Ch 10 – New Direction
There were two doors, the open one to the right was a storage room. The one to the left was locked.
James busted it open. There was a huge desk and after quickly rummaging through the files on it, he realized the VC always funded construction projects, but they all were overhauls, never new builts from scratch. That made his support for the resorts suspicious.
James took a few photos with his cell and by the time he had gone through the two drawers of the desk, he could smell the smoke.
Once back in the corridor, the smoke, strong and acrid now, hit him and made his eyes burn. The breaching charge they used must have involved phosphorus.
The footsteps above had subsided, and as he was around the corner from the flames, he heard muffled cries and realized there was another room in the far corner. He tried kicking the door in but as it opened outward, he ended up using his pocket knife to jimmy it open. He lifted the flashlight and played the beam over another desk, stacked bankers' boxes and a blondish woman, who gave a scream and huddled away.
"There's a fire!" he almost shouted. "You gotta come with me!" and he took three steps to her and saw her ankle was restrained to the desk. His knife was still open, and he cut the restraints.
"Who are you?" he said.
"Jenna…I'm the secretary for the LIIP…for…ahh…Lancaster…", her voice trembled.
"This way", he motioned to her. "Weird man, this Lancaster! Keeping his secretary restrained!"
She started coughing and once she was able to stop, she said: "He suspects I stole some papers!"
"Come with me…we'll talk later!" James moved fast and she staggered behind. Heads down, they both were starting to cough now.
Once they got out of the tunnel into the main corridor, James realized the escape route didn't exist anymore. The fire had now spread from wall to wall. They faced a rolling sheet of flame and as she cried out of horror, he knew that unless he came up with an idea soon, they soon would both be unconscious from the lack of oxygen. While he kept searching for another exit, he sent her over to the storage room, where he had glimpsed bottled water and instructed her to find two pieces of cloth and to soak them, so they could cover their faces.
When she came back, the massive fireball was close and filled the office with a crisp woosh. Uncontrolled force of nature, mesmerizing to observe if it weren't so deadly. James noticed there were no sprinklers and knew that soon the entire building would be a pile of cinders.
The flames illuminated the basement. He hoped he would be able to spot another exit. There was one but it was chained and his lock picking skills without special tools only went so far.
"Come on", he said to the frightened woman and pulled her by the arm in the direction straight to the conflagration.
"This is our only chance!" he shouted. She looked at him as if in trance and started moving along.
They approached the turbulent flames, feeling the heat on their faces. Just before it became unbearable, James turned left into the storeroom. The flames were lapping at the outer wall as he moved to the side facing the stairs and began kicking the wall until his foot went in. It was a small hole. He ducked and looked through it. The area was empty, but soon it would be engulfed with flames and smoke.
More kicking. The woman joined him and as a piece of the wall cracked, she pulled it free. The whole was now big enough to fit a body through. Both were coughing and starting to feel light headed due to the low oxygen.
James motioned to her to get in and watched her wiggle through and collapse on the other side. He poked his head in the hole and ordered the woman to go up fast as she could.
"What about you?" She looked disbelieving.
"Don't worry", he said as he turned back and ran into the corridor.
He ran into the storage room, gun out and shot at the hot boiler again and again…until the bullets finally found their target.
An explosion rocked the basement, accompanied by the wild hiss of escaping steam. James dove for cover to the side behind some shelves, but was still hit with a blast of moist heat that shot into the corridor and filled the rooms. He estimated that a boiler of this age would have been heated to the maximum temperature of 220F. Some people were lavish on their gadgets, but cheap on the important equipment, like Lancaster had been.
He rose and looked into the corridor. Some flames still flickered but the steam had killed the fire. The path was clear, and the air was moist but not smokey.
He glanced in the office and noted that not everything had been destroyed. The cops would certainly find enough of the material the guard had tried to destroy.
James got the gun in his pocket just before two firemen, fitted with bulky equipment, plodded down the stairs. One of them pulled his oxygen mask off: "Anyone down there?"
"No, but still some fire in the office", James pointed to it. The fireman surveyed the scene and asked what had happened.
"The boiler blew…the hot steam put out the flames." James said.
"Lucky you!", the man said as James went past him on his way out. Then he turned and said: "You might wanna save the files in the office…the police might be interested in them!"
The woman was no where to be seen when he got out, but Chicho was waiting for him outside worried and pale.
James looked around and felt a chill go through him as if they were being watched. He told Chicho to hurry climbing in the car and leave the area. Not more than two blocks down, Chicho jumped in his seat as a figure that had been standing close to a building ran forward and threw something on the street, then ran back in the alley. James hit the brakes with force and the car came to a screeching halt just before the area of the thrown objects.
"Fuck!" James cursed as he jumped out of the car, gun in hand, and picked up a short heavy duty nail from the asphalt, while Chicho puffed: "There's …more than 100 nails here…this cabron meant business!"
Marcel and Tony had not noticed anything suspicious around the office building and had gone back to the hotel.
James ordered pizza and as they sat around chewing, he told them about the documents he had found. He seemed to feel antsy and unable to hide it. He had hoped the VC would be a case of cold feet and breached contract; but after the fire and the nails, he was certain criminal activity was involved. What decision would he make for Teresa now? Would he take the risk to keep searching?
Tony's voice startled him: "One of the photos you took is of a shipping manifest from Haifa!"
"Israel?" James looked curious. "Show me!"
He looked at the photo of a document which was the left side of the binder he had copied, but it was not in English.
Tony followed his eyes, and as both Marcel and Chicho had come closer to see, he said: "It's in Hebrew, Dad! Can't you tell?"
"No!" James looked perplexed. "It could be in Arabic for all I know. How do you know?"
"Ahh…I took a class in Hebrew last year…and am taking one this year…", Tony said.
"I'm sorry…", James shrugged. "I admit…that I don't follow what my kids do in school…It's Teresa's job!"
"What does the document say?" Marcel interjected.
"That they are shipping the wine …from their Tel Aviv location to here…in London!" Tony said and looked around at the men.
"The wine?" James looked perplexed. "First time I hear of wine production in Israel!"
"Me too!" Marcel shook his head. "I can't imagine where they'd grow the grapes…on that tiny rocky stretch of land there!"
"It's gotta be something else that they're exporting!" Chicho mused and everyone agreed.
The rest of the documents didn't give more viable clues and James set his phone on the table as Marcel got up and glided his hand over his jacket with a funny expression on his face.
"What is this?" he said.
Everyone looked closely at what seemed like fairy dust on his black jacket. They checked everyone's clothes and found it there as well, however as no other coat was black, it was not visible.
"Someone tagged us!", Chicho said with a frown.
He pulled a scanner of some sort and scanned James's jacket. The gadget's display lit up yellow with little dots. "It must have been on the seats of the cab from the airport", he said.
It had been more than two decades since James had been in the crime world, but in his early years he had embraced everything hi tech, and he had heard of RFTD when he had worked for Finch. It was a common technique used by security and military forces. Radio Frequency Tracking Dust tagged a target, and they could be trailed out of sight or in underground transportation. The technology had been remarkable 20 years ago, let alone now!
"How do you know this stuff?" he asked. "And where did you get the scanner from?"
"A mutual contact…that I still keep in touch with", Chicho said and shook his head. Then he sighed and added: "I never lost touch with Avi…He is now some hot shot chief in Tel Aviv. I asked for help when the VC duped us… and he sent me some gear."
Marcel and Tony exchanged bewildered glances as James chuckled: "Mossad! How is the old dog doing?"
As James turned the night light out, it only felt natural to share some with his son, so he told him about his time with Finch and his Mossad connections. Tony soaked the information, but once the topic was exhausted, James ventured with what was on his mind: "I promise to take better interest in what all of you do at school!"
"No need…", came the answer. "Mom and Tia are more than enough!"
"What else is there about my boys that I don't know…I wonder…", James chuckled and was surprised to get an answer.
"That George…ahh…has a girlfriend…for instance…and that he is sleeping with her!" His son's voice seemed a little off.
'What?" James almost sat in his bed. His younger son George was only 15!
"He told me…some cheerleader girl…", and the boy turned to the other side and covered himself with the blanket.
As soon as his son's breathing became even, James squeezed out of the room on tiptoe and dialed Pote. It took three rings to be answered and without much preamble he said: "Do you know George has a girlfriend?"
"Yes!" Pote said. "Why?"
"And that …ahh…he sleeps with her?" James added.
"Huh? How do you know?" Pote's voice showed his surprise.
"He told Tony", James could feel his hands get clammy.
"Carajo!" Pote grumbled.
"Yes, carajo!" James had left Pote in charge of George's soccer career, but now felt that he had taken his eyes off the ball.
Pote's voice brought him back to the present: "You didn't have the talk with him?"
"No, I thought he was too young…and too busy with soccer!" James grumbled himself.
"Well, maybe not too young. I'm gonna kill him!" Pote's voice did sound upset.
"Don't kill him...just talk to him!" James knew 'killing' him wouldn't solve anything.
Pote didn't sound happy: "Hmm...the condom talk?"
James sighed: "Yeah...that one...You always wanted a son, right?...Now is your chance to act like you got one!"
