“Where’d you get that?”
“It’s mine.”
“Fuckin’ moron,” he swore. “Which model is this?” He checked the back, then spat, “I’ll kill him.”
Madison shrank away from him, feeling the cold steel of the wall through her shirt.
“So you like playing games, huh?” he said. “That all you been doing?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t talk down to me, princess, I’m not like that retard. This thing has a GPS receiver. But then, I’m guessing you knew that.”
Madison ’s heart sank. Tears rose hot in her eyes and spilled over. “I don’t…”
“Yeah, sure you don’t. You and that smart daddy of yours.” He tucked the DS Lite into the back pocket of his jeans and bent down. His breath was hot and smelled like old meat. “Rain check for today, sweetheart. I gotta go deal with our friend. But don’t you worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”
The door slammed behind him. Madison hugged herself tightly in an effort to stop shaking.
Randall Grant ran a hand through his hair. It felt thick with grease-he couldn’t remember the last time he’d washed it. Even Barry, whose hygiene was notoriously lax, had moved his chair away when he entered the office. Not that he gave a shit anymore.
Randall was sitting in a park a few blocks from the facility. Absurdly ugly brown blocks formed a fountain that hadn’t produced a drop of water in all the years he’d been coming here. Benches stood in forlorn formations, shedding paint and broken boards like molting skeletons. There was always a foreboding aura to the place, as if something bad was imminent. His colleagues shunned it for that reason. Which was why he liked it.
Those monsters had his daughter and he was sitting here. He’d followed their orders and gone back to the office, ignoring Barry’s raised eyebrows, saying he felt better and had work to do. They hadn’t called, which meant they’d probably succeeded in getting what they were after. And he was responsible for whatever they did with it. He’d left work early, pleading a resurgence of the flu, and came here to think.
Randall shook his head hard. If they had anyone competent involved, and he had no reason to doubt that, then thousands were at risk, possibly more. All because he’d been a greedy asshole.
The first request, nearly a year ago, had been harmless enough. One day a man had approached him in this park. Randall had retreated there to eat in silence, mulling over the recent collapse of his marriage and trying to figure out how the hell he was going to pay his attorney. When the guy slid onto the bench next to him he’d stood, prepared to move away. The last thing he wanted was to engage in casual conversation when his life was crumbling. Audrey had packed up the girls the week before and driven away in a blur of accusations and hysterical tears. He’d spent the past six nights padding around the house in the dark, as if they might miraculously rematerialize.
The guy stopped him, saying his name and asking for a minute of his time. Against his better instincts, Randall listened. All they wanted was a minor piece of information, for which they’d pay extravagantly. In fact, they offered almost double what he’d need to pay off his lawyer, enough to keep him satisfied through the entire litigation. Randall had asked for time to think it over. Went back to the office and found what they were interested in: nothing serious, just some financial records. They weren’t even kept in a secure section of the building, but were tucked in an unlocked filing cabinet in storage. He had no idea why those records would interest anyone, he read them through twice and found nothing of note. So after a few days of consideration, he’d copied them and handed them over. No harm, no foul, he figured. Hell, he’d given this facility his blood, sweat and tears for his entire adult life, and how had they repaid him? Long hours and promotions that amounted to demotions, all of which contributed to the dissolution of his marriage. No, it was time the company helped him for a change, and why not now when he most needed it?
Thinking back he berated himself for his stupidity. Of course they had only asked for something minor that wouldn’t raise many moral qualms. That’s how they’d hooked him. Then a few months later, when what they wanted was more sensitive and he balked, they reminded him that he’d already committed treason. There was a stack of photographs documenting the exchange, a tape recording of him discussing it…everything they needed to disgrace him forever and send him away for life. His daughters were already barely speaking to him. Imagine if they thought he was a traitor.
So he’d complied. A few items here, others there. Nothing that would be too damaging if a foreign power got their hands on it. At least, that’s what he told himself.
But then they asked for access to low-level radioactive materials. And finally, Randall put his foot down. Despite all their promises to the contrary, he realized they would never stop. They would milk him until he was dead, fired, arrested or all three. He’d stalled for a few weeks, trying to get his affairs in order, figuring out what to tell Syd, how to break the news to his daughters. He lay awake nights breathing in fast, panicky pants, the walls closing in as if a cell was already mounting around him.
And then Madison disappeared. He’d already ruined his life, and now he’d probably destroyed hers as well. In retrospect it all seemed so absurd. If he was honest, all along he’d secretly expected to outwit the situation. The downside of always being the smartest guy in the room is that occasionally it made you do stupid things.
Well, now he’d given whoever was behind this all the power they’d ever need. And in doing so, he’d probably condemned thousands of people to death, his daughter among them.
Randall stood and absentmindedly brushed off the legs of his pants. He was done. He’d given Syd her chance, and so far it had only caused Madison to suffer more. Hiring her and Jake had been one more stalling tactic designed to stave off the real authorities. Everyone wanted to believe that when faced with a terrible situation they’d rise above it, become the hero that lay hidden inside them. It was a shame when that moment arrived and you turned out to be a coward.
Randall barely looked up as he strolled back to the facility, headed for the parking garage. By now Barry would have gone home, along with the bulk of the staff. Randall squeezed the Post-it in his hand, the number of the San Francisco FBI field office scrawled on it. Thanks to the facility’s jamming measures he needed to drive outside the gates for his cell phone to work. He’d call as he drove, making sure they started searching for Madison while he crossed the bridge to turn himself in. The FBI had the most experience handling kidnappings, and maybe he could strike up an agreement to get housed with a better class of criminal. He’d call Syd afterward, that way she wouldn’t have an opportunity to talk him out of it.
He was still a block from the parking garage gate, digging in his pocket for his ID card, when the van rolled up beside him. Distracted, he barely registered it. At the sound of a door rolling open he snapped his head to the side. By the time his brain processed the arms reaching out for him, it was already too late.
“Shit!” Kelly hissed, leaping back behind the shelter of the door frame. A sharp report, then the thunk of dozens of pieces of shot sinking into wood.
“Agent Jones!” one of the cops yelled.
“I’m okay,” she called back. “Get the rest of them secured.” The sound of sirens in the distance. “Better come out,” she yelled. “Hands where I can see them!”
“Fuck you,” the bartender growled.
Kelly glanced down, noting the trail of blood out the door. “Is Agent Rodriguez still alive?”
There was a chuckle, then the bartender called out, “For now. Anyone else comes in, though, it’s gonna get ugly.”
Kelly closed her eyes. It was already ugly. And the fact that Rodriguez wasn’t communicating was cause for concern. She hadn’t noticed a gag, but then she’d only had a second to process the scene. “Backup is going to be here in a minute. As of right now, we don’t have anything but assault on you.”
&nbs
p; “I’m a three-striker, lady. Doesn’t matter.”
“It will when you’re facing federal prison time. Believe me, they’re a hell of a lot worse.”
He laughed again. “You don’t got a prison that can scare me.”
Kelly recognized the accent, southern Tennessee. “You don’t want to do this.”
“You kidding? I been waiting all my life for a hostage like this one. Play my cards right, I leave here in a helicopter, end up in Aruba.”
“It never ends that way.”
“Nope. But if I’m going down, it’ll be fighting.”
Kelly chewed her lower lip and silently cursed Rodriguez for being such an idiot; the bartender, for being completely insane; and herself, for not leaving the FBI a few months ago. Only fifty-one FBI agents had been killed on active duty in the entire history of the Bureau. One of those had been her former partner. If she contributed another, she might as well turn in her badge tonight. “You really want that? Hostage negotiators, snipers, lasers on your chest? It’ll get messy.”
“Will it get me on TV?”
The bartender was smarter than he looked, and didn’t sound scared. Not a good combination. Kelly decided to try another tack. “There are two shots in there-that’s if you had a chance to reload. How far do you actually think that will get you?”
“Far enough.”
The sound of running boots, then chatter as the responding officers explained the situation. Out of her peripheral vision she caught a flash of blue. Kelly spun, finger beside the trigger, but someone caught her hand. She let out her breath when she saw Phoenix SWAT lining up behind her, out of sight of the door. The commander leaned close and asked, “How many?”
“One that I’ve seen. Double-barrel shotgun, assume it’s fully loaded. Agent Rodriguez is on a chair about three feet to the right.”
The commander issued a series of complicated hand signals to the rest of the team. He put a hand on her shoulder, motioning for Kelly to move behind them and out of the way. She shifted down the line.
“Hey lady, I’m getting lonely in here.”
She glanced at the commander, who nodded. “I’m still here,” she responded.
“You know, I always had a soft spot for redheads. Maybe you should come in, get down on your knees and show me what you can-”
The rest of his thought was sliced off by an explosion. Kelly twisted her head away, seeing stars. The SWAT team swarmed the room on the heels of the flashbang, barking commands. Kelly waited, braced for the sound of gunfire. A full minute passed, the smoke slowly dissipating. Finally, the commander stuck his head out. “All clear if you want to come in.”
Kelly entered the room. The bartender was on his belly, hands cuffed, tears streaming down his face. It would be a while before his vision and hearing returned to normal. Shame that the damage wasn’t permanent, she thought, quickly examining Rodriguez. He was tied to a chair, suit and shirt streaked with blood. His face looked like someone had worked it over with a bag of nickels. Considering this crew, maybe they had. His head lolled to the side. He was conscious, but barely. She knelt beside him and untied his hands.
“Agent Rodriguez.”
One eye squinted open.
“There’s a bus outside, I told them to bring in a stretcher,” the SWAT commander said.
Kelly nodded her thanks. “Did you get anything out of them?” she asked Rodriguez.
He made a strange sound, choked and garbled. It took her a second to recognize it as a laugh.
“That’s all right. I’ll see you at the hospital.” She got out of the way as two paramedics rushed in a stretcher. She could press for more details after he’d been treated. Rodriguez looked like crap, but the kind of crap that was survivable. Hopefully he’d have something. From the look of things, they hadn’t intended to keep him alive. No reason for them not to talk freely. At least if he’d overheard something, the afternoon wouldn’t be a total disaster.
Kelly stepped outside as the bartender was being led to a paddy wagon packed with his cohorts. “Not him,” she called to the officer.
He turned, puzzled.
“He rides in a car alone. And I want him kept separate from the others at holding.”
The officer shrugged. It was the same guy who looked at her disparagingly when he arrived as backup. “Not a problem.” He led the bartender to his squad car, making sure to knock his head on the frame as he pushed him into the backseat. The bartender grunted but didn’t say anything.
Kelly turned back to the SWAT commander. “You got this?”
“Sure. Worst of it’s over, now we just secure the site. We’ll get some patrol officers to handle it.”
“Great. I’ll give my statement at the station. Then I want to start on the interviews.”
“Looks like it’ll be a long night, huh?”
“That actually sounds optimistic,” Kelly tossed back as she headed to her car.
Fourteen
Jake lay on the bed in his hotel room, hands crossed behind his head, remembering the last time he saw Kelly. She’d come up to New York for a visit, one of their typical morning train up Saturday/evening train home Sunday weekends. Never enough time, but at least he got to fall asleep with his arms around her for a change. After indulging in too much paella and sangria at a Spanish restaurant in the West Village, they decided to walk back to his place. For late May it was unseasonably warm, a mini heat wave, and the magnolia trees were in full bloom.
Kelly’s dress was as red as her hair and she was laughing at something he’d said. She was framed by the glowing margins of a streetlight and he couldn’t help himself, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her. Usually she’d never tolerate that, she hated public displays of affection. But that night she’d had enough wine to make her tipsy and she melted into him, his hands on the smooth silk of her waist, her fingers in his hair, one of those times when a kiss was so much more than the meeting of lips. It was as close to a perfect moment as he’d ever gotten.
His phone rang, shattering the reflection. He checked the caller ID: Syd.
“Hey,” he said. “Find anything on Parrish or Krex?”
“Not a damn thing.”
Jake heard a garbled loudspeaker in the background. “Where are you?”
“JFK. I’m flying out to meet you.”
“Yeah?” Jake sat up and set his stocking feet on the floor. “You sure?”
“I’m sure that if I spend another day alone in that office, I’ll be tempted to take a diver off the roof. Seriously, we need to hire a secretary.” Syd paused before continuing, “Besides, I’ll have my laptop and cell phone. No need for me to be chained to a desk.”
Jake grinned. “I didn’t realize the decorators got around to installing the chains.”
“Funny guy. You okay with this?”
“Sure, I could use the company. Another day with Randall and I might be tempted to take a diver myself.” He was going to ask what she saw in the guy, but let it drop. “I was wondering how long you’d tolerate being an indoor cat.”
“Yeah, well. It was worth a try. Where do we start?”
“Tomorrow I’m cruising by a biker clubhouse in Stockton -the warden’s file says Dante Parrish hung out there before he got arrested. Figure some of his old prison buddies might be hanging around.”
“I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to talk to you.” Syd scoffed.
“Probably not. But you, on the other hand, they’re gonna love.”
“I do have a way with a Harley.”
Jake laughed. “I’ll bet. Anyway, we might find someone Parrish pissed off who knows where he is.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’m on the red-eye, meet me at Oakland Airport around six tomorrow morning.”
“You got it, boss. Enjoy the middle seat.”
Syd snorted. “Please. Like I’d fly anything but first class.”
Jake’s reply was cut off. He caught himself smiling as he hung up. Syd reminded him a lot of his first girlfriend, Lana, a f
eisty girl who grew up on a ranch and could rustle a calf or win a beauty pageant, depending on what the occasion called for. She’d been exuberant, passionate…pretty much the antithesis of Kelly. Jake shook his head. He knew that Kelly wasn’t thrilled about his new business partner. He first met Syd when she infiltrated a smuggling ring that was trying to utilize his former boss’s ships. Sure, she was damned attractive, but he’d never viewed her as anything other than a friend. And he was smart enough to know that a relationship with her would probably follow the same track as all his earlier ones: six months of intensity before the crash and burn. At his age, he preferred stability.
Jake stood and stripped out of his clothes, glancing at the clock. It was just after nine, still early, but tomorrow was likely to be a long day. He called Kelly to say good-night, got her voice mail again, and hung up. Moodily, he gazed back up at the ceiling.
The Phoenix police chief closed the door and joined her at the observation window. “Is there a skinhead convention in town?”
“Apparently,” Kelly said, crossing her arms over her chest. They both watched as the detective tried again.
“Why did you attack Agent Rodriguez?”
“John Harper, Private, 54687.”
“I gotta say, you’re making a big mistake. All the other guys are rolling, you’re going to be left holding the ball. Time for you to smarten up.”
The guy stared levelly at the wall opposite, as if the detective wasn’t even there. “John Harper, Private, 54687.”
The detective shifted in his chair to gaze at them through the one-way glass and shrugged.
“What is that crap?” the chief demanded.
“Far as I can gather name, rank and serial number,” Kelly said with a frown.
“What, he’s former military?”
“Nope.” Kelly nodded toward the file on the table. “Lifer, in and out of prison since he was fourteen. So I’m guessing that’s his prison number.”
The Gatekeeper Page 11
