The War Business: A Sam Raven Thriller Page 10

  They had adjoining rooms. Osborne stopped Raven before they went inside. “Don’t go too far. I’ll call my father in the morning. If all goes well, you’re invited to dinner. My father’s wife is a heck of a good cook.”

  Raven unlocked his door. “I can’t hear myself think so I’m hitting the sack. Good luck.” He shut the door behind him.

  Jet lag was the worst enemy he faced, and Raven tangled with the condition often. Two Tylenol PM helped with the aches and pains and made him pass out. He didn’t wake till housekeeping knocked on the door a little after noon the next day. He’d forgotten to put out the Do Not Disturb sign. The embarrassed young woman, who didn’t speak English, somehow understood his sleepy mumbling and departed. Raven tried to go back to sleep, but gave up after fifteen minutes.

  Raven felt a little better anyway, which was nice after the night before. He showered and ordered breakfast. He could have asked for lunch, but he wanted an omelet stuffed with meat, and a side of buttered whole wheat toast. Per Aaron’s suggestion to stay put, he did exactly as ordered. He had no desire to take another long walk to the main building. Venturing to the casino promised only an onslaught of noise and needless activity.

  A knock at the door roused him from where he sat in a corner chair. He’d left the TV off and stared into space with his mind a blank for a change. He left the chair looking forward to his meal.

  When he let the waiter inside, he frowned. The face was familiar, but it couldn’t be the man Raven’s brain told him it was.

  “Yes, I am,” the man said. “Your mind isn’t playing tricks on you.”

  Raven blinked. Clark Wilson pushed the food cart into the room. Wilson was a Senior Staff Operations Officer for the CIA’s Special Activities Center. He acted as Raven’s point of contact whenever the Agency used him officially or unofficially.

  “Shut the door and I’ll explain, Sam.”

  Raven closed the door. A white tablecloth covered the top of the car and draped over all four sides. Wilson wore a white shirt, black vest, and black slacks—the uniform of hotel staff. A gold name badge with “Clark” emblazoned on the front completed the ensemble.

  “The uniform fits,” Raven said. “If your other job doesn’t work out—”

  “Haw haw,” Wilson said. “The pants are too tight in the seat. If I bend over, I’m afraid they’ll split.”

  “The glamour of undercover work.”

  Wilson set Raven’s breakfast on the dresser. “You eat, I’ll talk.”

  Raven didn’t argue. He brought the food to the wall desk, lifted the lid, and attacked with fork and knife.

  “Tracy is one of my people,” Wilson said. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Fisher assigned her to this mission.”

  “She told me.”

  “How much did she tell you?”

  “You’re interested in Aaron because he was trying to hire mercenaries. But let’s start from the top so I have everything.”

  “Tracy’s control was in London. She and Osborne had a prior relationship, so we had her reconnect when he started behaving in ways we didn’t like.”

  Raven took a bite of toast. “His spiel to me—”

  “What did he tell you?”

  Raven laughed. So much for eating while Clark did all the talking. He swallowed the bite. He told Clark the story of meeting Osborne in Paris. Wilson ignored Raven's report on the Paris terror attack.

  "He told you he’s almost broke?”

  “Basically.”

  “Nuts. He was offering good money to the mercs he talked to.”

  Raven slowed his eating. His bad feeling had been correct, and he was about to find out how bad the true story really was.

  “When we realized what he was doing, we needed to intervene,” Wilson said. “His actions are going to make trouble for his old man’s company, which we can’t allow. Not with the top-secret stuff his father does.”

  “I told him the same thing. Let me get this straight. No mercs would take the job, he got desperate, and then conned me into helping with his ‘poor me’ bit.”

  “About sums it up.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s the money for if not to pay back his father?”

  “We don’t know.”

  Raven sighed in frustration. He wasn’t getting the answers he wanted after all. Back to square one. But at least he wasn’t alone in thinking Osborne had a secret agenda.

  Wilson continued. “We sent Tracy to find out. He’s been consistent with his story to her, and didn’t tell you anything different.”

  “What if we’re wrong, Clark?”

  Wilson shrugged. “We have to make sure.”

  “What’s the chatter in the French drug cartel? Are they still looking for him?”

  “Yes. Fortun Dacourt is dead but his girlfriend, Geneva Ramsden, has taken up the cause. She’s looking hard, too.”

  “I’d still like to know how they tracked us.”

  “Ask Tracy. She left the clues. Her idea was if the cartel eliminated Aaron, it would solve the problem.”

  “And get her and me killed too?”

  “We figured you and her could handle yourselves.”

  “Fair enough.” Raven wasn’t about to get into an argument about the questionable actions of a spy agency. Operatives were expendable. Only the mission mattered. It was one of the reasons Raven had quit. It was the main reason he didn’t go back. On his own, he wasn’t forced to make such decisions. For him, people came first.

  Raven ate more of his omelet. The chef had done well. The egg and meats complemented each other. But the conversation kept him from savoring the flavors.

  Wilson said, “You’re sure you didn’t hear or see anything suspicious?”

  “At a pit stop something upset him but he didn’t say what. And with you here, and Tracy here, I don’t get the feeling you’re passing this on to the FBI.”

  “I can’t pull Tracy out yet. I’m hoping you’re open to snooping around some more.”

  “I’ve been doing so since Paris. I’ll stay with it, sure.”

  “Can you get a look at his phone and send us the numbers he called? His phone record might tell us something.”

  “No promises, but I can try. I haven’t charged mine so maybe he’ll let me use his to make a call. Tracy might be a better choice, though. Can’t you hack the phone?”

  “It’s illegal,” Wilson said. “I shouldn’t even be here in Reno.”

  “Fine. I’ll break the law for you. If nothing else, we can find out who his bookie is.”

  Wilson laughed without humor. “His father,” the CIA man said, “lost a bid the other day. If and when you meet him, he may not be too perky.”

  “Is the defense firm in financial trouble?”

  “No, he still has active contracts, but the loss had to hurt him a little.”

  Raven’s phone rang.

  20

  Raven left the desk to pick up his phone from the nightstand. It was Aaron. Raven answered. The call was short. Raven listened, agreed to a time, and hung up. He said to Wilson, “I’m invited to dinner at the family’s home.”

  “Aaron talked to his father?”

  “He said everything was fine between them and we’re doing dinner.” Raven returned to the desk. He picked at his omelet a moment. “This might be a whole lot of nothing, Clark.”

  “At least you’ll get a good meal out of it.”

  Raven scoffed. “After the last few days—”

  “Between you and Tracy, we have the bases covered. And just in case, I brought some toys.”

  Wilson lifted one side of the cart’s tablecloth. Two black cases sat on the bottom shelf. Wilson hefted the heavy cases onto the bed.

  He opened the first and presented Raven with a bulletproof vest.

  “Think I’ll need it?” Raven said.

  “Won’t hurt.”

  The second case contained a disassembled sub-machine gun smelling of fresh oil. Raven whistled. The weapon was a Heckler & Koch UMP in .4
5-caliber.

  “I made sure to get something compatible with your pistol ammo,” Wilson said.

  Raven checked the parts of the HK, quickly assumed the gun, and announced his approval.

  “I hope you don’t need it,” Wilson said.

  “Me too.” Raven put the HK back in the case.

  Aaron Osborne left Tracy in their West Wing hotel room and made the walk to the casino. He needed privacy for a phone call. He’d waited until she fell asleep the night before to get on his computer. It only took a few minutes to transfer the stolen money from his Swiss account to another account where Draco had access.

  He felt out of place as he wandered. Gone was the haze of cigarette smoke once so prevalent in Nevada casinos. “No Smoking” signs hung everywhere. The policy hadn’t turned away business. Players packed the slot machines. One element which hadn’t changed was the large number of seniors pulling on the one-armed bandits. They were a casino staple and always would be.

  Security guards at the elevators asked to see room key cards before allowing access. Another change. It was an effort to keep prostitutes out of the building. Hooking might be legal in Nevada, but businesses no longer had to tolerate the activity. Osborne figured the policy wasn’t about being family friendly. If anybody hiring a prostitute became a robbery victim, the hotel didn't want the blame.

  The gaudy flashing lights, ridiculous bells and electronic noises drowned out quiet thoughts. Osborne hadn’t ever intended to come back to Reno once he left, and the casino represented why. If he never heard another jackpot bell as long as he lived, he’d consider his life well spent.

  At the end of a hallway off the casino floor, he found a corner near an empty conference room. He took out his phone and dialed Draco.

  “How was your flight?” the mercenary said.

  “Long,” Osborne said. “I transferred your money last night.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “We’re having dinner with my father and his wife tonight.”

  “You’ll get the building codes?”

  “Yes. As soon as I have them your people can start.”

  “Do not fail us.”

  “Impossible. Everything is going according to plan.”

  “Except for your friends.”

  “I’ll need help with them, and I have an idea.”

  Draco listened while Osborne explained his plan.

  “Fair enough. I can spare a man,” Draco told him.

  “Good. Make it quick.”

  “Do your job, we’ll do ours.”

  “Count on it.” Osborne hung up and called his father.

  “You got the money?” the Elder Osborne said.

  “I transferred it to Draco,” Aaron said. “He and his people are paid.”

  “Good.”

  “It won't trace back to you in any way.”

  “But I’m afraid it might snare you, son.”

  “I have a plan to make sure it won’t and we’ll get rid of Tracy and Sam too.”

  “Don’t tell me. They’ll join us tonight?”

  “Yeah. We gotta make the act look good.”

  “There will be tears of joy. I’ll get you the building codes and we're done with this.”

  “At least the first phase.”

  “One step at a time. See you tonight.”

  Aaron said goodbye and ended the call. He started back the way he’d come, back through the noise and flashing lights. The warm afternoon and daytime sounds were a welcome alternative to inside. He walked at a quick pace to the West Wing.

  He hated to do away with Tracy and Raven but there was no other way. He needed them out of the picture if he was to make a clean break.

  His pop would have trouble with the government once they found out about the security breach. His old man had his own plan to handle the questions. The initial idea might have been Aaron’s, but his father refined the plan into an actionable set of goals.

  Aaron was only doing what papa wanted.

  Turning down Raven’s offer of money, and Raven’s continued insistence on the offer, drove him mad. He should have counted on Raven’s generosity. But borrowing the money created a bigger loose end than bringing Raven into the job already had. Raven had friends, too. What he said about the cartel went double for them. If any of his allies found out what Aaron had done, he’d be a marked man. Much like he was now, thanks to the failure in Marseille, but while he might be able to stay ahead of the French cartel, Raven’s buddies were a different story. Why be hunted from two sides when one was enough to deal with?

  Taking the money from Dacourt and Ramsden had been the best idea. Nothing to connect with anybody else, a quick and clean theft, and considering how it had gone down, perhaps Raven had been right all along. But it still beat a source of funds the FBI and CIA might track. Aaron knew how they worked. He’d been one of them long enough.

  He only hoped his equal insistence of turning down Raven’s offer didn’t make his friend suspicious. He didn’t see how it could not have, however. At least Raven wasn’t asking too many questions, or pressing the issue—any longer. He seemed to have accepted Aaron’s reasoning, and Aaron was fine with the result. Now all he had to do was get rid of Raven, and keep his fingerprints off the killing to avoid a revenge hit. Having Draco’s man do the job would keep him from being blamed. Perhaps not being willing to kill Raven himself was Aaron’s subconscious working through the potential danger; he didn’t care to dwell on the thought, though, because he wasn’t sure it was true. What was true was he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger, and the task needed somebody who wouldn’t think twice. Draco was willing to provide the solution. The problem would soon be cleared off the table.

  21

  Osborne asked Raven to drive the rental to his family’s place. Raven didn’t ask why Aaron’s rich old man wasn’t sending a car.

  Raven drove while Aaron and Tracy shared the back seat. Osborne looked nervous, almost pale with worry. He’d tied a bandanna around his forehead and it was already damp. Tracy watched him with an expression of care and concern. Raven shook his head. She is one hell of an actress.

  “You okay?” she said to Aaron.

  “I haven’t seen my father in—I can’t remember. Too long. We didn’t even trade birthday or Christmas cards the whole time I was gone.”

  Raven watched the road as he drove but stole a glance at Osborne in the rearview mirror every few seconds. He genuinely appeared distraught. As if he expected his old man to invite him over only to throw him out as soon as he stepped through the door.

  Raven said, “It’ll be fine, Aaron.”

  “I can face a ton of guys who want to kill me but this is too much.”

  “How did it go on the phone?”

  Osborne hesitated. Tracy gave him an encouraging pat on the leg. “It was a little strained at first, but then I told him I was sorry and it broke the ice. Then it as like all was forgiven.”

  “You tell him about the money?”

  “He says he doesn’t care but I’m sure he’ll take it once his wife gets involved in the conversation. Don’t tell him how we got it.”

  “Don’t think he’d be thrilled with the idea?”

  “Come on, Sam. I’d like him to believe for once I’m not a total failure.”

  He’s either laying it on thick or telling the truth. Raven once again did not know what to believe. He chose to change the subject.

  “Am I going the right way? You’re supposed to be navigating.”

  “Pick up the freeway on-ramp on the right. The 445. After this light.”

  Raven caught the ramp as directed and moved into the middle lane of the freeway.

  The elder Osborne and his second wife lived outside Sparks, a small town adjacent to Reno. Raven recognized the small town as a satellite of its bigger brother. More suburban homes and apartment buildings than big casinos. The usual shopping centers and chain restaurants. Raven figured the only slot machine action was in the gas stations and resta
urants.

  Raven’s eyes itched and his throat felt dry. The desert climate didn’t agree with him. He reminded himself to drink plenty of water before dinner to alleviate the issue.

  Open desert on the left; more city sprawl on the right. They were heading for the Osborne spread in Spanish Springs. The city lessened as they continued on the 445, but then the big spreads began. No longer did they see single-family dwellings. Sprawling estates two and three times the size of regular homes took over the landscape. Osborne finally directed him off the freeway to a long stretch of two-laned road. They had only one destination. The Osborne family estate loomed at the very end.

  Tracy said, “Did you grow up here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Must have been nice.”

  “My father put in a tennis court and a basement bowling lane but no pool. All my friends had smaller houses, but they all had pools.”

  “How come no pool for you?”

  “My father hates the smell of chlorine.”

  Raven said, “Who doesn’t?”

  “On a hot friggin’ day, who cares? You want a pool. Cheap bastard always had an excuse. Not like we didn’t have room to spare.”

  Raven reached the end of the road. He slowed to turn left through an open gate. The single-level home resembled a crescent with a concrete center yard and circular driveway. Palm trees ringed the back of the house, with a few stray cacti hanging around like unarmed sentries. White stucco walls and a reddish-brown roof. It fit with the desert terrain.

  Raven shut off the car. He glanced at Osborne in the rearview again. “You ready?”

  A nervous nod. Osborne opened his door and stepped out. Tracy followed. By the time Raven exited, the front door had opened and Mark Osborne stared at his son like a man discovering water in the desert after three dry days. It was an appropriate analogy. Aaron paused midway to the front steps. He held his arms at his sides and stared back. Raven and Tracy moved out of the way.

  “Aaron.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “You’re looking—”