by Diane Capri
Flatly, Lawton said, “So Gavin Ray came to your room for a late night chat. An hour later, you were marched over here at gunpoint and tossed down the stairs.”
Mason’s heart stopped. His breath stopped, too.
Lawton nodded. “Still think this whole thing isn’t about you?”
He knew what Lawton was saying. Gavin Ray had betrayed him. He accepted the truth, but he couldn’t speak at all.
Mason shook his head miserably as he struggled to fill his lungs.
Lawton’s tone was hard-edged now. “Start by explaining exactly what Glen Haven is. Are you a crazy militia? Survivalist nuts? What?”
Mason gasped. “No. Not survivalists. Certainly not militia. Not nuts, either. We’re preppers.”
“Yeah? And in your mind, what’s the difference?”
“We’re not here to hurt anybody. We stockpile the basics like water and food. We’ve got generators. Some gasoline. Propane. Stuff like that.” Mason shrugged. “In case of a disaster, you know? To get us through it until it’s over. We’re prepared. That’s all.”
“Prepared? You mean like for a hurricane or an earthquake? Or do you take it further?” Lawton asked. “Tell me you have weapons stored that we can use to get the hell out of here.”
Mason shook his head. “We have weapons. Locked up. In the main house. Just for emergencies. Nothing out here, except what they’ve got with them upstairs.”
“Which means they’re armed and we’re not. How well prepared is that?” Lawton said.
Mason perked up, as if he’d just remembered something important.
“What?” Lawton asked.
“I’m supposed to work the ground crew for a ride at dusk.”
“What kind of ride?” Lawton asked.
“We offer hot air balloon rides to tourists.”
“What?”
“You know, for extra cash. Best times to fly are dawn and dusk. My girlfriend, Cheryl, is one of our pilots. We’ve got rides scheduled today.”
Lawton stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “And that’s a good thing?”
“Yes. Because Cheryl will come looking for me.” Mason paused, worried again now. “You don’t think they’ll hurt her, do you?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thursday, April 14
8:30 a.m.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Kim exhaled when Finlay’s jet successfully touched down at the private airport. Air travel was a necessity she grudgingly accepted only because she had no choice. Luxury travel was better than the usual disasters of commercial flight, but she preferred to have her feet firmly planted on the ground.
She had used the flight time wisely. Finlay’s dossiers on the people involved with Lawton’s disappearance were thorough and as complete as possible. The files on O’Hare and the Ray brothers were thin, but plausible. All three men had been living off the grid for a long time. It made sense that there would be little data accumulated in the public records.
She’d sent the names to Gaspar. He’d dig deeper and get back to her when he had a chance. Finlay probably had the same kind of access to intel that Gaspar had, but she trusted Gaspar more. Simple as that.
She’d brought nothing with her except the contents of her pockets, which now included the folding toothbrush she’d picked up in Finlay’s jet. She normally traveled with a suitcase, a laptop, a partner, and constant surveillance from the Boss. She felt strangely unencumbered and unprotected at the same time.
When the jet taxied to a stop, she stood to stretch and buttoned her jacket. Agent Russell came forward into the main cabin from the rear of the plane. He opened the bulkhead door and waited for the stairs to be rolled up.
Russell looked outside, waved, nodded, turned back to her and said, “Your ride is here.”
Kim glanced toward Finlay, “You’re not coming along?”
He shook his head. “You’re meeting Agent Ross. He got word through channels to pick you up. It’s better if I’m not in the mix as far as he’s concerned.”
She raised her eyebrows, the queasy feeling returning to her gut. “And why is that?”
“Because right now this whole Lawton missing thing hasn’t even happened as far as FBI and Treasury are officially concerned. But if I get visibly involved, things will get escalated. Ross will run it up the chain of command. Cooper will definitely hear about it,” Finlay paused. “None of that will be helpful to you or me, or to Lawton.”
She considered his point. Not that she agreed with his reasoning. But the truth was that she wasn’t all that comfortable having him around. She’d have more room to improvise if he wasn’t standing next to her every second. She nodded.
“What about Reacher?” she asked. “You send him out here, too?”
Finlay grinned. “You’ve learned nothing about Reacher if you think anybody can send him anywhere for any reason. He does what he wants. You’d be smart to keep that in mind.”
Kim didn’t comprehend the nature of the bromance between Finlay and Reacher. But for some reason, Finlay had kept track of Reacher all these years. She’d assumed Finlay operated on self-preservation instincts, like most bureaucrats. Which meant on some level that Finlay viewed Reacher as an uneasy ally.
She cocked her head and looked him in the eye. “What did you say to make Reacher want to help these guys?”
“When you see Reacher, you have my number,” Finlay said dismissing her question and terminating the conversation.
She made her way to the jet stairs and descended onto the pavement.
She saw the familiar FBI standard black SUV parked on the tarmac and walked over. Ross was behind the wheel. She recognized him from his headshots. She pulled the door open and slipped inside.
“Peter Ross,” he said, extending his hand.
“Kim Otto,” she replied, offering a firm shake.
“Where’s your bags?”
“I’m traveling light at the moment.”
He gave her a quizzical glance as he slid the transmission into drive and rolled away from the jet. “That makes things easy. You’ve read the file?”
“Such as it is.”
“Right. Well, I’m not sure what we’re dealing with here, exactly. Lawton called me at home a few days ago. Said he was in town to meet with a witness. The two of them had lunch. After that, Lawton’s gone. No clue where he went. Haven’t heard from him again.”
“Isn’t that a bit odd?”
Ross shrugged. “Not really. Agents get called to new assignments all the time. I figured he’d left town on other business.”
“But you didn’t check to be sure?”
He glanced sideways and frowned. “Why would I?”
Kim nodded, but she didn’t buy into his methods. “Did he tell you the witness’s name?”
“No.”
She nodded again. After months of dealing with the Boss and Finlay and their secrets, if Ross didn’t know the name, she wouldn’t volunteer it. She said, “Apparently he lives in some nutty commune full of preppers on the outskirts of town. Glen Haven. You know it?”
“Yeah. I know it.” Ross raised his eyebrows and turned toward downtown Albuquerque. “Maybe that’s why Lawton called me. To get intel on Glen Haven. I’ve been working on an organized crime investigation. That place has recently popped up on our radar.”
She cocked her head. “What kind of crime?”
“The whole menu. Guns, drugs, money laundering, sex trafficking. Maybe more,” Ross said as he slowed for a red light. “You know who Pinto Vigo is?”
“Is there a federal agent who doesn’t?”
“Right.” He nodded. “The Vigo cartel has been active in Albuquerque for a while, but his control had always been long distance. We’ve had a little bit of success picking off a few low level crimes he’s been running, but nothing major. Selling pills to junkies, pimping out a couple of prostitutes. Things like that. You know how it is.”
“I do,” she said. The constant churn of personnel by the dru
g cartels was a fact of life. No one had been able to stop the flow of willing recruits on the supply side. Just as no one seemed to stem the tide of users on the demand side. Drug cartels seemed to have found the perfect business model.
Ross took a deep breath, as if he was about to reveal a secret. “Lately, we’ve had unconfirmed reports of Pinto Vigo sightings inside our jurisdiction. We’ve rousted all the usual suspects and nobody’s talking.”
“Of course.” Kim nodded slowly. “Vigo’s famously hot-headed. Not many people point fingers at Pinto Vigo and live to tell about it.”
“Exactly. Anyway, I’ve been working the tips for six weeks or so. Based on what we’ve found, we believe he’s probably operating here in person now. If he is, then something bigger than what we’ve found so far is probably in the works. But we can’t prove any of it. Not yet,” Ross said, as the light turned green. He rolled through the intersection to make a left turn.
“Something’s changed?” Kim asked. This area of Albuquerque seemed almost deserted at the moment. It was early. Businesses were still closed. She guessed activity would pick up as the day advanced.
He nodded. “A few days ago, a woman walks into my office and tells me about some dudes leasing a couple of Glen Haven commune’s outbuildings. From her description, we think one of the guys could be Vigo himself. He’s got the kind of face not even a mother could love, you know?”
Kim arched her eyebrows. “That would be quite a takedown for the good guys. Pinto Vigo’s been on the FBI’s most wanted list since before his old man was murdered. He’s only become more violent, like all the cartels since they began active hostilities against each other. His organization has grown fast. Every agency out there has a BOLO out on him.”
Ross pulled into the parking lot of a place called the Last Chance Saloon and slipped the transmission into park. “We need to tread carefully here. We don’t want to pull the trigger too soon and give him a chance to bolt. We need him to feel nice and comfy and secure until we’ve got enough evidence to make the charges stick.”
“Isn’t that why Lawton is here?”
“I hope not. We don’t want Vigo for tax evasion. We want to get him for bigger crimes. Make him pay and send a message to the other cartels.” He paused. “We’re fighting a war here, Otto. We’ve got to be strategic about this. You know that as well as I do.”
“How about we get him for kidnapping a federal agent? Make that one stick and he’s going away for the rest of his miserable life,” Kim said, even as the idea of using Lawton for bait rankled all the way to her soul.
“Yeah, well, maybe we can do that. One thing at a time,” Ross replied, running a hand through his hair.
She neither agreed nor disagreed with him. Instead, she nodded toward the Last Chance Saloon. “What do you hope to find here?”
“This is the place Lawton was meeting his witness. We’ve looked at the CCTV. He and another guy left here together and since then we can’t locate him. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”
“Who was the other guy?”
Ross replied, “Most likely the witness Lawton came here to interview. But we don’t know for sure. We’ve reached out to Treasury for the name, but they’re being cagey about it so far. They say they’re not allowed to reveal the name, even to us, without approval from higher up the food chain. We’re working on that.”
Otto shrugged. Sounded like the usual bureaucratic bullshit to her. Turf protecting. Vigo was a big fish. The team that took him off the player board would get the kind of applause that makes an agency’s year. Nobody wanted a misstep that might lead to failure. Nor did they want to share the glory.
Kim’s motivations were different. She ran on her standard triple A’s. Ambition, adrenaline, and anxiety. Taking down a cartel leader like Vigo wouldn’t hurt her career, for sure. But it would publicize the fact that she was here. Which she couldn’t justify. Not even a little bit. She needed to stay focused.
Ross continued talking. “We can’t identify Lawton’s witness from this footage. We did some digging. Found out this place is one of Vigo’s hangouts. Rumor is that Vigo’s crew has been conducting business in the back room of the saloon.”
“Makes sense. Businesses like this are good for money laundering activities. Lotta people, mostly tourists, lotta cash and credit cards changing hands,” Kim nodded approvingly. “Not enough evidence to get a search warrant?”
“Maybe. From a friendly judge. But that would tip our hand, too. Our intel says it’s likely Vigo has people on his payroll in the courthouse. So we don’t want to do it just yet,” he said, giving her a side eye to be sure she was keeping up.
She nodded. “I get it. The saloon is a public place, which means we don’t need a warrant to go inside and look around.”
“Right. Now that we know where Lawton disappeared from, we can ask a few questions about him, take a look around, maybe find out where he is. Could be it has nothing to do with Vigo.”
“How likely is that?” She asked.
“Not very.”
Kim said nothing. Investigating organized crime was her job in Detroit. Her experience was that cartel members were vicious, not chatty. When they were threatened, they behaved like cornered predators. They were a thousand times more likely to strike first and justify later.
“Yeah, well, we’ll know more than we know now. Just assume that everyone in here is on Vigo’s payroll or worried what he’ll do to them if they talk to us.” Ross stepped out of the Escalade and closed the door.
Kim did the same, buttoning her jacket against the chill wind. “That’s a solid plan. What exactly are you worried about?”
“Same thing you’re worried about,” Ross said. “Luring Lawton out here could have been a set up. His witness might be involved with Vigo. Gang members might be inside.”
“Sounds like we need backup.”
“They’re standing by. It’s just a guess right now. When Pinto Vigo’s old man was running the cartel, he killed a federal agent,” Ross replied. “That’s what got him sent to prison. Where he was murdered by a rival gang, as you probably know.”
Kim raised her eyebrows. “Lawton didn’t have anything to do with that, did he?”
Ross shrugged. “Not that I know of. Lawton is a Treasury agent. IRS. Different agency than the one responsible for sending Vigo senior to prison. But close enough.”
She knew what he meant. Pinto Vigo wouldn’t be the first guy to hold a grudge against the government and lash out sideways.
The familiar shudder traveled along Kim’s spinal column and radiated out to all four limbs. Finlay hadn’t said, flat out, that Lawton had been kidnapped by the Vigo cartel. He must have known, though. Which was the kind of thing that would drive Gaspar nuts.
He must also believe Bruce and Gavin Ray and even Mason O’Hare were in over their heads. Pinto Vigo would kill them without a moment’s hesitation if it suited him. Perhaps he already had.
Would Reacher care enough about an old debt to Gavin Ray to attempt a rescue of the man’s sons? Kim never figured Reacher was the sentimental type. He lived in the moment. Did what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it.
But for some reason, Finlay thought Reacher would care what happened to these two guys, and Finlay knew Reacher way better than Kim did. If Finlay was right, Kim didn’t know all of the facts. Simple as that.
Ross said, “You’re armed?”
“Yeah.” She patted her gun for reassurance and hustled along toward the entrance.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thursday, April 14
10:30 a.m.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Kim followed behind Ross along the sidewalk to the entrance of the saloon. While the temperature was warmer than Detroit, a morning chill was in the air. She buttoned her jacket and picked up her pace against the wind.
The saloon’s hours were posted on a sign next to the door. Lunch service began on Thursdays at 11:30 a.m. They were early. Ross tried the door anyway.
It was unlocked and they went inside.
The exterior door opened into a small entryway. They walked through a second set of double doors into the main body of the saloon, which looked more like a modern Spanish-style restaurant than an Old West movie set.
The walls and the floor were wood paneled. There was a long bar off to one side, the usual display of liquor bottles and beer paraphernalia behind it. The main dining room was an open floor plan filled with heavy wood tables and red vinyl padded chairs. A big stone fireplace filled ten feet of space along one end of the room. Feeble illumination was provided by covered wall sconces, casting an old-fashioned soft glow.
The host’s station was unmanned while employees were busy preparing for the lunch service. Kim counted three staff members setting tables with flatware and drinking glasses in the main dining room. A man and two women were bent to their tasks. All three were dressed in black trousers, a white shirt with a bolo tie, and black patent leather shoes.
Additional staff were working in the kitchen, as evidenced by banging cookware and shouted banter behind the swinging doors. Staff members were coming in and out through the doors. Kim noticed two petite women and a lanky young man setting up the buffet in the far corner.
One of the three table setters in the front dining room looked up and caught Kim’s eye. He stifled annoyance, slapped a smile on his face, and headed toward them.
When he was close enough to converse at reasonable volume, he said, “I’m sorry. We don’t open for another hour.”
“We’re with the FBI, Martin,” Ross said, reading the name tag on the man’s shirt and offering his badge wallet briefly. “We’re looking for one of our agents. He was here for lunch a few days ago.”
He pulled a photo of Lawton from his jacket pocket and showed it. “Have you seen this man?”
Martin accepted the photo and seemed to study it briefly before he returned it, shaking his head. “We serve more than three hundred people a day. I see a lot of businessmen. Tourists, too.”
