,
someone does. Will you please ask?”

“All
I can do is pass on your message.”

“Look.
I have some information that is absolutely critical to her case.”

“I’ll
make a note of it.”

Jack
sighed. “There has to be something else you can do.”

“I
can let you talk to the duty officer.”

Jack
paused to think. God knows, things were already too complicated. Involving
another person would just make things worse. “No. That’s all right. Just ask
her to call me as soon as possible. Tell her I have some important information
about...Antonucci.”

“Very
well, sir. I’ll give her the message as soon as possible. Bye now.”

The
line disconnected, and Jack took the cell phone away from his ear to scowl at
it before slipping it back in his pocket.

Maybe
Sarina really was avoiding him. But why? Was she trying to distance herself
from him like she intimated the other night, determined to avoid any further
temptation on either front? Or could it be that her investigation as far as he
was concerned had simply finished?

Nevertheless,
Jack simply couldn’t sit around and wait any longer. It was conceivable she
would never call, so it made the most sense to go it alone for now and do his
best to stay out of trouble.

Jack
thought about where he should start and concluded that the only reasonable
option was to find a way back into the offices of Benson Kohler to personally
examine the Antonucci file Hesterling had protected so spitefully. He required
a way inside the company’s offices at a time when the staff was gone in order
to search the place in secrecy. And just in case he would need some protection
since the intangible dangers were too plentiful to even comprehend.

Jack
rose from his bedside and walked toward the weighty rosewood armoire left to
him by his late grandmother. The piece commanded much of the bedroom’s east
wall, and while the ornate design didn’t really fit with the rest of his
furniture, its presence was mostly about sentimentality. He reached for the old-fashioned
key he kept on top to unlock a small compartment behind the chest’s left door,
and he extracted the Beretta 9 millimeter he had bought in Italy several years
ago.

He
probably never would have purchased the gun if he had known how much red tape it
would entail to bring it back into the States, but he had always wanted an
authentic, Italian-made Beretta. Besides, his best friend Zach was traveling
with him at the time and bought the gun’s twin sister, so Jack felt motivated
to follow through. Of course, Zach didn’t have to deal with US Customs
afterwards since he lived in the EU and easily took the gun back to his home in
Paris.

Since
he was not a violent man, Jack had only used the pistol for target practice and
never found the need to carry such a thing on his person. But times had
changed.

The
gun’s clip was empty, and only five, stray 9-millimeter rounds lay on the
compartment’s felt bottom. Jack smiled as he realized he was grossly unprepared
for the spy business. But his mode of defense should nevertheless be adequate
for tonight, and he made a mental note to buy more ammunition as soon as
possible. He loaded the bullets into the clip, trying his best to perform the
task with a mastered skill he had not yet developed, but he fumbled with them
and clumsily scraped his finger against the top of the clip. He chuckled at
himself as he sucked on the minor wound and realized he had no margin for
overconfidence.

He
slowly finished loading the bullets and slid the clip into the butt of the gun
before pulling back the slide to load the first round into the chamber. He
rested the hammer to its closed position, engaged the safety, and slipped the
Beretta into the back of his pants.

It
was now eleven thirty in the evening, and Jack considered it unlikely that
anyone would be at Benson Kohler so late on a Friday. This would be a perfect
opportunity to get his mission over with. He grabbed a tweed blazer from his
closet to wear over his half-faded jeans and slipped it on, the length of it
covering the weapon he had placed at his waist.

The
old commute felt strange after the long hiatus, and there was something eerie about
doing it this late at night. Jack fiddled with the radio several times in an
attempt to find some relaxing music, but nothing seemed to ease his state of
mind. Even the songs he thought he liked sounded more noisy than uplifting. He
switched off the radio and concentrated instead on the Aston Martin’s unique,
melodious sound as it shifted from gear to gear, and that seemed to help.

The
arm to the parking garage lifted instantly as Jack slipped his old security
card into the reader, and for the first time he appreciated how incompetent the
building’s management company was. No one had even asked for his security card
when he left the company, and no one bothered to deactivate it either.

Nice.

He
parked the Aston Martin in his old assigned parking space and walked through
the empty garage to the lobby elevators, his steps echoing from one concrete
wall to another. The elevator started upward with a familiar jerk, and Jack
prayed that his act of normality would fool the guard.

The
doors opened in their usual noisy way, and Jack cruised out of the elevator in
full stride toward the security desk.

“Hey,
Jesse,” he offered.

Jesse
was a middle-aged, balding fat man with a smidgeon of grayish hair left above
his ears. As far as Jack could tell, there wasn’t a waking moment of the day
when Jesse didn’t have an oversized wad of chewing tobacco tucked inside his
cheek, and his Southern accent sounded even more absurd because of it. It was suddenly
comforting to know the man couldn’t possibly chase down a suspect, considering
that just getting out of his chair caused him to be short of breath. That might
come in handy, Jack thought.

Jesse
stared at Jack in a peculiar way. “Mr. Lazar? I haven’t seen you ’round here in
weeks. In fact, I was told you left Benson Kohler.” He spit into the cup on his
desk.

Jack
waved his hand. “Oh, that was just a rumor. I’ve been working on a big deal
overseas. Just got back in town today.”

Jesse
apparently didn’t know whether to believe him, and he looked into Jack’s eyes
critically. “What are you doing here at almost midnight? Seems like an odd time
to be workin’.”

“Well,
I have a couple of tickets to tomorrow’s Lakers game in my office.” He signed in
at the register as he spoke. “I’m just going to run upstairs and grab them. Shouldn’t
be a minute.” Jack realized he had just reduced the amount of time he would
have to search for the Antonucci file, but what else could he have said?

Jesse
spit into his cup again and glared at him.

Jack
wasn't sure whether he was permitted to leave or not, so he raised an eyebrow
and stared back.

“You
waitin’ for somethin’?” Jesse was an idiot, but his position ironically still
posed a threat.

Jack
grew more nervous by the minute, and he struggled to hide it. “Uh, no. I just
thought we weren’t finished with our conversation.”

“I
don’t know why. I don’t have nothin’ else to say.”

Jack
squinted at him without saying another word. He turned and headed confidently toward
the elevator bank leading to the upper floors.  He shook his head as the doors
closed and let out a sigh of disbelief.

“What
an asshole,” he mumbled.

Benson
Kohler occupied the building’s entire twenty-fifth floor, and the elevators
opened directly to the reception area. The floor was dark except for a spattering
of fluorescent lights that remained on for security, and Jack took a deep
breath as he walked through the office area toward the records room. An open
door greeted him serendipitously.

He
flipped on the lights to reveal a neatly kept assortment of gray metal filing
cabinets along the walls with several clean tables in the middle of the room
for reviewing files. The “A” cabinet was easy to find, and he began to peruse
through it like a child searching for a box of forbidden cookies.

It
came as no surprise that the Antonucci file was missing, and of course the check-out
card replacing it hadn’t been filled out either. Jack could only assume Hesterling
had the file, and he hoped the little bastard hadn’t removed it from the
building.

Searching
Hesterling’s office was an intimidating idea, considering the devastating circumstances
should he be discovered. But just the thought of Hesterling’s atrocities
revitalized Jack’s determination, and he jaunted down the hall toward the
corner office without thinking any longer about it.

The
room was completely dark, and Jack could almost sense an atmosphere of evil
there. Or maybe it was just his imagination. Nevertheless, he engaged the
lights to reveal the collection of odd items Hesterling had placed or hung en
masse around the office, most of which he had obtained during his safaris in
Africa. Some of them were parts of animals Jack wouldn’t even dream of killing.

Jack
always thought Hesterling’s massive desk was an expensive eyesore, with its
green stone surface and an almost orange-stained wood exterior. Hesterling
bragged incessantly about how he had practically stolen it in Morocco for a
thousand American dollars, but Jack thought it more appropriately belonged in a
long lost episode of
Daktari
than a professional office. In his opinion,
people like Hesterling would never have taste, regardless of how much money
they managed to accumulate.

The
desk and credenza were piled with papers, but Jack knew from experience that
the clutter was organized in some mysterious way. Even though the stacks never
seemed to move or change in size, Hesterling could always obtain the document
he was looking for. He would reach for the correct pile as if every one of them
were meticulously catalogued in his head. Jack considered searching through
them for a moment, but he knew the Antonucci file had to be in a more secure
location.

Settling
into Hesterling’s executive chair, Jack began to rifle through the desk drawers,
initially without any success. But the right-hand file drawer was locked, and
it seemed logical to Jack that he hit pay dirt.

How
could he force the drawer open without causing noticeable damage to the desk? Not
possible. But damage or no damage, the information he searched for was
essential to his investigation, and Hesterling would ultimately discover the
file was missing anyway.

Jack
rose to his feet and grabbed hold of the drawer’s two handles, positioning
himself to rip it out of the desk’s lower cavity. He yanked at it with all of
his strength, but the drawer remained firmly in place. He wrestled with it
again, still with no results. If Jack didn’t know better, he would have thought
Hesterling’s desk was exercising its revenge for Jack’s poor opinion of it, not
to mention how he felt about its owner.

Studying
the project again, Jack stroked his chin with his forefinger and thumb, and he
elected to give it one more try. Without mercy. He took hold of the handles and
closed his eyes before whipping his body back, this time ripping the drawer
violently out of the desk, its lock cylinder virtually destroying the wood
frame around it. His momentum threw him backward, and he fell against the
credenza, knocking Hesterling’s presumably organized stacks of papers
everywhere. Several other items, which had been hung on the wall, crashed to
the floor in pieces, and it looked like an earthquake of mammoth proportions
had surgically struck Hesterling’s office.

Jack
realized he made a terrible racket, and he stopped to listen for anyone who might
be coming to investigate. He had already been there much longer than it took to
pick up a couple of Lakers tickets, so it was possible Jesse might venture
upstairs to check on him.

Nothing
but silence.

Jack
picked himself up from the fall and found he was remarkably unharmed. He set
the drawer on the carpet in the middle of the room, away from the mess he had
created, and he searched through it quickly while his heart raced, the hard
reality of his undertaking beginning to sink in.

A
sense of déjà vu swept over him as he found the file. It looked exactly like
the one in his dream with
Antonucci, Enzo
boldly printed on the label. He
scanned hurriedly through its contents, which appeared to be a standard
corporate acquisition package. The documents indicated that Antonucci
Enterprises was using Hesterling and Benson Kohler to buy Intercontinental
Trucking—an unprofitable, wholly owned subsidiary of Graf & Tate
Corporation.