The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) (24 page)

"It doesn't matter now, I'm dying."

"Sorry to hear that, but principles are principles."

"Fuck it man, don't deny me my last pleasure to know," he pleaded.

I said nothing for a while.

"By the way, do you know Erebus Loki?" I asked him.

"Heard of him, did business with him once or twice."

"Was he anyway involved in that whole school shooting?"

"No, he's not into that kind of thing. He's curious about various things, and he must have watched it on TV. But to be involved – he’s really meant for bigger things."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know, just a gut feeling," Morgenthal said.

"So he had no involvement in the attempts on my ex, me, or the Wimbledons whatsoever?"

"Not that I know of."

I paused for a short moment. He was getting weaker by the second.

"Why are you telling me all this at all?" I asked.

"I don't care anymore. I don't belong to this world. It's not my fucking world now."

Despite the police guys’ attempts to patch him up, he was bleeding profusely. There was little hope in my opinion.

"Was it worth it, the massacre at St. Brigid School? Was that woman worth it?" I asked.

"It was an act of passion, I admit. I rarely do those. But it happened." He paused for a moment to catch his breath. He had difficulties talking. "And you know what? I enjoyed it a lot. I wouldn't mind doing something like that again." He tried to laugh, but instead he spluttered blood everywhere.

"Just one more thing," he said.

"Yeah?"

"You’re wrong on one point."

"Tell me," I said.

"It's not over yet. It's not over yet. It's just the beginning," Morgenthal said. He sighed, and his gaze became fixed. He stopped blinking, his eyes focused on a point far beyond this world.

One of the police guys confirmed: "He's dead."

44.

Back on solid
ground, I borrowed a headset from one of the agents.

"Martin, Dermot, are you guys still on the line?" I asked.

"I'm on."

"I'm here too."

"You've probably heard the news. It's over. Morgenthal is dead," I couldn't disguise my pleasure.

"Great job Mike!" Dermot Clenaghan said. "Not everything went smoothly, but it's not your fault. You've actually saved the day. The FBI will have to do a debriefing session to analyze why things went wrong. I suspect it was just an accumulation of too many unknowns and a worthy adversary, this Morgenthal."

"I'll issue an invoice shortly," I smiled.

"Sure, I'll get the cash ready," Dermot said.

"I'll talk to you guys later on a private line," I returned the headset to the FBI agent.

I waved at Nora, the computer geek on my team. The front of the house had been destroyed by the grenade blast, but the rear was probably intact. We went around the house, Nora in her electric wheelchair. The garden door to the kitchen had been burst open earlier by the SWAT team. We were told the combat gasses were already gone, but we took gas masks just in case. We went inside and looked around. In a study off the living room there was an office and command center. A laptop, a few screens, including screens for the surveillance cameras.

"Good, let's have a look if there's something of interest here," Nora said as she tried to crack Morgenthal's laptop. While she was working, I went outside to speak to Special Agent Lorna O'Grady.

"Good job, Lorna."

"Thanks, it didn't go exactly as planned," she said. She wasn’t trying to take the credit.

"You guys did your best in the circumstances."

I looked at the surrounding havoc.

"Dermot from Research & Execution will speak with you about it. I don't want any publicity. Dermot doesn't want any publicity. You can take all the credit for the success of this mission. I didn't really participate in the operation at all. Understood?" I said.

"Understood, Dermot already called me about that," she confirmed.

"Great. One more thing, we’re going to scan the contents of Morgenthal's computers and feed the results back to Dermot. You don't need to get involved. If there's something of interest to the FBI, he'll let you know," I told her.

"Sure."

"Nice working with you," I shook her hand.

"You too," she said shaking my hand, her breasts jiggling with every gentle shake.

Sure, it was nice working with me, I thought. At the end of the day, I caught him.

Morgenthal's laptop was well encrypted, but with help of the rest of my IT specialists in the office Nora managed to get into it. Using a high-speed mobile router, she transferred the whole content of the disks to our servers in the office so that the geeks could start reviewing the data too.

"Mike," Nora said, "this is interesting."

"Yeah?" my curiosity was aroused.

"He developed an unhealthy interest in education," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"See this, these are plans, maps, access routes, satellite images, traffic diagrams for five, sorry, six schools. Ranging from grade school to college, mainly the North East and the East Coast."

"Was he planning to do more shootings in the future?"

"I've no doubt about it. Have you ever plotted a chart like this," she showed me one, "to pick up your girl from the school?" she asked rhetorically.

"No I haven't." Not entirely true, as I had to know the layout of my daughter’s school when I paid a visit to the Principal Van Klompf, and when I had to use my leverage at Research & Execution to disarm their surveillance system, but that was another story. Normal parents didn't draw access route diagrams of their kids' schools. I continued, "True, it was meant for something, surely not for picking kids up from school."

My phone was ringing, it was Martin.

"Mike, our guys found Morgenthal had at least nine million dollars stashed away in various accounts in the Caymans, Bermuda, Macau, and the Channel Islands. Still counting, so it could be more."

"Can you access it?" I asked.

"Yeah, we’ve found access codes on the hard drive."

"Good, then let's treat it as spoils of war. Finders keepers."

"The FBI won't be happy."

"The FBI won't know. It's Dermot's show now. We'll pay him a million into his personal account and a million into Research & Execution’s coffers. I'll tell him we're taking the rest."

"Sounds about fair."

"I'll earmark two or three million for Wimbledon's children as compensation for their father's death at the hands of Morgenthal. We'll spend a million on pro bono activities. Ask around in the office if the guys have any favorite charities or causes."

"Sure, will do."

My phone was ringing again. It was Dermot from Research & Execution.

"Mike, there's a media frenzy out there I heard. You'll need to sneak out somehow."

"No worries, I'll figure out something once I'm done here. We'll ride with Agent Lorna back to the airport. You owe me a return flight."

"Sure, no problem. You might want to turn on the TV. We’ve started feeding controlled bits of information to the media."

I went to the TV in the kitchen, which had mysteriously survived, and flipped through a few channels, all transmitting live coverage of the events. They weren't really saying too much. The camera crews must have been at least a few houses away, as the FBI weren’t allowing them closer. But it would be a matter of minutes before the press helicopters arrived. A blond reporter on the news was agitatedly delivering the news that the killer responsible for the school shooting had been apprehended. I flipped to another channel. An FBI news conference. They were quick, I must admit. I could see the Governor of Ohio, all smiles, while the Governor of Pennsylvania was on a live feed commenting on the situation. The shooting was in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and today's operation was in Cleveland, Ohio. A perfect opportunity to get good publicity before the next elections, for both governors.

"They didn't waste any time," I laughed.

"They didn't," Dermot said. "Everybody jumps on the victorious bandwagon."

"My guys are analyzing the contents of his computers. We've found something that would be brilliant for the press conference."

"Tell me about it."

"The Governor of Ohio will love it. The Governor of Pennsylvania will be over the moon."

"I'm listening."

"In all probability, Morgenthal was planning at least six more school shootings." I briefed Dermot in detail.

"Wow, I like that, we’re heroes, I mean the FBI, who averted a few major disasters!" he was thrilled. And added sarcastically: "I'll get a pay rise."

"I doubt it. But don’t worry, I have a pay rise for you."

"I'm all ears," Dermot was now even more interested in what I had to say.

"Morgenthal must have had employers with deep pockets. We counted a few million bucks in his accounts."

"Nice, how much precisely?"

"Six million so far, conservative estimate," I said. I lowered the real number slightly.

"Nice, I like that, what's my share, fifty-fifty?"

"Don't be greedy, I have a million for you. From my share, I plan to do some charitable work, for a million of so. And two million dollars go to John and Karrie Wimbledon."

"Don't be greedy, Mike, you're already set up, but I have to work for my pension."

"Dermot, I'm sure you're set up too after a few years in your job. But let's say I'll give another million to Research & Execution."

"Sounds tempting," Dermot replied, not fully convinced.

"You get one, one for R&E, two for the Wimbledons, one for charitable work, the rest – one million – for me to share between my team members. Couldn't be fairer," I said, summarizing the offer.

"Sounds about fair, but..." he tried to bargain.

"And I'll add a case of Macallan Speymalt 1938. Six bottles of Scotland's finest packed in a nice wooden box. Countless hours of pleasure for your senses."

"The one you squirreled away in the basement of your office, without telling me? The one I found out by accident when Martin mentioned it casually in conversation?"

"That's the one. I'll be sad to part with it, I tell you."

"Is it still a full case, or have you drunk half of it?" Dermot chuckled.

"It's intact, I bought two boxes."

"And you didn't tell me? Bastard," he laughed.

"Plus I’ll keep the change, if we find more in Morgenthal's accounts."

"I can live with that."

"Deal then?"

"You're a good salesman, Mike. Deal." Dermot said.

"Cash or Cayman?"

"Half Cayman Bank, half cash, I need to bribe my wife and buy her some trinkets. I haven't been an exemplary husband recently, you know, work commitments."

"And one more thing," I said.

"What now?"

"21-year-old single malt Bushmills. That was part of the original deal when you commissioned me to find Morgenthal," I laughed.

"Nearly forgot, I’ll send a parcel to the office. And I’ll pack the leprechaun as promised as well," he laughed. "Talk soon." I hung up.

I looked at the TV screen, the FBI conference was continuing. A spokesperson announced that further bloodshed had been averted and that at least a dozen more killings were planned. We’d told them only about six more possible attacks. They say a fish grows fastest after it’d been caught. True. The Governors smiled at the cameras. I was sure they would do well in the next elections. And the capture of Ron Morgenthal could be invaluable in their PR campaigns.

I called Martin.

"Have we wired Morgenthal's cash?"

"Yeah, all done now."

"One million for Dermot, half in cash. One million for Dermot's R&E. Can you also dig out that wooden box of Macallan scotch? I promised it as a freebie for Dermot."

"Consider it done."

"Nora needs a few more minutes on Morgenthal's laptop, and we'll start packing up our toys."

I was walking towards the FBI SUV, and I glanced sideways at the crowd of press people and casual bystanders. I couldn't believe my fucking eyes. Somebody was waving at me and smiling. It was Erebus Loki. What the hell was he doing here?

I approached the police tape where Loki was standing. He was wearing an elegant dark -reddish bathrobe, with buttons that looked like, well, old gold coins.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Mind your language, Mr. Greystone, there are children here," he said with a slightly sly smile.

"The question remains, what are you doing here?"

"I live here, on Avalon Drive, just four houses that way." He pointed with his hand.

"But you live..." I wasn't allowed to finish.

"I have a house here too. Is that unusual in any way?" he wondered. No, I thought, a two-million-dollar house, on top of at least two more in equally prime locations, was quite common these days.

I took him aside.

"Did you have anything to do with what happened here today?"

"Of course not," he said vehemently. "I was just having a bath this morning and was about to watch a replay of yesterday's baseball match, when this whole uproar started. Very disturbing," he explained.

"And as an exemplary citizen you hurried here to see what was going on and to check if anybody needed help, I presume?" I said sarcastically.

"Exactly."

"Hard to believe."

"It's true regardless. By the way, our project we spoke about before is finally taking shape in my head. I'll be in touch soon."

"I can't wait."

I paused for a moment.

"I think I won our bet, Lauren Wimbledon is alive," I said.

"Indeed you won, Morgenthal didn't kill her, I owe you a dollar," Loki responded, "I'll have one for you when we meet next time."

"No hurry. And by the way, I think the Morgenthal affair isn’t over yet," he said.

"How would you know that? That was what Morgenthal himself said before he died." I was rather surprised.

"Just a gut feeling."

"A gut feeling?"

"Have to run, I've left the kettle on. I hope there won't be another fire on this street today. Watch your back and good day," he said, and walked briskly towards his house.

Back at the airport, the team boarded the jet. Me and Nora, Agent Lorna, and a few other FBI agents were all very pleased with the outcome of the day.

I could finally chill out. I was considering taking a few days off. I grabbed a bottle of bourbon and a glass. I poured a healthy three-finger measure and savored the liquid. Not first rate, but better than nothing.