The Collective

by Jack Rogan

  “Let me think on it for a little while,” Cait said. “I have to speak to Lynch and make a call, and then we’ll talk.”

  Leyla pushed the bottle away and Cait set it on the table. She stood up, holding the baby against her shoulder, and bent to kiss Jordan on the cheek. He actually blushed a little.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Really. You being here helps me remember that the whole world hasn’t gone crazy. Whatever happens next, I couldn’t deal with it without you.”

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Sarge.”

  “Hey.”

  “Sorry. Cait,” he said, gazing at her. “Listen, I just … I’m here for you, okay? Like you said, whatever happens next. You and Leyla, you’re not alone.”

  A long moment passed between them before Cait stepped back, holding Leyla close.

  “Speaking of not alone, I should go talk to Lynch. I’ve got to break some bad news to him.”

  “What’s that?” Jordan asked.

  “All these years he’s been hunting the people killing War’s Children,” Cait said. “It’s time to tell him he’s been thinking too small.”

  Detective Monteforte sat across the conference table from Sarah Lin, worried that she might be wasting her time. Sleep had been hard to come by and when she had called in just after seven a.m., the sergeant on duty had offered his sympathies about Jarman’s death and then told her that Lieutenant Hoffmeyer had given the case to Teddy Sacco. Monteforte had nothing against Sacco, but she couldn’t let that happen.

  Jarman had been her partner. Policy dictated that she should have time off for bereavement or at least be riding a desk, and part of her wouldn’t have minded that. There would be a wake and a funeral and a lot of pain. But she couldn’t let the pain sidetrack her yet. Not without knowing who was really responsible for Jarman’s death, and why he had died.

  “And you’re sure she didn’t say anything about her brother’s death that wasn’t in the taped interview?” Monteforte asked.

  Sarah Lin shrugged. “Nothing huge. When we got there, she prepped us with the rundown of what had happened to her brother, but it was more about the abduction attempt than her brother’s death.”

  “And what about the cameraman who did that shoot with you?” Monteforte asked. She glanced down at the paper in front of her. “Jordan Katz. He served with Cait in Iraq?”

  Sarah frowned. “I guess I knew that, yeah.”

  “Any idea where he might be at the moment?” Monteforte asked. “We’re having trouble tracking him down.”

  The reporter shrugged. “I don’t know Jordan that well. We haven’t been paired up much in the past. So, no. Sorry, but I have no idea where he might be.”

  “There’s nothing else that struck you, during the interview?” Monteforte asked. “Anything strange?”

  Sarah Lin had a beauty and obvious intellect that were vital elements for anyone hoping to make it as a TV reporter, and the charisma and confidence that might make her an anchor someday. Despite the extraordinary nature of the things they were discussing, she remained cool and professional.

  “I’m sorry, Detective,” she said. “The whole thing was strange. Someone had tried to take Cait’s baby. I’ve already shown you the unedited interview. Cait was pretty much at her wit’s end, but she kept it together. What she said to us off camera was just more of what you saw on camera. She definitely thought someone had been watching her aunt and uncle’s house, and there’s no question she thought they were the same people who tried to grab her baby, but all this other stuff … I have no idea.

  “But I can tell you one thing,” Sarah added with a defiant glare. “Cait McCandless is no damn terrorist.”

  Monteforte took a deep breath and sat back. “I agree.”

  Sarah seemed surprised. “You do?”

  “I do. I don’t know who spun that bullshit, but it won’t stick. I know people are always on TV saying ‘She seemed like such a nice person,’ but this is different. The people who tried to take Leyla … that was real. I’m convinced Cait is the victim here, but amazing as it may seem to you, there is some kind of terrorist connection. Maybe it has to do with her brother dying down in D.C. I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”

  Sarah Lin tapped her fingers on the table. “How can I help?”

  “I think the best thing you can do for your friend is keep telling her story,” Monteforte said. “I’m going to be pulled off this case the second my lieutenant finds out I’m still working it, and then it’s going to be in the hands of a detective who never met Cait McCandless and her daughter. None of this is going to matter to him, especially because we’ve basically been told by the FBI that we should butt out.”

  Sarah stared at her. “Are you saying all of this on the record?”

  Monteforte smiled thinly. “Sure. But if you want to dig deeper, there are some other things you should know—off the record. Like how many DOAs there really were at Cait’s house last night.”

  What are you doing, Anne? she thought to herself. But she knew what, and why.

  “Why would you be pulled off the case?” Sarah asked.

  Monteforte looked at the clock, wondering how long before the lieutenant figured out what she was up to and shut her down with a direct order.

  “The detective who died last night was my partner. He and I were working the McCandless case together.”

  Sarah made a small sound that might have been surprise or sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you,” Monteforte said.

  “No, thank you,” Sarah said, wearing a sad smile. “Cait really needs people to believe in her right now.”

  Monteforte frowned. “Do you mean you’ve heard from her?”

  Regret clouded the reporter’s face. “No. I tried her cell—I mean, obviously she’s not home. I’ve left a few messages, sent her a couple of texts.” Sarah studied the detective. “Where’s all this headed? Are they going to be all right? Cait and Leyla?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Monteforte said. “People are dying all around them. They’re in a lot of danger. How they come out of it, I have no idea. But like you, I’ll keep asking questions.”

  Sarah sighed. “I hope so.”

  Monteforte slid her business card across the table. As Sarah took it and began to rise, her cell phone rang. With a look of mild annoyance, she unclipped it from her belt and looked at the screen, frowning at what Monteforte assumed was an unknown name or number.

  “This is Sarah,” she said.

  Monteforte knew immediately. The way her eyes widened with surprise and then narrowed in concern, she could practically see Sarah’s heart leap.

  “Hey,” Sarah said, trying and failing to stay cool. “How are you? Are you okay? No, of course I didn’t.… Are you kidding? I’m glad you called … no, it’s not a problem. Whatever you need.”

  Sarah nodded as if to say good-bye and went to leave the conference room, pretending this was just another phone call, something she had to deal with. She gave Monteforte a little wave and then started to open the door.

  “Ms. Lin,” Monteforte said, and she put it all in those two words, in her tone.

  Sarah froze, unsure, looking like she wanted to run. Monteforte rose and hurried around the table. She could hear the murmur of a voice from Sarah’s cell phone.

  “Let me help,” Monteforte said. “Please. I can help.”

  “Cait,” Sarah said. “No, listen. Hold on a second.”

  Monteforte reached for the phone and Sarah relinquished it. Her heart pounded as she lifted it to her ear.

  “Cait, it’s Anne Monteforte. Please don’t hang up.”

  She heard a sharp intake of breath on the line.

  “Please,” Monteforte said. “I know you must be having a hard time trusting anyone right now. After last night, I feel the same. Everyone is lying, including the FBI. But the truth is being buried so deep, and I can’t let that happen. I know you’re not the bad guy, Cait. Please, let me help.”
/>   A sigh. “How can you help, Detective?”

  “I don’t know yet. I just … I want the truth.”

  “I’m sorry about Detective Jarman. He was a good man.”

  “He was,” Monteforte agreed. She bit her lower lip to fight down the emotion welling inside her.

  Another pause, and then: “How far are you willing to go for the truth, Detective?”

  “Wherever it leads me.”

  “Then put Sarah back on.”

  Monteforte did as she was asked. Sarah took the phone from her, said “Hello,” and then listened for perhaps a full minute, glancing at Monteforte from time to time.

  “That’s do-able,” she said. “Is Jordan … I told you—whatever you need. I flatter myself that I’m a good reporter, Cait, and that means knowing when something smells like bullshit. Someone’s after you—and your baby, for God’s sake. The only thanks I need for helping you is for you to try to keep the bullets flying away from me, instead of toward me, if it comes to that.”

  Despite her brave talk, the reporter looked shaken. But she stayed on the line and Monteforte thought she would be true to her word. After giving Cait several more reassurances, she handed the phone back.

  “I’m here,” Monteforte said.

  “There’s something you can do. I was going to ask Sarah to try to pull it off by herself. It’ll be the biggest story of her career. But it will probably work a lot better with you along.”

  “All right.”

  “You can’t tell anyone,” Cait said. “You can’t trust anyone. And if you change your mind, if you fuck me over, then Leyla and I are as good as dead. Do you understand that? Do you understand that these people outrank you, and that there is nothing you can do as a police officer to make justice happen here?”

  Monteforte felt a chill go through her. “I do.”

  “And you understand that I don’t want anyone else dying, but that it isn’t up to me?”

  Monteforte thought about the pull it would take to make bodies just vanish from a crime scene, to play the FBI like puppets, to kill indiscriminately and have the government close its eyes.

  “I get it, Cait.”

  “Have you eaten breakfast, Detective Monteforte?”

  “No.”

  “You can pick something up on the way.”

  “Where am I going?” Monteforte asked.

  “To Hoboken.”

  “New Jersey?”

  “Get yourselves some coffee and something you can eat on the run. I’ll call Sarah back in half an hour and give you the whole rundown. But if you’re going to bail on me, do it now. Because I’m only going to have one chance at this.”

  Monteforte held her breath a moment, realizing what she was risking. Her future. Her career. Her life. But Jarman had been her friend as well as her partner, and he’d fought for justice for so many over the years. He deserved nothing less.

  “I’m not going to bail.”

  “All right, then,” Cait said, sounding tired but grateful. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Monteforte handed Sarah the phone. A change had come over the reporter. All of her confusion had evaporated. She bounced with a kind of nervous energy.

  “You’re really on board for this?” she asked.

  “Are you?” Monteforte replied. “I mean, I know why I’m going along with it. But what about you?”

  Sarah stared at her as if she hadn’t understood the question. “These are good people.”

  “But you don’t even know them very well.”

  “I guess I don’t. But they don’t have anywhere else to turn or they wouldn’t be calling me. Someone’s trying to kill Cait and her daughter, and now Jordan, and to paint them as terrorists. You told me yourself that you don’t believe that’s true, and I’m with you. I don’t believe what’s being reported, and that means someone is hiding the truth. Getting to the truth, finding the secrets the bad guys don’t want the public to know and exposing them … that’s my job.”

  Monteforte studied her. “But these people are willing to kill to stop you from doing that job.”

  “I get that, Detective.” Sarah managed to muster a slightly nervous smile. “Must be some pretty big secrets.”

  “Okay, then,” Monteforte said. “Let’s get moving.”

  Sarah opened the door. As Monteforte walked through, she wondered how much of herself she had left behind in that conference room. But she kept walking. Jarman was dead. Cait and Leyla were being hunted and she couldn’t just let that happen. There was no turning back now.

  More than anything, Josh wanted to knock the smug look off Roger Boyce’s face. The guy had an officious air about him that Josh suspected was not unique to this morning. From the way the other man in the room, Brian Herskowitz, looked at Boyce, he must be a joy to work with.

  “Mr. Boyce,” Agent Chang said, “I’m not sure you’re clear on your position here.”

  Soft and bespectacled, Boyce did his best to smile, but it was almost a sneer. “We disagree on that, Agent. I think I’ve made my position very clear.”

  Herskowitz tried speaking up. “Roger, I think what she meant—”

  Boyce shot him a withering glance. “I know what she meant.”

  Josh had been observing the dynamic between these two. Though Boyce had the authority in the room, it was clear that the subordinate, Herskowitz, was both smarter and more rational—and knew it.

  “Look, I’m not sure what else you think we can tell you,” Boyce continued. He spread his hands theatrically, as if to show he had nothing to hide. “I’ve told you about Sean McCandless’s duties here, and Brian has very patiently answered all of your questions about McCandless’s state of mind the past few weeks.”

  Herskowitz narrowed his eyes at the use of Sean McCandless’s last name, as if offended by the callous tone.

  Boyce sat behind his desk, trying to look in charge. He had been attempting to assert control of the situation since the moment just after eight-thirty when he had entered his office and found Josh and Chang waiting for him, drinking coffee the receptionist had thoughtfully provided and occupying the surprisingly comfortable guest chairs set before the desk. Boyce had been on edge at first, nervous, and had seemingly called in Herskowitz to bolster his version of the truth. Josh had no doubt that Herskowitz knew Sean McCandless, even considered him a friend. The man wasn’t faking his sorrow over McCandless’s death.

  But Josh doubted everything else the two men had said.

  “Agent Chang and I aren’t running on much sleep,” Josh said, and a flash of memory from their morning, the soft curve of Nala’s breast, the urgency in her eyes, gave him pause. He smiled, not caring how Boyce interpreted that. “So let’s not fuck around here, Mr. Boyce. Spin Sean McCandless’s death however you want, but everyone in this room knows he didn’t just have a heart attack, and that the government cremated him to hide that fact.

  “I don’t know what he really did for you people besides play with satellites, but the word intelligence is part of your agency’s name. You spy with a satellite or you spy on the ground. Honestly, I don’t give a shit about any of that. There isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind, or Agent Chang’s, that Sean McCandless’s murder had nothing to do with his work for you and is instead connected to a larger threat to his family, and possibly to a lot of other American families.”

  Boyce glanced at Herskowitz, then looked at Chang. “Not to credit any part of this fantasy of yours, Agents, but if you’re so certain of these assertions, why are you even bothering to talk to us?”

  Chang shifted her legs in the seat and sat forward, drawing Josh’s eye. From the moment they had showered and dressed and left his apartment, they had been working hard at pretending nothing at all had happened between them, but the air between them felt electric. Josh felt a prickling static at every nerve ending. They needed to have a conversation, but both of them knew where their priorities lay.

  Yet when she moved, he couldn’t help watching her.

 
“Why are we here?” Chang said. “That’s your question?”

  Boyce nodded, supercilious air firmly in place. “Essentially.”

  One corner of Chang’s mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. “Maybe you really are as stupid as you look.”

  Boyce started to rise. “That’s enough. Both of you can—”

  “Sit the fuck down,” Josh said. He spoke without raising his voice, but his tone froze Boyce halfway up from his chair. “Now, Mr. Boyce, or the next time your phone rings, it will be the director of Homeland Security on the line.”

  Herskowitz, properly chided, had been standing in the corner like a naughty schoolboy all this time. At last he spoke up.

  “Roger …”

  Boyce glared at him, but sat back down.

  “Now,” Josh said, taking both men in with a glance. “Once you confirm what we already know, then you can start telling us what we don’t know. What do we want? Every detail of the investigation into Sean McCandless’s death, anything that might lead us to the people who killed him, because those same people have been murdering babies and children all across this country, and we want to get to them before they can kill Cait McCandless and her daughter.”

  Boyce’s arrogance finally shattered. “Babies? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Josh and Chang exchanged a look but didn’t answer, both choosing to let the question, and Boyce’s confusion, hang in the air.

  “The media’s calling Cait McCandless a terror suspect,” Herskowitz ventured.

  Josh cocked his head, studying the man’s face. Something was off about the tone of the question. He knew more than he was saying.

  “You don’t believe that,” Chang said.

  “No, I don’t,” Herskowitz said.

  “Brian—” Boyce began.

  “Fuck off, Roger,” Herskowitz said, focusing on Chang again. “Sean was my friend. I’ve met Cait a couple times. I don’t believe for a second that she’s some kind of terrorist. And I’m getting the impression you don’t believe that, either. Why is that?”