by Robert Crais
“Nah, nah, nah. They want a thief named Eli Sturges for the scores. They’re thinking Colinski got into the fencing side. The big sixteen-year absence, the way he vanished? Here’s a guy who’s playing it smarter. He puts the scores together, and lets other people take the risks. Here’s the part where you pucker.”
“Can’t wait.”
“If the guards don’t open the armored car, Sturges blows’m open. Military stuff. He’s used RPGs to stop’m or knock’m over. He cracked a car with an IED that left a crater the size of a swimming pool. If Colinski was selling that stuff in Echo Park, who do you think he’s selling it to?”
I wasn’t sure what to think.
“I have reason to believe the explosives were intended for radical Islamist terrorists.”
Eddie laughed.
“Eli Sturges is a stickup hood from the Valley. He doesn’t have time to be a terrorist. He’s too busy taking scores.”
“Can you get me a picture?”
“I’ll get one. I’ll email it.”
I lowered the phone and stared across the canyon. I went outside, and stood ten feet above the explosives. I tried to see them through the cracks in my deck, but couldn’t. Just as well.
Amy reached out, and Charles reached back. Charles knew he could sell the explosives to Colinski, only Amy was adamant about dealing with al-Qaeda, so Charles told her what she wanted to hear. Maybe Colinski was playing along, or maybe Charles was lying to everyone, but the end result was the same. They needed Amy to believe the buyers were al-Qaeda terrorists only until they had her explosives. Then Amy Breslyn didn’t matter.
“They’re ripping you off.”
I went back inside, drank a beer, and was still thinking about it when the sun went down and a car stopped outside my house. When I went to the door, I was surprised to see Scott James.
“Aren’t you worried Carter will see you?”
“Doesn’t matter. He saw me with you at the storage. They followed me.”
Officer James looked pale and lifeless, as if he’d just checked out of a hospital.
“Did you tell him what we were doing?”
His eyes flashed with an angry life that quickly faded.
“I kept my word to you, Cole. I told him nothing.”
I looked past him to his car, and saw the front seat was empty.
“Where’s your dog?”
“They took her. I’m suspended, pending a review board.”
I let him in, and locked the door. He drifted into the living room like a man in a fog.
I said, “So what happens?”
“About what?”
“You and the dog.”
“Her name is Maggie.”
“Maggie.”
“You have a nice place up here.”
He didn’t want to talk about the dog.
I grabbed two Falstaffs from the fridge. He was still where I’d left him when I got back, staring into the great black empty beyond my deck.
“Here. Try this.”
He studied the can.
“Falstaff. Never heard of it.”
“They haven’t made it in years. Snagged a case off eBay.”
Scott held the beer, but didn’t drink.
“It was Hess. Hess pulled the surveillance. Carter wanted it, but Hess made him pull it.”
“You sure it was Hess?”
“Stiles told me.”
“Did Hess say why?”
He smiled, but he wasn’t smiling at me.
“Whatever Hess told them was a lie. She pulled the crew to hide whatever it is she’s hoping you’ll find.”
“Amy.”
He smiled again, and shook his head.
“Not Amy. This doesn’t have anything to do with Amy. If Carter tripped over Amy Breslyn right now, he wouldn’t know who she was, so who cares if the surveillance team saw you asking about Amy Breslyn? It wouldn’t have meant anything.”
I began to see where he was going, and wondered where it would lead.
“Not to Carter or Stiles or the task force.”
He considered the Falstaff again, and took a sip.
“Nope, not them. No one on the task force knows about Amy Breslyn, so there has to be someone else, right? Hess didn’t want that person to know you were looking for Amy. She wanted to keep that person in the dark, so she turned out the lights.”
Everything about what he said felt right.
“This is making sense.”
The burner chirped again. I knew who was calling even before I checked the window.
“Hess.”
He smiled even wider, but he didn’t look happy.
“Answer. I have a few questions. It’ll be fun.”
I sent her to voice mail.
“Later. Talk to me. You’re onto something.”
I sat in the chair, and Scott took a seat on the couch.
“Hess is crapping on the task force, and Carter, and the department. She’s withholding something, which means she’s hiding something. Kinda like you.”
I shrugged, and had more Falstaff as he continued.
“And if she’s hiding something, she has something to lose. We can use that. We can get my dog back.”
He suddenly stared at me.
“I’m not going to break my word to you, but later, after, I’m going to give them Hess. Maybe they’ll let me stay.”
He blinked, and blinked harder, then turned to face the black. I got up. I didn’t want him to feel embarrassed.
“I’m gonna cook some dinner. Make yourself at home.”
The burner chirped again when I was in the kitchen. I thought it was Hess, but it was Jon Stone.
He said, “Are you ready?”
“What? Is everything okay?”
“Charles is here. The sonofabitch brought flowers.”
I went back to the living room, and motioned to Scott.
“Charles. Where’s Pike?”
“Backyard. He’s set to enter the dining room if something gets weird, but it won’t. Charles is all laid-back. They’re talking.”
“She called him by name?”
“Yeah. Charles. I’ll send you a screen grab.”
Scott spoke loudly so Jon would hear.
“Are they talking about Colinski?”
“Who’s that?”
“Scott James.”
“No one’s mentioned that name. He’s prepping her for tomorrow.”
“If they leave before I get there, follow them.”
“If he leaves, but she stays, I’m staying with her.”
“Then tell Pike to follow him.”
My cell phone dinged as we talked, and Jon heard.
“That’s me. The screen grab.”
“Hang on.”
The screen grab showed Amy on one end of the couch, and a man in a blue business suit on the opposite end. The picture was so small I had to expand it to see their faces, but when I saw Charles, I smiled. We hadn’t found the missing explosives, but finding Charles was better.
“Jon? Pike doesn’t have to follow Charles.”
“He doesn’t?”
“Uh-uh.”
I showed the picture to Scott.
“Want Hess? Meet Charles.”
Scott studied the picture, and wet his lips. He reminded me of a hungry dog.
We didn’t need to follow Charles because we knew where to find him. Charles had visited my home with Carter and Stiles. His true name was Special Agent Russ Mitchell.
The pieces snapped together with audible clicks, building a perfect picture. I understood what Hess was doing, and how to help Amy. I might even be able to help Scott.
The world was suddenly simple. Janet Hess would help me, or she would arrest me.
53
RED NEON FISH slid across her SUV as Hess drove toward me. White fish and green fish, cast by headlights, traffic lights, and pulsing Hollywood Boulevard streetlights, swam over gleaming paint. Janet Hess stopped with the nose of her car so close our vehicles kissed. I wondered what she drove in her real life, and if she was married with children. I wondered whether her life would be ruined after tonight, or if she would ruin mine.
I got into her car as I had each time before, only this time I carried my laptop.
“I’m your best friend. Learn to love me.”
“Did you find them?”
Them. Not Amy.
“Here. You can see for yourself.”
I held the laptop so both of us could see.
“Kinda like we’re at a drive-in, isn’t it?”
“Is the show-and-tell necessary? What is this?”
“Watch.”
The video was cued up and ready. Amy was seated on the left side of her couch, feet flat on the floor, palms on her thighs, staring at nothing.
Hess frowned as if she wasn’t quite sure.
“Amy.”
“Yes.”
“Where is this?”
“Watch.”
“Where did you get this?”
“Watch.”
Amy sat without moving for twenty-five seconds, then looked toward the door two seconds before we heard three fast, light knocks. Amy stood, and went to the door. She momentarily disappeared on the bottom left side of the screen, then reappeared as she stepped back to open the door. I froze the image.
Hess glanced up, confused.
“What happened? Why’d you stop?”
“Charles is about to come in. I didn’t want you to see him.”
“Stop acting stupid. Show me.”
“If you see him, you’ll recognize him, Janet. He works for you.”
“What did you call me?”
I nodded at the video.
“Only this isn’t part of his job. He’s on his own time here. Like you.”
I closed the laptop, and tucked it under my leg.
“I called you Janet. As in Hess. See?”
I showed her a print of her government Web page, and the pictures Pike took on the day he followed her. I had one picture left, but I saved it.
“This would be you, on your official Homeland Security Web page. And here’s us, together in this vehicle. And here you are again, swapping this vehicle for your G-ride in Long Beach. Note the public parking lot, so you can swap cars without anyone from your office seeing you.”
I slid the prints onto the dash.
“You hired me to find Charles, not Amy. And I’m not ready to give him to you.”
A shadow cut her face in half, masking her eyes. A car swung past, and the mask was swept away by its lights. Her eyes were thoughtful and calm. She was studying me when the shadow returned.
“You would be wrong, Mr. Cole. I’m conducting a special operation.”
“No doubt. You think the director will buy it?”
“Of course. It’s the truth.”
“I’m thinking about telling him a truer truth. Namely, that seven hard cases involving explosives and high-value technology vanished here in his L.A. Field Office during the past two years. And then I’ll tell him about the unknown subject who came along, offering explosives and explosives technology to al-Qaeda, which would make this case number eight, because it went away, too. Which was when the SAC—this would be you, Janet—began to suspect an agent in her office was involved, and the SAC—you, again—decided to violate protocol, and bring in a civilian investigator—this would be me.”
Hess stared.
“How do you know this?”
“Magic.”
She glanced at the prints, and the corner of her mouth curled. A smile.
“Looks like I hired the right man.”
“One lie too many, Janet. Thomas Lerner. Really?”
“Stop playing games. Who is he, and where are they?”
“You screwed up, Janet. Making up Thomas Lerner? Did you think I was stupid?”
“What I thought was you’d find an empty house and maybe some stolen goods. I sure as hell didn’t think you’d walk into a murder and a cache of stolen munitions.”
“You knew Amy was trying to contact al-Qaeda?”
“I didn’t know Amy Breslyn’s name until two weeks ago. The real Meryl Lawrence called. Amy’s behavior had her concerned, so she wanted us in the loop. I put it together from there.”
“And realized you had a problem.”
“That’s one way of saying it, yes.”
“Al-Qaeda isn’t part of your problem. There aren’t any terrorists.”
“Of course not. Al-Qaeda! Please, the new bogeyman. The buyer’s a hijacker named Eli Sturges. ATF heard Sturges was getting his crew together, so the SAC gave me a shout. It was happening fast. Sturges has been linked to a fence named Colinski, and Colinski’s been linked to the house, so I needed an agent on the house or I’d miss my chance.”
“Me being your agent.”
“C’mon, Cole, I have a rotten agent. I didn’t have time to mount an internal investigation, and I sure as hell didn’t want him to suspect I was onto him.”
“Did Amy embezzle money?”
Hess glanced away, almost as if she were embarrassed.
“No. I wanted to put a bug in your ear about Charles.”
“Do you know what she’s selling?”
“She offered al-Qaeda her expertise, and a quantity of material. I don’t know how much.”
“Two hundred kilograms of a plastic explosive. These particular explosives are not marked by taggants.”
She rolled her eyes, and maybe looked worried.
“Do you know where it is?”
“I’ll find out tomorrow, and take it.”
“You’re not going to do anything, Cole, except tell me where these people are.”
“No, Janet, I’m going to do plenty. I’m going to drop you dead-center in your director’s lap, unless I get what I want.”
She rolled her eyes again.
“A shakedown. Please.”
I patted the laptop.
“Or maybe I won’t do anything. Maybe I’ll lose this, and leave you stuck with a rotten agent. Then you can go to work every day, and wonder which one.”
“Whoa! Whoa-whoa-whoa, Cole, this is a federal investigation. You’re in no position to threaten me.”
I leaned toward her, and didn’t smile.
“No, ma’am. It’s a Janet Hess investigation. So what’s actually going to happen is, you’re going to call the U.S. Attorney. By eight tomorrow morning, I want a written agreement granting immunity to Amy Breslyn from all charges—”
She slapped the prints on the dash. She was angry, and her voice was loud.
“These prove nothing. I discussed an investigation with you. I sought your expertise in a complex local matter, and, brother, you came through. This kind of thing is done all the time.”
“Not by a Special Agent in Charge. You might’ve been a shit-hot street agent back in the day, but now you’re management.”
“I’m the SAC. The SAC can send whoever she wants.”
“Seeing as how she sent herself, I’m betting the director doesn’t know. You’re working off the books, kind of like Meryl Lawrence. You’re off the reservation, Janet, and you’re breaking the law.”
We stared at each other for what felt like a couple of hours until she sighed.
“What do you want?”
“A written agreement granting immunity for—”
She interrupted.
“No way, Cole. The woman offered her services to foreign terrorists. I appreciate the trauma she’s suffered, but I cannot ignore what
she’s doing.”
“You don’t know what she’s doing. You have no idea.”
“She offered support and weapons to fucking lunatics. Terrorists.”
I showed her the last picture. It was the picture I snapped of Amy’s workroom with the fine leather jacket.
“That’s what she wants them to think, Janet, but that isn’t what she’s doing.”
“What is this?”
“She’s planning to wear it tomorrow when she meets the people she thinks are al-Qaeda. See the pouches in the lining? She isn’t helping them, Janet. She’s delivering a bomb. She’s going to kill them.”
Hess stared at the picture, glanced at me, and turned away.
“I hate this.”
“Full immunity by eight A.M., subject to her agreement to cooperate and testify, and present herself for a psychiatric evaluation and counseling, if so ordered by the judge. I get the notarized paper, you get the agent.”
She was still staring, but her eyes were softer.
“I don’t know if I can get it done that fast.”
“No paper, no agent. And one more thing.”
“I’m not saying I won’t. I might not get it done in time.”
“No paper, no agent. You’re going to call the chief of police. Call him tonight.”
“LAPD?”
“Yes. They suspended a K-9 officer named Scott James for helping me.”
“The cop from Echo Park?”
“You’re going to take the bullet for Officer James. You’re going to tell the chief James was working for you, and with your assurance his involvement was legal, and in the national interest. You’ll say you recruited him because he met the suspect, and you used the power of your position to convince the officer to conceal his involvement, even though you knew this to be against LAPD policy.”
“I’ll look like an asshole.”
“You’ll apologize, and you’re going to convince the chief to make this right.”
“Jesus, Cole, I get it.”
She frowned at her watch. I knew she was feeling the pressure, but I also knew she would give it a shot.
I said, “Agent Hess?”
She looked at me, and I patted the laptop.
“I got him for you. You can have him.”
“And then what? Nothing here will be admissible.”
“The truth is what we agree to.”
She stared at me, waiting, and maybe I waited, too.
