by Lisa Unger
“Why did you bring me here?”
“What? I told you. So you could see the van.” He glanced at her quickly, then put his eyes back on the road.
“How did you know it would still be here?”
“I didn’t.”
She didn’t say anything, just scanned the streets, peering between buildings, glancing up on the el platform. Maybe she was getting paranoid. After all, what was she thinking? She’d asked him to help her and that’s what he was doing, in his own self-serving way. Her head felt foggy; she was overtired, overwhelmed, and confused. She rested her head against the cool window, never taking her eyes off the street. Was it possible that Mount had killed Clifford Stern? She tried it on, toyed with accepting the idea. That he was terrified or had lost his mind, had shot the man out of some kind of desperation or temporary insanity. She shook her head. It just didn’t fit; there was no way. But he might as well have shot Stern; a man matching Mount’s description was seen leaving the scene after shots were fired. There weren’t that many people who looked like Mount and he was already accused of another murder in which Stern was the witness. His fate was more or less sealed, wasn’t it? Except that she had seen The New Day van parked outside the apartment.
“Go back,” she said.
“Where?
“To Stern’s street,” she said. “I want to make sure that van doesn’t go anywhere.”
He nodded and made a U-turn, headed back toward Fourteenth Avenue.
There was a sea of police vehicles in front of the Stern residence. They arrived as the Medical Examiners van and the CSI team were approaching the row house. She saw Ray Bloom through the bay window over the porch as they parked the car and approached the corner where they’d heard the gunfire. She turned to see the van. But, of course, it was gone. A beat-up red Saturn had already taken its place.
“Shit,” she said. “Shit.” She put her head in her hands. She almost cried right there on the street.
Dylan put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go talk to Bloom,” he said softly. “Let’s tell him what we saw. He’s a smart guy; he’ll know we’re telling the truth.”
She nodded. They had no choice. If they didn’t, Mount didn’t have a chance.
Matt sat against the concrete wall in the alley, barely noticing the stench of urine and garbage. His heart had just slowed to a normal rhythm but his lungs still ached from the exertion of effort and terror. He’d run nearly ten blocks through back alleys. His hands and thighs were still shaking. He put his head down in his hands and felt the warm, viscous liquid against his forehead.
“Oh, Christ,” he said, surprised at the shaking fear he heard in his own voice. He drew his hands back and they were dark with blood. He thought of the backdoor handle where he’d exited the house, the fence that he’d grabbed and pulled himself over. He stood and stripped off his leather jacket, then the sweater he wore beneath it. If the police caught up with him, he didn’t want to be wearing clothes soaked with Clifford Stern’s blood. He threw the sweater in the Dumpster beside him. He inspected the leather jacket for blood in the dim glow of the streetlight and saw that it was clean; he put it back on and zipped it up to his throat. He leaned over and vomited, his whole body wracked with it.
A squad car raced past the alleyway, lights flashing but siren off. He jumped and crouched behind the Dumpster, hitting his head on its metal side. He was shivering now from fear and from the cold and from pain. He could barely believe that his life had come to this, that he was squatting in an alley hiding from the police. He tried to think of the moment, the pivot on which his life had turned. He could pinpoint it exactly: when he’d threatened Trevor Rhames and The New Day. But no. Maybe it was earlier than that. Maybe it was the day he fell in love with Lily Samuels, a girl he’d never seen in the flesh until tonight. If the girl he’d seen had been her at all. If he’d even seen a girl. He couldn’t be sure now; the memory of her felt foggy and indistinct.
He tried to think about his options but the pain in his head was so bad he thought he might be having a stroke. He wished he were having a stroke, that he would drop dead right there-then at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the disaster his life had become. What was he supposed to do now?
He’d just wanted to talk to Clifford Stern, wanted to understand why this stranger had implicated him in a crime he didn’t commit. He’d believed he could convince the guy to go to the police with the truth: that The New Day had paid him or threatened him to be an eyewitness. There was no other explanation. But he should have known not to go there, should have known that they’d be waiting. Now the abyss he’d fallen into was deeper and darker than it had been hours earlier, and it had been pretty fucking deep and dark.
He had five hundred dollars in cash in his pocket and a five-shot Smith & Wesson. He was a fugitive, wanted now for two murders. Within hours, his face was going to be all over the television, in post offices, airports, bus and train stations. He looked at the cell phone in his pocket. Who could he call? Theo? Jesamyn? Lydia Strong? No. The first thing Bloom would do was subpoena his cell phone records; anyone he called could be accused of aiding and abetting. It struck him strangely, hard to the gut, that he was alone now. He’d been lonely before, maybe for most of his life; he was used to that. But he’d never been alone like this, never felt like every connection he had to his life had snapped and he was lofting away into the sky. He could feel himself getting farther and farther away from Earth.
He took a deep shuddering breath, stood. He figured there was only one thing left to do.
Twenty-Four
Basically, Grimm wanted to use them. Lydia had pretty much figured this the moment he pulled up a chair. Otherwise, rather than sitting and having a friendly little chat about Trevor Rhames and The New Day, he probably would have arrested them. He could easily do that and hold them for as long as he wanted under the Patriot Act.
“We can’t go in there,” Grimm told them. “They’ve got lawyers and political connections up the yin-yang. We’ve been in there before and found nothing.”
“After Rusty Klautz escaped,” said Lydia.
“That’s right.”
“So what makes you think there’s anything there now?” asked Jeffrey.
“These satellite photos,” he said, pointing to Jeffrey’s laptop screen, “which I’m not even going to ask how you got your hands on, reveal buildings that don’t exist on the property survey.”
“They weren’t there when you went in the first time?”
“No,” said Grimm with a shake of his head. “We also have new information. Are any of you familiar with the topography of Florida?”
Jeffrey nodded. “It’s karstic, meaning that it’s basically a porous limestone bedrock over a high water table.”
“Right. And beneath Florida is a system of caves formed by water running through the pores of that limestone, many of which are submerged. Cave-diving and spelunking heaven.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Lydia, not sure she liked where this was going.
“According to our source, they’re using some of the dry caves to hide weapons. Not just guns.”
“Who’s your source?” asked Lydia.
“Well, that’s the other thing,” said Grimm, shifting in his seat and putting his eyes on Lydia. “We’ve lost contact. We lost contact weeks ago.”
“You sent someone to infiltrate,” said Jeffrey, with a frown. “Because the kid we pulled out of there? He was fried, totally divorced from reality and from his personality.”
Grimm nodded. “In most cases, we train our people to resist those techniques.”
“In most cases?” asked Lydia.
“In this case, there was no time. It was a matter of opportunity.”
“So there’s an agent in the compound somewhere? Doesn’t that give you cause to go in?” asked Lydia.
“It’s more complicated than that. Let’s just say-” He paused as if searching for the right words. “Rules have been broken. It comes from on hig
h that it’s hands off The New Day. But some of us didn’t think that was such a good idea.”
“So now you’ve lost someone that you can’t get out without admitting that you’ve been investigating a group that was supposed to be immune to investigation,” said Jeffrey.
Grimm didn’t answer, just glanced back at the computer screen. Lydia watched Jeffrey; there was a muscle working in the side of his jaw and he had leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. He had turned a hard look on Grimm. He didn’t believe what Grimm was telling them, or not all of it. Lydia felt the same edge of uncertainty. An uneasiness had burrowed its way into her gut. They both knew that with the new anti-terrorism laws the FBI didn’t really need cause to raid the New Day Farms. There was some other reason they didn’t want to go in there.
“You want us to find your agent and bring him out,” said Dax.
“Since you’re in the neighborhood and were planning a visit anyway.” There was a blankness to Grimm’s face and his voice, a strange nebulousness to his whole being, as if you might forget what he looked like shortly after you’d left him. Suddenly Lydia didn’t like him or what he was asking them to do. It seemed off, crooked even for the FBI. “And in return, we won’t arrest you for any of the variety of things we could arrest you for right now.” He smiled. It wasn’t pretty.
“So who’s your man?” asked Jeffrey.
“Our man is a woman,” said Grimm, looking down at his shoes. “I believe you all know her. Her name is Lily Samuels.”
Lydia drew in a sharp breath of surprise. “Oh my God,” she said, standing up with the shock of it; both Dax and Jeffrey turned their eyes to her. A thousand things that hadn’t made sense suddenly did. “You used her,” said Lydia. Her voice was quiet but her tone was white hot with anger. “She came to you for help, trying to understand what happened to her brother and you used her.”
She thought of the message Lily had left her. “I really need your help. I am out of my league. Big-time. I-I just really need to talk to you,” she’d said. Man, she wasn’t kidding.
“It wasn’t like that, Ms. Strong,” said Grimm, holding up a hand. “Not at all. Lily Samuels came to us with a proposition. We took her up on it. Otherwise, she would have gone in on her own. We thought we could offer her some protection while pursuing our own agenda. We were wrong.”
“What was her proposition?” asked Jeffrey.
“She was convinced that The New Day had something to gain through Mickey’s death. She wanted to know what that was. In return for our support, she would provide evidence against The New Day and write an exposé that would tear the lid off the organization and send its political supporters scattering like roaches.”
“Allowing you to go in and get Trevor Rhames,” said Dax.
“And expose The New Day for what we believe them to be,” said Grimm. “A criminal organization that robs people of their lives and their money. One that uses that money and the money earned through a variety of illegal activities to fund terrorist groups and supply weapons and men to rebel factions, destabilizing political situations around the world to create chaos.”
“So your feeling is that The New Day is a Privatized Military Company masquerading as a religion,” said Jeffrey. Lydia looked at him and could tell that the same things were flashing through his mind: the house on the water, the compound in the middle of nowhere, the pink diamond, the jewel heist, Tim Samuels’ security company. All the pieces fell together, but something still didn’t feel right.
“At least partially-the part that Trevor Rhames runs,” said Grimm vaguely.
They were all quiet for a second. The sun had dropped below the horizon outside and the sky was deep blue-black with streaks of orange like the belly of a tiger. Outside two pelicans dive-bombed into the dark, gold-tinged water, taking advantage of the last bit of light to fish by.
“What are the security specs?” asked Jeffrey.
So that’s what you do? You work for one of these Privatized Military Companies?”
Jeffrey had the wheel and Lydia sat beside him, turned to look at Dax who sat in the backseat, his legs up, his back against the door.
“I’ve done a lot of things.”
Something in his face changed when he said it, as if the memory of some of those things pained him. He looked away from her, his eyes taking on that veiled look they got when she asked too many questions. He was shutting her out.
“You’re a mercenary,” she said. She’d leveled this accusation against him before but never with any seriousness. He turned his eyes on her then, seemed about to say something but didn’t. Jeffrey hadn’t said anything, she noticed. She settled into her seat and watched Dax out of her sideview mirror. She thought he looked a little sad.
“What difference does it make who else he works for or what he does?” Jeffrey said after a few minutes of riding in an uncomfortable silence. “You’ve saved our asses and sacrificed enough for us, Dax, that we could never doubt your loyalty or your friendship.”
Dax nodded and Lydia didn’t say anything. It was true, of course. But something in her still felt bruised. She folded her arms across her chest, rested her head against the back of her seat and closed her eyes for a minute. When she opened them, she saw Dax watching her in the mirror. She held his eyes for a second and looked away from him.
“Do you think Grimm can be trusted?” Jeffrey asked Dax.
“As much as anyone,” he said with a shrug.
“Do you know him?” Lydia asked, suddenly turning around. “There was something between the two of you in that room.”
Dax was silent, turned to look out the window. Lydia blew out a sharp breath, turned back around.
“The question is,” said Jeffrey, looking at the headlights in his rearview mirror, “are we doing the right thing in helping them?”
“I don’t see where we have a choice,” said Dax. “We were going to go in anyway. Now we have better security specs. It doesn’t matter whether Lily Samuels was working with them or not. We still need to bring her home. They’re not going in after her. What do we have to lose?”
The question made Lydia flinch. It was like tempting the Universe; there was plenty to lose-Lily, for one. She didn’t say anything.
The drive to the New Day Farms was long and mostly silent; nearly an hour and a half toward the center of the state. They took a small state highway that passed quickly through the pretty seaside town, then past a fairly large metropolis with tall gleaming buildings in its downtown center, creating a small but attractive skyline. The city was edged with million-dollar bayfront homes, all hosting boats bigger than some houses Lydia had seen. The scenery quickly turned to the projects and dilapidated houses of a depressed outer urban area. About an hour outside the city the dark, empty roadside was dotted by rundown houses and shacks. Shells of old cars lay in front yards like sleeping dogs, wash hung on lines, people gathered on porches, monster trucks rumbled in short gravel driveways. They passed a couple of seedy-looking bars, some barbeque joints, a Waffle House. Near the middle of the state everything turned green-black and they saw nothing for miles but lush, thick vegetation in the glow of the headlights.
Buried in the middle of nowhere, the New Day Farms kept only a high chain-link fence at the end of the drive that connected to the road. Lydia and Jeffrey scaled it easily; Dax took it a little harder and the landing looked like it caused him some pain. But all in all, he seemed to be getting back to form, still stiff but much stronger and more agile.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m some foreign specimen under a microscope.”
“I just don’t understand-” she started but Jeffrey held up a hand and looked at them both sternly.
“This is not the time.”
“I’m the same person,” he whispered to her as they walked along the edge of the drive. She nodded, looked into his eyes. “Nothing has changed,” he said when she didn’t answer him.
The air was so thick with humidity that Lydia felt like she was breathing gauze. Even in short sleeves, she was sweating as they made their way quietly but quickly in a light jog up the drive. The heavy foliage around them was so green it was black in the dark; it had a pulse, it moved. She felt like they were walking beside a living thing. She heard the flapping of giant wings in the leaves above them, something scurrying near their feet. There was a threatening aura to the exotic ferns, twisting vine-covered trucks, fanning palm leaves, so much they couldn’t see. She kept close to Jeff and away from Dax.
“There won’t be any security to speak of until you get to the end of the drive. Then it’s going to get complicated,” Grimm had told them.
But Lydia felt watched. She felt like the wall of living green to her right had eyes, that they were expected and someone was having a good laugh about it.
“I don’t like a single thing about this,” said Lydia to Jeffrey.
“Me neither,” said Jeffrey. “Just stay close and be careful.”
So what you’re telling me is that you just happened to be in the neighborhood at the time of the shooting and spotted The New Day van on the side of the street.”
Jesamyn shrugged, wondering if he’d let it fly. But he turned a hard look on her.
“Detective, if we’re straight with each other things might go easier for everyone, including your partner.”
She sighed and sat down at Clifford Stern’s dining-room table, old, full of nicks and hairline scratches. It wobbled when she put her elbow on it. Bloom sat beside her. She looked at him and wondered: Was he a good cop just looking for the truth? Or was he an asshole who thought he already had it sewn up and any new evidence or information that proved otherwise would be an assault to his ego?
