Nathan’s entrance ended up as cliched as any cheesy B movie. Every head turned and the pool game stopped. He strolled over to bar and avoided touching the grimy brass rails.
The bartender scowled and pointedly ignored him. Okay, fine. We’ll do this the hardway. Nathan used the time to study the place in the mirror behind the bar and spotted his mark right away, a tall, stringy blonde sitting at a table with three guys in sweatshirts, jeans, and stained ball caps. Scattered around the room, twenty or so other patrons stared in ape-faced silence. Aside from the bartender, who looked formidable, Nathan didn’t see any threats. Half a minute later, the bartender had made it plainly obvious he had no intention of serving someone who’d come in to case the joint.
Without looking at the bartender, Nathan walked over to the jukebox, grabbed its power cord, and yanked it free.
The machine went dark. Charlie Daniels went silent. All heads turned.
A few obscene grumbles spewed from dark corners.
“I’d like a Shirley Temple, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
The bartender shot Nathan a dirty look, came out from behind the bar, and plugged the jukebox back in. With his right hand, he pumped a quarter, and punched up another shit-kicker song. The music boomed again. Nathan waited for him to return to his hole, made eye contact, and pulled the plug again. The tension in the room instantly doubled, with all eyes now focused on the battle of wills unfolding. With an irritated expression, the bartender started back over.
A smile formed. Nathan McBride, in his environment.
He observed the bartender closely. Right-handed. Six-three or — four. Two hundred seventy-five plus. Weak left eye. Something was strapped to his ankle under his left pant leg, a knife or small gun. This gorilla probably runs the dive with an iron fist. As the bartender approached, Nathan saw a black nylon cord encircling his right wrist and his hand seemed to be half-closed around something, like a magician concealing a playing card. Using his left hand this time, the bartender reached down to plug the machine back in.
“Don’t do it,” Nathan warned.
The meaty hand froze before being retracted. The bartender straightened up, issued a give-me-a-break smirk, and swung for Nathan’s jaw with an open right hand.
Nathan saw it a split second before ducking. A palm sap.
If that blow had made contact, he’d be unconscious or maybe even dead.
It happened so fast no one in the room actually saw it, although half the room heard it. In less than a second, Nathan stomped down on the man’s right leg just above the ankle. The crunch of ligaments sounded like uncooked spaghetti breaking.
Howling, the bartender went down.
Nathan pounced on the downed man and rendered him inert with a right knee to the jaw. Several teeth flew. Nathan removed the man’s small semiautomatic handgun from its ankle holster and jammed it into his front pocket. Half the occupants scattered for the exits, gone in seconds-bar tabs unpaid. No doubt parolees who didn’t want to be caught in each other’s company when the cops arrived. Two men at a corner table caught Nathan’s attention. A little too clean-cut for this shabby crowd, they looked out of place. He ignored them. For now.
Amber Sheldon hadn’t moved. In fact, she appeared to be enjoying the show, not unlike a kid with a magnifying glass poised over an anthill.
Nathan addressed the silent room. “Anyone else?” When no one made a move, he approached the table where Amber Sheldon was seated. Although her smile had somewhat faded at his arrival, it wasn’t completely gone. He addressed the three men seated with her. “Would you gentlemen please excuse yourselves from the table?”
The politeness in Nathan’s voice took them by surprise, but all three left. One of them bent over the bartender, the other two grabbed stools at the bar.
Amber Sheldon removed a cigarette from the pack sitting on the table and fired it up with a wooden match. Through a slit in her lips, she blew the smoke up and away, and nodded to a vacant chair. “Have a seat, cowboy.”
Nathan sat down facing the center of the room. He caught the two men he’d noticed earlier watching him. He winked and they looked away.
She studied his damaged face for several seconds. “Been in a few fights?”
“A few.”
“What do you want?”
“My own private jet.”
“Cute. What do you want with me?”
“That’s much more specific, but you already know why I’m here, don’t you.”
“I gotta pretty good idea. You a cop?”
“No.”
She took another deep drag and blew it out slowly.
Nathan leaned forward slightly. “What did he say to you on the phone the other night?”
Her face showed instant understanding. “That little slut, what did she tell you?”
“I’m asking the questions from now on.”
“The fuck you are. I don’t have to tell you jack.” She blew smoke in his face and smiled.
In a lightning-fast move, Nathan snatched the cigarette from her fingers and flicked it at her. In a shower of red sparks, it bounced off her forehead.
“Hey, asshole. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
He engaged Amber’s stare. “I’m the one who’s asking the questions. You’re the one who’s going to answer them.” Nathan softened his tone. “It doesn’t have to get rough. We can talk like mature adults right here and now, or you can be tortured in a soundproof room, screaming in agony. I’m good either way.”
“Some cop you are.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“Who are you?”
“A vested third party.”
“A bounty hunter? Ernie told me someone like you might come around.”
“And.”
“He said if I talked, he’d kill me and Janey.”
“Does he know she’s his daughter?”
“Hell no.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
Nathan watched her reaction closely.
“I don’t,” she said. “I’d give his ass up if I did. He’s a piece a shit.”
She wasn’t lying. “Tell me about his old hangouts, places he liked to go, people he knew. Anything that might help me find him.”
Sheldon half laughed. “Places? He liked to play pool for money, but he wouldn’t be doing that now, would he? The only people he knew besides me were his brothers.”
“Why’d you visit him when he was locked up?”
She considered the question for a moment before answering. “Don’t get me wrong, Ernie’s a first-class jackass, but he still got a raw deal. The DUI thing? His court-martial?”
“What about it?”
“That dumb broad walked right in front of his car. I know, ’cause I was there, sitting next to him when it happened. It wasn’t his fault. We weren’t even speeding and he wasn’t really drunk. He got railroaded ’cause she was some sort of big-shot lawyer from a rich beaner family.”
Nathan leaned forward. “I find the word beaner offensive. Don’t use it with me again.”
“Okay, whatever. No need to get pissed off. Anyway, her dad was some kind of government fat cat. She was the one hammered that night, not Ernie.”
“That may be true, but the law only recognizes the legal limit and Ernie was beyond it. He had a long history of insubordination and alcoholism.”
“He still got screwed. He was real bitter about the whole thing. It’s all he ever talked about. He swore to get revenge someday. I told him he should just forget about it and move on. After he hooked up with his older brother, I never heard from him again until his call the other night.”
“Did you believe him, about getting revenge?”
“Yeah, I did. Still do. One thing about Ernie, he don’t forget about shit like that. At the time, I felt sorry for him. I don’t now, but I did back then.”
“So what changed?”
“I did. I decided I wasn’t going to put up with his shit anymore. After he got out, he was worse than ever. He was always yelling and screaming. I could never do anything right. Nothing was ever good enough for that man.”
Nathan didn’t want to pursue this line, he already knew about Ernie Bridgestone’s pathology. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us find him?”
“Not really.”
“Do you mind if we put a trace on your phone, in case he calls again?”
“Knock yourself out.”
Nathan grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket and wrote his name and cell number on a napkin. “If Ernie calls you again for any reason, tell him Nathan McBride is looking for him. Remember it. Nathan McBride.”
“I’ll remember, but I pray I never hear from that piece of shit again.”
“I need your help.”
“Forget about it, I’m not doing nothing to put me or Janey in danger.”
“There’s a million-dollar reward.” That got her attention. Then he took a few minutes to lay out his plan and her part in it.
“I don’t like it,” she said, “even with the money you’re offering me over and above the reward, which I might or might not get.”
“If it doesn’t work, you still keep my fifty grand, if it works, you’re a million dollars richer.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Nathan stood. “He murdered twenty-four people.”
She lit another cigarette. “I said I’ll think about it.”
“Remember, if he calls, don’t talk to him on your work or home number. Drive a few miles down the road and find a pay phone. Make sure you’re not followed. Write the number down and arrange a time for him to call you back. After he calls, wait a few minutes before calling me. And be sure you mention my name, Nathan McBride.”
“What so damned important about that?”
“He’ll know.”
She squinted her eyes and took another hit on the cigarette.
“Also, if he calls, verify that Janey’s his daughter.”
“I don’t like that either.”
“Think about it, Amber. Put the pieces together.”
She was quiet for a few seconds. “You’re thinking he’ll want to see her.”
“That’s right.”
“What makes you think he gives a damn? He never has before.”
“That’s true, but he didn’t know about Janey.”
She didn’t respond.
“Janey’s outside. Don’t give her a hard time for talking to me. I didn’t give her a choice. She’s just trying to do the right thing. I hope you will too. Let her drive you home. If you get behind the wheel, those two over my left shoulder will probably arrest you.”
She looked in that direction. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Nathan left her sitting there and walked over to the clean-cut guys. “It’s a little warm in here for Windbreakers.”
They didn’t reply.
“She doesn’t know where he is.”
Keeping his eyes squarely on Nathan, the man sitting on the left slid his right hand into his waist pack. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“You’re dressed right, but your hair and clothes are too clean. It makes you stand out in a place like this.”
They glanced at each other, their expressions neutral.
Nathan continued through the bar, waved to the toothless bartender, and received a middle-finger salute.
Outside, he found Henning with his Glock drawn. All six patrons who’d bolted out the rear door were neatly lying facedown in the alley, arms out their sides. “Looks like an undersized catch,” Nathan said. “I’d throw them all back.”
“How’d it go in there?”
“About like I expected. Sheldon doesn’t know where he is. She confirmed he called, though. Gave us permission to tap her phone in case he calls back.”
“Well, that’s something.”
They started across the parking lot.
“What about us?” one of the barflies asked from the concrete.
Henning turned back. “Take off.”
Watching them scramble in every direction, Nathan was reminded for the second time in as many days of a real-life Cops episode. Back at the sedan, Nathan opened the door and let Janey Sheldon out. “Your mother needs a ride home. Don’t let her drive, okay?”
“What happened in there?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Watch what you say in your apartment. Big Brother’s listening.”
“What?”
“Just don’t let your mom get behind the wheel.”
“That’s it? You’re just gonna leave me here?”
Nathan slid into the backseat of the FBI sedan and looked at Janey. “Drive your mom home.”
Something occurred to him as Special Agent Andrews pulled away from the curb. Amber Sheldon hadn’t asked for any sort of protection against Ernie.
The drive back to Fresno’s airport was somewhat subdued. Nathan answered a few questions from Henning, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the presence of the two undercover agents in the bar. It didn’t pass the smell test. In fact, it stunk to high heaven. He didn’t want to think about the implications, didn’t want to believe what he suspected was true, that Holly Simpson had told Director Lansing of his plans.
The odds of any other explanation were astronomical. That left Nathan with a decision to make. Should he continue to share information with Holly? He found it difficult to believe Holly would knowingly betray him and act behind his back. It was more likely she had simply reported his plans to Lansing and Lansing had acted independently. Even if Holly had reported his activities to Lansing, she hadn’t done anything wrong. It was her job, and indeed her obligation, to report her activities to her boss.
One thing was certain, he wanted to talk to her alone, wanted the truth.
Starting with Lansing, he began to analyze and question everything. Lansing had placed a multilingual agent on the Lear to keep an eye on his activities. Given the stakes, it was a reasonable precaution, but it felt like an overkill. If Lansing wanted a watchdog, he already had one in the form of Bruce Henning. So why the doubled asset? An asset that not only spoke Arabic, but probably Russian as well. Did Lansing possess that level of mistrust? Did Lansing really think he’d speak to Harv in a foreign language to hide information? It didn’t make sense. There had to be something else going on, something deeper. What was Lansing hiding?
The more Nathan thought about it, the more uneasy he became. Had Lansing given him the use of the Lear strictly as a way to monitor and control his activities? He thought back to Holly’s comment in the piano bar. She’d said Lansing didn’t need him. Why would he? The director of the FBI had 31,000 employees under his command. She’d also said Lansing would want containment at this point, and his continued involvement would have serious consequences if it ever leaked. So why had Lansing brought Nathan in? Granted, the bombing in Sacramento had changed the equation, but did Lansing truly believe Nathan was the FBI’s best bet of capturing the Bridgestone brothers? An adage flashed through his head: Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. Was Nathan the enemy? If so, why? In the piano bar with Holly, he’d made it quite clear he and Harv were going to pursue the Bridgestones with or without the FBI’s blessing. Had Lansing allowed him into the investigation only to monitor his every move?
Nathan rewound to the beginning of his involvement in the operation. Freedom’s Echo and Semtex. James Ortega was discovered while undercover. The raid at the compound. The FBI’s field office being bombed. Semtex being used. Semtex still missing. Semtex. Semtex. He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the seat back. Aside from the dead FBI agents, the stakes of this case revolved around Semtex. How easy would it be to get the stuff? Even if Leonard Bridgestone had made contact with a Syrian official in northern Iraq, there was still a language barrier. Unless Bridgestone spoke Arabic, which he doubted, someone would’ve been needed to translate conversations. He made a mental note to check if Leonard spoke Arabic. Then, if a deal was struck, the Semtex would have to be smuggled out of Syria, but not without at least a partial payment, more likely the entire payment. Did Leonard have that kind of money back then? Nathan doubted it. So how had the deal gone down? Assuming Leonard had managed to find a translator and assuming he’d made a deal with a foreign national, probably a complete stranger, and assuming he had the financial wherewithal to purchase the Semtex in advance, why wouldn’t the Syrian official just keep his money and never deliver the explosives?
And how was the stuff smuggled out of there? Syria was high on the NSA’s watch list of terrorist-supporting states. Smuggling Semtex to a neighboring country like Lebanon was probably difficult enough, but smuggling it into the United States had to be a million times harder. It would involve lots of people. People to create fake documents and falsify cargo manifests. People to remove the Semtex from its stockpiled location. People to pack the Semtex into disguised crates. People to transport the disguised crates down to the shipping terminal. People to load the crates into a cargo container.
Nathan couldn’t remember ever seeing any type of product with a label stating Made in Syria. He knew Syria exported textiles and clothing, olive oil, and of course, crude oil. But anything leaving Syria on a direct path to the United States would be under much closer scrutiny than other exporting countries. It was unlikely the Semtex could be sent directly by container ship, so that meant the disguised crates would probably be sent to another country first, then transferred to another cargo container before being loaded onto a ship bound for the United States. Virtually all cargo containers were monitored and controlled by computerized inventory programs that both identified and tracked them as they were loaded and unloaded from ships. He supposed the Semtex could’ve been transported by a smaller private ship that met yet another ship out at sea, but how likely was that? And, again, how many people would be involved? Dozens? It simply couldn’t be done by two or three people. And it would be expensive. Nathan had no idea what a ton of Semtex sold for on the black market, but whatever the number was, he doubted it would be economical based on the scenario he’d just worked out.
The Syrian connection, now that he’d had time to think it through, was looking more and more unlikely. Okay, so if the Bridgestones hadn’t gotten it from Syria, where did they get it? Did someone within Freedom’s Echo have a connection to international arms smugglers? If so, who? Was the FBI looking at other members besides Leonard and Ernie? Surely they had to be. The bureau would be asking the same questions as Nathan: Where did the Bridgestones get the Semtex?