“Yes, sir. He is. May I ask what this call is regarding?”
“I had some questions following a hunch on a case I’m working and wanted to discuss something with him.” Aiden didn’t actually want to talk to McCaffrey; he’d called only to find out his schedule for the day. “On second thought, something just occurred to me. I think I should get some additional information first, get my ducks in a row before I bother him. How late is he going to be there today?”
“Well, he works from seven to seven.”
“Is he just committed or going through a divorce?” Aiden asked, recalling that when Draper had been hired to take over the San Diego office, he had been going through a divorce and had worked twelve-to sixteen-hour days, as well.
“Both,” the agent said. “Can I get your name to pass along to him? I’ll give him a heads-up to expect a call later.”
“Thank you.” Aiden hung up and nodded to Charlie. “He’ll be in. Let’s go.”
They left the hotel and scouted the area for a significant tourist site that drew a lot of foot traffic and offered multiple lines of sight.
Jackson Square was perfect. Fifteen-minute walk from the hotel. A wide-open space that could be watched from across the street at the outdoor Café du Monde.
Aiden purchased a postcard featuring the square from a shop, along with four envelopes and a pen. On the back of the postcard he wrote:
If you want the rest of the evidence, have the Assistant Special Agent in Charge who is building a case on Bill Walsh here, wearing a red hat and red shirt, standing next to the cluster of palm trees on the southwest corner of the Andrew Jackson statue. Noon. Sunday.
Aiden circled the specific tree on the card, silently thanking Jeff Landau for the tip that Big Bill was under federal surveillance. He put the postcard and two sheets from the pages that he’d printed out in an envelope, giving a tidbit of incriminating evidence on Walsh and Romero. Not enough for an arrest and conviction, just a taste to whet the appetite for more.
“They’ll check for prints and get results in less than twenty-four hours,” Charlie said.
“That’s what I’m counting on. It’ll save time when we make contact.”
Charlie rubbed her hand across the envelope, getting her prints on it, as well. He addressed it to Bryan McCaffrey and marked it Extremely Urgent.
Then he put the flash drive with all the information in a padded envelope and made it out to the attorney general at the Department of Justice in Washington, DC. They couldn’t risk hanging on to the drive when it was worth millions and could put half a dozen criminals behind bars.
The rest of the paperwork he divided between the last two envelopes. One labeled for Romero. The other for Walsh. Those two they’d deliver in person. The others had to be mailed.
New Orleans was such a convenient city. A courier service that guaranteed same-day delivery was located off Canal Street and was only a ten-minute jaunt on foot.
They sent the envelope to Special Agent McCaffrey with signature required for delivery. He’d get it no later than 4:00 p.m. that day. Twenty hours was plenty of time for McCaffrey to arrange things with his subordinate who was covering Walsh.
Next was the package to the attorney general. They’d mail it from the post office, priority but not overnight, since they didn’t want it to arrive until Tuesday no later than close of business, when their hand would’ve been played.
By then, they’d either have Edgar, be in police custody or be dead.
No matter their outcome, Walsh, Romero and every other scumbag on that flash drive was going to prison.
“What if McCaffrey doesn’t go for it?” she asked, her cool, seemingly detached composure slipping. “What if an agent doesn’t show tomorrow?”
“Chill out, Killinger.” It would work. It had to. “Have a little faith.”
What was the alternative? Expect the worst?
Not his style. He suspected that not only the agent covering Walsh would show but that the square would be swarming with federal agents tomorrow.
“We still don’t know how to neutralize Devlin,” she said. “He flies in tonight. He’s going to find out that we’re in town. If he doesn’t already know.”
Devlin was a wild card. A problem they didn’t have a fix for yet. “Maybe we use the element of surprise. Get to him before he can cause any more trouble.”
“How?” Aiden asked. “Nab him at the airport?”
They knew what flight he’d be on, seven o’clock from San Diego, and they knew what he looked like. Devlin wouldn’t expect the preemptive strike. “Yeah, maybe.”
One step at a time. First, they needed to deliver the other two envelopes. Throw out the bait and set the traps.
They walked to the casino in silence, resigned to their neutral corners, with the giant elephant wedged between them. She didn’t seem to want to discuss it any more than he did.
Fine with him. We just need to get through this and come out the other side.
Carrying crowbars and baseball bats into the casino was a no-go. Even if they had guns, getting them inside would’ve been tough.
The Windfall was large and active and bristling with energy. Slot machines clinked off to one side. On the other, patrons gathered around card and craps tables and a roulette wheel. Shouted. Whooped. Cheered. Groaned. It was an overwhelming scene straight out of Vegas.
“Suggestions, Killinger?” he asked.
She stiffened and looked around. Her gaze was directed at anything other than him. “I don’t like the idea of an enclosed office surrounded by guards. There might be a better option. I’ll ask.”
They subtly slipped their earpieces in and Killinger fluffed her hair to cover hers. Aiden planned to keep his distance.
Killinger stopped a cocktail waitress who was carrying a tray of empty glasses. “Hey, I’m looking to catch Enzo Romero and Big Bill Walsh, discreetly,” she said, the comms device allowing Aiden to hear everything. “To pass along some information. I’d prefer not to get trapped in a difficult position in an office behind a locked door, with some dude’s hand shoved down my shirt, if you know what I mean.”
The buxom waitress smiled. “Believe me, I get it. Enzo’s right over there.” She pointed to a man in a fancy suit in the poker room. “And Big Bill is at Avido’s this time of day. But ask to see him at the bar, otherwise they’ll send you to his office there.”
“Thanks.” Killinger handed her a hundred bucks. “How do I get to Avido’s?”
The waitress gave directions and pocketed the easy cash.
“I count two bodyguards in Enzo’s vicinity,” Killinger said. “Give me his envelope. I’ll get it to him without drawing too much attention. They won’t see me as a threat.”