Deadly Pursuit by Michael Prescott Read Free Book Online Page B

ready to take delivery, just pay another four-seventy-seven, and the gold will be delivered to your door by our bonded messenger.”
    The bonded messenger, a slack-jawed kid draped over a folding chair and thumbing through a gore-movie magazine, glanced up briefly, registering some reference to himself, then resumed reading.
    “And you keep gold for me until I want it?”
    “Not us personally. The gold is stored in a Credit Suisse bank vault in Zurich, Switzerland, for maximum peace of mind. Even in an international crisis—and you know that’s always a possibility the way the world is going today—your investment will be safe and sound.”
    “I see ...”
    Jack knew he would reel this one in. He could sense it. He needed patience and confidence, nothing more.
    The scam was a simple pyramid scheme. Some gold and silver bullion actually was stored in a Credit Suisse vault—Jack had documents to prove it—but not nearly enough to cover all the “certificates of ownership” purchased by CSGI’s clients. Buyers who wanted to make the balloon payment and take delivery of the metal were encouraged instead to “increase their leverage” by putting the money into a down payment on a new certificate.
    Some especially gullible marks had gradually invested $50,000 or more in worthless paper titles to nonexistent metal. They couldn’t have made the balloon payments now if they’d wanted to. Their life savings were gone.
    * * *
    Detective Ashe of Phoenix P.D. parked in the strip-mall lot, outside the dry-cleaning establishment next to CSGI. He spoke four words into the transmitter on his Telex headset: “Unit Six in position.”
    A second car joined Ashe’s Pontiac. It contained a Detective 2 and two D-l’s from LAPD’s Homicide Special Section and the assistant special-agent-in-charge of the FBI field office in Westwood.
    The L.A. cops carried 9mm Berettas, and the assistant SAC, Patterson, used a .38 Smith. There had been some friendly discussion earlier about the relative merits of the two guns.
    Nobody said anything now as the LAPD men checked their clips and Patterson inspected the Smith’s cylinder and speedloader.
    * * *
    “So what do you say, Pavel? Can I messenger over a contract for three troy ounces?”
    “Well ... I do not know. I must talk it over with my wife.”
    Jack snorted. “Your wife?” Incredulity raised the pitch of his voice. “You need to get permission from your wife?”
    “Not permission. We always discuss money things. She is very good with money.”
    “Yeah, you make it, and she spends it. So your old lady’s got you on an allowance, huh?”
    Pavel was wounded. “Is no allowance.”
    “Well, call it whatever you want. Sounds pretty sad, though—a working man from the old country, letting his better half walk all over him.”
    “She does not—it is not like that—”
    “Right, right. Look, I guess I was wrong about you, Pavel. You’re not serious about investing. Maybe it’s your wife I should have been talking to all along. Sorry to waste your time.”
    “Wait.” A pause. “How much is silver now?”
    He was still thinking about that twenty-five-percent profit he’d missed out on. Beautiful.
    “Six-twenty-seven,” Jack said. “Up from five dollars even.”
    “And ... gold?”
    “Three hundred eighteen an ounce—and getting ready to take off.”
    “Big increase?”
    “We’re looking at a major run-up here, Pavel. Check the Times if you don’t believe me.”
    “As much as twenty-five percent?”
    “I wouldn’t be surprised. This is one hot opportunity. Speaking of which, I’ve got other clients who need to know about this, so ...”
    “I’ll do it.”
    Jack leaned back in his chair and found life good.
    * * *
    The final car to swing into the parking lot was driven by Peter Lovejoy, with Tamara Moore at his side.
    “Weather Central in position,” Lovejoy reported.
    Moore licked her lips. “When do we take him?”
    “In one minute.” He checked his watch,