J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 03 - No Time To Hide (9 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was jacket weather. Although the rocks at the top of the canyon still radiated heat from the previous day, the bottom was cool. The early morning wind also added a chill at odds with the desert surroundings.

Cheeto crouched at the edge of the river. He finished washing the remaining breakfast dishes, while Andie and Michael laid their packs down in a pile of gear. Then they helped the others fill the large waterproof bags and load the rafts.

They pushed away a little after eight in the morning. The river’s current pulled them out slow, and then they started to paddle. There were two rafts, each with eight people in a raft.

Andie and Michael rode with a newly married couple on their honeymoon, a middle-aged couple from Chicago, and a Japanese exchange student. Cheeto guided them all from the back.

The other raft was louder. It was filled with Tri-Delts from the University of Texas at Austin and a female guide from Boseman, Montana. The female guide was the opposite of the sorority girls in every conceivable way, but unlike high school, she was now being paid to tolerate the gaggle of queen bees.

The two rafts followed the gentle river for an hour, and then the guides steered them toward shore.  When they got close to a rocky wash-out, Cheeto and the female guide steered the rafts to shore. They jumped off the back. Each splashed through the shallow water, grabbing the handles along the side and at the front of the raft and pulling hard until the rafts were beached.

Everybody got out, stretched their legs, and took the opportunity to jump around.

Although they couldn’t see them, the group heard the churning waters of a series of rapids called
“Rock Slide.” Huge boulders had fallen a long time ago and created the most difficult water in this portion of the canyon. If crews didn’t paddle hard enough through the middle, the raft would flip amidst the whitewater and whirlpools.

Cheeto finished talking privately with the other guide, and then he turned to the group, clapping his hands to get their attention.

“Okay,” he said. “This is it. We make it through this, and then it’s an easy drift to our final destination.”  Cheeto looked at the sorority girls. “The water’s pretty low right now, so it’s not as bad as it could be. But I’m going to take the sorority girls for this final run.” He paused and looked at the queen bees, none of whom were giggling at the moment. “If you get sucked down in a whirlpool  —remember — don’t try and swim out of it. Tuck your knees into your chest and let the life jacket do the work to bring you up to the surface.” Cheeto scanned the whole group of rafters, making eye contact with each one. He wanted them to know he was serious. “But the best idea is to not flip and not get sucked into the hole in the first place. Okay?”

The group nodded, and Cheeto gave them a thumbs-up. “Okay. Then let’s paddle hard.”

###

There was a collective gasp as they rounded the bend. 

The churning water filled the canyon with deafening noise. Michael stole a glance at Andie, and then tried to figure out how the guide was going to safely steer them around the gigantic boulders and narrow passages.

He looked around to see if there was a place to escape and portage the raft, but the limestone rose straight up on both sides, revealing just a sliver of sky. The only way out was through. Then he heard their guide start screaming at them.

“Paddle, paddle, paddle.”

Michael put his head down and started paddling harder than he had ever paddled in his life. He didn’t look up. He didn’t watch where they were going or how close they came to the boulders. He just paddled.

They were fighting the river. On the first dip, the raft tilted to one side. Michael thought for sure that they would flip, but the raft corrected itself.

“Keep going. Paddle. Paddle. Don’t stop.”

The current kept pushing them toward the rocks, but the guide somehow found the breaks in the current and steered them away at the last moment. Until, eventually the canyon widened and the river spat them out into calm waters.

It was a sudden change, going from violence to calm. Adrenaline switched to relief, and most couldn’t stop themselves from laughing or giving a cheer. A couple sorority girls asked if they could go again.

###

The pull-out was a campsite run by the National Park Service. There were a half-dozen people waiting to greet them as the rafts glided to a rocky shore. Most of them worked at the tour company that had arranged the whitewater rafting trip, but there was also a park ranger and an immigration agent.

“I got this,” Cheeto whispered to Michael as he walked past Michael toward the agent and the park ranger.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “Another beautiful morning to be doing what we love.”

The agent smiled, and he and Cheeto shook hands.

“Always a pleasure, Cheeto.” The agent let go of Cheeto’s hand. “Anything strange happen?”

Cheeto shook his head. “Just the same ol’ death defying acts of stupidity for meager profits.”

“I hear ya.” The agent surveyed the group, lingering a bit on the sorority girls. “Looks like you had a surly crew this time.”

“Not too bad.” Cheeto shrugged. “Looking forward to a warm shower, however.”

“You all going to Maria’s tonight?”

“Only place in town.” Cheeto handed the immigration agent a stack of papers. Then he caught the eye of one of the tour company employees, and gave them the approval to start loading the rafts and gear onto the truck.

“Okay,” the agent said after giving the papers a cursory review.
“Everything looks good here.” He slapped Cheeto on the back. “See you tonight at Maria’s.”

Cheeto stood and watched the border agent walk over to his jeep and drive away. Then Cheeto turned and walked back to Michael and Andie.

“That’s it?” Michael asked.

“That’s it.” Cheeto smiled. “They randomly stop cars on the road out of the park, but they don’t have any computers or anything. They’re mostly just looking to see the color of your skin and whether you’ve got some Mexicans in your trunk.”

“Well then,” Michael said. “God bless America.”

“No,
” Cheeto said. “God bless Texas, ‘cuz in Arizona they’d shoot you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Brea Krane stared at Agent Vatch and U.S. Attorney Brenda Gadd. 

“I want to know why every time you all say you’re going to arrest this man, you don’t.”  She looked at her brother, then back. “We’ve cooperated fully with your investigation, given you thousands of documents. Now every time you say he’s going to jail, he’s actually quite free.”

“We’ll get Collins.” Gadd leaned forward and tried to put her hand on Brea Krane’s hand, a consoling act, but Brea pulled back.

“I don’t believe you.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I can barely sleep at night.”

This statement was a lie. Brea Krane didn’t really have any strong feelings about her father. By all accounts Joshua Krane had relatively little interaction with his two children. Brea Krane and her brother, Brent, were raised by a series of nannies until they were old enough for boarding schools.

Vatch grew tired of the performance.

“Listen if it’s the money that you’re worried about, we’ve now got it all frozen.” Vatch’s narrow mouth bent and his tongue flicked. He couldn’t resist a poke at why Brea Krane and her brother were really interested in the case. “Of course there are creditors, which will have to be sorted out before any release of funds, but that’s not of my concern right now.”

Brea Krane ignored Vatch’s slight. She was business. “How do you know you’ve got all the money frozen?”

Brea Krane was twenty-eight, tall, thin, and with striking features and an M.B.A. from Harvard. She was the product of Krane’s first marriage. Clearly intelligent, she had no genetic relationship with her stepmother, who had quickly found another rich patron after her father’s death and the pre-nuptial agreement with Brea’s father held up in court. Her stepmother had no interest in Michael Collins, and the children hadn’t seen her in years. 

Brea continued. “We’re talking about a half billion in assets or more. I’m not confident you’ve found it all.”

Gadd nodded, and calmly replied.

“Forensic accountants have spent years tracking it —”

“That’s not what I said or asked.” Brea unfolded her arms. She sat up, staring down Gadd. “If you don’t know the original total, then you can’t say with any confidence that you’ve found it all. I mean, I’m sure you’ve frozen eighty percent, maybe ninety percent, but there could be millions more hidden. Collins doesn’t need that much to live comfortably for the rest of his life.”

“We’re confident we have it all.” Vatch looked at Gadd for support, but didn’t receive any. They had been having the same arguments internally for the past six months.

“Let me rephrase my question then.” Brea folded her hands in front of herself. “Are you as confident about the money as you were that Michael Collins was going to be on that airplane yesterday?” 

Brent Krane laughed at his
sister’s question and ran his hand through his spiked and messy hair. The crowd thought the question was hilarious, especially since they’d seen Michael Collins burn. The government was evidently unaware of their prime suspect’s demise.

Brea Krane waited for a response that never came. She let Vatch squirm in silence, before coming at him again. “I want to know the plan. Tell me the plan about how you are going to get Michael Collins.”

Mention of a plan silenced the rowdy crowd in Brent’s head. The crowd perked up, listening.

Vatch looked at Gadd, and then said, “Well, it’s unusual for us to disclo
se such information. We can share some things as a courtesy, but —”

Gadd cut him off.

“We expect he’ll be coming to New York in the next few days. When he does, we’ll catch him.”

“New York’s a big place.” Brea wasn’t convinced.

“But we know where he’s going.” Gadd glanced up at the clock on wall. She was ready for the meeting to be over. “He’ll be going to the funeral. I can’t imagine he’d stay away.”

“The funeral for the priest?” Brea asked.

“That’s right.” Gadd nodded her head. “Collins won’t miss it. His friend, Mr. Guillardo, is already in town and we have a few agents following him, seeing where he goes.”

Agent Vatch raised his eyebrows. There were no agents following Guillardo. They tried to follow him, but the weirdo lost them within an hour of getting out of the airport. Perhaps Gadd was lying or maybe she didn’t know, either way Vatch decided that he wasn’t going to correct her.

“But Michael Collins hasn’t arrived?” Brent’s voice cracked. His full participation took everybody by surprise, since neither Vatch nor Gadd could remember the last time Brent Krane had uttered a complete sentence.

“No,” Vatch said. “But he’s coming.”

Brent wanted to ask a few more questions just to embarrass  them. He liked feeling smart. “How do you know? I mean …” His voice trailed off as the crowd warned him not to reveal too much. Brent stammered out a few more words and then shrugged away the rest of the question as Vatch filled the silence.

“He played a little game with us. Bought an airplane ticket, checked some bags, got his boarding pass, and then never got on the plane.”

This was confusing. How could a dead man buy a plane ticket? The crowd didn’t like this.

###

After the meeting, Brea called Tad Garvin. He picked up after the third ring. Brea walked a few steps away from her brother as they waited for the elevator.

“Anything?” she asked.

Tad Garvin told her that he checked the post office box that morning and nothing had arrived. There were also no emails sent to the account that he had established for her, and no phone calls to the cell phone that he had bought.

Of course the post office box, email, and phone were not created using Brea Krane’s real identity. Garvin had created a series of limited liability corporations and subsidiaries to obscure the real owner. It was a simple service offered by the firm for its elite clients, and all for the bargain price of $700 an hour.

“Well, the bureaucrats say that Collins is coming to the funeral.” Brea glanced over at her brother, and then at her watch. “I guess we’ll just wait.”

She tapped a button, ending the call, and wandered back to a small group gathered for the elevator to arrive.

“Talking to your lawyer again?” Brent Krane worked hard to convey a tone of snarky condescension.

“Yes,” Brea nodded. “Just keeping him up-to-date.”

Brent Krane rolled his eyes. “When’s this elevator going to come. It’s, like, taking forever.”

“Why do you care, Brent? You have a job interview or something?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Brent put his hands in the pockets of his baggy, dirty jeans. “I got stuff to do.”

“Like reaching level 45 in World of Warcraft?”

Brent shook his head. “I make good money at that.”

“Collecting gold and storm jewels in a videogame and selling it to other losers over the internet so they can buy a virtual dragon mount is not a job.”

The bell for the elevator rang, and its doors slid open.

“Whatever.” Brent walked inside. “See you later, sis.”

Brea watched him as the doors slid closed. She decided to wait for the next elevator.