Right to Kill

by Andrew Peterson

  Each of the kids’ phones had a different protective case so he told her which passcode went with each phone.

  “Got it,” she said.

  “I haven’t thanked you for helping us, Rebecca. We’re grateful for the support.”

  “Even though we don’t have the twins in custody, we’ve got some valuable intel. Ashton’s phone may lead us to them.”

  Nathan wouldn’t mention the body count getting to this point. She knew how he felt about it.

  “By the way,” she continued, “about those kids in the alley?”

  Nathan didn’t know what her reaction would be. Would she reprimand him, or compliment him?

  “Admirable, Mr. McBride. Quite admirable. Who knows? Maybe one of those kids will go on to become president. I might also win the lottery, but you can’t win if you don’t play.”

  “I’m glad you approve. Seriously, though, thanks again for the support. It certainly made the operation a whole lot easier.”

  “From what Delta reported, your operation was anything but easy. Keep your head down. We’ll talk again soon.”

  Harvey and LG were still on foot, but he knew returning to Matthew’s Heating and Air Conditioning kept growing less and less likely. From the sound of things, every cop in LA was converging. He also heard the blat-like horn of a fire engine. Firefighters were often the first to arrive at emergencies.

  Delta Lead’s voice broke in. “Kilo Two, turn on your cell, initiate contact with Kilo One. Rendezvous with him at the westbound I-10 on-ramp at Twentieth Street. Power off your radios. We’ll bring your vehicle to you. We know where the keys are.”

  “Copy, Delta Lead. Thanks for your help tonight.”

  His radio clicked in response. He wished he could thank them in person, but knew it would never happen. He and LG turned off their radios.

  “You did well back there,” Harvey said.

  “Hey, the plumbing may be old, but it still flows.”

  He half-laughed. They needed the stress relief.

  The 20th Street on-ramp seemed a smart place to meet. There’d presumably be an overpass nearby to help elude overhead surveillance. He kept looking behind for a tail, but no one followed them.

  “At least McBride’s okay,” LG said. “I had a bad visual when I heard the gunfire.”

  “You and me both.”

  “Does he ever talk about Nicaragua?”

  “Not really. He’s put it behind him. Why do you ask?”

  “I saw him come out of a nightmare. How can he put what happened behind him with dreams like that?”

  “You have to understand who he is. He’s forgiven Montez.”

  “No way.”

  “That surprises you?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Forgiving Montez is for Nathan’s benefit.”

  “I’d never be able to do it.”

  “In a nutshell, Nathan feels gratitude, not entitlement.”

  “Gratitude? For being nearly tortured to death?”

  “For surviving it. No amount of money or reparation could ever make Nate whole after what he went through. Not then, not now. Forgiveness doesn’t require reparation. No one owes him anything.”

  “He really feels that way?”

  “Absolutely. We both do. Nate is one of the most generous people I know. He’s given millions over the years to church missions and military charities.”

  “How rich is he, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “We share our wealth. We’re equal partners in our security business and financial investments. He doesn’t really care about money. I handle all of it.”

  “I think what you guys share is beyond special and that level of trust is rare, but you dodged my question.”

  “Let’s just say it’s in the mid-eight-digit range.”

  She whistled softly. “And he doesn’t care about money? What about his house in La Jolla?”

  “It’s more of an investment than anything else. He prefers to live in his Clairemont home. It’s tiny in comparison. I bought the lot on Mount Soledad for him right after we retired.”

  “I understand why McBride got out, but why did you? You could’ve stayed in.”

  “Nate was in bad shape, physically and mentally.”

  “You gave up your career to help him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “He once told me he would’ve killed himself had I not been there.”

  “I envy you guys, being that close. How long has he been with Holly?”

  “A few years now.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “A lot like you, actually. Except for the hair.”

  “Hey, what’s wrong with my hair?”

  “Nothing. I have to admit, it’s an alluring look.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Glen liked it . . . I still can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “You got kicked in the teeth, but you did well tonight.”

  “I think I’m more angry than sad.”

  “It’s normal to be angry; don’t worry about it too much. If you’re still angry a few months from now, start worrying.”

  “Is it iniquitous to want Ursula dead for murdering Glen?”

  “Iniquitous? No. She’s a wicked person and the world won’t miss her.”

  “In the dealership, I felt . . . I guess I don’t know what I felt.”

  “It’s okay, LG. Your emotions are in turmoil. We’ve both been in the company shrink’s office. Work through it. Don’t force your feelings; they have to play out over time.”

  “Do you feel bad about killing the man at the poker table?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though he would’ve killed us, given the chance?”

  “Again, yes. At the moment of truth, when it’s kill or be killed, there isn’t time to debate ethics.”

  They walked in silence for a spell.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m just really conflicted right now.”

  “Welcome to our world. Nate and I fight a constant battle of good versus evil. And not just externally.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I got that impression.”

  One of the confiscated phones in Nathan’s waist pack came to life with a single ding. He found the phone with the lit screen and was glad to see it was Ashton’s.

  The small bubble notification said it was from Tomas Bustamonte.

  In Spanish it read:

  what the fuck is going on down there?

  He was tempted to respond but knew he should call Cantrell first. He couldn’t take too long, though. Tomas would expect an answer within sixty seconds or so.

  Nathan dictated a text to Cantrell using his encrypted phone:

  Call me ASAP Thomas just texted ash tons phone.

  He didn’t bother correcting the misspellings and tapped Send.

  The image of a cell-phone addict invaded his thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to have his head bowed in phone prayer, though it made for natural enough cover, he supposed. He glanced up and looked around, clearing his immediate area. He was almost to a point where he’d need to turn east toward 20th. If he kept going straight, he’d run into the freeway’s fence. He couldn’t see the source, but a wailing cruiser approached from the right and it was definitely on the freeway.

  Since an on-ramp existed at 20th, there might be an off-ramp too. In which case that cop is going to come screaming down the street. Sure enough, the source of the siren slowed its lateral movement, then began to grow in volume.

  He stayed in the alley and peered around the corner of a building. No more than a hundred feet away, a CHP cruiser howled across the intersection and disappeared from sight. Like a passing train’s, its high-pitched shriek changed tone as it headed north. Once it reached the lowrider, the state trooper would have to secure the scene and wouldn’t be able to leave until backup arrived.

  His phone vibrated with Cantrell’s call.

  No more than twenty s
econds had gone by since Ashton’s phone had received the text.

  “I just got a text from Tomas.”

  “What’s it say?”

  He read it to her. “We’ll figure out how to answer it, but a state trooper just sped past my position and he’ll arrive at some bodies in a few seconds. Tell Delta they’ll need to approach Ashton’s location from the north and avoid the Expo crossing at Twentieth Street.”

  “I’ve got them on hold. Be right back.”

  Again, his phone went silent.

  When she came back on, he read aloud the last five texts between Ashton and Tomas—a series of boring messages until tonight, when Tomas had warned Ashton to flee the dealership immediately—through the roof exit, if possible.

  “Send this: ‘the place is trashed I’m on foot and I can’t get back to my car, what do you want me to do?’”

  One of the things he liked about Cantrell? The woman’s decisiveness. There was no hesitation or delay in her response.

  “Okay, hang on, I’m going to use the dictation feature.” He touched the little microphone icon, heard the tone, and dictated the message in Spanish. “I guess we’re going to experience a moment of truth here. We should be thankful he didn’t call.”

  “If he doesn’t like our response, he might very well do that.”

  Ashton’s phone chimed. “Here we go. It says: ‘get your ass up to ACH I don’t care if you have to take a two hour cab ride.’”

  “Send this as a response,” she said. “‘Be there as soon as I can cops are everywhere.’”

  Nathan dictated the text and sent it.

  “Does ACH mean anything to you?” Cantrell asked.

  “No, I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. It could be anything. The name of a business or restaurant, or someone’s house. Anything.”

  Another chime sounded off and he translated the message for her.

  We leave today. I’m suspending operations. There’ve been attacks on corn hole’s properties all over the place. We’ll be home by midnight.

  “Pure gold,” she said. “Send this: ‘on my way.’”

  “Doing it now.” He typed the short message.

  “We’ll get to work with the info on our end. Put me on hold, and conference Harvey into the call. His end won’t be secure, so no names.”

  He dialed Harv’s number, realizing his friend would see unknown or blocked.

  Come on, Harv! Answer. Put two and two together.

  Nathan heard a click, then sirens blaring in the background, but no one spoke. “It’s me,” he said.

  “It’s damned good to hear your voice,” Harv said.

  “Likewise. Hang on, I’m on hold with our friend on the Potomac. Your end of this call isn’t secure, so let’s avoid using her name. I’m going to conference you in.”

  Nathan merged the calls and asked if Harv was still there.

  He was.

  Without using names, Cantrell filled Harvey in on Nathan’s gunning down of Ashton Bustamonte and the texts that Nathan had exchanged—as “Ashton”—with Tomas.

  “You’ve lived your whole life in Southern California,” Nathan said to Harv. “What do the initials ACH mean to you?”

  “The only thing I can think of that makes any sense is the Angeles Crest Highway. When we were kids, we would go up there for skiing trips and we always called it ACH.”

  “Where’s the Angeles Crest Highway?” Cantrell asked.

  “It winds its way up to the San Gabriel Mountains just north of the Los Angeles basin. Once it leaves the valley, there’s not a lot of development along the route. I’m remembering some restaurants and roadside businesses, but nothing major. The time frame is right. From this area, it’s probably two hours, plus or minus.”

  “That’s good enough,” she said. “Echo Four, disconnect and call Echo Five back in two minutes.”

  There was no sound as Harv left the call.

  “Okay, Nathan, we’re on this. We’ll see if we can find something up there in Cornejo’s real-estate portfolio. What do you guys have with you, armament-wise?”

  “We’ve got my Remington 700 sniper rifle, along with an M1A and M4, both equipped with powered scopes. I brought three .40 caliber Sigs, but they’re not suppressed. We also brought our ghillie suits. We didn’t know where or if we’d need them, so we brought both desert and woodland colors.”

  “Once Harvey and Genneken get there, jump onto the freeway and stage a few miles away. We’re giving the next phase of your operation high priority. I’ll get back to you quickly.”

  “We’re here for you, Rebecca.” Nathan tried to put a positive tone in his voice, but so many people had died tonight already and, from the sound of things, the count would only increase.

  “Use the downtime to question Genneken again. I want to know why Cornejo ordered the assault on her. He obviously thinks she’s got something on him. Find out what it is.”

  “We’ll try again, but she’s already told us she doesn’t know anything.”

  “Keep after it.”

  The call went dark.

  Nathan sprinted across a street with a landscaping strip and realized it was Olympic. He could hear the freeway directly ahead.

  Right on cue, his phone vibrated.

  “I’ve got you on speaker,” Harv said.

  “We’re on an open cell line, so let’s not use our Potomac friend’s name. I’m not worried about our names, but let’s avoid using hers. When was the last time you were up the Angeles Crest Highway?” he asked.

  “It’s been years.”

  “LG?”

  “I’ve never been up there.”

  “Good place for the twins to hide out?” Nathan asked.

  “Sure, I suppose,” Harv said. “I’d feel a whole lot better if we could review some satellite images before we go charging into another . . . situation.”

  “Me too. Good thing we took the mountain-warfare training course at Pickel Meadows. There could be snow up there. Probably is.”

  “Need I remind you of how long ago that was?”

  “I think pterodactyls were flying.”

  “We don’t have cold-weather gear and all the stores are closed. Too bad we can’t stop at a sporting-goods place or a ski shop and pick up some white outfits.”

  Maybe we can, Nathan thought. “What’s your ETA to the on-ramp?”

  “We’re in an alley heading your way. Without running, I’m guessing five or six minutes, assuming we don’t have to evade any police cruisers.”

  “Well, somebody did shoot at me with fully automatic Kalashnikovs in the heart of Santa Monica. I suppose that warrants some sort of response. What’d you find upstairs in the dealership?”

  “The other four members of the briefcase crew were inside a really plush suite on the third floor. Remember that pimped-out place in the Gaslamp? This one was bigger and better. We totally surprised them in the middle of their poker game. They had no clue anything had happened down below. Ashton left them there after taking a call.” Harv recounted the arrival of more armed men and their hasty retreat from the building.

  “Casualties?”

  “One of the briefcase crew made a move for a gun, a fatal mistake. The other three became quite complacent after that.”

  “I found the text where Tomas told Ashton to skedaddle and not look back. Ashton didn’t bother to tell his fellow gamblers about our raid.”

  “Sounds like he’s as cold as his brother,” Harv said.

  “The clock’s ticking. Tomas will be expecting his brother to arrive within the time frame given.”

  “It’s a curvy mountain road. It might take longer than two hours. I suppose it depends how far up the property is.”

  “At least we won’t have to fight rush-hour traffic.”

  “We could be facing more mercenaries where the twins are holed up. On second thought, if the twins think their hiding place is secure, we could be looking at fairly even odds.”

  “That raises a question. I
f they thought Santa Monica Exotics wasn’t discoverable, why’d they have all the firepower standing by?”

  “You mean inside or the extra firepower that showed up?”

  “I don’t know,” Nathan said. “Both, I guess.”

  “The inside muscle makes sense. They had a boatload of cash. They must have known the raid on LG failed and they definitely know about the other raids our Potomac friend’s been unleashing tonight. They could’ve anticipated an attack at the dealership and called in reinforcements. The timing smelled like an ambush. The gunmen could’ve been staged, ready to attack on a moment’s notice.”

  “That makes the most sense.”

  “If our friend can’t find anything on ACH, we might be out of business.”

  “Have faith, old friend,” said Nathan. “Plus, her people are going to examine the contents of Ashton’s wallet. It might have something useful.”

  “Good deal. Oh, for the record, I should say I’m fully comfortable in combat with LG.”

  “Thank you,” she said in the background.

  “Coming from you, that’s high praise.” He knew Harv’s comment wasn’t meant to patronize her. She didn’t need it. Still, he sensed a coiled rattlesnake. He supposed he’d feel the same way. If someone murdered Harv and he knew who did it, they’d be marked for death.

  LG spoke up again. “There’s going to be fresh snow up there for sure. The weather we’ve been getting over the last few days covered all of Southern California.”

  “Unless we can get our hands on some cold-weather gear,” Harv said, “we’re looking at limited time in the elements.”

  “Nothing’s open at this hour, unfortunately.”

  “Since when has that ever stopped you guys?” said LG.

  “Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?”

  “We’re facing a national-security threat,” Nathan said. “I think we can bend the rules a little bit and liberate some cold-weather clothing.”

  “You mean steal it,” said Harv.

  “Steal is such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as . . . appropriating. What do you think?” he asked LG.

  “I think boosting some clothes is the least of our worries.”