The Devils Punchbowl pc-3

by Greg Iles

  “Okay, then. That'’s Caitlin doing that. She’s handing you information. A clue about something. Philip means she’s alive. What does

  rivers

  mean?”

  “The river!” I cry.

  “She’s by a goddamn river,” Kelly agrees. “But which river?”

  “The Mississippi. Has to be, right? That'’s where all the action has been. All the dogfights and training stuff. They probably have her at one of those camps, or on an island.”

  “But she said ‘ri-

  vers,’

  plural.”

  “The singular would be too obvious. Wouldn’t sound like a name.”

  “Maybe. But she could also be on a tributary, something that flows into the Mississippi.”

  “Who cares? Either way, we know she’s alive, and she’s somewhere close to a river. Odds are, it’s the Mississippi.”

  “So, what are you thinking?” Kelly asks.

  “I'm thinking Danny McDavitt and his FLIR pod.”

  “Classic. We can fly the river as soon as it gets dark. I'’ll be his TFO.”

  “His what?”

  “Tactical flight officer. You need two guys to run FLIR from a chopper. The pilot to fly the ship and hold position, and a TFO to control the pod and read the monitor. That'’s why they missed those dogs that hit us the other night. Carl doesn’'t have any hours on a FLIR screen. Just rifle scopes. But I’'ve done time in an AH-64 in Afghanistan. I’'ve spotted IEDs from six miles out in pitch-darkness. And we know how these guys roll. Wherever she is, there’ll be guard dogs, shit like that.” Kelly jams his elbow into my side. “If she’s on the river, we’ll find her.”

  Excitement flashes through me hope, even. “Let’s get over to my dad’s place. Quick.”

  “Can you get us out of a speeding ticket?”

  “That'’s

  one

  thing I still have the power to do.”

  Kelly laughs and floors it.

  James Ervin is standing outside the door of my father’s house. The familiar beagle eyes of the old cop always make me smile.

  “How you doing, Penn?” he asks.

  “Better than I was this morning. What about you?”

  “I'm all right. Got a little surprise waiting in there.”

  My pulse quickens. “Good or bad?”

  “Same as last time.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I move quickly through the door and into my parents’ den. Dad is sitting in the La-Z-Boy from which he dictates his medical charts, facing a stranger wearing a three-piece suit and heavy-rimmed glasses.

  “Who’s this?” I ask sharply, wondering if it could be William Hull.

  The stranger takes off his glasses, and the unfamiliar face coalesces into that of Walt Garrity, Texas Ranger. “I figured it was time to check in,” Walt says. “Hated to risk it, but I have some news, and I had a feeling things might be popping on your end.”

  “In that getup, you’re a man transformed. What’s your news?”

  Walt’s lips crack into a thin smile. “J. B. Gilchrist just got invited to a dogfight. I'm in, boys.”

  “When’s the fight?” Kelly asks.

  “I won'’t know till the last minute, but I'm guessing tonight.”

  “How’d you wangle that?”

  “Just played my part and stuck to it. Lost enough of Penn’s money to attract attention, then let Sands know I was interested in some real action.”

  “You’re sure nobody followed you here?”

  “Give me some credit, soldier. If somebody was following me, they think I'm still in the Natchez Mall, where my Roadtrek is parked. My clothes are hidden in a storage cabinet in a department store. I picked these up on my way out.”

  Dad says, “What do you think, Penn?”

  “We need to tell you guys something. Caitlin was kidnapped last night.”

  While they listen with growing anxiety, I relate the morning’s events. Dad hasn’'t even heard the news about Paul Labry, probably because he left work early.

  “Where’s Annie?” I ask. “Is she really here?”

  “She and Peggy are in the back watching TV. She really did call with a stomachache, but she’s fine.”

  Walt says, “This puts a new spin on everything. I'’ll keep my eyes and ears open tonight, especially if we’re on the river. Maybe I'’ll pick up a clue to where Caitlin could be.”

  “I doubt it,” says Kelly. “More likely they'’re just testing you. We think the Po sting is set for tomorrow night. I don'’t think they’d let

  somebody they don'’t know close to anything important with that cooking.”

  “I’'ve been thinkin’ about that,” says Walt.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Po. You gotta figure this mandarin motherfucker can see just about anything he gets an itch to see over there in China. If not, then in Russia or Thailand. What the hell could Sands offer that would make the old man risk setting foot on U.S. soil?”

  “God only knows,” I say. “It could be an orgy with fifty blond twelve-year-olds, or dinner and a show with Barbra Streisand.”

  “I’d say the former’s more likely,” says Kelly.

  “You never know with moneyed folk,” drawls Walt. “Especially your oriental types. They got all kinds of strange fixations about America. Course, it could be a simple business meeting. Straightening a few things out, or replacing some people.”

  “It doesn’'t matter,” says Kelly. “All that matters to us is the time limit. The sting is our ticking clock. According to Labry, we had thirty-six hours to find Caitlin. By now, I say we figure on twenty-four.”

  “Well,” says Walt, standing, “I guess it’s back to business. What are you boys gonna be doing today?”

  “This and that,” says Kelly. “But we’re going to fly the river tonight with a FLIR chopper, hoping to pick up something.”

  Walt looks suitably impressed. “Well, if you get in a bind trying to save the girl, or if you’re outgunned somewhere and you need backup, call the Louisiana Highway Patrol. Ask for the man in charge and give him my name. I was saving this for later in the game, but it sounds like it’s time to call in all the heat we’ve got.”

  “You trust him?”

  “Yessir. And there seems to be a shortage of cops we can trust around here.”

  “What makes you trust him?” Kelly asks bluntly.

  Walt smiles. “He started out as a Texas Ranger.”

  “Good enough,” Kelly says, and shakes Garrity’s hand. “Thanks for the tip, and good luck.”

  “Good luck to you boys. We don'’t want to lose that girl.”

  “Penn,” Dad says, getting up much slower than Walt, his knees creaking. “I got a package today, FedEx. I think it’s for you.”

  “Who’s it from?”

  “It said Dwight Stone.”

  This piques my interest. Dwight Stone is a retired FBI agent who helped me nail the former director of the Bureau.

  “Here you go,” says Dad, having retrieved a thick envelope from the kitchen.

  “While I'm thinking about it,” I tell him, “I’d like you to do me a favor this afternoon, if you can.”

  “What is it?”

  “Find Jewel Washington and speak to her face-to-face. I think Shad Johnson has the USB drive that matches the cap the pathologist in Jackson took out of Tim’s rectum. I want Jewel to use her contacts at the hospital to find out if anyone saw Shad there the night Tim died. Or if Shad has any particular connection with anybody who has access to the morgue. One more thing. If she can, have her find out the exact model of the drive that mates with that cap. No phone calls, though. This has to be face-to-face.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Thanks. I also think we should all stay in my house tonight. You, Mom, Annie, everybody.”

  Dad’s face darkens. “Why’s that?”

  “Things are moving fast now, and we don'’t know what might happen. We’re safer all together. And my house has the old shutters that really work. We can shut those things and lock the place down.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Kelly says.

  “Sound
s like a pain in the ass,” Dad grumbles. “But okay.”

  Holding up the FedEx package, I glance at Kelly, and he nods. Inside it I find a thick sheaf of typed, single-spaced pages. Taped to the top sheet is a typed note that reads,

  Sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places.

  “It’s from Lutjens!” I say. “Peter Lutjens.”

  “What is it?” asks Kelly.

  I crumple the note and read the top of the first page. It begins, “Case Black. Distribution List Restricted. Subject: Edward Po, Macau.”

  “It could be gold.”

  My cell phone is buzzing again. I look down. “That'’s William Hull.”

  Kelly motions me out of the room.

  Walking into the kitchen, I hit SEND and say, “Penn Cage.”

  “Are you feeling reassured about your lady friend?”

  “Why would I?”

  “I have no idea. I'm just calling to reiterate that I have no knowledge of what we discussed in your earlier call.”

  “Well, now that we both know what we’re not talking about, are we done?”

  “Just about,” says Hull. “I have one question.”

  “I'm listening.”

  “You said you had enough evidence to convict Jonathan Sands of money laundering on your own.”

  “That'’s correct.”

  “I’d like to see that evidence.”

  “I’d like a chocolate chip cookie without the chips.”

  “Mr. Cage—”

  “Unless your informant wants to trade my lady friend for said evidence, you won'’t be seeing anything. And don'’t bother looking for it, or sending people to look for it. They won'’t find it.”

  “I wonder if that’s because you have no such evidence.”

  “You’ll be wondering that all night. Look, Hull, I’'ve been where you are, okay? How long did you say you'’ve been trying to bust Po? A couple of years? More?”

  “Almost three actually.”

  “And everything you'’ve done in that time comes down to tomorrow. You’re living on caffeine and adrenaline and doughnuts. You’ve probably got the AG bitching about all the money you'’ve spent, and now—right here at the end—you finally realize that everything you'’ve done hangs on the actions of one psychopathic informant. You thought you were running him, but right now, the tail’s wagging the dog. I know you wouldn'’t have okayed them snatching Caitlin, but for whatever reason, they did it. And the truth is, you’re probably relieved that they took her off the board. Just until your sting goes down. Because right now, you’re the living embodiment of the end justifies the means. Nailing Po is all you live for. I get that, William. But you’re not so far gone that you'’ve forgotten this. If Caitlin Masters dies in the custody of your informant, it won'’t matter what kind of evidence you have on Po. Your case is blown,

  and you’ll end up sitting in a cell right next to Sands when it’s all over. That'’s not a threat. That'’s lawyer to lawyer. So you'’ve got one job, my friend. Make sure that not one hair on Caitlin’s head is harmed. Not

  one

  .”

  There’s a long silence. Then Hull says, “All I can do is give you my word that I'’ll look into the situation. But my instinct is that—no, let me rephrase that—as regards anyone involved in my investigation, you should have no concerns whatever regarding the safety of Ms. Masters.”

  “I have your word on that?”

  “As regards anyone involved in my investigation, yes. Now, if she’s simply run off somewhere—”

  “Her bodyguard was shot with a tranquilizer dart.”

  “Well she

  is

  an investigative journalist. We can’t know what sort of stories she might be pursuing.”

  “I don'’t like what you’re suggesting, William. I'm getting a very uneasy feeling. And I think the best way for you to alleviate that feeling is to get on a Learjet, switch on the afterburners, and get your ass down here.

  Tonight.

  You need to get a handle on your informant, before I decide to have him jailed myself.”

  “I can’t possibly do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t tell you. But I will be coming south tomorrow. Meanwhile, I can’t imagine that jailing Mr. Sands would be anything but counterproductive—for all of us. I think that if you can be patient for a little longer, your patience will be rewarded.”

  “I'm not a patient man,” I say, and cut the connection.

  “Learjets don'’t have afterburners,” Kelly says. “But it sounded good. Is he coming?”

  “He says he can’t be here until tomorrow. He’s got to be bullshitting me.”

  “Maybe not. He’s probably trying to get a leash on Sands from where he is, but he’s got too many balls in the air to control them all. He’s doing just what you said—praying everything will hold together until tomorrow night.”

  “I hope so.”

  “There is one other option.” Kelly smiles. “You said Homeland Security was part of this task force, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The threat of Mr. Masters going public could have pushed Hull over the edge. He might just be stalling long enough to get a rendition team down here to make us all disappear.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Kelly laughs. “Hell, yeah. They’re not that crazy. And it’s not going to matter anyway. We’re going to find her ourselves tonight.”

  CHAPTER

  56

  “I told you it wouldn'’t work,” Linda says through the plywood wall. “He doesn’'t miss anything. He took one look in there and knew what you were thinking. That'’s why he took the cats.”

  Caitlin balls her bloody fists in frustration and tries to keep her voice level. “It doesn’'t matter. I can get into the storeroom now.”

  “So what? You can’t get away without the cats to distract them.”

  “I'm going to use the puppy chow.”

  Linda laughs without mirth. “You think those dogs want puppy chow? They eat meat, and nothing but. You’re crazy if you try it.”

  “Have you got the bars off your window yet?”

  Linda says nothing.

  “Linda?”

  “I got two of them loose. What does it matter? You can’t get this chain off, and even if you do, I can’t run. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “You can tell me a thousand times and I won'’t listen.”

  There’s another long silence, during which Caitlin hears the trainers outside working the Bully Kuttas. From what she’s seen through her window, any man who would climb into a pit with one of them with only a knife would have to be certifiably insane, no matter how much armor he wore. Still, Daniel Kelly managed to kill one on the riverbank, so it’s not impossible. But Kelly is an elite commando; she

  can’t have any illusions about what would happen if one of the dogs caught hold of an ankle as she climbed the fence. They would literally eat her alive.

  “I'm not leaving without you,” Caitlin says again. “But we have to go as soon as those trainers leave. Quinn’s going to be furious after what Sands did to him today. He’s going to want to take it out on you. As soon as the trainers leave, you get those other bars off.”

  “I know what they'’re going to do,” she says. “They’re going to take you away, and then they’ll put that armor suit on me and throw me to the dogs.”

  “No!” Caitlin shouts, but she suspects Linda is right.

  “You saw how they acted. They can’t afford to kill you. That'’s why they came and asked who popped your cherry. The mayor’s working some kind of deal for you. But I won'’t get that. I’'ve seen too much.”

  “If they are letting me go, then they can’t kill you. I’'ve seen you. I could tell people you were alive. You see?”

  A shout with a ring of finality echoes across the yard beneath the great shed, and Caitlin hears the lid of a pickup’s toolbox clang down.

  “They’re getting ready to leave,” she says, feeling her heart pound with anticipation. “Get ready to get those bars down. The second they'’re gone, I'm getting up on the roof.”

  “Caitlin?”
/>
  “Yes?”

  “You shouldn’t try it. They’re going to let you go, if you’ll just wait for the trade. But if you go out there with those dogs, you’re going to die. Puppy chow won'’t hold them for five seconds. They’ll smell you coming, and they’ll rip you to pieces.”

  “I'm not waiting.”

  “I'’ll pray for you, then.”

  “I don'’t want a prayer. I want you with me.”

  “I can’t run no more!”

  Caitlin can’t sustain the deception any longer. “Linda, if you don'’t run, you’re going to die. You’re right. Quinn means to kill you. It’s only twenty feet to that fence. I'’ll help you across the space, and I'’ll boost you up.”

  There’s a long silence. “I can’t let you do that,” Linda says finally. “It wasn'’t meant to be. This is my time, that’s all. If you’re really going to do it, just go.”

  “I won'’t. Not without you.”

  “Yes, you will. Don’t feel bad about it either. You’re a good person, Caitlin. Not stuck-up like I would have thought. I wish we could’ve been friends. I haven'’t had a good girlfriend since grade school.”

  “We

  can

  be friends. We

  are

  friends. You’re a good person too, and you deserve a long, happy life!”

  This time the silence drags. “I done some bad things in my life,” Linda says. “Stuff I wouldn'’t want my mama to know about.”

  “We all have, Linda. Trust me on that.”

  “Maybe. I don'’t imagine you'’ve seen the world from some of the places I have. But at least I can say this. I never took money for it.”

  Outside, the truck engine rumbles to life, and two doors slam.

  “That'’s it,” Caitlin says, jumping to her feet. “Get those bars off your windows. I'm going to the storeroom. When Quinn gets back, he’s not going to find anything but empty stalls!”

  She grabs her window bars and starts her skin-the-cat inversion, but stops before pushing up the tin sheet above her. “Linda?” she says. “Linda?”

  She hears nothing but the receding truck at first, then the rattle of the chain next door.

  “Are you working on them?” she calls, as the blood pools in her head.