Shift (ChronoShift Trilogy) (33 page)

Savannah watched them go, pursing her lips.  She did not know the woman and had been surprised by her arrival.  She was instinctively protective of Mark, and her first impression of this new woman left her feeling like Mark could do better.  Something else about it made her distinctively uncomfortable, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.  Reluctantly, she returned her attention to editing the report.

***

Angelo Lombardi was the name of the only other coin specialist in the Boston area Clyde Moore had thought would be capable of making the molds Mark Carpen had wanted.

Alex Rialto appeared at Lombardi’s shop in person, as he had Moore’s, but Lombardi was much more reticent to talk.  Rialto could tell the guy just wanted to get rid of him.  The Italian coin dealer completely denied having ever heard of Mark Carpen, or anyone else requesting antique coin molds for that matter.  Clearly, he was holding something back.  A trained investigator instinctively knows when someone is lying.

It didn’t take much effort to prove it.  A visit to Lombardi’s bank provided Rialto with copies of his account records over the past year, which revealed deposits of several large checks made out to him by a company called
Historical Enterprises
. 
The checks totaled a little over $4 million.  A little more investigation and Rialto discovered that Lombardi had not declared this as income when he’d filed his taxes. 
Now
, things were getting juicy.

A visit to the Secretary of State’s website and Alex found the registered agent for Historical Enterprises was none other than Mark Carpen himself.  Rialto had more than enough to put Lombardi in jail for tax evasion, but the link to Carpen was still pretty weak.  He had no proof that Mark had done anything illegal with those coin molds.

The next step was a hardline interrogation of  Lombardi.  It likely wouldn’t be too difficult to get Lombardi to take an immunity deal on his failure to pay taxes in exchange for squealing on Carpen.  Even if he had to encourage Lombardi to make something up, he would.  Carpen was the big fish and he was up to something.  As long as Rialto got him in the end, it didn’t matter for what.

***

October 24
^th
, 2012, Boston, MA

“Yes, Savannah?”

“There’s a Mr. Lombardi on the phone for you, Mark.”

“Okay.  Thanks.  Put him through.”

Angelo Lombardi was thoroughly rattled.   He told Mark about the visit he’d had from the IRS, how he’d failed to declare the payments from Mark as income, and the IRS agent’s endless questions about Mark.  Angelo insisted he’d denied even knowing Mark, but the guy had been relentless.

“You didn’t have to deny knowing me, Angelo, or that I paid you,” Mark said, “I’m not doing anything criminal.”

“Well....I didn’t know.  I wanted to be safe....just in case.”

“You were protecting your own butt is what it was.  Don’t worry about it.  Call my attorney, and he’ll take care of it for you, but you’re going to have to pay back taxes plus penalties.  We’ll try to get the penalties waived.”

“Sure, Mark.”

Mark gave him the contact info for his tax attorney and hung up.  Then, he picked the handset back up and paged Savannah.

“Yes, Mark?”

“Savannah, please get me Senator O’Brien on the phone right away.”

***

“You wanted to see me, Sir?”

Sanford Pennington did not look happy.  He motioned for Rialto to take a seat.

“Rialto, I won’t beat around the bush.  I just got a call from the Senate Majority Leader about you.”

“About me?”

“Have you been harassing Mark Carpen again?”

“Uh....not directly.  I’ve been investigating him.”

“After I gave you a direct order to stop,” Pennington affirmed.

“Well....”  Rialto was caught completely off guard by this attack, though he guessed he should have expected it.

“Have you found any evidence of wrongdoing?”

“Yes.  Last year, Carpen ordered some molds made so he could fabricate counterfeit antique coins in mass quantities.”

“That’s what the call was about all right.  Rialto, you
do
realize that Carpen has some powerful friends in Congress.  He’s contributed to a lot of campaigns.”

“No, I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Carpen maintains the molds were to start a replica coin company which never got off the ground.”

“I’m sure that’s what he says.”

“Do you have any evidence he’s done anything else with those molds?”

“Not yet, but...”

“But? But what?! How long have you been working on this?”  Pennington was getting madder.

“Uh....”

“Let me take a guess.  Since I told you to stop?   Is that right?”

Alex nodded.

“Okay, so, a powerful multi-billionaire has been paying this government
billions
in taxes.  You, an expert investigator, can’t find anything wrong with his returns that would normally launch an investigation.  I order you to stop.  You then disobey my
direct order
, neglecting to investigate real, known criminals, simply because you’ve got a feeling something’s not quite right with the guy.  After making me look bad in front of the President of the United States with the Santos gang screw-up, you harass Carpen’s business associates until I start getting phone calls from Senators.  And you still don’t have anything to show for it.”

“Sir, I just need more time...”

“You don’t get it do you, Rialto?”  Pennington slammed his fist onto the desk.  “You work for me and for the government of the United States of America!  You don’t get to go around investigating whoever suits your fancy.  I don’t care how many cases you’ve cracked in the past.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.  I’ll drop it.”  He’d let it go for a few months until Pennington calmed down, then pick up the trail again.

“You’ll do more than drop it.  Your work’s been suffering lately.  I’m busting you down to customer service.”

“Customer service?”  Rialto burst to his feet.

“You got it.  Permanently.”

“Sir,” he pled, “You can’t be serious.  I’m a good investigator.”

“You’ve left me with no options, Rialto.  You stepped on the wrong toes at the wrong time, and with nothing to show for it.”

Rialto’s face turned purple in silent rage.  Balling his fists, he stammered, “Then, you can have my resignation!”

“I’d like that even better, actually.”

Carpen!

Carpen would pay for this.  He would find a way to get even with him, no matter how long it took.

You always had an eye for things that glittered...

“Just to See You Smile”

                        ~ Tim Mcgraw

“You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you, Mark.”

Candlelight glittered and danced on the gemstones adorning Laura’s neck.  Matching ornaments graced her earlobes and wrists.  Her dress was from one of Back Bay’s high end fashion shops.  After spending an entire afternoon of shopping together, mainly for her, they were now enjoying a luxurious dinner at one of Boston’s finest restaurants.

Maybe if I’d been able to do things like this for Kelly, we’d still be together
.

He couldn’t take his eyes from Laura, and his heart seemed to be following suit in hypnotic lock-step.  In store after store, her magnetism had this magical way of lifting his wallet from his pocket and effortlessly placing it the hand of the shopkeeper — and he normally hated shopping.

“So, what’s next, Mark?  What are you planning to do with that shifter?”

“Not sure yet.  Savannah’s drawing me up a list of tragedies I can go back and try to fix.”

“I was thinking, what if you tried to become the richest man in the world?”

Mark laughed.  “Yeah, I guess I probably could, but why?  We’ve got more than we can possibly spend as it is now.”

“Just to do it, I guess.  If you’ve got something as powerful as that thing is, you should use it.”

Mark scowled.

“There are lots of good things we can do, and we
are
going to do many of them, but I don’t think the endless pursuit of wealth is admirable in of itself.”

It was her turn to frown.  “You don’t always have to be such a goodie-goodie, you know.  Why can’t you do those other things and still pursue wealth too?  How about we buy an island?  I’ve always wanted to have my own island.”

A slight smile returned to Mark’s face.  “Sure, sure.  No reason we can’t do that.  We’ve got all the time in world.”

***

July 17
^th
, 2027, 2:00 AM, Boston, MA

To be exact, fifteen years is what it took Alexander Rialto to find his method of revenge.

The year was now 2027.  Since the day he’d quit the IRS, he had been forced to work as a menial tax preparer at various storefront operations in order to support himself.  It was humiliating, but it allowed him to moonlight as a private eye.  A private eye with just one case.

After fifteen years of investigation, Rialto believed he had finally discovered the secret to Mark Carpen’s wealth, and he had figured it out without the use of government resources too.  At first, he had refrained from soliciting the help of friends and other government contacts just because he wanted to keep a low profile.  Later, as his suspicions mounted, he had decided he didn’t want the government to get wise to Carpen for other reasons.  No, once he figured out Carpen’s secret, Rialto realized he could use it for himself.  The IRS and the good ol’ U.S. of A. could go jump in a lake.

Staring at his hands, he thought about how much older they looked.  This morning, when standing in front of the mirror, he’d keenly noticed all the gray in his hair.  He shouldn’t have had to wait this long.  Fifteen years of his life were gone, wasted.   Which was especially ironic if Carpen's secret was what he thought it was.

He squinted to see better in the dim light offered by the street lamps.  The shadowy figure, which had to be Carpen’s friend, Ty Jennings, was moving along the sidewalk toward him.  He was now approaching a yellowish pool of light emanating from the lamp post nearest Rialto.  This large black man should have been almost 90 years old by now, but he still looked 50.

Ty didn’t see Rialto as he passed.  Firmly holding a silenced .38, Rialto stood from behind the bush concealing his position and extended his left hand.  One short spit from the muzzle and Ty lay prone on the ground, blood welling from a hole in the back of his head.

Rialto crept toward the body, unsure of the accuracy of his shot.  Sure enough, it had been dead on.  Jennings was dead.

A strange whirring sounded from the part of the man’s body that interested him the most, his left wrist.

The watch.  That strangely futuristic, smooth, gray wristwatch that Rialto had observed on the wrists of all three men, Carpen, Jennings, and Phillips.  The watch was making the whirring sound.

Its band was expanding, loosening actually, from Ty’s wrist.  Rialto reached down and slipped it off.  He examined it carefully, looking for some key to its use.  It didn’t take but a few moments to figure out the significance of the numbers on the digital displays.

He slipped the watch onto his own wrist.  It whirred again, tightening its band until it fit snugly.  It felt good.

            He used the smaller buttons to play with the numbers of one of the displays.  His breathing accelerated, chest heaving in anticipation.  There was only one way to be sure.

            He pushed the red button.

January 28
^th
, 2013, Boston, MA

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” Savannah warned Hardy.