Road Rules Online

At the Justice Center, Estevez had his team gathered in a main conference room, Robert Jordan asked in under the guise of “questioning” him.  Up on the dry erase board, Estevez had written out the timeline of the theft, as best they could figure it, and a list of all the players.  Those included Jordan, who was low on the list, Koradovich, Ajax general manager Joey Cooper, and Gordon Reik from Allied.  Someone had drawn an empty box with a question mark inside and labeled it “Buyer.”

“So, Brinks verified the Chest was in the shipping crate at Hopkins when the plane landed.  They loaded it onto their truck with airport security watching.  The crate arrived Wednesday night at Allied Staging where it was transferred to a supposedly secure storage area under the watchful eye of Ajax Security.  With me so far?”

Heads nodded all around the room.

“Friday morning, on schedule,” Estevez continued, “Mr. Jordan’s staffers arrive with police escort and take possession of the crate.  Because of the security protocol put into place by Walden Insurance, no verification of the crate’s contents are required, but Mr. Jordan insists on having the police watch his men from the storage area all the way to St. Jakob’s Shrine.  At St. Jakob’s Shrine, the crate is always guarded by a Jordan & Associates employee, witnessed at any given time by either a Cleveland Police officer or one of the priests at St. Jakob’s.  The only time Jordan’s men aren’t with the crate is when it’s moved onto the altar, where every damn television station in town has its camera trained.”

“So,” said Wendt, stuffing his face, “nobody’s suspecting Brink’s.”

“I’d say that would be a pretty stupid idea,” said Estevez, “considering Brink’s can document every step of the process from the airport to the handoff to Ajax.”

“Besides,” said Simmons, who’d been pretty quiet the entire meeting, “it’s Brink’s.  If they thought there was a problem, they’d have someone in this very room whether we wanted them or not.  It’s their reputation if the pooch gets screwed.”

“Well said,” said Estevez.  “Which is precisely why Mr. Jordan is here.  The weak link in the chain is Allied and Ajax, both owned by this guy.”  He jabbed a finger at the photograph of Andre Koradovich taped to the dry erase board.  “We have his records, ladies and gentlemen.  We or the feds.  You all have the contact numbers for the FBI.  Stay in touch with Agent Kennedy.  I have a feeling her team’s holding the trump card in all this.”

“You really expect the FBI to cooperate with us?” asked Wendt.  “If it were the other way around, I’d want the collar.”

“I know you would.  And it is the other way around.  And I’m telling you to work with Agent Kennedy’s people.  Agent Kennedy and I can get around the bureaucratic bullshit on this.  It’s not one of those sexy terrorism cases, so her boss won’t care who brings this in.”

“I never heard terrorism referred to as ’sexy’ before.”

Everyone turned to see Bishop Daniel Gallagher standing in the doorway, dressed in a simple black shirt and Roman collar.

“Your Eminence,” said Estevez.  “I’m simply referring to certain agencies’ zeal to get a terrorism bust at the cost of other types of cases.”

Gallagher nodded as he slowly walked into the room.  He moved to the front and studied the dry erase board.  “Hmm…  Looks like you’re building quite a case here.”

“We’re just trying to get our ducks in a row.”

“Very good.  Please make sure all information pertinent to this case is relayed to my office immediately.  We have our own people working on this.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we’re better equipped to handle this.  We even have the resources of the FBI.”

“I see.”  He pursed his lips.  “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear.  I want that information.  I don’t want any arguments, Lieutenant.  Otherwise, I’ll be forced to consider legal action against the City of Cleveland.”

“The city?  Your Eminence, it was you who insisted on private security for this.  Over the protests of the mayor, I might add.”

“Please relay the requested information by four o’clock this afternoon.  Otherwise…”

“Your Eminence, may I meet with you in private?”  Estevez’s tone suggested he didn’t give a rat’s ass about eternal damnation or excommunication.  “We can meet in my office.”

The bishop let out a long sigh, like some long-suffering parent giving in to the whims of a petulant child.  “As you wish.”

Chapter 10

The suits had barely stepped into the showroom when Koradovich burst out of his office.  “Now what?  Haven’t I answered enough questions?”  He looked outside and saw three dark blue Crown Victorias, all with the big ass antennas on the trunk, which screamed FBI.  “Feds?  What next?  The Spanish Inquistion?”

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition, sir,” said one of the suits, a guy in sunglasses who looked like Agent Smith from The Matrix.  With that monotone, he’d have fit right in.

Two of the salesmen laughed at the fed’s joke.

“Back to work!”  Koradovich stepped up to the lead fed, a casually dressed blonde who looked like she might have been fuckable back in the day.  He guessed by her hips she had two kids, maybe three.  “So let’s have it, sister.”

The woman reached into her purse and took out her ID.  “I’m Special Agent Kennedy with the FBI.  We have a warrant to confiscate all your business records.”

(continue reading…)