Susan knew it was the truth, as shocking as it was, because his gaze stayed level and his voice had a ring of authenticity. “Okay, why did you steal it, then?”
“For protection.”
“Why did you think you needed protection?”
“Not for me, for you,” Ryan answered softly.
“For me?” Susan said, touched.
“I mean, after Dad died, I felt that way…” Ryan’s forehead buckled with pain, and his voice trailed off. “Okay, maybe it’s like you said, I felt like I needed to be, like, the man of the house. I had to protect you and take care of you, and Raz, too. Then when I thought I was going back to school, I gave it to Raz, so he could protect you, and himself, and the house.”
Susan felt speechless, then realized it wasn’t the time for words anyway. She got out of her chair, went around the side of the table, and put her arms around her beloved firstborn, holding him close to her. He turned and wrapped his long arms around her waist, and neither of them said anything, clinging to each other. She didn’t have to say anything to him, unlike Raz, because he knew her so well, and deep inside, she knew that he was coming back, returning to her again.
And more important, coming back to himself.
Chapter Forty
Chris drove away from Abe and Jamie’s house, feeling a pang. He hadn’t known Abe that long, but the teacher had made an impact on him, maybe in the way of all teachers. Chris had always loved school because it was his only constant; it was always him and a teacher, even as the schools changed, because he never had many friends. He’d earned good grades, eager to please those who had provided him even a temporary sanctuary, and he realized now that Abe had become for him every teacher who’d helped him, sheltered him from the hell of his home life, and encouraged him to go to college and find a career that actually helped people, in return.
Chris knew in his bones that Abe had been murdered, but he didn’t know who had done it or why. He sensed it was connected to the baseball team, but he couldn’t tie the two together. There was a piece of the puzzle missing, and he had faith that he would find it—just not in time. The Rabbi still hadn’t gotten back to him about the work-around on the Kiefermanns’ farm, and he still didn’t know where Dylan had been last night, when he sneaked out of his house.
Gravel popped under his tires as he accelerated onto the country road. He had been in this situation before, but he’d been part of a larger operation and had access to the full array of ATF resources—other special agents would be deployed, police records and other official records subpoenaed, CIs, or confidential informants, questioned, and there would have been electronic surveillance for months, plus visual and cyber surveillance. The general public had no idea how much personnel, resources, techniques, and electronic fact-gathering was demanded by a major ATF operation. But that wasn’t Operation Varsity Letter, manned by one undercover agent.
Yet as Chris drove, he felt more motivated and determined than ever. In other operations, he had been instrumental, but he’d also been a cog in the wheel, working with the Rabbi and other agents. This time, he was completely on his own, with only his wits and experience to guide him, and it struck him that he felt like a cowboy, from Wyoming of all places.
Chris whizzed by farmhouses, cornfields, and horses grazing in pastures, seeing all around him that which he wanted to protect—innocent people, this beautiful countryside, his homeland. The buildings of Central Valley rose in the distance and he couldn’t wait to get home to study his audios, lay out the information he knew, review the photographs he had taken and all the mental notes he had made, to try to make sense of things, to find the missing piece, solve the puzzle, and connect the dots.
Suddenly the text alert sounded on his phone, and he looked over. The text was from the Rabbi, and it read:
Something is going down. Meet us in 15 mins. Same place.
Chris felt a surge of new energy. Information must be coming in, and the “us” referred to Alek, so it must be big. If Alek and the Rabbi had the missing piece, they could bust the conspirators. Nobody else had to die, nobody else had to get hurt. Central Valley could go on living its quiet life. Jordan would be safe, and so would Heather.
Chris turned the car around and raced toward the abandoned development.
Step Three
Chapter Forty-one
“You can’t shut me down!” Chris said, furious.
The Rabbi and Alek stood opposite him, with the Rabbi looking pained and Alek in his stupid ballcap and aviator sunglasses, like the Unabomber on a federal payroll.
The Rabbi said, “Curt, we have to, this is big—”
“No!” Chris interrupted. “You were supposed to get back to me with the work-around. I’m this close, I’m one inch from the finish line. I’m telling you, the teacher was murdered. It wasn’t a suicide. And I caught one of my suspects sneaking out last night. All I have to do is put it together.”
The Rabbi shook his head. “I hear you, but this is bigger, and we need you up north. I’m going up myself. You fly with me.”
“Are you serious?” Chris guessed that Alek had made the Rabbi do the talking, because this wasn’t a conversation, it was a sales pitch.
“There’s no time to waste. We believe it’s about the Oklahoma anniversary. We have one day to figure it out, and it’s all hands on deck.”
“Where up north? Why?”
“I can fill you in on the way.”
“Fill me in now. Because I don’t want to get pulled off this.”
Alek interjected, “Curt, we don’t need to justify this to you.”
“Yes you do,” Chris shot back. “I’ve taken it this far, I know I’m close. I’m not gonna drop everything just because you say so.”
Alek pursed his lips. “I’m your boss. You work for me.”
“I work for ATF, not for you. There was a you before you and there’ll be a you after you. You’re all the same guy. I’m doing the right thing.”
“Keep it up and I’ll fire you.”
The Rabbi stepped between the two men as if he were separating two boxers. “Curt, hear me. Here’s what we got. About two hours away from here, the northern part of the state, that’s part of Marcellus Shale, you ever heard of that?”
“Not really,” Chris said, though he had. He just didn’t feel like cooperating, even with the Rabbi. If they wanted him to drop everything, they were going to have to lay it out. He’d been on too many wild goose chases sent by bureaucrats like Alek who had no idea what they were doing.
“The Marcellus Shale is one of the largest deposits of natural gas in the country, and it’s one of the major fracking sites. In fact, the most fracking sites in the entire country are in Pennsylvania, on the Marcellus in Susquehanna County and a bunch of others. Towns like Dimock, Montrose, Springville, Headley. As you know, the gas companies use explosives to drill and they have the FELs.”
“Okay, I got it, what’s the point?” Chris knew that FELs stood for Federal Explosives License, which allowed companies to buy and sell explosives necessary in the course of their business.
“So you know that under the regs, the gas companies have to monitor their inventory of explosive devices and detonators, like blasting caps. If over a certain number get lost or stolen, they have to report that and they’re subject to fines.”
“Yes, so?” Chris knew all this and it bored him. It was part of ATF routine monitoring under the new Homeland Security regulations, but it was administrative and handled by a separate team in the office.
“So you know how this works, we send agents out there, they inspect the gas companies’ operations. We fine any company that has an excessive theft report, which, business being what it is, sometimes they cheat. They underestimate the number of blasting caps that were lost or stolen to avoid the fines.”
“Okay, so what? Somebody is lying about the blasting caps? Take away their FEL. Recommend they be prosecuted.”
“If that’s all it was, we wouldn’t be shu
tting you down.”
Alek interjected, “Yes, we would.”
The Rabbi ignored him, continuing, “So we got a report from a resident of Headley, a town up there, that while he was hunting, he found a burn site. He figured it was a burn pile or maybe kids playing with fire, but when he started digging, he found blasting caps. He called the locals, who called us.”
Chris felt his gut tense, knowing that it was a valid cause for concern. Domestic terrorists who made IEDs typically field-tested their explosives, leaving burn sites and testing grounds, sometimes killing even small animals or neighborhood pets. Still he wasn’t going.
The Rabbi continued, “We sent some agents up there to talk to the gas companies and double-check their inventory of blasting caps. Long story short, we found out that somebody’s been stealing blasting caps, just under the amount that would trigger the reporting requirement, from different drilling sites in the area around Headley. And one of the companies reported theft of Tovex.”
“Again, so?” Chris knew Tovex was a water-gel explosive used instead of TNT. “Are they finding reports of stolen fertilizer? They still need an oxidizing agent.”
“No, but there’s not much farming up there anymore.” The Rabbi pursed his lips. “Curt, I know you’re committed to your operation. I know you believe in it, and you think you’re onto something. But it’s time for triage. We need you up north. You have to admit, this alters the cost–benefit analysis.”
“But you have no plan to deploy me. I can’t get undercover in a day. And with whom? Do you have any suspects?”
“Not yet, and granted, we don’t have a specific role for you as yet. We have to get up there, see which end is up, and figure out the best way to deploy you. It may not be undercover at all. We need all hands on deck.”
Chris had a random thought. “What if the blasting caps are related to my operation? To my fertilizer?”
Alek interjected, “It’s up north. It’s two different places, two different types of places. One had nothing to do with the other.”
“It’s only two hours away,” Chris said, thinking out loud. “Look, I know that one of my kids stole fertilizer, it’s on that video. What if someone down here in farm country is getting the fertilizer, and someone up there is getting the blasting caps? Together they go boom. Let me work it from my angle, and you guys work it from yours. I need to get into that locked shed. Did you set up the work-around?”
Alek interjected again, “There’s no work-around, I wouldn’t authorize it. There’s no point and there’s no time.”
The Rabbi’s face fell. “Curt, we need you to come with us.”
“I can’t go, I’m not going,” Chris shot back.
Alek threw up his hands. “You’ve lost your mind! We have confirmed intel that there’s a testing ground upstate, but you’re going to play with high-school kids?”
Chris stood his ground. “Alek, you said I had three days. I have one day left. Do without me for one day.”
The Rabbi frowned, interjecting, “Curt, one day is all we have.”
“It’s all I have, too, and I’ve come this far. I swear to you, I’m close.”
“We’re closer. You’re our best agent. We need you.”
Chris had never gone against the Rabbi’s advice, though he’d gone against orders from even more annoying bureaucrats than Alek. But Chris’s gut was telling him to stay, and so was his heart. Maybe it was time for him to grow up. “Rabbi, I’d do anything for you. I’m sorry, I can’t turn my back on these kids. If they’re involved, if they’re being used, then I’m gonna protect them. Because they’re my boys.”
“Curt, I’m your boss, too. Don’t make me order you.”
“Don’t make me call in my chit. You owe me one. I’m asking now.”
“You’re gonna do that to me?” The Rabbi looked like he’d been punched in the gut.
“Yes, really.” Chris didn’t have to remind the Rabbi of the story. The only man Chris had ever killed was in his very first operation, when he and the Rabbi were undercover in a ring of dangerously violent gunrunners. One of the thugs had pulled a gun on the Rabbi, and Chris had revealed his identity as an ATF agent per procedure. The thug had taken deadly aim anyway, but Chris had tackled him, grabbed his knife from his ankle holster, and stabbed him in the throat, killing him. Chris had pulled out the blade too soon, a rookie mistake, but he had saved the Rabbi’s life.
The bust had followed, the gunrunners had been arrested, and an investigation by ATF’s Incident Review Team followed. Chris had been exonerated when they’d found deadly force had been justified, since he’d had a reasonable belief that there was imminent danger of death or serious physical injury. And the Rabbi had never forgotten that Chris had saved his life. It gave Chris a chit that he’d never intended to call in, until this very moment.
Alek exploded. “Curt, you’re an arrogant prick!”
“Keep me posted, Rabbi.” Chris turned away and strode back to his Jeep while Alek ranted and raved, calling after him.
“Curt? Curt!”
Chris climbed into the Jeep, started the ignition, and hit the gas.
Chapter Forty-two
Heather sat at her kitchen table, trying to decide what to do. She had called Mindy, but Mindy hadn’t answered, so she’d left a voicemail introducing herself and asking for a call back, but not giving any details. Heather had followed up with a text, but Mindy hadn’t responded to that either. Then Heather had called Susan, but Susan hadn’t picked up. Heather had left the same voicemail message and follow-up text.
Now she was fresh out of ideas. Jordan was sulking in his room, angry that she had confiscated his phone, which rested on the table in front of her. She’d taken his laptop too, so he couldn’t text or G-chat. She didn’t want any more online shenanigans until this mess was sorted out. She was beginning to hate the Internet altogether.
Heather sipped her coffee, which had turned cold, and her troubled gaze fell on the Friendly’s sign outside the window. TRY OUR FRIBBLE MILKSHAKE FRESH AND FROTHY! She’d never eaten in Friendly’s, though she could’ve recited every item on its menu, including made-up words like FRIBBLE and FISH-A-MAJIG, which appeared regularly on the sign. Maybe when this was over, she and Jordan could go over and have a Hunka Chunka PB Superfudge. Or maybe she could go over there with Coach Hunka Himself. Chris, her Inappropriate Crush.
Suddenly Heather got an idea. She could call Chris about the pictures. She wasn’t even using it as an excuse. If Evan had really sent these photos to everybody on the baseball team, then somebody on the coaching staff should be made aware of it. Heather had never met Coach Hardwick and she felt intimidated by the horrible stories about him. But she knew Chris. It would make sense to contact him, though it wouldn’t be the romantic beginning she’d been hoping for—Hey Chris, did you see the dirty pictures the team is looking at?
Suddenly Jordan’s phone rang, and she reflexively looked over at the screen. It read, Evan Kostis calling, and impulsively, she picked it up. “Evan, this is Jordan’s mom.”
“Oh, Ms. Larkin, is Jordan there? Can I speak to him?”
“Actually, no you can’t, not yet.” Heather thought Evan sounded upset. “Before I tell Jordan that you’re calling, I need to deal with something. I’ve called your mother but I haven’t heard back from her yet. May I speak with her?”
“Uh, I’m not home.”
“Okay, well then.” Heather hesitated. “I happened to see an inappropriate picture you sent to Jordan, and I’m very concerned. I think—”
“Mrs. Larkin, I’m really sorry, I already talked to my mom and dad about it, and they’re angry, too. I know I never should’ve done that, and I’m very sorry. I apologize to you and Jordan.”
Heather felt a pang of sympathy, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Evan, I’m glad you feel remorseful, but this is a very bad thing. I don’t even know the implications myself. There might even be legal issues—”
“I know, I know, my mo
m said the same thing, and I’m really sorry. Can I talk to Jordan?”
“No, you may not.” Heather thought Evan was trying to rush her off the phone. “I would like to understand the situation better. Who else did you send the picture to?”
“Just the team.”
Heather rued the day that Jordan finally made varsity. Winner’s Circle, my ass. “Who’s this girl in the photo? Is it your girlfriend? Does she know that you sent this picture around? Evan, this is a terrible thing to do—”
“Mrs. Larkin, my parents are all over it, so you really don’t have to worry about it. Now can I please talk to Jordan?”
“No.” Heather didn’t like his attitude. “You can talk to Jordan when you’ve answered my question. You sent my son a photograph that can get him in trouble with the law. I want to know what you did—”
Suddenly the call went silent, and Jordan came rushing into the kitchen. “Mom, was that my phone? Was that for me?”
“Yes, it was Evan, and you’ll be happy to know he sent that photo to the varsity players only, so only the best players will be going to prison.”
Jordan’s eyes flared. “Mom, did you just talk to him right now? Did you yell at him?”
“I didn’t yell, but I told him ‘no,’ and if you ask me, it’s about damn time.”
“Mom, what are you doing? You’re not his mom!” Jordan’s mouth dropped open.
“His mom didn’t call me back and neither did Raz’s.”
“You called her, too?” Jordan threw up his hands. “Mom, you can’t do this! You’re telling on everybody! Why did you do that? Evan’s going to be so pissed at me!”
“First off, that shouldn’t be your main concern, and second, Evan’s parents already knew.”
“How do you know?”
“He just told me.”
“Mom, give me my phone, please.” Jordan held out his hand for the phone, but Heather tucked it into her back pocket.
One Perfect Lie Page 21
