Plain Sight Page 14

  “Abbruzzi was landing them on an airstrip near Baldzhunov and trucking them up into the mountains. He actually flew in on a regular basis, twice a year so he could check that nothing was going wrong.

  “Corina and I got lucky. He was due in in two weeks. We were able to get our scope rifles and end his career in short order.”

  “They were never found,” Farida said. “But the reward his associate put out is still out there and live.”

  “Hey, I have a price on my head! How many gold pieces?”

  “One hundred thousand sterling,” she answered.

  “Eh. Not worth it,” Bridget said.

  “Your boyfriend is worth half a million.”

  The air in the room froze. Me, Bridget, and Miles all just froze at those words. Farida nodded her head slowly.

  “Are you kidding me?” Bridget’s voice was barely a whisper.

  Farida pointed at the screen. I had no idea how to read that mess, but Bridget did. She whistled. “Wow. Vaughn, you really are worth half a million, alive only.”

  I gasped. “Excuse me?” My eyes darted between them. “Are you saying I have a fucking price on my head.”

  “No, you have a bounty,” Farida said. “You’re a target. They want you alive.”

  I thought I had a grip on all this. But hearing there was cash reward for your person was not really something a person was ever prepared for.

  I held up a finger. “Beer. Now.”

  Miles was back in a flash with an uncapped bottle and I took a hard swallow off that. I stared at the two women who were watching me carefully.

  “Explain this. How does this work?”

  Bridget moved behind Farida to read the screen. “They are looking for the person who stopped the Walsh-Tyndale payment blocks. They are offering half a million pounds sterling for you, alive only because they want you for questioning. They apparently don’t believe you stumbled on it, because they want any known associates.”

  I scrubbed a hand down my face and took another swallow of beer. “It was random chance.”

  “We know that.”

  “Is my name on there?”

  Farida and Bridget skimmed the screen. “No,” Bridget answered. “There’s no name. No mention of anything beyond the guy who found the pattern. Which is very good.”

  “But the guy who came into the house and…” I suddenly felt like there was a softball in my throat.

  “They put them out vague so they can dodge the payment or the cops,” Farida answered before I had to try and clear my throat.

  “How do we fix this?” I asked.

  “We have to figure out the cycle. We have, I think two slices of the pie,” Bridget answered. “We know they would put the money in and that would funnel it through the Caymans. So that would be two points. We need to know what happens when it goes to the Caymans and where it comes from. Once we know those, we can put together a much better picture.”

  “How the hell do we do that?”

  Bridget shrugged. “We’ll have to do some IT reconnaissance. It’s going to take a while. But if we can get it done and get you off their radar, we can go to O’Hare and I will buy us tickets under our real names back to Pittsburgh.”

  “That sounds like a plan.” I nodded.

  “Do you have a spare computer?” she asked Miles and Farida.

  “I can have it here by tonight, modify and ready to go,” Miles said.

  “Can I call my parents?” I asked, looking at the three of them. “I know they are all worried as hell about us, and I know Nolan has probably contacted them about me, but it will help if they can hear me. And Dylan.”

  Miles nodded. “I’ll get the shield cell so you can talk downstairs.”

  “Can we just bring Dylan up here?”

  There was glance between them. “We’ve never brought anyone in here, actually. Not the kids, not even our allies,” Farida said. “You two are the first to see this place. I don’t want my children to know what their parents are doing, because it’s somewhere beyond criminal and we’re trying to let them have normal lives.”

  That was surprising. “Well. I’m glad you trust us.”

  “Something else we need to think about,” Bridget said, “is either getting another set of plates or trading in the SUV for a new car.”

  “That’s Nolan’s SUV,” I said.

  She waved me off. “I’ll buy him a new one. And he has mine anyway. If he’s any good at this game, he’s changed the plates and sold it.”

  “This is a game?”

  Bridget’s shoulders slumped.

  Farida shook her head. “No, Vaughn, it’s not. But if you don’t use gallows humor, you end up like my best friend at the academy. She shot herself because she didn’t know how to deal with deception and the dishonesty.”

  Taking a deep breath, I stared at the screen that made no sense to me. What did make sense was that these people were trying to help me and my son and they didn’t have to. Not any of them.

  Well, Bridget I could understand a bit, but Miles and Farida? We were buddies in college who chatted on social media with some regularity. He was risking his wife and children.

  “Okay, I’ll play the game as long as it’s chess,” I said. “I don’t do well with checkers.”

  Farida smiled. “How about Chutes and Ladders?”

  “I hate heights.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bridget

  God, the wig was itchy.

  I forgot how much I hated wigs, but I also remembered how much I hated dying my hair when Farida pulled out the bottle.

  “Nope. I’ll do the wig.”

  “You have a lot of hair, woman.” She laughed.

  “I’ve done it before. I can also use temporary.”

  “Your damn vanity.”

  “It took me years to love this mop, and I’m not going to give it up without trying everything else first.”

  Snaking a finger under the back of my head, I scratched again.

  Farida leaned over and whispered quietly, “We’re stopping for the temporary. Your scratching is going to give it away. You pulled out a fucking strand of red, Red.”

  “Goddamn it,” I grumbled, twisting the strand and shoving it back under the edge of the wig.

  She chuckled again. “Not only is it red but it’s thick and we’re just going to be better off with the dye.”

  “Fine, fine,” I grumbled.

  “What do you want to go for?” Farida looked out at the car lot. “Another SUV?”

  Shaking my head, I grimaced. “Hell no. That thing ate gas like it was going out of style.”

  “It is.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I know. So let’s go sedan. Something with power, but enough trunk space for a rifle, and three go-bags.”

  “And a body.”

  “And a body.” I nodded.

  We cracked up laughing a moment later.

  “Okay,” Farida continued after we calmed down. “Beemer?”

  Shaking my head, I thought about it for less than a heartbeat. “No, too conspicuous.”

  “So not red?”

  “Red’s fine, we just need something common and middle-class. Nothing that’s going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

  Farida tapped her finger on her chin. “Foreign or domestic.”

  “Foreign.” I nodded definitively.

  “Honda? Hyundai? Toyota? Volkswagon? Subaru? Nissan?”

  “Honda, Toyota, or Nissan.”

  “That’s good, we’ve got it narrowed then.”

  “Ladies.” The salesman bellowed out as he approached us. “How can I help you? Looking for something shiny and new?”

  We stood, and I clasped my hands in front me. “Something late model with a lot of trunk space. Color doesn’t matter. Toyota, Nissan, Honda. Something like that. I need it to be good on gas and light on repairs.”

  He chuckled. “Sounds like you’re shopping for a getaway car.”

  If only he knew that both Farida and I w
ere sporting serious caliber weapons under our coats. And spare clips.

  “Maybe.” I giggled. “What do you have?”

  We spent the next two hours looking at the cars on the lot, trying to figure out what would work best. It was only when Farida climbed into the trunk of the Camry to show me how large it was that we narrowed our choice. The salesman stood at the front while she and I sat in the driver and passenger seats.

  “He can’t hear us,” she said. “There was a gun safe in the trunk. That’s what I thought and that’s why I acted the fool and climbed in. I wanted to check if I was seeing things.”

  “That’s handy,” I said. “I think this is the best choice. It’s new enough, and has the gas mileage. It has a good solid engine and I even like the color.”

  Farida turned in her seat. “No you don’t. You hate silver cars.”

  “So does half the population.”

  She laughed. “Ah, I get it. You can’t go wrong with this, then. I’ll pay cash.”

  “Farida—”

  “Can it, sister,” she said. “You can pay me back when this is all over, okay? You need this to be untraceable. I’ll buy it cash and put it under one of my aliases. You can have that as well.”

  “Well, that just made this easy.” I grinned. “Do you think they’ll let us drive it home today?”

  She nodded. “We just have to grease the wheels with a little green.”

  It took very little green to grease the wheels, as it turned out. The salesman was a little troubled by the cash transaction, until Farida counted another thousand beyond the price quoted us.

  Within an hour, we were on the road, and I was thankful we’d had Miles drop us off. No second car to worry about.

  Farida pulled out her phone and tapped a few buttons. “Wanna get used to her?”

  “You know I do,” I said, as I pulled the car on to the highway.

  She directed me out north and west of the city to some four lane county roads. Holding up the phone, she smiled. “This bad boy is a cop tracker. It picks up the police band, and you can drive as fast as you like until it beeps. Then you need to slow down.”

  I knew I lit up like Christmas, and my foot went down on the gas.

  I loved nothing more than speed in a car that could handle it. And while the Camry we just bought might not have been my favorite Porsche, rest in peace, it had a damn powerful engine.

  It was way too much fun to drive that thing at high speed, and it handled lane changes, hard braking, soft braking, acceleration, and corners like I needed it to. Finally, after nearly half an hour the app pinged and I had to slow down to the speed limit. Less than a mile later, a cop waited on the side of the road.

  “We have just one more pick up. I know these plates are legit, but you need a second set. I set up a full second set of documents for the three of you. We can pick those up and head back for dinner,” Farida said. “I forgot how wicked good you are at handling a vehicle.”

  “I have, too,” I said. “I miss this shit.”

  She let out a breath. “Me too. I love Miles and I love our lives, but I would give an arm to be able to back into intelligence full time.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “I have tits and my name is Farida Mahmood Petersen. Every protection and intelligence outfit around here could manage to insult me less if they physically recoiled from me.”

  “Damn. They just say that I’m not a physically intimidating person and can’t use me.”

  We drove in silence for a few more minutes, and eventually pulled up in front a store front. Farida had me wait in the car while she popped into the Mystical Nails and Wax Salon. She was in and out in five minutes and we headed back to the house and decided that we would order Chinese for dinner.

  I rolled the car down the street at the speed limit. It was a nice neighborhood, and I had the feeling that Farida and Miles had plenty of money tucked away.

  She sucked in a breath as we headed for the house.

  “Keep driving. Don’t slow down.”

  I didn’t say a thing until we were down the block and around the corner. “What?”

  “The light was red. We have a light in the eaves of the house that usually just sits there, off. But it was just red. That means something went wrong.”

  “Call,” I said, nudging her phone.

  “I’m calling the bugout.” She dialed and put the phone on speaker.

  It rang just once. “Fari.”

  She let out her breath. “Miles. Where the babies?”

  “They’re here,” Barbara said in the background.

  “Dylan, Vaughn?” I asked.

  “Lockdown in the basement. He was giving Dylan a bath when they showed up.” We could hear Miles typing on the computer. “We’re only locked down, not bugged out. I’m hoping to salvage this. Mom saw the guys and calmly told me it was time to see the big den as she shoved Jasmine in my arms. Cool as a fucking cucumber. She mentioned that the door in the basement might need to be locked.”

  “Were you able to tell Vaughn and Dylan they’re locked in?” I asked.

  “Yes, I texted him and he texted back. I told him not to text anyone.”

  Farida ran a hand down her face. “So what’s the situation?”

  “From what we can tell, there are a few men casually positioned around the house. They seem to be waiting for us to come out or you two to come back. I ran the faces through the database and one of them came back as a hit. A Jodie Gillman, loosely associated with the same gun running group. The rest seem to be guns for hire.”

  “How many?” I asked.

  “Five total, including the Jodie woman.”

  I drummed my fingers on the dash. “Can we take them out?”

  “Five dead bodies in the middle of a wealthy Chicago suburb is going to raise questions,” Miles answered. “Even for the cleaners.”

  “Then we have to go,” I said. “They can sit on the house as long as they want but if we’re not there, they have nothing on you.”

  Farida looked sad. “You’re right. You need to get going. How they traced you here, I have no idea.”

  Oh. Shit.

  “Vaughn…”

  “Vaughn what?” Miles asked.

  “He called his parents.”

  “Phone tap,” Farida breathed. “Or trace.”

  “Shit. I didn’t even think of the tap,” I said. “They wouldn’t have traced. There’s too many robocalls. He must’ve let it slip.”

  “We need to get him and Dylan and the go-bag out of the basement. How do we get them out?”

  It was quiet for a moment, and Barbara spoke up, “Target practice.”

  “What?” Miles said.

  “You have no one behind you on this property, right?”

  “No, it’s preserved green space.”

  “Got a Kevlar that will fit me?”

  “Mom?”

  Farida was trying not to laugh, and I couldn’t help a little chuckle.

  “I feel like doing a little target practice.”

  Farida leaned into the phone. “Barbara, that will get the cops here faster than—”

  Oh.

  The woman was a genius.

  “Got it. They’ll scatter and won’t come back. And while the cops are out back, we can get everyone out of the basement and on our way.” I nodded.

  “Miles, is the car still parked around the corner?” Farida asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, excellent.” She smiled at me. “Let’s do this.”

  Vaughn

  The door slammed and clanged shut. Both Dylan and I jumped, and I scrambled to find out what was going on. I turned the knob, but it didn’t budge.

  Shit.

  “Daddy?”

  I turned and found my son there, naked and sudsy. I rolled my eyes. I would be happy when he learned that water and soap stayed in the tub.

  “Yeah, buddy, it’s okay. Just a precaution. Something bad is probably going on up there. Let’s finish up bath
time, okay?”

  He nodded and disappeared back into the bathroom and I heard a splash at the same time my burner phone pinged with a message. I grabbed it off the nightstand and flipped it over.

  MP: You’re locked in. Mom saw people.

  MP: Don’t text B. We’ll contact. Safe?

  VW: Understood. Safe.

  I sighed. How the hell had they found us? Was this a false alarm? I hoped it was…the bed was insanely comfy and I’d enjoyed reconnecting with Miles.

  Just in case it wasn’t, I decided it was time to start packing it up. We could unpack later.

  “Daddy?”

  I walked back into the bathroom where Dylan was now standing, soapy, in the middle of the tub. “All right, dude. Wash the soap off, and let’s think about if we want pajamas or regular pants.”

  “Regular pants. We didn’t eat dinner yet. I don’t wear pajamas to the table. Mommy…” He stopped and I saw his eyes pool with tears.

  Jesus, with all that had been going on, I forgot my little man just plain missed his mommy. I gathered him into my arms, all soap and water, and held him. “Dylan, I’m sorry, buddy.”

  “You didn’t hurt Mommy,” he said. “Those mean men did. But, Daddy, I really, really miss her. Sometimes I just forget she’s not here anymore.”

  Pulling me back from his shoulder he put one little gangly hand on each side of my face. Piano fingers, Helen had called them. Long, thin, strong, she’d wanted him to start lessons in the spring.

  “I miss her real bad, Daddy. But I try not to. I know you miss her, too. And if we both miss her too much at the same time, we won’t be able to do anything, like cook dinner or kick the soccer ball. All the stuff Mommy smiled about while we did it.” He let out a little, sad sigh. “I just want Mommy to know we’re happy.”

  Fuck. Me.

  I wrapped my hand behind his head and pressed him to me. I could feel the tears burning my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. I wish I could fix this.”