“That just means they’re due for a fuck up.”
An uneasy feeling makes me draw my service weapon and place it on my lap.
It’s probably nothing, but best to be ready this time.
She notices the gun on my lap. “Everything okay?” she says.
“Yeah, just planning for the worst.”
“I don’t think they would be that ballsy to try another attack like that so soon.”
“These are Russian gangsters we’re dealing with. I’d be shocked if they didn’t try for round two.”
The doctor’s car turns right; the beach area transforms into an industrial area full of warehouses and factories and docked freighter ships in the harbors. “Okay, this area is looking familiar,” she says.
“Last time I was out here, they had a big freighter ship with snipers covering it.”
“Yeah, that was Radomir’s illegal weapons shipment. The Coast Guard is about to move in on it soon.”
“Good. So after Radomir, what does the FBI plan to do about the Trevino Cartel moving in?”
She lets out a long sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know. I was sent here strictly to shut down Radomir’s Black Market Organ operation. Still, I suspect Gabriella will be on the FBI’s next agenda.” She glances at me. “You know, I have to say I’m shocked you put the DEA badge back on after all the shit you went through.”
I take a swig from my flask. “My brother is the reason I put this tumor back on my waist. I came down here to clear his name when he was implicated in the murder of a Federal agent, DEA to be exact. Well, all that blew up in my face, and now the mayor is dead, and another DEA agent, and then my brother got himself killed by Gabriella.”
“Holy shit.”
“Nothing holy about what happened unless you’re referring to the bullet holes in the victims.”
The doctor stops in front of a well-lit warehouse on the inside—Munroe parks in a dark alley across the street. “Now we just wait,” Munroe says, resting her arm on the windowsill.
Twenty minutes pass, and two unmarked white vans drive up to the warehouse entrance. Two men in button-downs and jeans open the doors, and the vehicle moves through. Munroe raises a pair of binoculars. “It looks like they’re offloading something but can’t tell what it is.”
“You don’t see a stretcher or anything that looks like a body?”
“No. Shit.”
I flick the safety off my Sig. “I’m going for a closer look.”
“Devora, we don’t have a warrant or probable.”
I quietly close the door. “Like that ever stopped the Feds before.”
“Damn it, Lobos.”
“Relax. I’m going to get you proof.”
Sneaking across the street, keeping low, so the guards don’t spot me and shoot my ass. Kneeling behind a stack of wooden pallets, I wait for the two guards to move on. I creep up to the window after the sentry leaves the area. There’s a hole in the wall that gives me a clean view inside. I flip on the camera and aim it through the hole in the wall. It’s just what I suspected, they’re unloading bodies off the vans. The doctor walks over and cuts the clothes off a female corpse stripping the clothes from her body. His scalpel sinks into her alabaster skin, and he makes a Y incision down her torso, opening her up. The doctor uses a spreader to part the rib cage. He removes the internal organs and places them on a tray; blood spills on the floor as he pulls out all the slick organs like a toddler taking every toy from his toy box.
I gotcha cold, you son of a bitch.
A shotgun racks behind me. “Can I help you with something, suka?” I text the video to Munroe without him noticing.
I raise my hands up. “Shit!”
Chapter 21
I didn’t wanna try my luck with a pump-action 12 gauge, so I surrender and climb down from the crates. “Nice night for a stroll, huh?”
“Not for you, my little snooper.” He slams the butt of the shotgun in my gut. I collapse to my knees, gasping for air. He snatches a wad of my hair and drags me into the warehouse by my hair. I grit my teeth and growl, kicking my feet in the gravel as a searing pain shoots through my scalp.
First chance I get, I’m killing this fucking asshole.
He slams me on the floor and kicks me in the stomach. “I found some bitch spying on us,” he says to Doctor Jon Merryweather.
He walks over to me. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know. She may be a cop.”
“Whoa, nope. My car broke down, and I was just hunting for a lift home. Any of you guys gotta ride?”
“Check her for ID.”
The asshole frisks me and finds my badge. “Doc, she’s a fed.”
He takes a deep breath. “Kill her and dispose of the body.”
“This is a pretty sick fucking operation you and Radomir are running, Merryweather.”
Merryweather turns around and strolls back to me while extending his hand toward the thug. He gives him my ID. “Tell me something, Agent Lobos. Let’s say a loved one is dying from a terminal illness; the only way to cure them was to get an organ transplant, but then doctors tell you they have to go on the waiting list. You know, by the time they get a donor, they’ll be dead. Now, wouldn’t you come to me so your loved one could get the organ he or she needed?”
“My loved ones wouldn’t want me killing people to save them.”
He nods and beams a smirk. “We all say that till we are backed against the wall. Humans are selfish by nature. We only care about ours and damn the rest of the world.”
In my years as a cop, I have to agree with this asshole even though it puts a nasty taste in my mouth.
“Whatever. You’re still a sick son of a bitch that needs to be put down.”
“Typical fed. Defending the system that allows people to die in the hospital rooms.”
“America healthcare sucks, I agree. But what you’re doing is disgusting.”
“Vlad, kill her and dispose of her. I have a deadline to meet.”
“You got it.” he presses the shotgun against the back of my head. “Stand up and walk to the exit.”
A loud crack comes from outside, and a warm liquid sprays into my hair as we near the door. I drop to the floor and grab his shotgun and dive behind a crate. They all fire blindly out the windows, hoping to hit the sniper. I lean around the container and fire a blast, nailing one of them in the side. I rack the shotgun, and the weapon roars again, blowing out another’s chest cavity. They turn their attention to me as they run for cover. Another bang from outside, dropping another shooter. One asshole tries to advance on my right flank, but he catches a facelift from my weapon. I cock the shotgun and blast another round, hitting one in the leg, reducing it to a shredded piece of meat. He falls to the ground with a high-pitched shriek. A flashbang detonates with a blinding flash in the middle of them. Munroe storms in with the FBI tactical teams, laying down suppressing fire, pinning the assholes down. The air fills with the sound of helicopters and sirens. The gangsters toss their weapons and raise their hands. “Don’t shoot! We surrender,” The shooter cries.
“Get down on the ground!” Munroe yells.
The agents rush them and slam them to the ground, and binding them in zip ties. I pick up my service weapon and back-up weapon from my dead captor and holster my guns. “Any sign of Doctor Merryweather?” I call out to Munroe.
“No. I got agents sweeping the interior and outer perimeter of the building, so if he’s still lingering in the area, we’ll find him.”
“Well, either way, we got his ass red-handed on the video on my phone.”
Munroe kneels down and picks up my cell of the guy she sniped and scrolls through it. “Lobos, he deleted the video.”
I knew the bastard would delete the video before killing me, so I shot the text over to Munroe the minute I was busted.
“Check your texts.”
She flips through her phone and finds the video. “Wow, I am flattered you kept my phone number. I thought ya didn’t like me very
much.”
I shrug. “I just forgot to delete your number. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“You’re a savage, Lobos.”
“Don’t I know it?”
“How’s your head? I saw that big Neanderthal drag you off by the hair of your head.”
I slip on a pair of latex gloves and walk over to the vans and switch on my flashlight. “Scalp still hurts, but I’ll be fine. Thanks for ventilating his skull. Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?”
“I was LAPD SWAT before I joined the FBI. I was a sharpshooter, and then I was FBI CIRG for a brief stint.”
“Nice.”
The Medical Examiner enters the warehouse. “Good evening, Special Agent Munroe; what kind of fresh hell do you got for me today?”
“Dead bodies about to be emptied.”
He slips on a mouth covering and latex gloves. “Poor, dear.”
“Cause of death?” I ask.
He glances at the badge on my belt. “Judging from the purple lips, it looks like they suffocated her, Special Agent?”
“Lobos. Was it manual suffocation or through some kind of substance injected?”
He notices a tiny puncture mark near the carotid. “Good guess, Agent Lobos.”
“I figured they’d want to take these people with as little fuss as possible.”
Munroe crosses her arms. “What kind of agent could’ve been used?”
“Many paralytic agents could’ve been used. All of them can be fatal if a person is not issued a mechanical breathing apparatus. That being said, I won’t know exactly what agent was used until I run a Toxicology screen.”
“So it’s safe to say they were dead before the doctor began cutting?”
“It all depends on the paralytic they used.”
I swallow deeply. “God, can you imagine someone cutting into you and not being able to move. You want to scream and can’t. You just have to lay there and watch your insides being pulled out.”
Munroe winces. “Well, I’ll probably never sleep again now.”
“Judging from some flesh under her nails, this one put up a bit of a fight before the paralytic took hold of her.”
“Maybe with that, we can find out who the Catfisher is?”
I hear banging inside of the van. “Help! Get me the fuck outta here!” A man screams. “I’ll kill all of ya!”
We race over to the van, and Munroe opens the door. A burly man lunges on Munroe, pinning her to the floor. “You assholes gonna work for it if you wanna kill me.” He cocks his enormous fists back about to hammer her face into the concrete.
“I’m FBI!” she screams in a strangled voice.
He glances around in confusion. “Oh, shit! Oh, thank God.”
He leaps off Munroe, staring at us in a daze. He has a nasty bruise on his forehead and a broken nose, bruised jaw, and two black eyes. Bastard put up a hell of a fight, it looks like.
Munroe calls over one of the uniforms. “Get this man to the EMT’s and escort the ambulance to the hospital. Do not leave his side, Officer.”
“You got it, Special Agent Munroe.”
She turns to me with a smile. “A victim who survived the Harvesters, this could be our big break, Lobos.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Munroe. The attacker or attackers could’ve had masks. Let’s wait till he’s ready to talk. Excuse me, I need to call my boss and fill him in.” I step out of the warehouse and dial-up Tanner.
“What have you got, Lobos?”
“I got some good news that could make a big dent in this investigation.”
“Really? Lay it on me.”
“We found a victim that survived an encounter with the Harvesters. Looks like he put up a hell of a fight, too, judging by his face.”
“Son of a bitch.” his voice fills with excitement. “Lobos, you get over to that hospital right now and interview on the victim after they run their tests on him.”
“That is my plan, sir.”
“I have some bad news.”
“What?” the optimism in his voice diminishes.
“Doctor Merryweather gave us the slip, but I got video of him in the act, so his operation is fucked.”
“Lobos, you find that doctor. We might be able to use him to burn down the other doctors involved in this.”
“After I interview the victim, I’m going to have a chat with the good doctor’s wife.”
“Good.” He hangs up.
The ME walks up to me. “Agent Lobos, I will text you the Tox report when I finish my analysis at the lab.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Munroe pulls off the latex gloves and tosses them in a trash can. “So, what’s our next move?”
“I say we follow up with the wife and see if she knows Merryweather’s whereabouts.”
“Should we put out an APB on him?”
“Not yet. I want to see if his wife can help us.”
“Fair enough, let’s go.”
Chapter 22
Merryweather’s residence, Coconut Grove
The residence is a large two-story sandstone house encircled by a tall brick fence with an electric gate. Munroe drives up to the intercom and pushes the page button.
“Hello?” A woman answers.
“Is this Mrs. Merryweather?”
“It is. Who’s asking?”
“This is Special Agent Munroe of the FBI and Special Agent Lobos of the DEA. We need to discuss your husband, Doctor Merryweather. May we come in?”
“Oh, uh yes, come on in, agents. Just let me buzz you in.” The gate opens up, and we drive down the cobblestone driveway and park behind the wife’s car. We step out of Munroe’s SUV and head up to the front door. A lanky brunette with an hourglass figure meets us at the door. She looks to be in her early 50s. “Come right in. I have coffee or tea if you’re interested.”
“No thanks, we’re fine,” I say.
“Oh well, in that case, let’s head into the parlor room where the kid’s playtime won’t interrupt us.”
Passing through the living room, the kids are too distracted with a first-person shooter game to even notice us strolling through the living room. The parlor room is a room full of bookshelves and classy looking lounge chairs positioned around a large wooden coffee table. Matching brown leather footstools sit next to the leather lounge chairs. Munroe sits in the chair next to me, and the wife sits across from us, sipping her coffee.
Munroe pulls out her notepad. “Mrs. Merryweather, when was the last time you saw your husband?”
“Yesterday afternoon. He’s been real busy with work lately. He’s had to perform quite a few emergency surgeries lately.”
Pfft yeah, I bet.
“What kind of surgeries? Did he say?” Munroe asks.
She shrugs. “I don’t know he never went into the details of his surgeries, Agent Munroe.”
“So he never talked about his patients in casual conversations. I find that really hard to believe,” I add.
“The only patients he ever complained about were some of his elderly patients being stubborn about taking their meds, but as far as his surgeries, no. Why are you people here asking about him? Did something happen to my husband?”
I let out a sigh. “Mrs. Merryweather, what I’m about to tell you will be hard to hear and believe, but your husband needs help.”
Her brow furrows. “Agent Lobos, what happened to my husband? Is he okay?”
“Far from it, Mrs. Merryweather. Your husband is a key suspect in all those people going missing around Miami.”
She scoffs and scowls at both of us. “You two have some nerve you come into my home making disgusting accusations about my Jon with no proof. Get out of my house before I call my attorney!”
Munroe yanks her cell out of her pocket and pulls up the video. “I hope he’s a good one. Because it’s going to take a Jedi fucking mind trick to beat this kind of evidence.”
She stares at the video in horror, her lower lip quivers. Her face turns b
eet red with anger, and she snatches the phone out of Munroe’s hand, and before we can get it from her, she deletes the video. “There! You have no proof of my husband being involved in this. Now leave before I sue you and your agency.”
A smart ass grin forms on Munroe’s face. “Well, shit, Lobos. I guess our case is ruined, and we got nothing. We may as well just go home.” Her voice sardonic. Munroe slaps her hand on her forehead. “Oh, my. I forgot I stored the video on my hard drive back at the field office. I am getting flaky; lately, I swear.”
The confident smirk leaves the wife’s face as she bawls. “My Jon is not a monster. He’s trying to help people who can’t get the organs they need.”
Munroe yanks out her cuffs. “Mrs. Merryweather, you’re under arrest for attempting to destroy evidence in a federal investigation. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”
“I am not saying another word to you two without my attorney present, bitch.”
“Suit yourself, Mrs. Merryweather,” Munroe says. “You destroyed evidence, Mrs. Merryweather. That makes you look like his accomplice. Devora, put in a call to Child Protective Services to come and get the children.”
She tries to yank away from Munroe, but she has a death grip on her arm. “No! You leave my children out of this!”
I glower at her. “Mrs. Merryweather, you made your kids apart of this when you refused to cooperate and try to destroy evidence.”
“I’m taking her to the field office you coming with?”
“Yeah, I’ll join you.”
FBI Field office
Mrs. Merryweather sits in the interrogation room, giving us the silent treatment, refusing to say anything. Munroe crosses her arms and leans back in the seat. “Mrs. Merryweather, you can really help yourself and your husband by talking to us. Giving us the silent treatment is not in your best interest.”
“Right now, you look like an accomplice here. Currently, you’re only going to be charged with evidence tampering, but if you keep playing this game, you’ll be charged as an accessory to your husband’s murders,” I chime in.
The Harvesters Page 12
