Field of Fire

by James O. Born

  In the car next to him now, Maria said, “You have a nice smile. You don’t use it much.”

  He looked at her. “I was just thinking about something that happened a long time ago in another patch of woods.” He looked out over the brush. “Is that lady going to be okay alone?”

  “I worry about Clare out there, but she’s going to her daughter’s house in Lantana in a day or two. Then she’ll decide where she wants to stay.”

  “She looks like she’s handling her husband’s death reasonably well.”

  “It’s amazing what you can do to get past a tragedy. I’m going to a counselor who says as long as I keep thinking about Hector, I’m going to be all right. I’m starting to see what she means.” Maria turned in the seat to face Duarte as he pulled the Taurus to a stop at the entrance to U.S. 27. “You won’t give up on Hector, will you?”

  He looked back into her dark eyes and knew what his answer was. “I promise I’ll find out the truth about the bombing.”

  “I believe you.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  Alberto Salez risked visiting his old café for two reasons: he was hoping to find someone else to face down the ATF agent, and he missed the excellent coffee the owner made. He had the promise of the group from the labor camp who said they’d help, but by the looks of them they had not fared well in their last encounter with Alex Duarte. They swore that he had surprised them with a baseball bat, knocking them down one at a time, but Salez was skeptical of the story, which changed each time someone told it. He wasn’t sure who he could get to help, but he knew the majority of the men who gathered here most mornings were not fond of any policeman.

  He greeted the owner, picked up a guava pastry and cup of coffee and found one of the small round tables on the sidewalk. He settled into the straight-back metal chair as best he could, nodding hello to a couple of the regulars he had not seen since he had been on the run. He had his fillet knife tucked into his belt and had his little pickup truck parked down the street, so if he had to run for any reason he could pull away from the curb and be on his way in the right direction without much maneuvering.

  After a few minutes, a small, sturdy bald man he knew as “Tony” started to walk past him, then did a double take and stopped to say hello, and started speaking Spanish to Salez. Salez missed his native language, and was happy to offer the man a seat.

  Tony said, “Haven’t seen you around for a while.”

  “Been traveling.” Then Salez remembered the man owned a pawnshop, and he had bought a pistol from him without any paperwork a while back. “You got any good pistols at your store?”

  “A few.”

  “Can I get another one without papers?”

  The man shrugged and said, “No, I’m watched too closely now. I had forgotten you bought a revolver from me last year.”

  “Know where I can get one?”

  “What do you need it for? Or should I not ask?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Where are you staying now? Still over by Southern Boulevard?”

  “No, I’m in a motel in…” Salez looked closely at the man. He knew where Salez had lived. Salez had gotten a ride home with him once when his Mustang had broken down. Had he told someone else where he lived? Was this man a snitch? Salez kept calm, and said, “I live in North Palm now.” He hoped the man believed he lived in a little town at the opposite end of the county.

  Salez knew he had to get this man away from the café to find out if he had told anyone where he lived. If he had, there was a price to exact.

  Salez said, “I have some jewelry to pawn, can I show it to you?”

  “Yeah, bring it by the shop.”

  “It’s in my truck. Take a look at it now.”

  “No, that’s all right, bring it by the shop this afternoon.”

  “There are five diamonds, all over a carat. I’ll let ’em go to you right now, cheap.”

  The man hesitated, and Salez could see his greed working over the profit margin in his head. Finally the man said, “Yeah, okay. I’ll take a quick look, to make sure they’re real.”

  “They’re real. C’mon.” Salez stood up casually and led the smaller man around the back to his truck parked for a fast getaway. He opened the passenger’s door and said, “Get in.” He hurried around the front and slipped behind the wheel. He had his hand on the handle of his knife before the man even said, “Where are the diamonds?”

  Salez had never used the knife as a questioning tool, but found he was almost as excited by the possibility as he had been by using it to eliminate witnesses.

  30

  DUARTE GREETED HIS PARTNER, CHUCK, AS THE BIG man tore through another Krispy Kreme doughnut. He checked his mailbox, and then sat down at his desk just as the phone rang. The voice on the other end said simply, “HQ says you have to give up all cases for the promotion. What’s your answer?”

  Duarte knew the SAC, and his style, so he kept it short too. “I have to decline, sir.”

  “Really? Why? I thought you wanted a promotion since you got here.”

  “I did. I mean, I do, sir. But if I have to give up this case, I can’t take the promotion right now.”

  “Alex, there are a million cases out there. This is just one.”

  “One that’s important to a few people.”

  “Like a promotion is important to you.”

  “Yes, sir. Exactly.”

  “You still don’t want it?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, no.”

  The line went dead.

  Duarte shrugged to himself and turned to his computer screen. There wasn’t much he could do about the call now. He also knew he couldn’t just abandon this case. He had plenty of logical reasons to move on, but logic said he should sleep most nights and he couldn’t. He needed this case.

  He could give the photo he had found to an analyst and see what they found out from the plaque reading SECOND STREET RETAIL DISTRICT, but he decided to stick with it himself. He ran the phrase through Google and found several compelling hits. The best was a redevelopment project in Austin. Everyone else in the case was from Texas. The theory on the bar made sense.

  After reading a few pages, he learned that the bar could very well be part of the Austin nightlife. Now he considered how to confirm his theory.

  As he contemplated how he could find out more about the photo, his cell phone rang, with his cousin Tony saying, “Hello.”

  Duarte asked, “What’s up?”

  “I can get Salez to my store tomorrow afternoon if you want me to.”

  “Do it.”

  “You coming alone?”

  “Probably. Why?”

  “Because I don’t want a scene. Just want you to take him and go.”

  “Why’s he coming by?”

  “To sell some diamonds.”

  “What time?”

  There was a pause, then his cousin said, “Tomorrow, three o’clock.”

  “Good job, Tony.”

  “Thanks,” was all he said as the line went dead.

  This had been a busy morning already. Duarte thought about the conversation with his SAC. If he caught Salez and wrapped up the case by tomorrow, would it be too late to ask for the job again?

  He looked up at Chuck, but the big man showed no sign he had listened to either call. Duarte decided he’d go to his cousin’s pawnshop alone.

  Tony shut the cover to his tiny cell phone as Salez removed the knife from his throat.

  “Satisfied?” Tony asked. There was still a considerable tremor in his voice.

  “If you believe what’ll happen to you if you double-cross me, then I’m satisfied.”

  “You just want to talk to him?”

  “Alone, yes. I won’t hurt him.”

  “He may be a cop, but he’s my cousin’s boy. I can’t let him get hurt.”

  “You made the right move; otherwise, you’d be on the sidewalk trying to keep your Adam’s apple in your throat with your hand.”

  Salez she
athed the knife and said, “I’ll see you about three. And don’t fuck this up.”

  “I promise I won’t,” said Tony, backing out of the small truck.

  Mike Garretti was sitting at his desk on the base, all his paperwork up to date and no one the wiser he had been gone, on and off, for three weeks. It paid to have friends. Especially friends who would cover for you for the cost of five good lunches, which Garretti intended to deliver this week.

  He also pondered some personal trips. He needed to visit Seattle sometime, and maybe his brother in Atlanta. For now, Fort Hood provided most of his needs.

  His cell phone rang, and he knew who it was.

  “Yep,” was all he said.

  “Call on a pay phone.” Then the line went dead.

  Garretti took a few minutes to drive off the giant base and toward the first gas station on Route 190. He dialed the number by heart, and it was answered on the first ring.

  “Salez is in Florida again.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I need a day or two.”

  “He may not last past tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What time?”

  “Three.”

  “I’ll check flights. Any backup plan?”

  “Just get down there, and we’ll see what needs to be done. If he’s in custody, we should be able to arrange for him to get out. At least long enough for you to find him.”

  “Equipment?”

  “In the same locker as last time. Get a rental car and handle it.”

  “This will end it all?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Duarte sat with his father, and felt the tension he had built up over the hard week start to release. He considered it likely that he would sleep tonight and did not need to set an alarm for the morning. If he could just keep his brother quiet as he prepared for work in the morning, he might start the day refreshed. He knew his cousin Tony was unreliable, and recognized that his scheduled meeting with Alberto Salez might not occur, but at least he had made some headway. He knew the fugitive was in the area, and, more important, alive. Duarte would be open to stories of conspiracy involving a hit man now. He had seen the guy in action firsthand. His problem now was deciding who to tell.

  Cesar Duarte said, “You look better tonight. Something happen on your case?”

  “Yes, sir. I think I might catch the fugitive who has troubled me for the past few weeks.”

  “Excellent. You’ll be careful, yes?”

  “Yes, sir.” Duarte hesitated, but then realized his father was trustworthy. “In fact, Cousin Tony helped me out. He set up the meeting at his pawnshop.”

  Cesar Duarte grunted. “Figures, Tony would know a crook. If you were looking for a doctor or a priest, Tony wouldn’t have had a clue. But a criminal, and my cousin will know exactly where he is.” Then the older Duarte looked at his son. “You’ll be able to keep him safe though, right?”

  “Oh yes, sir.”

  “He may be shady, but he’s family.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand.”

  Cesar Duarte then asked, “Anything else new at work?”

  Duarte thought about it and told him what he had learned from the photo, and how he needed to confirm the location of the photo.

  His father asked, “Is vital to your case?”

  “I don’t know. I just have so little, anything seems important.”

  “It’s good to be curious. If your heart tells you the photo is important, you should investigate it more thoroughly.”

  “I’m trying to figure it out now.”

  “You can’t easily fly to Austin to show the photo around.”

  Duarte agreed.

  “What would you do if you wanted a policeman in Texas to look for a fugitive?”

  “E-mail him the information and a photo.”

  “Why not for a bar? See if an Austin policeman recognizes it.”

  Duarte smiled. “Thanks, Pop. That’s a great idea.”

  After an hour of news and talk, Duarte kissed his ma and nodded to his pop, then headed out the back door and up the stairs outside the two-story garage. He was relieved to see that his older brother was out, and took the opportunity to shower and grab a book from his growing pile. This one, different from his usual Civil War books, was The Plot Against America by Philip Roth. It was engaging to him not only because it dealt with an alternative history but, more important, the story of a family. Sometimes he felt like that was all he had, his large friendly family, and usually he realized that was all he needed. He stretched out to start the book and glanced out at the last few rays of the May sun through his jalousie window.

  Caren Larson, with her packed suitcase and tickets for a six A.M. flight to West Palm Beach in her purse, was on her way out of the office when Roberto Morales caught her.

  “You’re all set for the trip?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I know you have a good rapport with Agent Duarte. Make sure he stays on track.”

  “No problem, sir. He’s a good worker. He’ll get to the bottom of the bombings.”

  Morales paused, then said, “Yes, of course he will.”

  “Sir,” started Caren slowly. “Why don’t we call in the ATF National Response Team for these bombings?”

  Morales looked at her closely. “I don’t think the NRT is necessary at this time. I’d like to get a better idea of who’s behind this first. I think you and Duarte will handle it nicely. If you get stuck, I could send Tom Colgan to help. I think he worked in West Palm Beach, so he’d know his way around.”

  “I’ll brief you by tomorrow night at the latest.”

  “Excellent. I’ll let Tom know to be ready to go if necessary.”

  Caren smiled but didn’t say anything. If she had, it would have been a foul word.

  Alberto Salez had moved quickly to get the whole gang together. He had already paid for dinner at the sports club and now was springing for a couple of pitchers of beer. He didn’t want to go overboard and give these guys hangovers tomorrow, so he intended to cut them off soon.

  “So you’ll meet me tomorrow at the Days Inn off Forty-Fifth Street about two-thirty, right?”

  The toughest of the men, Raul, who still had a bandage on his nose from his last encounter with the ATF agent, said, “We’ll be there and we’ll be ready. This time, I’m bringing a switchblade I got. A big blade. That fucking guy will shit in his pants when I whip out that thing.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you guys can scare him, but no one cuts him or seriously injures him till I talk to him. We’ll take him somewhere from there. That little store owner won’t say boo. If he does, you guys can do him, and we’ll clean that place out before we go.”

  Raul smiled and nodded. He looked like a man ready to set fate right. Salez hoped he was up to it this time.

  31

  DUARTE ROLLED OUT OF BED, DISAPPOINTED HE HAD not slept like he hoped he would. He had grabbed a few hours early, then the nightmares set in and he was awake by three, and finished his Philip Roth novel before the sun was up. He sat at his kitchen table with a bowl of fruit as his brother padded across the living room in his gym shorts and T-shirt. He plopped in the chair across from Duarte.

  “Rough night?” asked Duarte.

  “Aren’t they all?” replied Frank.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You got anything interesting going on today?”

  “Gonna see Cousin Tony about three.”

  His brother looked up. “Really, why? I thought you two didn’t get along.”

  “We get along fine. We are family. He’s helping me out with something.”

  Frank nodded. “I heard you ran into Alice at the PBSO lab.”

  Duarte nodded.

  “She called me. She must miss me terribly.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “She said to tell you she got a print, and to go by to see her today.”

  Duarte nodded. “That w
as quick. I like that girl already.”

  “She doesn’t want to hook up with me again, so she ain’t that smart.”

  Duarte didn’t answer but couldn’t help smiling.

  By eight-fifteen, he was at the counter to the crime lab at the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office. Alice Brainard smiled at Duarte as she handed the glass back to him.

  “I already ran the prints through AFIS and the FBI. Nothing yet, no wants, no record. I’m gonna try Department of Defense and some public works databases too, just in case the guy held any kind of government job.”

  Duarte was impressed. “Thank you very much.”

  She smiled and said, “I can’t believe I called Frank.”

  “Thought you guys were still friends.”

  “We are. I mean, I can’t believe I asked him if you had a girlfriend. That was just so crass. I’m sorry.”

  Duarte felt his face flush and managed a smile. Somehow, his brother had forgotten to mention that. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  She smiled back. “Well, do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Have a girlfriend?”

  Duarte thought about Caren Larson and their odd semiro-mantic relationship. “That’s a question I’ve been asking myself.” He left it at that, because it was the truth, and it seemed to confuse Alice long enough for him to leave with the evidence.

  Caren Larson could see the surprise in his face when he walked into his office to find her sitting at his desk. In fact, she had just arrived, and the secretary had let her in. She had hoped he might register something other than surprise. It was all she could do not to jump up into his arms.

  Instead, she said, “Hey there, Kojak.” The smile was mischievous.