Gone

By James J. Hurley

Sean Flynn is currently out of a job. His life has been a series of disappointments.

And there doesnt seem to be any hope for change on the horizon. Ten years as a narcotics agent ended in frustration and now a once promising career as a stockbroker appears destined to dissolve the same way. Then a telephone call from Tom Morris, an old friend and former police officer, changes the course of his life forever.

At the request of Morris, Flynn agrees to help track down Marcus Lowell, a money launderer and drug dealer, in the Bahamas. Lowell has fled the country on his $1 million bond and is setting up one last drug deal before he disappears forever. If Flynn can locate and help bring Lowell back, hell share in the reward and be able to get back on his feet. What Flynn and his Morris dont know is that Lowell has been assisted in his escape by the United States government.

Flynn goes to the Bahamas to begin his search and meets Sydney Greyson, a beautiful banker in Nassau, and the woman of his dreams. They begin a whirlwind romance and, during a dinner date, she introduces him to Lowell at a local restaurant. Only Lowell is now Thomas Andrews, a wealthy customer of Sydneys bank. In order to get close to Lowell/Andrews, Flynn agrees to go out with Lowell and his girlfriend, Amanda Blair, on his boat the next day for some diving. During the outing, Lowell offers him a job delivering some money to a few friends in Miami for a business deal. All he has to do is put the money in a locker at the airport, exchange the locker key for another key with one of the associates, and bring the new key back to Lowell. Realizing that the business is drugs, Sean accepts the job, hoping to find out where Lowell is staying.

Flynn and Morris follow Lowell to his refuge on a small island and make plans to grab Lowell after a quick look at the residence. While sneaking a look at Lowells house, Flynn and Morris are surprised by Lowell and his drug associates. Flynn is severely wounded and forced to watch helplessly as his friend is brutally murdered by Lowell and his associates. After a torturous escape through the islands mountainous undergrowth, Flynn vows to avenge his friends horrible death. Flynn calls on his old narcotics partner, now an agent with the DEA, for help in setting a trap for Lowell and his associates in Miami. He devises an operation designed to take place at the Miami airport. Its an excellent plan except for one detail. If he takes part in the deal, Sydney will leave him. Shes from a different world where there is no place for violence.

Painfully wounded and enraged by the brutal murder of his friend, Sean must choose between love and revenge. A choice he must live with the rest of his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 9, 2004
• ISBN: 9781469114385

James J. Hurley

Born and raised in Connecticut, James Hurley is a graduate of Tulane University in New Orleans, Louisiana and a 10-year veteran narcotics agent of the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Office. After moving to Florida, he worked in the financial industry for ten years as a stockbroker for 3 major wire houses. He currently lives in Cape Coral, Florida, where he spends most of his free time writing or on the golf course.

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Copyright © 2004 by James J. Hurley.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used

fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or

dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

EPILOGUE

This book is dedicated to the memory of my parents,

Thomas and Patricia Hurley.

CHAPTER 1 

"YOUR HONOR, THE STATE ASKS that bond be

set at one million dollars." Assistant U.S. Attorney Laura Pierce had been assigned to this case twelve days ago and was amazed at the depth of the crime she was now trying. Marcus Lowell was not merely a thief and a money launderer but most probably an embezzler and drug dealer as well. Recent conversations with the Drug Enforcement Administration had been less than helpful, but she didn’t really think they would be forthcoming with information on what was probably an ongoing investigation. To give up that information to support her charges on an unrelated matter might compromise months, or even years, of investigation. Still, Agent Benton had at least acknowledged the agency’s interest in Mr. Lowell and told her he would monitor the proceedings and help her in any way possible. Based on what she had already learned, she believed that Lowell was a man who really deserved to become a guest of the United States government. How she was going to accomplish that goal was going to prove difficult. The problem was not in convicting Lowell on the theft and laundering of over $2 million from a federally insured institution. The case was pretty straightforward. He did it, and she could prove it. The real problem was keeping him in the United States long enough to try him. Laura knew she would never be allowed to hold him without bail. The charges didn’t warrant it. But he was a flight risk. Over the last four years, his passport record read like an advertisement for a travel agency. And let’s not forget, he certainly had at least $2 million with which to travel.

Your Honor, this is ridiculous. My client has no prior criminal record and has a home and roots in the community. The charges—false as they are—do not warrant such a penalty, replied Martin Farrell, attorney for the accused. Martin Farrell, attorney-at-law, was no stranger to the criminal justice system in South Florida. Very expensive, not to mention very successful, he had been flown over from Miami to represent Lowell on this particular matter. His client list was long and distinguished, if you considered drug traffickers, murderers, and professional thieves distinguished. At $500 an hour, plus expenses, Farrell didn’t come cheap. But there are plenty of people on the street today who think he’s worth it. To say that Assistant U.S. Attorney Laura Pierce felt outgunned was an understatement.

Your Honor, the government feels there is a definite risk of flight in this case. Mr. Lowell has traveled extensively outside the country and has the means to support such flight.

Laura knew she was stretching it, but what the hell, why not give it a shot?

Your Honor, please . . .

That’s enough, Counselors, replied the Honorable Ernest W. Pratt. Let’s not go any further and try the case here and now. Known as a fair and reasonable judge, Pratt was a man who believed in the system. He was also no fool. Very few who came before him got an undeserving benefit of doubt.

Bond is set at one million dollars, cash or surety. Mr. Lowell, you will surrender your passport to the U.S. Attorney’s Office at the conclusion of these proceedings. I’ll further set trial for—let’s see, today is August 25—the twenty-fourth of next month. Does that present any problems for anyone?

None for us, Your Honor, replied Farrell. But I would like to voice our displeasure . . .

I’m sure you would, Mr. Farrell, countered Judge Pratt with a smile. Ms. Pierce, how says the government?

The twenty-fourth is fine for us.

Until the twenty-fourth then. What’s next on the docket?

Most people know that a bail set at $1 million doesn’t really mean you have to come up with $1 million cash on the spot. Property of an equal value can be pledged in place of the total sum, or a bail bondsman can be employed to guarantee that if the client fails to appear, the $1 million will be surrendered. If a bondsman is chosen as the means to satisfy bail, for his trouble, you’ll pay him 10 percent of his risk or, as in this case, $100,000. If the client is a no-show, the bail bondsman is technically out the total $1 million. In most cases, the bondsman has insurance to cover his losses, subject to deductibles, of course. There are always deductibles with insurance companies, and to be fair, these people are not really considered good risks. Bail-bond insurance is not cheap, so some bail bondsmen forego the premiums after a while, because either they’ve been very profitable for a while and have sufficient funds to cover any losses or they’ve been very lucky. After all, a bondsman doesn’t have to take every case that comes along. It should also be noted that just because a client fails to appear in court, it doesn’t necessarily mean that the bail bondsman has to shell out the total bond immediately. The bondsman can get an extension on the time he has to surrender the money in question in order to see if the client can be persuaded to return. This is where the whole process gets really exciting, because the United States government provides quite a bit of latitude in regards to the methods employed by the bondsman to retrieve his client. These methods may include warrantless searches, coercion, deception—even kidnapping. It is generally accepted by the criminal justice system that you can’t kidnap your own property, and the client is considered the property of the bail bondsman until he or she satisfies the bail requirement by appearing in court at the appointed time. It is also important to remember that it is a judge that sets the bail as a matter of record. To defy that order by not appearing, the client is basically disobeying a duly authorized legal command from the judge in question. In other words, the judge becomes the complainant in a legal proceeding between the client and that judge, with the said judge as the judge presiding. Get the picture? All things considered, the last thing you want to become is a fugitive from a bail bondsman. They will never stop looking for you, and they have the full weight of the presiding jurisdiction behind them in their quest.

At 2 p.m., following the conclusion of the bail hearing for Marcus Lowell, Martin Farrell entered the offices of Tamiami Bailbonds. With a cashier’s check for $100,000 and collateral in real property in excess of $1 million, he secured bail for his client. It didn’t matter that the real estate in question didn’t legally exist. Martin Farrell didn’t know of the fraud, and no one at Tamiami Bailbonds could have questioned the skillful documentation attesting to its validity. In fact, no one there even attempted to. The $100,000 was good, and—more importantly—it was all profit. With crime being generally low in southwest Florida—Fort Myers in particular—this was a gift from heaven. Things had been tight for the last several months, and the bills weren’t going down with the crime rate. This windfall would go a long way toward balancing the company’s books and securing the few outstanding bonds they still had in effect. Perhaps the company could even reinstitute the bond insurance they’d canceled back in June.

At 4:45 p.m. that same day, Marcus Lowell exited the justice center in downtown Fort Myers a free man. He shook hands with his attorney and thanked him for the prompt execution of the bail. If Farrell hadn’t been so efficient, Lowell would have had to spend the weekend in surroundings not quite up to the standards he was accustomed to. Farrell told him that he was spending the weekend on Sanibel Island and would get in touch with him on Monday or Tuesday, when he got back to his office in Miami. At that time, plans could begin in earnest to mount a vigorous defense of the charges that faced him. As Farrell departed, Marcus Lowell used the pay phone outside the clerk of court’s office. It was a short conversation, and, to this day, there is no official record of that call ever having been placed. According to the Justice Department, there is absolutely no connection between that telephone call at approximately 4:57 p.m. and the departure of Special Agent Mark Tambor from the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington, D.C. After all, it was the weekend, and Tambor had mentioned to his secretary that he was leaving town for the next few days and wanted to get an early start.

At 8 p.m. on 25 August 1998, a mere six hours and fifteen minutes after he was adjudicated and found answerable to the charges filed against him by the Justice Department of the United States of America, Marcus Lowell entered the cabin of an American Airlines Boeing 767 at Southwest Florida International Airport bound for Atlanta. He was carrying a tan leather Hartmann overnight valise and checked no other luggage. American Airlines, being a premium carrier and cooperative with all federal authorities, verified Mr. Lowell’s presence on flight 275 that date. They also were able to confirm an eyewitness sighting of Mr. Lowell dressed casually in a blue blazer with tan slacks and a white polo shirt. One of the flight attendants in first class even remembered seeing the tan valise in his hands as he exited the aircraft at approximately 9:40 p.m. at Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport. What they couldn’t confirm in Atlanta was a gentleman carrying a tan Hartmann overnight valise, dressed in exactly the same clothing, entering the cabin of a BWIA 727 bound for Nassau in the Bahamas at 10:15 p.m. that same night. If it were possible at the time to check, they would have found passport documentation for that gentleman in the name of Thomas Andrews.

CHAPTER 2

It was a balmy Thursday morning, not unlike every

morning this week in late October. The sun rose with a colorful display of reds and pinks, heralding the usual afternoon showers to come. Sean Flynn had just finished walking Max, his Labrador retriever, and was fixing breakfast. Today, breakfast would be a rare treat. Bacon and eggs, toast, and grits bathed in butter and melted cheese. Rare for Sean, because he rarely ate, but loved, breakfast. Whenever he went on vacation, he always looked forward to a big breakfast. The problem was that, since the divorce two years ago, he hadn’t been on any vacations. A shame really, because from Fort Myers, there are plenty of places close by to vacation at. As the bacon sizzled, he thought back to the many trips he’d taken to the Bahamas and the Caribbean—mostly to the Bahamas. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d been there, probably a dozen or so. It was never too hot or too rainy there, and the diving, the music, the food—fantastic! His ex-wife used to say he was the only person in the world who really liked the food in the Bahamas. It was a shame that things hadn’t worked out to allow for a quick trip to the islands for a few days.

After filling Max’s bowl with exactly one and a half cups of food—Max was getting fat and on a strict diet as per orders from the vet—Sean sat down on the breezeway and prepared to eat when the phone rang.

Hello.

Sean? It’s Tom Morris. How are things going?

Tom. It’s been a while.

Tom Morris. Flynn hadn’t heard from him in a while. In fact, the last time they talked was when Flynn worked for Merrill Lynch. They’d gotten pretty close over the years because they’d had a lot in common. They were both cops about a hundred years ago. Over coffee and lunch, they told war stories that were probably a little over the top. They liked the same things and always seemed to get along, but they never really had the time to get together regularly. Morris was involved in several businesses, and Flynn spent most of the time at work or with the wife. Since the divorce, they just kind of drifted apart.

Listen, Sean. I don’t want to take up your whole morning on the phone, so why don’t we get together for lunch today? I’m buying. I’ve got a proposition for you I think you’ll like.

Sean thought about it and said, Why not? I’ve got nothing planned. Where and when?

How about Casey’s? About one o’clock, okay?

Sounds fine with me. See you then.

One o’clock then. So long.

Sean hung up the phone and went back to his breakfast. Good thing Tom was buying, because money was tight. Things hadn’t been going well lately, what with getting out of the business and all. Sean didn’t really want to start a new career at forty-two, but it didn’t look like he had much choice. The brokerage business had never been hugely successful for him, but he’d always seemed to get by. Sure, there’d been a few good years back when he was married. They’d bought a new house in Fort Myers and even had enough left over for some nice things like cars, furniture, and even a pool. But the business had changed, and discount firms were popping up everywhere. Commissions kept going down, and now, with E-trading and day trading becoming popular, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep existing clients, let alone to get new ones. It had finally gotten to the point where it was more expensive to stay in the business than to leave. So two months ago, he closed up shop, gave his client book to his partner, and became, for the first time in his life, unemployed. In some ways, it was nice, but the absence of the need to be somewhere and do something was starting to wear on him. And, of course, there were the bills. Fortunately, he and Karen had not had any children, so there was no child support to worry about.

As Sean cleaned up and prepared for the day ahead, he thought back to when he first moved to Florida. What a change from New Orleans. Just as hot in the summer, but different. At least here in Florida, there were the occasional refreshing breezes to break up the liquid heat. In New Orleans, when it got hot and humid, it stayed that way for weeks. Surrounded by swampland, the Crescent City trapped the sun’s rays and cured them into a sauna. Although Florida appeared promising, leaving New Orleans depressed him. The city was great, and the people, even better. Friends back there were not going to be easily replaced. And the ten years on the police department—during and after graduate school—were mostly good ones filled with fond memories. Sure, there were bad times, but when you leave a place for the last time, you never seem to remember them. And then there was the future to think about. Florida was not just a new address for him; it was a new way of life. The life of an investment advisor was certainly going to be a lot different from the life of a cop—probably not as exciting, but certainly more lucrative.

At one o’clock, Sean entered Casey’s, an eatery on the water in the south end of town, and saw Tom Morris seated on the deck overlooking the Caloosahatchee River. They shook hands, and Sean took a seat facing the river.

Want something to drink? Morris asked.

Nothing for me, just some ice water, replied Sean. How’s the family doing?

Everyone’s fine. The kids are both growing like weeds, and the wife is ready for therapy. Two teenagers are a handful.

After the waiter came and took their orders, Tom leaned closer and said, Sean, let me tell you why I called. Remember a few months back when a guy by the name of Marcus Lowell went on trial downtown?

I remember reading something about it in the papers. He was on trial for stealing a ton of money or something, wasn’t he?

Kind of. It was more involved than that. Tom took a drink of his beer and went on, Lowell was laundering money through his real estate company using the escrow account. The actual charges were theft and money laundering. Before he was actually brought to trial, he had a bail hearing, and bond was set at one million dollars. He made bail that same day, got on a plane, and left town. Tom seemed angry and took another pull on his beer.

Okay, so the guy skipped. It’s not like that hasn’t happened before, added Flynn.

My father’s company posted the bond, Sean. He owns Tamiami Bailbonds. Lowell’s attorney came in and put down the ten percent in the form of a cashier’s check—which was good—and pledged over one million dollars in real estate—which was not—and Lowell got out that same day. With this guy gone, the company is out nine hundred thousand dollars.

Don’t bond companies have insurance to cover skips? Sean could see where this was going.

Some do. Some don’t. It’s really expensive, and the deductible is a killer. Dad’s company can cover it, but it’ll bury the company in the long run. He was able to get an extension through the court, so he has some time. The courts really don’t want to bust a bond agency, because they need them. But the U.S. Attorney’s Office has a hard-on for this guy, and they can make things difficult. Morris was finally about to get to the point. I called you this morning because I think I know where Lowell is.

Flynn was somewhat confused by this and said, So, why don’t you hire someone to bring him back or call the local police there to pick him up?

I’ll answer the second part first, grinned Morris as he leaned back in his chair. Lowell isn’t in the country. Yes, the country he’s in has extradition agreements with the United States, but I don’t think they’ll be all that cooperative in this matter. I’ll explain all the details later. The answer to the first part of your question is—I’m going to get him myself.

Now Flynn saw the light.

I see. And you’re going to need someone to help with the kidnapping.

Morris’s smile broadened. That’s correct, Sean. And who better than you? You spent ten years as a cop in New Orleans, eight of them in narcotics. You’ve dealt with scum under all kinds of situations—and it’s not kidnapping. To protect and honor a bail bond, extraordinary methods can be employed by anyone acting as an agent for the bondholder, including unlawful entry, detainment, and transportation.

But to Lowell, remarked Flynn, and whatever principality or country we are dealing with, it will amount to kidnapping. By the way, where the hell is he?

Morris hesitated.

Let’s hold off on that for a moment. There is some good news with all of this. The offered fee for the return of this guy is ten percent of the nine hundred thousand dollars at risk. That is ninety thousand dollars—forty-five thousand dollars of which is yours if you decide to help me.

Tom, sighed Sean, pushing his water away. You probably know I can use the money. But if this guy is in a foreign country and we won’t be getting any support from the local authorities, how are we going to get him back to the U.S.? He’s just going to give it up and get on a plane?

No, I don’t think he will. But he won’t have to, because we’ll take him out by boat. Morris was getting excited. As you know, I have a thirty-six-foot Bertram down in the Keys. It’s just a simple matter of locating Lowell, putting him on the boat, and motoring back to Miami, or even Fort Myers. All we have to do is get him back in custody in this country, and the bail will be secured.

Flynn thought about that a second, then smiled.

He’s in the Bahamas, right? He has to be. Not too far away and a place where a little money spread around keeps him anonymous. Someplace where he can come and go easily and live well with a lot of friendly and mute banks. And for you, not a lot of blue water to navigate, so the boat works out well.

Morris nodded and said, Correct again. But it gets even better. A friend of mine has a small beach cottage on New Providence near Nassau. Actually, it’s in Cable Beach. Right on the water on the road from the airport. I can use it for as long as I want, at least through the first of the year. This won’t take that long, but it’s there for a while.

Now, Flynn decided it was time to get down to it. He leaned over the table and asked Morris, How do you know that Lowell is in the Bahamas? There are over seven hundred islands down there where a guy with some money can hide pretty well.

I saw him there last week. Morris stretched and placed both hands on the table. I was down there last week at the cottage I was telling you about. Just for a few days of relaxation—to break up the season. It was really by accident that I ran into him in the casino on Paradise Island. You have to remember, I am also in the real estate business and have seen this guy before. Never had any business dealings with him, but I sure know what he looks like. It was him, and he’s there! The guy is used to living well, and the only place you can do that in the Bahamas is Nassau. Besides, who cares where he lives. All we have to do is hang around in all the usual places, and he’ll eventually show up. We can follow him, find his crib, and work out how we grab him after we locate him.

Tom, that is going to take time and money. I have plenty of time but no money. Certainly not enough to hang around the casinos and nightspots trying to find this guy. It could take days or weeks.

Morris smiled and reached out his hand.

If you agree to do this with me, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars in expense money up front. When we bring the guy back, you still get forty-five thousand dollars. If we fail, the ten thousand dollars is yours with no strings. Do we have a deal?

Flynn looked at the outstretched hand of Morris for a moment, then took it and said, On one condition: give me a couple of days to look into this. I want to talk to someone who knows something about this guy and see what we’re up against. Maybe the U.S. attorney handling the case.

Deal, said Morris. You probably won’t get anything out of the feds on this guy, but if you can, more power to you. You used to work with DEA, didn’t you? Maybe you could call someone you know and ask them about Lowell. Couldn’t hurt. Those guys seem to know a lot about money guys, and this guy’s got money.

Flynn said goodbye to Morris and told him he would get back to him in a day or two. It was only 2:30 p.m., and it hadn’t started raining yet, so Flynn drove his two-year-old Jeep Cherokee downtown to the U.S. Justice Center. He found a parking spot right on the street and parked the Jeep. It being a Thursday, he thought he’d take a chance and see if he could find out who the prosecutor was on the Lowell case.

Entering any court building in the United States is a complicated process. What with all the violence in America these days, it’s not surprising that security is taken seriously by those in government. After passing through the metal detector three times—the final time minus his car keys—Flynn went to the reception counter and was directed to the third floor for the U.S. Attorney’s Office.

Upon entering room 300, Flynn was unable to find anyone at the front desk. There were also no bells or buzzers to ring for service. As he was about to look in one of the adjoining offices, Flynn noticed a young woman carrying a file from the alcove in the back of the office.

Excuse me, miss. I need to speak to one of the prosecutors about a pending case.

The woman looked up and walked toward Flynn. She was about twenty-eight or thirty years old, medium height, with dark brown hair pulled back in a tight bun. Dressed in a business suit and wearing reading glasses, she was attractive in a rather severe way. She stopped a few feet from Flynn and said, I’m Assistant U.S. Attorney Laura Pierce, how can I help you?

I am interested in a case this office handled a few months ago regarding a Marcus Lowell. I wonder if you could tell me who the prosecutor was on the case and if I might be able to speak with him.

Pierce took off her glasses and said, I handled that case, and it’s still pending, so there is very little I can say about the matter.

Flynn realized this was not going to be easy. He had already alienated her by not acknowledging the fact that a woman could be a prosecutor. It was time to be more tactful.

Ms. Pierce, I understand that. Perhaps if I could make an appointment for a more convenient time, I could explain my interest and see if there is anything you can do to help me.

Pierce noticed the apology and thought, At least this guy isn’t stupid. She was also curious as to why anyone was interested in the Lowell case. After all, there really was no case without Lowell, and it wasn’t likely he was going to turn up any time soon.

Mr . . . .

Flynn, replied Sean. Sean Flynn.

Mr. Flynn, I don’t know what good I can do for you, but I can spare you five or ten minutes. If you would follow me to my office, please.

Thank you. That would be great.

Flynn then followed Laura Pierce down a narrow corridor to a door numbered 325. After Pierce opened the door and took a seat behind a rather cluttered desk, Flynn sat in one of the two chairs opposite the assistant U.S. attorney.

Now tell me, Mr. Flynn, what’s your interest in Marcus Lowell?

Not bad, thought Flynn. She was taking charge right away.

Ms. Pierce, I understand that Mr. Lowell has violated bail and left the country. I have been approached by Tamiami Bailbonds and asked to try and locate him. Before I accept the assignment, I’d like to know something about Lowell. I know what’s been in the papers, and I know what he did. But I don’t know anything about him other than what he looks like. As I understand it, he has unlimited financial resources due to the fact that he allegedly laundered some two million dollars through his real estate escrow account. It would be of great help to me if you could tell me something about the man himself without compromising your case.

Laura Pierce thought about what Flynn had said. Flynn wasn’t asking for any real factual matters concerning the United States of America v. Marcus Lowell. And if Lowell didn’t turn up, the case was over. Yes, there were federal warrants out on Lowell. But if he was out of the country, which was in all likelihood the case, chances are he would never be heard from again. It was a long shot, but maybe Flynn could help her get Lowell back into court.

Mr. Flynn, Marcus Lowell is a man with considerable means who systematically laundered at least two million dollars over the past two years. He has been in the real estate business for over twelve years here in southwest Florida and owned a house in Bonita Bay worth over one point two million dollars, which he sold prior to being charged. He drove a 1998 Mercedes S500, which he leased, as well as a 1998 Porsche, also leased. Near as we can figure, he averaged about one hundred fifty thousand dollars in commissions, net per year, since 1990. His checking accounts generally averaged around five thousand dollars at any given time—rarely more—and he had three of them. His investment account at Prudential Securities had approximately forty thousand dollars in securities, all held in street name, and he had no retirement accounts that we could account for. He ate and dressed well, was single, with no prior marriages, and traveled extensively to the Caribbean as well as to Europe. Most of the trips were charged to his company, Landmark Realty, Inc. The company is unremarkable in every sense, except for the fact that every single residence transaction was over one million dollars. Every single one! His escrow accounts—he had two for the company—regularly had on balance between five million and ten million dollars.

Ms. Pierce, you said he was in the real estate business for over twelve years. What about before that? Was he born here, did he move here from up north, or what?

Laura hesitated to answer because she had to make a decision. If she answered that question, she would give Flynn information that she couldn’t take back—information which would open the door to a whole new area of investigation. The question was, could this man be trusted with the truth?

Mr. Flynn, before we go any further, let me ask you a few questions.

Sure, he smiled. I have no problem with that. Ask away.

Tell me something about yourself. Where are you from? What do you do for a living?

Sean rubbed his temple—a nervous habit—and replied, I was born in Connecticut. Raised there too, until I went to college in New Orleans. While I was in graduate school, I needed a job, so I joined the New Orleans Police Department. I spent two years in the patrol division, then I got transferred to narcotics. I spent eight years in investigations, the last two assigned to the DEA Metropolitan Strike Force. During that time, I was sworn in as a deputy U.S. marshal for jurisdictional purposes. Never made a whole lot of money at law enforcement, so while visiting a friend here in Fort Myers, I met a guy who worked in the brokerage business with Merrill Lynch. He interviewed me and offered me a job, which I took. I spent a little over ten years in that business and recently got out. Right now, I’m kind of on sabbatical. Because of my investigative background, this job was offered to me by a friend.

Have you ever been arrested, Mr. Flynn? Pierce wanted to find out if there were any holes in Flynn’s story.

No arrests. A traffic ticket or two over the years. The answer to your next question is no, I am not a licensed bounty hunter. This is just a one-time thing for a friend that just happens to pay rather well.

How well?

Ten percent of the risk, of which I get half.

Laura smiled at that. Forty-five thousand dollars is a lot of money for a few days’ work. I wish I could make that kind of money.

You could, Ms. Pierce. You just work for the wrong side. Flynn knew this was probably not a smart thing to point out, considering he needed Ms. Pierce’s help. He just couldn’t help it.

Laura new he was right. He also seemed sincere, but she could check on his story after he left. For now, she felt she could trust him.

In answer to your earlier question, we don’t know. As you probably are aware, nobody seems to have actually been born down here. Everyone is transplanted for some reason or another. In Mr. Lowell’s case, we just don’t know. We can’t find any record of him before 1986. Now, I want to caution you against reading anything into that. No historical search is definitive, even by us, as I’m sure you are aware. There are a number of possible reasons for there being no record of him, and I have neither the time nor the desire to go into any of them at this moment. Suffice it to say, his life here is what we are interested in. Not a good answer, but if he has any brains, he can draw the same conclusions the Justice Department did.

One last question if I may, Ms. Pierce. One hundred fifty thousand dollars a year is a nice salary but hardly enough to support the kind of lifestyle you’re painting for Mr. Lowell. Any idea where the money he laundered went, or where the proceeds from the house sale went to? Oh, and what about credit applications? Did they show anything helpful? Might as well go for the gold, thought Flynn.

That’s three questions, Mr. Flynn, she pointed out, and I’m not sure I can get into those areas in any detail right now. Right to privacy and all. I’ll have to look into the legality of discussing this matter further. Perhaps we can get together again in a few days, after I’ve had time to do some research? By then, she thought to herself, a thorough check on Mr. Flynn should be complete.

That would be fine, responded Flynn. This lady’s no dummy, he thought. If the mysterious millions had a more sinister origin, he wasn’t going to find out about it today. She wants to know more about Sean Flynn before giving away the farm.

Oh, by the way, he added, what if Lowell does turn up outside the United States? Can you give me an idea what type of problem might get in my way bringing him back?

Depends on where he is, she replied. The bastard knows where he is, and I was right at the hearing, she simmered. There are plenty of treaties which would support your action to bring Lowell back as a fugitive. Problem is that, technically, he’s just skipped out on bail, not committed murder. That leaves a lot of discretion as to the importance of finding and sending Mr. Lowell home to us. While treaties are treaties, some people in high places don’t see them as all that important in matters like this. There are also other variables that get in the way, if you understand what I’m saying.

Loud and clear, Counselor, he thought. This wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. He would have to look further into the past of Mr. Lowell. But where?

Ms. Pierce, thank you for your time. I’ll look forward to talking with you in a few days. Flynn got up to leave and offered his hand.

It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Flynn, she said, taking his hand. Why don’t you give me your telephone number, and I’ll have my assistant call you for an appointment.

Sure. It’s 555-2778. If no one answers, please leave a message. I check in regularly. You got to love the feds, thought Sean. They never give up. Flynn made a mental note to check his machine regularly. This was a call he didn’t want to miss.

After Flynn left her office, Laura Pierce summoned her investigator.

Frank, I want you to do a background on a guy by the name of Sean Flynn. Do it quickly, and make all the usual inquiries, including DEA and the local police agencies in the New Orleans area. Also, he has a securities license, so check with the SEC and the NASD. I really need this fast.

Right on it, Laura. By the way, a request for your casework on Lowell came in from an FBI guy by the name of Tambor, in Washington. The request includes all court documentation and case notes. Want me to forward them today?

I don’t know anyone at the FBI named Tambor, replied Pierce. She wondered what was going on. This was more or less a dead issue as far as the government was concerned. Why was the FBI suddenly interested in Marcus Lowell? They turned up virtually nothing since Lowell left town, only that he got on a plane to Atlanta the day he made bail. The trail ended there, according to the agents doing the follow up. And who was this guy Tambor?

No. Let me talk to Agent Tambor first and find out why he wants the casework. I’ll get back to you later on the request.

Her investigator left, and Laura dialed the Washington, D.C., office of the FBI. She got the main operator and asked for Special Agent Mark Tambor. She was put on hold.

Intelligence, Tambor. Who am I speaking with?

This is U.S. Attorney Laura Pierce in the South Florida district. I just got a request for the casework on one Marcus Lowell, and I was curious. Were you able to locate him? A good defense is always a great offense.

Ah . . . no, stumbled Tambor, I wasn’t. His name came up in an investigation we were working, and when I ran the system, I found out he was a fugitive. I thought that maybe if I saw the files, I could place him better in our investigation. Tambor knew this was vague, but giving her any information on his interest in Lowell was not part of his plan.

Can you tell me anything about the investigation you’re working? Laura waited for the snow job that was about to follow.

I’m sorry, he apologized, but this is an intelligence case, and we don’t know where it’s going. As you are probably aware, a lot of these things turn out to be nothing. We are just trying to be thorough and run down all aspects of the investigation. His name just happened to come up in the course of the investigation, Tambor said.

That’s twice you’ve told me that, she mused. What does this guy want? And why intelligence? Those guys usually work national security and terrorism issues. If Lowell were a threat—a serious threat—the agency would have been all over him the day he walked out of jail. There were no indications of that prior to the arrest, and it is extremely unlikely he’s become one since leaving. And even if he was, why wasn’t a special prosecutor assigned to handle the case in the first place? Something isn’t right here.

Agent Tambor, I understand completely, lied Pierce. I’ll get the request prioritized and forward it to you immediately. It should go out tonight.

Thanks a lot, Ms. Pierce. I really appreciate you calling me on this personally. When we get further along, I’ll give you a call and let you know if your defendant is clear. And if we come across his whereabouts in the process, I’ll forward that information to you as soon as possible. Tambor relaxed a bit and felt that the conversation would not create any problems.

I’d appreciate that, Agent Tambor. Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Laura hung up the phone and summoned her investigator.

Frank, go ahead and forward the case file to D.C., and do it on a priority-one basis. When you’re ready to send it, let me know, and I’ll give you a copy of my notes. She was about to dismiss him, then added, And, Frank, that background I asked you to run on that Flynn person? Put it under an employment application label. I don’t want it getting mixed up with any pending cases.

You’re not trying to get me replaced, are you, boss? laughed Frank. They had worked together for two years and were developing into a great team.

Not a chance, Frank. I can’t find the lunchroom without your help. This guy is a retired cop, probably looking for another pension. As a matter of record, I have to go through all the motions. I need it quickly because he knows somebody who is walking him through the system. You can’t have too many friends, she smiled. Or enemies, she worried. If Flynn knew where Lowell was and Tambor found out that she knew about it, she was definitely not going to be on Tambor’s Christmas list. As Frank left her office, she gathered up her notes on the meeting with Flynn and placed them in her briefcase.

It was getting late, and Laura started gathering her things to leave for the day. She was just about to lock up her office when she hesitated. Going back to her desk, she picked up her cell phone and called the Tampa office of the Drug Enforcement Administration.

Good afternoon. Drug Enforcement Administration, may I help you?

Is Agent Arthur Benton in, please? This is Laura Pierce with the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Fort Myers.

Please hold, and I’ll see if he’s still in, replied the operator.

While she was holding, Laura knew the call was being monitored—standard procedure for most federal enforcement agencies. You never knew when a maniac might feel the need to take credit for something gruesome.

Laura, how are you? welcomed Benton. It’s been a while. He and Laura had worked a number of cases together in the past. While she was not exclusively a drug-violations prosecutor, she had handled a number of cases with his office adeptly. In his opinion, she was one of the better prosecutors to work with in the area, often assisting his agents in less-than-ideal situations.

"Arthur, I’m