by Bradley West
“What the fuck are you doing? If she comes out here, we’re as good as dead if she has Covid-20.”
Covid-20? “Sorry. I don’t see the baby.”
“I’ll look for the baby and bring him out if he’s in there. Then we’ll decide what to do with your wife.” Katerina pulled on the windowed hood, donned gloves and disappeared inside. Less than a minute later, the sounds of a baby’s cries reached Burns’ relieved ears. “What should I do with him?” Katerina asked as she stepped back out.
“Put him in the bassinet in the front seat of Lindy’s car. Draw blood and test him for antibodies. He may be immune. If he is, he’s a goldmine. If he isn’t, we’ll keep him alive long enough to sell him back to the Maggios. Leave Lindy for later.”
“This will take time. I’ll need to arrange my test apparatus and plug it in.”
“It’s one a.m.: We have all the time you need. I’ll put on the other suit and collect everything the baby might need.”
Two hours later, Burns and Katerina had repacked. They were delighted that Tyson Maggio had tested negative for an active infection, had no fever, and had produced an impressive number of antibodies. Other than a swollen lip and a hoarse voice, he appeared to be in Grade A condition.
Burns pulled off his hood. The cool air of the coastal hills felt good. “From how she sounds, she needs hospitalization and maybe a ventilator.”
Katerina pulled off her hood as well. “How are we supposed to move her without infecting ourselves?”
“We can’t call an ambulance. That would put the police onto us.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t we inject her with that thief’s cure? If she recovers, she’ll be in touch and you can come pick her up. If she dies, then you know he lied.”
“Evil bitch, indeed.”
* * * * *
Add carsickness to Melvin’s litany of ills: Muller drove the Taurus up those hillside roads like he was auditioning to become a moonshine runner. He missed the final turn and stayed on the main road until the very end. The headlights revealed picnic tables and overflowing trashcans, but no vehicles. Muller searched the outside with a flashlight before double-checking the map on Melvin’s phone. “Don’t you see that we’re not at the final destination? We are here and Lindy Burns is there. Why didn’t you speak up? Your fucking mother should have drowned you in a bucket at birth!”
Melvin flushed at the insult, but he kept his voice level. “You drove so fast; we passed the turnoff before I could say nuthin’. We’re not that far off: The turn back there is in less than a mile.”
Muller reached for his sidearm but thought better of leaving Melvin’s corpse in public. Instead, he stalked around to the driver’s side and reversed at speed, executed a 180º turn and headed down the incline before his accomplice could buckle his seatbelt. Muller was so intent on his destination that he missed Burns’ winking brake lights downhill from Starkey’s driveway, and Melvin was too cowed to mention it.
At last there sat Burns’ wife’s car and a darkened house. At Muller’s direction, Melvin tried the front door and it opened. The former paratrooper was in and out in under a minute. “There’s a white woman in there on the sofa, unconscious and gasping.”
“Describe her.”
“Thirties. Brown hair, medium-length. Skinny, fake tits.”
“What about a baby?”
“Nothing. That woman’s sick. She must have the Covid. No way I go back in.”
“No, I wouldn’t expect you would. Let me take a look.” Muller pulled on latex gloves, donned a surgical mask and conducted a cursory search: No baby and an ill woman. He returned to the car with Lindy’s phone and dropped it into Melvin’s lap, who reacted as if it was a hot coal. “Wipe it down and try to turn it on. I’d like to confirm her husband’s Burns. We need to find him and the baby.”
* * * * *
One hundred and twenty miles to the south, SAC Fillmore had just stepped into his office when his cell rang. It was the head of his kidnap team on the line. “Judge Crater issued the warrants and we’ve already got a fix on Burns’ and Muller’s phones. They’re near together up the coast outside Gualala: Less than a two hour’s drive this time of night.”
“Hot damn! Tell the kidnap team to mount up.”
“You want me to notify local law enforcement?”
“Patch me through to the Mendocino County sheriff’s office. We’ll need roadblocks and maybe a SWAT team. Have them throw up a cordon in a ten-mile radius and have it in place before sunup.”
“That’s a big ask late on a Friday night when the governor’s put the state on lockdown.”
“Find someone up there who’s not drunk, high or hiding under the bed. A baby’s life is at stake, for Chrissakes.”
chapter thirteen
BILLION-DOLLAR BABY
Saturday, July 11: Outside Gualala and Livermore California, pre-dawn
Rolf Muller had completed the off-road Defensive Driving Course as part of his CIA training. Glimpses of taillights in the distance motivated him, all the more so with Melvin scared shitless. He held nothing back and slung the ass-end of the Taurus around blind turns and floored it on the straights. Melvin slumped and supplied the white knuckles and wide eyes.
Fraser Burns wasn’t as flashy, but he did have a raven-haired sociopath to impress, a dying wife to forget, and a 550 horsepower penis enhancer. He was doing a good fifty miles per hour when he spun the F-TYPE half-off the road on a hairpin. Muller barreled around the corner in the Taurus and clipped his rear. The Taurus suffered the worst of the exchange as Muller jerked the wheel and the out-of-control sedan angled into rocks along the hillside. The Jag’s trunk had crumpled, but the car was drivable.
“You all right?” a rattled Burns asked. “How’s the baby?”
“I’m fine,” Katerina said. “It didn’t even wake up. Someone should shoot the fucking asshole who hit us. What about you?”
“I’m good, but that driver will be out serious brass for repairs. I’ll go check the damage.”
“Are you out of your mind? If this baby’s Covid-immune, it’s worth millions to us. If your car still runs, get the hell out of here.”
“Hurry!” Muller shouted. “That’s Burns’ Jaguar!” He fought his way free of the airbag and grappled for his weapon as the F-TYPE executed a three-point turn just up the road. Melvin stumbled out of the passenger’s side, weapon at the ready.
“Run them over!” Katerina shouted.
Burns focused on Muller, two-handed grip and forty-caliber Walther pointed right at him. He hit the brakes. “That’s my lead kidnapper. He won’t shoot me: He just wants the baby.”
“That figures,” Katerina said. “I never bought the depressed new mother story.”
* * * * *
The three FBI vehicles were making good time when Fillmore’s phone rang. He recognized the number. “Sheriff, can you confirm that the roadblocks are in place?”
“I’m afraid I can’t. After we talked earlier, I spoke with the governor. He agrees that the search for a kidnap victim—even a newborn—must take a backseat to the Covid situation. Where are you?”
“For fuck’s sake. We’re just south of Gualala on Route 1. Why?”
“On the authority of Governor Newsome, I order you to stop before you reach the city limits. The state is under lockdown. Your team and you are San Francisco–based, and that’s the center of a lethal outbreak. I have deployed my deputies to meet you at the Sonoma and Mendocino County line in two hours’ time. In the meantime, if you can direct your men to forward the case files, my deputies will review them before you meet. When we do, we’ll stay in our respective vehicles and talk from at least six feet away. After the meeting, your team and you will return to San Francisco as per the governor’s order. My men will assume management of the Bureau’s investigation, and I will keep you appraised of developments.”
“Bullshit! This is an active kidnapping case. We have the locations of the perps. They’re on the move, not more than
fifteen miles from our present position. Your men should be able to trap both parties and recover the child if you block Fish Rock Road east of its intersection with Iverson.”
“Negative. We’re understaffed due to the weekend, three men already down with coronavirus and we have a lockdown to enforce. The governor instructed that my limited manpower be directed toward cordoning off Mendocino County.”
“I’m calling the Justice Department. This isn’t over.”
“First light is less than an hour. I’ll have a helicopter overhead to search the last location. For now, I’ll transfer you to one of my IT people and he’ll walk you through secure transmission protocols.”
Fillmore dropped the phone onto the car seat and picked up the radio transmitter. “Everyone, pull over. We need to call D.C. and sort out a mess.”
“This is Gibson, sir,” Car Three replied. “Special Agent Fuller and I both have fevers, headaches and can barely see straight. We need to get to a hospital.”
* * * * *
Travis watched Carla disappear through the gate and into her nondescript brick cube on the periphery of the gigantic Livermore Labs complex. Ride Out Security was an add-on to The Department of Energy’s already tight security. Separate surveillance cameras, motion detectors and sentries suggested that someone elsewhere in the government didn’t trust the DOE’s own people. More likely, what the staff worked on was so lethal that the Feds would rather pay double than run even a tiny risk of disseminating plague viruses compliments of Uncle Sam.
Arkar and Maung were home in their beds when he’d called, and that’s where he was headed too, after a shower and a favor asked of a very old friend. Travis powered up his PC and dug out the sticky note with Bob’s fallback Tor email address. Last he’d heard, the retired CIA codebreaker had relocated from Asia to the U.S. to be closer to his grandchildren. If Bob had ended up on the East Coast, he should be awake in an hour or so. If his friend was on the Left Coast, contact could be delayed another four hours, too long under present circumstances. Travis plinked out an email to Bob’s dark web persona.
He jumped into the shower and reviewed a day full of missteps and near calamities. Back in the SEALs or the DEA, it would have taken a dozen beers just to slow his mind down. Those days were over and he was better off for it, but it didn’t mean that a cold IPA wouldn’t hit the spot. Instead he meditated to focus his mind. Who’d have ever thunk it worked faster than the booze without the hangover?
Toweled off, he saw there was a new message on his desktop: “Email the files to this address.” The addy was new and proved that Bob never slept a full night through. Maybe he was still out saving the world on yet another off-the-books op, just without ole Ryder, his favorite bullet catcher.
* * * * *
Lindy felt disoriented even before she missed the top step and fell off the porch. From her hands and knees, she finally found her car keys at the bottom of her bag. She crawled to the Benz, pulled herself up and stumbled around to the driver’s door. Her head burned as she forced her sore eyes to examine the interior: No Clancy, just supermarket bags.
She started the engine and leaned back to soak up that glorious A/C. Clancy, where are you? Aha! Maybe that old woman stole her baby. She would fix her ass! Drive back to her house and sort out that crone. No, it couldn’t have been her. After losing all that blood, the old bag wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.
Fraser! He’d arrived while she was asleep. He saw that she was sick and needed a doctor, so he took Clancy and went for help. That was it. If she waited, Fraser would be back. But why didn’t he just call an ambulance? Or take her to the hospital? Could he have taken Clancy and wasn’t coming back? That was it, she decided. He wanted Clancy for himself and had left her to die. That would also explain why her phone had disappeared. She had to catch up before he reached the main road and disappeared. She drove the E200 like a meth head in a demolition derby, slewing around curves and pedal to the metal everywhere else.
* * * * *
Burns pulled over but kept the engine on. He knew that Muller had the pistol trained on his head and that certainty kept him from cutting the headlights and roaring down the road. His kidnapper-in-chief hadn’t chased him down the mountain to gift him Niven Park ransom money, either. Burns turned off the engine and filled in Katerina with the background details. “Wait here and don’t do anything stupid,” he concluded.
“Based on what you just said, I’ll leave stupidity all to you.”
He bit his tongue, cut the lights and stepped out onto the asphalt. “Rolf! Hey, old chap, put that thing away. Anyone else with you? There’s someone in the car, my biotech scientist. Katerina has the baby and he’s fine, but she and I just started working together so we need to keep an eye on her.”
“Indeed.” Muller didn’t take his eyes off Burns. “Melvin! Get your ass over here. There’s a woman and a baby in the Jag. Don’t let them leave.”
Burns walked up the road with Muller, who had at least holstered his weapon. “We need to vacate this road,” Muller said. He flashed a light around the back of the Jag. “This will run. Anything in the trunk of value?”
“There was. You smashed fifty grand’s worth of lab equipment. Any reason why you didn’t just call and ask where I was?”
“Cut the shit. Your phone’s full of my missed calls and ignored texts.”
“I assume you didn’t drive all the way up here to hand me a half-a-million dollars and thank me, either.”
“You really didn’t read anything I sent, did you? I lost two men tonight at the park. The Maggios had three or four shooters: It was a slaughter. I was lucky to escape along with that man over there. We recovered nothing and the FBI and police will be crawling up our asses. Sal escaped earlier tonight and the cops were at Stinson Beach when I left, so you’re on the most-wanted list. You’re short a half-million for the phone trace. I take the baby and we call it even.”
“Let’s clear up this mess first,” Burns said. “I’ll help you move your things to my car.” Two trips and five minutes later, the Jag's back seat featured an incongruous mix of baby products and weaponry. Katerina stood on the berm and Tyson worked a bottle. Melvin still had his pistol out, but he wasn’t pointing it with any conviction. Burns still didn’t know what his next move was.
“Give me the keys,” Muller said. “You can hitchhike into town after sunrise. If you try anything or follow me, Melvin will shoot you.”
“I have over a half-million dollars in a Swiss bank in San Francisco. I can use my phone and show you my balance. I can’t transfer funds directly, but I can visit their offices on Monday and pay you off. I need to keep the baby to trade to Maggio for the ransom money.” In truth, Burns had two hundred thousand left, but he could pull up the June statement.
“You’re lying, but even if you’re not, the governor closed everything, including banks. Even if you make it back across the Golden Gate, you’ll be lucky to find an ATM.”
The sound of an engine’s roar and tires spinning gravel halted their exchange.
* * * * *
Lindy didn’t see the wrecked Taurus or her husband arguing with Muller. Her high beams picked out Fraser’s blue Jag and a woman with a baby. She jammed on the brakes and was out of the Benz with speed she had no right to possess. The woman retreated, but Lindy ran her down and grabbed for Clancy. “Give him to me! That’s my baby!”
Clancy spat the pacifier and started to cry. Clueless Melvin stood by. “Fraser! Help!” Katerina shouted.
Lindy realized that Fraser and this woman were lovers and plotting to steal her baby. She reached out and yanked a fistful of the whore’s hair. Katerina cradled the infant with her left arm and with her right grappled for the wrist that threatened to scalp her. Quick as a cat, Lindy released Katerina’s hair and with both hands wrenched the howling baby free.
Burns and Muller reached the two women simultaneously, uncertain as to who was who in the dark. “Melvin! Light!” Muller yelled as he tried to control a writh
ing Katerina.
“Let me go, asshole! The crazy bitch has the baby.”
Melvin’s Maglite illuminated Lindy, back against the Jag with one hand on the baby’s throat and the other supporting the child’s bottom. The halogen beam showed her demonic face and wild hair to effect. “Goddamnit, get that light out of my eyes! If you come any closer, I swear I’ll break his neck before I let you take him.”
Burns put his hands up and used his oiliest baritone. “Honey, it’s me. Everything’s fine. No one will take Clancy. Relax.” Burns backpedaled and bumped into an advancing Muller.
“I’m leaving with Clancy,” Lindy said. “Don’t come after me, you hear?” The baby’s cries became even louder. Lindy turned to locate the E200, forty feet away and headlights still on. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she stumbled.
“I can’t shoot her without maybe hitting the baby,” Muller said in a low voice.
“Give me your weapon,” Burns hissed. “I’ll take care of this.”
Muller handed it over. “Careful, it has a two-pound trigger.”
“Lindy! Wait!” Burns said. “Let me drive while you settle little Clancy down. We’ll go together.” He took several steps toward the deranged woman.
Even in her fevered state, she smelled the lie. “No, it’s just Clancy and me.”
“You’re very sick, darling. That’s why I took Clancy: We need a doctor to make certain he doesn’t have the virus. You must go to a hospital. Let me help you.” He had closed the distance by half.
“Liar! You and your whore weren’t coming back.” She took a blind step back and her bare foot landed on a sharp rock. “Shit!” She took weight off the injured foot and found her good leg didn’t balance. Everything swayed and she felt herself fall onto her butt.
Burns rushed forward and grabbed her. Muller was right behind him and pried the disoriented woman’s hand off the baby’s throat and pulled him free. Lindy was losing consciousness. “Promise me you’ll look after Clancy,” she begged.
“More than you’ll ever know,” Burns replied to the semiconscious woman.
