Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella (26 page)

Her pulse quickened. "Yeah. I sure am. You know
where she is?"

He revved the throttle a few times, causing a loud
backfire. When the bike returned to idle he looked at her, and said,
"Nope." With that he let out the clutch and drove into
hisdark apartment.

She stood in his doorway and waited for him to shut
the bike off. "But you saw her?"

"
Not since yesterday. "

"
Any idea where she went?"

"
To find a phone. You want to shut the door?"
he said.

Wouldn't want to let in any fresh air
,
she thought. 'Was she all right?" Munch asked.

Farmer slicked back his hair with one hand and
hunched his shoulders. "I don't know. She was crying about
something."

"
Think she's coming back?"

"Fuck, I don't know. Maybe."

"
If you see her again, would you tell her that I
came by?

There's some serious shit going down. Tell her that
guy is looking for her. He already came to my house once."

"
So you're saying she should split town?"

"I'd like to talk to her first. Tell her to
leave word at my work. I'll keep checking."
 

CHAPTER 21

"
Captain Earl called, " Cassiletti told
Mace.

"Now what?" Mace asked, hanging his sports
coat on the back of his chair. "Oh, shit, I promised him my
report."

"I already took care of that," Cassiletti
said. "Although I couldn't be too detailed about what went on in
Tijuana." Mace didn't miss the tone. There were times when
having a partner was as bad as being married. He put a smile on his
face and spoke with a tone he hoped would mollify. "Yeah? Way to
go, Tiger. "

"Don't get too happy. He wants to see both of
us."

"Don't tell me. Code two, right?"

"Well, yeah."

Mace picked up his phone and dialed Earl's extension.
Brenda answered, "Captain Earl's office."

"Hi," Mace said. "Does he have time
for us now?"

"
Let me check," she said. A moment later
she came back on the phone. "He said to come right over."

Mace hung up the phone and let out a resigned sigh.
He turned to Cassiletti with raised eyebrows and a shrug. "Let's
go see whose dick we stepped on this time."

Mace and Cassiletti walked the long hallway to the
captain's office. Two command audiences in as many days was not good.
The captain didn't hold private face-to-face meetings so he could
pass out doughnuts. He only acted this way when he wanted to issue a
reprimand or give not-to-be-misinterpreted, not-to-be-ignored orders.

They reached the outer office. Brenda looked up from
her paperwork to say, "Go right in." Another bad sign. She
didn't even use the intercom.

Earl was standing, gazing out his window when the two
detectives entered his office. Cassiletti's report of the most recent
activity in the Band-Aid case sat open on Earl's desk. Another man
was also in the room, leaning against the low bookshelves, his back
to the picture of Captain Earl shaking hands with Mayor Bradley. Mace
recognized him immediately. It was Deputy Chief Tumpane.

"You wanted to see us, Captain?" Mace said.

"Close the door, " Earl said.

Cassiletti held the knob twisted open as he closed
the door, making no noise as he carried out the captain's request.
Mace was always surprised at his partner's capacity for gentleness.

"
I've read your report," Earl said. "This
man, Victor Draicu." Earl pointed to a line on the paper in
front of him. "You know he's a Romanian diplomat."

"Yes, sir," Mace said. "He's also been
placed at a crime scene." Mace looked at the deputy chief, who
in turn was regarding him. "Do you want me to ignore that?"

Captain Earl deferred to his superior with a nod.

Tumpane straightened from his casual pose. "As
you may or may not know," he said, "the '84 Olympics has a
record number of countries competing. One hundred and four, even with
the Eastern Bloc boycott."

"Yes, sir," Mace said, wondering how this
bit of politics was going to screw up his investigation.

"
Romania's participation is something we're
especially pleased about."

"
I just want to interview the guy, " Mace
said.

"And that's all very proper," Tumpane said.
"Just not at this time."

"
And what time would be convenient for
everybody?"

Mace asked, feeling his blood pressure rise. The
first hours after a crime were crucial. After that memories faded,
evidence grew tainted.

"
July twentieth."

"
You're kidding, right?" Mace asked.
"That's six weeks away."

"
By then the games will be safely under way.
There's a bigger picture to consider. We need you on the
antiterrorist squad. It hasn't been reported in the papers, but
threats have been made."

"You already have a competent antiterrorist
unit," Mace said. "I need to stay after this guy. He's
going to strike again. He's already accelerated."

"
You have your orders," Tumpane said. "I'm
not in the habit of repeating myself."

"Six weeks, my ass," Mace said, cold with
rage.

"
Detective," Earl warned.

"No," Mace said. "Fuck this." He
pulled out the pictures of the murder victims. "She didn't get
the bigger picture." He threw the Polaroid of the young Mexican
girl on Earl's desk.

"
Let me put it another way, Detectives,"
Earl said, without looking at the image of the dead girl. "You're
off this case. I want all your notes on my desk in one hour."

Cassiletti opened the door. Mace gathered his
photographs and stormed out. His shoulder grazed Tumpane's chest in
passing. Cassiletti pulled the door shut behind him. Mace paused at
Brenda's desk and put a finger to his lips. She watched wide-eyed as
he pushed the interoffice intercom button. Earl's voice came across
loud and clear.

"
I told you he wouldn't like it."

Tumpane responded with, "He doesn't have to like
it."

"I'm just saying they don't call him the Hound
Dog for nothing. "

"
Well maybe," Tumpane replied, "we'll
have to throw him a bone."

Brenda and Cassiletti exchanged worried glances. Mace
let go of the intercom button. "Let's get out of here."

As usual, Cassiletti
followed.

* * *

Back at his desk, Mace dumped his notes, sketches,
and photographs related to the Band-Aid Killer into a cardboard file
box. He withheld copies of the photographs from Tijuana since
officially they were not part of the murder book of events. He also
withheld copies of the videotapes from the Bank of America and the
Gower apartment building's surveillance cameras.

When the phone rang, Cassiletti answered. He listened
a moment, then said, "Yeah, here he is."

Mace took the receiver. "Yeah?"

"
It's Steve. You want to catch some lunch?"

"
Uh, yeah. How about an early one? I have some
extra time on my hands."

"Wing Fu's in twenty?"

"That'll work. I'm
bringing my partner," Mace said, casting a sidelong glance at
Cassiletti. Cassiletti's expression reminded Mace of a schoolyard
wallflower who'd been picked for the team.

* * *

Wing Fu's Bar-b-que was located on North Broadway in
the heart of Chinatown, five minutes away from Parker Center. When
Mace had first come to work downtown, he'd been having lunch one day
when three boys no older than fifteen came in to shake down the
owner. Mace followed the kids into the parking lot, where he and
Cassiletti were fully prepared to knock some respect into the punks.
To his surprise, it was Wing Fu himself who came to the boys' rescue.
Later Wing Fu explained that although he appreciated the effort, the
tong's levies were duly factored into his cost of doing business. And
besides, where would Mace be when they burned his place down at three
in the morning?

The restaurant was nestled between the Best Western
Dragon Gate Inn and the Friendly Hair Salon, with its pictures of
Caucasian hairstyles in the window. They parked in front of the
Hualuan Book Company. The sign on the door indicated that tax
services were also offered there.

Because the day was already promising to be hot, Mace
pulled the car under one of the large blossoming coral trees that
lined the block. He liked how the tree's persimmon-colored flowers
and intricate branch patterns harmonized with the neighborhood
architecture. Even the Methodist Church across the street had gambrel
rooflines with upswept eaves and was painted lacquer red.

The smell of seafood and steamed
bok
choy
overwhelmed him when he stepped out of
the car. Chinese women holding black umbrellas strolled the busy
sidewalk. He and Cassiletti gave them right of way, then walked the
short half block to Wing Fu's. Colorful tasseled paper lamps hung
over the opaque storefront window of the restaurant. A life-size
gilded lion, to the left of the front door, raised a paw in welcome.
Steve was already inside, seated at a table for four beside a small
Buddhist shrine adorned with fresh fruit and flower offerings.

Mace and Cassiletti took the seats on either side of
him. The three men had the place to themselves. After the waiter took
their order, Steve showed Mace a blue folder with a State Department
logo on it and beneath that the word: SECRET.

"You can keep a secret, right?" Steve
asked.

Mace looked at his partner. "We're both good."
Cassiletti sat a little straighter in his chair.

"
I did some more asking around about your guy,
Victor Draicu," Steve said. "Much to my surprise, I
received some answers." Steve passed them the folder. "Open
it," he said.

"
How did you get this?" Mace asked.

"
I know a guy who knows a guy," Steve said.

Mace folded back the cover. The first thing he saw
was a photograph of a red Folger's coffee can—one pound. Underneath
the photo was an assayer's form. PLUTONIUM—239 had been
highlighted. There was also what appeared to be some sort of bill of
lading. The words on this document were written in Cyrillic script.
The letterhead included an address in Chernobyl, Russia. The shipping
destination was an address in Kozlodvy, Bulgaria. On the right-hand
sides of the papers, there were columns which listed weights in
kilograms.

"What am I looking at?" Mace asked.

"An inventory of weapons-grade plutonium ingots,
salvaged from nuclear weapons. Approximately twenty tons of the stuff
are produced annually—a sight more than needed for use in weapons.
In Eastern Europe, they're experimenting with conversion facilities
to reprocess plutonium-239 into reactor-grade plutonium. Four
kilograms of this shipment never reached its intended destination.
just to give you an idea of what we're talking about, one kilogram
would be enough to create a bomb half the power of the bomb that
destroyed Nagasaki."

"
All right," Mace said. "You've got my
attention." He passed the folder to Cassiletti, who studied it
for a moment and then handed it back.

"
Have you ever heard of Operation Courtship?"
Steve asked.

"
No," Mace said.

"It was formed in 1980 after President Reagan
was elected. The Carter administration ran the intelligence community
down to nothing. Operation Courtship is a combined effort between the
FBI and the CIA to bring us back up to snuff."

"
How are they doing that?" Mace asked.

"The main focus domestically is to recruit
assets: foreign ambassadors, embassy staff. Courtship agents spend
months observing. Then psychiatrists review all available information
on the prospect for signs of receptivity: how they dress, how well
they speak English, how interested they seem in American customs and
society."

"
Blackmail?" Mace asked.

"
No, I think that's generally accepted as
nonviable. But vices are always useful: sex, gambling, booze, drugs.
Your basic food groups."

"
Is this where the two women from the Gower
apartment come in?"

"
Bingo. But there's more." Steve held up
the photograph of the Folger's coffee can. "Three months ago,
this container was found in the trash inside the stadium where the
Romanian Olympic track-and-field team drills. The coffee can had been
filled with sawdust, and in that sawdust traces of weapons-grade
plutonium-239 were detected, most probably part of the above missing
shipment."

"
Not good," Mace said.

"
This is where Victor Draicu enters the picture.
Which reminds me . . .Steve said, reaching into his coat pocket for
an envelope. "Victor's brother is Bela Draicu, the First Deputy
Atomic Energy Minister of Romania. " He opened the envelope and
removed a photograph, which he handed over to Mace. The picture was
of a large room with comfortable-looking sofas, dramatic flower
arrangements, and a fireplace large enough to roast a pig in.
"American embassy in Romania. The brothers Draicu are standing
together by the fireplace."