Ruthless (3 page)

CHAPTER 11

FBI Agent Carla Ortega worked out of the Los Angeles office but was perfectly willing to make the two-hour drive down to Doug Mancini’s San Diego bungalow. As the office’s organized crime expert, she was the logical choice to make the visit.

Doug Mancini himself answered the door. He was tall with a portly frame and wore a colorful aloha shirt, Panama hat, sunglasses, and sandals. His smile faded when the three agents showed their badges.

“Hello, Mr. Mancini. I’m Agent Ortega. These are Agents Rice and Shadwell.  Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“It depends on what about.”

“Your brother Jay.”

“He’s dead to me. I got nothin’ to say to him.” 

The agents glanced at each other. “Mr. Mancini,” said Ortega, “your brother died two weeks ago. Are you saying you didn’t know that?”

Doug Mancini’s expression was grim. “Come in.”

Doug ushered the agents through his kitchen to reach the living room, where they all took a seat. The prominent San Diego Chargers décor scattered throughout the room—to the exclusion of any other art form—suggested Doug had yet to make the leap into wedded bliss.

“How did it happen?” asked Doug, who seemed to be fighting to control his emotions.

“We were hoping you could tell us.”

“What, you come into my house and accuse me of something? Based on what?” retorted Doug. “Now look. Me and Jay had a bit of a falling out and haven’t talked in a while. But he’s still my brother, see? So either tell me what happened to Jay or get the hell out of my house so I can find out for myself.”

Agent Ortega remained unconvinced by the show of emotion. She had seen similar charades before—all specifically designed to paint a picture of mob innocence. 

“Jay was murdered just over two weeks ago in the parking deck of his condo. He was shot six times. Do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm him?”

“Like I said, me and Jay weren’t on speaking terms, but I don’t know of anyone who wanted to kill him.” 

The agents questioned him for several minutes but were unable to learn anything new. Doug Mancini steadfastly denied having any information about his brother’s murder.

They concluded their conversation and walked back through the kitchen on their way to exit the house. As they filed out, Ortega noticed an airline boarding pass on top of a pile on envelops on the kitchen counter. Doug also saw the boarding pass and stuffed it into his pocket before Ortega could make out the destination printed on it.

Ortega made a mental note to investigate Doug’s recent travels. Did his itinerary include Atlanta? Ortega knew from experience that this information would not be easy to track down, since the mob was skilled at forging the documents needed to travel under an alias.

“Goodbye, Mr. Mancini,” said Ortega. “We’ll be in touch. Please don’t plan on leaving the country.”

“Unless you’re arresting me, I’ll go where I damn well please. Why don’t you make some good use of your time and go find my brother’s murderer.”

After turning to leave, Ortega leaned over to Agent Shadwell. “He’s playing the same old game: denying any knowledge of the murder. But it’ll be an effective game if we can’t prove someone in the family is responsible.”

As the agents walked down the driveway, Ortega intentionally slowed her pace. The gambit worked; she overheard Doug’s burly voice carrying from the doorway, apparently on his cell phone. “We have a problem…”

CHAPTER 12

The next afternoon, Pam Edwards appeared in the doorway of Alton’s Kruptos office. “Do you have a minute?” she asked.

Alton looked up from his monitor and smiled. “Hey, Pam—of course. Have a seat.” He arose and remained standing until she lowered herself into a chair. “What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with Professor Riley. He suggested that you and he have a brief conference call with David and Fahima at noon tomorrow—that would be…let me think…nine p.m. for Fahima, I think. Could you touch bases with them to set up the call?”

“Sure—that’d be awesome. I’m glad the professor suggested bringing David and Fahima into the call. They might have questions I wouldn’t even think of.”

“That’s what the professor was getting at, I believe. He said having an interactive dialog would be more fruitful.”

“That makes sense. Do you want to be on the call, too?”

Pam produced a timid smile. “Yeah—if you don’t mind. I am a little curious to know how this situation will turn out.”

“Sure—we wouldn’t even be having the call without your help. You’re welcome to join. I’ll set it up. Do you have Professor Riley’s number? I’ll text the conference line information to you and him once I have it arranged.”

“Yeah—sure.” Pam glanced down to her phone and with a few deft keystrokes forwarded the number to Alton.

“I’d better be getting back to work,” said Pam. “I guess we’ll talk later.”

“You bet—and thanks again.”

The next day, Alton initiated the conference call at noon as planned. After opening the conference line, he heard a beep as each person dialed in. Upon confirming everyone was on the line, he kicked off the call. “Professor Riley, this is Alton Blackwell. Also on the phone are David Dunlow and Fahima Sahar—and Pam Edwards, of course.”

After greeting them all, the professor launched directly into the topic. “As you’ve learned, applicants from most countries, especially third-world countries, have to prove their financial standing before they’re granted a US visa. No money—no visa. That prevents people from entering the US on a temporary visa and remaining here forever. Afghanistan is the eighth poorest country on earth, much poorer than Ecuador, where I worked, so the financial hurdle applicants have to scale is even higher.

“On top of that, in a lot of foreign countries, forged documents are a big problem. Applicants will forge financial papers to make themselves appear wealthier than they really are. That’s another reason the US grants very few visas to citizens of third-world countries.

“So Fahima, I need to ask you a blunt question. Was that the problem for you? You didn’t have enough money or other financial assets to convince the embassy to approve your visa application?”

“That is correct,” replied Fahima.

“Unless something changes, then,” said Riley, “you’ll have an uphill battle trying to get a visa.”

“You know, that make me think,” said Fahima. “My father die last year. He was shopkeeper. He leave me a little money, but I do not know how much until I go to the judge in a few days. He do not have… how you say?…a will, so it is taking a long time to find out what he gives to me. Maybe the money he give to me will help with my visa.”

“It’s possible,” said Riley in a voice laced with skepticism. “It’d have to be a pretty decent amount, though. Afghanistan’s per capita income is well below a thousand a year. Even ten years’ worth of average income probably wouldn’t be enough to prove your wealth and get a visa.”

“When he was alive, my father never talk to me about his money,” said Fahima. “I do not know how much he leave for me.”

David spoke up in frustration. “Professor, I see what you’re saying, but why is it so hard for Fahima to get approved? We’re going to be married, and she’ll be getting a job. It’s not like she’s going to live off the government.”

“I understand your perspective,” said the professor, “but the reality is that a lot of immigrants do stay forever, and some of them aren’t gainfully employed. For that reason, the embassy assumes all applicants are planning to become illegal immigrants and forces each applicant to prove otherwise. The applicant has to have sufficient funds to suggest they won’t immigrate for good and become an illegal immigrant once they’re in the US.”

“I understand,” interceded Alton before David could offer a retort. “Professor Riley, besides the wealth test you mentioned, are there any other alternatives for Fahima to obtain her US visa?”

“I’m sorry, but no. Since she’s not already married to a US citizen, she has to prove her financial independence. It’s as simple as that.”

“Well,” said Alton, “at least we know where we stand.”

“Yep,” affirmed David. “Honey…Fahima, it looks like we’ll need to plan on a Kabul wedding. But you know,” he continued in a brighter voice, “at this point, I don’t care where it happens. I just want to get married without having to wait for months and months.”

“I feel the same,” said Fahima. “I am happy to marry you in any place.”

The call ended shortly thereafter, and Alton stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
At the end of the day, they’ll be married and back in Washington. In my book, that’s still a happy ending.

CHAPTER 13

Alton’s non-Kruptos conference calls for that week were not yet over. The next day, Mallory arranged a three-way teleconference with him and Agent Stewart of the FBI’s Organized Crime Division.

Alton explained how Louise Sinclair had come to know Jay Mancini.

“So you think the Mancini family killed Louise to shut up the ‘chatterbox?’” asked Agent Stewart.

“Yes,” replied Alton.

“We assumed that from the very beginning. Louise was clearly not part of the family operation, but since Jay broke the ‘no leaving’ rule, his family might have worried he broke the ‘no talking’ rule, too. They might have feared Jay had shared too much information with Louise about the family’s operations.”

“Yes, I assumed we all reached that conclusion immediately,” said Alton, “but I have another concern that I didn’t want to voice in front of Chelsea.” Alton chose his words carefully. “The family killed Louise to ensure she wouldn’t share any family secrets, right? The question is, exactly how secure does the Mancini family want to feel? Would they worry that Jay or Louise may have shared their family secrets with Chelsea? Chelsea spent a lot of time with both of them, and Louise in particular was known as a talker.”

“I agree that Chelsea could be in danger,” said Mallory. “We ought to inform her of the risk.”

“I told Chelsea one of us would give her an update after I spoke with you two,” said Alton. “Would you like for me to discuss this with her, or should one of you all communicate a more formal FBI warning?”

“Why don’t you tell her?” said Agent Stewart. “She trusts you.”

“Okay,” said Alton. “I’ll circle back with Mal—that is, Agent Wilson, once I’ve talked with Chelsea.”

Alton met Chelsea at her apartment that night. He asked Pam Edwards to participate in the discussion as well since her daily proximity to Chelsea could also put her at risk.

Alton explained his concern to Chelsea. “I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a possibility that the Mancini family might follow Louise’s trail back to you. You were close to both Louise and Jay, and since the family probably killed them, there’s a chance they may want to silence you too, just to be safe.”

“But I don’t know anything about the family, from either Uncle Jay or Louise,” protested Chelsea.

“Yes, but the family doesn’t know that. They may not want to take any chances.”

“What do you think I should do?” asked Chelsea.

“I have an idea. I was planning on visiting my family down in Tifton in a few weeks. Why don’t I move up my visit to tomorrow, and you can come with me? I can put you into hiding down there until the police and FBI discover what’s happening here. That would also give you and me a chance to keep discussing your knowledge of the family. Maybe some new information will come to light.”

Chelsea seemed to consider the idea. “That’s a good idea. It sounds safe, and I wouldn’t object to us spending a little more time together,” she added playfully. In a more serious tone, she continued, “Are you sure I won’t be an inconvenience? I’d hate to get in the way during your visit. Plus, I’m up to my eyeballs working on the Aegis project.”

“You won’t be an inconvenience. I have some project work, too.” Alton pondered momentarily. “Mom only has one internet connection, but we can activate our phones as hot spots so we can work online simultaneously.”

“It must be nice to be able to go home to see your family,” murmured Pam. “My parents died, so I can’t do that anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Pam,” said Alton, not really sure what else to say.

“It’s okay. I miss my mom, but my dad and I weren’t all that close.” She shook her head as if clearing away memories. “Where did you say you’ll be?”

“My home town of Tifton,” replied Alton. “It’s in southern Georgia, an hour or so north of the Florida border.”

“I know where that is,” said Pam, “We went through it on our way to a Scout camping trip at the Okefenokee Swamp when I was a kid. It’s kind of a small town, right?”

“Yes—exactly
.
That’s what makes it a good spot to hide you,” said Alton as he turned towards Chelsea.

“Okay—I accept,” said Chelsea. “Hey, at least this gives me a chance to avoid Miles Worley for a little while,” she added with a laugh.

“Miles…the guy in HR?” asked Alton.

“Yeah, he’s been bugging me to go out with him for the last few months. He’s nice, I guess, but not really my type.” Chelsea was silent for a moment.  “But what about Pam?  What should she do?”

Alton looked at Pam, whose eyes were wide with fear.

“I’ve been thinking about that. Pam, you’ve only lived with Chelsea for a few months, right?”

“That’s right.”

“That means you moved here a long time after Louise left the complex to live with Jay. I don’t think the Mancini family would view you as a risk. I believe you should be safe to remain here, but you’re welcome to come with us if you like.”

Pam thought for a minute. “I appreciate the invitation, but I think I’ll stay here. If I get too freaked out, I can always go to my friend Meg’s place until you all return.”

Alton and Chelsea began discussing the logistics of the next day’s travels. As they were doing so, the doorbell rang. Alton saw fear in the faces of both companions. He strode to the door and peered through the peephole. To his relief, he saw only a woman dressed for tennis, complete with racket and gym bag. Not wanting to take any chances, though, he motioned Chelsea over to confirm the visitor’s identity.

Chelsea swung open the door. “Hey, Monica! I’m so sorry. I totally forgot about our tennis date. Monica Shaffer, this is Alton Blackwell, a manager at Kruptos and a good friend.”

Monica, who was nearly as attractive as Chelsea, looked like the kind of girl who could get a man into trouble, if he were lucky.

“No worries, girlfriend,” said Monica, smirking in Alton’s direction. “I know you’ve had a lot going on in your life.”

Chelsea moved closer to Alton. “Monica, I hate to ask this, but can we reschedule? I have to leave town tomorrow and have a lot of packing to do.”

“Sure,” said Monica. “Where are you headed?”

To avoid revealing their specific location to someone who might unwittingly share it with an inquiring member of the Mancini family, Alton chimed in, “It’s a surprise. I don’t want her to know just yet.”

Monica eyed Chelsea knowingly and laughed. Alton perceived the misunderstanding under which Monica operated but couldn’t correct it without compromising his cover story. He had no choice but to remain silent. He hoped the deception wouldn’t somehow makes its way back to Mallory until he had found an opportunity to explain it to her.

Monica soon left, and Alton finalized his plans with Chelsea. They agreed Alton would pick her up in the morning so they could leave immediately from work the next day, riding together in his Explorer. Given the dangerous circumstances, Chelsea seemed a little happier than Alton would have expected, but he was glad her mind appeared to be a bit more at ease.