Project Moses - A Mystery Thriller (Enzo Lee Mystery-Thriller Series) (29 page)

“Great. A real pro, then,” said Lee. “It sounds like a real good suspect.”

“Yeah. I’ve got some more information coming from Germany. I should get it in the next few days. Then, I’ll have to figure out what to do about the feds, not to mention my own brass. But I thought you would be interested.”

“You’re so right, Bobbie. Believe me. It’s music to my ears. Listen. If anything else comes up, call the reporter you talked to before. She’ll know where I am. I’ve got loads to tell you but let’s see how the Warrington thing goes first.”

“Okay, Enzo. Listen, you be careful. If you do decide to turn yourself in, I’ll make sure you don’t get shot on the way to jail. I can’t guarantee what happens after that.”

“Thanks, Bobbie. I may have to take you up on that.”

When she had hung up the phone, Bobbie Connors refilled her glass with the Clos Du Pegases chardonnay sitting on the coffee table and sat next to her partner Susan on the living room sofa. They watched the end of the local news.

A half block away, in a blue Econoline van that hadn’t been moved for the past two days, a voice-activated tape recorder receiving transmissions from the small transmitter in Bobbie Conner’s telephone automatically clicked off.

Chapter 35

LEE WOKE UP with his mind already racing. He knew it would be useless to try to sleep again even though it was still dark. Sarah was still asleep beside him. She did not stir when Lee climbed out and put on a sweatshirt, his running shoes and a pair of gym shorts. He let himself out of the suite and took the elevator down to the street that was quiet for midtown Manhattan. Only the delivery trucks and the odd taxi were moving.

As dawn broke and the streetlights began to switch off, Lee jogged along the dirty sidewalk up Eighth Avenue toward Central Park. He entered the park through the Columbus Circle entrance. Usually, the circle was a whirlwind of traffic, but at this hour Lee ignored the traffic signals, dodged a couple of taxis and was into the park.

It had been three days since they had returned to New York. After dispatching the envelopes containing copies of the documents from Brent Donsen’s file, there was not much left for Lee to do but wait. He had tried unsuccessfully to ignore his sense of urgency, the feeling that time was running out. He took Sarah out to one of the musicals playing on Broadway. They went with Sendaki to see an afternoon movie. For meals, they had mostly brought in pizzas and takeout they could pick up in the neighborhood of the hotel.

Lee could sense Sarah’s preoccupation, too, even when they made love which brought them only a passing, if wonderful, distraction from the strain of waiting.

In the cool morning air, Lee jogged hard through Central Park until he reached the Terrace, a raised area overlooking the park’s lake surrounded with blackened ornamental stone carvings of plants, birds and animals nearly ruined by pollution and neglect. He stopped and began going through his tai chi warmup exercises.

After his warmup was completed, Lee went into one of the sets that Master Chu had been teaching him. He began by slowly pulling his right hand back behind his head. Then, he brought it forward as if striking a blow at someone in front of him as he stepped forward with his left foot in the maneuver Chu had called “patting the horse on the back.”

Lee went through several slow and elaborate kicking maneuvers and followed those with the movements that Chu called “striking the opponents ears with both fists.” It consisted of slow arcing movements of the arms combined with slow high steps and culminated in his fists coming together powerfully at his imaginary opponent’s head.

While he moved, Lee concentrated on keeping his breathing slow, deep and regular. He focused on a point below his navel, his center, to enhance his sense of balance. He tried to stay totally relaxed and not let resistance in his muscles interfere with his movements.

After he had worked through several different sets, Lee felt a new lightness and energy. He realized how tense he had been in his neck and shoulders, only because the tension had left him. He was whistling to himself as he began a slow jog back to the hotel.

The traffic had picked up considerably. Lee dodged the early wave of pedestrians hitting the streets on their way to work. Two blocks from the hotel, he stopped at a corner news stand and bought the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal and the Washington Post.

On the third page of the Times, he found a story with a dateline from Havana:

CASTRO BLAMES CIA FOR FAILED CROP

Havana - Cuban premier Fidel Castro said today that Cuba’s worst sugar crop in 30 years was the result of a CIA plot and claimed to have United States government documents supporting his allegation. Castro also said that a mysterious illness that has afflicted an estimated 150,000 of his countrymen also was the product of intrigue by the United States and Cuban exiles living in Miami.

Castro’s remarks came during a three-hour speech he gave in Havana, honoring the island nation’s farmers. Observers believed the speech was an attempt to inspire sugar growers and their farm workers to salvage as much as possible of the sugar crop which is halfway through the growing season and has been afflicted by an unidentified blight.

Brandishing documents that he said provided proof of his claims originally made several weeks ago, Castro saved his harshest criticism for Cuban exiles whom he described as “crawling lapdogs of imperialist parasites.” Castro said his intelligence service had learned that the Miami exile community had implemented the program of crop destruction and human illness, which he described as “brother poisoning brother.”

After his speech, Castro provided journalists with copies of the documents he said proved his claims. They included an apparent copy of an FBI investigative report in which a confidential informant reported that biological weapons originating in the United States were being supplied to terrorists and foreign nations.

The company identified as the suspected supplier in the documents is AgriGenics, Inc., a California-based company that specializes in the genetic engineering of agricultural products. A company spokesman said yesterday that Castro’s allegations were “pure fantasy.” CIA officials also denied Castro’s charges.

When he got back to the room, Sarah was up and Sendaki had brought in coffees and bagels from the deli next to the hotel. Lee showed them the Times article. While they read it, he paged quickly through the other papers. He found a similar piece buried deep in the Washington Post.

“So, where does this get us?” asked Sendaki after he had read both articles.

“It gets us started,” said Lee. “I don’t pretend that we’ve got them on the run, but it’s a start. We keep building from here.”

Lee kept the television on and tuned to CNN. Around 11 a.m., he noticed that the all-news channel was broadcasting footage from a press conference. He turned up the volume. A mustachioed man in a business suit appeared to be reading from several pages laying on the podium in front of him. Lee turned up the volume.

“We believe that the damage to the Kurdistan wheat crop and the disease that has afflicted the sheep in the same region are the result of biological weapons used by the ruling Iraqi regime,” read the man at the podium in a slow monotone. “We further believe that the Iraqis have been assisted in this crime, which ultimately will lead to famine in the affected areas, by an American company called AgriGenics.”

“It is our belief that this corporation provided the instruments of destruction and we call upon the American government to investigate how these weapons have fallen into the hands of the Iraqis, our mutual enemy.”

When the broadcast was finished, Sendaki, Sarah and Lee looked at each other.

“Wow,” said Sarah, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” said Lee. “It has some impact when you hear it read on television like that. Keep in mind, though, that AgriGenics will deny everything. And, their friends in the CIA, or wherever they are in the government, may help them put a safe spin on the story.”

“Still, it is a story that will get their undivided attention,” said Sendaki.

“Right,” said Lee. “They will know exactly where it’s coming from and they will do everything they can think of to find us.”

Lee picked up the telephone and called the main number at the New York Times. He asked the operator for Barry Templeton.

“Barry? It’s Enzo.”

“Enzo, m’ boy. You’re back? Have you been spending my money wisely?”

“Yeah, Barry. I’ve been betting it on the Mets, so what do you think?”

“Ooh. A knife to the heart,” said Templeton. “Listen, boy. The Mets will be back. You will be seeing them playing in late October soon. In the mean time, remind me never to follow your investment advice.”

“Okay, Barry. Look, I promised I’d have something for you and I’m ready to make good. Have you been following this business about a company called AgriGenics?”

“Sounds familiar. I recall reading something about them this morning,” said Templeton. “Refresh my memory, Enzo.”

“Okay. Yesterday, Castro interrupted one of his marathon speeches and blamed the company for helping the Cuban exiles to ruin Cuba’s sugar crop and for a mysterious epidemic of some sort.”

“C’mon, Enzo. Castro’s been a raving paranoid for three decades.”

“No, wait, Barry. If you tune into CNN, you’ll find a spokesman for the Kurdish rebels saying the same thing except this time the bad guys are…guess who?”

“You mean Public Enemy Number One? Saddam?”

“The same,” said Lee.

“Hmmm. Okay, you’ve got me interested. Go on.”

“If you keep your ears opened, you might hear similar allegations coming from the Bosnian Muslims in the next couple of days, too.”

“Good, good. I like it,” said Templeton.

“Okay, here’s where you and I come in,” said Lee. “I happen to have in my pocket some internal records of AgriGenics…computer printouts…showing substantial transfers of funds to the company from offshore bank accounts.”

“Yeah?”

“Right. We’re talking twenty-five percent of revenues easy. I’ve also got some other records that show shipments overseas on the same dates as almost all of the wire transfers.”

“Shipments to whom?” asked Templeton.

“To companies that we haven’t been able to locate either in this country or where these shipments went,” said Lee.

“Shipments of what?”

“The records don’t say,” said Lee. “Oil drums of something. But, Barry, AgriGenics’ whole reputation is built on genetic engineering. You know, making better wheat, bigger apples, microbes that kill parasites, that sort of thing.”

“So, you’re saying that by definition everything they make is high-tech. So, they can’t just claim they’re sending kerosene or cowshit or something?”

“Right. And there’s another element, Barry.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve seen their annual report. It doesn’t mention any international sales.”

“Nothing?” said Templeton.

“Zip. Not even a footnote about currency exchange rates or taxes.”

“How can a company getting a quarter of its revenue from selling biotech products overseas not even mention the fact in its public reports?”

“It’s a good question, Barry. I’m sure a few shareholders might ask it, too.”

“Okay, Enzo. I think I can get this into the paper without too much bitching and moaning. But, is this it? I expect more for my money, you know.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Barry.”

“Enzo. No need for fucking hostility, boy. I just want to know if you’re holding out on me.”

“Yeah, Barry. I am. I’ve got some more to come. I know this story doesn’t yet meet your criteria of global importance, but it gets better. Believe me. My advice is to come along for the ride.”

“All right, Enzo. With you as my pilot, consider me aboard. Just don’t crash, okay?”

Chapter 36

ROY CURLEY SAT with his elbows on his desktop with his hands squeezing his head as if he were testing a big cantaloupe. The AgriGenics Vice President of Marketing and Communications squeezed so hard that when he relaxed the pressure, he had white patches on his forehead where his fingers had been.

Strewn across the desktop were newspapers from New York, Washington D.C., Los Angeles, San Jose and San Francisco. He had spent the past twenty minutes reading the articles about AgriGenics. After reading the previous day’s stories about the Castro speech and seeing the Kurdish rebels press conference the next day, Curley knew what to expect. He was thankful that almost all of the newspapers had played the story inside, usually buried in a half page of short articles about civil wars, droughts and airplane crashes around the world.

Only the New York Times piece had gotten good play, appearing on the outside of the business section. That was bad enough, considering the influence of the Times. Worst yet, the reporter claimed to have internal company records that documented the company’s shipment of products overseas and substantial revenue from abroad, elements of AgriGenics’ business that were curiously omitted from the company’s filings with the Securities and Exchange Commission.

Curley didn’t know whether the Times information was really that damaging. After all, strong international sales of legitimate products typically are a plus for a company. But, he knew the competing press would smell blood in the Times story. The media pack would be set loose on them. The other papers and television hotshots would be drooling to get a piece. Already, he had gotten calls from six newspapers as well as ABC and CBS.

Finally, the telephone rang. Curley picked it up.

“Get in here,” the voice said, sounding strained. Curley had been waiting for the call for half an hour. He wondered why it had taken Brian Graylock so long to finally make it.

When he stepped into Graylock’s office, Curley felt more dwarfed than usual despite his lanky height. It was a pretty morning. The brown hills outside the large windows looked golden in the morning sun’s long rays. However, Curley was oblivious to anything outside the windows. His attention was completely absorbed by the back of the man who stood at the windows facing out.