The Gatekeeper

by Michelle Gagnon

  “That would be us,” Syd said. “We’ve got a family out there, mother and two teenage girls.”

  “Alone?”

  “Three of my men are with them.”

  The other FBI agents, two men and a woman, joined them. Everyone was wearing their vests, faces tight. Jake recognized the air of expectation. There was a palpable rush of adrenaline before a fight, when you were dreading it and itching for it, all at the same time.

  “So I’m guessing you’re in charge here?” the sheriff asked George.

  George glanced sidelong at Syd, then stepped forward. “’Fraid so. Looks like a biker gang is after them.”

  “Sure, the Rogues. Been trying to run them out of town since I got the job. You want to take them off my hands, you’ve got my blessing.”

  “How many are there?” Syd interrupted.

  The sheriff shrugged. “Eight, maybe nine now. Busted a few for a meth lab a while back, so they’re serving time.”

  “Corcoran?” Jake asked.

  “Hell if I know.” Sheriff shrugged. “And don’t much care.”

  There was a break in the gunfire, and they all cocked their heads. “I’m guessing that’s our cue,” George said. “I’ll take the lead, the rest of you fan out. Remember,” he said, looking directly at Jake, “we only shoot if they pose an immediate threat.”

  Jake wanted to point out that warning was more appropriate for Syd, but when he turned to see if it had sunk in, she was already gone. He could make out her blond hair ducking into the trees.

  George shook his head. “Okay, head for the house. It sounds like the worst of it is up there.”

  A sharp crack split the silence. Maltz instinctively dropped to a crouch, his right hand snatching the backup weapon from its holster. Another shot, and the scraggly guy’s gun went off as the side of his head exploded. He staggered a few feet before dropping. In response, a volley of shooting poured from the woods.

  “Down! Get down!” Maltz waved frantically at the women, who had frozen in shock. The older girl reacted first, flattening herself to the ground, followed a second later by her mother and sister. Maltz watched as they covered their heads. Over the barrage he could hear them screaming.

  A figure appeared by the farmhouse and Maltz leveled his gun, ready to pick him off. Something about the shape stopped him: the guy was wearing a baggy windbreaker. Feds, had to be. Syd had come through after all.

  The sound of gunfire retreated. Reenergized, Maltz spun and pursued it through the trees. Shadowy figures dodged ahead of him in an all-out rout. Someone was coming up behind him, running hard. He spun and spotted Syd.

  “About fucking time,” he said. She grinned in reply, dropping to one knee and squeezing a few rounds off at the heavy guy puffing away from them.

  The guy dropped his gun, raised his hands in the air and waved them. “I surrender!” he yelped.

  “Christ,” Syd said, shaking her head at Maltz. “Civilians, right?”

  Madison sat beside Bree. Her mother stood at her shoulder, wringing her hands and emitting a long, unbroken moan. Bree was so pale, her breath coming in short rasps. Madison couldn’t remember ever feeling so scared, this was worse than the boat, worse than the house burning down around them. Her sister might die, and it was all her fault.

  “It hurts,” Bree said, breathing hard, teeth clenched.

  “Try to relax,” the man said soothingly.

  Madison recognized him from the hospital, his name was John or Jay or something like that. He gently cradled Bree’s injured arm, carefully shifting it from side to side as he examined it. He eased up Bree’s shirtsleeve, pulling slowly where blood plastered it to the wound. She winced, hissing out through her teeth.

  Madison had to turn away at the sight of the nasty hole in Bree’s arm, it looked like someone had carved through the skin all the way to the bone. She fought the reflex to retch, heard her mother saying, “Oh my God, oh my God,” over and over again.

  Madison focused on the dead man fifteen feet away. For some reason the gore didn’t bother her, it was like looking at a Halloween dummy from a cheesy haunted house. And she was glad he was dead, she thought with a flare of anger. She wanted them all dead, everyone who had chased her and taunted her and sent her fucking e-mails pretending to be a great guy. She wanted everyone involved with this dead and gone, then maybe she could go back to her normal life and pretend none of it ever happened.

  “It passed right through, which is good,” the man said. He looked at her mother as if weighing her, arrived at some conclusion and turned to Madison instead. It was only then that Madison realized she was crying. He mistook her tears of rage for sadness and said, “Don’t worry, kiddo. It’s gonna be all right now.”

  Madison didn’t answer. He handed her something, and she gazed blankly at it. It was a piece of cloth.

  “Keep pressure on the wound, okay? I’m going to check the sheriff’s car for a medical kit. Ambulance should be here any minute.”

  Madison let him place her hand on Bree’s arm. She kept her eyes averted, trying not to see the steady trickle of blood flowing around the cloth. The man trotted back a second later holding a white box.

  “Got it,” he said, kneeling beside them again. He drew out a few items before gingerly lifting her hand. “This is going to burn for a second, but I want to get it clean,” he said clumsily.

  As Bree’s howls erupted, Madison squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears, trying to keep from screaming herself.

  Jake felt shaky. It had been a long time since he’d administered medical attention to someone, and the last time hadn’t exactly been a success story. But with any luck the kid was going to be okay, it looked like the bullet went straight through. It was hard to tell with all the blood, but it didn’t even appear to have nicked the bone: probably a ricochet from that final barrage. Luckily the bullet had already slowed, energy dissipating, by the time it hit her. Still, the mother moaning and Madison ’s jagged expression-they got to him. Jake took a deep breath, glancing back at them. The ambulance had finally arrived, and they were climbing in after the stretcher. George was going to follow to get their statement. He wanted Jake and Syd to meet them at the hospital, “In case I still need to bring you in,” he’d said, only half-jokingly.

  Jake was bone-tired. All he wanted to do was lie down in the back of the car and go to sleep for a few days. His phone rang. Without checking the number he answered.

  “There you are,” Kelly said warmly.

  Hearing her voice made his eyes smart with tears. He chalked it up to exhaustion. “Yeah, sorry I’ve been unreachable.” He looked around. The dead guy was being zipped into a bag, and the remaining bikers sat on the ground in a semicircle, hands zip-tied behind their backs, waiting for the paddy wagon. The ground was covered with spent bullets and casings. He couldn’t even begin to sum up the situation, so instead asked, “How are you?”

  “I’ve been better. If I never go into a warehouse again it’ll be too soon.”

  “Yeah?” Jake said. Syd emerged from the trees, Maltz by her side. They were discussing something in low voices, glancing at the Feds. Jake’s eyes narrowed. Syd didn’t have the look of someone who planned on making herself available to the authorities.

  “…and now they won’t let the techs in, not even to print him.”

  “Who?” Jake asked, tuning back in.

  There was a long pause. “Is this a bad time?” Kelly said coldly.

  “No, I mean…yeah, it is, kind of.” He struggled to come up with a way to explain the last few hours. “But I’m listening. I miss you so much.”

  The words rang hollow, even to him. “It’s been busy here, too,” Kelly said stiffly. “And now I’ve got another body to deal with, but McLarty still won’t get us a warrant for Burke. Apparently he was just named Morris’s replacement in the Senate, and it wouldn’t be ‘politically appropriate’ to question him.”

  “Jackson Burke, the businessman?” Jake asked, confu
sed. “You think he killed someone?”

  “I think he’s involved somehow. All the shell companies tie back to him, and the building I’m outside right now has some sort of glowing powder all over the floor. They made us leave, and Hazmat won’t let me inside to see the body. God knows how long it’ll take to ID him under the circumstances.”

  Syd finished up her conversation with Maltz and walked over to Jake. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, clearly impatient.

  “Hey listen, Kel, I’ve got to go.”

  “All right.” She sounded almost relieved. “When are you heading back to New York?”

  “Not sure yet, we’ve got some loose ends here.” He considered mentioning that his next call might be from a prison cell, then figured he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. “Good luck with the ID.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jake heard the hopelessness in her voice, and wished he could put his arms around her. He started to say so, but she’d already hung up. He tucked the phone in his pocket with a pang of guilt and faced Syd. “Let me guess. You’re not planning on meeting everyone at the hospital.”

  “No, I’ll come. But Maltz and his boys aren’t keen on being fingerprinted.”

  “Shocking,” Jake said, watching as Maltz and the remaining commando loaded their injured friend into the back of Syd’s rental car. “What about getting that kid some medical attention?”

  “Maltz says they’ll handle it. Earns them a bonus, unfortunately.” Her eyebrows knit together. “I’m hoping he pulls through, otherwise we’ll owe a bundle. Dangel’s death already puts us in the red.”

  “Wow,” Jake said. He couldn’t even begin to think of an appropriate response to that. “We’re a little short on cars, then, since the van is out of commission.”

  “I know. I was thinking of dropping them off. Can you catch a ride with George?”

  “And you’ll meet us there?”

  “Sure I will.” She playfully punched his arm. “A little faith, Riley. You and I are stuck with each other.”

  “Okay. The hospital is in Sacramento. You have the address?”

  “Oh, I’ll find it,” she said breezily. “Bye.”

  Jake watched the sedan pull away. The rest of the Feds were distracted, going through the scene, trying to piece everything together. The paddy wagon finally arrived and an agent herded the bikers inside. Jake turned to find George leaning against his car hood, watching him.

  “So. Looks like she left you high and dry,” George noted.

  “She’s meeting us at the hospital,” Jake said defensively.

  “Sure she is.” George shook his head. “You can’t trust the Agency or anyone it churned out. You know that, Riley.”

  “Well, I didn’t have a lot of luck trusting the Bureau, either,” Jake retorted.

  George raised his eyebrows. “I heard you were engaged to someone from BSU.”

  “I am.” Jake sighed. “At least, I think I still am.”

  “Wow. You make life in the private sector sound like a complete nightmare.” George grinned. “Where do I sign up?”

  “Depends. Are you really going to arrest me?”

  George shrugged, surveying the scene. “As long as you can convince me this is exactly what it looks like, and the family backs you up, we can probably cut you loose. The sheriff is thrilled to have something to nail these jerks with, so that’s a bonus. But I can’t vouch for the Benicia P.D. They might still be touchy about you taking off with their star witness.”

  “About that.” Jake lowered his voice. “I’m not sure it’s over.”

  George’s eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”

  “The husband originally hired us, and now he’s missing. We still haven’t figured out who snatched the girl, and every time we get her back, someone tries to grab her again.”

  “Shit, Jake.” George rubbed his eyes with one hand. “And here I thought I might actually get to go home. Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Kelly flipped over again and punched her pillow. Typical cheap motel-issue, the down kept separating until she was lying on nothing but pillowcase. She folded it double, but even then it only offered a small rise from the surface of the bed. She sighed. Sunlight was still leaking through the curtains and around the door. It was only eight o’clock, but she had gone to bed early to make up for the night before. Unfortunately her body clock was thrown off by all the traveling, and sleep was evading her.

  Rodriguez didn’t appear to be having any trouble-she could hear him snoring through the paper-thin walls. They were in a Motel 6 a few miles from the Houston field office. That afternoon they’d been moved progressively farther away from the warehouse as a multitude of hazardous material response units descended and expanded the perimeter. An ASAC Leonard from the Weapons of Mass Destruction Unit had shown up, face grave. For an hour he grilled her on every detail of their investigation. He was clearly dubious of the Jackson Burke link, but noted it down. And she hadn’t been able to get any answers on when her dead John Doe would be processed. It was frustrating. For all intents and purposes this was her crime scene, but she’d been squeezed out of the loop. They were practically treating her like a civilian.

  Finally, irritated by the vague responses and brush-offs, Kelly had conceded defeat. At a local Denny’s she’d picked at a sandwich while Rodriguez tore through a stack of pancakes, then they’d checked into the motel. ASAC Leonard had promised to call as soon as he knew anything. Kelly checked her phone again, resisting the temptation to throw it against the wall when it showed No new calls.

  The stilted exchange with Jake still bothered her, too. They were supposed to be getting married, but the past few weeks they’d had a hard time getting through a five-minute phone conversation. She tried to tell herself that a lot of couples weren’t great on the phone. But the truth was over the past year and a half, they had spent more time on the phone than in person, and this strain was new.

  Maybe it was the cases they were working on. This one was getting under her skin, and she was always distracted when that happened. And it sounded like Jake was having a similar experience. He usually shared every detail of his day-to-day activities. It was odd to have that suddenly shut off. She could tell he was constantly searching for things to say that wouldn’t violate someone’s privacy. But if this was how things would be once his business was up and running, how would they handle it? She pictured them sitting in silence at the dinner table every night, occasionally saying, “Please pass the salt.” And a second later realized that after her brother was murdered when she was eight years old, that was exactly how family dinners were at her house. The thought of returning to that was awful to contemplate.

  Kelly threw off the covers, flicked on the television and tuned to CNN. An image of Jackson Burke appeared on-screen, and she turned up the volume.

  “…honored to be asked to serve the great state of Arizona in this time of terrible need. The murder of my good friend Duke Morris by a criminal gang of illegal immigrants aptly shows the danger he fought against his entire career. Our borders remain porous, thanks to a president and congress who are unwilling to stem the tide of violent offenders for whom it’s become a virtual highway for drugs, weapons and prostitutes. These are the people putting needles in your kids’ hands. These are the people ruining communities with drug wars and drive-by shootings. They’re stealing our jobs, and in the process our nation. I pledge to continue Duke’s work, devoting myself fully to…”

  Kelly dialed the volume back down, irritated by the flood of rhetoric. What was Burke’s game? Could he really have been involved in Morris’s murder? He’d ideally positioned himself to assume the Senate seat. If Burke had run against Duke Morris in an election, they were like-minded enough to split the conservative vote, something the Arizona GOP wouldn’t have supported. Still, murdering a friend to steal his job was cold, and there weren’t any guarantees that Burke would be appoint
ed. Morris’s wife could have taken office until the next election.

  Kelly flashed back on her, an anxious woman whose hands fluttered as she spoke, and realized that was unlikely. Mrs. Morris didn’t appear stable enough for a spot on the PTA. And all the groups she’d run across in the past few days, from skinheads to Minutemen, shared an anti-immigration stance. Blaming an MS-13 offshoot for Morris’s murder had forced the immigration issue back into the national consciousness.

  Kelly powered up her laptop and searched for information on Jackson Burke. There were numerous photos of him at fund-raising events, arm in arm with celebrities, politicians and business magnates. Also, the text of a few keynote addresses, one given at his alma mater and the others at business conferences. They were all fairly mundane, focused on the future of various industries, with no overt references to his immigration stance. Interesting that the GOP had chosen him to fill the seat. Granted he was a major fund-raiser, hosting events for candidates-including Duke Morris-at what the society pages termed his “palatial estate” in Scottsdale. But Burke hadn’t held any chairmanship positions or run for elected office prior to his appointment.

  Kelly sat back and thought for a minute. Her stomach grumbled, chastising her for not eating more at dinner. She dialed Leonard again but was sent straight to voice mail, and she hung up without leaving a message. Kelly considered calling Jake, but decided not to. She knew it was childish, but the way he’d behaved, distracted, barely listening to her…he should be the one to call and make up for it.

  Kelly powered down her computer and stretched her arms above her head, trying to ease the stiffness in her neck. After the pace of the past few days, it was strange to be stuck with nothing to do. She ran over the case again in her mind, and decided to make one last call.

  Her friend Mark had left the Bureau for a job with the Southern Poverty Law Center a few years earlier. He’d said that he wanted to leave before all the idealism and faith in mankind was sucked out of him. At the time she figured he was being melodramatic, but he might have had the right idea. Maybe that was the problem, she’d overstayed her welcome.