Rise of the Beast (7 page)

“You keep books in your business?” asked Dale.

“Of course,” said Leland. “I make what I do look as legal as what you do.” “I’ll try not to take that personally,” said Dale.

“Would you like me to leave this block of gold with you?” asked Leland. “If so, I think I’ll need a receipt.”

“Leave a thing like that with me?” asked Dale, in an incredulous tone. “I can’t believe you brought that thing over here in a brief case. Most normal people would insist on an armored car.”

“I don’t have an armored car,” said Leland. “Anyway, I’ve never been robbed in New York. It’s a safer city than most people think. Then again, nobody had any idea what I had in the briefcase.”

“I’ll cut off a few slivers, just a fraction of an ounce of it; gold is relatively soft. Then I’ll take it over to the assay office myself,” said Dale. “I’ll draw up a standard contract with you for the assay work. I’ll probably need my lawyer to draw up a contract for me to act as your broker for the sale of the metal. You are getting a percentage of the proceeds, aren’t you?”

“Sure,” confirmed Leland.

“I can see why you’re giving up your old business,” observed Dale. “Even a one percent commission on the sale of that much gold would make you wealthier than Midas.”

Leland shook his head. “No, Dale, you aren’t getting it at all. I’m not doing it for the money. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve lived on the far side of God’s will for a long time, all of my life, really. Don’t you see? This is my chance to settle up the account with God, do something for Him to be on the right side for a change. That’s what it’s all about.”

Dale looked at Leland incredulously but didn’t respond.

It didn’t seem to Leland that Dale was really getting what he was telling him. What he and Krissie had experienced last night was an indeed personal matter. They were prepared to give up everything if need be and follow Lusan. Surely he would lead them back into God’s good graces, to salvation. That was
worth all of the wealth, all of the possessions he had acquired. What would it profit a man if he gained the whole world but lost his soul? That was in the Bible; Leland remembered his grandmother reading it to him.

“This guy you met must be some salesman to change you so profoundly,” noted Dale, as he and Leland made their way to the door. “You really seem different.”

“I feel different,” proclaimed Leland. “Call it being born again, call it what you wish. For once in my life, I’m a part of something special. I’m going to have a part in changing the world.”

Leland stepped from Manhattan Gold and headed toward Seventh Avenue. He had a long walk ahead of him, better than two miles, but he would walk it. He needed time to think about what he was going to say to Mr. Pagoni. He’d spoken to his executive assistant this morning, arranged the meeting. It wasn’t difficult; everyone down there knew and liked Leland James. He was sure, however, they weren’t going to like what he had to say.

It was about an hour later that Leland walked into the 50-story, high-rise office building. Louie Pagoni had a suite of offices on the top two floors. On paper, Pagoni owned an international shipping business, a very large and profitable one. In fact, most of his dealings were totally legit. He employed over 3,000 people worldwide, yet if there was a grand godfather of the Italian Mafia, he was it.

Leland had first met him when he was only 19 years old, running games of chance for some hustlers on the street over in Brooklyn. Pagoni had taken a liking to him right away and offered him a series of much better jobs. Leland had done a number of odd jobs for Mr. Pagoni, most of them legal. It was Pagoni himself who got him set up in his current gig 13 years ago. Now he was setting it aside. That would take some explaining, and he still didn’t know exactly what he was going to say. He wasn’t scared as such, but he was nervous.

Leland checked in at the main desk, then walked through the metal detector. It reminded him of a TSA checkpoint, as he set his gold-laden briefcase on the X-ray machine. The security agent looked at it in disbelief as he opened the case at the far end of the machine and removed its contents.

“Yes, its gold,” confirmed Leland, “I don’t know how pure.”

The second security person gazed upon it, picked it up, even shook it.

“It’s solid,” confirmed Leland.

“Where did you get this thing?” asked the security guard.

“I’m sorry, I really can’t say,” said Leland. “That information is for Mr. Pagoni alone.”

The security officer stepped aside and keyed his radio. Leland couldn’t hear the contents of the conversation, but it went on for over a minute. Then that officer turned to the other. “He can go on up. It’s OK.”

Leland was escorted to the elevator by one of Pagoni’s muscular security people, who inserted his special key that whisked them to the penthouse.

“Mr. Pagoni will be seeing you in his private quarters,” noted the security officer. “He has invited you to have brunch with him. You should feel honored; he rarely accepts guests in such a manner.”

“I do,” said Leland, watching the floors click off at lightning speed.

The elevator door opened and Leland came face to face with Mr. Pagoni’s two massive bodyguards. Now Leland was feeling a bit nervous.

“Mr. James, welcome,” said a pretty, well-dressed young women, stepping between the two muscles. “I’m Sylvia, Mr. Pagoni’s personal assistant. Please follow me. You’re right on time. Mr. Pagoni will appreciate that.”

They walked down the wide brightly lit hallway, a hallway lined with beautiful paintings of sylvan landscapes. Leland had never been up here. It made his own condo pale by comparison.

“Mr. Pagoni has told me a lot about you,” said Sylvia. “I can tell that he really likes you.”

They stepped into the main dining area with its long glass table. It offered a panoramic view of the New York skyline through large windows that spanned two of the walls. At the head of the table stood Mr. Pagoni, dressed in a blue business suit.

Pagoni was a relatively tall and thin man in his early sixties. He was quite handsome and had graying hair and a broad, open smile. He walked toward Leland, his arms wide open. They embraced. “Leland, my boy, it is so good to see you again. The man who keeps New York’s finest businessmen and statesmen happy and content is always welcome here.”

“It’s good to see you too, Mr. Pagoni,” said Leland. “You have such a gorgeous home.”

“Thank you so much,” said Pagoni. “We should have done this long ago. Please, have a seat.”

Leland sat by his boss, even as their omelets were set out before them by the chef, who also happened to be a young and beautiful woman. For a time, Pagoni engaged Leland in chitchat. He asked about his grandmother, about his feelings on New York politics, and especially about his young women. It was then that Leland dropped the bombshell.

“Getting out of the business?” asked Pagoni, incredulously. “Why Leland, you are at the height of your game; you’re the best.”

“It is hard to describe, sir,” said Leland, deciding how best to filter the information without outright lying to his boss. It wasn’t out of fear so much as out of respect for this man that he so very much admired.

“Does it have something to do with a large block of gold?” asked Pagoni.

“Yes, in part,” said Leland gingerly pulling the ten pound ingot from his briefcase and placing it on the table.

Pagoni picked it up and examined it. “I’m no expert on gold,” he admitted, “but it looks genuine enough.” He handed it back to Leland. “Tell me, Leland, where did you get this?”

And so the story began. Leland spoke of the rescue in the park, of the two strangers, of his calling to bring the message of God to the world. He spoke of Lusan, without referring to his otherworldly nature. He spoke of his need to get out of the business and why.

Through it all, Mr. Pagoni sat there quietly and thoughtfully. When the tale was told, he leaned back in his chair. “An incredible story,” he noted. “Still, the gold seems to bear it out. I believe you Leland. I’m glad that you came to me with this, and I understand why you want to leave the business of love. Still, it’s a pity. You were so good at it.” There was a pause as Pagoni contemplated the situation. “I’m still willing to help you in your new business, Leland. I could have helped you to market that gold as well; still, let us allow Mr. Silversmith his day of jubilee. What is it that you need from me? How can the company help you?”

Leland was overwhelmed. He had not expected Mr. Pagoni to be this understanding. He could sure use his help. During the next hour they evaluated the situation, solving many of the problems that Leland had not been able to crack. Coming up with forged identity documents for Lusan and Duras that were absolutely watertight was one of them. Getting initial funding, office space, office staff, and business licenses to operate in the city of New York was another.

By the time Leland left Mr. Pagoni, virtually all of the sticking points had been overcome. Before they parted company, Leland and Mr. Pagoni even took a minute to pray for the success of this venture. Having the Italian Mafia clearing the way for the ministry of God’s Word seemed an incredible concept, but there it was. God truly did move in mysterious ways.

“Hey, Phil, we’ve got the forensics and autopsy reports back on those kids who were killed in the park three days ago,” said Detective Bill Strom, as he walked into the lieutenant’s office. “I sure hope you’re in a good mood.”

“Because you’re about to tell me something that will sour my mood regardless,” deduced Phil Stoddard, turning from his computer. “Out with it.”

“OK,” said Bill, “it looks like one of those kids grappled with his assailant or assailants before he went down. Forensics found two dark hairs and some skin beneath his fingernails. The guys in forensics took it in for genetic typing. Thing is, the hair turned out not to be human, neither was the skin.”

“Maybe it was from his dog,” suggested the lieutenant. “Two of the kids had dogs, didn’t they?”

“Yes they did, but here’s the creepy part,” continued Bill. “It wasn’t canine, or even feline. The skin and hair don’t match any of the 50 or so animal genomes in the database. It’s close to human, really close, but not quite.”

“Maybe it’s from an ape of some kind, or maybe the lab just fouled up the test. I don’t know. I’ve never really understood all that genetic stuff. If you’re trying to tell me that little green men or Big Foot killed those kids, well, I don’t have the time. Our assailant was human, a damn weird one to be certain, but he was human.” There was clear frustration in the lieutenant’s voice.

“Look Phil, I worked with forensics for three years,” continued Bill. “I know a little bit about the science; they’re not making this stuff up, and there’s no
mistake. I don’t know what I’m trying to tell you beyond the fact that it’s weird, that’s all. They will be expanding their search. Maybe it will be something simple that we’re just overlooking. We all know that it was a man who wielded the blade that killed those gang members.” Bill paused. He really hated to bring up the next issue. “There’s something else. Some blades leave a trace of their identity behind, and this one left a doosey, an almost microscopic fragment. There were faint traces of titanium and iridium in two of the wounds.”

“Iridium?” asked Phil. “I’ve heard of titanium, but iridium? That’s some kind of crazy, rare metal, isn’t it?”

“It is,” confirmed Bill, “four times rarer than gold and real;y expensive.”

“So, the sword, or axe, or whatever it was, was made of what, an alloy of titanium and iridium? What kind of crazy blade is that?”

“One that never existed before,” said Bill. “I don’t know a whole lot about metallurgy, but this is a new one on me. It combines one of the least dense metals with one of the most dense. Who knows what the properties of a metal alloy like that would be. The lab guys are looking into it. They are even sharing their findings with one of the professors over at New York University. Maybe he can shed some light on this.”

“We have a few clues, but they just don’t add up,” lamented Phil. “No eye witnesses have stepped forward, and we don’t have any suspects. There are no security cameras with a good view of that region of the park, either. The papers are suggesting that this was the work of a vigilante. I can’t eliminate that possibility, but I have my doubts. Unless someone comes forth with new information, we might have to put this one on the back burner for now.”

“Maybe not,” said Bill. “There are no security cameras in the park, that’s true, but there are cameras on the far side of Central Park East and Central Park West, several of them that give us a good image of the perimeter of the park. I may have found something.”

Bill placed three rather dark and somewhat blurry photographs on the lieutenant’s desk, showing two people, a man and a woman, entering the park from the east. The lieutenant examined them closely.

“These two individuals are the only people who crossed into that area of the park anywhere near the time of the murder. They are way too far away to ID them, but it looks like a fairly large African American man accompanying a small, thin Caucasian woman.” Bill pointed to a building on the photograph.
“They seem to have left this building here. It’s an upscale apartment complex. Then they cross the street and enter the park on the same path on which the murders took place.”