The Brethren

He was euphoric, giddy, and anxious to finish the task at hand so he could get on with life.

"I found a private investigator in Des Moines." he said, sipping coffee, his feet on his desk, where they belonged. "Sent him a check for a thousand bucks. He spent two days in Bakers you been to Bakers?"

"Yep."

"I was afraid I'd have to go.The scam works best if you can snare some prominent guy with money. He'll pay anything to keep you quiet. Anyway, this investigator found a postal clerk who needed some money. She was a single mother, houseful of kids, old car, small apartment, you get the picture. He called her at night and said he'd give her five hundred dollars cash if she could tell him who was renting Box 788 in the name of CMT Investments. Next morning he called her at the post office. They met in a parking lot during her lunch break. She gave him a piece of paper with the name of Quince Garbe, and he gave her an envelope with five one-hundred-dollar bills. She never asked who he was."

"Is that a typical method?"

"It worked with Garbe. Curds Cates, the guy in Dallas, the second one we scammed, was a little more complicated. The investigator we hired there couldn't find anyone on the inside, so he had to watch the post office for three days. Cost eighteen hundred dollars, but he finally saw him and got his license number."

"Who's next?"

"Probably this guy in Upper Darby, Pe

"Do you ever read the letters?"

"Never. I don't know what's being said back and forth; don't wa

"Do you know when they send the extortion letters?"

"Oh yeah. They tell me so I can alert the bank in the Bahamas that a wire might be on the way. The bank calls me as soon as the money hits."

"Tell me about this Brant White in Upper Darby," Wes said. He was taking pages of notes, as if something might be missed. Every word was being recorded on four different machines across the street.

"They're ready to bust him, that's all I know. He seems hot to trot because they've just swapped a couple of letters. Some of these guys, it's like pulling teeth, judging by the number of letters."

"But you don't keep track of the letters?"

"There are no records here. I was afraid the feds would show up one day with a search warrant, and I wanted no evidence of my involvement."

"Smart, very smart."

Trevor smiled and savored his shrewdness. "Yeah, well, I've done a lot of criminal law. After a while, you start thinking like a criminal. Anyway, I've been unable to find the right investigator in the Philadelphia area. Still working on it though."

Brant White was a Langley creation. Trevor could hire every investigator in the Northeast and they'd never fmd a real person behind the post office box.

"In fact." he continued, "I was preparing to go up there myself when I got the call from Spicer telling me to go to Washington and track down Al Konyers. Then you guys showed up, and, well, the rest is history." His words trailed away as he once again thought of the money. Sure it was a coincidence that Wes and Chap entered his life just hours after he was supposed to go searching for their client. But he didn't care. He could hear the seagulls and feel the hot sand. He could hear the reggae from the island bands, and feel the wind pushing his little boat.

"Is there another contact on the outside?" Wes asked.

"Oh no," he said vainly. "I don't need any help. The fewer people involved, the easier the operation works."

"Very smart," Wes said.

Trevor leaned back even deeper in his chair. The ceiling above him was cracked and peeling and in need of a fresh coat of enamel. A couple of days ago that might have worried him. Now he knew it would never get painted, not if they expected him to foot the bill. He'd walk out of the place one day very soon, once Wes and Chap here had finished with the Brethren. He'd spend a day or two boxing up his files to store for what reason he was not certain, and he'd give away his outdated and unused law books. He'd find some broke rookie fresh out of law school and looking for a few crumbs around city court, and he'd sell him the furniture and computer for a very reasonable price. And when all the loose ends were covered, he, L. Trevor Carson, Attorney and Counselor-at-Law, would walk out of the office and never look back.

What a glorious day that would be.

Chap interrupted the brief daydream with a sack of tacos and soft drinks. Lunch had not been discussed among the three, but Trevor had already been checking his watch in anticipation of another long meal at Pete's. He grudgingly took a taco and seethed for a moment. He needed a drink.

"I think it's a good idea to lay off the booze during lunch." Chap said as they huddled around Trevor's desk and tried not to spill black beans and ground beef.

"Do as you please," Trevor said.

"I was talking to you," Chap said. "At least for the next thirty days."

"That wasn't part of our deal."

"It is now. You need to be sober and alert."

"Why, exactly?"

"Because our client wants you that way. And he's paying you a million dollars."

"Does he want me to floss twice a day and eat my spinach?"

"I'll ask him"

"Tell him to kiss my ass while you're at it."

"Don't overreact, Trevor." Wes said. "Just cut back on the drinking for a few days. It'll be good for you."

If the money had set him free, these two were begi

Chap left early to collect the mail. They'd convinced Trevor that he'd been very sloppy in his habits, and that's how they'd tracked him so easily. Suppose other victims were lurking out there? Trevor'd had little trouble in finding the real names of their victims. Why couldn't the victims do the same to the person behind Aladdin North and Laurel Ridge? From now on, Wes and Chap would take turns collecting the mail. They'd mix things up, visit the post offices at different times, use disguises, real cloak-and-dagger stuff.

Trevor eventually agreed. They seemed to know what they were doing.

There were four letters for Ricky waiting in the Neptune Beach post office, and two for Percy in Atlantic Beach. Chap quickly made the rounds, with a team behind him, watching anyone who might be watching him. The letters were taken to the rental, where they were quickly opened, and copied, then put back together.

The copies were read and analyzed by agents anxious to have something to do. Klockner read them too. Of the six, they'd seen five of the names before. All were lonely middle-aged men trying to muster the nerve to take the next step with Ricky or Percy. None seemed particularly aggressive.

One wall in a converted bedroom of the rental had been painted white and a large map of the fifty states had been stenciled on it. Red pushpins were used to mark Ricky's pen pals. Green for Percy. The names and hometowns of the correspondents were printed in black under the pins.

The nets were getting wider. Ricky had twentythree men actively writing him; Percy, eighteen. Thirty states were represented.The Brethren were fine-tuning their venture with each passing week. They were now ru

It was a fascinating game to watch, and now that they had complete access to Trevor they wouldn't miss a letter.