Hush-Hush Page 9

  21

  Rawls had dinner in his room and slept like a baby. The following morning, he called an air charter service he knew in Caldwell, New Jersey, west of Teterboro. He hired a Cessna 182 for a trip to Bangor, Maine, wheels up the next day at ten am.

  * * *

  —

  At seven the next morning he packed, and Fred insisted on driving him to Caldwell. The aircraft was waiting on the ramp, and a man in a leather jacket was leaning on the door. “I’m the charterer,” Ed said to him; “are you my ride?”

  “I am for six hundred bucks,” the man said.

  Rawls handed him the money and, while the man counted it, stowed his luggage in the rear compartment, then got into the right front seat. He fastened his seat belt, opened the New York Times that Fred had given him, then put on the available headset and unplugged it. He didn’t want any conversation.

  The pilot took the hint, started the airplane, ran through a checklist via his own headset and got a clearance. He took off and, at the direction of air traffic control, climbed to eight thousand feet.

  Rawls read through the paper, checking the GPS now and then. When they were halfway there, Rawls plugged in his headset. “You read me?”

  “I read.”

  “I have a change of destination: cancel IFR and descend to three thousand feet. Identifier is 57 Bravo.” Rawls entered the identifier himself into the GPS, then pressed DIRECT and turned on the autopilot. He spun in the new altitude. The airplane swung to the right and descended.

  “How much runway there?” the pilot asked.

  “Two thousand four hundred fifty feet,” Rawls replied. “You won’t need it all, and we’re cutting off half an hour from the trip, so don’t ask for more money.”

  “It’s your charter,” the man said.

  Rawls unplugged his headset and returned to his paper. Ten minutes before their ETA he put down the paper, plugged in the headset, and pointed straight ahead. “Twelve o’clock and eight miles.”

  “Got it. Wind sock says land to the north.”

  They touched down and pulled over to the ramp. “No need to shut down,” Rawls said. “I’ll get my bags.” He got out, emptied the luggage compartment, walked out of the way, and gave the pilot a thumbs-up. A minute later, Rawls was calling for a cab, and the airplane was climbing away to the south.

  * * *

  —

  At home, Rawls tossed his bags onto the bed, got his shotgun and a shovel, and got into his Jeep. He tapped the coordinates into his iPhone and followed directions back toward the airport, then turned north on a quiet lane. He stopped and checked the photographs he had been sent. Turn right at an old mailbox that had had a baseball bat taken to it by a teenager years before. Twenty yards later, he spotted his marker: a stake driven into the ground, with six inches showing. He pulled over to the side of the road and got out with the shotgun. He checked out the area; nothing but trees in sight. He loosened the stake with his shovel, then pulled it out of the earth and started digging. Three feet down he made contact with something. He got a trowel from the Jeep, knelt down, and did the rest of his digging slowly and carefully. Finally, he had exposed an old Samsonite suitcase, and he worked around it, looking for wires or other signs of booby trapping. Finally, he got a length of rope from the Jeep, tied one end to the suitcase handle and the other to the vehicle. He backed up slowly, then, as the rope tautened, even more slowly. The case came free. He dragged it a few feet and stopped.

  He turned on a small, powerful flashlight and went over the case again; looked okay. He opened the two latches slowly, then tipped open the case with his shovel, exposing two FedEx envelopes, each with something bulky inside. He closed the case, put it in the back of the Jeep, and drove home.

  There, he scissored open both envelopes and found amounts of cash inside each. He counted the bundles and came up with a million dollars. Jim was short.

  * * *

  —

  Rawls took out the second iPhone and called the number. “This is Jim.”

  “Not for long. You’re short.”

  “Hey, can’t you take a joke? My guy didn’t have time to make the second delivery before the ferry left. He’s on the water now, and he’ll drop the second case on your dock.”

  “No, he won’t. He’ll walk up the dock to the house and set it on the front porch. Then he’ll open the case and dump out the contents. If he does anything else, I’ll kill him where he stands. Is that all perfectly clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you tell him I have no sense of humor at all.”

  “I’ll pass that on. Give him an hour. It’ll be dark when he gets there. He’ll flash a light at you three times. You flash back twice.” Jim hung up.

  Rawls walked back inside, went to the bedroom, opened one of his bags, and removed the special weapon Jim had given him. He inspected it, snapped in a fresh magazine. Then he went to the kitchen, made a cup of coffee, put the kitchen scissors in his pocket, and went out to the porch. He sat down in a comfortable wicker chair, laid the rifle across his lap, and sipped his coffee, waiting for it to get dark.

  * * *

  —

  Rawls was tired, and he dozed now and then. It had just gotten dark when he heard the sound of an idling engine coming out of the dark. He got up, worked the rifle’s action, and stood behind a post on the porch, resting the rifle barrel on a protruding nail. He flipped the scope to the night setting and sighted down the barrel. He flinched when the spotlight flashed three times; it took him a moment to recover his vision in that eye. He flashed twice with his flashlight. The boat continued in.

  It bumped against the dock’s rubber padding and a man got out and took a single line to a cleat, then somebody aboard handed him a suitcase. Rawls sighted onto his chest. “Come ahead!” he shouted.

  The man walked slowly up the dock, came ashore, and walked toward the house.

  “Right up the steps,” Rawls said, and the man climbed the steps. Rawls turned, keeping the barrel pointing toward the man, and the post between himself and the idling boat. The man was wearing a lumberjack’s shirt and a mask made of a bandanna. “Open the case and shake out the contents onto the porch,” Rawls said.

  The man followed the instructions.

  Rawls tossed the kitchen scissors into the case. “Cut both envelopes open and empty them into the case.”

  The man did so. Piles of money lay there.

  “You can go now. Don’t run, or I’ll shoot you in the back.” The man walked slowly back to the dock and down to the waiting boat. He unfastened the line and jumped aboard, giving the boat a shove off the dock. Then the driver put the engines in gear and moved off into the darkness. Rawls watched it go through his Night Sight before he relaxed.

  He walked over to the case and played his flashlight over it. It was much the same as the first case, right down to the FedEx envelopes. He closed it, took it into the house, and dumped the contents onto the kitchen table.

  He counted all of it again and came up with the sum of two million dollars, in fifties and hundreds. All he had to do now was figure out what to do with it.

  22

  Stone was at his desk the following morning when his secure cell phone rang. It wasn’t Lance calling from a blocked number, so . . . “Hello, Ed.”

  “And a bright good morning to you,” Rawls replied.

  “You sound cheerful,” Stone said. “Somebody must be dead.”

  “Well, you know . . .”

  “Yeah, I heard all about it again on TV this morning.”

  “Have you heard anything that, maybe, wasn’t on TV?”

  Stone knew Ed was asking if he’d had any information from Dino. “If I had, I wouldn’t be telling you.”

  “Of course not. I called for some financial advice.”

  “Okay. Are you playing with your own money?”

&
nbsp; “I am. You introduced me to your financial friend, Charley, a while back. Is he still in the game?”

  “He is. More than ever. He, Mike Freeman, and I formed an investment partnership, Triangle Investments. Charley Fox handles the markets and the numbers, Mike and I try and come up with good buys among small companies and start-ups. We’ve done well.”

  “As you might imagine,” Rawls said, “I’ve recently come into an, ah, inheritance.”

  “Frankly, I thought they wouldn’t pay. I thought they would take you out instead.”

  “I considered that thought and took precautions. The transaction closed mostly as planned.”

  “And now you want to invest the proceeds?”

  “Something like that. Can you give me Charley’s number again?”

  “I’d better speak to him first,” Stone said. “What form is your investment going to take?”

  “Cash: fifties and hundreds.”

  “Charley won’t take that. You’re going to have to do your laundry first.”

  “What form would please him?”

  “A cashier’s check from a reputable bank.”

  “Define ‘reputable.’”

  “One that doesn’t take in Mob cash and spit out stock in Apple.”

  “How about a nice, small-town Maine bank?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Have a word with Charley and get back to me on this line?”

  “Sure.”

  “Bye.” Ed hung up.

  Stone called Charley.

  “Triangle Investments.”

  “It’s Stone.”

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “I’ve got a . . . an acquaintance who would like to open an investment account with you. His name is Ed Rawls.” Stone spelled it for him.

  “Who is he?”

  “Retired CIA, very smart.”

  “You recommend him?”

  “I do.”

  “This isn’t going to be cash, is it?”

  “No. I mean, he could do that, but he says a cashier’s check on a small-town Maine bank.”

  “Okay, tell him to call me.”

  “I will.”

  “Stone, is this one of those things that I shouldn’t ask questions about?”

  “Not unless you really want the answers.”

  “I’ve got just one: What’s the source of the money?”

  “Asked that question, Ed would reply, ‘From an inheritance.’”

  “Oh.”

  “If you’re nervous, Charley, turn it down. That won’t get you into any trouble.”

  “It won’t make any money for us, either.”

  “Good point.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to him.”

  “I think he would respond well, if you wanted to pick the investments without consulting him.”

  “I like that idea.”

  “Ed will call.” Stone hung up.

  * * *

  —

  Rawls hung up after a brief conversation with Charley. He put all the cash into a leather duffel, got into his Jeep and made the next ferry to Lincolnville, then he drove into Rockland, to a bank branch in a small shopping center. He entered the place and took a chair where he could see through the glass wall of the president’s office. When the man finished his conversation and his visitor left, he saw Rawls and waved him in.

  Rawls walked into his office, set down his duffel, and shook the man’s hand. “How are you, Harvey?”

  They exchanged some desultory chat, then the man said, “What can I do you for today, Ed?”

  “I’d like to purchase a cashier’s check.”

  “Sure, in what amount?”

  Rawls gave him a peace sign.

  “Thou?”

  Rawls shook his head.

  “Mil?”

  Ed nodded slightly.

  “The green stuff?”

  Ed nodded again.

  “I’ll need to have it counted and sorted. It will take a few minutes.”

  “Do you have one of those machines, Harvey?”

  “I do.”

  Ed placed the duffel on his desk. “Count it yourself, will you? I don’t want to become the subject of idle chat among your staff.”

  “Sure. Make yourself at home. Coffee?”

  “Black, sugar.”

  Harvey picked up the duffel, said something to a woman at a desk outside, and she brought in a cup of coffee while Harvey repaired to a back room.

  Twenty minutes later, Harvey came back with an envelope and the duffel, now empty. “The count was good; I ran it twice.” He handed Rawls the envelope. “Here’s your check.”

  Rawls inspected the check, then tucked the envelope into a pocket and picked up his duffel.

  “I’m supposed to ask you the source of the funds,” Harvey said, “but I don’t care much what you tell me.”

  “A long-lost uncle croaked at last and left it to me.”

  “I like that one,” Harvey said. “What else can I do for you?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Give the coffee lady fifty bucks for the check, and you’re out of here.”

  Rawls did so, and left. He drove around the corner to a FedEx shop, went inside, signed the check, and shipped it to Triangle Investments, for early delivery the next day.

  Rawls drove back to Lincolnville, bought a Boston paper, and got in line for the ferry. In due course, he drove off the ferry, stopped at the Dark Harbor store, and picked up some ice cream. “Anybody new in town, Billy?” he asked the proprietor.

  “A plumber feller from Searsport come over on the ferry before yours,” Billy replied.

  “Who would call all the way to Searsport for a plumber?”

  “Beats me,” Billy said. “Odd, that’s what it is.”

  Rawls thanked him and got back into his Jeep. He drove down the road, checking every vehicle he saw, then past his own gate, before he turned around. He drove past the gate again, then pulled off the road, reached under the passenger seat, and pulled out a zippered leather pouch that produced a 9mm Colt and two extra magazines. He jammed a magazine into it, racked the slide, set the safety, and put it into an inside pocket, along with the spare magazine. He took the bag of ice cream in his left hand and walked across the road and into the weeds.

  He’d take the shortcut to his house.

  23

  Rawls walked slowly through the tall weeds, careful not to make any noise. Presently, he drew even and within sight of his gate, which any intruder would be hard pressed to defeat. Parked there—engine running—was a van emblazoned with searsport plumbing. There was no one at the wheel, and Rawls assumed it to be empty.

  He sat down behind a tree, with the van at his back, and got out his Agency iPhone, afraid that he would get no reply. Instead, “This is Jim.”

  “This is that other fellow,” Rawls said. “Answer me a question, and tell me the truth: Do you or anybody you know have a connection with a firm called Searsport Plumbing, in Searsport, Maine.”

  “I don’t,” Jim said. “Let me check with others.” He put Rawls on hold.

  Rawls wished he had a spoon, so he could eat some ice cream.

  Jim came back: “Neither I nor anyone at my place of business has a connection with a Searsport Plumbing. What, may I ask, is your connection with such an entity?”

  “A van bearing that name is parked at my gate, empty, but with the engine running.”

  “And where are you?”

  “Fifty yards from my house, parallel with the driveway.”

  “I have two suggestions for you,” Jim said. “One: get out of there and lose yourself. Two: alternatively, shoot first and ask questions later. Anything else?”

  “I’ll call again, if I need to run.”

  Jim
hung up.

  Rawls resumed his travel toward his house, this time on his belly, being careful with the ice cream. Ten yards from his house, Rawls saw something move, then heard a boot strike his front porch.

  “I can’t figure out how to open the gate,” a voice said. “You go back to the van and stay there until I come. Keep the engine running.”

  “Right,” another voice replied.

  Rawls knew he was going to have to make a decision now. As he watched the house, two men came into view simultaneously—one to his left walking up the driveway, the other from his front porch, carrying an exotic rifle.

  Rawls didn’t hesitate. He took aim and put a round into the nape of the rifle-bearer’s neck. The man collapsed like a rag doll, but Rawls didn’t wait to see him hit the ground. He turned ninety degrees to his left and found the other man in a firing crouch, a pistol in his hand. Rawls shot him in the face. “Stupid fuck,” he muttered to himself. “You should have ducked for cover.”

  He had no doubt that both men were dead, but he checked anyway, then he opened the gate with his remote, got into the van and drove down the driveway. He stopped at the first body, then got out and loaded it into the rear bay, which was empty of any equipment. So much for any actual plumbing. He went to the second body and checked his face for familiarity. Nothing, and the first guy didn’t have a face anymore. He went through the man’s pockets, found a couple of passports, one Russian, one U.S., and a thick wad of cash. He pocketed the passports and the cash, then got the corpse over his shoulder and loaded into the van. A search of the first man’s body yielded much the same as the other.

  Rawls unreeled a length of hose from the side of the house, turned it on, and washed the blood off the driveway and the stones by the porch. Once cleaned up, he went into the house and had some ice cream, a little soft now. Then he turned on the TV and watched the news.

  * * *

  —

  A moment after sundown, Rawls went down to his boathouse, where he had berthed an Army surplus amphibian personnel carrier of Korean War vintage, nicely restored. He used it to take large loads and the occasional car to and fro around Penobscot. Its troop bay would hold a twenty-five-foot boat. He used it to take his own boat to the yard for the winter. He started the amphib’s engines, then drove it around to his dock and tied it stern to and perpendicular to the dock. That done, he opened the rear gates, then put the ramp down, so that it overlapped the floating dock and held the gates open.