Richard Greener - The Knowland Retribution

Tom Maloney believed the best place to hide was in plain sight. He moved into a suite at the Waldorf, arranged for private security, and settled in for the duration. He was quite happy to get away from his current wife for a while, and she was so pleased with his decision she immediately left for Switzerland, telling friends she’d be gone until the spring.

Nathan Stein stayed home in the city for two days, then took off for the country, upstate. A day after arriving in Wevertown he was already going stir crazy. He called Maloney.

“Get a bigger suite,” Nathan said. “Hell, get the whole fucking penthouse.” By dinner he had moved into the Waldorf with Tom.

St. John

The phone woke him at six o’clock the next morning. It was noon in Holland and van de Steen had other business to attend to that day.

“Hoe gaat het, Walter.”

“Hoe gaat het yourself. What time is it?”

“It’s nice to see you haven’t lost all your Dutch.”

“No, I still know how to say ‘hello’ and how to find the toilet.”

“And the polar bear.” Van de Steen laughed, recalling an old joke between the two men.

“Waar is de ijsbeer?” said Walter with a smile. “I don’t remember much, but I remember that.”

“Listen Walter, some of your man’s arsenal is too common, too available to trace to any one individual. You knew that, of course, but not all of it. The Holland amp; Holland, a fine and excellent piece of equipment-truly a work of art-that one I am sure came from California. How do you say S-a-n J-o-s-e?”

“San Jose,” said Walter. “How did he get it and where?”

“I cannot say for sure it was the man you are looking for, but the rifle itself was sold through a dealer, on the Internet, paid for in money orders.”

“Money orders? I thought that gun sold for more than twenty-five thousand dollars. That’s a helluva way to pay that kind of money.”

“Yes. Quite normal, actually. And it was twenty-seven thousand, plus a dealer’s fee and shipping.”

“That’s great, Aat. I think I can find the trail of a money order that size. Is there a name?”

“Not so quickly, my friend. These dealers never sell to people who use their real name. In your country there are many named Smith or Jones. It will be a name like that. Dealers know the name is untrue. They don’t care. The name-whatever it is-will do you no good. And, you will not be able to track down a money order.”

“Why not?”

“Most individual clients pay in this manner, and they do so with a group of money orders, none for more than nine hundred dollars, all of them purchased separately. It’s an inconvenience, but it serves its purpose. Again, the dealers have no interest in the procedure, only the result.”

“Where did they ship to?”

“Ah ha, now you are talking-what is it-turkey? Do you know where is Fargo, North Dakota?”

Walter listened as van de Steen told him how the Holland amp; Holland double rifle was shipped from an anonymous owner in San Jose, California to a PO Box at a private mail and packaging store in Fargo, North Dakota. The transaction was completed under the auspices of a dealer Walter’s Dutch friend saw no need to name. He wasn’t asked. The owner of the PO Box was listed as Evangelical Missions Inc. Van de Steen said the commercial mail store, following instructions, forwarded the package, knowing nothing about its contents, to a private address in Raleigh, North Carolina.

“Jackpot!” said Walter.

“The Israeli gun,” van de Steen said, “I believe it too went to this address. Of that one I cannot be totally certain, but I think it is so. There are many of them-it too is a wonderful piece-and I believe at least one went to this place in North Dakota.”

“That’s great,” Walter said. “The Holand amp; Holland is enough. That two of them were sent to the same place makes it a hundred percent.”

“A word of caution, my friend. It was not on your list, but I can trace a Walther WA2000 to the same destination.”

“What is that?”

“ That, as you call it, is the finest rifle ever built in the sniper class. It is a NATO 7.62mm semiautomatic regarded by most people who are familiar with things of this nature, such as myself, as the most accurate long-range weapon in the world. And there lies the trick, Walter. The Germans-a people so good at making things like this-built only seventy-two of them. If you asked me to get one for you today-and you would be a rich man, a very rich man to do so-I could not.”

“You’re serious? You couldn’t find one? How could a rank amateur?”

“He did not. It was no amateur. A Walther WA2000 is a transaction to be proud of. I think it could be sold for a hundred thousand euros, maybe more. A dealer I know in Hong Kong made just such a sale at the same time as these others, all bought within a few months of each other. I remembered hearing about it. We brag, as you Americans say, even in my profession. I called him last evening. He was bursting with pride still, and told me he arranged for it to be delivered to the same place-North Dakota. Be aware, Walter. With that gun you can kill anyone, anywhere.”

“No need for the concern. My man doesn’t want to kill me. He doesn’t even know me.”

“He will kill someone with it. When you do what you do you can never know what can transpire. If he does not know you, make sure it stays that way.”

“Don’t worry, Aat. But thanks.”

Aat van de Steen said, “No man spends that much money for such a thing and doesn’t use it. Besides, having played with it, practiced with it, held it in his hands and against his cheek and shoulder, taken it apart, cleaned and reassembled it, I am certain he will be unable to resist shooting it at someone. It must be so.”

“Thank you, Aat,” said Walter, acutely aware of the intensity in his friend’s voice. It struck him as almost religious-sexual. Every business has its Holy Grail. “As always,” Walter said, “I am in your debt.”

“Quite the contrary, Walter. It is I who owe you. It is my pleasure to assist. Do not forget. I am planning on it. In the spring, the Yab Yum.”

St. John

When the address in Raleigh turned out to be an empty lot, Walter was not surprised. No delivery service-not UPS, not Fed Ex, not anyone-would simply drop a package in an empty lot and drive away. Someone had to be there when it arrived, and Walter was sure it wasn’t Leonard.

He was certain, as certain as he could be absent real proof, that Isobel’s Kermit was Carter Lawrence. He was convinced, although less certain, that Carter had been present at the empty lot in Raleigh. It must have been he who took delivery as the packages of weapons and ammunition arrived there. What did he do with them? Probably, Walter conjectured, he shipped them on to wherever Leonard was. Most likely Carter loaded the packages into his car and drove south on interstate 85 back to Atlanta. If he had sent them out again it would have been from there, from somewhere in Atlanta. And if the two men had seen each other, Walter was sure it was Leonard who had come to Carter, not the other way around.

For the last twenty years, at least, no contacts had been more valuable than those that enabled Walter to see credit card records. With friends in the right places, vital information could be gathered instantly. Walter knew the authorities could accomplish the same thing, but it would take them weeks, even months. There would be search warrants, court orders, and, of course, the inevitable screw-ups caused by multiple and overlapping jurisdictions. The cops would have to deal with their own internal politics. Somebody might have the idea to check out credit card records, and somebody else, often times the next guy up the line, would kill the idea, simply because it wasn’t his. Walter’s years in the business also taught him that even when the cops, the FBI, or any of a slew of government agencies got it right-when they knew what to look for and where it was-they still missed it at least as often as they didn’t. Just as he once told Isobel the best way to follow someone can sometimes be to walk in front of them, he knew the best way to look for a clue was to know what you were looking for before searching for it. Easier said than done, but Walter trusted his instincts. For three decades they led him in the right direction.