ZACA (Zack Tolliver FBI)

by R Lawson Gamble

  Susan held up her hand. "Don't be afraid, Jesus. The man at the door is our friend. He can help us."

  Eagle Feather peeked past the security chain, saw it was Malden, let him in. He introduced him to Susan and Jesus.

  Malden wheeled the desk chair over. He inquired about Jesus' family in Spanish. It was just the right touch.

  Jesus' face lit up when he spoke of his wife and two little girls. "I could show you a picture, if I had my own clothes." His face fell when he realized the picture was lost.

  "Let me tell you what's happened since we last saw you," Zack said to Malden.

  The ranger listened without interruption. When Zack came to the part about Jesus’ escape from the hospital, Malden gave the Mexican a respectful look. "Pretty quick thinking there."

  Zack studied Jesus. He spoke to him through Eagle Feather. "We need to know everything that happened to you, from the first moment you decided to come to America, until you went to the hospital. We need every detail."

  Jesus began. It was the start of a long night. Zack wrote down names as they poured out: Sonora Cartel, Jorge, Candida, Raul. They interrupted Jesus frequently with questions.

  As the night wore on, Susan's head nodded several times. Finally she dozed.

  The men kept the small coffee maker steaming.

  It was two in the morning when Jesus finished. The men sat in silence, absorbing it all.

  "Let's adjourn to the other room and let Jesus and Susan get some sleep," Zack said. He gave Jesus strict instructions not to open his door under any circumstances. If someone knocked, he was to call Zack on his cell.

  Zack let Susan into his room. She flopped down on the bed and went right to sleep.

  Zack locked her in. They went to Eagle Feather's room and cooked up yet another mini pot of coffee.

  "I heard nothing to implicate anyone but this Jorge guy," Malden said, and went to pour a coffee.

  Eagle Feather watched him. "I heard nothing to suggest why anyone would want to kill Jesus."

  "We're missing something here," Zack said. "Jesus must have seen, heard, or learned something important, maybe something about the inside man."

  Malden glanced at them over his shoulder. "You two think Dom tried to kill you. Could he have been connected to the inside man?"

  "Good thought." Eagle Feather went to join Malden at the coffee. "If we assume that connection, we can look at Dom's associates as a place to begin."

  Zack rocked back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head. "That opens a lot of possibilities." He peered at Malden and grinned. "Rick Malden, for one."

  Malden sat on the edge of the bed with his coffee. He grinned back. "Should I confess now?"

  The others chuckled.

  "It's true I spend a lot of time with Dom," Malden said. "He's always Johnny-on-the-spot when I need assistance. I'm grateful to him. That's why I find it hard to believe he would try to shoot you."

  Zack eyed Malden. "The inverse of that is he uses you to gain information."

  "Yeah, he could do that, all right."

  "Who else did Dom hang around with?" Eagle Feather said.

  Rick put his empty coffee cup on the bedside table, leaned back against a stack of pillows. "For a real fierce looking guy, he was friendly with a lot of people––my partner Jeremy Tusco, for one, and Barnard, of course. Then there's Darby and the other troopers." He sighed. "I dunno. It just seems like he's always around. Was––" he corrected.

  "I guess we know why, now," Eagle Feather said.

  "What about Rufus Reyes?" Zack cocked an eyebrow at Malden.

  "Rufus?" Malden shook his head. "I don't know that I ever saw them together, to tell you the truth. What made you think of him?"

  "Jorge works for him."

  Eagle Feather rotated the desk chair to look at Malden. "We know Jorge works for the Sonora Cartel. It seems obvious he helped recruit and manage people for them. Should we believe this Rufus is entirely unaware of that?"

  "I just can't see it," Malden said.

  "There's two things against that conclusion, in my book," Zack said. "First, Rufus is the guy who brought me into this. If he's guilty, that's a lot of hubris. Second, this man has no hubris."

  "I agree with Zack. Rufus is just plain good-hearted. A guy like Jorge can flourish at his farm because Reyes will always believe the best of everybody." Malden shook his head. "No, not him. Speaking of him, Jesus says Jorge is the ranch manager now. I guess we better clue Rufus in."

  Zack put up a hand. "No, not yet. We need to keep all our cards close to our chest until we know more."

  Malden got up, rolled the chair back under the desk. "I'm goin' home. My brain stopped workin' an hour ago."

  Zack stood, shook his hand. "We've got a lot to think about. Let's get back together tomorrow morning, talk some more. Dining room? Eight o'clock?"

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Zack dreamed about a large swarm of bees, woke to find his phone vibrating on the bedside table. He looked at it. It told him 7 AM. He groaned. It also said California State Police.

  He answered it. "Zack Tolliver."

  "Hello, Agent Tolliver, sorry to wake you. My name is Jeff Montana. I'm sergeant in charge of the North Santa Barbara County State Police district. I'd like to ask you some questions. Can you meet us in the lobby?" The voice was strong and officious.

  "When?"

  "Right now."

  "I'll be right down," Zack said. He washed up, splashed cold water in his eyes, dressed. He tugged at Eagle Feather. "The state troopers want to talk to me. They'll want to talk to you sooner or later. You might as well get dressed and meet us down in the lobby."

  Eagle Feather looked at his watch. "Three hours sleep. Great."

  Zack stepped out of the elevator, walked to the lobby.

  Darby stood near the front desk. He waved. "Hi, Zack. Jeff is in the dining room. Come join us for some coffee."

  Zack followed Darby to the table.

  Sergeant Jeff Montana was a stocky man, crisp blue eyes in a block-like face. He rose, grabbed Zack's hand. "I'm sorry to disturb you so early, Agent Tolliver. As you know, we have a trooper gone missing. We've still had no word from him. I'm quite concerned." He sat down, motioned Zack to an empty seat.

  The rich aroma of fresh-brewed coffee was in the air. It smelled mighty good to Zack.

  Montana leaned toward him. "I've got a search team going out with Darby here and his forensic team. Bruce can steer them part of the way." Montana pushed an empty cup toward Zack, signaled the waiter. "Coffee, Zack?"

  Zack nodded.

  The man arrived with the coffee pot, poured.

  "Have a couple of sips," Montana said with a knowing grin. "I can talk while you drink."

  Zack sipped the strong brew.

  "Darby tells me you and your friend––Eagle Feather, is it––heard rifle shots. Could be it was Dom, could be he was at the ass end of them. Either way, I'd like to establish where they were fired. What do you think?"

  "We heard two shots," Zack said. "The first one was directly at us. Have you got a topo?"

  "Happens I do." Montana reached for a briefcase and took out an iPad. He flipped it onto its stand, touched the screen, angled it for Zack. "That X right there is where the helicopter landed. Here is where the body was, and right over there is where the blood is. Can you show me where you were when you heard those shots fired?"

  Before Zack could respond a hand reached past his shoulder, a finger landed on the map.

  "We were right here when we were shot at," Eagle Feather's voice said.

  "Meet my friend Eagle Feather, Sergeant."

  The two men shook hands. Eagle Feather sat down in the empty chair next to Zack.

  "Please go on, Mr. Eagle Feather."

  Eagle Feather grabbed Zack's coffee cup, took a sip before he spoke. "Zack and I had just found another blood pool, right about here." His finger pointed. "After we took fire, I went back there to get a rifle that had been left by the victim. That'
s when I heard the second shot. It came from over this way." Eagle Feather moved his finger up the slope.

  "From where I was, it sounded over here," Zack said. "I thought someone shot at Eagle Feather."

  Montana marked each position with a virtual flag. "So best guess from each of you is about here." He pointed to the marker.

  They nodded.

  "Okay, then, that's where we'll search." Montana stood. "We've got to get the operation under way. You gentlemen stay and enjoy some breakfast. It's on me." He started to walk away, turned back. "Oh, and gentleman, please don't leave town until this little affair is sorted out."

  When Montana and Darby were gone, Zack looked at his watch. "We're early for our meeting, but two thirds of us are here already. Let's wake Malden."

  Malden griped and moaned over the phone, but agreed to join them.

  Zack peered at Eagle Feather over his coffee. "I wonder what Sergeant Montana's gonna think when they find the blood and Dom's rifle?"

  "Not good thoughts, I'd say. We better get ready to become suspects."

  "Yeah, I thought of that. It shouldn't last, though. Sooner or later, they'll figure we couldn't have been responsible for all those blood spills."

  Malden arrived fifteen minutes later, bleary eyed, sluggish. Zack poured him a coffee. They put in their breakfast orders.

  "Something occurred to me last night," Zack said. "When Barnard first called us, he said it was Jesus who had been killed. He called later and changed the story. I got to thinking about the timing. You figure the body is discovered, the Santa Maria police are notified, they come check it out. Then, maybe someone calls Barnard." Zack glanced at his companions. "Barnard isn't directly involved, don't you see? A murder in a Santa Maria hospital belongs to the Santa Maria police department. Barnard is pretty far down the chain, just a courtesy call, really. By the time he gets a call, they should have sorted out the mistaken identity, even with the charts switched. Any nurse on that floor would recognize the dead man. So how is it Barnard thought Jesus was killed?"

  "That's right," Malden said.

  "You're saying Barnard knew about it before the Santa Maria police." Eagle Feather stared at Zack.

  "Which couldn't have happened unless––"

  "Unless whoever notified Barnard was the killer." Zack finished for Malden.

  Malden let out a breath. "That's it. Whoever called Barnard must be the inside man."

  "Unless Barnard himself is the inside man," Eagle Feather said.

  They stared at each other.

  "We have to consider every possibility," Zack said, after a moment. "From what Jesus told us, two people knew he was in the hospital. Rufus sent him there, and Jorge took him there. Did they tell anyone else about Jesus?" He picked up his phone. "I wonder who called Barnard?" He redialed Barnard's number.

  "Good morning, Zack."

  "Morning, George. Sorry to bother you so early."

  "Eight-thirty isn't early for me," Barnard said. "What can I do for you?"

  "I'm trying to establish the chain of events yesterday for my report. Who told you about the shooting in the hospital?"

  There was a moment of silence. "That was a courtesy call from Chief Daniels, of the Santa Maria police."

  "Both calls?"

  "Both...oh, yeah. Both. His guys had the wrong ID the first time they called. Something about the med charts being switched." Barnard chuckled. "Who’d a thunk this Mex was that clever?"

  "Thanks, George, I really appreciate this. One more question: how long after they called you did you call me?"

  Barnard hesitated. "Zack, is something going on here?"

  "I'm constructing a chronology for my report. I'm sorry to be a pain in the ass."

  Barnard sounded brusque. "I was tryin' to be a nice guy by calling you. Didn't know that meant I'd be interrogated." He paused a moment. "I know––you gotta do it. You feds are sticklers for nickel and dime detail. No problem, really. I confess I didn't call you right away the first time. It might have been ten minutes before I got to you. But the second time was as soon as I learned of the mistake." He chuckled. "I didn't want you to put the wrong info in your report."

  "You've been a great help, George."

  Zack put away his phone, glanced at the other two men. "He says he waited ten minutes before the first call."

  Malden scratched his head. "So assume the empty bed and the dead guy are discovered by the nurse, who notifies his or her supervisor, or whatever the protocol is, who then notifies the police. The police investigate, update their chief. I doubt he calls Barnard first thing––courtesy calls would come later, no matter how great buddies they are. It seems to me this mistaken identity would have been cleared up long before that."

  Zack nodded.

  "Why not call Rufus, see who he told?" Eagle Feather suggested. "Let's not give anyone time to think up a story."

  "Good idea." Zack called Rufus. The phone rang several times, went to an answering service. Zack didn't leave a message.

  The waiter came with their orders. They ate with gusto. Lack of sleep seemed to encourage a big appetite.

  Zack's phone rang.

  It was Rufus. "I see you called me?"

  "Yes, thanks for calling back, Rufus. I know you're busy; let me cut right to the chase. Did you tell anyone you sent Jesus to the hospital?"

  "Uh, no, I don't think so. My supervisor knew, of course, 'cause he took him. I...oh, wait. I did tell one of my girls, a worker, Candida. She was friendly with Jesus, asked after him a number of times. Jesus took her side after my old sup raped her, she's the reason I had the guy arrested. So, yeah, I told her to ease her mind. Why, was this a secret?"

  "When did you tell her?"

  "Had to be around noon, when they took their break. What's goin' on, Zack?"

  "There was a shooting in the hospital. His roommate is dead."

  "Christ."

  "Exactly."

  "What about Jesus. Is he okay?"

  "Nobody knows. The cops think he killed his roommate, then bolted."

  "Jesus? No way."

  "You sound very sure."

  "He just doesn't have it in him. He's a gentle guy who's had to react to everything around him. All he wants is to go home to his wife and kids."

  "Maybe he has," Zack suggested.

  After the call, Zack peered into his friends' curious faces. "He told one person, he says, this worker named Candida. She'd been asking about him. He told her around noon. She must have gone back to work after that, but might have had time to call someone." Zack sighed. "Now we've got four possibilities."

  "Isn't Jorge the most likely leak?" Malden said. "After all, we already know he's involved with the cartel."

  "He might have leaked, but he couldn't be the shooter. He knows what Jesus looks like," Eagle Feather said.

  Zack nodded. "We're not much better off than we were. Jesus is the key. We need to find out what it is he knows that is so important to someone he's determined to silence him."

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Jesus had never slept so well. Despite his fear and the uncertainty of the previous night, blessed blackness enveloped him the moment his head hit the pillow. He slept long; when he awoke his knee felt better. By now he was almost used to disorientation at the moment of awakening––the total darkness, air conditioner thrumming, blanket and soft sheets womb-like around him did not come as a surprise.

  Jesus luxuriated for several minutes, at last hauled himself out of bed. He opened the blinds. Bright sun rushed in. A small stack of neatly folded clothing waited on the desk chair: socks, underwear, jeans, a shirt––everything for the day. In the shower warm water ran over him, cleansed his spirit along with his body. The clothing was fresh and clean, a bit tight, but would do. His knee hurt to bend; it took a while to pull on the pants.

  Dressed, Jesus wondered what he should do next. The FBI agent warned him not to venture out of the room.

  The bedside clock said 8 AM. He was very hungry. He remembered
Señor Zack had left a card with his cell number. Jesus found it on the bedside table. He reached for the phone, a knock sounded at the door.

  Susan's voice came to him in broken Spanish. "Jesus, it's Susan. I need my clothing."

  He peered out the peephole. It was Susan. He opened the door to the chain, made sure she was alone, let her in. Only then did he remember the FBI agent insisted he call his cell before he opened the door.

  Susan locked the door behind, reset the chain. She smiled at Jesus. "I just need to gather a few of my things."

  "Si," he said, nodded his understanding. "I am hungry."

  "Oh, poor man. Of course you are. I'll have some breakfast sent up." She walked to the bedside table. Before she could lift the receiver a knock came at the door.

  "Room service."

  Susan looked at Jesus in surprise. "Did you call room service?"

  Jesus shook his head, stared from Susan to the door.

  "Just a minute," Susan said. She grabbed Jesus by the arm, pulled him to the wardrobe. "Quick, get in here."

  It was tight. Jesus had to scrunch. A hotel bathrobe hung from a hanger; he spread it in front of him. Susan closed the doors. A moment later he heard the sound of the room door latch. The next noise was an impact against the door, rending wood, the chain rattling, a short cry from Susan, sounds of a struggle. Men's voices spoke in low tones, muffled footsteps around the room. More talk, a groan as if lifting a heavy object, a door slam. After that, silence.

  Jesus trembled, couldn't stop himself despite the fear he'd make noise. His legs quaked from crouching. He thought the men were out there, it was a trap. He must stay in this closet, very still, for as long as it took.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  After breakfast, Eagle Feather wandered off in search of a morning paper. Malden drove home to freshen up and feed Toker. He'd wait for a call. Zack dialed his own room number, where Susan now stayed.

  The phone rang and rang. Zack was surprised; he knew Susan had engagements today, he didn't think her appointments were so early.

  Zack returned to his room. Once there, he splashed some water on his face, scrutinized it, decided he didn't need a shave just yet. He went to Susan's room, knocked on the door. When no answer came, he gave it up, walked on to her old room to check on Jesus. He knocked, three louds and three softs, the arranged signal, and waited for his phone to ring. It didn't.