“And she took it?”
Jamie nodded. “And once she was dirty … I guess it got easier, you know? She reached out to Al Sharqi and offered to provide courier service with police protection. So they worked it out that she’d swing by the two pharmacies and the hospital on a schedule, pretend she was checking that they were cooperating with that big task force. But that would be the signal that Donny and I were coming the next day for a shipment. Man, they moved a lot of pills.” He clamped his mouth shut as if he just realized to whom he was speaking.
“I can’t believe it. Chelsea ….” the chief trailed off, shaking his head.
“She used five thousand dollars of the money to buy my mom a headstone for her grave. A fancy one with an angel and everything.”
The room fell silent.
Jamie lowered his head and sniffled. Clive patted his back.
Connelly pushed back his chair and stood. “Is there a phone I can use?”
Sasha led him to the trimline phone.
“Wow, this thing is a relic.”
“I know, right? So, who are you calling?”
“Ted Dill, the Agent-in-Charge of the Tactical Diversion Squad.”
“But we still don’t know how Al Sharqi distributes the drugs after Chelsea has them delivered.”
“Nope. And we don’t need to. This is Dill’s baby, not ours. You’ve got your client, I’ve got my wife, and Clinton’s got a witness against his dirty cop. As the superheroes say, our work here is done.”
25
Omar felt more than a little uneasy about A-I-C Dill’s ruse. But he reminded himself that Youssef Farooq was number eight on the FBI’s Most Wanted List and he’d just watched Youssef kill Donny Anderson without displaying a shred of emotion, so he recited the lines as Dill had instructed.
“Brother Youssef, please meet Hakeem Pepper.”
Dill lowered his head and pressed his hands together. “Sidi, it is my pleasure to attend to you tonight.”
Youssef frowned up at Omar, then winced from the effort of moving his head. “Hakeem Pepper? This is not Zayed’s physician, Hakeem Hafiz Arain.”
“You are correct, of course. Hakeem Arain was not available. And, Youssef, your injuries may be severe. I’m told if your liver is bleeding inside your body, it could be fatal.”
That was all true, too. And while Ted Dill (a.k.a. Doctor Pepper) was definitely not a medical doctor, Youssef would receive top-notch medical care from the Bureau of Prisons. The plan was to admit Youssef to the nearest hospital, stabilize him, and then, when it was safe to do, arrest him and charge him with a veritable buffet of crimes and request a transfer to the Medical Center for Federal Prisoners (MCFP Springfield) in Missouri.
Youssef’s only response was to close his eyes. Dill jerked his head; the two medics standing near the filthy wall and trying valiantly not to touch anything in the shack wheeled their stretcher over to the sleeping bag and loaded him onto it.
Dill and Omar watched them roll him through the front door.
“He looks like pure hell. And you say a small woman did that to him with a shovel?”
Omar nodded. “I saw it with my own eyes. Sasha McCandless-Connelly, or at least that’s what she said her name was.”
A shadow of something crossed over Dill’s face fleetingly. One moment it was there, the next it was gone.
“Do you know her?” Omar asked.
Dill frowned. Then he shook his head. “I thought I recognized the name, but I was wrong.”
He glanced around the room. “What an absolute hole.”
“So what do you want me to do about Donny?”
“Leave it. The cleanup crew will take care of it.”
One reference to a human corpse as ‘it’ could be a slip of the tongue; two was deliberate. Omar clenched his fists but said nothing.
After a moment, Dill sighed. “You were in an excellent position within Al Sharqi’s organization, Omar. You’ve done good work, and it’s a crying shame, but you know we’re going to have to pull you out now, don’t you?”
“Respectfully, sir—”
“Save your breath, son. One dead, one probably dying, one on the run—no, I’m sorry, three on the run. Al Sharqi is going to be enraged when the full story emerges. If we don’t extract you, he’ll probably kill you. And the American taxpayers paid good money for you. You’re too expensive to waste that way.”
Dill laughed at his own joke. Omar was too distracted to fake it. “But we were so close to figuring out his distribution method. So close.”
Dill patted his arm. “We’ll get the S O B yet, Agent Khan. Mark my words. Why don’t you take some of that accrued vacation time you’ve got saved up? Have a little R & R and come back ready to nail the next guy’s balls to the wall, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dill’s radio crackled to life. “Agent Dill?”
“What’s up, Tony?”
“Special Agent Leo Connelly and Chief Clinton called into headquarters. They’re holding, sir. They say they have a present for you. It’s about the Al Sharqi crew.”
“Tell them I’ll call them in twenty.”
“Ten-four.”
Dill stowed the radio on his hip and cocked his head. “Scratch that R & R, Khan. It looks like we may have something to do after all.”
“Yes, sir. Connelly, sir? He’s not any relation to the lawyer, is he?”
Dill nodded, utterly unabashed. “The husband.”
“I see, sir.” Omar fisted his hands inside his pockets. You lying, unmitigated prick.
26
The Steam Rocket Scenic Railway Depot
Tannerville, West Virginia
* * *
Sunday morning, the entire ragtag ensemble woke up at Clive’s cabin, all considerably the worse for wear. Leo took charge of logistics, mildly surprised that Sasha didn’t fight him to be in control.
Chief Clinton shook hands with each of them in turn and then dragged Jamie out of the cabin by his shirt to go swear out a statement against his cousin the dirty detective. Leo leaned against the railing and waited for the police chief to realize he didn’t have a vehicle. It didn’t take long.
Once a thunderous Clinton and Jamie, who was trying not to smirk, but failing badly, turned around, Leo tossed the keys to Sasha’s Volvo to the chief.
“Just meet us at the train depot when you can,” Leo told him.
“Will do. Come on, turdbrain.” Clinton pushed Jamie into the station wagon and got behind the wheel.
“I feel sorry for him,” Clive said absently.
“Me, too,” Leo said. “Imagine learning your number two was dirty.”
Sasha shook her head and stage whispered. “I’m pretty sure he’s talking about Jamie.”
Leo pulled a face. “No way.”
“Ask him.”
“You know what, I don’t think I want to know. Are you two ready to go?”
The plan was to drive to the train station where they would meet with Agent-in-Charge Dill. Clive would provide a statement to the HIDTA, sharing what he knew about the Aminis and the Al Sharqi crime family.
Sasha urged Clive to let her sit in on the interview as his attorney, but he insisted he didn’t need a lawyer for this. She sat in the back seat muttering darkly about fools as Leo piloted the SUV around the hairpin turns.
Leo parked next to Clive’s Benz. A tall, sharp-featured man with short cropped hair and broad shoulders lounged against the bumper.
“They’re probably going to need your car for a while, Clive, to process the physical evidence. But, you’ll ride back to Pittsburgh with me, okay?” Sasha explained.
She and Leo had already agreed that she would drive Clive straight to the hospital in Shadyside while Leo would pick up the kids from Hank’s place.
They just needed to wrap this up with a bow for the HIDTA, and then they could leave.
Dill pushed off from the car and shook Leo’s hand more firmly than a reasonable, secure adult would deem necessary. He
repeated the squeeze with Clive, who winced.
Sasha stepped forward, her hand extended, and Leo hid a smile. She could crush a man’s fingers if she applied herself. But Dill must’ve sensed danger. He tipped two fingers to his forehead and greeted her from a safe distance.
She turned to Leo. “Come find me when you’re done.”
She headed off in the direction of the train depot without waiting for an answer.
Sasha wasn’t in the mood for alpha male posturing, clients who didn’t act in their best interest, or … anything, really. So she found a quiet bench where she could respond to emails on her phone.
It took her a minute to realize that she actually could not respond to emails because she didn’t have a data connection thanks to the National Radio Quiet Zone. So she found a paperback in the back of the Volvo and sat on a bench drinking the coffee she’d brought from the cabin and reading a novel like some old-timey lady of leisure.
When she ran out of coffee, she remembered the emergency money tucked into her bra and wandered into the train station gift shop to see if she could get a refill.
“Oh, I’m brewing a new pot,” the cheerful teenager behind the counter explained. “It’ll only be a minute if you don’t mind waiting.”
She didn’t.
While the coffee brewed, Sasha browsed the small gift shop. While she was not usually a fan of stuffed animals, she felt a residual twinge of guilt for missing the twins’ soccer game. So she plucked two animals off a red enamel cart near the door—a raccoon wearing a striped railroad engineer hat and a lion clad in a conductor vest and hat.
She reached casually down her shirt and pulled out her crumpled fifty, then placed the stuffed animals on the counter and smiled at the gift shop girl.
“Here’s that coffee,” the teen said with a big smile as she placed it on the counter. Her smile faded when she saw the stuffed animals.
Sasha glanced at the name tag pinned to the young woman’s vest. “Something wrong, Carlie?”
“Um … no, no. Just, where did you get those?”
Sasha frowned. “That cart by the door.”
“Oh, yeah. So, we sell these on the train while it’s en route from here to Shelbyville.”
“Okay, but I’m not actually taking a train ride, so I’ll just buy them here.”
“I can’t sell those to you.”
“Why not?”
Carlie’s worried eyes shifted from Sasha’s face to the doorway behind her. Sasha did a quarter-turn, but saw nobody behind her.
“It’s hard to explain. It’s an inventory thing. Like what doesn’t get sold on the train goes to the gift shop in Shelbyville.”
“What’s so special about Shelbyville?”
“Nothing, to be honest. But it’s near the regional airport and the Ohio Valley border with Kentucky and Ohio, so they get a lot more foot traffic than this gift shop does.”
“Which is why you should be eager to sell me these two stupid stuffed animals so I don’t have to return empty-handed after missing my kids’ soccer game, Carlie.” Even Sasha was surprised by the amount of snarl in her voice.
Carlie’s eyes widened. “Uh, ma’am, I am not allowed to sell those to you. But, um, how about these coloring books over here? Or maybe, um, a change purse?”
Sasha examined the stuffed animals more closely. “How much do these cost?”
“Uh, twenty dollars each. But, I—”
“Highway robbery. Or in this case, I guess it’s railway robbery.” Sasha tossed the fifty on the counter. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Carlie. I’m taking these stuffed animals and my coffee and leaving the fifty. Do what you want with it.”
Sasha turned to walk away and the worker lunged over the counter at her, grabbing at the stuffed animals.
“You can’t have those! I’ll get in trouble with Miss Amini. Please, stop.”
Sasha froze. “Aliviyah Amini?”
“Ye-yes.”
Sasha lifted the lion’s vest to reveal a small but visible handstitch in the belly of the creature.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she murmured.
She plucked the kanzashi pin from her messy hair and stabbed it through the stitch, sawing back and forth. The thread gave easily and Sasha reached inside. She pulled out a snack-sized plastic baggie filled with white pills.
Carlie dove over the counter and started to run. Sasha dropped the lion and grabbed the teenager.
She elbowed the girl in the sternum, knocking the air out of her, and pushed her to the floor. She felt eyes on her neck and turned to see Omar Khan standing in the doorway, wide-eyed.
Sasha cursed, Finn-style. “Mother trucker.”
27
She didn’t wait for him to advance. She climbed off the now-sobbing teenager and lunged at Khan with her geisha pin.
As she drove the pin through the air, Omar Khan caught her wrist firmly, trapping her. She grunted and lowered her head.
Just drive your skull into his nose. Ready? One … two …
“This is probably a good time to mention that I’m DEA.”
Sasha raised her eyes. “Let me see identification.”
“I’m undercover.”
“Sure you are.”
… three …
She reared back.
“Wait!”
She waited.
“Think about it. I could have shot you while you were beating Youssef with that shovel.”
“Spade.”
“Whatever. I could have. But I didn’t. Do you know why?”
The realization washed over her and everything made sense. “Because you aren’t authorized to kill a civilian to maintain your cover.”
“Right. I didn’t hurt you or Clive Bloch. And, let’s be honest, that duct tape wasn’t even a heartfelt effort at restraining you.”
It was true. Breaking the duct tape had been no challenge at all.
She met his dark, clear eyes and the fear drained out of her. Rage rushed in to replace it. “Why the hell didn’t you or Dill tell us?”
He shook his head. “I’m really sorry. Are you okay?”
She glared at him, wrenched her arm out of his grip, and stormed away, nearly tripping over the stuffed lion conductor. She stopped and scooped it up and flung it and the baggie of pills at Omar Khan.
“Here, do your job.”
She stomped away to look for Connelly.
28
Leo gave it a considerable amount of thought and determined he’d never been angrier. Ever.
So after all the arrests, and speeches, and television interviews, he sought out TDS Agent-in-Charge Ted Dill.
Dill was leaning against the railing on Clive Bloch’s wide front deck, enjoying a glass of bourbon and a quiet moment away from the noise of the impromptu celebration that had sprung up.
“Ted,” he called, “got a minute?”
“Sure, Leo.”
“I have one question for you.”
“Hit me.”
Leo smiled.
“Did you know my wife had reason to believe that Omar Khan was a violent criminal and not a DEA agent?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, Ted.”
“Is that all?”
“No. One more thing.”
Leo reared back and threw all his muscle and weight into an uppercut to Ted Dill’s chiseled jaw.
Ted dropped like a felled tree.
Leo stepped over him and went inside in search of a glass of ice for his hand and a glass of bourbon for his gullet.
29
Sasha missed Connelly’s impersonation of Neanderthal Man because she was trying to scare up some food. The assorted men in the cabin seemed content to drink and tell war stories. But she wanted to eat.
Eat and then go home, snuggle her children, pet her cat, walk her dog, and sleep in her own bed with her pillow and her favorite blanket … and her husband, at that moment, who came speeding into the kitchen in search of ice for some unknown reason.
&nbs
p; As he zipped by her to the freezer, she remembered Clive’s basement freezer chest. She closed the pantry door with a triumphant flourish. She bet Connelly could make an impromptu meal out of whatever portions of beef would thaw fastest. She grabbed his hand.
“Come with me for a second?”
“You want to celebrate here?” He nuzzled her neck as she led him to the basement stairs.
“How much bourbon did you drink?”
“Almost enough.”
She shook her head. “Can you pull together something to feed everyone? Clive must’ve bought a quarter of beef or something. His freezer is jam packed with meat, but there’s not much else here.”
He thought for a moment. “Yeah, we can probably scare something up. Are you sure Clive won’t mind?”
“Connelly, wait until you see how full this freezer chest is. I doubt he’ll even notice.”
He followed her down the stairs, and she pulled open the freezer. As promised the chest was bulging with white packages, neatly labeled with the cuts of meat that were inside.
Connelly dug through the contents. “Here, help me look for the ones labeled ground beef. I can make sliders. Those will grill up fast.”
She knelt beside him on the cool earth floor. “It looks like the steaks are all on top.”
“Yeah, dig down toward the bottom.”
They pawed through the packages. Sasha’s hands were so cold they burned. She reached the very bottom of the chest. Her hand closed around a small, white rectangular package.
“Wait, whatever this one is, it’s small. Will that defrost faster?”
“That’s how science works, Mac.”
“Hahaha.”
“Pull it out and let’s see.”
She felt around. “There are a lot of them. Okay … here.”
The package was roughly the size of her laptop battery.
Connelly leaned over her shoulder. “Huh, nothing written on that one.”
She shrugged and turned it over, slitting open the masking tape with her fingernail. She unwrapped the butcher paper to reveal a thick stack of rubber-banded hundred-dollar bills.
In Absentia Page 12
