THE TAINTED TRUST (Volume 2 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 92

         Deep Bottom Cove. September 20.

Heavy clouds and a thick morning mist hung over the still water and obscured the view of the trees, less than a hundred yards away from John Hill's sixteen foot aluminum fishing boat. Hill, still head of C.I.D. for the I.R.S., had just cast his line about thirty feet from the boat which floated in a narrow secluded cove on Martha's Vinyard. He turned to his friend, Alex McDowell, now the director of Canada's Security Intelligence Service. For years, the two had annually enjoyed a week of fishing together. They had always alternated between McDowell's summer home in the Gatineau Hills, near Ottawa, and Hill's summer home on Martha's Vinyard. By mutual agreement, both had avoided the razor for three days. "Look's like rain," Hill muttered. "You want to pack it up?"

McDowell secured the handle of his rod under his seat, then scanned the sky. "Let's risk it. I think it's going to clear. Even if it doesn't, I don't mind getting a little wet." He turned to face Hill. "I understand your people struck out at Louis Visconti's office."

"Yup. A big zero," Hill admitted, hiding his disappointment by turning to concentrate on his line. "We couldn't find one shred of evidence, hard or soft. Nothing." He glanced at McDowell. "Have your people talked to King yet?"

McDowell shook his head. "He's disappeared. His wife and his lawyer say they have no idea where he is. We think they're lying through their teeth."

Hill rolled his eyes. "That's nice. So who's got the money, Visconti or King?"

"Good question. Maybe they both have it. Maybe they're in this thing together."

"What does King's stepson say about it?"

Again McDowell shook his head. "He's disappeared also. No one's seen him since he left our office in Toronto last Thursday. The Ontario Provincial Police found his company van on a dirt road about fifty miles west of Toronto. There was absolutely no clue in that vehicle. It was sanitized."

Hill continued to stare at the water and chuckled. "The whole thing is so familiar. As soon as we get close to King and that money, they both disappear."

"We're going to find both," McDowell promised. "What about Visconti? I presume you're looking for him."

Hill nodded.

"John, how much money do you think we're looking for?"

"The only number we have to work with is the one Phillip Servito gave us."

"Three hundred million! That's bull shit. It's got to be more than that after ten years."

"Suppose we recover three hundred million. Would you close the books?"

"Nope, but I'd do it in a heart beat for five. Four would let me sleep at night. We could save the asses of everyone who was even remotely connected to this disasterous investigation"

"And you and I wouldn't have to admit we couldn't find over three hundred million gasoline tax dollars."