The Clause (4 page)

Roberto’s eyes moved from the ash to me, and squinted. “I see.”

“I’ve ditched the phones, the apartments, and the cars, so they can forget that. I figure it will take them some time to find the beach house. It isn’t exactly the only one on the island with a red door.”

The information I was giving him was intended for the Serbs—I knew and he knew he had to give them something, if not me. I figured I might as well feed the Kurac what I wanted them to know. The red door? I didn’t like the idea of the Kurac torturing innocent real estate agents or delivery boys, so I thought I’d help them locate it on their own.

“That is a lot of jumping around while Trudy is left alone. If they find her …” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You know what getting caught means? If they find Trudy? I heard a story. It was about how a Kurac had a collision with his car and that of a Frenchman. I think this was in Rome. An argument followed, but the police showed and broke it up. The Kurac used the police report to track the Frenchman. Not to France, but to the Seychelles, a small island somewhere off Africa. He found the Frenchman and butchered him. And I mean, butchered, like a goat, and packed him into the refrigerator. He was caught at the airport trying to leave the country. When questioned by the police, the Kurac said it was a joke. He was tried, but before he could be sentenced, he stabbed a guard to death with a pencil in the eye and escaped. Even on that island, they never did find him.”

“If they’re that relentless, then I might as well fight them here on home turf. It is tactically unwise to concede defeat even in the face of the shifting odds. Odds, by their very nature, can be shifted back in your favor as easily as they went out of your favor.”

“So you aren’t really cutting and running? You’re not abandoning the mission?”

“Not the way you’re thinking about it, no. These Serbs: how will I know them?”

“They drive Audis, wear shiny suits and white wifebeaters, Porsche sunglasses, thick messy hair. They prefer machine pistols, and sloppy Serb and Italian pistols. M70s are their favorite. What’s your endgame, how will you close out this operation?”

“It all depends on Trudy and how much time I have.” I dropped my smoke into my untouched espresso and stood. “Thanks for everything, Roberto, I’ll miss you.”

He nodded. “Farewell, Gill. Drop me a postcard if you make it. No need to write anything, just a postcard.”

I tried to smile, walked past Ramón’s scowl, got on my Nighthawk, and left.

Seven

I needed to get
set up with phones. Bergen County had blue laws preventing most retail sales on Sundays, which meant I had to head to Newport Plaza in Hudson County to the south, in Jersey City, right next to the Holland Tunnel. At a phone store there I bought three prepaid phones, all of them without privacy screening. Prepaids pose a problem even for the FBI. I wasn’t exactly sure of the technical reasons, only that it was difficult to listen to the calls or track the calling history. Just the same, I intended to take every precaution possible.

And not just with phones. At Best Buy I picked up a three-hundred-dollar “secure” flash drive loaded with a private and encrypted browser. This puppy was military-grade—they use them in Afghanistan. Anybody attempts to crack the password and the drive wipes itself clean of all data, self-destructing. If I needed to go online at a library or anywhere else, this puppy would do all the processing through a virtual private network. The data of where I went online and what I wrote would come with me, and not be on the machine.

Leaning against my bike in the parking lot, I used Phone #1 to call Felix.

A male voice: “Bergenline Veterinary. How may I help you?”

“I need to speak with Felix.”

“Who is calling?”

“His cousin, it’s important.”

“To hold, please.”

A Hispanic male voice came on. “Yes?”

“Roberto sent me. I need a house call for a sick cat.”

There was a pause. “When?”

“Hour?”

“Where?”

“Go to the Edgewater marina, and I’ll call you there.”

He gave me his cell number and hung up. I put the number into the phone’s speed dial, then turned Phone #1 off and clicked out the battery. With Phone #2 I called Teddy, a jeweler. I got a machine.

“This is Astoria Fine Jewelers. Our hours are Monday through Saturday, nine to six. If you wish, leave a message. We look forward to servicing your needs.”

“Teddy, this is Gill. I’m hoping you’re there today. Please give me a call back at …”

“Hallo? Gill?”

“Hi, Teddy, good to find you there.”

“You have quality sparks to show me? Because I don’t care about silver, or crap stones.”

He hadn’t heard about last night’s operation, which was good. He would have mentioned it if he had. “It’s all Fifth Avenue, Teddy.”

“I can’t meet you today, though, I am only here briefly. I have my niece’s wedding at three.”

“I can be there within two hours.”

“I don’t want to rush.”

“There’s no choice.”

“Er … so this is a rush? What’s going on? Is there heat?”

“No heat, just circumstances. I either bring Fifth Avenue to you or someone else. Now.”

“Who else?”

“There are others.”

“You and Trudy always come to me, that’s why I give you the best price.”

“Not the best price, a fair price.”

“A fair price is the best price, my friend.”

“Can I come or not?”

“Hm, I don’t like to be rushed.”

“I hope you have cash on hand.”

“Is there a lot?”

“There could be.”

“Er, yes, come.”

“See you.” I had to get to Teddy fast—he’d be making calls to find out what happened last night, and I didn’t want him to have a chance to sell me out to the Kurac.

Phone #2: off and battery out.

I fired up the bike and drove to a gym in north Hoboken. It was in a refurbished brick factory space. I had a membership there, but only used it for the locker, bathroom, and showers when I needed to clean up after an operation. In the locker I kept a toiletry kit, change of clothes, and tennis gear. From the clutter at the bottom of the locker I pulled two tubes of tennis balls. I found some privacy in a bathroom stall, and sat on the toilet with the tennis ball tubes. They were slit, and inside each ball was a stash of sparks that I wrapped in toilet paper and transferred into the pockets of my cargo pants. On my way out I dumped the empty tennis balls into the trash.

I snapped in the battery on Phone #2 and dialed.

“Whitestone Jewelry.”

“Steve there?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Renaldo, I’m his cousin.”

“Gill, how are you, nice day out there, isn’t it? Ack, but here I am, stuck in the store on a Sunday. It’s a crime. There was a time when I used to go to mass on Sundays, but with the economy who can afford God? As a jeweler I have to compete with Jews who are open on Sundays. If God wanted me in church, he would have made the Sabbath the same for everybody, you know what I’m saying?”

“Can I come over?”

“You mean right now?”

“In three hours or so.”

“Usually we wait until closing.”

“This can’t wait.”

“Oooh, that doesn’t sound good.”

“There’s no heat, but I have a schedule.”

“Please tell me you have something nice for a change. You know I always try to do my best, but with the economy and the competition—I’m a businessman struggling to survive.”

“It’s Fifth Avenue. You want it, or do I take it to someone else?”

“Gill, please, who else are you going to deal with? I’m the most fair guy you’re going to find, you know that. You always come to me, we’re friends. How is lovely Trudy?”

“She’s fine. So is it a date?”

“Call me from the parking lot. We can go over the sparks in my Hummer.”

“See you.” Phone #2: off and battery out.

If you sell sparks in smaller quantities you get a better price, and I knew Teddy and Steve wouldn’t have the cash on hand to take the whole lot off my hands. So I needed several of my resources. Like they say, don’t shit where you eat. I cultivated several jewelers away from home base, east across the Hudson River in New York City, all more or less on a loop around Queens and the Bronx with a straight shot on I-95 back across the GW Bridge and the Gold Coast. If I used a jeweler on the west bank of the Hudson, say in Fort Lee, they’d likely already have heard about the operation, possibly from the police. Most midsized jewelers will buy the Fifth Avenue stuff, and never ask where it came from—the brand name stuff has a high re-sell value. There are so many of these midsized stores in the New York City area that nobody checks up on what they buy and from where. Who is to say I didn’t buy the lot at an estate sale? Who is to say my mother or wife didn’t die and leave them to me?

After Teddy I’d call Doc Huang at East Trading Jewelers in Flushing for a third stop. Liquidating my entire stash wouldn’t be possible—besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Sparks can be a good hedge against inflation, and frankly a Cartier diamond necklace is more compact than ten thousand dollars cash. Just the same, big wads of cash would go a long way toward completing the operation of staying alive.

Eight

DCSNet 6000 Warrant Database

Transcript Cell Phone Track and Trace

Peerless IP Network / Redhook Translation

Target: Dragan Spikic

Date: Sunday, August 8, 2010

Time: 955–1002 EDT

SPIKIC: TALK TO ME.

VUGOVIC: HE MET WITH THE SPICS.

SPIKIC: AND THOSE CUNT-CRUST CUBANS DIDN’T CALL US?

VUGOVIC: HE’S ONE OF THEIRS, MORE OR LESS.

SPIKIC: SOON TO BE LESS. I WANT ROBERTO’S BALLS, YOU HEAR ME?

VUGOVIC: NOT NECESSARY. WE TURNED A SPIC ON THE INSIDE, ROBERTO’S NUMBER TWO, RAMÓN, GAVE US A NAME: GILL UNDERWOOD. THE GIRL THEY ONLY KNOW AS TRUDY. BUT WE GOT HER CELL PHONE NUMBER. THE RUSSIANS ARE WORKING ON THE NUMBER NOW. IF IT’S ON WE SHOULD HAVE A FIX ON HER. WE WENT TO HIS APARTMENT. NOBODY HAS BEEN THERE, BUT WE HAVE A MAN ON IT.

SPIKIC: THE GIRL, HOW BADLY DID SHE GET IT?

VUGOVIC: THIS MAN, GILL, IS LOOKING FOR A CAT DOCTOR FOR HER. WE GOT THE NAME OF THE CAT DOCTOR FROM RAMÓN. THIS VET’S NAME IS FELIX, AND WE’RE WITH HIM NOW AT THE EDGEWATER MARINA. GILL IS SUPPOSED TO CALL HIM HERE OR MEET HIM TO TAKE HIM TO TRUDY.

SPIKIC: STAY WELL BACK. THIS SON OF A ROACH NAMED UNDERWOOD IS PROBABLY WATCHING TO SEE IF HE HAS COMPANY.

VUGOVIC: WE SHOULD HAVE THIS COMPLETED IN AN HOUR.

SPIKIC: MAKE HIM SUFFER LIKE A LEGLESS DOG IN BARBED WIRE.

VUGOVIC: THE BOYS WERE SUGGESTING WE MAKE HIM EAT HIS OWN TESTICLES WHILE HIS COCK WATCHES FROM A SAFE DISTANCE.

SPIKIC: [LAUGHTER] VERY WELL, CALL AS SOON AS YOU HAVE THE LITTLE GLASS. THE JEWS ARE WAITING.

VUGOVIC: WHAT OF THAT WHORE IDI RAYKOVIC?

SPIKIC: SHE WAS A GOOD FUCK.

VUGOVIC: AND WHAT ABOUT TITO—DID THEY ARRANGE FOR THIS MAN GILL TO STEAL FROM US?

SPIKIC: IF TITO DID, THE BITCH DOESN’T KNOW ABOUT IT. I’M GETTING SOFT, VUGO—I SPARED THE WHORE’S DOG.

VUGOVIC: [LAUGHTER] IT WOULD ONLY HAVE MADE A MESS ANYWAY. MY OPINION IS THAT TITO IS NOT CLEVER OR BRAVE ENOUGH TO HAVE ARRANGED THIS. THE MASTURBATING LONG-HAIRED SMALL RODENT WAS SO FRIGHTENED HE WAS WEEPING AND WETTING HIS PANTS.

SPIKIC: [LAUGHTER] BRING ME GOOD NEWS AND WE’LL BE NECK DEEP IN RUSSIAN WHORES AND SMALL MELONS BY TOMORROW MORNING.

VUGOVIC: SOON.

SPIKIC: GOOD HUNTING.

*END*

Nine

From the embankment above
the barn next to a boulder, I kept my binoculars trained on the road below. Sure enough a red Miata appeared. I gave Felix directions over Phone #1, the same phone I used to call him the first time. But I hadn’t even called him yet when the Kurac goons showed themselves in the woods, slipping from tree to tree as they drew near to my stash of Old Crow, bloody bandages, and the SUV. Like I figured, they’d found the garage through a fix on Trudy’s phone, the one I left on in the barn. They’d made someone talk. It wouldn’t have been Roberto; he wouldn’t have compromised the mission. But one of his men may have sold me out. Or maybe Ramón sold me out without Roberto knowing—he never liked me. Since I’d called Roberto on Trudy’s phone first thing that morning, Ramón had that number, either through caller ID or through phone records from the Kurac’s sources through the Russians at the phone company or the police.

It was grim to watch the Serbs in muscle shirts and track pants close in, knowing what they would have done to me had I actually been in the barn. At the same time it was good to know my caution was paying off. When you’re in a tight spot, it’s better to know who you can’t trust than who you can. It was also good to know that I could use the Corporation if I wanted to leak misinformation, like the details I gave to Roberto about the beach house.

As instructed, Felix stopped his red Miata in front of the garage doors and beeped his horn twice.

The goons began moving in, and when I didn’t come out the way I said I would, about eight of them stormed the place. Felix sped away.

Another car came down the drive.

An Audi.

Two got out. One was another soldier. The other wore a shiny suit, six-foot and in his fifties. The pale, pocked face told me it had been a hard five decades. He had brown hair streaked white in a short ponytail, shaved close at the sides, and he walked chest out.

That was the guy I was up against. No doubt this douchebag had a boss, but this was the one who was trying to put the hooks in me, the brain that would be trying to angle my next twist. The rest of these guys—while no doubt viscous deviants—were just soldiers. By the looks of things, my adversary didn’t seem to have a second in command.

After a few moments inside, he stomped back outside holding the colorful shirt I’d worn the night before, the one from under the SUV’s back seat. He had it to his nose, smelling me. I’d never seen somebody do that—it was a little freaky.

He took the shirt from his nose, cocked his head, and turned his dark eyes in my direction. Even from there I could see the eyes were black and flat like a shark’s. It was like he knew I was there watching, like he could smell me on the breeze. I slunk back away from the edge of the embankment. He was no dummy; my adversary knew I might be watching, and where else but from the top of the ravine? If he took the bait that Trudy was alive, he might have even imagined that both of us had narrowly escaped somehow when we caught a glimpse of his goons’ approach.

I knew not to push my luck and take another look.
This creep was smelling my shirt.

I jogged south along the twisty roads dotted with bungalows tucked in the forest. At the river’s edge there was a path, and I took it south, the saddle bag of sparks bouncing on my shoulder. The path brought me to a concrete wall that was the edge of a raised parking lot for an apartment complex. I climbed the rope I’d left there, unhooked it from the parapet, and rolled over the parapet into the parking lot. There was a pattern of decorative holes in the wall, and I watched for a few minutes to see if I was followed. Why? To see if they followed me, tracked me, known that I was watching them, that I was alone, and not with Trudy. It’s important to know what your enemy knows, and more importantly only let him know what you want him to know. I wanted the Kurac to continue believing I was trying to keep her alive and running for my life. I wanted them to think I was weak.

They didn’t show.

I trotted over to the Nighthawk, fired her up, and curved out of the parking lot. My path lay north, up River Road and past the street where the barn was.

I didn’t dare turn my head that direction as I passed. What if that shitbag was standing there smelling my shirt, waiting for me?

Stomach in knots, I throttled the bike across the George Washington Bridge, the sky laced with steel cables and the huge span stabbing over the river at the heart of Washington Heights in Upper Manhattan. The sun was high and bright over the glistening Hudson River, on which sailboats, tugs, and barges sliced the water.

I let myself wonder what I’d do if they caught up with me.

I had to plan for that, too.