The Brotherhood

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  Though Boone was exhausted, lunch that day with Haeley and Max was the most fun he’d had in a long time. He and Haeley set a regular Saturday date night and also discussed that both would be away visiting their families over the holidays. Boone thought it was too early to say it, but he was intrigued by the possibility that they would start missing each other at a time like that, and it would be a good harbinger for the future of the relationship.

  The following week was filled with strategizing and preparation for January 6. One day, just before a briefing session, Garrett Fox poked his head into Boone’s office. The newspapers and TV news shows had been full of his release from the department after months of hearings, continuances, a countersuit, and appeals. Boone couldn’t hide his surprise at seeing him.

  “Just wanted to be sure we were all right—personally, I mean,” Fox said, accepting the offer of a chair.

  “I don’t know what to say, Garrett. You stood up for me, like we all want to do for each other. But you know I didn’t ask you to lie.”

  “Turns out it wasn’t a lie after all, though, right?”

  “Well, you were right in what you guessed happened. But you have to admit, you didn’t believe me, and you didn’t see what happened.”

  “I sleep at night, Drake. That’s all I’ll say. I hope you do.”

  Boone hesitated. “Shouldn’t I?”

  “You could have stood up for me is all I’m saying.”

  “And said what? That you should be exonerated because even though it was proven on camera that you were lying, you meant well and were right and I appreciated it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “That’s crazy and you know it, but if it makes you feel any better, I do feel bad you lost your job. What’re you going to do?”

  “What we all do when we get off the street: look for something in security or consulting or private detective work. I don’t know. I’ll land on my feet.”

  “Of that I have no doubt,” Boone said.

  “You know, don’t you, that if this had gone the other way—if you had been canned like everybody knew would happen if Freddy hadn’t had an attack of conscience—this would be my office now, right?”

  Boone tried to hide his shock, apparently unsuccessfully.

  “You didn’t know. Well, ask Keller. I hadn’t left OCD under the best of terms, but after you, I was the one he knew could hit the ground running here.”

  “He was probably right about that,” Boone muttered, still trying to process it all.

  Fox stood. “Well, do me proud, partner. And don’t become a stranger.”

  Boone shook his hand and walked him out, noticing that no one else in the office even acknowledged his presence when he passed, though Fox slowed and clearly tried to make himself noticed. How awful it must be to be shunned, Boone thought.

  All three men above Boone in the chain of command didn’t like that the big meeting of the gang leaders had been set so far in the future. Though the days would move quickly, they all warned him that things like this had a way of falling apart when too much time was involved.

  On the one hand, Boone wanted to get on with it too. The FBI, the Chicago Crime Commission, and the U.S. Attorney’s office were all brought in at this point, and daylong strategy sessions became the norm. Jack Keller and Pete Wade reminded them that they all had to stay in the background, at least as it related to Candelario, because a deal was a deal. He would work directly with the Chicago Police Department, and specifically Boone Drake, whom he had apparently accepted and learned to trust.

  That, however, meant anything other than their staying out of the planning. Boone got from the brass Candelario’s guarantee of protection for his family, and he was assured by PC that none of the principals yet knew where their meeting was going to be. “I told ’em I haven’t decided yet,” Candelario said, “that I want to keep it fluid. If I don’t know where we’re meeting, it won’t leak to the wrong people; know what I mean?”

  Boone pressed him for promises that no one would be nosing around that building on certain days when the CPD had to get SWAT sniper positions and camera angles determined. When Pascual balked, Boone said, “Look, this is for your benefit. We need photos to prove these guys were there. You’ll testify as to whose voices we get on the recordings. And our snipers will be in position only to protect your life. If something goes bad and you’re in danger, that’s going to be the only defense you’ve got.”

  “I know, amigo. I just don’t want anybody gettin’ itchy fingers, you know?”

  Boone wasn’t in a hurry to see his new friend and brother risk his life for such a huge operation. Part of him still resented that the man was blessed with a son when all Boone had were melancholy memories. But he also felt compassion for the boy. What kind of a future did little Jose Candelario really have? If his father survived this, they would likely have to move out of the United States. And if something did happen to Pascual, the boy would be raised in the ghetto by his grandmother. Either way, it wasn’t much of an outlook.

  Just before Christmas, Boone finally made an appointment to see Pastor Sosa. To his great delight and relief, Francisco was warm and seemed genuinely thrilled to see him and encouraged by his growth. “I guess it’s too much to hope we’ll see Boone Drake back at Community Life someday.”

  “I’ve learned to quit predicting,” Boone said.

  He told Sosa about Haeley, and the pastor said, “That answers my question. Keep up with your reading and praying and studying. You’ll be spiritually healthy, or at least healthier, in no time. As long as you’re going to church somewhere . . .”

  Boone told him he wanted to discuss the potential of the pastor’s meeting with a notorious gangbanger. He shared generally Pascual’s story without enough detail to give away whom he was talking about, but he did mention PC’s ethnicity. “I think he would be comfortable with you, because you’d understand him.”

  Sosa looked thoughtful. “And he can’t attend church anywhere right now?”

  Boone shook his head. “Has to play the game a little longer. I worry that he’s not growing, though.”

  “I’m willing,” Sosa said. “But if he resists for any reason, you need to do this, Boone. You know as well as anyone the importance of the nourishment of the spiritual life. If he trusts you, he’ll take it from you, and in discipling him, you’ll learn more than you can imagine. It’d be great for both of you.”

  Boone immediately regretted telling Sosa enough to make him curious about Candelario because he had to tell him that he could divulge nothing else.

  “How long are you downstate for the holidays?”

  “Just three days.”

  Sosa shrugged. “This is the busiest time of the year for me. I think you should take on this task yourself. Get him grounded in the Bible and thinking about God all the time.”

  Boone said, “I have to remember not to get too close. My relationship with him is not to be personal.”

  “It’s too late for that. I can see it all over you. You care about this man.”

  Boone couldn’t deny it.

  21

  Reconnoitering

  Boone drove down to central Illinois for Christmas with all the plans for January 6 rattling in his brain. Though he, Fletcher Galloway, Jack Keller, and Pete Wade had spent countless hours with FBI agents, members of the Chicago Crime Commission, and the U.S. Attorney and his people, Boone kept silently running through every detail to be sure they hadn’t missed anything.

  Pascual told him that in the few meetings like this he’d had before, the principals agreed to come to the table unarmed and thus free to talk. There would be all kinds of security sweeps by each leader’s people, checking the area for interlopers, scanning the building for bugs, and of course ensuring no one had been tailed to the rendezvous point. Nothing would be left to chance.

  That was why the SWAT team and the feds were already in the area, building blinds in high trees that would give their snipers and photogr
aphers clear angles. Boone had been assured that no one would be able to detect a thing with the naked eye.

  The best development, according to the FBI, was that they had determined that one window in the building had no drape or shade, and if they could be assured it would stay that way, they thought they could aim a video camera into the room from high in a tree eighty yards away. That way, in a nondescript van the CPD would park a few blocks from the site, Boone and his superiors would be able to monitor the meeting both visually and through the phone’s audio signal.

  The more Boone had talked to Pascual, the more encouraged he was by the man’s ability to strategize. Candelario had all kinds of ideas on how to best sting his former compatriots. “I never thought I’d ever be a rat,” he’d said, “but I know this is the right thing and the only way to even start making amends.” He added that the best way he knew to keep people from suspecting anything was to distract them with accusations. “If I make ’em think I’m suspicious that they’re trying to pull something on me, it makes them concentrate on convincing me they’re not. That keeps ’em from suspecting me.”

  The only glitch so far was that Pascual had begun to think that it made the most sense to keep the meeting as small as possible. The FBI, who knew all the negotiating had to go through Boone, urged him to agree that it should be kept reasonable but to not let Candelario cut it to where it was just him representing all the gangbangers and Graziano Jacopo representing the Outfit.

  “While that would be the cleanest and easiest,” the lead agent said, “it makes the U.S. Attorney’s job that much harder on the other end. The more guys we can get in there, on picture and on record, the easier it will be to indict them.”

  Boone and Pascual finally agreed on getting the heads of the three biggest gangs there, plus Graziano and his top lieutenant, because they had all personally worked with Candelario on hits. Besides getting them to somehow acknowledge those on the record, Pascual would get them all to commit to agreeing on the new drug deal.

  Boone put on his best face for the reunion with his family. It was good to see his brothers and their families, but it was also hard. This was the first time he had been home since the tragedy, and while he appreciated the Christmas Eve service at church, he hated the rueful looks he got from old friends. Toughest was when his irrepressible mother insisted they call Nikki’s parents to wish them a merry Christmas.

  The McNickles sounded awful, naturally, lamenting a third such holiday without their only child.

  When it was finally time to leave, Boone endured the obligatory embraces and promises to stay in touch. Then his mother hung back by his car when everyone else hurried in out of the cold. Over the three days, Boone had made every effort to make his promotion to detective and the work in his new unit sound as routine and boring as possible. And he had informed his family that he had found a little storefront church, explaining that the memories at Community Life were just too painful.

  That seemed to satisfy everyone except his mother. She always seemed to have something on her mind, something she wanted to say. And now she had her opportunity. Boone had slid into the car and started the engine, and there she stood, without even a coat, leaning into his window and shivering.

  “You know, Boone, how long it’s been. I don’t think anyone would fault you if you started getting back into the swing of things. Socially, you know.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning you have the right to be happy again. To start seeing people.”

  “I see people every day at the office. And I’m back into a decent routine.”

  “You know what I mean, honey. I wish you’d have stayed at that big church where there have to be a lot of young single women. . . .”

  “Mom, please.”

  “Maybe there’s someone in the new place.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “You don’t sound like you mean it. You know, in our church there are three or four girls from your past who wished they’d had their chance—”

  “Mom! Stop. I’ll know when I’m ready, all right?”

  “Just don’t close yourself off from possibilities is all I’m saying. You know I’m only looking out for you.”

  And it was true. He knew that. But it was way too early to even mention Haeley and any possibilities there. For one thing, Boone had no idea what the future held. He thought Haeley was as open as he was to seeing how the relationship developed. But the whole thing was embryonic. Besides, if and when the time came that he needed to introduce her to his family, he worried about their reaction to her having had a child out of wedlock.

  His childhood church preached forgiveness and acceptance, especially toward people who were repentant. But that didn’t always translate to biblical charity when it came to actually living it out—especially for Boone’s mother. Well, if the future included Haeley and Max, the boy would melt his mother’s heart. She would have to accept or get used to Haeley’s situation.

  Boone and Haeley had agreed not to talk to each other while each was at home for Christmas, just to avoid misunderstanding from their families. But now, as he was driving back to Chicago and knew she and Max would be on the road too, Boone couldn’t wait to talk to her. He had planned to make fun of his own experience and tell her how glad he was to be headed back home, but her giddy tone stopped him.

  “I had such a good time,” she said. “It was great to see everybody, and of course Max is the perfect age to keep everybody entertained. He was the center of attention.”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  “Oh, he’s dead to the world. He got so much stimulation, I don’t know how I’ll keep him entertained when we get back. But he missed his naps, wore himself out, and loved every minute of it. He’s been sleeping since we pulled out of the driveway.”

  “So your family has forgiven you for . . . you know . . .”

  “Living in sin? They were pretty good about it all along, Boone. They were disappointed, sure, and they reminded me—which I knew all too well—that I was raised better. But last Christmas was when I visited them as the ashamed prodigal. They’re thrilled I’ve come back to the Lord, am active in church, gainfully employed, all that. They just hate that I’m not with Max most of every day, and that tears me up too, but I can’t change it.”

  Maybe someday, Boone thought.

  “We still on for Saturday?” he said. “First one of the new year.”

  “I was hoping you’d ask. I didn’t know if you wanted to make that a regular thing for the whole year or not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to be presumptuous. Single mom with a crazy schedule. I don’t want you to feel obligated. I mean, there are fifty-two Saturdays again this year.”

  Boone was silent for a moment. Then, “I hope you’re just being polite, Haeley.”

  “I’m giving you an out, you big goof.”

  “Do you want an out?”

  “I don’t need an out. I can just tell you I’m done. But I’m the one with the kid, and you’re too nice to break my heart. So I’m just saying, you have an out if you want it.”

  “All right,” he said, “I’m thoroughly confused. Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “Yes.”

  When Haeley didn’t elaborate, Boone feared the worst. “And that is?”

  “That I would love to spend time with you every Saturday this year, as long as you can put up with me.”

  “And what about Sunday lunches with both of you? Those still on too?”

  “I have a meeting scheduled with Max where that’s one of the items on the agenda,” she said. “Oh, wait, I make his decisions for him. Yes.”

  “I have a Christmas gift for you,” he said.

  “That makes two of us. We’ll have our Christmas after New Year’s, then.”

  “I’ll save Max’s till the next day,” Boone said.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It’s nothing. But i
t’s only fair. We don’t want him feeling left out.”

  “Are you kidding? He thinks I’m interfering with his relationship with you as it is.”

  Saturday Boone and Haeley waited more than an hour for a table at Giordano’s on Rush, which they discovered had been each other’s favorite pizza place since long before they met. Boone gave her a thin gold necklace with a dazzling sapphire.

  “Oh no,” she said. “It’s too much.”

  “Really? Sorry. It wasn’t exorbitant.”

  “No, no, I love it. I just mean, my gift for you is more of a novelty, so now I feel bad.”

  “Anything from you will be cool.”

  And it was. She’d had a key ring made with a fob that contained a tiny picture of her and Max on one side and lettering on the other that read, “Pizza!”

  “Perfect,” Boone said. “Really.” And he began switching his keys to it immediately.

  “But yours was serious and mine was silly.”

  “Not to me,” Boone said.

  Haeley laughed. “You’re seriously going to cherish that,” she said. “I can tell.”

  He raised his brows and nodded.

  The next day after church he presented Max with a Nerf football, then had to take him out in the parking lot when the boy wouldn’t quit trying to throw it inside the restaurant.

  “You’ve created a monster,” Haeley said as Boone ducked between and under cars to keep fetching the thing in a frigid wind. “I’m going to have to tape down all my lamps at home.”

  At work Monday she reported that Max insisted on sleeping with the football.

  D-day was just two days away, and Boone found himself spending alternate hours between Pascual Candelario and the task force that had been camping out in the Organized Crime Division offices. His and Pascual’s clandestine meeting places kept changing so no one would catch on. Boone was intrigued that his new friend seemed to be growing more excited by the day.

  Though there was also trouble and worry behind those dark eyes, PC kept saying, “I can’t wait, dude. I know I’m doing the right thing. For me, for Jose, for Chicago, for God.”