Counterfeit (The Jim Slater series Book 2) Read online

  It was worth looking into but I had other priorities right now.

  I brought up my usual travel agency and booked the first direct flight to JFK and a later flight from JFK to Raleigh-Durham.

  Then I picked up my phone and hit a quick dial button. A metallic voice said:

  “The number you have dialled is not connected. Please try later.”

  I clicked my tongue, then rang Harken’s office. Bagley picked up.

  “General Harken’s office.”

  “Colonel Slater here, Bagley.”

  We normally used first names in the Force but somehow I could never bring myself to do it with Bagley. In the old days, when I was Captain Jim Forbes, I might call him Bags or Bagsie, but since the transplant he only knew me as Colonel Slater and I’d kept things at that level. The guy’s personality was such that I didn’t even know his first name. I only knew he’d never make it beyond Sergeant.

  “Is the General in?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll put you through.”

  “Before you do, any idea where Lieutenant Moore might be?”

  “No, sir.”

  I could picture him sitting in the outer office, hunched over a desk display, wearing that habitual put-upon look. I could also visualise the log book on the corner of his desk.

  “Well, did she sign out?”

  “Yes, sir. She signed out earlier today.”

  “Well why did you say…?”

  “You asked me where she was, sir, and I don’t know. She didn’t say where she was going.”

  I gritted my teeth. That sort of tight-assed exactitude may be admirable in a book-keeper but it wasn’t something I wanted from a soldier.

  “All right, Sergeant. Put me through now.”

  There was a click and a buzz. “Hi Jim, where are you?”

  “Still in Atlanta.”

  “Right. How are things going out there?”

  “Not too good, I’m afraid. Ridout’s dead.”

  There was a pause. “What happened?”

  “Max found him dead in bed this morning. The Feds are on it now.”

  “Have they established cause of death?”

  “Not yet, but we don’t know of any health problems. Business-wise Ridout was at the top of his game, so I don’t think he topped himself. If you take into account the Board meeting tomorrow afternoon it all points to murder. The room wasn’t broken into so whoever did it must have been someone he knew. No sign of violence. Could have been poisoned – that’s the most likely scenario.”

  There was another pause. “There’s no way you could have prevented something like that, Jim.”

  I sighed. “I know, but I still feel bad about it. After the business in Tanzania, and Sally getting injured and all, and in the end they managed it anyway. Max did his best to protect him but the guy was so stubborn he just laid himself open to trouble.”

  “What’s happening at the moment?”

  “Max brought in his friends from the Bureau and the investigation’s in full swing. They’re busy going through pictures and the whole guest list to see who he might have been in contact with. Once they have suspects I expect they’ll see if forensics can place them at the scene. Did the FAA come through with those flight plans?”

  “Yes, I got the plans yesterday. I passed them to Abby.”

  “Thanks very much. Her phone’s switched off. Do you know where she is?”

  “No, but I’ve had my head down lately. Last time I saw her she was on her way to your office. You said it was all right to use your office, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. Well, I guess I’ll be heading back to base.”

  “Do you know what time your flight gets into Raleigh?”

  “Nine-thirty tonight, if it’s on schedule.”

  “I’ll send Joe to meet you.”

  Joe was Wendell’s driver.

  “Thanks.”

  I picked up my jacket and overnighter and left for the airport. I was going back to base all right. But before that someone was going to get a surprise visit.

  28

  The weather was clear when I took off from Atlanta but on the approach to JFK the aircraft bucked and juddered as we sank through a thick layer of steel-grey cloud. By the time we’d landed and I’d driven out of the rental lot the sky was black. The rumbles of thunder were loud even inside the car and soon the whole landscape was flickering. Looking in the rear-view mirror I could see the lightning snaking down behind me all along the horizon in a continuous inverted firework display. The vehicle started to rock and veer in the wind. Then the rain swept in like a curtain drawn across the scene, and the surface of the road disappeared under a prancing mist of water several feet high. I cancelled autodrive and slowed to a crawl, lights on, windscreen wipers beating at double speed, and still I could barely see. I was glad when the Queens exit came up and I could get off the Multilevel.

  It was still coming down in buckets when I reached the house. I had a cape but it was in my overnighter so I decided to make a run for it. I rang the bell and while I was waiting I used my hands to brush the worst of the rain off my tunic.

  I knew I was taking a chance on her being there, but then I heard some movement from inside. It looked like my luck was in. The door opened.

  “Well, well. It’s the General.”

  “Colonel,” I corrected. “Hallo, Chrissie. May I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  I remembered the high-key décor this time and took my wet boots off in the porch.

  “Sorry. I guess you’re surprised to see me again.”

  She shrugged. “Not really.” She held out her hand for my tunic. “You’re soaked. Let me hang that up for you.”

  I took off the tunic and she disappeared with it.

  I realised what she meant by “Not really”. Most men would look for the slightest excuse to see her again. Was I any different?

  What am I doing here anyway? Am I trying to protect her? Why didn’t I share my suspicions with Max Keller or Wendell Harken? This girl is a siren, and in ancient mythology the sirens lured men to their death. Am I heading for the rocks, too?

  Of course, she didn’t know what I’d found in Atlanta. In her eyes I was probably just another besotted dumbfuck. All the same, it wouldn’t do to drop my guard.

  She came back and led the way to the front room with that languorous walk.

  “You should have phoned,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m only half decent.”

  The half I could see looked to be in perfect order.

  She gestured to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

  I hesitated for a moment, my senses heightened. The room looked the way I’d remembered it, except…

  I tried to put my finger on what was different. Then I realised. The painting wasn’t an original: it was synthetic art, a screen that displayed a very slowly changing abstract composition. Last time, I seemed to remember, it was in striking shades of brown and orange. This time it was a darker composition in blues and purples. That was all.

  The white leather was cool to the touch. She took a matching armchair, not quite facing me, shook out that shining helmet of blond hair, and crossed long legs. She was wearing a light dress and it didn’t cover her knees. A little pink lipstick but no other makeup – not that she needed it on that porcelain complexion. She must have got in barely a couple of hours ago but she looked cool and collected.

  A light, heathery perfume hung in the air. Oronsay. A fragrance found in the room of a murdered man.

  I assessed her quickly. There was no way she could conceal a firearm under that flimsy dress, but a small dagger or poison syringe, collected while she took my tunic away? It was a possibility. I had to stay sharp.

  “Well,” she said, in that teasing voice. “What’s on your mind?”

  I swept away the real thoughts.

  “Chrissie, when I was here last I left in a bit of a hurry – I had things to do. But it kind of stayed with me how calm you were when I told you David was dea
d. I was curious about that – the fact it didn’t come as any surprise to you.”

  She made a small noise in her throat, which might have been a laugh if she’d allowed it to escape.

  “My boyfriend’s a soldier in Special Forces. A senior officer shows up on my doorstep. It’s not exactly rocket science, is it? What’s the matter – were you expecting hysterics? Sorry to disappoint you. I’m not like that.” Her eyes darkened and she added quietly. “If you must know, I had a little cry after you left. Does that make you feel any better?”

  I contemplated my hands for a bit. “I’m sorry.”

  I allowed a pause for the sake of decency but I wasn’t buying any of it. She wasn’t surprised to hear that David was dead because she already knew. Who told her? I needed to approach it indirectly.

  “How did the two of you meet?”

  “How did we meet?” She had this way of decrypting my questions on the ceiling. “It was a couple of years back. He was on leave, helping his father out with some sort of complicated negotiations. Normally he didn’t want any part of the business but his father was insistent, and as he was fluent in Russian—”

  “David spoke Russian?”

  “You didn’t know? Russian and German. He studied them at Princeton. His father wanted him to do business or law but he liked languages.”

  My mind was racing. Why hadn’t I known? Was it in his CV? The army usually takes advantage of skills like those. And who were these Russians George had been negotiating with? I tuned back into what Chrissie was saying.

  “…agreed to help with the negotiations. Van der Loos senior was invited to a collective charity function – I forget which one. He was busy and he doesn’t go for that sort of thing anyway so he sent David instead. I was there. I work for World Against Poverty, you know.”

  I gave a neutral sort of nod. “Go on.”

  “I didn’t know who he was but he was on my list as representing VDL so I buttonholed him.”

  “And you hit it off,” I prompted.

  “Yeah. Of course I soon found out he didn’t have any sort of clout in the company but I liked him anyway. We saw something of each other and it was good at first, but he was a very needy sort of guy. After a while he got possessive, too. When he signed up for the SAF he wanted me to go with him – live on the base in married quarters as a soldier’s wife.” She huffed a short laugh. “Do I look like that kind of a girl?”

  “You’d have been wealthy. He was heir to a fortune.”

  She laughed again. “His parents would never have stood for him marrying me!”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He introduced me to them. I guess David and I had been seeing each other on and off for about a year and a half and he said it was high time. It didn’t go well. They didn’t approve of me – you could see it in their faces.”

  It was blindingly obvious now. David was totally under her spell and eager to impress, so he’d told her about the Colombian mission. She must have been the one who leaked that information to George. In turn, George was the one who told her David had died. There was only one conclusion: this wasn’t the only time she and George had met, and they were on a lot more than speaking terms. I decided to chance my arm.

  “On a personal level, David’s father didn’t exactly disapprove of you, did he?”

  Her voice lost the teasing quality. “What do you mean?”

  “You had an affair with him, didn’t you?”

  Her eyes flashed briefly. When she answered, her tone was measured.

  “In my job I meet a lot of businessmen. Some are more demanding than others. I raise a lot of money for charity. The reason I’m successful is that I’m discreet.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “And I don’t intend to.”

  This chit-chat wasn’t getting me anywhere. I’d have to take the plunge.

  “Chrissie, I’ve just come from Atlanta. They held a big charity function at the Marriot. Mark Ridout, CEO of Cuprex International, was there. Now he’s dead.”

  “I heard. It was on the news.”

  “Chrissie, you didn’t just hear it on the news. You were there, and you were in his room last night. Did you kill him?”

  Her face became a solid mask. She half rose.

  “I think you better leave, General.”

  “Chrissie, please. All the evidence points to you. If I can see that, it’s only a matter of time before it’s clear to the Feds, too. I’m giving you a chance. I may be able to help you.”

  The mask faltered. “How?”

  “I have connections, people I know in the FBI. It’s possible I could influence the way things go. But to do that I need to know the whole story.”

  She gave me that calculating look.

  “Starting where?”

  “Why don’t you start with George?”

  29

  She grimaced, then settled back into the armchair. She took her time, apparently assembling her thoughts. Then her head came up.

  “Like I said, I’d been seeing David for a while and he wanted me to meet his folks. His mother was real stony but George was polite, at least. After David left for Virginia I decided to follow it up. I only wanted to buttonhole him for the charity but he wanted more, a lot more. That dry old stick of a wife hadn’t given him any satisfaction in years. He said I made a new man of him. He couldn’t divorce her, of course, but he offered to set me up – you know, like all I wanted was to be his mistress! He was nice to me, though, bought me stuff. Like this.”

  She held up a slim wrist and the dainty Rolex slid back a short way.

  The thought crossed my mind that while David was lying on a hospital bed in Colombia, dying of a malarial fever, the girl he loved was being fucked by his father. In some ways it was just as well poor David never lived to find out. All the same it wouldn’t be entirely fair to condemn George for becoming infatuated with her. She had a talent for tapping into the most primitive of male instincts, including the desire to protect and to possess.

  “I tried to talk to George about the charity,” she continued, “but he had some old-fashioned ideas about poverty – thought people were poor because they were just plain lazy. A girl has to earn a living. I knew it was Mark calling the shots at Cuprex and I wanted to meet him. George was on the Board by then so I persuaded him to go to a charity function where he could introduce me. Mark and I ended up… together.”

  “Did Mark know about you and George?”

  “Mark would never suspect something like that of George, with all his talk about traditional values. No, George was safe enough.”

  “And you didn’t say anything.”

  The green eyes opened wide. “I told you I was discreet, didn’t I?”

  “Okay. So you teamed up with Mark, and he was a better… giver?”

  “Yeah, and that wasn’t all.” She appraised me for a moment, then said, “Stand up and hold still. I’ll show you what I mean.”

  I looked at her for a moment, then slowly did as she asked, standing in my stockinged feet on the soft carpet.

  She crossed the room and in one missed heartbeat I realised she intended to go behind me. Two voices sounded off simultaneously inside my head. One screamed that I’d be crazy to let that happen. Another – calmer but just as insistent – said that if I over-reacted now I’d ruin everything. Then as she passed me her reflection moved across the glass-fronted abstract painting to my left. It resolved my dilemma. I followed the reflection with my eyes, watching for any telltale breaks in the cadence of her movements. At the same time I settled imperceptibly into a perfectly stable posture, ready to explode into action.

  Now she was directly behind me. Still moving smoothly, she extended her open hands around my waist, then pressed the palms just above my belt. It brought her body close up behind me. I could feel the warmth of her through that thin dress, her breasts hard against my back, her head laid between my shoulder blades. I closed my eyes and felt her hands move slowl
y up my stomach, my ribs, pressing all the time, up and over my pecs as far as my shoulders. The pressure suddenly eased. She returned to her chair.

  I sat down. I was breathing hard through my nose and my blood was thundering. I was almost overwhelmed by the sheer sensuality of what she’d just done. It was a hint of the sexual delights awaiting any man who became willingly trapped in the clasp of those limbs. The air felt thick, and it wasn’t just the Oronsay perfume still lingering around me.

  “See?” she said lightly. “I knew you’d be like that. Firm, not an ounce of fat. Mark was the same. He swam, he jogged, he went to the gym – he was fit. I like that in a man. George was flabby. He couldn’t help it – he was getting on, the poor guy.”

  My mouth was dry. I swallowed.

  “Was George upset – about you going off with Mark?”

  “What do you think? We had words, said unkind things to each other. He called me a trollop. I called him a dirty old man.” She grimaced. “It was a shame to end it that way.”

  “Were you surprised to see him at the function in Atlanta?”

  “Yeah, he didn’t normally go to those dos. I thought maybe he wanted to patch it up, get me back. But he didn’t say a word to me the whole evening.”

  “So what do you think he was doing there?”

  “No idea.”

  “And what were you doing there?”

  “I go to most of these things – to represent World Against Poverty. And I’ll always go if Mark’s been invited. I have to protect my interests – there are plenty of girls who’d think nothing of muscling in on your donors.”

  Her lips compressed in a tight little smile and two dimples deepened on each side of her mouth.

  “What happened last night?” I asked.

  “At the end of the evening I went to Mark’s suite, like we’d arranged. No one saw me. He had a bottle of champagne waiting in a bucket and he poured a couple of glasses. We’d had quite a lot at the party so I didn’t drink much.”

  “I need to know where this was, Chrissie. Was it in the living area or the bedroom?”

  “The living area, of course. We kissed and I guess we were both hot because we made for the bedroom. He stripped and got into bed and I started to take my clothes off. I was just taking down my stockings,” she mimed the movement by smoothing a hand over one slim knee, “and then his damned cell phone went. I said, ‘Leave it’, but he could never do that. Business always came before pleasure with Mark. I heard him say, ‘Is it urgent?’ then he said to me, ‘Sorry, honey. I’ll have to deal with this. If I get through quickly I’ll give you a buzz.’