The Gatekeeper

by Michelle Gagnon

  “So what the hell?”

  Kelly shook her head. “I don’t know. They seem to think they’re some sort of military group.”

  “Under whose orders?”

  “I’m guessing the bartender, Patrick Croll. He seemed to be in charge when I was there.”

  The chief eyed the skinhead. “This connected to the Morris thing?”

  “Maybe. Rodriguez was following up a lead related to that 911 call.”

  “The tip on the stash house?”

  Kelly nodded.

  The chief shook his head. “Boy, you folks love to make our lives harder. We find the gun that killed Morris in a house filled with scumbags, along with a pile of artillery that would make bin Laden blush. But no, you gotta bring skinheads into this.”

  “They beat Rodriguez up, and were probably going to kill him,” Kelly pointed out. “Doesn’t seem like they’re exactly innocent.”

  “Lady, I don’t want to tell you your job, but someone named Rodriguez walks in there, it’s a toss-up whether they’ll kill him for being Mexican or being a Fed. Doesn’t mean they know jack-shit.” The chief held up a hand to silence her. “Things are different down here, especially after what happened to Duke. Can’t go strolling into a place like that, counting on a badge to save you. Shit, I wouldn’t go in with anything less than a SWAT team.”

  Kelly stopped herself from retorting that Rodriguez wasn’t supposed to go in alone. Regardless of how she felt, she wouldn’t rat him out to Phoenix P.D. She wouldn’t even tell McLarty unless she had to.

  The chief was watching her out of the corner of his eye. Inside the room both detective and con had settled into an uneasy détente. The chief leaned forward and rapped on the window. The detective stood, clearly relieved, and gathered up the papers on the table.

  “You see their files?” he asked Kelly.

  “Sure, I skimmed them.”

  “Notice what they all had in common?” He leaned forward. “Drugs. Every last one of these guys has gone down for possession or intent at least once in their miserable lives.”

  “So?”

  “So the MS-13 squad is encroaching on the skinheads’ turf, and they decide to send a message by ratting out their stash house. The Morris gun being there was a coincidence.”

  “Maybe,” Kelly conceded. “But look at this guy. Does he strike you as a rat? Seems to me they’d settle it another way, not get the police involved.”

  “They use us as much as we use them,” the chief said darkly. “Anyway, Agent Jones, I spoke to ASAC McLarty today, told him you were almost done here.”

  “You had no right to do that,” she protested.

  “I can’t afford to assign officers to a task force that could drag on forever, not when I’ve got three punks we can charge with this. Especially since they probably did it.” He shot her a pointed look. “I also don’t have the man power to save G-men who get in over their heads.”

  Kelly bit her lip, determined not to rise to the bait.

  “So wrap this up, Agent Jones.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she finally replied.

  Seemingly satisfied, the chief left the room. Kelly watched as Harper worked his jaw, gaze still locked on the same spot. She’d already spent an hour with the bartender. He recited the same litany, the only difference being that he leered at her the entire time. The captain was right, of course. The 911 call was already a tenuous connection to the Morris case, and extending it to what happened at the bar was insanely circumstantial. But something about it nagged at her, especially considering the way these guys were behaving. This level of organization was unusual for low-level convicts. It was hard to shake the sense that someone out there was manipulating them. Up close the case looked airtight, but the farther away you got, the more it stank.

  Her cell phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen. It was Jake. She repressed a pang of guilt. She hadn’t returned any of his calls today. Partly because she didn’t feel like explaining everything that had happened, it was still too fresh. But more than that, lately the distance between them felt like a gulf, and not just because they lived separate lives in separate cities. When they spent so much time apart, it was sometimes hard to remember what they had when they were together. It almost felt like a different life, one she’d read about but hadn’t actually lived. In a way this separation made it easier for her to compartmentalize. When she was at work she immersed herself in her cases, then with Jake she tried to set all that aside. For some reason, the prospect of eventually combining the two was terrifying.

  With a sigh she powered down her phone. It had been a long day. Given some time to ponder the true meaning of the three strikes law, maybe one of these guys would cave. If not, she’d have to come up with something else.

  Kelly debated stopping by the hospital to talk to Rodriguez, then decided he’d already been through enough for one day. And the truth was she was so tired and angry, she didn’t trust herself to stay professional. He’d put a lot of lives at risk by not following protocol. Chances were he’d be too sedated to talk anyway. Better to get a good-night’s sleep, then she could deal with him in the morning.

  Dante perched on the edge of the couch, hands on his knees. He’d only been in Jackson ’s house once before, on another late night visit. That time, though, he’d been bringing good news. It was much more difficult to enjoy the opulent surroundings with Jackson raging around the room.

  “Explain to me again how these orders were misinterpreted.”

  “I-”

  “Didn’t you instruct them to be discreet when they made that call?”

  Dante shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I told them to go somewhere no one knew them. Somewhere in a spic neighborhood.”

  “And why, exactly, did they not follow that order?”

  Dante wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. And incredibly guilty, even though he personally had done nothing wrong. These were his men, and Jackson counted on him to make sure they executed every stage of the mission perfectly. They’d failed him, so he’d failed Jackson. “They got lazy.”

  “They got lazy!” Jackson roared, emphasizing each word. “This was the most important part of their mission. But they used the pay phone directly outside the bar?”

  Dante said feebly, “They said there aren’t many pay phones anymore-”

  “And they’re right!” Jackson jabbed a finger into Dante’s chest, and he winced. “You should have provided them with cell phones. Untraceable, disposable phones. Why didn’t you?”

  “I figured that’s what they’d use.” Dante said in a small voice. “I told them how important it was-”

  “So you trusted them to figure that out for themselves?”

  Dante simply nodded.

  “And that’s why I’m disappointed with you, Dante. A leader never leaves a single decision to the men beneath him. He dictates their every move, their every action. Success on the battlefield depends on it. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mr. Burke,” Dante said, after a long pause indicated he was meant to respond.

  “Good. About that other thing, is it in process?”

  Dante nodded. “They should be in Houston by dawn.”

  “Excellent.” Jackson waved a hand, dismissing him. Dante paused on the threshold.

  “Sir, Sergeant Croll wants to know who their lawyers are.”

  Jackson ’s eyes narrowed. “What lawyers?”

  “It was something I’d promised them, sir. Since you told me they’d be covered…” Dante’s voice trailed off under the force of Jackson ’s gaze.

  “That coverage was intended for active cells that accomplished their goals.”

  “Yes sir, but considering, you know, what they did…” Dante focused on the floor. “It would keep them from shooting off their mouths. Not that they would,” he added hurriedly. “But if they knew you were looking out for them, they’d have even less reason…”

  He raised his
eyes to find Jackson regarding him coldly. One thing he’d learned in three years of working for the man, he did not like to lose, and this definitely fell into the loss column.

  “Get them someone. But make sure it doesn’t lead back to me.”

  “Yes sir.” Dante quickly left the room, barely breathing until he’d crossed the threshold.

  JULY 1

  Fifteen

  Jake fought through the traffic idling curbside. He spotted Syd standing at the end of the platform, dressed entirely in black. It took another five minutes to get to her. He popped the trunk and she threw her bag in, slammed it shut, and practically dove into the front seat.

  “So how was first class?” he asked, noting the flush in her cheeks. Clearly she was excited about something.

  “Mediocre. They didn’t even have warm nuts.” She pulled off her sunglasses and leaned over to punch an address into the GPS. He caught a whiff of shampoo as a strand of her hair brushed his face.

  “Hey, I already got that-” he protested, but she cut him off.

  “Change of plans. We got a hit on the GPS signal from Madison ’s game console.”

  “No shit?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “I know. I didn’t think it would amount to anything, but had one of my guys tackle it anyway. And lo and behold, it pinged late last night. Got the message from him when I landed.”

  “So we know where she is?”

  “Well, we know where the DS Lite was. It stopped transmitting a few hours ago, so we need to hurry. Should be there in less than an hour unless you drive like a granny.”

  “I drive just fine.” Jake snorted. To prove it, he veered across two lanes of traffic, darting onto the on-ramp for 880 North. “So are we calling in the cavalry?”

  “No need. I’ve got a team ready.”

  “Yeah? That was quick.”

  “I put them on standby when Randall called. Figured since she was taken from SFO, she might still be in the Bay Area.”

  “Not bad, partner,” Jake said grudgingly.

  “They’ll have vests and sidearms for us.”

  “You sure about this? If things go south, there could be a lot of fallout…”

  “Believe me, I trust this team a hell of a lot more than some Feds who’ve never been outside Hogan’s Alley. If she’s still alive, we’ll get her.”

  “All right,” Jake said, despite a twinge of unease. He’d never been a stickler for the rules either, but like most former operatives Syd followed a completely different code. For them, rules didn’t exist. And he was more than a little concerned about what she considered a crack team. “So where am I headed?”

  “ Benicia. I’ve got to make some calls to find out if everything is ready, so shut up and drive. I’ll tell you more when we get closer.”

  Madison pressed her ear to the door. She’d been up most of the night waiting for it to fling open again, terrified of what that asshole was going to do. She was pretty certain they were going to kill her.

  In both hands, Madison clutched the metal tray they brought her meals on. It was old, rusty around the edges, with Olympia Brewing Company in fancy scrawl above a painting of a lady in a hat. It had always struck her as incongruous, especially now. Usually Lurch came to take it away, but last night he’d never rematerialized. She wondered if he couldn’t face her, knowing what was about to happen.

  The tray was a flimsy weapon, but better than nothing. She planned on waiting in the shadows beside the door. When it swung open she’d launch herself forward, try to catch him square across the face. Hopefully startle him enough to make a break for it. It was a long shot, and she knew it. It didn’t matter how many push-ups she did, he’d still easily overpower her. But maybe she’d buy herself enough time to get above deck. She had to try. And if it turned out they were in the middle of the ocean, she would jump overboard and drown. That was still preferable to whatever sick torture he had planned.

  After the man stormed off she’d heard arguing. It sounded like just the two of them, but it was hard to tell with the echoes and distortion. She pictured Lurch standing with his head down, getting yelled at. For some reason that hadn’t made her feel better.

  Nothing but silence for hours now. Usually they brought breakfast right around dawn, but based on the fragments of light seeping into the room it was already late morning. Madison wondered what the hell was going on.

  Footsteps. She inhaled sharply, pressing harder against the door. Someone was coming. It was impossible to tell who, since each step resonated against the metal floor. Madison realized she was hyperventilating, the tray shaking in her hands, and she fought to calm down. This was it. She had one shot at getting out of here.

  She stepped back into the shadows, listening to the sound of the latch being unbolted, metal grinding against metal. Her knuckles were white, blood pounded in her ears. She braced herself as the door slowly swung open.

  It felt like an eternity passed before a silhouette crossed the threshold. Madison leaped forward with a slight cry, swinging the tray with the full force of her weight behind it.

  A grunt: she’d miscalculated. It wasn’t the other man, but Lurch standing there. Instead of the face she had caught him in the chest. He caved backward. Her eyes widened as they met his. He looked confused. Regaining her senses Madison lunged past him, tripping over her feet. She caught herself from falling and raced down the corridor. Lurch yelled something but she didn’t pay attention, didn’t focus on anything but running as hard and fast as she could.

  After a second Madison ’s brain caught up to her feet and she realized the corridor was ending. A narrow hallway branched left and she took it. She sped past small doors molting gray paint; no time to check them, she’d have to hope that the way up was obvious, a ladder or a staircase. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a desperate desire to see the sun. Tears flooded her eyes and she shook her head to clear them.

  The hallway dead-ended in another corridor. Madison skidded to a stop. No sign of an exit in either direction. She chewed her lip, wondering if she should have checked the doors.

  Suddenly, Lurch appeared at the far end of the hall. Even from here she could see his features twisted with anger. She whirled and sped in the opposite direction, praying to herself, “Please God, don’t let him catch me, please…”

  The door facing her was latched with a heavy metal bar. She almost slammed into it, caught herself, and strained to lift it. She could hear Lurch pounding toward her. The latch fought her efforts, and she cried out in frustration. It suddenly gave with a shriek and she yanked the door open, almost crying with relief at the sight of a ladder.

  Madison scrambled up, panting. She was in a narrow tube that seemed to go on forever, at the very top she could make out a hatch. She felt the ladder shift and glanced over her shoulder. Lurch was at the bottom. For a large man he moved surprisingly quickly. He was only two stories behind her and gaining fast.

  Madison tried to quicken her pace but her arms and legs shook from the effort. Looking up, she had another forty feet to go. She prayed the hatch wouldn’t be locked.

  “ Madison!”

  She jerked at the sound of her name and nearly fell. A small voice in her head perversely noted this was the first time Lurch had spoken to her since the airport. She focused all her energy upward: thirty feet left. Her heart was battering her rib cage. Sweat poured down her face but she didn’t dare wipe it away, her hands were already slick with it. Twenty feet. She yelped as one hand slipped off a rung and she dangled, almost tumbling backward. Lurch was closer now, less than fifteen feet away. She gritted her teeth and swung the hand back up, gripping with all her might. Gathering herself, she resumed her climb.

  She reached the hatch. Madison pressed against it, arms shaking. It didn’t budge. Once again she strained. With a slight groan, the hatch swung up and out.

  Madison felt a hand swipe at her ankle and kicked it away. Gasping, she hauled herself out, slipping off the ridge at the top and landing in a pile on the dec
k. Lurch’s head poked out behind her. She scrambled to her feet and spun, running again, not caring where she went as long as it was away from him.

  Acclimated to the shadowy bowels of the ship, Madison was blinded by the dazzling sunlight. Squinting, she stumbled repeatedly on detritus strewn about the deck. She could still hear Lurch pursuing her, but it sounded as though he’d slowed, and a ray of hope shot through her chest. The air was fresh, salty. She was outside. She might even get away.

  Her eyes finally adjusted, and she realized she was careening toward the edge of the deck. The railing was ten feet in front of her. Madison whirled, scanning in the opposite direction. Her heart sank. The boat was moored in the middle of a string of others. Off in the distance past the farthest turret, the shimmering brown of land. But no way to get there, at least not that she could see. And it looked too far to reach by swimming. She stood for a moment, gasping.

  “Stop.”

  Madison spun around. Lurch was stumbling toward her, clutching his belly, nearly bent double. Her lip curled-at least the bastard was suffering as much as she was.

  “No way off,” Lurch said, shaking his head. He advanced toward her, one arm outstretched. “C’mon, now…”

  She shook her head, backing away until her heels hit cold steel: the side of the boat.

  He beckoned with his fingers. “It’s okay, I promise.”

  “Go to hell,” Madison said. She glanced back, then climbed up on the lip of the gunwale. She swayed slightly, arms flung out for balance.

  Lurch’s eyes widened with surprise as he shouted, “Don’t!”

  Madison ignored him. Tears streamed down her face as she turned and dove forward.

  Sixteen

  “Knock, knock.” Kelly rapped tentatively on the door.

  Rodriguez held up a finger and she frowned. He was on his cell, sitting up in bed with a notepad on his lap.

  Kelly waited irritably for him to finish. Most of the night she’d tossed and turned, debating what the captain had said. She’d never been one of those agents who took the easy way out, dismissing inconsistent information just to get a case over and done with. She liked to think the victims deserved more. In spite of everything she clung to the belief that her job was to seek out the truth, even when it was inconvenient.