The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15

by Catherine Coulter

  She saw blood oozing sluggishly through his fingers. Too bad she hadn't hit an artery, but it was a start. Should she dare try her only other bullet? She was tempted, she was a good shot. Just maybe-

  Suddenly he grabbed a still limp Jane Ann, dragged her behind a leather sofa, then pulled her up in front of him like a shield. "You want to try again, Agent? Well, go ahead, this slut is no loss to the world." Without the pressure of his left palm, blood snaked down his neck into his jacket.

  She didn't know where she found it, but she laughed. "Hey, Andy, what do you call a male slut in German?"

  He fired once, lower this time, but still well above her head.

  She laughed at him again. "You're not in such good shape now, are you? You're bleeding all over the place. Hey, who knows? Maybe you'll bleed out. Talk about no loss to the world, but hey, I'm willing to make you a deal, Andy. You leave Jane Ann alive, and I'll let you walk out of here. No one else has to die today."

  "You will let me walk out of here? To run for the rest of my life? That's not going to happen. I'm the one in charge here, not you. When all of you are dead, my problems are over. You've figured that out, haven't you? All of you are going to hell. Where are you?" He raised his gun and fired two quick rounds. One was no more than six inches from the top of her head. Too close, way too close.

  She could hear rage simmering in his deep voice now, whipping up a mad brew. "You are nothing but a dried-up butch cop! What you are is dead, do you hear me?" She watched Jane Ann's head loll against his chest as he shifted her, clumsily trying to keep her in front of him so he could press his palm against his neck again. Holding Jane Ann with his gun arm hampered him, not that it mattered, Sherlock wasn't about to risk shooting Jane Ann.

  "To be honest here, Andy, at first I thought you were like a sore thumb-just sticking out there, this jerk foreign cop with nothing to do, bumbling around, but you had your own agenda. You only wanted to find out what we knew. You didn't spend much time with your assigned FBI buddy, did you? Nope, you had too much to do, too many places to go, people to see, bombs to plant.

  "You better deal with me, Andy, or you won't come out of this alive. You've got to ask yourself, is time on your side, or mine? You want to be sent back to Germany in a metal box? Does it matter? Is there anyone back in Germany to mourn you, anyone to care at all if you're dead or alive?"

  It was a disappointment when he called back, calm and controlled, "I will deal with you, Agent Sherlock, and it's going to be on my own terms."

  Jane Ann moaned.

  Be quiet, be quiet, for heaven's sake, Jane Ann, be quiet!

  "Let me tell you my terms here, Andy, something you must believe-if you shoot Jane Ann Royal, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

  A moment's silence, then he spoke, his voice indifferent, "You can try, I suppose, with that little pea shooter of yours."

  "Won't you tell me how you murdered Helmut Blauvelt when you didn't arrive in the U.S. until the day after he died?"

  60

  He giggled. It creeped her out, the conceit in that giggle, the unmistakable whiff of madness. She felt his arrogance, his dismissal of her, when he said, "I was already here on a forged passport. After I killed Blauvelt, I quickly returned to New York and left on the red eye back to Frankfurt."

  "Now you've depressed me. I guess we're just too trusting of our foreign counterparts. And I must say you arrived with a reputation as a straight-arrow cop, Agent Kesselring. Who would have thought you're really a stone cold murderer?"

  "One does what one must." He sounded calm again, and it scared her. The last thing she wanted was to have him thinking clearly.

  Push him, push him. "Sounds to me like Schiffer Hartwin had a great duo working for them, you and Blauvelt. How many people did you kill between you? How many officials did you bribe to run Schiffer Hartwin's illegal tests? Africa is a particularly nice drug testing ground, isn't it? So what happened with Blauvelt? Why'd you kill him? What did he do?"

  She heard him snort, but he didn't answer.

  "Come now, what does it matter? Inquiring minds want to know, Andy. Hey, had Blauvelt simply had enough of the intimidation and killing? Maybe the Culovort scheme finally got to him? That's why he wanted out?

  "Did Dieffendorf know he'd become a liability? Did he send you over here to make sure Blauvelt was dead and buried, no longer a problem? What, Andy?"

  He said something to her in German, something low and vicious. He'd probably sent her right to hell. Was he about ready to boil over?

  "You're afraid to talk to me, aren't you, Andy? You, the big hollow cop in the expensive Armani suit-you're actually afraid of a butch cop half your size? You've told me everything else, why don't you want to tell me why you murdered Blauvelt?"

  Jane Ann moaned again.

  Sherlock heard the slap of flesh against flesh, knew he'd struck Jane Ann with his open palm. Better than his fist.

  She shouted, "You're a psychopath, Andy, but I didn't figure you for a coward, too."

  Hallelujah, that did it. He yelled, "The break-in, you idiot! The pathetic little man found out too much. Once that damned Erin Pulaski stole the information on Culovort right off Royal's computer, I knew he'd tell the one person who could cut the cash flow. Blauvelt would not listen, so I had no choice. I would have been exposed. To him I was nothing.

  "Well, I showed him he was nothing. Less than nothing. I even erased his damned face. He always liked to say he was the big fish. Well, he got himself devoured by a bigger fish, didn't he?"

  "You didn't want him identified, did you?"

  "Of course not, at least not until I was safely back in Germany. But once I started smashing his face, I realized I rather enjoyed it. Then I cut off his fingers, left the rest for the local yahoos to try to identify. I didn't know Van Wie Park was federal land. It was just bad luck Agent Richards realized Blauvelt had foreign dental work, and you found out who he was like that-" Kesselring snapped his fingers. "It was a much quicker flight back than I expected. I've always found that to be true. Going home is always faster.

  "Still, it should have worked, all of it, except for Royal. He was the weak link, ready to roll over on us."

  "Who could have stopped it all?"

  He laughed. "Good try, Agent, but I will keep that close to my vest, isn't that your American slang?"

  "You nailed it, Andy. Is that when you decided to visit Jane Ann?"

  "Ah, Jane Ann. Now she was a surprise, I'll admit it." He gave that insane giggle again. "She was something in bed, I'll tell you."

  "A match made in heaven. You and Jane Ann and Mick Haggarty?"

  "Was that the boy's last name? What a waste he was, no guts at all. He was shaking so hard when I shot Royal I thought he would piss his pants."

  "Then you and Mick were waiting for us, and you were careful not to hit us since we were Jane Ann's alibi."

  Sherlock wondered if she could shoot above Jane Ann's head with her precious second bullet and miraculously strike him in the forehead. Time was running out. She had to bring him out, she had to bring him closer to her, she had to end it.

  "Schiffer Hartwin isn't paying you what you're worth, are they, Andy? Not a share of the real profits like others are getting, you know, a big slice of the windfall profits from Laboratoires Ancondor? Sounds to me like you're the one who makes everything work. What good are they without you, these men you work for? Surely the whole company isn't in on this? Who's running this show? Who could put a stop to it?"

  "They will pay me now, every single penny I ask for. Enough, Agent! There is no more reason to talk."

  "I've got a surprise for you, Andy. Jane Ann forgot all about my cell phone. I've got it in my pocket, and not only is it recording our entire conversation, it's giving out a nice sharp signal. We've talked so long now, there are probably FBI agents and local pol
ice officers in position around this place right now, just waiting for you to come out. Best not to kill Jane Ann, Andy, or you'll go down so fast you won't even know you're dead. You know how good our snipers are, don't you? Right through the forehead, and you're gone.

  "You want to die here, Andy? Or do you want to deal with me and live another day?"

  He dropped Jane Ann, jumped over the sofa, and ran toward the sound of her voice, and he didn't stop firing until the clip was empty. Then he pulled her SIG from his belt and kept coming, firing with every step.

  61

  "Kesselring! Stop right there or I'll shoot!"

  It was Bowie. Thank you, God, thank you, God. She had a chance now. Her SIG had to be nearly empty, but he didn't stop, it was as if he couldn't-and he was looking her right in the face when he took his next shot. Sherlock felt the bullet whistle not an inch from her right ear, felt the sting of it, and smelled the cordite. She had no choice but to rise up and try for a kill shot with her only bullet. Then there were two quick shots from the door, and thank the merciful Lord, Kesselring fell hard to the floor.

  There was a moment of dead silence.

  Sherlock shouted, "Bowie?"

  "Sherlock, you all right?"

  "Miracle of miracles, I am."

  "Sherlock?"

  It was Erin.

  Sherlock called out, "Is Kesselring down for good?"

  Erin said with a good deal of pleasure, "Yeah, looks like Bowie shot out his hip. He's lying on his side, panting and moaning. Blood on his neck, too. Did you do that?"

  "Yeah." Sherlock stood up slowly, glad her legs held her, and watched Bowie drop to his haunches beside Kesselring. He took his collar between his two hands and shook him hard, saw he wouldn't resist, and searched him for weapons.

  "Bowie? Everything okay in here?" It was Agent Cliff.

  He said over his shoulder, not looking away from Kesselring, "Yeah, we've got things under control. Call a couple of ambulances, would you, Dolores? Tell everyone outside it's over." He looked over at Mick Haggarty. "And call Dr. Franks, too."

  Sherlock stared down at Kesselring's pale sweating face. His jaw was working. She knew he was in major pain. She saw his hand hover above his right hip, as if he was afraid to touch it. Kesselring was finally down and out.

  It was a lovely sight.

  She called out, "Jane Ann? Are you okay?"

  "Yeah," came a faint whisper from behind the sofa. "But my brains feel upside down."

  Now you know how I felt after Mick clocked me in the head. "Just lie still. Agent Cliff's getting an ambulance for you."

  Bowie saw Kesselring had passed out. He said to Sherlock, "We found you all because of Erin. She saw an award on Mick Haggarty's wall for his performance in Hamlet, and she remembered coming here to see some plays. She remembered how isolated this place is." Bowie paused a moment. "So Haggarty is dead."

  "Yes, Kesselring shot him when he tried to help Jane Ann. He planned to kill all three of us, make it look like we shot each other."

  Erin stared down at Mick Haggarty. "They played him. He didn't have a chance."

  "Mick Haggarty was old enough to know exactly what he was doing," Sherlock said. "Jane Ann made sure he was up to his neck, though. She was also using him for insurance, to protect her from Kesselring."

  Jane Ann whispered, "It was the only smart thing I did. Poor Mick."

  Sherlock said, "Poor Mick was there when Kesselring shot Caskie, just as both of them were at the top of the stairs, firing at us, not to kill us but to make us Jane Ann's alibi. That means Mick was up for first degree murder along with this clown. Jane Ann too.

  "Thank you, Erin, for finding me. I owe you a prayer every single night for the rest of my life."

  Sherlock looked down at Kesselring. "If he'd gotten off one more shot, I think I'd be singing with the angels. Did you guys happen to bring my cell phone?"

  "Sure did," Bowie said, reaching into his jacket pocket. For once, he came out with his own cell. He tried his pants pockets. Nothing.

  "Just a moment," Erin said, reaching into her bag and pulling out Sherlock's cell phone, bowing slightly as she handed it to her.

  "Thank you. It turns out Kesselring murdered Blauvelt, too, after you, Erin, copied the Culovort papers off Caskie's computer. There's more. I just hope Andy here will repeat it all again."

  "Andy?" Erin repeated, eyebrow arched.

  "I wanted to push him," Sherlock said, looking down again at Kesselring. "Jane Ann called him Andy and it enraged him. He hates it."

  The huge room was now filling with FBI agents and local cops. Sherlock heard sirens in the distance. She realized her heart was slowing, as her brain finally accepted that she'd survived. She wondered when her hands would stop shaking.

  Kesselring moaned and opened his eyes to look up at Erin standing above him. She said, "You tried to blow me up. My Hummer's in the junkyard because of you." She kicked him in the knee.

  He jerked and moaned again. He was panting as he said, "You are responsible for this, you interfering bitch, you're nothing more than a stupid girl."

  "Yeah, right," Erin said. "What does that make you, Prince Charming?"

  Kesselring was panting with the pain now. "I need a doctor, now."

  Erin smiled down at him. "You didn't answer my question, Andy."

  He said with pain-dulled eyes. "I'm a man, a man."

  Sherlock went down on her knees next to him. "Look at me, Andy."

  "Damn you, don't call me that!"

  "Okay, Andreas," she said, her voice soothing, gentle. "Look, I know you're in terrible pain, but you've got to understand, you're headed for death row unless you cooperate. Tell me who's paying you."

  He tried to spit in her face.

  "There's an answer," Sherlock said.

  Kesselring looked up at the two people who'd beaten him. He had failed. Through his roiling, unspeakable pain, his hatred of himself was nearly as great as his hatred of these American FBI agents. Odd how failure tasted sour in his mouth, how it made him want to vomit.

  He suddenly saw himself as a little boy, his grandmother bending over him, bundling him up in the middle of winter so he could go build snow forts in the backyard. She was telling him over and over not to hurt his sister.

  The pain was coming so hard and fast now it was hard to think, hard to even know what was happening to him. No matter what he said, no matter what he did, Kesselring knew there would be no deal that would ever allow him to walk free again.

  He said to the faces above him, all of them blurred now into the haze where the god-awful pain pounded all the way to his soul, "My grandmother is in a nursing home outside of Frankfurt."

  He saw his grandmother wrap two coats around his little sister Lisle so she could go outside and play with him. He was so excited, so impatient, and he really didn't want to play with her, she was too little, and she always tripped over everything, and whined-she still whined too much now and she was twenty-eight years old. "I'll never tell you anything," he said, and closed his eyes.

  62

  Sherlock stood aside to watch the paramedics, two young men with grim faces, work on Kesselring. "Good grief, Agent, you shot him up pretty good. Neck wound too? How did that happen?" He craned to look up at Sherlock.

  "It was quite a shoot-out, let me tell you, I'm very happy he lost."

  "He lost, all right," the other paramedic said as he passed pressure dressings to his partner and untied the straps on the gurney. "I think he's going to pull through but he ain't going to be happy for a good long time."

  Dolores walked over and took Sherlock's hands in hers. "We're all so relieved you're all right. I've never seen this much shooting in my entire career. It's going to take the forensic team days just to find all the casings. But you're all right," she repeated, an
d ran her hands over Sherlock's arms.

  Sherlock grinned at her, then reached for her SIG. She slipped in a new magazine. "Thanks, Dolores. Thank God, it's over." She nodded, then turned to make a call.

  He answered on the first ring. "All I want to hear is that you're all right."

  Sherlock kept her voice calm and clear. "Everything's okay here. Kesselring's alive, bound for the hospital. Bowie and I both shot him. Kesselring murdered Blauvelt-and he and Jane Ann plotted to murder Caskie. I've got lots to tell you about that. We've got Jane Ann in custody too, but Mick Haggarty is dead. If we're lucky, Kesselring or Jane Ann, if she knows, will roll big-time on whoever he was working for."

  Savich felt his heart finally slowing. "You swear you're okay?"

  "Yes, I promise. Tell me what's happening down there."

  "What I really need to do is speak to Senator Hoffman, so how about I fly up to Connecticut later this evening?"

  She said slowly, "You know, don't you, Dillon? You know the answer?"

  "Yes, I do." He took a deep breath. "Excuse me now, sweetheart, I'm going to offer thanksgiving prayers before I do anything else."

  63

  Saturday evening

  Savich met Senator David Hoffman in his elegant library in Chevy Chase.

  He shook Savich's hand and said without preamble, "Tell me you've found out who's behind the attempted murder of Vice President Valenti. And don't tell me it was a terrorist."

  Savich said, "No, I don't believe it was a terrorist."

  "But you agree it's the same person or people who are trying to kill me who also murdered Dana Frobisher and sabotaged my car?"

  "Yes, there's no doubt about that now."