The 13th Target by Mark de Castrique Read Free Book Online Page A

transaction wouldn’t be questioned.”
    Amanda turned in the passenger seat and leaned against the door. “Exactly. And that’s what the security software was designed to flag. I brought it to Luguire’s attention on Tuesday. He claimed to know nothing about it, but said he’d check into it. I never heard another word. Two days later he killed himself.” She shook her head. “I hate to admit it but I thought maybe he’d transferred that money for his own gain and I’d uncovered the beginning of a trail that threatened to expose him. So, this morning after I heard about his death, I went back to the data records and discovered the transaction was gone, completely removed from the records.”
    “Couldn’t it have been an error that Luguire caught and simply reversed?”
    “If that were the case, a reversal would have shown up. Money might be created by the Federal Reserve but it doesn’t just disappear.”
    Mullins’ mind went into high gear. Amanda’s story offered the first indication that Luguire’s death might be linked to a specific event. “What did you do?”
    “I called the president of Laurel Bank, a man named Craig Archer who would have known about the requested funds. He denied any knowledge.” Amanda reached into her purse on the floor and retrieved a notepad. “Fortunately, I’d written down the account number when I first discovered the transaction. I gave it to Archer. He found no sign of the money coming from the Fed window. Archer checked deposit records and discovered the exact amount had been transferred into a new account opened at a Laurel branch in Staunton, Virginia. He agreed to call me back after he spoke to the branch manager.”
    She flipped through her notes. “Fifteen minutes later he phoned with information that the account was in the name of American Restitution and had been opened by the company’s president, Fred Mack. The initial deposit was nine-thousand dollars and Mr. Mack claimed to be seeking 501c(3) status as a non-profit organization raising money to assist victims of crimes by either paying for plaintiff legal expenses, providing loans, or in some cases outright grants to lessen financial hardships because the prosecution of perpetrators seldom provided proper restitution for the victims.”
    “How do you know these were the Fed funds? Was the number huge?”
    “No. But an odd amount. Two-hundred-twenty-one thousand. Then the money moved on. Two-hundred-twenty thousand was wired out Wednesday, the day after the deposit. Yesterday, the president of American Restitution, Fred Mack, returned to the branch and said his request for classification as a 501c(3) organization had been denied. He withdrew the balance in cash—ten thousand—and closed the account.”
    Mullins thought through the implications of Amanda’s story. “Well, if the Federal Reserve trail no longer existed, the money had to come from somewhere. It didn’t just appear out of thin air.”
    “It didn’t. Laurel Bank showed the originating account number. It was no longer from Luguire’s Federal Reserve authorization but from a private account. An offshore account in the name of Russell Mullins.”

Chapter Ten
    For the third time, Sidney Levine cruised Q Street in search of a parking space. After six in the evening, something should have opened. Nearby Georgetown University was on summer schedule, the employees of those retail shops on Wisconsin Avenue that closed at six on Fridays should be leaving, and the social elite who lived in the more expensive townhouses should either be heading out of the city for the weekend or have their Beamers and Benzs in garages.
    Sidney’s basement apartment didn’t come with a garage or even a designated parking spot. He had to fend for himself to find curb room for his 1999 Ford Escort. Finally, four blocks from his address, he snaked into a space vacated by a limo. Not so bad, except the hike to his building was all uphill.
    He’d spent the day outside