Rick made two calls from a pay phone some blocks away from the federal building. The first one was to his pal at DMV to request information on Arne DeGroot. The second was to Carlos to check on the messages.

"Well?" A.J. asked Rick expectantly when he returned to the station wagon from the phone booth.

"Janet has done her homework and will drop it off at Myron's after work. And I got DeGroot's address." Rick rattled off a street address. "So, what's it going to be? Pick your poison."

"If I were to choose between the two agents, I'd bet my money on DeGroot."

"Because he bugged our office?"

"Like I said before, it couldn't have been done legally."

"Come on, A.J. Don't be so naïve. Even if you're right, this is not the first or last illegal wiretapping by the government."

"Still, I want to keep a close eye on him."

"Or, we can get another car from Carlos and split up."

"There's no way that I'm going to let you out of my sight till this is all over!" A.J. shot down Rick's idea.

Rick grimaced—having his little brother clinging to him had always frustrated him to say the least since they had been kids, but after the previous night's escapade, he knew it was unavoidable.

"What do you wanna do then? It's almost five, DeGroot is out and may not come back to the office this evening."

"Let's keep an eye on the comings and goings at the FBI office until, say, six. If he doesn't come back, we can go pick up the files on the import dealer. We've been checking out only one side so far—the Feds. It's about time we looked into the other side's background. After all, it was its muscles who dropped by looking for you last night."

Rick made a face and groaned. Surveillance was one thing; going over some business paperwork and crunching numbers was a totally different aspect of investigative work.

Six o'clock came and went. Neither De Luca nor DeGroot showed up at the office, so the Simon brothers drove back to Myron Fowler's home to pick up the background information on Trans-Global Trading. They found a fat folder sitting on the kitchen table. A.J. wanted to dig in right away and pulled one of the chairs out to sit down, but Rick stopped him.

"Hey, I have a better idea. We can read all we want on our way to DeGroot's home and during the surveillance."

"Oh, okay." A.J. seemed to go along with Rick's ruse but not for long. "And I assume you do the driving and keeping an eye on the place while I do the reading?"

Having been seen through, Rick laughed off his brother's needling. "You got it. I believe in division of labor—you take care of the paperwork and finances…"

"And you generate trouble and headaches for me. Fair enough."

Despite his acerbic remark, A.J. didn't mind performing the task delegated to him. He kept his nose buried in the file as Rick drove the station wagon to Mission Hills, where DeGroot lived. Pretty soon, he began uttering ohs and uh-huhs and mumbling to himself.

"Find anything interesting?" asked Rick.

"Nothing concrete yet, but there's definitely something fishy in the corporate structure of Trans-Global. Here, take a look."

A.J. showed Rick a diagram of various companies Janet had put together.

"They're all connected?"

"Uh-huh," A.J. nodded. "And some are dummy corporations. I wouldn't be surprised if there were more affiliates that Janet didn't list here."

"I bet someone's cooking books. And money laundering's not too big a leap, is it?"

"Money laundering is certainly in the picture, but I need more detailed financial records to see if Trans-Global is funneling the funds to the others or on the receiving end."

As they discussed how and when to obtain such financial data, the brothers arrived at DeGroot's address. The house was brightly lit, and they could see DeGroot's silhouette moving about on the window of what they believed was the living room. He seemed to be speaking on the phone. Seven, maybe eight minutes passed.

"It's a lengthy call, isn't it?" said A.J. keeping an eye on the house through a pair of binoculars.

"I hope it'll lead us somewhere. I hate spending a whole night sitting in a car with no action." Rick grumbled.

"Especially on the eve of Valentine's Day, huh?" A.J. teased his brother.

"Gee, thanks for reminding me!"

A.J. lowered the binoculars and gave Rick a cloyingly sweet smile. "You're so very welcome."

Rick showed him his fist as he had often done in their boyhood to shut him up, but then he noticed DeGroot was no longer in the living room.

"A.J.!"

A.J. turned his head following his brother's gaze. "Oh, no! Where'd he go? Did he leave the house?"

"I don't think so. Maybe he's watching TV or went to the bedroom to get a change of clothes or something."

The brothers spent several uneasy minutes looking for any sign of DeGroot. Suddenly, the living room lights went out, and a few moments later, the FBI agent stepped out of the front door. He was still wearing a suit and tie but not the cheap kind he'd had on before—even in the poor lighting, Rick and A.J. could tell he hadn't bought it off-the-rack. He was also carrying an attaché case. He got in his jeep on the driveway and backed into the street.

It was Friday night, and the traffic was heavier than usual, which meant the odds of DeGroot noticing the tail were slim; however, Rick had to concentrate not to lose the sight of the jeep in the sea of automobiles. A.J. remained quiet not to break his brother's concentration. It seemed they were heading downtown.

S&S S&S

The jeep Rick and A.J. had been following slowed down in front of a five-star hotel. Although the valet service was readily available, DeGroot chose street parking and fed the parking meter. Rick slowly passed the jeep as the FBI agent crossed the street to enter the hotel with the attaché case in his hand.

Rick parked the Volvo three spaces ahead of the jeep, but before it completely stopped, A.J. was out of the vehicle, hastily putting on a jacket, a fedora and sunglasses. It wasn't much of disguise, and he hoped DeGroot wouldn't pay much attention to him because if he did, he would surely recognize him.

As he walked into the hotel lobby, A.J. saw the Fed go into the lounge bar. He deliberately slowed his pace to give DeGroot enough time to settle in his seat.

The bar was unexpectedly crowded with well-dressed men and women—some were business folks, some others were socialites. DeGroot was sitting at the counter. He had placed his attaché case on the seat to his left. It was apparent that he was expecting to see someone and reserving a seat for him. A.J. found a table that was close enough to observe DeGroot. He pulled down the brim of the fedora over his face as he walked past the bar stool the Fed was sitting on and sat down about fifteen feet away from him.

A short while later, a pretty cocktail waitress came up to his table. About the same time, a man carrying a briefcase approached the bar counter and spoke briefly to DeGroot.

"Hi, Hon. What can I getcha?" The waitress asked A.J. with a toothy smile.

At the counter, the Fed moved his attaché case from the seat to the floor. The man with thinning red hair, who had just arrived, sat next to him and set his briefcase by the attaché case.

"Coke." A.J. replied curtly to the waitress preoccupied by the two men at the counter.

"Coke? Wait a minute. Are you sure you're old enough to be in the bar, Sweetie?" She giggled flirtatiously.

Under normal circumstances, A.J. enjoyed flirting with attractive young women as much as the next guy, but this was not the right time or place. He had to send her packing fast without making a scene.

"Wie bitte? Was haben Sie gesagt? Ich spreche kein Englisch."

An inviting smile on her lips was gone in the blink of an eye, disappointment written all over her face. "Umm. So, do you want a Coke?" She spoke slowly as if she were speaking to a small child.

"Ja, ja. Coke, bitte."

Her dark eyes lingered on him for a second or two then she left the table without another word.

DeGroot and the Redhead never exchanged words after the initial encounter and sipped their drinks quietly like a couple of strangers unwinding after work. The FBI agent finished his drink first. He tossed a few bills on the counter, reached down and picked up the briefcase the other man had brought.

A.J. had only a moment to make up his mind while DeGroot was preparing to leave the bar, and he decided to stick with the Redhead. He had to wait for what felt like an hour, but in reality, only four or five minutes had elapsed between DeGroot's departure and the Redhead's. When the Redhead walked into the lobby with the Fed's attaché case, A.J. slapped a five on the table and left the bar in a hurry.

Rick paced alongside the station wagon. DeGroot had driven off a couple of minutes ago, but there still was no sign of A.J. As the time went by, uneasiness he'd felt at first turned into anxiety inching toward full-blown alarm although he had unshakable faith in his brother as an investigator. He was seriously considering going into the hotel lobby when he finally spotted A.J. coming out of the hotel. As he started to cross the street, A.J. took a furtive look at a man who was getting into a Cadillac Coupe de Ville. His eyes met Rick's, and he signaled his brother to get in the car with a wave of his arm.

A.J. jumped into the passenger seat. "Go, go, go!"

"The Caddy?" asked Rick tersely pulling out of the parking space. A.J. nodded.

"What happened in there?"

"The guy in the Caddy and DeGroot swapped their briefcases."

"So, DeGroot IS the link to the mob after all."

At this point, whether DeGroot was engaged in espionage or operating as an undercover agent was immaterial in their investigation. The government could make your life miserable but generally did not pose an imminent threat; the mob did.