Smoke Screen (The Darcy Lynch Series Book 2)

by Elin Barnes

  “I will. We’re on it,” he said before he hung up.

  “I’m sure NCIS is on this too,” Darcy said.

  “Yep.” Sorensen rubbed his face with his beefy hand and looked at Lynch. “Tell me you got something.”

  “A few boot prints at the VTA station. They were definitely hiding on the other side of the platform before the train showed up.” Lynch slouched in his chair. “What I would like to know is if they targeted those guys on purpose, or if they just took somebody at random.”

  “This is not random. Two incidents, almost identical, in two different places, and they take somebody random? I doubt it. They were targeting whomever they took.”

  Lynch nodded in agreement.

  “What we need to figure out is who’s the guy they took in the VTA. Is he also a Marine?” Sorensen asked.

  Lynch didn’t reply.

  While watching his partner get up and document the updates on the whiteboard, Sorensen tried to figure out how much longer he could stay at the station without making his wife mad.

  Chapter 12

  Ethan Mitchell washed his hands. The discarded razor rested in the sink, now clean from the running water. His shoulders were stiff. He rubbed his hands under the lukewarm water a couple more times and forced his body to loosen up a little, releasing the tension.

  “We need to get out of here,” Bishop announced from the bathroom door.

  “I know,” Ethan said. “Did you grab the rest of the halothane grenades?”

  “Already hidden in the van.”

  Ethan grabbed a few paper towels and, after drying his hands, made a ball and threw it toward the garbage can, missing it. He walked past the paper towels without picking them up.

  The body of Gunnery Sergeant Ben Walters was nowhere to be seen. He figured they’d moved him already to the back of the van. He went up the stairs two at a time and saw that everybody was waiting for him. Ethan locked the door and jumped into the passenger seat.

  There was no more giggling or laughing. Back on the job, they were watchful, staring out the windows, holding their breath each time they stopped at a red light. It was late, and the streets were fairly empty. They’d planned the route to avoid the more trafficked areas.

  “Fuck. PD at six o’clock,” Bishop said, breaking the silence, fixing his eyes on the rearview mirror.

  A San Jose patrol car pulled up behind them. Nobody breathed.

  “Nice and easy,” Ethan said.

  “This is not the first time I’ve done this, compadre,” Bishop replied.

  The light turned green. Bishop tapped the accelerator, and the van rolled forward.

  “Turn left,” Toby said.

  Bishop hit the turn signal, and when he reached the next intersection he turned left. The patrol car followed. They drove straight through the next street, only passing a few cars. Then Bishop turned right, after signaling. The patrol car trailed right behind them.

  “What the hell’s up with this guy?” Bishop shifted in his seat.

  Before they had reached the middle of the next block, the cop turned the spinners on.

  Bishop stopped the van and rolled the window down. Ethan checked his seat belt was on. It was. Toby tucked the corner of the blanket, ensuring that the body was completely hidden.

  “Good evening, sir,” the police officer said when he reached the window. He looked inside and nodded at the men. “License and registration, please.” While Bishop fetched both documents, the officer asked, “Do you know why I stopped you?”

  Chapter 13

  Darcy had his feet on the table and was engrossed in a heated discussion with Sorensen about all the possible ways this case could go.

  Virago got out of her office and headed toward them. “Feel like calling it a day? It’s almost 11:00 p.m. My treat for a beer.”

  “I could definitely use a break,” Sorensen said. “This guy’s driving me crazy.”

  “Nobody’s forcing you to stay. Oh, wait. Yeah, your mother-in-law is,” Darcy joked.

  Sorensen rubbed the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

  “Ladies, please,” Virago said, already walking toward the exit.

  “How’s the pilot task force with SJPD going?” she asked as soon as they got out in the street.

  “Okay,” Sorensen said, not looking at Darcy for confirmation.

  They remained silent the rest of the way. Virago led, and the two detectives walked half a step behind her. A few minutes later, Sorensen opened the door of Fibar McGee’s for her but went in before Darcy. She picked a booth at the very end and sat facing the door. Sorensen sat across from her but didn’t scoot. Darcy stood looking from one to the other. When neither moved to share the booth space, he pulled a chair from the table behind him and sat facing the wall.

  “Captain, it’s been a while,” the owner said when he appeared from the back.

  “Too long, Bernie, too long.” Her smile was wide and looked authentic.

  They ordered beers. Bernie brought them to the table and left them alone.

  Virago looked over the back of the booth, checking out the mostly empty bar, and said, “Carmen, SJPD’s Bureau of Investigation’s deputy chief, approached me with a proposition shortly after we formed the task force.”

  Darcy hadn’t heard anything from his sister, so Carmen must have gone directly to Virago, not vetting the proposition with the sheriff first. This should be interesting, Darcy thought.

  “As you both know, everybody is trying to make their departments mean and lean—”

  “Don’t say it. Don’t even tell me that we’re going to have furloughs,” Sorensen interrupted.

  Virago raised her hand to make him stop. “Detective, do you jump to conclusions in your investigations too?”

  Sorensen looked as if he’d just eaten a live frog.

  “As I was saying,” she started again, and paused to make sure she had their attention. When they both looked at her, she continued: “Carmen wants me to transfer over to the SJPD to lead a squad of detectives focusing on special cases.”

  “You’re leaving the Sheriff’s Office?” they both asked.

  “Jesus, keep it down, you two,” she said. “I didn’t want to talk in the office, because I didn’t want everybody to know. If you keep yelling, we may as well have stayed there.”

  “Crap, I never would have figured you would leave,” Sorensen said almost in a whisper.

  “It’s not a done deal. They want to see how the current task force is working out first. The Special Cases Unit will eventually be multidepartment, so what we’re doing now is like a mini pilot.”

  “But then why do you have to go? Doesn’t it make more sense to keep things the way they are, so all the departments contribute their part?” Darcy asked.

  “That’s what I thought at first. My take is that they want to ensure that this unit is successful with SJPD personnel, so if more departments want to join or get out of it later, it wouldn’t really affect the unit.”

  “What about Captain McKenna? I thought she was leading the task force from the SJPD side.”

  “She’s retiring. And that’s not public knowledge, so don’t share it.”

  “Oh,” Sorensen said, and took a sip of his beer.

  Darcy thought he looked defeated, as if he knew he was going to lose his captain.

  “Part of the agreement is that I can bring three people with me,” she said.

  Sorensen looked up.

  Darcy was watching the interactions more than he was paying attention to the implications of what Virago was telling them. He knew Virago and Sorensen were close, but he now started to realize that there was a friendship between them he hadn’t understood before.

  “I know you have history here and a lot of years, so I’m not sure it’s fair to ask you, but I would like you to come with me.”

  “What?” Sorensen asked, faking surprise, but his eyes shined.

  Darcy leaned back in his chair, wondering why he was there.

&nb
sp; “I don’t exactly know what the conditions would be, and I’m not sure you can carry over your pension.”

  “Ouch,” Sorensen said, slouching in the booth. “That’s fifteen years.”

  “I know.”

  She looked at Darcy, as if she wanted to let Sorensen think in peace. “I would also want you to come with me,” she said.

  “What?” the two detectives asked.

  Darcy looked at Sorensen. It annoyed him that his partner couldn’t keep his mouth shut, even if it was just out of courtesy.

  The left side of Virago’s mouth rose a little, and her crow’s-feet deepened, as if she’d been planning for a long time a way to shock them both at the same time. And now she was pleased because she’d succeeded.

  “I know you have a strong tie to the Sheriff’s Office through your sister, so I don’t want to cause any hard feelings there, but I think you could do well at the SJPD.” She paused for a second. She looked like she was trying to figure out whether or not to say more.

  “It could be nice to get the job for merits and not cronyism,” Darcy said, and when she nodded slightly, he knew that was exactly what she’d been thinking.

  “Who’s the third?” Sorensen asked.

  She looked from one to the other and smiled. “The best researcher we have, of course: Jon.”

  Chapter 14

  The cool air came into the van from the open window. Ethan let out a very long and silent sigh while he locked eyes with the officer. He put on a curious, non-daring face and hoped Bishop was doing the same.

  “No, sir, I don’t know why you stopped me.” Bishop’s voice was affable and genuine.

  The officer took the license and the registration, and before walking away said, “Your right brake light is broken, and you shouldn’t drive without a side mirror.” He pointed with his pen at the place where the mirror should have been.

  Bishop nodded.

  The officer took a few steps back to call in the information.

  Bishop turned, his eyes darting between the men. “You motherfuckers didn’t check the state of the van. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “Keep it down,” Ethan said, moving his hand up and down.

  “I know, but this . . .”

  The police radio crackled, and they all looked toward the noise as if summoned by an order. Ethan watched the officer lean his head toward the microphone clipped to his shoulder, then press a button and talk into it. He couldn’t hear the actual words, but a few seconds later the officer hurried to the van and almost shoved the driving license and registration into Bishop’s chest.

  “Get that fixed. Consider this a warning.” He ran back to his car and sped away with the siren on and the spinners flashing.

  “I wonder what that was about,” Toby said from the backseat.

  “Who knows? This is East San Jose. Probably some gang shooting or something.” Bishop put the car in gear.

  Ethan checked his watch and said, “Okay, let’s move. We don’t have all night.”

  Bishop started to drive, trying to use the brakes as little as possible. The men were quiet. The police stop had sobered their mood even more.

  After what seemed like hours but was only minutes, Ethan broke the silence, pointing: “Here, take this spot here. I’ll go in.”

  Bishop parked.

  Ethan walked away from the van. The night felt crisp. He pulled up his jacket collar and quickened his pace. He turned left on Bascom Avenue and walked through the first door that would open.

  The bus station was spacious. Even though it was not very busy, he found it noisy, especially after being outside in the quiet night. There were only a few ticket windows open. Ethan picked the one with an older man who looked half-asleep. After buying his pass, he checked the time and realized they would have to move quickly.

  He searched for the right gate. Of course, it was toward the other end. He accelerated his pace, but not enough to call attention to himself. When he finally reached it, he went through the door and found bus 27.

  There was nobody inside the coach. Good, he thought. He walked around and found the driver inspecting the cargo area.

  “Alberto, my man. How you doing?” Ethan asked when he got closer.

  Ethan watched the stocky old man push himself out of the hull with what seemed to be a lot of effort. Once he was standing, he looked up at Ethan and opened his arms. A warm smile framed his mouth with wrinkles.

  “All good, all good.” Alberto took a step back and said, “You look bigger. The Marines are treating you well.”

  Ethan smiled. “I wouldn’t have gone in if it wasn’t for you.”

  The men hugged.

  “It’s good to see you. You’ll come for Thanksgiving, right?”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll drop in with Mom,” Ethan said.

  “Perfect. You know Gladys will make food for your full regiment if you want to bring them.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Ethan said, patting Alberto’s shoulder.

  “Okay, we don’t have a lot of time. You bought the ticket?”

  Ethan took it out of his pocket and handed it to him.

  “Perfect.” Alberto looked around. The place was deserted. “Do you see that door at the end?” He pointed to the south side of the building. There was a sign that said “Emergency Exit.”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, I’ll prop it open, and you need to come back through that door. Make sure nobody sees you. I’ll meet you back here.”

  “Won’t it start an alarm when you open it?”

  “No, I checked. We’re good.”

  Ethan pulled out an envelope and handed it to him. Alberto didn’t take it. “Make sure you get a decent turkey this year.”

  The man still didn’t take the money.

  Ethan placed the envelope in Alberto’s jacket pocket and said, “Big turkey, okay? I want the biggest turkey in the neighborhood. See you in a couple weeks.”

  Ethan patted Alberto on the back again and left to get the body.

  As he walked, he checked his watch. He had less than eight hours until his next move.

  Chapter 15

  Tuesday

  At 0700 hours Ethan was fully dressed and ready to go. He was glad the day was gloomy and there was a 60 percent chance of showers. Maybe in the rain, fewer people would pay attention to his night-camouflage clothing.

  He left his condo in Mountain View and headed over to pick up Bishop. Ethan had been hesitant about bringing Bishop into his side business, but after what happened to Gomez in their last mission in Afghanistan, he wanted another fellow Marine, and Bishop was someone he could control.

  Bishop lived close to Japantown in San Jose. It only took him fifteen minutes to get there because traffic was light this early in the morning. Just as Ethan was pulling up outside the apartment building, Bishop came out wearing a matching uniform.

  “No coffee?” Bishop shut the car door but didn’t buckle his seat belt.

  “I don’t want my girls needing pee breaks in the middle of the operation,” Ethan said, only barely joking.

  Both men rode in silence for a few minutes.

  “Do you think this is going to work?” Bishop turned to look out the side window.

  “One hundred percent. We’ve been planning this for a long time. Every detail has been carefully addressed.” Ethan eyed him.

  “But this one’s the real deal.”

  “There’s no difference.” Ethan showed a little frustration in his voice. “Are you chickening out?”

  “No, man. You know that.”

  “Then stop asking stupid questions.”

  “Somebody needs to get laid . . . I was just making conversation.” Bishop crossed his arms and stared out the side window again.

  When they reached the rendezvous point, Curtis, Mac, and Barr were already there.

  “How did it go?” Curtis asked Ethan referring to the VTA kidnapping.

  “Perfect, of course,” Bishop responded. “We’re Mar
ines.”

  Ethan saw Curtis roll his eyes. Bishop’s need to establish the Marines’ superiority over the other special forces was borderline amusing. But Bishop was the new kid, and Ethan had a long history with the other guys, so he understood why he was overcompensating.

  The others had wanted to participate in the VTA job, but Ethan told them that it had to be done strictly by Marines. That’s why he and Bishop did the job with their platoon guys.

  He thought about Bishop again: he didn’t measure up to the others. After this mission, I may have to fire you, he thought, looking at him.

  “All ready?” he asked.

  They nodded and, leaving Ethan’s car behind, got into the black van they’d used the night before.

  “I double-checked the license plates. Muddy as hell,” Mac said. “And I fixed the brake lights,” he added.

  “Great.” Ethan almost asked if they had inspected the equipment, but didn’t. He didn’t have to.

  Bishop took the Taylor exit off of Highway 87. When he reached Coleman Avenue, he turned left and then right into the shopping center. Ethan had done enough recon to not be surprised by the number of cars parked there even though most stores were still closed.

  Bishop parked in the third row, facing south, just far enough away from the cameras. They all watched the bank while they donned their equipment. Ethan heard clothing swishing and belts clicking, but his eyes were glued to the entrance.

  An employee came to unlock the glass doors. A few minutes later a couple went in, then a man. A woman in her fifties came and left.

  “Busy morning,” Bishop said. A tinge of anxiety marked his voice.

  “He’s here,” Barr said, watching a car pull into the parking lot.

  “Gas masks on. Everybody ready?” Ethan looked at the dashboard clock. It was 0807 hours.

  “Yessir!” they all yelled in unison, their voices muffled by the masks.

  “On my mark.”

  Ethan watched the Mercedes E350 park at their one o’clock. A man in his mid-thirties got out and pressed the fob to lock the car. He was wearing a white polo shirt underneath a black windbreaker, khakis—a bit too baggy—and navy tennis shoes with a big N in dark brown.