The Color of Sin

  Chapter 8

  I wasn’t familiar with this area so I would have to improvise. I got out of the car and went over to the driver’s side door and opened it. I wrestled Sanders across the center console until he was on the other side. These damn new cars with their bucket seats made the job difficult. When everything was in place, I started the car, hit the lights, and started driving back toward the house. But when it came time to turn onto his street, I instead passed it by and headed toward the seashore.

  I passed by the first marina, all fencing and security lights. I drove on until I found another place further down the road. It catered toward the low-rent crowd with an open parking lot that led directly to wooden docks. A few boats were tied up here, but it looked relatively deserted compared to the more popular sites. I pulled the Jaguar up next to a Suburban, effectively blocking the car from view if anyone happened to drive by. I let myself take a few deep breaths before continuing the next phase of the operation.

  Gripping Sanders by the armpits, I pulled him out of the car and dragged him toward the docks. There was a little office here that had the lights off. We went by this and onto the wide wooden planks. His heels bounced along the grooves, making a strange washboard noise. I found what I was looking for: a row of empty slips. The nearest boat was a good fifty yards away; the windows dark. I dropped the body near the edge of the water.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a pair of long plastic zip ties. One went around Sander’s ankles while the other bound the wrists together behind his back. It didn’t take long for me to find a rope that had been discarded by some sailor; marinas were thick with the stuff since even a small sailboat required yards and yards of line. I cinched the length of rope around his armpits and then made a knot, creating a noose that was tight against his chest. One last touch was needed. I pulled the handkerchief from my breast pocket and tied it around his mouth as a gag.

  Taking the other end of the rope, I used my foot and rolled Sanders into the dark water. The splash wasn’t much, just a ripple. His body sunk quickly and disappeared into the depths below. I counted to ten and then started pulling on the rope. Sanders’s head came up, his bald hair shiny with moisture. He was awake now. The eyes were wide with fear. His lips were pressed tightly against the gag as he tried to gasp for air.

  I leaned over and talked in a low voice. “I’m not a big fan of inflicting pain on people since that doesn’t always get the results that I want. That’s especially true with someone who has been instructed how to resist interrogation, such as you. Being a Green Beret, you’ve been waterboarded and who knows what else as part of your rigorous training. But there is a difference here – this is life and death, not just feeling a prick of pain or a momentary discomfort. Do you understand?”

  Sanders nodded eagerly, but I saw something in his eyes. He wasn’t really scared yet. I let the rope go slack in my hands, and down he dropped like a rock. I could only imagine the panic he felt as his feet hit the bottom. All he could do was writhe helplessly and wait, praying that I would pull him up.

  This time I waited for a full thirty seconds. When he came up, water drained out of his nose. He looked sick and pale. The fight was out of him. I wasn’t feeling too good myself. I had no stomach for this activity but I couldn’t see any other way around it.

  I said, “I’m going to take that gag off. If you scream for help, you’re going down to the bottom again and I won’t be pulling you back up. You got that?”

  Sanders nodded.

  Keeping one hand on the rope, I leaned over and pulled the gag down from his mouth.

  With wheezing lungs, he began to suck in large quantities of air. “Damn you,” he spat out. There was an edge of real panic in his voice. This is where I wanted him.

  I said, “Now let’s start at the beginning. How did you make your money in Afghanistan?”

  “Gold. It was gold.” The words came out quick. “Bill and I traded American cash for antiquities. It started off innocently enough, a few dollars for a little figurine that caught my fancy. It turned out to be pure gold. But the Pashtun we were dealing with had plenty more, stuff stolen from graves and such. There was millions of dollars just there for the taking. I used all the money that I had in my savings account and so did Bill. We started buying everything that we could, even trading in ammunition or weapons that had been captured by the enemy. That idiot Colonel Peabody thought it was someone in the native militia doing the stealing. We kept everything in a hole that was well-hidden underneath a heavy rock. It was located a few clicks away from the village we were staying at. We only visited it at night so the colonel wouldn’t get suspicious.”

  “Those kind of artifacts would have been hard to move back to the states. How did you do it?”

  “Bill wanted to bring the objects back unaltered. It was easy to see that he was an amateur at this kind of game. I told him it would be too dangerous since tracing it back to us would be too easy if the military police got involved. There was a blacksmith in the village. I gave him some money to keep his mouth shut and melt all the gold down and make them into small bars. That made the gold easier to transport and hide. We only moved a few at a time..”

  “What was Keith Miller’s role in all of this? I haven’t heard you mention his name yet.”

  “Keith knew a Blackhawk pilot who was willing to take the cargo out for us. Keith got a cut of the action, five percent from the both of us. He was up to his neck in some other ventures, I know that. This was just another bit of action for him. The gold was hidden at one of the big bases. Everyone got their cut but there was enough money to go around.”

  The confidence was returning in Sander’s voice. I began to wonder if he was telling the truth again. I let go of the rope and watched as his face disappeared beneath the black water. This time I waited for almost a full minute. I could feel the length twitch and jerk in my hands. By the time I pulled him back up, he was begging for me to stop.

  I wasn’t feeling too proud of myself – taking a fully grown man and making him cry – but it was something that needed to be done. I couldn’t get the information from him any other way. He was a practiced liar and only the fear of death would make him talk straight.

  I asked, “How did you get the gold back to the States?”

  He sputtered, “You bastard! I’ll tell you. We built false bottoms in our footlockers. The bars were thin enough that no one could tell the difference unless they knew what they were looking for.”

  “How much gold are talking about? What was your haul?”

  “Almost twenty-two pounds each.”

  I let out a whistle. I did a quick calculation. That was over four-hundred thousand dollars, more or less.

  Sanders continued, “You can’t get anything from me. There’s nothing left of my haul. I needed money fast to start my business. I sold it to a mob man who I knew from Chicago and had it converted to cash. I had two-hundred thousand dollars when I was finished. I took one hell of a bath on that deal, but it was enough to get me going.”

  “What about Bill?”

  “I assume he had the chance to cash out or at least tell his wife about the gold. I didn’t think about it, really. I’m doing well enough that I don’t need his money.”

  “Bullshit,” I said. “I know you’re lying. You’re working with Keith to get it back, aren’t you? But he double-crossed you, didn’t he?”

  Sanders nervously watched my hands, readying himself in case I let go of the rope. After a frightened moan he gave in and finally said, “After I heard Kinney died, I went to the funeral home. I saw his wife and girls there. They were dressed like paupers. It was my guess that they never found out about the gold. That meant it was hidden somewhere.”

  “And where does Keith fit in all of this now?”

  “I was busy with my work. I didn’t have time to go looking into the gold, nor could I think of how to a
pproach the family. But that all changed when Keith showed up at my door one day. He was out of the army and had burned through all the money he had made. He wanted a hand out. But I gave him a job instead. We talked and talked, deciding he could gain the trust of the mother or one of the daughters, and gain access to the house. He moved in but couldn’t find the gold, at least not right away. Now he no longer returns my phone calls. I assume he finally found what he was looking for.”

  “You don’t sound too angry about it.”

  A rare grin broke his strained expression. “It’s part of the game. You win some and you lose some. Sure I was pissed, but I’ve got my own worries. That money I got down in Mexico? I fed it slowly into my business, but those boys at the IRS are smarter than me. The Feds began to wonder where this extra money was coming from. I got audited. It cost me a fortune in attorneys to keep them off my back. I was hoping Kinney’s share of the gold would have made up my losses. I’m hurting now, spread too thin. If the city government doesn’t buy my property soon, I’m going to go broke.”

  “Do you know where Keith is now?”

  “Still in Las Vegas, at least I think so. He’s doing his best to disappear.”

  Sanders looked positively sick now. The summer heat of the day in Los Angeles was high as always, but the nights were cooler. Sitting in the ocean water for so long was beginning to take its toll on him. It was time to get him out of there before there were any permanent effects. I tugged on the rope, leaned over, and grabbed Sanders by the arm. With much effort I was able to drag him out of the water. He rested on the wooden planks, shivering and making little whimpering noises. Using the jackknife in my pocket, I cut the zip tie on his ankles. I took my handkerchief back. I helped him stand and, with my help, we headed back toward the Jaguar.

  His feet were unsteady. He lurched and stumbled, once falling and requiring my help to stand again. I was wary that he would try something, but he was helpless enough after such an ordeal and with his wrists still firmly kept together by the zip tie. I unlocked the doors and stuffed him into the passenger seat, and even locked the seat belt into place. Sanders never protested, but instead acted like a weak child. I got in the driver’s side door, started the car up and headed back toward his home.

  “I don’t feel well,” he finally said. “I’m sick.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll have you back with your family soon enough.”

  I drove slowly, just a few miles per hour under the posted speed limit. Except for a single pair of headlights going the other way, I didn’t see another car on the road. We were two lone actors on a darkened stage. This part of the play was almost over. There was very little left to say, our time together was almost done. I pulled in front of his house. The lights were off. I got out and pulled the pistol out from under my jacket. I stuffed it into my pocket. Going over to the other side of the car, I helped Sanders out.

  “I’m going to remove the zip tie around your wrists. I hope you won’t give me any trouble. Be warned that I have a gun. I’ll use it if I have to.”

  “There will be no trouble. I just want to get to bed.”