Face of a Killer

23

She sat in the airport, bone-tired, read the note for the fiftieth time, while she waited for Carillo to get back to her, because he wanted to do some research of his own. But as she examined it again, she wasn’t sure what he could do, because nothing in it seemed to be the sort of thing you could check on.

Dear Sydney,

I’m sorry it had to end this way. I should have sent the money to your father. He only wanted it for Cisco’s Kid, but Iggy said no. They could tie it to BICTT and it would ruin us all. I tried to call Boston. I always thought he’d be sick of fish and beer after twenty years. He was the only smart one. We should have all gone down there. What was I supposed to do? God, I’m so sorry. Sorry about your father. I’ll make it right. Screw Iggy. BICTT is going to take him down, because they’re still operating. The bastard gets what he deserves for what they did to you. Your father was right all along. I know it now.

Will

The note made very little sense. The evidence log showed it had been found under the table. That it was addressed to her might somewhat explain why Scotty had been waiting at her mailbox. They must have figured it was a draft, that another copy had been mailed, perhaps. But according to Scotty, McKnight had also been drinking, and if this thing had been found under the table, chances were that it never made it into the mail.

About twenty minutes later, Carillo finally got back to her. “I’ve got a couple things. One of them big,” he said.

“Scotty was right,” she said, not letting him finish. She’d had plenty of time to think about the note, decipher it while she was waiting for his call. “It had to have been about blackmail. Cisco’s Kid was my father’s boat. I have a picture on my nightstand of him sitting on it… If he was demanding money from McKnight, money for Cisco’s Kid, I have to assume he was talking about the boat. The name Cisco’s Kid was on the note that McKnight sent to me, the, um, one that Scotty said showed he was blackmailing McKnight. That’s what you found, isn’t it?”

There was a long stretch of silence on the other end. “Maybe it was money owed, and had nothing to do with boats and blackmail. It’s the BICTT reference that must have spooked the CIA enough to come in and sanitize the files in Houston. Look at it from McKnight’s point of view. Whatever made him eat his gun has to be a lot bigger than a little blackmail to finance the purchase of some fishing boat, especially after being singled out by the president to oversee a gazillion dollars of the federal budget. The fact McKnight even wrote the initials B-I-C-T-T just before he killed himself is pretty telling in my book.”

“BICTT?” she repeated, pronouncing it as he did the first time, as one word, like bikt.

“You said Scotty mentioned some big banking scandal when he showed up at your door? BICTT is one of the biggest banking scandals in U.S. history for what it encompassed, and for how it was whitewashed after the fact. They had a key witness who could pinpoint top government officials and major CEOs, who not only were bribed, but also had knowledge that the international bank was corrupt before it opened its doors on U.S. soil, all with their blessings.”

“So what happened to the witness?”

“Speculation has it that he took off with some inside help, and hasn’t been seen in the U.S. since. The blowout twentysomething years ago was huge.”

“Huge enough to make someone kill himself, even today, long after the statute of limitations has run its course?”

“This isn’t about statute of limitations. We’re talking reputations of entire countries, including their CEOs and politicians and religious institutions, fortunes lost, careers ruined, wars financed kind of thing. After 9/11, no one wants their name associated with anything remotely related to terrorists, and that includes the CIA. And this banking operation hosted some of the biggest terrorists in the world, all while numerous OGAs in the U.S. turned a blind eye,” he said. OGA was a common military term for other government agencies, and could encompass anything from the FBI to the NSA. “Hell, CIA was in on the ground floor when this bank opened a branch on U.S. soil, so they could run their own operations.” She could hear the clicking of a keyboard as he typed. “Here it is. Bank of International Commerce Trade and Trust. BICTT.”

“And we’re sure this is the one?”

“As soon as I mentioned banking scandal to Schermer, this is the one he pointed me to. Schermer’s source says it was known in the CIA as the Bank of International Crooks, Terrorists, and Thieves, and when it was busted open, helped cement the acronym of CIA as Caught In the Act. It was the ultimate banking institution if you were looking to evade taxes, handle illegal transfers of money, off-the-record deposits, or any other nefarious conduit for drug and crime money.”

“So how was it exposed?”

“The bank got caught laundering money for the CIA, something to do with selling arms to one of the Agency’s pet projects in South America or something. Word got out, and there was a big hearing. McKnight and his business partner, Robert Orozco, were supposed to testify before the subcommittee, but the Department of Justice kept interfering, blocking their depositions. And when Orozco disappeared off the radar, the whole thing ended up being whitewashed. The Senate turned out their subcommittee report, a few lawsuits were filed, and everyone went about their business as if nothing happened. Par for the course in government. If someone starts to notice something, they wag the dog and deflect attention elsewhere.”

“McKnight testified?” she asked, moving out of the way of a woman wheeling a suitcase in one hand, and trying to keep hold of a toddler in the other.

“Not sure, yet. I haven’t finished reading all the particulars. The congressional subcommittee report’s about as long as War and Peace . But the Freedom of Information Act combined with the Internet is a beautiful thing. If you type McKnight’s name into the Internet with the initials BICTT, it brings up the congressional subcommittee report. His name shows up under the chapter heading ‘CIA and Arms Sales.’ Same with Orozco. Since McKnight’s sort of dead, I think you need to find this Orozco dude.”

“Brilliant deduction. Any chance you’ve found out where to locate this Orozco dude?”

“Unfortunately, no. Doc Schermer checked every government file he could get into. Like I said, the guy dropped off the face of the earth about twenty-two years ago.”

Twenty-two years ago was when her father was injured, and when he uprooted them to move to the Bay Area. The timing wasn’t lost on her, but how it might help her was. Another dead end, or something more to be checked out? And thinking of things that needed checking… “Please tell me you and Doc Schermer found something on Wheeler’s case? As of tomorrow he’s at four days and counting.”

“We did. The news isn’t good. Not a lot to go on, I’m afraid. The original investigator died of a heart attack a couple years ago, and out of the three witnesses that testified on

Wheeler’s behalf, only one is still alive. Wheeler’s girlfriend, the mother of his baby, overdosed on heroin about a year after he was incarcerated, leaving their baby in the care of

Wheeler’s maternal aunt, one Jazmine Wheeler. Had a hard time tracking her down, because she’s listed under the report by her married name, and her first name was incorrectly spelled in the report with an S, instead of a Z. You know what a bear it is if the first name’s not right. Apparently she went back to her maiden name, Wheeler, shortly after the trial, when her husband, witness number three, walked out, leaving her to raise Wheeler’s baby on her own. Her ex was killed in a car crash about five years back, so she’s it.” “Any luck contacting her?”

“Not yet. She’s a nurse at a methadone clinic in the city, but she’s out of town for a couple days.”

“A couple days…?” What chance did Wheeler have? “Sorry, kid. Our best chance of talking to her is at the clinic, Sunday afternoon, or maybe at her house before. I hate to break it to you, but between her and the photos, there’s nothing left you can do. And the way I see it, the photos might be

Wheeler’s last hope, or his ticket to the big house in the sky.”

He was referring to a surveillance camera from a neighboring business that had caught stills of someone climbing into the pizza parlor’s rear window.

“But I thought those photos were unusable. That they couldn’t identify anyone.”

“And that may still be the case. But there’s been a lot of progress with image enhancement techniques since the trial.

Back then they didn’t have the digital tools they have now with all the bells and whistles.”

“That’s good, then?”

“That’s real good. The photographs are still logged into evidence. I’ve got a contact out at DOJ who can enhance the images, print up some photos that might just tell us who was climbing in that back window. If it turns out it’s someone other than Wheeler, we’ve got our case.”

An immense wave of relief swept through her, but a shortlived one, when she realized that with only four days left, there wasn’t a lot of time. “How soon can we get those pictures?”

“My contact is putting a rush on it, Sydney. Thinks he can get it back to us in one, maybe two days, working on his off hours. Schermer’s driving out to pick up the photos as we speak.”

“Tell him I owe him.”

“He knows. And really, there’s nothing else we can do for the guy if this doesn’t pan out…”

In other words, Wheeler’s last hope was probably in those photos. “Call me if you find out anything more on either of the cases. I’ve got about an hour before my plane boards.”

“Will do.”

She disconnected, then started down the terminal toward her gate, walking past a gift shop decorated like some tiki hut. At least there was some progress on Wheeler’s case, even if it did seem to come at a snail’s pace in comparison to how much time he had left. That was more than she could say on this other matter. Who the hell was this Robert Orozco? The name meant nothing to her, but she felt as though it should. Just as the whole BICTT scandal meant nothing to her. No doubt it was covered in some course at the National Academy, but not to any great extent that would make an impression over any other scandal funding terrorists, she thought, reaching her gate. She chose a seat that backed up to a support column, giving her something to lean her head against, because she was wiped out from the redeye. Sinking into her seat, she propped her backpack behind her head and closed her eyes, feeling herself drift off, and wondering if she’d hear the boarding announcement if she did.

Bob.

The name popped into her head and she jerked awake, sat up.

Robert Orozco… Bob the Boat Guy. She dug the letter from her backpack, read through it again: I tried to call Boston. I always thought he’d be sick of fish and beer after twenty years. He was the only smart one. We should have all gone down there.

She called Carillo back. “I know who he is.”

“Who?”

“Robert Orozco. He has to be Bob, the guy my dad fished with every year in Mexico. They were going to open up a fishing business in Baja when they retired. That was my father’s big dream.”

“Baja’s sort of a big place.”

“That boat I told you about, Cisco’s Kid? There’s a picture on my nightstand of me and my dad on that boat, and I need a copy of it.”

“How am I going to do that?”

“My landlord, Rainie. She’s always home. She can get it for you. I also need a contact number from my desk for Pedro Venegas of the AFI.” AFI was Mexico’s version of the FBI. Sydney had done some work for Venegas, and now it was time to call in a favor.

“Okay, so what’s the purpose of going to Baja?”

“Because Bob, the boat guy, told me that was the first boat in their fleet. If he’s the same guy, he’s eating fish and drinking beer just south of Tijuana, and that boat is docked down there with him. He’s got to be ‘Boston’ in the letter. It seems McKnight was using nicknames.”

“Hold up, there, Pollyanna. Swinging over to Texas is one thing. How’re you going to justify a trip to Tijuana?”

“What any good agent would do when they want to look in on something on their own time. Claim I have serious jet-lag and call in sick.”