Chapter 19

"First," Greg said, "Robert Ensign was indeed a crook. That's what I was coming to tell you in the library when we got distracted by Loni's hissy fit. And his name isn't Robert Ensign. It's Noble Kerry, spelled like the senator from Massachusetts. He's an embezzler, quite good at, too. He's stolen substantial sums from five companies that the cops know about. Spent some time in prison after the first time, but not since. The home address on the resume was a vacant lot, but my friend at the Phoenix PD traced him through his cell phone. Did you know the new cell phones have small GPS units in them?"

"I knew that," I said. "Did they catch him?"

"They did. He's wanted in California, Washington, and Oregon. My friend says California will probably get him first."

"Does Sable know?"

"Yes. She says she learned a hard lesson. She'll do more than call a few references from now on."

I nodded. "How'd the disappearing go?"

"The disappearing wasn't easy, but what's left is blowing in the wind." Getting those bodies off that mountain was a bitch, but the boss doesn't need to know those kinds of details, he thought. "Disappearing costs a bunch, boss. Got any cash handy?" Too bad we had to use the crematorium in Houston, instead of one here. Had to transport the bodies as well as cremate them. Expensive, but the only way to go.

"I do," I said and rose to my feet. "How much?"

He told me while I was opening my office safe. I kept two hundred fifty thousand dollars in cash in the safe. My mad money.

"Should I call Garfield?" I said as I handed Greg the money he asked for.

"No, let him wonder what's happening. No news won't be good news for him, but no news will give us the time to plan Garfield's comeuppance."

I wasn't the only one who used euphemisms.

"Put him under full physical surveillance," I said.

"I ordered physical surveillance the day after you and Loni rode up the mountain to watch a sunset. Good thing, too. The physical surveillance, not electronic, told us that Garfield hired an executive protector that tags along with him everywhere he goes."

"A protector like Peter, not a bodyguard?"

"Yes. Got a picture of the man. Showed it to Peter. Peter knew him. His name is David Silverman. Knows his stuff, Peter says."

"Shit," I said.

"Yeah," Greg said. "You know, don't you, boss, that you can't go to New York for this jamboree?"

I suddenly realized that Greg was much better at tossing euphemisms around than I.

I nodded. "For the same reason I couldn't go with you to Houston. You can't protect me and handle Garfield at the same time."

"Yep. That, and you might need an alibi. Me, too. I won't be going either. The people we hired for physical and electronic surveillance know about us. Garfield knows about us and has told others. You and I can't be involved. Winston will be handling this situation, partly because the executive protector put a monkey in the wrench, so to speak. Winston is the best there is with a long gun, and with the executive protector hanging around, the job has become a job for a long gun."

I nodded. "I'll want a private conversation with Winston before he leaves. Will he have help in New York?"

"All he needs," Greg said. "Winston is recruiting help as we speak. He'll need some of your untraceable mad money for expenses. In cash."

"No problem. How much?"

"$40,000 he says, but double that amount would be better. He'll return whatever he doesn't spend."

I got up and opened my office safe again and removed eight packets of $100 bills, placing them on the corner of the desk. I closed the safe and spun the dial. "That's $80,000. The serial numbers are random. I just picked up the packets, so my fingerprints are on the paper tapes around each packet. Tell Winston to destroy the tapes. What about legal help if it's needed?"

"That hasn't been considered."

"I'll set that up."

Greg shook his head. "Uh-uh, the concept of plausible deniability still applies."

"I'll set it up so the legal help can't be traced to me."

Greg nodded. "Okay. With good planning and a little luck, it won't be needed."

"You will need to pull both electronic and physical surveillance before Winston goes to work in New York," I said.

"I know," Greg said.

I stood up and started to pace. "I don't like this, Greg," I said. "This goes against my grain. I take pride in not asking someone to do a job I'm not willing to do myself."

"I know," he said.

"I'm willing to do the job, but I can't, not with a protector in the way. I'm not good enough. I'm not enough of a warrior to pull it off."

"I know, but Winston is."

"The protector isn't one of the bad guys. He's a good guy. He can't be harmed."

"That's what makes this a long-gun job," Greg said.

I nodded. "Does Winston need anything?"

"For the job?"

"No, personally."

"He has a divorced daughter and two small grandchildren. He gives them a little money every month."

"Where do they live?"

"Here, somewhere in the Phoenix area. That's why he came here when he retired."

I sat down again and slowly let all the air from my lungs to relax.

"I'll need some details about them. I don't want my help to hurt them," I said.

Greg looked confused. His thoughts told me he didn't understand.

"Throwing money at a drunk or drug addict can do more harm than good, Greg. Not that I'm suggesting that Winston's daughter is either. Plain and simple, the more I know about her and the children the more good I can do."

"Okay, I understand now. Boss, I think you should speak with Winston about this. He's a very private man."

I nodded. "I will."

"Also, beyond his salary, paying him for this job would insult him."

I pursed my lips. "He's a good man."

"He is." He also enjoys the hunt, Greg thought. And the kill. Maybe a little too much.

Ah-hah! I thought.

"Just the man I wanted to see," Peter Cornwall said as he walked into the library. "Gotta minute?"

"Got a bunch of minutes," I said.

He settled into a comfortable chair. "Couple of things. I called Agent Green this morning. The FBI has corroboration on the description that Leah gave them – they think. Not enough to go public with the description, but they've added the description to the killer's profile that they distribute to law enforcement."

"What kind of corroboration?" I said.

"Another Native American woman saw him when he was stalking her. It was at night, a similar situation to the one Leah experienced." Peter paused and smiled. "She described the stalker as a six-foot-tall, clean-shaven white man wearing a rolled-up black knit cap."

"When and where?" I said.

"Two nights ago on the campus of a community college in Portland, Oregon. The community college is associated with Oregon State University."

"Did he kill a different woman?"

"No."

"He will, then, and soon. After failing, the urge to kill will be powerful. Maybe not in Portland, but..." I shrugged.

"We think alike. Leah asked a colleague to cover her classes for the balance of the week. She won't be leaving the compound. Accordingly, I'm flying home. I'll return Sunday night, unless..."

"The killer strikes again in the interim," I said, finishing his sentence for him. "In which case, you won't return until the following Sunday."

He nodded. "You had some excitement on the mountain yesterday."

I grinned. "Not that I'm aware of."

He snorted a laugh. "A sniper team, I figure. Your nemesis is a determined man."

I said nothing.

"I also figure a colleague and friend of mine is protecting your nemesis."

I said nothing.

"If my friend comes to harm, I won't remain silent."

"Perhaps your friend should find other employment," I said.

Perhaps he should, Peter thought. He won't, though. I wouldn't either.

Peter was starting to piss me off.

"I've got a question for you, Peter. It's related to a hypothetical situation. Picture this. You are out to dinner with a woman you care for, and a man comes to your table and insults her. You ask him to please leave. He ignores you and continues his insults. You ask him to leave again. He continues to ignore you, except he places a heavy hand on your shoulder so you can't rise to your feet. Let's say that to get his attention you grab him by his balls and squeeze, not hard enough that he'd lose a testicle, but enough to temporarily debilitate him. Let's further say that this man is rich and powerful, and to get even, he hires a professional hitman to kill you. The attempt comes close but fails. But this man is nothing if not determined and sends out more killers to get the job done. He fails again. You can't go to the police because you don't have a shred of real evidence that the man is trying to have you killed, and even if you did, the man has powerful connections in the justice department and other policing agencies that would nullify your evidence. What would you do?"

I would have killed the son of a bitch after the first attempt, not the second, Peter thought. He said nothing out loud.

"Let's put some labels on these hypothetical men. Who is the good guy, and who is the bad guy, Peter?" I said.

"A black hat versus a white hat, huh?" he said.

"Yes. The white hat has been patient. He's warned the black hat to back off, not once but twice. But the black hat believes he's above the law. Worse, he has enough money and clout to have actually ignored the law many times in the past and got away with it, so the law is not a deterrent. He also has the money to hire a professional protector because he believes the white hat is about out of patience. Regarding the white hat's patience he's correct, by the way. He's left the white hat no other course of action except lethal retaliation."

Peter nodded.

"Hypothetically, I'd advise you to advise your friend to get out of Dodge," I said.

"Clint, executive protectors have one purpose and only one purpose and that is to protect their principals. That's it, period. The color of the principal's hat usually doesn't matter. We're good at what we do, so we can charge high fees, so for the most part rich men hire us, rich men like your nemesis. Warning my friend to get out of Dodge, as you put it, will have no affect on him except to alert him that trouble is coming his way. And warning him could make your hypothetical remaining course of action more difficult to accomplish."

"Warn him anyway," I said.

He nodded.

"Hypothetically, Peter, do you accept black hats as principals?" I said.

"Between black and white there are infinite shades of gray," he said pompously.

"Peter, if I had the skills to do what you do, I still couldn't do the job. I couldn't protect black hats. I couldn't protect dark-gray hats or medium-gray hats. I just couldn't do it. My concept of right and wrong includes shades of gray, but your profession, with its one and only purpose, would place me on the wrong side of right and wrong too often. What's more, duty to your principal isn't the only rule of your profession, not for you, anyway. Otherwise, you would not have told me that you wouldn't remain silent if your friend comes to harm. I am, after all, your principal. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Anger flashed in his eyes. Holier than thou, prick, he thought.

When he didn't respond verbally, I said, "My man, Greg, might not have your level of skill as a protector, but he knows the difference between right and wrong. He knows he works for a white hat, and he wouldn't work for a black hat. I can't tell you how pleased I am that I hired him to handle my security instead of you. About not remaining silent, blab all you want. You're no more capable of proving that I've committed or will commit a crime than I am of doing the same with my nemesis. I'm also of the opinion that my hat doesn't contain a sufficient amount of gray for you to act as a protector for one of my friends. Accordingly, submit your final bill and find yourself a piece of shit like my hypothetical nemesis to protect."

He fired me because I threatened to blow the whistle on him, Peter thought.

Ignoring that I might be telegraphing the fact that I could experience his thoughts, I said, "I didn't fire you because you threatened to blow the whistle on me. I fired you because the nature of your profession has twisted your concept of right and wrong into a pretzel. You don't have the high moral standards that I demand from everyone in my employ. I fired you because you don't care who hires you as long as you're paid your exorbitant fees, and your friend is no different than you. Your friend won't be harmed, Peter, not by me or mine, but that's immaterial. What's material is the fact that your friend's safety is more important to you than right or wrong. Got it?"

He stood up and glared at me.

"By the way, fly to Colorado commercially. I'll be damned if I'll pay for a private jet to ferry you around anymore. In fact, fly business class, not first class. Sit in the back of the plane with the rest of the peons."

Self-righteous son of a bitch, he thought as he spun around and walked away. He's about to have someone killed, and thinks he occupies the moral high ground. Who the hell does he think he is!

I called Leah and Greg into my office immediately after Peter walked out of the library. "Got a problem," I said. "I just fired Peter."

"Why?" Leah exclaimed.

"Because ... it's difficult to explain. Let's just say that I don't appreciate his concept of right and wrong. Greg, did you or any of your men tell Peter what happened on the mountain yesterday?"

"I didn't. I'd have to poll my men to say yes or no on their behalf."

"Peter is not our friend. He's an enemy. Gather all your men currently on site and inform them that Peter Cornwall is persona non grata around here. Tell them that they are not to speak with him. Then call all personnel off site and tell them the same thing. I only hope that none of them told him about what happened on the mountain." When Greg didn't move, I said, "Now, Greg. He's still here, packing to leave probably." As Greg was walking out of the office, I added. "Tell Sable to call a cab to take him to the airport. He's flying commercially."

Greg hurried away.

"What happened on the mountain yesterday?" Leah asked.

"The man who hired the contract killer that shot me in the chest, hired two more men, a sniper and a spotter, to kill me from a shooting stand on the mountain with a rifle. We anticipated this and stopped them. We did not report what happened to the police."

"Why not?" Leah said.

"Because the police would have arrested the men who were involved in stopping the sniper team," I said. "My men, Leah. Men doing the job they were hired to do, and doing it well I might add."

She nodded. "Did Peter feel not informing the police was wrong and threaten to expose what happened to the authorities?"

"No, as I said it's complicated."

"Make it simple for me, Clint."

"Peter has a friend, another executive protector, who is currently protecting the man who sent the hitman and sniper team to kill me. He threatened to tell all if his friend is harmed."

Would Leah get it?

She frowned and said, "So you fired him because he's concerned about his friend's safety."

"No, in fact, I suggested that he advise his friend to find other employment."

"And Peter refused to do this?" she said, looking confused.

"No, Peter said his friend wouldn't quit the assignment he was on if Peter made such a suggestion. Leah, I didn't know this until today, but if executive protectors are paid their high fees, they will protect anyone. Oh, no doubt there are limits, like protecting felons wanted by the law, but essentially that's the policy they follow. I guess they're like defense attorneys. Whether their clients are good guys or bad guys doesn't matter. I found this concept morally repugnant, and Peter and I agreed to disagree."

"I've been meaning to ask you about Peter's fees. How much have you been paying him?"

"That's not material," I said.

"It is to me," she said. "It is for John, as well. We discussed this. We wouldn't feel right about what you've done for us if we didn't pay you back for whatever Peter cost you at the very least."

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