by Ty Patterson
Horstman’s skin prickled. How did the convict know of his visitors? Was he being watched?
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Funny you ask me that. I was wondering who this man was and what he meant to you.’
Horstman realized with a shock that they were alone in the yard. No other prisoners, no guards, just him and one of the most dangerous men in ADX beneath the beating sun.
He raised a hand to wipe his brow, and that was his mistake. It left his chest exposed, enough of an opening for Kobach, who hit him with a clenched fist, the knuckles of his hand jabbing deep into his solar plexus.
Horstman doubled over. He reached out to stall his attacker’s progress, but his hand was yanked and twisted so hard that a scream escaped him. It got cut off abruptly when Kobach’s knee smashed into his jaw.
‘Tell me, Ripper,’ the man crooned in his ear. ‘You know you want to.’
* * *
Cutter was driving to Brownsville when a pair of dumbbells crushed Horstman’s ribs. He was adjusting his shades and following Darrell and Manuel when a weight fell on his friend’s testicles.
He was crossing Mother Gaston, to the other side, when Horstman’s ear was torn off.
* * *
Everyone breaks. Everyone has a point at which the brain shuts down the body to preserve its resources and decides to give in.
Horstman reached his when his tenth toe was broken.
He sobbed and confessed everything about Cutter to Kobach, who listened and left the yard when he ran out of words.
Only then did the guards rush in, along with paramedics.
44
Gunner got the news when he was having dinner in his Bronx apartment. He stopped eating and focused on the voice on the phone.
He was dimly aware of faint sounds from the outside, hushed noises of traffic, but they didn’t break his concentration.
‘Ripper said that? That Grogan was Farhaan Zaidi?’
‘Yeah. He admitted to it.’
‘He would have said anything to stop the torture.’
‘There was no reason for him to say that name. I wasn’t asking him about Zaidi.’
‘Any problems with the guards?’
‘No.’
‘Where’s Ripper now?’
‘In an emergency room. You know where they are.’
‘Keep track of him. I’ll get back to you.’
Gunner pushed away his half-eaten meal and steepled his fingers.
Zaidi. The very same terrorist who had intervened and saved Ripper from the Lions. The same man who had protected the other terrorists from Gunner.
He didn’t realize he was grinding his teeth until his mouth felt sore. He stopped himself and unclenched his fists.
Zaidi. The most bitter enemy Gunner had in ADX. The man he had vowed to kill, though he had failed to get the opportunity; the terrorist had simply vanished mysteriously one day.
Zaidi and Grogan were one and the same.
But why?
‘Cray?’ he barked into his phone. ‘Can you match two people, see if they are the same? That facial recognition stuff?’
‘Yeah, if I have images for the two men.’
‘Grogan is one of them. The other is Farhaan Zaidi.’
A long pause. ‘Zaidi? Wasn’t he the terrorist who was in ADX with you?’
‘The same person.’
‘I’m not understanding, boss. The Fixer dude and this—’
‘Cray,’ Gunner snarled. ‘I don’t need you to understand. Find out if the two men are the same with that fancy software you have.’
He swore loudly and went to his computer. Searched for Grogan and watched several interview clips of him. He then searched for Zaidi. There had been some coverage of the terrorist when he had been captured. Nope. The Daesh man had a burn on his face. A thick beard. He had an accent. Only their heights were similar. But he could be in a disguise.
Another thought came to him. That heavyset man who had killed Nails’ people. Could he be Grogan?
It was possible.
Did Zaidi, or the Fixer or whoever he really was, suspect Gunner was alive? Was that why he had targeted the Lions and gone to Ripper for information?
The gang founder’s fists opened and closed repeatedly as he imagined they were around Grogan’s neck. There was unfinished business between them, which he would end his way—by killing the man, slowly, painfully, and mercilessly.
But first he had to know more.
‘Can you get to Ripper’s room?’ he asked Kobach. ADX might have been the most secure prison in America, but money talked there, too. Gunner’s people had access to phones and contraband and could get special privileges for themselves.
‘It will be difficult. More guards will have to be bribed. The medics, too.’
‘I’ll make arrangements. You’ll have no trouble with them. Is he conscious?’
‘I guess so. I didn’t kill him.’
‘Go to him. Ask him about Zaidi. Why was the man in prison?’
‘He was a terrorist. Where else would he be?’
‘Kobach,’ Gunner thundered. Why did his people talk back? ‘I don’t need you to think. Leave that to me. Ask him that question. And once he answers, do what those terrorists do.’
45
Cutter returned from his recon without finding anything of substance.
He had tried following Nails after his meeting with his men, but the gang leader had a protective ring around him and he couldn’t get close. Not without turning the street into a gunfight.
He had shadowed their vehicle but broke away when he found a second gang ride tailing Nails.
That’s to spot tails and warn Nails.
Placing a tracker on his ride wouldn’t have worked either. He had noticed how the thugs checked out their vehicle before climbing into it.
He was restless. Darrell had been with the gang, with Manuel. The teenager had headed home when the gang split up.
Cutter barely paid any attention to the news on TV, about the surge in the polls for Rubin. He paced his apartment and peered through the window. The sight of the city didn’t calm him as it usually did. He punched his pillow into shape and tried to sleep. Nope, that didn’t work either.
He got out of bed with a curse, slipped into his gym pants and headed out of his apartment for a late-night run.
He hoped some muggers would accost him; he was in that kind of dark mood.
It was when he had completed a fast ten miles that he realized what was bothering him.
A premonition.
His inner radar was pinging faintly.
Warning him of an incoming threat.
But from where and from whom?
* * *
Kobach slipped out of his cell at ten pm and went down the hallway. Sounds of snoring and mumbling. Someone crying. Another prisoner praying loudly. A voice angrily calling out for silence. Normal night sounds at ADX.
He tested the gate at the end of the corridor. It opened. No alarm went off, no guards came racing to put him down.
He went through more hallways and crossed a large reception area. Shook his head in admiration at Gunner’s clout. Guards didn’t look up from their screens when he passed. It looked like the security cameras had been turned off temporarily.
He entered the emergency medical section. No nurses or doctors. Bright fluorescent lights. Doors to various care rooms.
He entered the last one.
Ripper, on his bed, plugged into various pieces of equipment, with tubes running out of his hands and nose.
He went to his victim, who was breathing stertorously, and slapped him lightly on his cheek.
‘Hey, Horstman? You awake?’
It wasn’t tender, loving care, but Kobach wouldn’t know what that was if it bit him in the butt.
‘Ripper?’ he growled, louder. Sure, he had free passage, but the guards couldn’t turn a blind eye forever.
The prisoner’s eyes flickered. He jerked and moaned when h
e recognized his attacker.
‘No, no,’ Kobach protested. ‘No more beating, I promise. I need to know just this. Why was Zaidi in prison?’
He grabbed Ripper’s chin and stopped him from looking away.
‘Don’t make me angry,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t make me start again.’
He wrinkled his nose when the prisoner soiled himself.
‘You’re scared. That’s good. Now, tell me what I asked. Be good.’
He coaxed and threatened and squeezed on the man’s injuries until Jake Horstman gave up his last remaining secret.
And then Kobach removed the hacksaw blade from his sleeve and got to work, and when he had finished, he whistled as he returned to his cell. Several hours later he was beaten by the guards and sent to solitary, but by then it was too late.
He had what Gunner had wanted.
He had relayed the information.
And what could the authorities do?
Send him to death row?
He had no fear of that.
46
‘Grogan!’
Cutter spun around, reaching for his gym bag, the previous night’s unease still strong in him, until he recognized the voice and the two figures in the car park.
‘Of all the places to meet, this is where …’ he trailed off when he read them. Difiore and Quindica, normally impassive, but something in the way they held themselves.
‘Something’s up? Darr—’
He cut himself off before he could complete the name. They didn’t know of the boy. There was no need for his name to be mentioned.
‘He doesn’t know,’ the detective said.
‘Nope,’ Quindica agreed. ‘Inside.’ She jerked a thumb in the building’s direction.
‘Hey,’ he protested, ‘you want my coffee, just ask!’
That didn’t get a rise.
He ushered them inside and gestured at himself. ‘Whatever you want to tell me can wait until I shower. You know where the kitchen is.’
A freshly brewed cup was waiting for him when he joined them in the living room. He nodded in thanks, took an appreciative sip when Difiore reached for the TV’s remote and turned it on.
He was about to make a crack about her being at home in his apartment when the words died on his lips.
BRUTAL KILLING IN ADX FLORENCE.
PRISONER BEHEADED.
The banners cycled on repeat as the host broke the story of Jake Horstman’s gruesome death. Someone exclaimed and moved. Quindica. Her words didn’t register. She came to him and wiped his wrist with a towel, cleaning up the hot coffee he had spilled, the burn that he wasn’t conscious of.
Horstman was dead. Killed in prison.
Little else registered.
The drink tasted like ash when he sipped it unconsciously. He put it down and moved away from the cops. Crossed his arms across his chest and watched the report over and over again until Difiore switched off the TV.
‘We thought you would know.’
He didn’t respond.
Now he knew what that premonition had been about. He welcomed the coldness, the distant feeling that swept over him.
‘I didn’t. I rarely watch the news.’ He was conscious of the sharp glance she threw.
He was grateful for their silence. That they didn’t offer meaningless platitudes. His friend wouldn’t come back. His death wouldn’t be lessened by any words.
‘The reports are of a prison fight,’ Quindica briefed him impassively. ‘Horstman was in emergency care after being brutally beaten.’ She described what had been done to his friend. Waited for his reaction and, when he didn’t respond, continued. ‘He survived that attack. A prisoner got to him at night and did that.’
‘Kobach.’ Difiore added. ‘That’s his name. The perp. His name’s not yet released, but it will come out. He’ll face charges—’
‘I know him. It won’t matter to him.’
‘You know why?’
‘Sheller. It’s his doing.’
‘That’s a leap. We spoke to the warden and the various authorities. Kobach is suspected of killing other prisoners. He and your friend had several run-ins.’
‘He’s behind it. He’s sending me a message.’
‘How do you figure that?’ Quindica frowned.
He didn’t elaborate.
Difiore sucked her breath sharply. ‘Zaidi!’
‘Yes,’ he smiled bitterly. ‘Sheller found out I had met Jake. He wanted to know who I was. He sent his enforcer to ask questions.’
‘The beheading.’ The detective paled. ‘He knows you were impersonating a terrorist. He might come after you. I’ll arrange protection. Patrol cars—’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ he cut her off savagely.
‘Grogan,’ she replied heatedly. ‘This isn’t Syria. It isn’t the Wild West. You’ll take our protection.’
‘I don’t need it.’
‘You want him to come after you,’ Quindica guessed.
‘You,’ Difiore jabbed his chest with her forefinger, ‘will not do anything that will risk our investigation. I don’t care how personal this is for you. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’ she bellowed.
He couldn’t help smiling despite the circumstances. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
She was right. Their investigation couldn’t be jeopardized. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t help them.
47
‘We need to meet,’ Gunner called Mease.
‘Come to the parking lot.’
‘No. Our friend needs to be there, too.’
‘That will be harder to arrange.’
‘Make it happen.’
‘It’s that important?’
‘Yeah.’
* * *
They met in a private club in the Bronx that was owned by a Lion.
Rubin was in the neighborhood to make a speech, and after he glad-handed supporters, his team drove Mease and him to the establishment.
He met more fans there, smiled for the cameras, thanked people for their support and signed ballcaps and shirts.
He went to the bathroom with Mease while his bodyguards waited outside.
‘This had better be important,’ he told Gunner when the Lions’ leader came out of a stall.
‘It is. You heard about the killing in ADX?’
‘Yeah.’ Mease looked at him curiously. ‘You knew the victim?’
‘I tried to kill him. He was saved by another prisoner.’
‘Where’s this going?’ Rubin glanced at his watch impatiently. ‘What’s a prison fight got to do with us?’
‘You’ll find out if you listen.’
The candidate flushed at the menace in Gunner’s tone. He was no stranger to violence, and the gangster didn’t scare him.
He’s an ally, he reminded himself, nodding imperceptibly at Mease’s warning glance.
‘The floor’s yours,’ he smiled winningly.
‘Ripper, the dead man, said something interesting. There was a prisoner in ADX, Farhaan Zaidi, a terrorist, who he was close to.’
‘Huh?’ Rubin gestured, puzzled. ‘A terrorist and a criminal were friends?’
‘Unusual,’ Gunner agreed, ‘but it happened. Anyhow, it turns out Zaidi wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t a terrorist.’
‘Who was he, then?’
‘He was a plant. An undercover agent.’
‘A cop?’
‘No. Military. Some kind of covert operative.’
‘Why?’
‘He was in ADX to get inside intel from the other terrorists there.’
‘Got it. Undercover operations happen,’ Mease said. ‘What’s special about this?’
‘You’ve heard of Tayyib Mansoor?’
‘Who hasn’t?’ the strategist grunted. ‘There was a lot of publicity when he was captured.’
‘Mansoor was at ADX too.’
‘Was?’
Gunner grinned.
‘Yeah. This undercover dude, posing as a terrorist, killed him.’
His sm
ile widened at their stunned expressions.
‘This was a hit sanctioned by our government?’
‘Looks like it. And there’s more.’
He paused dramatically.
‘That man, the military operative, is in New York,’ he said triumphantly. ‘He’s some kind of celebrity himself. He calls himself a Fixer. Someone who gets things done. He was on TV recently. His name is Cutter Grogan.’
48
‘We can use this.’ Rubin stroked his chin thoughtfully as Gunner answered Mease and his rapid-fire questions. ‘This must have been a Defense Intelligence Agency mission, or some other covert agency. Sanctioned at the very top. Sec Def would have signed off on it. President Morgan might have been involved too.’
‘Nope, we can’t use it. Not right away.’ Mease waved in the air.
‘What?’ Gunner stared at the strategist. ‘Why not? Everyone believes Mansoor is still alive. Imagine the headlines, the demands on the politicians to explain this. There will be a public Senate hearing, at the very least.’
‘It will hurt President Morgan,’ Rubin agreed, ‘and the Veep too. We can drag him into the controversy. However, we are doing well at the moment. This is our secret weapon. We reveal it at the right moment, which isn’t now.’
He clapped Gunner on the shoulder and smiled genuinely at him. ‘Great work.’ They had come a long way from that first meeting in Florida. There was mutual trust and respect.
‘Who else knows about this?’
‘My computer specialist,’ Gunner answered Mease. ‘Just him and me.’
‘Cray?’
‘Yeah. He can be trusted.’
‘Everything good on the street?’
‘What is it?’ Rubin asked sharply when the Lions’ man hesitated.
‘Grogan. He might suspect I’m alive.’
‘What do you mean? How?’
Gunner told them about the bodega holdups and Nails’ gang.
‘That shooter could have been anyone,’ Rubin objected. ‘You have nothing to link him to Grogan.’
‘Yeah. But Mease checked with NYPD and the DEA. They haven’t deployed anyone undercover.’
