Connelly and Hank both shook their heads.
“No, babe,” Connelly said.
“What?”
“This isn’t hide-and-seek, Sasha. You don’t get a head start. And you certainly don’t head off to a vacation that you’ve blabbed about to half of Pittsburgh. You don’t have three days. You have three minutes. Pack a bag. Get in your car and start driving. Don’t tell me where you’re headed. Don’t tell anyone. Cashion’s got a leak and she has no idea where. The entire Task Force is under review,” Hank said in a firm, insistent tone.
Sasha’s head spun. She’d always thought that was just a saying, but, nope, her head—well, the room, to be exact—was spinning in rapid, dizzying circles. “But, Christmas—”
“There’s no time, Sasha. I’ll take Mocha home with me. I’ll drop your cat off at Naya’s and tell her to let your family and Will know that there’s been an emergency and you and Leo aren’t going to be around for a while.”
“You can’t just tell my mother I’m missing Christmas because something came up. You’ve met her.”
“I can’t, but Naya can. She’ll back your mom down—and fast. Now will you please go throw some clothes in a bag?”
Sasha nodded wordlessly and trailed Connelly through the kitchen to the loft. As she started up the stairs, the gaily-colored treat bags filled with Russian tea cakes caught her eye and she pointed at them. “Well take those, too. The kids’ll eat them.”
Stupid tears were welling up behind her stupid eyes. Laura Yim had been hacked to pieces, by someone who might be on his way to kill her, too, and she was crying over Christmas cookies and the fact that her vacation had just been canceled.
“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be okay,” Connelly whispered as he grabbed shirts and sweaters seemingly at random and tossed them into a duffle bag. He chucked a box of ammunition on top of the clothes and then headed into the bathroom to gather his toiletries.
She stood for a moment and waited for her emotions to die down, then she sprang into action as well. She swept up an armful of clean laundry and shoved it into a bag. She bypassed her heeled boots and stilettos and chose a pair of Uggs and a pair of running shoes instead. She didn’t know where they were going, but she had a feeling heels weren’t going to be the right choice. She was standing on a chair trying to pull down a basket full of gloves, hats, and scarves from the top shelf of the closet when Connelly reemerged from the bathroom.
“Here.” He stretched on his toes and lifted the basket down for her. “I got your bathroom stuff. What else do we need?”
“I don’t know,” she said feeling helpless. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere we’ve ever been before. That much is for sure. Beyond that, I have no idea.”
“Well I don’t know what else to take. Food? Water? Cash?”
“All of the above. How much money do you have on you?”
“Less than a hundred.”
He checked his wallet. “Me, too. We aren’t going to want to use credit cards—too easy to trace.”
“I can take petty cash from the office if you want to stop by.”
Hank loomed in the doorway. “No time.” He shoved a wad of bills into Connelly’s hand. “Will you please get out of here?”
“Aren’t you coming?” Sasha asked.
“I took the bus. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t followed. Carl and Naya are going to pick me up. They’ll drop me and Mocha at home and then take Java back to Naya’s place. I told her she could wait until tomorrow to break the news to your folks, okay?”
“Sure,” Sasha squeaked. She was getting choked up again at the way their friends were rallying around them to protect them. “Hank, thank you—”
“Thank me later. Just go.”
Connelly shook his hand. “Talk to you soon.”
“Don’t call me directly. Keep your heads down and let this situation shake out. I’ll track you down in a couple days.”
“How? We don’t even know where we’ll be?” Sasha demanded.
“We have our ways,” Connelly said in an exaggerated, mysterious voice.
She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, so she humored him with a quick smile before reaching up and hugging Hank.
“Thank you. And Merry Christmas.”
“I’d say Happy Anniversary, but it seems inappropriate,” he responded.
“Nah,” Connelly said, slinging his arm over her shoulder. “Being on the run from the Mafia is a slight improvement over being held hostage by armed bandits in a foreign country. I’d say things are looking up for us.”
She couldn’t resist laughing at that—mainly because it was true. “Come on, let’s say goodbye to the pets and get on the road before Hank’s head explodes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Man, I have a bad feeling about this.” Jamie slouched down and pulled the hood of his Bureau-issued parka tight around his face.
Nino waved off the worry. “Is it a worse feeling than you had when they fished what was left of your witness out of the river, Brenner?”
“That’s low, bro. I can’t get that poor girl out of my mind.” Jamie’s voice shook.
Nino had to snap him out of his self-defeated attitude—and fast. “Well you have to. We have a small window of time to make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to the McCandless woman, and the window’s closing, Jamie. This is our, I mean your, shot at redemption.”
“Are you sure, though? This isn’t going to put you more at risk?”
“How? If Riggo’s muscle grabs her up and finds a government tracking device on her car, they aren’t going to suspect me. They’re going to think Cashion’s two brain cells got together and made the logical decision to keep closer tabs on her remaining living witness. Jeez, Jamie, why isn’t she?”
“Dude, you don’t have any idea what it’s like back at the office. The Task Force is in a tailspin. Everyone’s being interrogated like some kind of dirtbag—and that includes Old Double C and her pearl necklace. DC is pissed. They sent not one, not two, but three deputy directors in from Main Justice to stand around and bloviate. But even if Cashion weren’t panicking and working her hardest to cover her own rear, I don’t think she’d tag the lawyer chick. For one thing, she’s a lawyer. She finds out we stuck a warrantless GPS tracker on her car, she’s not gonna thank us, she’s gonna freak out. Plus, even DC wants to tread lightly. Something about her husband being a spook.”
“She’s married to a fed?”
“Or something.”
“Whatever, doesn’t matter. You don’t need another death on your hands. It’s the right thing to do.”
Jamie gulped. “You’re right. Okay.” He inhaled deeply. “Let’s do this.” He pulled a black box roughly the size of a pack of cigarettes from his parka pocket.
“What the—is that thing standard issue?”
Nino’s old partner gave him a look that said he couldn’t be serious. “What? No. You think I’m tagging her with an official tracker without authority? Nah, I swiped this baby from the seized property locker.”
“What is it?”
“Some obsessed dude was stalking his ex-wife across state lines. He got this thing at Radio Shack or something for a couple hundred bucks. You log in to a web-based tracking page from any computer—or even a phone—and you can watch the car move in real time.”
“Sweet. That makes it easier because I think you need to try to keep your hands clean. Give me the password and I’ll track her, so it doesn’t come back to you if she finds it.”
“That’s too risky for you, Nino. I can’t let you do that.”
Nino clasped Jamie’s shoulder, gripping it hard. “Listen. I’m already in danger. Anything I do, that’s just an incremental increased risk, as the pencil necks would say. I’m not letting my partner take a fall, okay?”
Jamie shook his head. “You’re all right, Carlucci.” His face contorted with emotion for a split second, but he pulled himself together. “Which vehicle?”
“You only have o
ne?”
“Yeah, Carlucci. Beggars, choosers, and all. Pick a car.”
Nino snapped his fingers to burn some nervous energy while he considered. Her wagon or his SUV? Which one would the couple take if they decided to get out town?
“Hers, don’t you think?” he asked Jamie. “Chicks don’t like to drive big vehicles, right? And they’ll want to be able to split up the driving?”
Jamie rubbed his chin. “Maybe. But—”
“But what?”
“Look at them. His is clean, detailed. Hers, not so much. Gotta wonder if she’s keeping up with maintenance. He’s not gonna take her car if the tires are worn or she’s overdue for an oil change. Plus, his is a lot newer, more reliable.”
Nino groaned. Now he didn’t know what to do.
Jamie raised both hands toward the sky, palms up. “It’s your call.”
Nino crouched between the two cars sitting side by side and slapped the magnetic box on the underside of the SUV. “Hope you’re right,” he said, as he dusted his hands on his pants and stood up.
“Me, too. Listen, here’s the login information. I gotta get back before someone notices I left.” He shoved a laminated notecard into Nino’s hand.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Jamie turned and rolled his eyes. “You appreciate it? Man, you’ve got my back even now. I appreciate it.”
They did a quick fist bump and Jamie disappeared into the night.
Nino melted into the shadows and waited.
He estimated ten minutes passed before a couple walked out of the condo building. They were hustling, like they were late getting somewhere, and they both had duffle bags slung over their shoulders. The man was a good foot taller than the woman. They headed straight for the wagon and the SUV. Bingo. He held his breath and strained to hear.
“…my car. That way it’ll be easier to split up the driving,” the woman was saying as she beelined for the wagon.
No, no, no. Come on, buddy, talk her out of it.
Nino’s silent pleading had no effect. The big guy just stood there with a stupid grin plastered on his face and watched her pop the trunk and throw her bag inside.
She turned and gave her husband a frosty look. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”
“How much gas do you have?” he asked in an innocent voice.
“I don’t know. Half a tank?”
“Why don’t you check it?” he said making no move to get in the car.
She mumbled something under her breath and slammed the trunk shut then stalked around to the front to the car. She got behind the wheel and started the engine. A few seconds later, she killed the engine and slunk out of the car. She walked back to the trunk and opened it. Her husband reached in and snagged the bag for her.
“In the red, huh?” he asked. He tossed both bags into the cargo compartment of the SUV.
Yes! Nino had to bite his lip to keep from shouting in victory.
She didn’t answer her husband; she just pressed her lips into a thin line and waited for him to unlock the passenger door to the SUV. The guy kissed the crown of her head. “I love how predictable you are, McCandless.”
“Just … shut up and get in the car.”
Nino stood there in the dark grinning like an idiot as he watched the happy couple drive away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sasha spent the first several minutes of the drive kicking herself for letting her gas gauge dip so close to empty. It wasn’t as if Connelly didn’t hound her constantly to refill the tank as soon as the indicator hit the one-quarter mark. But she justified ignoring him because she rarely drove long distances, there wasn’t a gas station handy to the condo, and, oh yeah, he wasn’t her dad.
He seemed to sense her mood and refrained from actually saying ‘I told you so,’ but she could tell he was thinking it. He kept his eyes on the road and hummed along to the radio waiting her out.
As he drove through Oakland headed toward 376, she broke the silence. “Are you planning to get on the Turnpike?”
“I want to just put some miles between us and the condo, but yeah, I figure the Turnpike’s our best bet. But where are we going? We need to come up with a plan.” His voice was expectant, as if he hoped she might secretly have a contingency plan for running from the Mafia stored somewhere in her memory. Sadly, she did not.
“You said back at the condo that we can’t go anywhere we’ve actually been, right?”
“Right. We don’t know who’s sharing information with the Manetto family but we have to assume it’s someone inside the Task Force.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s worst case. Assume the worst and hope for the best. Sure, it may have been a fluke. Maybe the front desk clerk at the hotel where Cashion stashed Yim owes somebody money or has a drug habit or something, but we should operate under the assumption that the leaker is a trusted government employee who won’t be detected any time soon. Under that scenario, we have to act as though the bad guys have access to all the same information as our friends at the Federal Bureau of Investigations.” His cheek muscle was doing that twitchy thing it did when he was tense.
“And what exactly does the Bureau have access to?” she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.
He sighed. “Obviously they’ll be able to tell if we use an EZ-Pass to pay any tolls, they’ll be checking security feeds on the interstate rest stops, they’ll reach out to our credit card companies and cell phone carriers to get real-time info on our movements. That reminds me. Turn off your cell phone. Mine, too, please.” He removed his phone from his pocket and tossed it on the console.
She stared at the small rectangle as if she’d never seen it before. She hadn’t ever given much thought to the practical effect of carrying a powerful computer around in the palm of her hand. She fumbled with his device and then hers, hurrying to power them both down.
“Should I take out the batteries or something?” She was suddenly afraid of her phone.
“No need. Just don’t turn them back on. Not even if it’s an emergency.” His eyes flicked away from the road and met hers. “Understand?”
“Understood.”
“Okay, so let’s see, what else? They’ll try to get access to the onboard GPS but they won’t.”
“Why? Will the manufacturer demand a warrant?” It should require one, as turning that information over without a warrant had to violate its customer’s Fourth Amendment right to be free from unreasonable search and seizure.
Connelly laughed. “You’re cute sometimes. No, I doubt very much that Lexus or Garmin or whoever actually controls the data would tell the feds to pound salt without a warrant. In fact, I doubt it so much that I hacked the system to mask the signal. We won’t use it, just to be safe, but if they do try to monitor us through the GPS, they’re going to be mightily confused.”
“You did that? Just to drive around Pittsburgh?”
He gave her a sidelong look, the one that said ‘We can’t talk about my job, remember?’
She moved along. “Well that’s good. That’s really good. Why didn’t you insist that we take this car, though? What if the wagon had had gas?”
He didn’t answer.
In the silence, understanding—and disbelief—struck her. “You did the same thing to my car?”
“You’re welcome,” he said after a moment.
“Wow. Okay.” She let that news sink in for a bit. She’d decide how she felt about it later. “What else will they be able to find out?”
“Well it depends on the clearance level of whoever’s dirty. If he—”
“Or she.”
He raised a brow, “Okay, sure. Equality in all things. If he or she has a high enough security clearance, he or she will be able to pull my jacket. It’ll list my known associates and my foreign travel. So pretty much, anyone who attended our wedding will be on their radar. And the resort where we got married is off-limits.”
“What about the house we rented
in Deep Creek Lake that one year?”
“I had that thought. That area would be perfect but it’s a no-go. First, we were staying there when Bricker stole the flu vaccine. So it’s a known location to the feds. And second, there’s a ski resort right there. That place will be hopping the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Too populated. We’re looking for somewhere remote that’ll be more or less deserted. No ski lodges. No dense urban areas, either. We could get lost someplace like New York City or Philly for a few days but big cities have too many security cameras.”
“So we need to go somewhere we’ve never been, where we won’t attract attention, and there won’t be a lot people during a holiday week when school’s out and lots of people are off work.”
“Exactly.”
“And Fiji’s out, really?”
“I’m sorry, baby, but it is.”
“Shoot. We should have called and canceled our flights and the room. We might be able to get a partial refund at least.” She eyed her phone.
“Don’t even think about turning that on. Anyway, it’s better to leave everything as is. If they ping airline reservation systems, they’ll find the flight. With any luck, they’ll head to the airport Friday morning looking for us. It’s a good misdirection.”
“I guess.” She couldn’t imagine how much this non-vacation was going to cost.
“Don’t worry about the money. It’s worth it if it gives us a head start. Now we have a decision to make when we hit the Turnpike—are we heading East or West?”
“East.”
“Do you have something in mind?”
“No,” she admitted.
They fell silent. Connelly fiddled with the radio stations until he found one playing Christmas standards.
She smiled. “Thanks.” A memory of her former boss, Noah Peterson, popped into her mind. One year, when they’d been holed up preparing for a trial the week before Christmas, she and Naya have driven Noah nearly out of his mind by listening to holiday music almost literally around the clock. She bolted upright and slapped a hand against the dashboard. “That’s it! I know where we can go,”
Irrefutable Evidence Page 11
