The Patrick Bowers Files - 05 - The Queen

by Steven James

  The soft warmth of her hand rested on mine. She squeezed and it felt both right and wrong to have her touch me in this tender way. Skin on skin, as I awoke from my dream.

  Thinking of my current relationship with Lien-hua, I slipped my hand away from my sister-in-law’s.

  Groggy.

  Still groggy.

  I shifted slightly, worked my eyes open again. It looked like I was in an ICU, although it was small and not as modern as I’ve seen, so I guessed I was at the hospital in Woodborough. An IV plugged into my left arm. A cardiac monitor.

  A woman stood beside Amber. Gray hair, medium build, early fifties, a nurse.

  “Dr. Bowers,” the nurse said firmly, “you are a fortunate man.”

  “Fortunate?” The word was hoarse, didn’t even sound like my voice.

  “That tarp probably saved your life.”

  Tarp?

  “Ellory.” I tried to collect my thoughts. “He was there. The suspect threw him in the river. Did they find Ellory?”

  Neither of them spoke.

  “He went under the ice,” I said.

  “Just rest, Pat—” Amber began, her voice soft, palliative, but I cut her off.

  “Where’s Jake?”

  “He stepped out of the room to get some coffee. He’ll be back.”

  “I need to talk to Tessa, tell her what happened, can I borrow . . .”

  But then, a realization.

  When Tessa’s father had died last summer, she’d become more emotionally reliant on me, and if I spoke with her right now, she would certainly hear the weakness in my voice. And finding out I was in a hospital would only make her worry more—especially when she learned that I’d narrowly escaped drowning, not to mention freezing to death. Being stuck in the Cities and unable to see me wouldn’t help matters at all. Right now the last thing I wanted to do was upset her.

  Call her later, check in when you’re not so queasy.

  “What time is it?” My eyes flicked around the room, found no clock.

  “Just past 6:00,” Amber said.

  No! That’s too long!

  I tried to prop myself up but was too weak to do it. “Tell me, did they catch Chekov?”

  “Who?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure who that is.” Then she thought for a moment. “I did overhear Jake on the phone, though, telling someone that the UNSUB was still at large. Is that him?”

  That term UNSUB always annoys me. Unlike on TV crime shows, almost no one in the Bureau actually uses the term. Besides in this case, Alexei wasn’t an unknown subject of the investigation, he was known, identified, there was no doubt he was the man who’d killed Bryan Ellory. Amber went on, “They were lucky to find you when they did.”

  I felt myself slipping away again, the thick dreamy darkness sweeping over me. “How did they? How did they find me?”

  “Anonymous call.”

  “Anonymous call,” I echoed softly. There was only one person who knew I was lying beside that river, but why Alexei Chekov would have contacted emergency services to tell them about me, to save my life, was beyond me.

  The sense of weariness was overpowering. “Did you give me anything?” I said to the nurse, who had just finished adjusting my IV.

  “No. Do you know your condition when we brought you in?”

  So sleepy.

  “I need to go.” I fumbled with the IV to pull it out of my arm. Failed.

  “It’s okay,” Amber said, her hand on mine again. “Relax, Pat.”

  “Listen, there was a semitrailer.” I was in a fog. “You have to tell Jake. I only saw it for a few seconds . . .”

  Focus, Pat!

  “Peterbilt extended cab.” My voice sounded faint, as if it were coming from someone else. “Maroon. Silver trailer. No distinctive markings, heading west.”

  Faintly, I heard the nurse: “He remembers that after seeing it for a few seconds?”

  “Yes,” Amber said.

  “Have him call it in,” I mumbled just before I felt myself slip away again into a thick and timeless dream.

  37

  Tessa could feel her stomach churning at the smell of the bar’s greasy, fried meat. Just knowing that those animals had been ruthlessly imprisoned and then barbarously slaughtered just so they could be chopped up, fried, and eaten was disturbing enough, and now she was caught smelling the evidence of all that brutality.

  But it was too cold to wait for Sean outside, and Larry had been generously bringing her free root beer and french fries, and he was so nice that she would’ve felt way rude complaining about the meat smell, so she kept quiet.

  He started telling her stories about turkey hunting with “that lucky-shot uncle of yours,” and the hunting stories didn’t exactly serve to settle her stomach. She held back from sharing her views about sport hunting.

  Tessa was halfway through her second platter of fries when the front door opened and Sean appeared amidst an angry swirl of snow.

  He looked her way. “Hey, I’m sorry I was so long.”

  “I’m glad you made it.” She stood.

  After a quick hello and thanks to Larry, who still refused to let them pay for anything, Sean led her to the truck. “I need to tell you something important about Patrick.”

  A tremor of uneasiness. “What is it?”

  “Climb in. I’ll explain on the way.”

  The money had been at the dead drop, a fact that was a bit perplexing to Alexei, considering the fact that he was evidently being set up. Now he was on the road in a new vehicle, and the duffel bag containing the cash was carefully tucked in the corner of the trunk to make room for the person he was transporting.

  He was nearly to the house when he received word from Nikolai.

  “The phone number you gave me, it was used to phone the American consulate in Moscow to report that . . .” But then Nikolai paused and seemed to rethink his decision to share the information with Alexei.

  “To report what?”

  A blank silence. “The death of your wife.”

  “What? How do you know this?”

  “We each have our methods, Alexei. But you must trust me. The number, I confirmed it with my sources.”

  Alexei let that sink in. Valkyrie reported Tatiana’s murder?

  That meant that, even if Valkyrie wasn’t the one to pull the trigger, he—or she—was somehow complicit in the crime.

  Alexei felt his anger, his thoughts, spiral in pin-tight. “Anything else?”

  “I will let you know if there is.”

  “I’ll give you an additional $250,000 if you can get me a name within twenty-four hours.” After offering to transfer half of the amount now, as a sign of good faith, it didn’t take a lot of convincing before Alexei’s contact agreed.

  Alexei ended the call. Electronically transferred the funds.

  On Wednesday Valkyrie had mentioned his Tanfoglio. Mentioned Italy. Why even bring it up? How had Valkyrie found out about it, anyway? And why leave the remaining $1,000,000 at the dead drop?

  Alexei didn’t know, but he couldn’t help but think that Valkyrie had been playing him ever since Tatiana’s murder.

  Okay, change of plans.

  Becker Hahn had told him to expect a call at 9:00 tomorrow night: “Not a minute before, not a minute after.” Alexei was aware that plans change, but 9:00 was also the time Valkyrie had told him earlier, so it appeared that he had a window of opportunity until then.

  Alexei was confident that even if Nikolai came up short, Becker, who’d been so bold as to mention Valkyrie in the meeting earlier today, would have information leading to the intelligencer’s identification or whereabouts. Eco-Tech had something planned, but even more importantly, they were still in this area and they were connected with Valkyrie.

  Alexei arrived at the cabin, gently transferred the woman from the car’s trunk to the room at the end of the hall, secured her, then pulled out his computer to review his notes about Becker Hahn and his team.

  He was going to find the
people who had set him up, and then go through them one by one until they told him who Valkyrie was.

  I awoke.

  No one else in the hospital room.

  Looking around, I found my watch on a small dresser beside the bed and checked the time.

  8:02 p.m.

  I rubbed my head.

  From the time I’d tried to save Bryan Ellory—apart from awakening briefly just after six o’clock—I’d been out more than six hours. I was off the cardiac monitor now, but still had the IV.

  I felt bleary and weak and ached all over, either from the aftermath of the hypothermia or from some type of medication they were giving me. Whichever it was, it didn’t matter, my energy was gone.

  Knowing that my face had been exposed to subzero temperature for an indeterminate period of time, I apprehensively slid my hand across my nose, felt my earlobes. They still stung from frostnip, but thankfully, all seemed fine, frostbite hadn’t ravaged my face. I checked my hands, my fingers, wiggled my toes. All good—but when I tried to move my ankle, I felt a jolt of pain.

  I thought again of the river, of what had happened.

  Ellory is dead. You let him die.

  I’d barely known the man, and yet now I felt a wash of stark sadness and loss as if we’d been friends for years. He might not have been as thorough as he could’ve been in his police reports, but he was forward-thinking enough to send the Lab the tread patterns that led to the open water on Tomahawk Lake. And he was dedicated: he’d done all he knew to do at each scene, pursued the suspect through the snowstorm, and died trying to apprehend a killer.

  No, he died when you let him drown.

  You let him go.

  Ellory was a hero, and I was the one who’d let him die.

  Another voice tried to reassure me, but it was faint and distant: No, Pat, you were the one who tried to save him.

  Any negative thoughts I’d had earlier about Ellory now vanished, and I felt armed with fresh fire and a deep sense of purpose to catch his killer. I was going to get the man who did this and I was going to bring him in or put him down.

  Needles make me queasy, but I sat up, steeled myself, and tugged out my IV, then slid the piece of tape over the needle hole to stop any seepage.

  My clothes were piled on a chair in the corner of the room. Surprisingly, all of them, even the camo coat, looked dry, and I was thankful for whoever had taken care of that little detail.

  I swung my legs out of bed, paused to catch my breath and calm my dizziness, and noticed a note beside the phone in Amber’s looping handwriting: “Good news from the X-rays. The ankle’s not broken! I’ll be right back. You’re supposed to call Margaret.—A.”

  The last I’d heard, Margaret was checking on Donnie Pickron to see why he had Sensitive Compartmented Information access.

  Since Sean still had my cell, I dialed Margaret’s number from the room phone. She picked up.

  “Margaret, it’s Pat.”

  “Jake told me about the river.”

  “I’m all right. But—”

  “Agent Bowers, do you have any idea how serious your condition was?”

  “Listen, I’m not on a secure line here. Can you have security reroute the call through our proxy server and call me back?”

  A pause. “Just a moment.”

  I hung up and only a few seconds later the phone rang and I answered. She spoke first: “I understand the suspect got away.”

  “He did.”

  “And we still have no confirmation that Donnie Pickron is dead?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did you fall into the river?”

  “I jumped in to try and save Bryan Ellory.” It felt like a stone was lodged in my throat. “But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get him to shore. He’s gone.”

  Another pause. “Yes, I heard. I’m very sorry. I’ve sent condolences to his wife Mia on behalf of you and the Bureau.”

  Just hearing his widow’s name seemed to make things worse.

  “You put your life on the line for him,” Margaret said. “I’ll recommend you for a citation of—”

  “None of that matters.” I didn’t want to talk about the river. “Did you find out anything more about Donnie? Why he was in the area?”

  A moment passed. “Yes. He used to lead an information warfare team at an old Navy communication base nearby.” Her tone shifted slightly and indicated to me that, at least for the time being, she was willing to leave behind the conversation concerning what’d happened at the river. “I’ll send you the files, everything I have on it. But the station was closed in 2004.”

  “According to the Navy.”

  “Yes.” A small pause. “According to the Navy.”

  The recently issued biometric ID card came to mind. “Tell me about the station. Where is it?”

  “In the center of the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest.”

  Hmm. Yes—the area Donnie would have passed on his snowmobile on the way to the sawmill.

  I tried to stand on my swollen, discolored ankle. Couldn’t. Dropped back onto the bed. “I’m going over there.”

  “Not tonight you’re not. We have no idea what we’re dealing with here. And you need to rest.”

  I would never admit it to her, but I really was exhausted right now and I couldn’t even imagine fighting my way through a blizzard with this ankle in the pitch black looking for a communication station that might not even exist.

  “Besides,” she said, “for all we know, this Alexei Chekov is halfway across the state by now.”

  For all we know, he hasn’t gone anywhere, I thought.

  But she was right as well, he might be gone.

  “Is there an APB on Chekov?”

  “Well, that’s the problem,” she told me. “We don’t have a photo.”

  “State patrol found the rental car he was driving and we have the plate numbers. The anonymous caller said he was using the alias Neil Kreger. Check with the rental car companies and airport security at all the airports within a day’s drive. We should be able to pull a photo of him from airport surveillance cameras, get it to law enforcement across the state.”

  “Yes. Good. I’ll get some agents on it.”

  “I assume there’s an APB on the semi?”

  “There is.”

  Maybe it was too obvious, but I felt like the next few words needed to be said: “This is a lot bigger than just the Pickron murders. I don’t think he committed them.”

  “Then who did?”

  “I don’t know. An associate. An accomplice maybe. At the river he told me he didn’t kill Ardis or Lizzie.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “I did.”

  She thought about that for a moment. “You need a couple days of rest; however, if you’re up to it, I’d like you to brief Jake, Natasha, and Sheriff Tait in the morning. I told them 9:00.” I hadn’t yet met Tait, who’d been down with the flu yesterday, but with Deputy Ellory gone it made sense that Tait would get involved even if he was still sick.

  There was no way I was going to sit around resting for a couple days. “Nine isn’t a problem.”

  “I’ll have Tait send some state troopers to check on the site of the old ELF station as soon as it’s light.” Even though the sheriff’s department was lead on this, I knew that in remote rural areas, they work closely with the state patrol, as it appeared Tait was in the position to do here.

  “ELF?”

  “Extremely Low Frequency, that’s the kind of electromagnetic waves the communication system used.”

  “All right. I’ll go with the officers.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you realize you were not breathing when they found you?”

  “That’s probably overstating things.”

  “Not to mention your ankle. I need you to take care of yourself.” She actually sounded concerned for me.

  How does she know about my ankle?

  “I’m fine, Margaret.”

  “I believe the wor
d is stubborn. If the officers find anything, we’ll get you and the rest of the team over there as soon as possible to have a look around.”

  With that, she ended the conversation.

  Stubborn?

  That wasn’t very nice.

  I put a quick call through to Lien-hua. She was in the middle of a meeting and sounded very rushed, so when she asked how I was, I simply told her that it’d been a long day, and that the weather had gotten the best of me. “I’ll fill you in later,” I said, “when we have a little more time to talk.”

  Before ending the call, she made a point of assuring me that my surprise was still coming. “You’ll find it later tonight in your room.”

  “At the Moonbeam?”

  “Yes.” A slight pause. “Pat, I have to go. It’s not that I don’t want to talk. It’s just—”

  “No problem. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay. Talk to you soon.”

  I was ready to get out of this hospital but didn’t know where Jake or our car might be so I punched in his number and caught up with him at the sheriff’s department in Woodborough. After I convinced him I didn’t need to stay here, he agreed to pick me up in fifteen minutes to take me back to the motel. The doctors and nurses might not be happy that I was leaving, but I could deal with that.

  Tessa was annoyed that Sean hadn’t called her while she was at Lindberg’s to inform her that Patrick was in the hospital. “I waited because I thought I should tell you in person,” he explained. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “You sound like your brother.”

  He was quiet and she wondered if he had taken that to somehow be an insult.

  “Seriously, though,” she said, “he’s okay?” She was uptight enough, and the pickup’s gun rack right behind her head with two guns for killing wildlife wasn’t helping her calm down any.

  “From what everyone’s telling me, yes.”

  She pulled out her cell phone, but Sean warned her, “I’m not sure we should wake him up. Before I picked you up, they told me he was sleeping.”

  She hesitated.

  Then set it down.

  Both of her parents were gone, and she couldn’t even imagine the thought of losing Patrick too. If he died, that would totally put her over the edge. No question about it.