Free THE VIRON CONSPIRACY (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS #4) by Lawrence de Maria Page B

Bersa.
    “Happy to oblige,” the man said. “Number belong to pistol in shipment from Virginia hijacked by Tong. Police have the number. You shoot someone and they find this one, Tongs have some splainin’ to do, Lucy. What can they do? Produce the real pistol? Break my heart.”  
    Scarne kept the Bersa oiled and in good working order, occasionally taking it to the range. He knew Boyko was still in good working order as well. Noah Sealth kept track of his old Seattle nemesis. The Ukrainian, he told Scarne, had consolidated his power, taking over many of the rackets previously run by a weakened Brutti crime family.
    “You did Andriy a big favor when you aced Carlo Brutti,” Sealth said.  
    It was unlikely Scarne would ever forget the memory that Boyko alluded to in the note, but Scarne knew he could use the Bersa without compunction. It was truly only a piece of metal. He put it back in its case, along with two boxes of Cor-Bon 90-grain hollow point bullets. He pulled a rarely used attach é case from a desk drawer and put the gun case in it. Then he left to meet Nigel Blue.
    ***
    Scarne’s apartment near Washington Square in Greenwich Village was only a few blocks from the Shields headquarters building at Fifth Avenue and 12th Street, so he dropped off the attaché case first before walking over to the stately nine-story stone-and-brick building. Blue’s office was on the third floor. Scarne passed the empty office of Emma Shields, his sometime lover, who was still in Europe running the company’s operations there. Just as well, he thought. She’d probably have a lot to say about his forthcoming trip down memory lane.  
    “Your name is Jake Stone,” Blue said when Scarne walked into his office. “And your picture doesn’t do you justice.”
    “What picture.”
    “The one on your Facebook page.”
    “I don’t have Facebook page.”
    “But Jake Stone does. Take a look.”
    Blue, a trim black man with an easy smile, pointed to his laptop.
    Scarne walked behind Blue’s desk and looked at the screen. There was indeed a “Ja ke Stone” Facebook page with a blurry photo of a much-younger Scarne.
    “Where did you get that photo?”
    “Please. We’re a media giant. Want to see the one where you’re naked on a bear skin rug?”
    “It wasn’t a rug,” Scarne deadpanned.
    Blue laughed.
    “We figured you’d want to keep your first name, so you’d react to it naturally. Nothing blows a cover like looking behind you when somebody calls your name. And your new last name starts with the same letter, in case you are wearing monogrammed cuff links or something.”
    “You’ve been reading too many spy novels.”
    Blue started scrolling through the Facebook page.
    “We gave you a phony background. You’re a freelance writer specializing in biographies of powerful financial people. Even made up some projects you’ve done for us. Added some of your favorite books and movies.”
    Scarne peered at the screen.
    “For Christ’s sake, Nigel, The Sound of Music ?”
    “OK. I was having some fun. “I’ll have them change it to Casablanca instead. Everyone puts that on their Facebook page. The point is, this should pass muster with anyone checking up on your credentials. We decided against giving you a Twitter account.”
    “Thank God. What’s the drill if anyone calls the magazine?”
    “They’ve been told to say you are on assignment. If anyone is persistent, the call will be routed to me.” Blue smiled. “Want to tell me who that might be?”
    “Probably someone from the BVM Corporation. I want to sniff around the company so I’m going to tell them I’m doing a biography on the former CEO, Bryan Vallance. That should give me plenty of access, especially if you back me up.”
    “Why Vallance?”
    Scarne was ready with the lie.
    “No particular reason. Except given what happened to him I can stress the human-interest angle. Tragic death, that kind of thing.”
    Blue gave him an appraising look.