Cold Hit

Chapter 53

I'm bloody tired of waiting," Stan said, glaring at his watch. "Give us a bell if you ever decide to get serious about this."

We were standing on the end of the Santa Monica Pier in the blazing noontime sun waiting for the others to arrive. Both of us had our coats off. A quarter mile up the beach I could see the Shutters Hotel where I stayed with my family last night. Just as Stan turned to go, Broadway's car pulled up and parked. Roger got out, and then the passenger door opened, and Bimini Wright, looking very hot in a sundress and heels, joined him. They started walking toward us.

"What's she doing here?" Stanislov glowered at the beautiful CIA station chief who was now only twenty or thirty yards away.

"Calm down, Stan."

He threw his coat over his shoulder and started to walk away.

I grabbed his arm. "I told you I had something that would interest you. You don't get to hear it unless you stick around."

"Not interested."

This was in danger of unraveling before it got started, so I said, "What if I can put Sammy Petrovitch in Pelican Bay for murder? I also have a decent shot at getting his brother Iggy on conspiracy to commit."

Stanislov stopped walking and looked at me. "If you could really do that, we bloody well wouldn't be standing out here gassing about it, would we?"

"Don't be so sure."

But I had him interested, so I went ahead and told him about the ballistics match on the bullet that killed Martin Kobronovitch. "If Sammy was the triggerman on both hits, and if we match the bullets to a gun in his possession, he's gone."

"Those are big ifs," Stan said. He shifted his weight and looked at Bimini Wright, who slowed as she approached. You could feel the negativity jolting back and forth between them like deadly arcs of electricity.

"Roger," she said, looking at the handsome African-American detective, as they came to a stop where we were standing. "You didn't say anything about this sonof-a-bitch being here. If he's involved, I'm gone."

"Strange remark from a woman who flat-backed half my Moscow Bureau," Stanislov growled nastily.

"Hey, Stan, it's not my fault all you recruited was a bunch of alcoholic hard-ons."

Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emdee Perry approaching with Eddie Ringerman. It distracted Bimini and Stan, and they both turned as the two men approached.

"Now we got the whole, bloomin' free world," Stan groused.

"I already filled Eddie in on what we're up to," Emdee said as they joined us.

"Anybody want a Coke or something?" Broadway offered, ever the perfect host.

"Let's just get this over with," Bimini snapped.

"To start with, I want to compare notes on one fact," I said quickly before our guests sprinted to their cars. "All of us have computer leaks. Our ESD technicians think the bugs were manufactured by a company here in L. A. called Americypher Technologies. I'm assuming your people have made similar discoveries."

"Not exactly news," Eddie Ringerman countered, removing his coat in the heat, revealing bulging biceps under his short-sleeved shirt.

"The original owner of that company, Calvin Lerner, was an Israeli national who disappeared ten years ago," I continued. "Our financial crimes investigators told us yesterday that Lerner's widow is now listed as the CEO, but she isn't really running the company. It looks like she's just some kind of management front. We also found out that Americypher is really owned by a private Bahamian holding company called Washington Industries. Our analysts haven't been able to penetrate the stockholders list yet, but since Americypher sells surveillance equipment to everyone in the intelligence community, if they're owned by the wrong people, it could be a problem."

Ringerman rocked back on his heels and glanced at Bimini Wright before responding. "You should be able to penetrate a Bahamian corporation with the IRS."

"Our Financial Crimes division thinks Washington Industries is a burn company that has all their assets and stockholder tax records in numbered accounts," I said. "They think if we lean on them too hard, they'll transfer the assets and corporate paperwork to Europe and all we'll get is a shell."

"The Petrovitches own it," Stanislov interrupted, his gravely voice almost lost on the warm breeze.

"You're sure?" I said.

"We also traced those surveillance devices," he continued. "Washington Industries funnels cash back to the Petrovitches' holding company, Patriot Industries, through a Swiss bank. You need better financial analysts."

I looked at Eddie Ringerman. Something was going on with him. He looked stricken, so I said, "Are you just an interested spectator or do you want to add to this?"

Eddie hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "Davide Andrazack found seven Americypher bugs inside our embassy and several in the ambassador's car. If the Petrovitches are secret partners in that Bahamian company, then it's a major problem because Davide found out that those bugs were reverse engineered. They operate on two frequencies. One broadcasts to the office of Homeland Security, who I guess had them installed, but the other frequency transmits to a site somewhere in Century City. Davide was murdered before he could trace it. Since then, that second receiver went dark. We tried to triangulate on it, but whoever owns it took it down. Now that it's shut off, we'll never find it." He paused, then added, "As an interesting point of fact, the Petrovitches have new offices in Century City," giving me a location for Alexa's warrant.

"Without busting that receiver, you don't have much of anything," Bimini observed.

Everybody pondered that for a moment before Stanislov said, "This is all frightfully interesting, but I don't see what any of it has to do with catching the Petrovitches."

So I told them what Roger, Emdee, and I had planned, and how we needed everybody's help to back us up if things went wrong.

When I was finished, Stanislov just stood there frowning. "Rather dicey, that," he growled. "I certainly can't involve my embassy on that kind of risky project, but I wish you blokes all the best."

Then he turned and, without another word, just lumbered off the pier. The rest of us watched him go.

"I'm afraid I'm with him," Eddie Ringerman said.

"My embassy won't sign up for anything like that either. Hope you pull it off."

He followed Bambarak into the parking lot.

I felt my spirits sinking. We couldn't go it alone. That left only Bimini Wright.

"What's your excuse?" Broadway asked her.

"Shit, fellas, this is a domestic espionage situation. CIA is tasked to international cases only. I'd like to pitch in, but if I took a swing at something like this, the FBI and Homeland would shit a brick and I'd bitch up a twenty-year ride. Sorry."

She turned and followed the other two off the pier.

Once the three of us were standing there alone, I turned to Broadway and Perry. "Whose dumb-ass idea was this anyway?" Since it was mine, nobody answered. "We could use a new plan, guys," I said. "Whatta you think?"

"I think, besides learning those bugs were set by Virtue and reverse engineered by someone, the filly looks the best going away," Emdee drawled, watching Bimini's long, sexy stride.

"We could try and recruit a CTB surveillance team," Broadway suggested. "Most of our Special Ops cowboys have more testosterone than sense. We'd have to do it without sanction and that could cause them trouble. But if we make it a challenge, maybe we could recruit a few and get them to keep it on the DL so the Loot doesn't fall on us."

The CTB surveillance teams were mostly reassigned hard-ons from SIS or SWAT who loved a good dust-up.

But still, it did involve some career jeopardy.

"Okay," I told them, "but I'm not throwing down on this guy unless we have backup."

"Say no more, Joe Bob. Rowdy and Snitch always deliver."