Robin Burcell - Face of a Killer

“And just how dirty are they?”

“You’ve heard of companies like TriAmeriCon? “Aren’t they into construction?”

“Multibillion-dollar worldwide construction and shipping firm, based in the good old U.S. of A. They’re the superman of global companies, able to leap U.S.-imposed sanctions and embargos with one simple phrase to the country they need to enter: Look the other way and we’ll make it worth your while.”

“BICTT? Part of the scandal twenty years ago?”

“It wasn’t a scandal, it was the tip of an iceberg so large, they didn’t dare let the American public know the truth. With companies like TriAmeriCon, Blienett Subsidiaries, KeenAnex Oil, to name a few, it was in their best interest to whitewash the entire affair. This pouch has key information that would literally cripple corporate America if the public knew what these companies were really involved in, and end treaties between a number of countries. It’s like the little black book of corrupt governments and corporations. If there’s a country that needs to be rebuilding due to war, or a war that needs starting to drive economy, or drugs traded for arms, arms traded for oil, or money paid to revolutionists to protect foreign enterprise, you name it. One of these companies has their hand in it, all with the blessings of the government, sometimes even the manpower of black ops teams, and the public has no idea.”

“So if they closed down the bank, exposed those involved in the Senate hearings twenty years ago, made laws that prohibited dealing with terrorists and the like, why the interest now?”

“Because BICTT was only one small part of this, like I said, the tip of the iceberg. BICTT’s Black Network is still operating today, still has ties to governments around the world. In here is a peek at what’s below the surface. What’s still going on.”

She looked at the pouch. “In there?”

“ If you can break the code. The government prefers to whitewash it all to keep the economy stable. Just like they did the first time. Because in the end it’s all about money. And don’t expect a miracle if you get this information back home. They’ll pick some schmuck of a corporation, force it to pay a hefty fine once it’s discovered they were playing with countries in the evil axis, invite the press to watch, and that’ll be the last you hear of it until some other idiot blows his brains out, leaving incriminating letters behind.”

Tomas said, “I think we’re being tailed. They either have more than one team, or they didn’t buy my story.”

Robert looked back, eyed the cars behind them. “What are our options, Tomas?”

“The boat is still the best option. It’s fueled and ready.”

“Get us there,” he said, then pulled a Beretta from beneath the seat. “Return her weapon, Jose. She’ll need it.”

Jose withdrew her weapon from his waist, handed it to her. She checked to see it was still loaded, then glanced behind her. A black Mercedes was gaining, then had to back off as another car changed lanes. “This is going to sound like a dumb question, but who are these guys?”

“My first guess? The Black Network. If not them, maybe a team from the CIA, trying to get this info. Either way, they’re men who can follow orders and not ask questions. That was part of the problem for Frank and your father, too. Didn’t like going into anything blind. If your father hadn’t been killed in that robbery, chances are he would’ve ended up dead anyway, because he balked at keeping it quiet. He got emotionally involved after the explosion, then insisted it was no accident. Didn’t help that he blamed McKnight for his sleepless nights and missing digits.”

“Was my father blackmailing him?”

Robert scoffed. “Your old man was guilty of a lot of things. Nature of the job. But blackmail? I don’t think he saw it that way. His problem was that he started a family. Changed his way of thinking. Same with Frank, though his old lady was smart and never married him to begin with.”

This was the second time he’d mentioned that name. “Frank?”

“Frank White. Kind of a misnomer. Half Puerto Rican, half black. Our fifth team member,” he said, and she made a mental note on the name. “Having a family didn’t do him or your father much good in the end. Too many ties. Too much to lose. Which is why I set up a safety system that would set things in action if they came after me,” he said, holding up the bank pouch. “Insurance, if you will. And I made sure everyone knew my connections to the press, and just what would happen to this info on my demise. Bought me twenty years…” He seemed to give himself a mental shake. “Now that McKnight’s dead, it’s a hell of a lot easier for them to send in a black ops team, take me out and get rid of this pouch. That’s the problem when your only contact in the States is playing both sides, and the remaining guy you had planned on as part of your insurance plugs a bullet into his own head.”

“Who was your contact?”

“Becky Lynn McKnight. She’s great when it comes to getting passports and fake IDs, but after that, wouldn’t trust her for a second.” He gripped his gun, shifting in his seat to face the back. “I’d suggest the two of you duck way down in the back. They want what’s in here real bad, and they’re playing for keeps.”

Tomas stepped on the gas, made a quick succession of turns, staying out of the crowded areas of the city. She gripped the doorframe, leaned into a turn. “So what’s in that pouch besides bank info on BICTT?”

“Account numbers and identifiers from all the major players. This bank financed some of our major ops, and a lot of terrorist stuff all over the world. Stuff our government knew about, stuff our government wanted done. We knew this when it first tried to take over a savings and loan in Texas. They needed legitimate businessmen to facilitate the opening, get past the governmental red tape. That’s where McKnight and I stepped in. To lend our business names, well, his. Mine was more of the security side of things. The computers. One of my specialties back when your dad and I worked together. Breaking into places, hacking computers. Which is how I ended up with the info in this pouch, and how I know their Black Network is still operating. Proof’s in here.”

Tires screeched as they skidded around a corner. “Hold on,” Tomas said, slamming on the brakes. The antilock kicked in, the brakes thumping as they took hold. The scent of burning rubber filled the car as he waited until a truck passed, then gunned it, squeezing into traffic.

“When the shit hit the fan,” Robert continued, “I had a feeling that we were going down hard to save some political ass. Didn’t want to end up on the bottom of that dog pile, because it was either prison or a coffin. Either way, I didn’t like the odds.”

The car jerked as Tomas switched lanes. Sydney glanced behind her in time to see the black Mercedes speeding up after them. “Might want to sit even lower,” Robert said, shifting in his seat, to keep an eye on that back windshield.

Tomas gunned it, turned again, and now they were on the open road, heading north up the coast. “Why now?” she asked.

“Because Willy McKnight couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie. No one cared as long as it remained buried. When he wrote that note before he killed himself, he stirred up more shit than he could fit on the end of his stick.” Robert ejected the magazine from his Beretta, checked to see if it was full, then slapped it back in. “Ripple effect.”

“Why didn’t you just testify back then?”

He looked over at her. “Like I said, BICTT had their Black Network, and they tried to kill me. That’s when I took off. Haven’t been back since.”

The rear windshield shattered. “Stay down!” Robert yelled.