Blood Lines (ncis)

by Mel Odom

  “I never cut and run on you boys,” Tyrel grated. His voice was tight with some emotion too, but Don didn’t know exactly what it was. “I was there every day. Putting in time on this ranch. Making sure you had a roof over your heads, plenty of food on the table, and clothes on your back.”

  “There’s more to being a father than that, Daddy.”

  Tyrel pushed up out of the rocking chair. Don felt afraid for just a moment. He’d seen the deep anger that resided in his daddy. Tyrel had never turned those hard hands on his sons, but Don had always thought it was possible. Although since Tyrel had never flattened Shel while he was growing up, maybe it wasn’t. Because Shel had sorely tried his patience.

  “You know the biggest thing I was afraid of when Joanie was pregnant?” Don asked in a quieter voice. “I was afraid I was going to be you. I didn’t want any child of mine to grow up with a daddy like I had.”

  “It’s time for you to go,” his daddy said. “You need to get some sleep if you’re gonna catch a plane outta here in the morning.”

  Don tried to think of something else to say and couldn’t. Helplessly, he watched his daddy walk to the front door, enter, and lock the door behind him. The house was completely dark inside.

  Although he thought about going to the door and demanding to be let in, Don knew that wouldn’t do any good. Tyrel was through talking, and when that happened, there was nothing else to be done.

  In the quiet darkness on the porch, Don took a deep breath and wondered if he’d destroyed what little remained of the fragile connection he had with his daddy. He tried to tell himself that he’d be better off.

  Shel had walked away from their daddy for the most part. He only stopped in often enough to remember why he’d left home.

  “Daddy,” Don said loud enough to be heard through the closed door, “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. But I’m not sorry I said what I said.”

  There was no answer from the darkened house.

  After a few more moments, when he was sure his daddy wouldn’t be answering, Don turned and walked back to his car. He stood beside it for just a moment and bowed his head in prayer.

  God, you want me to honor my mother and my father. You have to know how difficult this is. Please show me how, because I can’t find a way on my own.

  Lifting his head, Don got into his car and drove back toward home. There was a lot to be done by morning.

  ›› Interview Room

  ›› Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office

  ›› Charlotte, North Carolina

  ›› 0017 Hours

  Victor sat motionless and stared at the one-way mirror. Occasionally he took note of his reflection, but there was nothing there he wanted to see.

  He kept seeing Bobby Lee.

  As he sat there, Victor tried to assess how he felt. He hadn’t tried to do anything like that in years. Normally he didn’t bother. Normally there was enough whiskey, drugs, and women at hand that he didn’t need to feel much of anything. He’d always operated on instinct.

  Instinct is the survival of the species, Victor told himself. Having kids is part of it.

  Only someone had gunned down his kid.

  When he’d seen the EMTs walk the big man out of the tattoo shop and seen all the blood gushing out of him, Victor had known the man was in trouble. Only an artery pumped like that.

  Personally, Victor hoped the man died. But in case he didn’t, Victor had memorized his face. If the man lived, retribution was going to be swift and final. It didn’t matter who he was. Some other father was going to lose his son too.

  The door opened, and Urlacher entered.

  Victor didn’t even glance at the FBI agent. He kept track of him in the mirror.

  “Don’t know what you’re doing here, supercop,” Victor said. “The deal’s off. It died with my boy.”

  “That’s not how I see it,” Urlacher said.

  Victor grinned slow and easy. “Then you need to get your eyes checked.”

  Urlacher sat at the table. “You’re still in a world of hurt. You aren’t free of me yet.”

  “If you could make anything stick, we wouldn’t be in here talking, would we?”

  With a tired sigh, Urlacher leaned back in his chair.

  “Do you really think all your fed bosses are going to let you just hang around here trying to trip me up?” Victor asked.

  Urlacher didn’t answer.

  “I don’t think so. Especially not as deep as you like to run personnel on a job.”

  “Are you just talking to hear yourself?”

  Victor grinned again, even though he didn’t truly feel like it. “I was going to offer your undercover buddy a deal tonight. Before you decided to be a hard case about it. Maybe you’re ready to listen to that now.”

  “I’m here about the opium that’s showing up in North Carolina.”

  “There’s a Salvadoran gang running opium through North Carolina.” Victor shook out a cigarette, the first one he’d had since he’d been returned to the interview room. He lit up and dragged a deep lungful. “Maybe taking them down would be enough to satisfy the people you’re banging heads for.”

  Urlacher seemed to contemplate that for a moment. “What Salvadoran gang?”

  “Mara Salvatrucha,” Victor said. “They named themselves after some kind of army ant. Whatever they are, they’re mucho trouble. You interested in them, supercop?”

  “You don’t get your opium from them.”

  Victor grinned. “I don’t deal in opium. Don’t know where you get that idea.”

  “It’s more than an idea.”

  “Then prove it. Arrest me. Let me call my lawyer. Then I’ll be out of here as soon as he posts bail for me. And whatever you get some DA to charge me with, my attorney’s going to beat. Then we’ll turn around and sue you for false arrest. It’ll make a nice retirement package.”

  Urlacher frowned. “I’ve heard of the Mara Salvatrucha. They also call themselves MS-13.”

  “One of the most notorious gangs operating out there right now,” Victor agreed. “Those guys are big-time hard-core. They’ll bury you soon as look at you.” He knew that from personal experience; they’d already crossed paths a couple times, and blood had spilled like water. “They’ve even got themselves a History Channel special.”

  “What do you have?”

  “I got names. Places. Players. Routes they use to bring cargo in from Houston right up Interstate 35, then out Interstate 40 to here. If I give you what I got here, then you can follow the play back there and bring down some major players.”

  “Are they getting work from the same place you are?”

  Victor smiled and spread his hands. “I don’t sell drugs. I already told you that.”

  Urlacher cursed.

  “These guys deal opium,” Victor said. “Get it from a Yakuza connection down in Mexico. The Japanese mafia is treading on the toes of the Colombian cocaine cartels. Gonna be a real shooting war down there when this all breaks loose. Might help domestically if you could start working on getting a handle on it now.”

  Urlacher only stared at him.

  “So what’s it gonna be, supercop?” Victor asked in a flat voice. “That’s the deal on the table. You want to ante up and play with the big boys? Or are you gonna roll the dice with Mr. DA?”

  1 7

  ›› Intensive Care Unit

  ›› Presbyterian Hospital

  ›› Charlotte, North Carolina

  ›› 0814 Hours

  When he tried to open his eyelids and found that they weighed about a hundred pounds each, Shel knew he was on serious pain medication. The too-bright illumination from the overhead track lighting was another clue. The fact that his nose itched told him that at least one of the prescribed meds was Demerol. His nose always itched when he was on Demerol.

  “Hey.”

  Woozy, Shel rolled his head to the side. The room seemed to spin. He closed his eyes involuntarily.

  “Easy,” a
soft feminine voice suggested. “Go slow.”

  Shel checked his teeth with his tongue. It was a habit after all the fights he’d been in. At least this time it didn’t seem like any dental work was involved. Everything was where it was supposed to be.

  “You still with me?” the woman’s voice asked.

  When he recognized her voice then, Shel said her name. “Maggie.”

  “Got it in one, Marine.”

  Shel didn’t want to try to smile. He always looked goofy when he was on Demerol and smiled. Some of the guys he’d toured with had pictures to prove it. But he smiled anyway because Maggie was there and he thought it was great she was there. In fact, everything seemed kind of great.

  He blinked his eyes open again. “Good to see you, Maggie.”

  “I bet.” Maggie stood at the foot of the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

  Maggie laughed.

  “Didn’t know you were twins.” Shel tried to focus and bring the two images back into one. He almost had it, but it took nearly everything he had to accomplish that.

  “I think I’ll suggest to the nurse that they cut back on the meds,” Maggie said.

  “Sure.”

  “If you start hurting, you’ll want to let them know.”

  Shel nodded, and the effort seemed like it took forever. The room spun again too.

  “Can I get something to drink?” he asked.

  “You can have ice.”

  Shel sighed.

  “Sorry, big guy. Nurse’s orders. With all the painkillers you’re on, if you drink water, it might come back up.”

  “Ice,” Shel agreed.

  Maggie fed him a few ice chips with a plastic spoon.

  Shel savored them, holding them in his mouth till they slowly melted and relieved some of the parched sensation in his throat. That was from the tube the emergency room people had shoved down his esophagus to keep the airway open. The next couple of days weren’t going to be pleasant swallowing.

  “How bad is my arm?” he asked.

  “Nothing permanent,” Maggie replied. She spooned more ice chips into his mouth. “The bullet tore into your upper thoracic cavity and struck the underside of the glenohumeral joint. There was some-”

  “English,” Shel protested.

  “The bullet hit you in the chest and caught the underside of the ball and socket joint in your shoulder.”

  “Now that I can understand,” Shel said, “but only because I’ve had a few shoulder separations.”

  “The surgeon did mention there had been previous operations.”

  Shel nodded. “Football.”

  “Then you know the rehab you’re going to have to do to get everything back in shape.”

  “No permanent damage?” Shel asked again because he wanted to hear it once more. One of his biggest fears was that he’d get disabled somewhere along the way, then shelved at a desk job or released on a medical discharge. All he had was the Marines. If something like that happened, he didn’t know what he’d do with himself. He didn’t have a family like Don, and he was pretty sure he didn’t want one.

  “No permanent damage,” Maggie agreed. “The bullet deflected downward and went into your right arm. It nicked the brachiocephalic artery just enough to cause problems.” She paused. “Remy probably saved your life. Twice. When you went down, the EMTs couldn’t get to you.”

  “Max,” Shel said, understanding at once.

  “You passed out from blood loss. Max went into total protective mode. Unfortunately that wasn’t what you needed at the time.”

  “Max is okay?” Shel knew there were times when a dog had to be put down so medical teams could save an unconscious and wounded K-9-equipped soldier.

  “Max is fine,” Maggie said. “He’s downstairs with Remy. They’ve become best buds.”

  Shel grinned. “You won’t believe how sad a day it is when a man’s dog deserts him.”

  “Hardly. Max knows you’re here. Somewhere. How he knows is anyone’s guess, but-”

  “He’s a trained Marine. Never underestimate Marine training.”

  Maggie gave him a wry look. “-but he’s refusing to leave the hospital now that he’s here. He walks the corridors a lot looking for you.”

  “Remy?” Shel deadpanned. “I knew he was starting to warm up to me, but-”

  “Oh, if you can do humor, maybe you can get your own ice chips.”

  Shel smiled and thought again how he shouldn’t be doing that. “I give.”

  Maggie gave him another helping of ice chips. “Anyway, the EMTs should have started you on an IV immediately. And packed the shoulder wound. Remy did that and kept you alive until you

  reached the ER.”

  “Naahhh,” Shel said. “I’m too tough to kill.” Fatigue washed over him then, or it might have been the Demerol. He closed his eyes and quietly went away.

  Somewhere in there, though, he heard Maggie whisper, “I hope so.”

  ›› Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office

  ›› 400 South Tryon Street

  ›› Suite 900

  ›› Charlotte, North Carolina

  ›› 1126 Hours

  Dressed in a suit, including jacket and tie, Will Coburn sat in the waiting area outside the FBI offices. He referenced his notes on his Pocket PC and ignored the attention he was getting from the young FBI agent seated on the other side of the office. The agent had been put there to bird-dog him. Will didn’t mind. As long as the agent was there, it was a sure indication that whoever had assigned the detail to him was in the building as well.

  Will had been kept waiting for over two hours. But he didn’t think of sitting there as waiting. He was guarding the door. Special Agent-in-Charge Urlacher was in the building. Will intended to see to it that the man didn’t leave without talking to him.

  Ten more minutes passed; then Urlacher emerged from the back offices with Victor Gant and three other agents. Gant, Will noticed, wasn’t in handcuffs. That, he decided, was interesting.

  Will stood and put his Pocket PC back on his hip. He straightened his jacket over the holstered Springfield XD-40 snugged under his left arm and followed Urlacher and his entourage out into the hallway.

  “Special Agent Urlacher,” Will called.

  Urlacher looked over his shoulder but didn’t break stride on his way to the elevators. He nodded at one of the younger FBI agents. The agent peeled off from the group and headed back toward Will.

  “I’m sorry,” the agent said. “Agent Urlacher can’t be bothered right now.”

  Without saying a word, Will stepped around the man, moving too fast to be stopped because he’d never slowed his pace.

  The agent grabbed Will’s right wrist and pulled. “I said-,” he started.

  Will smoothly slid his hand over the agent’s wrist, rotating his own wrist toward the man’s thumb to pop it free. He grabbed the man’s jacketed shoulder before he could react, then twisted him around and shoved him face-first into the wall hard enough to jar the picture hanging there. He jacked the wrist he’d captured up toward the man’s shoulder blades.

  The man grunted in pain and stood in place.

  “Touching me without provocation is assault,” Will said in his commander’s tone. “I’m a federal officer, so that’s a federal violation.”

  The other two agents reached under their jackets for their weapons. Will held his captive and stared straight into Urlacher’s eyes. Victor Gant seemed amused by the situation.

  Urlacher raised his hands and the two agents pulled their hands back. “Commander Coburn.”

  “That’s right,” Will said. “I thought maybe we could have a word.” He forced a smile. “A polite word.”

  “It’s hard to be polite when you’re wallpapering the hallway with one of my men.”

  “It’s hard not to wallpaper the hallway with your men while one of my team is lying in the hospital because you had to try to high-hat us,�
�� Will said. His captive struggled, so he lifted the man’s arm higher till he was tiptoeing to keep the pain at a tolerable level.

  “Pretty harsh talk from a single man,” Urlacher said.

  “Trust me,” Will said, “I’m all that’s standing between you and a base full of Marines that happen to think a lot of my gunnery sergeant.”

  “What do you want?”

  Will stepped back from his captive and released him. He watched the man. The agent nursed his arm and walked over to join Urlacher and the others.

  “There’s going to be a review by the Charlotte police department crime teams of what went down last night,” Will said.

  “You mean the shooting.”

  “I do mean the shooting,” Will said. “I expect my gunney to be cleared in the matter. I thought I’d come talk to you and get this worked out ahead of time. In case you or your men had problems remembering exactly how everything happened last night.”

  “You’re with the NCIS?” Victor Gant asked. A crooked smile twisted his thin lips.

  Urlacher put a hand on Victor’s chest and held him back. “Stay out of this,” he said.

  “Do you know who I am?” Victor demanded.

  “I do,” Will said. “I don’t have an issue with you at the moment, Mr. Gant. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Maybe I have an issue with you,” Victor said. “Your man killed my son. Shot him down like he was a dog.” His voice was hoarse with anger.

  Will met the man’s angry glare and didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Both of them knew it hadn’t happened the way Victor Gant said it did, but any weakness on his part would have confirmed the other man’s story in his mind.

  Urlacher grabbed Victor by the arm and shoved him back. “Get moving.”

  Victor continued to stare at Will.

  “Take it outside,” Urlacher said, eyeing the man vehemently. “Or I will arrest you.”

  Victor went, accompanied by two of Urlacher’s agents, but he glared at Will until the elevator doors closed.

  1 8

  ›› Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office

  ›› 400 South Tryon Street

  ›› Suite 900