“How many?” asked Ray, looking at the $100s.

“Five, they were folded and concealed in a separate compartment.”

They sat in silence for a moment. “And?” said Ray.

“Same series as Ma French found. Crumpled, but they appear to be uncirculated 100s. So new question, how did that Iraq money end up in Moarse’s wallet? Did you find any service record for him?” asked Sue.

“No, none.”

“There have got to be a ton of Iraq war veterans living in this area. How do we get a list?”

“And even if we could, how do we get enough legs to run this one down?” said Ray.

45

Mackenzie sat at her desk, staring at the screen. With her index and middle finger moving slowly across the surface of the Trackpad, she scrolled up the page. Then she dropped her hands in her lap, folded them left over right, and gently swiveled in her chair from side to side, her eyes still fixed on the screen.

She thought about the mystery she had been reading the evening before, how the gutsy P.I. took on the bad guys with her fists, her gun, and her guile. Mackenzie liked that image, but she had to admit that she wasn’t that character. I’ve never been in a real fight, she thought. Yes, she had taken martial arts classes and proven herself in countless competitions, but everything had taken place in a controlled environment. They weren’t real world battles. She reached up to feel the budge of the gun holstered under her left breast. Again, she had proven to be an apt student and an expert shot, but how would she react in a firefight. Could I really pull the trigger?

Her mind wondered back to the tough Chicago P.I. If she emulated that character, what would she do? Directly confront Sabotny with gun in hand? No, that’s fiction, she thought. If there was only some way she could force a confession from him. But what was the likelihood that he would tell the truth?

Mackenzie opened the first page on the original planning document. At the top in bold letters was the overarching goal:

Conviction and imprisonment of everyone involved with Terry’s death.

She copied the goal statement and pasted it into a graphic outlining program. Then, she laid out her options with direct confrontation on the far left and going to the police at the far right. Mackenzie tried to make other possibilities fit between the two polar positions, but nothing seemed to work. She was just spinning her wheels. At this point those other possibilities were just modest variations on the extremes.

Ken Lee’s nagging thought that it was time to go put this investigation in other peoples’ hands continued to push into her consciousness. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to bring in the cavalry. That’s what she would have done in the corporate world. As a manager faced with overwhelming problems, she’d contract with the best people in the business to generate and implement solutions.

Mackenzie keyed Vision of the Future at the top of a new document. As she wrote, she could see how elements could be put into place to keep a close watch on Sabotny and further explore his background. Maybe they could find incriminating evidence to tie him to other crimes. Even if she couldn’t get him for Terry’s death, she hoped that she could bring havoc to Sabotny’s life, strip him of his fortune, and send him to prison.

Rereading her words, the dreariness that had enshrouded her for weeks started to lift. She could get away from the cold, damp Michigan spring and go back to California. From a safe distance, both physically and psychologically, she could monitor the progress of a group working on this project.

Mackenzie picked up her phone. She texted Ken Lee a four-word message. Put a team together.

Four minutes later he was on screen, “Why the sudden change?” he asked.

“Okay, so it took me awhile to figure out I wasn’t Wonder Woman. I apologize again for being less than nice to you. I just thought I could do this, find these people, and I don’t know….”

“You had to do what you had to do. And all the information we’ve gathered thus far will be a good starting point for the team. I’ve already started putting together a list of people, specialists, to pull together for this.”

“Am I going to end up broke?”

“I don’t think so. No. We should be able to move fairly quickly. If nothing else we can tip the IRS to the stolen cash. There’s enough there to put him in the slammer for decades. And his sweetie, Elena Rustova, may be implicated too. Once we feed them the info, I’m sure the I.N.S. will be happy to ship her back to Moldova.”

“But Sabotny, I don’t want that SOB to go to one of those federal country clubs for tax dodgers. I want him rotting in a dingy state prison for life.”

“I hear you. Maybe we can find a way for him to go down for Moarse. Your brother, that’s almost an impossible case. But I’ll do my best to get him one way or another.”

Mackenzie was playing with airline schedules as she listened. “I’m coming back to California.”

“When?”

“How about tomorrow. There’s nothing direct. I’ll have to go through either Chicago or Minneapolis. I could be there by late afternoon.”

“Dinner someplace on the ocean?” asked Ken Lee.

“Sounds like a date. Then I’ve got some other plans for you.”

“I’ve missed you, baby,” he said.

“Ditto, baby.

“I’ll get things in place. Leave your car in long-term parking. I think I can have people on the ground in a few days. Okay if they use your house?”

“Absolutely. And when this is all over, I want to bring you back here. It’s beautiful, especially in the summer, and I want to share it with you.”

“You’re on. Now get back here. I’ll need your brain and your skills in getting this thing organized.”

Mackenzie was feeling ebullient as she drove down M22. The lake glistened under the brilliant sunlight. The overture to “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” was playing on the radio. She cranked up the volume.

Once at the yoga studio, she slid into the first of two unisex restrooms, carefully locked the door, and removed her weaponry and extra clothing. Clad in black Lycra, feet bare, and her tactical boots stowed with her other gear in her Patagonia backpack, Mackenzie rolled out her mat in a far corner of the studio and tried to quiet her thoughts.

An hour and a half later she was back outside in the warm spring air and sunshine, her spirits soaring. Stopping for dinner at a small French restaurant, she savored every bit of the exquisitely prepared meal and two glasses of Quintessa. The only thing missing was companionship, and tomorrow night she would have that.

Mackenzie noticed the white van with two orange cones behind it on the road just beyond her drive. She focused on them briefly, then reached up and pushed the garage door opener. She was looking down, collecting her things, when the side window of her car came crashing in. There was a violent jolt just before the world slipped away.

46

Mackenzie came to on the cold metal floor of the cargo van, her unsupported neck bent at an unnatural angle. Every bounce and sway of the vehicle intensified her agony. Struggling to inhale, Mackenzie discovered that she couldn’t open her mouth and that her nasal passages were partially obstructed. A wave of panic ran though her, the sudden jolt of adrenalin helping her break through the effects of the physical assault, pain, and nausea.

As she tried to pull herself into a more comfortable position, she realized her hands were bound behind her. As she strained she felt zip ties cut into her skin. She realized that her ankles were bound also.