The senator grumbled incoherently as he reached for the device. “What?” he snarled.
“We’ve got a problem,” FBI Director Culder said.
Soller shook his head; in his state unable to comprehend how things could get any worse. “And what might that be?” he said, his tone bordering sarcasm.
“I sent our guys to meet with your friend,” Culder said, referring to Jake Sanders and Rudy Pagano.
Soller didn’t have the mental capacity to put clues together; there was too much alcohol swirling around in his blood. Culder’s reference to their two operatives going after the man from Island Industries had been completely lost on him.
“My friend?” he said, his slurred words punctuating his confusion.
Culder allowed himself a pause in frustration. “Yes.” His voice conveyed his annoyance. “Your friend. The one you want to question about your son.”
Soller’s eyes snapped open, the mention of his son having a sobering effect. “I see, and how is that going?”
“It doesn’t seem to be going very well at the moment. I haven’t heard from them since they left for the meeting. Apparently somebody crashed the party, literally.”
Soller’s mind struggled to understand the somewhat cryptic message.
“From what I can see on the local news footage,” Culder explained, referring to the massive explosion at the Bratva compound, “it’s possible that we’re looking at a forced early retirement.”
Soller’s face turned to a nasty frown. “You mean like our friends at the house last night?”
“That’s right,” Culder said.
The senator had mixed feelings about the news. Now his illicit gang of operatives no longer carried the threat of exposure. Dead men couldn’t be dragged in front of a hearing to testify against him. He decided the loss might not be such a bad thing, and before he could consider whom he might contact to finish the job, his thoughts were interrupted.
“I also got a call from your old friend,” Culder said. The senator didn’t respond, so he added, “John Simpson.”
Soller remained silent.
“He said to pull back. He told me that we’re ‘in over our heads’ with this one,” Culder added.
The senator was fuming. Telling him what he could or couldn’t do was a surefire way to meet resistance. “It sounds like he’s taken care of our pulling back, wouldn’t you say?” Soller quipped. He raised his glass and took another swig as he contemplated the news. “How the hell did he find out about what we were up to?”
“I have no idea,” Culder said.
Soller’s thoughts turned to the FBI director. Before long, it would be time for him to find a new job. He had managed to get his ten-year tenure extended by another two, but not without cashing in some favors. He drained his glass and decided that since the HVT squad was now out of commission, it was time to cut Culder loose.
“It’s not as bad as it could be,” the director said flatly.
“Oh?” the senator slurred, curious of the man who had seemingly read his mind. He reached for the bottle, bemused, and refilled his glass.
“I have what we need to crucify your friend.”
Soller smiled — truly smiled — for the first time since his son had been killed. Even in his state, he understood the allusion to President Cross.
“Brilliant,” he said. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
He abruptly ended the call and began to raise his glass.
A ring interrupted the motion again. “Goddamn it,” he growled as he snatched the phone off his desk.
He looked at the display and savored a taste of his scotch before answering. “I hope you have good news for me,” he said.
“That I do,” Federal Reserve Chairman Bart Stapleton said. “The meeting was a success. Everything is set for the morning. All of the transfers will be made. I have a good feeling about this. We’re in the oil business again.”
Soller took a deep breath in content. It was getting late, and he needed some sleep.
“Excellent news,” he said. “Excellent.”
Chapter 148
The sound of an incoming text message interrupted his train of thought. Etzy Millar was still out of sorts from the message he had received from his girlfriend, Maria Soller, last night. The Shop was able to trace the signal to a location in Virginia, and his only option was to trust the operatives there could pull off a miracle and save the two women he loved. Part of him didn’t want to know what this new message said. He feared for his sister and girlfriend after all the senseless killing of the past two days. He knew the message was something he couldn’t ignore, so he slid his finger across the screen and began to read.
Call this number now or we will kill them both.
His heart skipped a beat before it pounded like a sledgehammer trying to break through his chest. His breath had become short, and he started to feel ill. He took a couple of deep breaths before he was able to speak.
“Take this exit please,” Millar told the cabbie, his voice sickly.
Dennis Zander looked over at his new friend.
“What’s wrong, Etzy?” he asked quietly.
Millar glanced at Zander. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he closed his eyes and tried to stop his hands from shaking. His breathing was concentrated while he tried to regain control. The cabdriver had reached the end of the exit ramp by the time he opened his eyes.
“Here. Pull over here,” he said urgently, pointing at a hotel.
The cabdriver quickly turned into the driveway, and Millar opened the door. He looked to Zander and said, “Look, you need to take care of things with The Shop. Something’s come up, and I can’t help you guys out right now.”
He slammed the door shut before Zander could speak.
Millar’s mind raced. He would be damned if he was going to let someone else die. He’d figure something out on his own. By now whoever had his sister and girlfriend realized they couldn’t trace the number he was using to send the text messages. Once he placed the call, things would be different. They would be able to find him, but he didn’t care. He planned on taking that option away.
He dialed Maria Soller’s cell phone number and took in another deep breath.
“Today is your lucky day,” the man answered.
Millar was confused. He stuttered and finally asked, “Who is this?”
“This is the person who will kill your sister and your girlfriend if you don’t do what you’re told. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, sure,” Millar said nervously. The man didn’t have a Russian accent, and his voice sounded vaguely familiar.
“Please don’t hurt them. We can make a trade.”
“A trade?”
“Me for them. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like you’re on the right track,” he said, sounding amused, almost baiting. “How do you suggest we handle this?”
“I’ll come to you.”
“You will?”
Millar sensed angst in the man’s voice and decided it had something to do with him figuring out where they were.
“Yes,” Millar said confidently. He looked over at a cab waiting for a fare in front of the hotel and said, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“We’ll be expecting you.”
The familiarity of the man’s voice bothered Millar.
“I want to see them outside when I get there. When I get out of the cab, you send them over to me and I’ll take their place. Got it?”