Sunday, July 31^st

Darcey awoke to find Trent lying very still beside her. His body was motionless. His eyes darted around the room.

“Are you all right?”

He motioned for her to be silent. He spoke to her in a whisper. “There’s something you need to know, Darcey.”

“What?” she questioned.

“Not until I’m sure we’re alone.” He got out of bed, reaching for the Desert Eagle lying on the nightstand. Noiselessly he left the bedroom, methodically searching each room.

“There’s no one here but us, Trent,” she assured him.

“There were people here earlier. I had to be sure they’re gone.”

“What is it you have to tell me, Trent? It must be serious.”

“It’s very serious, Darcey,” he said, looking around. “We’re in the Witness Protection Program.”

Darcey was tempted to believe him. He seemed so sincere. But she remembered hallucinations were among the symptoms they might expect to see. The doctors said they were rare with this sort of thing but it could happen.

She took his hand and guided him back into bed with her. He let her take the Desert Eagle, which she placed on her nightstand for the moment.

“Why, Trent?”

“Why what?”

“Why are we in the Witness Protection Program? What did we do?” she asked, speaking very softly, gently. Reaching slowly to take his hand.

He looked confused. She waited.

“I…I uh….” he stammered.

Darcey held his hand in hers. She leaned in and gently kissed his forehead.

“I can’t remember,” he finally managed to say.

“It’s OK, sweetheart,” she said. “Lie down now. Rest.”

He let his head relax into his pillow. His eyes closed.

Darcey held his hand until his breathing became steady. She let him sleep as she carefully got out of bed. She would call Doctor Slim Monday morning to let him know about the pain in his knees and now this hallucination.

She smiled as she walked down the hall. Knowing Trent there was always the possibility that it wasn’t a hallucination. Meanwhile, she carried the Desert Eagle with her to the kitchen.

After starting a pot of coffee, she began to prep for one of Trent’s favorite breakfasts. Migas. The Tex-Mex scrambled eggs that had been the first meal he prepared for her when they were thrown together in New Orleans. She chopped an onion, a poblano pepper, a tomato, some garlic. She had tortillas for heating and eggs ready for scrambling.

She was optimistic he would be back to normal when he awoke. She wanted to have his breakfast ready.

Rossi awoke on Sunday morning with the solution to his Douglas problem. He actually felt admiration for the man who had the courage to stand up to the don. Douglas knew Rossi wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. He knew Rossi could make his death slow and painful. Yet he stood up to him.

Rossi admired that. It didn’t change what he intended to do.

In his office he picked up another burner, the prepaid cell phones of which he had a plentiful supply, and dialed Scott Douglas’ number. When Douglas answered, Rossi’s message was short. Directly to the point.

“I am taking Mrs. Rossi and our children to the theater on Tuesday evening. Not my favorite way to spend an evening but one does things to please one’s spouse and to instill culture in one’s children. You should think about Miles.”

He paused and listened to the silence.

“Think about Miles tonight. Think about him again tomorrow. And get the job done by the close of business.”

Rossi ended the call. Scott had not said a word

For long minutes Scott sat staring out the window. He, and the room, were unaccompanied by sound. Only his thoughts.

He and Miles lived in a top floor condo in a small building on Capra Way in the Marina district. They had an enviable view of San Francisco Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, and, Scott shuddered to consider the symbolism, Alcatraz Island.

He heard Rossi’s message. There was no mistaking it. He was glad Miles was upstairs in their bedroom. He liked to sleep in on Sundays. Scott needed to be alone. He knew what he had to do. He didn’t know if he would be able to do it with Miles watching him.

With a sigh Scott turned away from the view he and Miles enjoyed so often. He crossed the room to the small desk on which sat his laptop.

Trent seemed himself when he awoke and joined Darcey in the kitchen. He had only one question.

“Where’s the Desert Eagle?”

“Right here,” Darcey said, taking it from the drawer in which she had put it earlier and laying it on the kitchen island. “But first, tell me something. Are we in any trouble?”

“Of course,” Trent said. “We’re always in trouble.”

Darcey laughed. “But are we involved in anything like…oh say…the Witness Protection Program?”

“The Witness Protection Program? Where would you get that idea?”

“Welcome back, my happy little amnesiac,” she said as she slid the Desert Eagle over to him.

The remainder of the morning was pleasant. Trent was delighted with the migas Darcey prepared. He thought the hallucination he experienced earlier was worrisome but not unexpected.

Darcey told him she had to go into the office in the afternoon. She was meeting Miles. They had a presentation scheduled for Monday and needed to rehearse. It had to be professional to give their potential new client complete confidence in their team. There was too much money involved in this project for anything less than a perfect presentation.

Meanwhile, she wanted him to take it easy while she was gone. It was going to be a nice day. Maybe he might want to think about surprising her with a nice dinner when she got home.

Fortunately, Miles waited until Scott had finished what he had to do before tumbling downstairs in his usual striking manner. He had to meet Darcey at the office, he told Scott. They had to finish up a very important presentation scheduled for Monday.

Blessing his mate with a quick kiss, he rushed out the door. Scott watched him go. There was sadness in his eyes.

He waited fifteen minutes. Then he, too, left the condo. He saw the two men in the dark sedan parked across the street from his building. They didn’t try to be discreet as they pulled out to follow slowly behind him. They didn’t care that he saw them.

Scott walked the few blocks to the Walgreen’s on Chestnut Street. He bought a pack of Marlboro Lights. Scott had quit smoking years ago. But like many former smokers he sometimes still had the craving.

He thought his future looked sufficiently dim today that it didn’t really matter if he had a cigarette. He might as well enjoy the once beloved vice a last time.

He opened the pack, tossing the torn bits of cellophane and foil into the trash can stationed just outside the door. Doing his best to make it appear the same motion, he dropped a small, padded envelope into the large mail box anchored permanently in the concrete near the trash can.

Having accomplished his task, he allowed himself to enjoy the cigarette. Scott always loved to smoke. When he was younger he would smoke anything. Cigarettes. Cigars. Marijuana. He even remembered as a boy smoking muscadine grapevine with some kids he met when he was visiting his grandparents in Florida.

He enjoyed the cigarette he was smoking now. But he had no intention of taking up the habit again. It was a diversion for what he had to do. He tossed the remainder of the pack into another trash can he passed on his walk home.

“Does the name Jonathan Rossi mean anything to you,” Scott asked when Trent answered his call.

Trent was immediately on full alert.

“Yes, it’s very important. How would you know that name?”

“Because I was foolish enough to become involved with his business. I have broken the law and I’m not proud of it. But I’m being asked to do things now that I will not do. I will not betray my country, Trent.”

“We need to talk, Scott. Do you want to come over here? Want me to come to you? Meet somewhere?”

“I’m sure I’m being watched. I’ll be followed if I leave home.”

“Then I’ll come to you. I’ll think of a way to get into your building without attracting attention. Hopefully whoever is watching you doesn’t know me.”

“I’ll leave it up to you to get in.”

“There’s someone else who should be in on this conversation, Scott. I’m sorry to tell you that I’m working with the San Francisco Police Department on matters involving Rossi. If you’re ready to give him up I have to get my police contact involved,” Trent warned.

“Bring him with you, Trent. At this point whatever happens is whatever happens.”

It wasn’t hard to find Christopher. He and Nancy were having a leisurely late Sunday breakfast at one of their favorite restaurants on the waterfront. Trent called down to the concierge to send them directly to the 15^th floor.

It didn’t take long to brief Nancy on the work Christopher and Trent were doing. Christopher immediately understood that the phone call from Scott could be the thread they were seeking to begin the unraveling of Rossi’s alliance.

They decided Christopher and Trent would go to the Marina district and just walk into Scott’s building. If they were lucky the men Rossi had watching Scott wouldn’t recognize them.

Nancy, and her Ruger, would go to Darcey’s office. She would tell Miles the truth. She would tell him what could be the truth. With Christopher and Trent busy, Nancy was bored. She wanted to hang out. She would let Darcey know something big was happening. They would tell her the rest of the story when she got home. They would let Scott decide how best to tell Miles and when.

But first it was necessary to rid themselves of the two men still watching their building. Christopher made a phone call and got a black and white on the way. He asked for another uniform car to be posted a block away. He didn’t think the two men out front would cause any real trouble but if they did he wanted the officers to have back up standing by.

Trent called down to Bat at the parking lot security booth. Bat normally worked during the week but was filling in for the weekend guy to make a few extra bucks. He was enthusiastic when Trent told him what he had in mind.

Trent, Christopher, and Nancy went down to the lobby but stayed by the elevators. It would be difficult to see them from outside but they had a clear view of the street. They would be Bat’s back up if he needed help before the black and whites showed up. Trent didn’t think the young man would need help.

Bat walked across the street, his baton in hand. The two men inside were also watching the young man as he approached them. He stopped by the driver’s side. The men tried to ignore him.

He rapped lightly on the driver’s window, asking him politely to roll it down. The driver didn’t like it but he complied.

“Good afternoon,” Bat said. “I’ve noticed you guys have been parked here for several days now. More importantly the building management has noticed it. I’ve been directed to ask why you’re here.”

“None of your business, junior,” was the reply.

Bat remained calm. He even smiled.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s none of my business. But my boss wants to know. And we all gotta follow the boss’ orders, right?”

“Tell your boss to mind his own business,” was the reply.

“No, I’m not going to do that,” Bat said. “You see I need this job.”

The driver made a mistake. He reached out to grab Bat by the shirt, trying to pull him forward. The young guard brought his weighted stick around and down, striking the man’s wrist. There was a cracking sound. The driver screamed, his broken wrist going limp.

The man in the passenger seat leaped out, his hand going under his jacket. Bat was considering how to defend himself against a man with a gun on the other side of the car. He needn’t have been concerned.

The arrival of the two officers in the first black and white was timed perfectly. Tires squealing as the car slid to a stop, both officers leaped out with weapons drawn. The man on the other side of the BMW had drawn a weapon, which he now promptly laid on the ground as ordered by the officers. He leaned forward to put his hands on the car. This was not the first time he had been in the position.

The three watching from inside the building took the elevator down to the garage while the men assigned to watch them were distracted by being cuffed and helped into the two black and whites now on the scene.

Christopher laughed all the way down.

“That kid is good, Trent,” he said. “We could use him on the force. If he’s interested I’d consider recommending him to the Academy.”

“He’d be interested,” Trent said.

After dropping Nancy at Darcey’s office, they parked the Bentley around the corner and two blocks up from Scott’s small building.

Unfolding his big body from the Bentley’s passenger side, Christopher dropped his sunglasses down onto his nose.

“I believe you are docent on this tour of the Marina,” he said to Trent, obviously enjoying his role as a Marina resident enjoying a sunny day. “Lead on.”

Both were dressed casually. Trent was also wearing sunglasses. They talked animatedly as they strolled leisurely down the street. Trent gestured wildly as he told what must have been a hilarious story to Christopher judging by the big man’s laughter.

When they reached Scott’s building they didn’t hesitate. Trent continued talking, to Christopher’s apparent amusement, as they entered the building. It wasn’t a secure building. The elevator took them directly to the top floor.

“Thanks for coming, Trent. I’m not sure I deserve much consideration.”

“It took a lot of guts to make that phone call, Scott.”

“Well, I was motivated by hemophobia,” Scott said. “I fear the sight of blood. Especially my own. Or, worse, Miles’.”

“We’ll do our best to make sure you’re not bothered by your phobia, Mr. Douglas,” Christopher assured him, “assuming you’re ready to help us.”

“I don’t have any choice, Sergeant,” Scott replied bluntly. “I’m not going to do as he has directed. I won’t betray my country by providing funds to terrorists. Rossi has made it clear that if I don’t do what he wants me to do he will punish me. His idea of punishment isn’t particularly humane. If I can help you take him down, I’ll be protecting myself as much as anything else.”

Christopher nodded. “All right. What can you tell us? What’s Rossi’s game and what role do you play in it?”

“Rossi formed what he calls a fiduciaria, a trust, if you will,” Scott began to explain, “I’m essentially running his financial transfer operation. His money laundering.”

“How is it done?” the policeman wanted to know.

“Through a system known as hawala,” Trent responded. “Am I right, Scott?”

Surprised, Scott nodded in the affirmative.

“Hawala is an ancient system of conducting business requiring minimal records that allows the participants to avoid regulation and taxes,” Trent continued. “It’s a system that first appeared in the ancient Middle East and eventually spread as far as Italy, South Asia, and Africa. It’s called hundi in India. Rossi and his partners use independent business people, investment firms, and a few banks in several countries around the world as their hawala partners.”

“I still don’t get it,” Christopher said. “How is the money moved without being found out?”

“Say you want to get $10,000 to someone in Thailand. You contact your hawala partner there and request that payment be made,” Scott took up the explanation. “Your partner takes a small commission for his trouble and makes the payment.”

“So how does that guy get his money back?” Christopher asked.

“Any number of ways,” Scott continued. “It might be as simple as returning the favor at a future date. But Rossi’s system has worked so well much more of the gangs’ illegal money has been freed up for investment in legitimate businesses.”

Trent took up the tutorial. “So, for instance, the gang who owes you the money owns a company that sells telecom gear, much of which will be stolen goods, by the way. They ship you $20,000 worth of high tech gear but only invoice you for $10,000.”

“That’s right, Trent,” Scott confirmed. “There are many ways to do it. Inflated or deflated real estate transactions are popular. The list is really endless. The key is there is not much in the way of a paper trail and no reporting of transactions to any government.”

“And when there is a need for a quick transfer of large amounts they simply do a rapid transfer between hawala partner banks or investment firms. Very difficult to catch and the transaction simply isn’t reported. Which all means,” Trent said, honestly, “that at every point along the way someone has to turn his head.”

Scott had a hard time looking Trent in the eyes. “That’s right.”

“And you’ve been that guy in San Francisco?” Christopher asked. “You’ve been turning your head as you participated in these transactions?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Scott confirmed. “That’s correct. I’m guilty. Am I under arrest?”

“Let’s just say you shouldn’t make any plans to leave town in the next few days,” Christopher said. “After that, we’ll see.”

“Scott can help us bust this thing wide open, Christopher,” Trent said. “And I don’t think you have to worry about him trying to run at this point. His best chance to survive is to stay put, work with us, and hope we can protect him. If he runs, Rossi will see that he doesn’t get far.”

Christopher nodded. “So how do we use this information to shut Rossi’s operation down?”

Trent looked pensive.

“When I was a very young boy, my dad took me fishing one day. He had a lightweight .410 shotgun with him. We were walking along a small creek not far out of Baton Rouge. All of a sudden, he stopped and pointed to the other side of the creek. There was a hole over there. He handed me the shotgun and told me to try to fire into that hole.”

Christopher and Scott listened, wondering where this was going.

“I aimed and pulled the trigger. Even then I was a good shot,” Trent smiled as he remembered. “Fired a handful of small shot directly into that hole.”

“And?” Christopher encouraged.

“And out came rolling a ball of snakes. Must have been thirty or forty of them, all tangled up and striking at each other.”

Scott shivered at the image.

Christopher grimaced. “What’s the point, Trent?”

“The point is as long as there was nothing to stir them up until we came along, those snakes were content to coil up together. As soon as an unknown element was introduced they struck out. They didn’t know who fired the shot into their cave so they started attacking each other.”

Christopher smiled broadly. He was beginning to get the picture.

“The key to hawala is trust. Everyone involved has to trust that their money is safe. If we figure a way to break their trust, we can sit back and watch Spitting Cobra, the Barons of Lucifer and the Scourge go first after Rossi, and then for each other. We provide the incentive, then watch them strike at each other like that bed of snakes.”

“We know who the snakes are,” Christopher said. “How do we get’em hitting at each other?”

“We have to think of some diversions, some sleight of hand,” Trent said. “And it’s time to let our friend with the computers get to work. If, that is, Scott can supply us with some names and locations.”

“I didn’t know what was going to happen today after Rossi called, Trent,” Scott said. “I thought it possible I might not live much longer. To be safe I dropped an envelope containing a flash drive in the mail to you. It lays out every link in Rossi’s chain. You should receive it by Tuesday.”

“That’s great for a backup, Scott, but we need to move now. Can you send that same information directly to another computer?”

“Easily.”

“Hang on a minute.” Trent dialed a number but was careful to mention no names when Ross Brown answered. He spoke quietly to Ross for a couple of minutes. He wrote down an internet address.

“Scott, can you do a data dump and send it all to this address? It’s an unidentifiable URL. Sort of the computer age version of the dead drop. You won’t know who you’re sending to and it’s untraceable.”

“I don’t need to know,” Scott said. “I don’t even want to know,” he added as he sat down at his computer and started striking keys.

“Christopher, can you round up a few of your guys, ones you know you can trust to help us? We need someone to keep an eye on this condo but we can’t let Rossi’s men see them. We also need a couple of guys to watch Darcey’s office. And they have to be very discreet.”

“I can find some volunteers.”

“Get on that, if you don’t mind. Then we need to take a look at what investigations might be lurking around on Spitting Cobra, the Barons of Lucifer, and the Scourge. Maybe we can start to disturb our nest of snakes. We don’t have to make any arrests that will stick. All we need to do is bring some bad guys in for questioning. Maybe hold’em for 48 hours, or for as long as we can. If Rossi’s mole in your office sees it going on, so much the better.”

They left separately. Christopher went first. He would wait in a bar near the Bentley until Trent joined him.

“Do you want a gun, Scott?”

“No, Trent, but thanks.”

“Are you sure? I can provide you with a pretty effective semiautomatic handgun.”

“I’m not a brave man, Trent,” Scott said, self-effacingly. “I don’t know anything about guns. I’d do more harm than good.”

Trent nodded.

“Besides, if your spouse was as excitable as Miles would you want a loaded gun lying around?”

Trent had to laugh. And he had to admire Scott’s sense of humor in the face of menacing forces.

They saw no lookouts on duty when they turned onto Trent and Darcey’s street. Trent stopped at the security booth. Christopher leaned over to tell Bat he was impressed with the way the young man had handled himself. He handed his card to Bat, telling the guard to call if he was interested in an appointment to the Police Academy. They left Bat with a grin that threatened to split his lips.

Upstairs Darcey and Nancy waited for them. Trent mixed rum and cokes for each of the four. They sat on the terrace as the two men briefed their mates on the day’s activities and on their plans for destroying Rossi’s fiduciaria.

Both men thought it only fair that the women know what was going on as, like it or not, they were as involved as anyone. Also, since Burgess had murdered two people in Nancy’s jurisdiction, she was professionally involved. That wasn’t lost on her.

“Maybe I should talk to my chief to get permission to work on this with you, Christopher, as a joint operation.”

“You can’t talk to the Rooster about this. He’d probably call a press conference,” Christopher said, truthfully. “The last thing we need is for our plan to become public knowledge.”

“No, I’ll go over his head. We do it all the time.”

“I can talk to my captain,” Christopher said. “I’ll do that tomorrow. We can use all the guns we can get.”

Earlier that day, before all the excitement started, Trent had split two mirlitons and softened them with a few minutes in boiling water. There was lump crabmeat in the refrigerator.

Since Nancy was anxious to begin her apprenticeship in the kitchen, the men stayed on the terrace with their second cocktails. In the kitchen Darcey showed Nancy how to make the “Trinity,” the sautéed onion, celery, and sweet pepper that is the basis of so many Louisiana dishes.

They added the crab, some garlic, and other spices to the pan, mixing it all well and allowing it to heat through. Scooping the seeds from the mirlitons, which Darcey told Nancy were also called chayotes, they filled the hollow squashes with the crab stuffing, sprinkled them with bread crumbs, and put them in the oven to bake.

Feeling quite proud of herself, Nancy accepted another rum and coke. She and Darcey joined the men on the terrace.

In the hills of Atherton, Don Rossi was furious. He tossed the burner he was using across the garden. One of his security team rushed to retrieve it. And to stay out of the don’s way.

First, that dunce of an ex-cop Burgess, dumb as he was, outsmarted the two Barons of Lucifer sent to take him out. Today Rossi was told he murdered two women in Richmond. And now the drunken slob had disappeared, leaving Rossi with two police forces nosing around in his business

Then the two halfwits he assigned to watch Marshall managed to get themselves arrested. One of them had assaulted a security guard. A kid, no less. The kid had broken the big, brave Mafioso’s wrist with a stick.

Rossi was tempted to let them sit in jail. He knew he couldn’t do that. No telling what they might say to the cops. He had already dispatched a lawyer to get them out. When they got here, he would see to it that they would both beg to have only their wrists broken.

He was at the end of his patience. Douglas had better get money moving Monday or there would be more than broken bones. There would be bodies.