“Last chance,” Nathan said. “Are your cousins really worth it? Do you think they’d take this kind of pain for you?”
Knife shook his head.
“Are you ready to talk about the cabin?”
He closed his eyes and nodded.
Nathan tossed the pan aside. It simmered on the wet carpet, belching steam. He tore the tape from Knife’s mouth. “Well?”
“It’s three hours from here. Up Highway Seventy near Quincy.”
“What’s the address?”
“It don’t have an address.”
“You’re going to show us where it is. Is there anything else we should know about?”
“That’s it man, I swear. I don’t know nothing else.”
Nathan knew when someone was lying to him. It was hard to describe. Maybe it was in the eyes, or micro changes in body language, but whatever it was, it didn’t matter. This guy was holding something back, something he was willing to risk a great deal of pain over.
“Okay,” Nathan said. “This isn’t personal, you understand that, right? I’m just doing my job.” He walked behind Knife’s chair and began cutting the duct tape. He sensed the man relax a little. Good. Now take it away. He stopped cutting the tape and grunted as though something wasn’t quite right. “What about the cash?” he whispered in Knife’s ear.
Knife stiffened a little.
“The cash,” Nathan said, watching Knife’s reaction. A bull’s-eye. A direct hit. Knife gave it away as clearly as a kid who looks down after peeing his pants. Cash. Emergency money. Probably lots of it, and without a doubt, it was hands-off as far as these two mutts were concerned. It made perfect sense. The Bridgestones probably had stashes all over the place. The Bridgestones were many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. They hadn’t been able to come here because the FBI stakeout had started before the raid on the compound.
“There’s no cash,” Knife said, but it sounded weak, unconvincing.
Nathan shook his head and looked at Fork, who was nodding furiously. “I think your brother has something to tell us.”
Nathan yanked the tape from Fork’s mouth.
“It’s buried near the garage. Leonard told us if we ever touched it, he’d kill us.”
Knife glared at his brother with pure hatred in his eyes.
“Your bro here sounds upset,” Nathan said. “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t mention it earlier, Billy.”
“Look man, I’m sorry, I wanted to, I really did. You don’t understand, they said they’d kill us. Our cousins are crazy.”
Nathan faced Knife. “It’s simple, really. If anything happens to your beloved cousins, like life imprisonment or death, the cash would be yours, right? They’d be out of the picture, so it’s easy money. There’s no need to ask where your cousins are, because if you knew, you’d give them up. Then the money would be yours. Right?”
Knife didn’t respond.
Nathan looked at Billy. “Right?”
“I guess.”
“You mean you hadn’t thought of that? Your brother sure had.”
“You’re so fuckin’ stupid, Billy.”
“Easy now,” Nathan said. “He saved you a ton of pain. I would’ve wrung it out of you eventually. You might need a wheelchair and a colostomy bag for the rest of your life, but you would’ve told me. In fact, I think you owe your brother a thank-you for sparing you all that discomfort.”
Knife wouldn’t look at his brother. “Thanks.”
“That wasn’t so bad, was it? Don’t you feel better now?”
“Yeah right, whatever.”
“Billy is going to show me where the money’s buried. You stay put, okay?”
Knife just stared. There was more than hatred in his eyes. Something else, something harder to pinpoint. Fear? Anxiety?
Nathan winked at his partner. “If he even looks at you funny, give him another phone call.”
Harv answered in his best gangster voice, “You got it, boss.”
“Cover us for a second.”
Harv pulled his Sig, triggered the laser, and pointed it at Billy’s chest.
Billy looked down at the tiny rose of death. “Hey, man, take it easy, okay?”
Nathan cut the tape from Billy’s torso. “Hands behind your back, Billy. Do it now.” Nathan was all business again. Although he doubted Billy’s blabbering cowardice was an act, he wasn’t willing to take any chances. He secured Billy’s wrists behind his back with several layers of duct tape. “Outside. Let’s go.”
Holly Simpson was standing just outside the door when they stepped through. She had her Glock 22 in her right hand and a flashlight in the other hand. “We need to get up to that cabin right away,” she said.
“They aren’t there,” Nathan said.
“How can you be sure? You really think there’s money buried out here?”
“I seen it,” Billy said. “They got it stashed in ammo cans right over there. Three of ’em.”
“And you believe him?” Simpson asked.
Nathan shrugged.
“You better be right about this.” She turned on her flashlight and shined it on Billy’s chest. “Show us.”
They followed Billy through a maze of junked cars, rusted farm equipment, and fifty-gallon drums. Coming from every direction, the symphony of ten thousand crickets filled the night. Gun held at the ready, Holly swept her flashlight back and forth through the jungle of Americana crap. Nathan knew she was looking for threats. This was a good place to get ambushed. Lots of hiding places.
Billy stopped at the corner of the single garage. The bottom of its stucco walls were stained with reddish-brown mud from rain splatter dripping off the eaves. “Right here,” Billy said. “I’m standing on them.”
“How deep?” Holly asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe a foot.”
“Shovel.”
“In there.” He nodded toward the garage.
SAC Simpson tucked her flashlight under her arm, pulled her radio, and thumbed the button. “Copy?”
“Copy,” came the response.
“Hustle up here. We’re at the garage north of the farmhouse.”
Henning acknowledged with a click. Thirty seconds later he arrived, but stopped about one hundred feet short. He flashed his light twice. Holly pointed her flashlight in his direction and issued three flashes in response. Henning’s beam bounced as he closed the distance.
Nathan was impressed. They’d used a predetermined signal in case Simpson was being held hostage and forced to use her radio. If Henning hadn’t received the three flashes in return, he’d instantly know Simpson was in trouble. Breathing a little heavy from his run, he closed the distance and focused on Billy.
Holly looked at Nathan, then back to Henning. “We’re going to open the garage door. You two okay?”
They both nodded.
Henning crouched down at the opposite corner of the garage.
Holly did the same on her corner. “On the deck, Billy,” she said, “right here in front of me.”
“In the dirt? I’m soakin’ wet.”
“Do it now.”
“It’s just a garage,” he muttered. Because Billy’s hands were secured behind his back, he had to drop to his knees first, then slide his legs out from under him. He plopped over with a grunt and lay still.
Holly nodded to Nathan. “Okay, lift it slowly.”
Nathan pulled his gun and stepped to the middle of the garage door. He grabbed its galvanized handle and began lifting. “Watch for trip wires,” he said.
Henning crouched lower and swept his flashlight in an arc across the garage floor, his gun tracking the beam.
“Clear,” he said.
“Clear,” Holly echoed.
“Check the rafters,” Nathan said.
They both swept the ceiling area.
Nathan raised the door the rest of the way. The garage was mostly empty. Its concrete slab was cracked in random lines, like a black widow’s web. A red Suzuki Enduro occupied one corner and looked like it had rarely been ridden. A small storage rack was mounted above the Enduro’s rear wheel. In the opposite corner, several shovels, hoes, and rakes were secured in a linear bracket screwed into the wall. A workbench occupied the left side. Various household tools were hung on hooks: Saws. Hammers. Pliers. Screwdrivers. Wrenches. Everything was arranged by type and function and nothing was out of place. The opposite wall hosted all kinds of power tools. They looked new or well maintained. And yes, there was a grinder. Most of the empty power-tool boxes were neatly stacked against the rear wall of the garage. Nathan frowned. This didn’t look right.
Henning stepped into the garage and was about to flip a light switch.
“Wait!” Nathan yelled. He looked at Holly.
She nodded her understanding. “It could be rigged.”
Henning stared at the switch for several seconds before backing away from it.
“Okay,” Holly said, returning her attention to Billy. “Stay put.”
“Better let Billy dig up the ammo cans,” Nathan offered. “They could be booby-trapped.”
“Good thought.”
“They aren’t,” Billy said.
“Your cousins tried to frag a dozen federal employees yesterday,” Holly said. “We’re a little short on trust.”
Henning stepped forward and cut the tape binding Billy’s hands. “On your feet. If you run, I’ll shoot you in the back. Clear?”
“I ain’t gonna run,” Billy said, tearing the tape from his wrists.
She and Henning tracked him with their pistols across the garage floor and back.
“I’m going to check the perimeter,” Henning said. “Two minutes.”
“Two minutes,” Holly acknowledged.
Henning disappeared into the darkness.
Tight and professional, Nathan thought.
Holly refocused on Billy. “Start digging.”
Nathan and Holly backed away to a safe distance. It was close enough to plug Billy if he tried to bolt and hopefully far enough away from any sort of IED the Bridgestones might have rigged. He looked at Holly again. She was really quite striking, even in the reflective glow of their flashlights. She had well-defined Slavic cheekbones and a small compact figure. She stood five-three or four. She acted confident and self-assured.
Holly kept her voice low. “I’m sorry about Henning’s attitude.”
“Already forgotten,” he said.
“I reviewed your classified file.”
Nathan said nothing.
“I wouldn’t agree to your involvement unless I knew exactly who you two were.”
“Understood,” Nathan said. “I would’ve played it the same way.”
“Not many would’ve survived what you went through.”
“I did the best I could under the circumstances.”
They were silent for a few seconds. Billy’s shovel clanked on metal.
“You don’t have many friends,” she said.
He kept his voice low so Billy couldn’t hear him. “Just Harv.”
“I don’t either. You didn’t seriously hurt them in there, did you?”
“Not really.”
“Did you want to?”
“No.”
“We should get up to that cabin.”
“Let’s play this out. A few more minutes won’t make or break things. James Ortega’s been missing for over a week.”
Henning retuned and joined them. “What have we got?”
“We’re about to find out,” she said.
Billy was just finishing the dig. On his knees, he cleared the last of the dirt away with his hands. He looked up.
Holly told him to pull the first one out slowly.
“Could be a gun in one or more of them,” Nathan said.
“Agreed.”
Billy did as he was told. He reached into the hole, tore the plastic garbage bag away, and tugged one of the handles. He hefted the ammo can out and set it on the ground. It was matte-green and about the size of a large shoe box. Nathan read the five lines of yellow stenciled lettering and knew the can used to hold a disintegrating link of one hundred, armor-piercing, incendiary, fifty-caliber rounds with every fifth round being a tracer.
Billy looked up and squinted against the flashlight beams.
“Pull the others out,” Holly said, “and place them five feet apart with their latches facing us. Stand behind the one on your left, reach over the top, and pull its lid open. Do it slowly.”
Nathan knew that wasn’t going to work, but didn’t say anything. To open an ammo can like that, especially one that had been buried, you had to hold the carrying handle below its latch with one hand and yank the latch cover with the other hand. Unless it was filled with ammunition weighing it down, it would take two hands. He also saw dried sealant, probably silicon, under the rims of the lids. As predicted, Billy struggled with the can. Every attempt he made to lift the hinged cover didn’t work. The entire can lifted into the air. He wasn’t getting the necessary leverage.
“May I?” Nathan asked.
She nodded.
“Step away, Billy,” Nathan said as he holstered his gun. He walked forward and showed Billy the exact technique needed to open the can. “It takes two hands, like this.” He grabbed the carrying handle with his left hand and grabbed the latch cover mechanism with his other. “You have to give it a quick tug in opposite directions.” He stepped back and crouched down.
Holly and Henning followed suit. Billy grabbed the ammo can like he’d been shown and gave the latch a yank. The lip popped open. Billy stared straight down into its contents. “Oh, man.”
“Open the others,” Holly said.
Five seconds later all three ammo can were open. Billy couldn’t take his eyes off the contents.
“Move away, Billy. On the ground again.”
Billy didn’t comply. He just stood there, licking his lips.
“Back away, Billy, on the ground. Do it right now,” she said more forcefully.
The three of them walked forward and looked down. Staring up at them were bundles of used bills. Lots of them. Stacked upright in two rows along each can’s long axis, the bundles were a near-perfect fit. The distinctive smell of greenbacks scented the air.
Henning let out a low whistle.
Nathan crouched down and pulled a bundle from each can. The middle can held stacks of one-hundred dollar bills and the other two cans held stacks of twenties. Each stack was about half-an-inch thick and secured with a rubber band. Probably one-hundred bills. Nathan counted the bundles. There were twenty-two stacks of one-hundred dollar bills and forty-four stacks of twenties. Nathan ran the calculation. “Two hundred-twenty plus eighty-eight. That’s… three hundred and eight grand, assuming that each of those bundles contain one-hundred notes of the same denomination.”
“Incredible,” Holly whispered. “You think they have stashes like this in other locations?”
“Count on it,” Nathan said. “I’m going to check on my partner.” Ten feet from the front door, Nathan stopped and issued a whistle. He received the same whistle from inside. He found Harv sitting on the chair, facing Knife. “Billy wasn’t lying about the money.”
“How much?”
“Just over three hundred grand.”
“Nice little stash.”
“Yep.”
“What now?”
Nathan looked at Knife. “After you and your brother change into dry clothes, you’re taking us up to that cabin.”
Fifteen minutes after the discovery of the buried cash, a caravan of three FBI sedans was ready to leave Sacramento and motor toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The ammo cans were locked in Holly’s trunk. Larry Gifford and two SWAT team members had arrived with two additional vehicles, one of them designed for transporting perps in custody. There was no way to know what to expect up there, so the extra firepower was a prudent call on Holly’s part. The SWAT agents were dressed in black overalls, but they hadn’t donned their SWAT gear yet. There wasn’t a need until they arrived at the cabin. Gifford, who he’d met at the Bridgestones’ compound, wore blue jeans and a navy-blue golf shirt. Like Holly and Henning, his gun belt held a standard-issue Glock 22, two spare magazines, and a set of handcuffs. He looked a lot different out of SWAT gear, but he had the same intense expression Nathan remembered when they’d first met.
Nathan and Harv shook hands with Larry Gifford and the two SWAT team members. Nathan was pretty sure these were the same SWAT agents who’d made the leapfrog approach to them yesterday. It made sense. They had already seen Nathan and Harv and already knew of their involvement.
“Special Agents Collins and Dowdy, if I recall,” Nathan said, pumping their hands, “but I don’t know who’s who.”
Holly smiled.
Henning glared.
“We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, let’s get moving,” Holly said.
An awkward moment followed.
Nathan looked at Harv for several seconds, but said nothing.
“I’ll… ride with Gifford,” Harv said. “If that’s okay.”
“Come on, then,” Gifford said to Harvey. The two SWAT guys exchanged a glance before sliding into the rear seats of Gifford’s sedan. Harvey climbed in next to Gifford.
Henning secured the Bridgestone cousins into the rear of the transport sedan and got behind the wheel. Nathan slid into Holly’s sedan. Ten seconds later, all three vehicles were headed down the road with Henning’s sedan in the lead.
Nathan settled in for the long drive into the mountains by sliding his seat back as far as it would go and reclining it slightly. He wasn’t sure what to expect conversation-wise. She was, after all, a complete stranger. Might as well start with an observation.
“Henning’s got a thing for you,” he said.
“Is it that obvious?”
“It’s the way he looks at you.”
“I’ve done my best not to encourage it. I don’t want to transfer him, but it may come to that. His wife works under my command. You probably saved her life up at the compound. She’s the SWAT agent who tried to light you up behind that tree.”
“She’s Henning’s wife?”
“Yes. They aren’t doing too well.”
“Well, he’s just bubbling over with gratitude.”
“This situation with you and Harvey is difficult for him. To be honest, for me too.”
“Did you and Henning…”
“Absolutely not. He’s married, and I don’t have those kinds of feelings toward him. Bruce Henning’s a fine agent. He’s honest and hardworking, and loyal as hell to the bureau, but he’s a Boy Scout.”
“And you don’t date Boy Scouts.”
She looked at him. “I don’t date married men.” They rode in silence for several minutes.
“I saw that glance you gave Harvey just before everyone piled into the vehicles.”
Nathan didn’t respond.
She smiled. “You have the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
Following the other two sedans, Holly made the turn onto Highway 50, heading west toward Sacramento. “You handled Henning pretty well back at the airport,” she said at last. “You didn’t back down or go on the defensive. You were calm but assertive.”
“You ever watch a television show called Dog Whisperer?”
“Hmm.” She thought for a moment. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never watched it.”
“Well, it’s about this guy called Cesar Millan and he has this uncanny ability with dogs. He’s a dog psychologist of sorts, but he really counsels people who have dog problems. He likes to say he rehabilitates dogs.”
“Okay…”
Nathan knew she was wondering where this was going. “It’s what you said about being calmly assertive. That’s Cesar’s philosophy. Be calm, but assertive.”
“And you think the same approach works with people?”
“To a limited extent. The basic difference is that dogs live in the moment, people don’t. Dogs don’t hold grudges. People do. Everything is right here and right now with dogs. I really like them a lot. I own two giant schnauzers.”
“I’ve heard of that breed.”
“They’re around a hundred pounds. Super-smart. Bullheaded, though.”
“Sounds familiar.”
Nathan looked out the window and smiled. “Point granted.”
“Not many people own giant schnauzers or a helicopter,” she said.
“The helicopter isn’t a symbol of ego or financial status for me. It’s about freedom. Too many people take it for granted.”
She paused for a moment. “May I ask you a personal question?”
“You can ask.”
“What was it like I mean, being a scout sniper?”
“That’s quite a question, Holly. We hardly know each other.” He fell silent for several miles. The road stripes slid under them in an endless procession of hypnotic yellow flashes. She didn’t force the conversation, and he appreciated the silent interval to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how deep he wanted to go into his psyche. There was a demon down there. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but at the moment of truth it’s a feeling of intoxicating power.”
Holly didn’t respond.
“It’s dangerous, Holly. Real dangerous, like an addictive drug. Only worse.”
“I guess I never really thought about it like that before. I have snipers under my command. Two of them are in that sedan ahead of us. All our SWAT members are cross-trained.”
“Don’t ever ask them what you just asked me.”
She waited.
“They’ll resent it.”
“Do you resent it?”
“I don’t work for you.”
Holly said nothing.
“Your guys may have a totally different take on it. They don’t do covert field ops where the exit from the shooting position is a concern.”
“You won’t like my next question.”
He waited.
She looked over. “Did you like it?”
“And I thought your first question was tough. May I assume you aren’t just morbidly curious? Then the answer is both yes and no. But not in the way you’re probably thinking.”
“And that is?”
“That I liked everything but the actual killing. The trigger pull.”
“Are you saying you liked it?”
“No, I didn’t.” Nathan knew she was waiting for him to explain his yes-and-no answer. “I loved the exit after the shot. The thrill of being chased, of knowing everyone was hunting me.”
“And that’s the part you liked? It scares me just thinking about it.”
“I’m afraid so. I never felt so alive. So… I don’t know… exhilarated, I guess.”
“Did Harvey feel the same way?”
“No, just the opposite. Harv hated the exit. He liked the insertion and tracking. But not the killing. Neither of us got off on that.”
“You and Harvey are pretty close.”
“Sometimes I think we share a single consciousness. He can read my mind and I can read his. Like the look I gave him before we left. I didn’t have to say a word, he just knew I wanted to ride with you alone.”
“I envy you, being that close to someone.”
They rode in silence for several minutes, the glow of Sacramento growing with each mile they traveled toward the city. In the dim moonlight, mature oaks loomed like giant mushrooms.
Holly broke the silence. “You think we’ll find Ortega’s grandson at the cabin?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Or at least evidence of his interrogation there. They needed an isolated place for that. They couldn’t use their compound knowing it was probably under surveillance.”
“If he’s there, at least his family will get closure. It has to be horrible not knowing.”
“After meeting with Frank Ortega, I’m pretty sure he believes his grandson is dead. I saw it in his eyes.”
“It takes a special kind of personality to work undercover. I don’t know how they do it. The constant stress of being discovered and having to act like one of them. It would be like waking up every morning with a gun in your face. I couldn’t handle it.”
“Me either,” he said.
“How do you think they made him?”
“He was probably seen by someone the Bridgestones had on the outside. A grocery-store clerk or gas-station attendant, someone like that. He or she probably reported seeing him use a pay phone or meet with a stranger. Think about it. Who uses pay phones anymore? When he returned to the compound, they grabbed him.”
“You’re probably right. I doubt they could’ve tailed him without his knowledge.”
“He blew his cover relaying the info because he knew how critical the situation had become. He’s a hero in every sense of the word, Holly. I hate the idea of those dirtbags doing whatever they wanted to him. It’s why I agreed to help Ortega. It really pisses me off thinking about it. I’m sure he held out for as long as he could. He bought time with pain.”
“It must be horrible.”
“It is.”
“You and Harvey did a good job with the Bridgestones’ cousins. I heard everything. As promised, nothing was recorded.”
“Thank you.”
“I had all kinds of images in my head of what you’d do to them.”
“It’s rarely necessary.”
“Then you’ve…”
“Been rough? Yes. You have to detach yourself,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “You have to think of it like acting in a play or a musical.”
“Do you like musicals?”
“Immensely, and thank you for changing the subject.” In the amber light of the dashboard, he saw her smile and admired the way it transformed her face into the genuine article. Not forced or plastered. He looked out the window and wondered if he should be pursuing this, whatever this was. Where could it go? But somewhere deep down, where only the truth survived, it felt like something. Something new and exciting. Maybe that was it. Somehow, Holly felt right.
“I wouldn’t have figured you for a musical sort of guy. What’s your favorite?”
“The Music Man. I’ve seen it half-a-dozen times at the Starlight Theater in Balboa Park. It’s an outdoor amphitheater that’s directly under the flight path of Lindbergh Field. When the actors hear an oncoming jet, all the action stops. Everyone freezes in place, even the orchestra, as the jet roars overhead on its approach. After the jet’s gone, everyone resumes as though nothing happened. It’s the damnedest thing you’ve ever seen, but they make it work.”
“I have to confess, I’ve never seen a musical.”
“You’re missing out. It’s a traditional form of entertainment. People dancing and singing on a stage. No special effects, just good old-fashioned live acting. If I hadn’t joined the Marine Corps, who knows?”
“I just can’t picture it. You, on Broadway?”
“I appreciate the discipline involved. If you think about it, covert operations officers have to do a lot of acting.”
“I guess you’re right, I’ve just never thought about it like that.”
“I like ballets and symphonies too, although some operas can be a little heavy.”
“Well, aren’t you cultured. What about sports?”
“Ice hockey.”
“Me too. I’ve been to a couple Sharks games. It’s a rough sport. If I’m not mistaken, it’s the only sport that actually allows fighting, with a penalty, of course.”
“Yep. Five for fighting.”
“I wish I had more time for stuff like that.”
“Fighting? Nah, it’s overrated.”
She smiled.
“You need to make time, Holly. You know what they say about too much work.”
“Do you think I’m dull?”
“Not at all. What I’m saying is something you already know, but need to hear. You need downtime, time to reboot. Especially with a high-stress job like yours. It can’t be easy running a field office along with all the resident agencies as well. You must have… what, five hundred people working under you?”
“I manage.”
“But at what cost? Sooner or later you’ll reach burnout.”
“I haven’t yet.”
“It sneaks up on you. One day you’ll just break down into tears over something small. It’s your brain telling you you’re on overload.”
“You speaking from personal experience?”
“Absolutely. Take my advice and do something for yourself, something totally selfish. Go to Cancun or Bermuda. The Bahamas. Lay out at the pool. Give that lily-white skin of yours a tan. The FBI will do just fine without you for a spell.”
“Henning told me the same thing, except for the lily-white-skin part.”
“I hate to agree with the guy, but he’s right.”
“I guess I do have pretty fair skin.”
He half laughed. “I was talking about the stress. Why don’t we try dinner after the dust settles?”
“I’d like that.”
Holly followed the caravan onto I-5 north and then onto the Highway 70 exit a few miles later. For the next thirty miles the landscape was totally flat. Farmland receded into the darkness on either side of the highway. Marysville was deserted except for a few convenience gas stations. They followed Highway 70 as it jogged through town before again heading north toward Oroville. To the west, the black outline of the Buttes contrasted the distant glow from the San Francisco Bay Area.
Holly kept the conversation lighthearted and told him about her family, how she came from a long lineage of law enforcement. Her father was a retired City of Sacramento detective and her two brothers were both cops, one in Dallas, one in Modesto. She talked about her years at Boston College, her childhood, and of their family pet, a toy poodle named Pierre who used to sleep under the covers with her.
Either she hadn’t made the connection with his last name or she was being respectful of his privacy, but she hadn’t asked about his father. Given her assertive and frank nature, it was likely she didn’t know or she would’ve mentioned it. Everyone in the FBI knew of the Committee on Domestic Terrorism, especially SACs. The FBI was directly involved in the security of the nation, and domestic terrorism was high on its list of responsibilities. He knew sooner or later the subject would come up, so why not just get it out in the open and be done with it. Besides, she’d told him about her family. It seemed rude not to reciprocate.
“My father is Senator Matthew McBride.”
She looked over at him, then back to the road. “You’re joking, right?”
He said nothing.
“Stone McBride, chairman of the CDT?”
“I thought maybe you knew and were just being discreet.”
“I hadn’t made the connection with your name. It wasn’t in your file. Is that why you’re involved?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Probably. He and Ortega go way back. They served in the same unit in Korea. Harv’s close friends with Ortega’s son, Greg. That’s the personal favor he mentioned at the airport.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t change anything. I’m glad you’re aboard with us, but it does add a bit of depth.”
“We aren’t too close.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He didn’t approve of my career choice. His commanding officer was killed by a sniper. Deep down, he knows I’m no different than any other soldier. The man was a battalion commander. He called in artillery and tank support. He gave orders that cost lives on both sides. Hell, he had snipers under his command.”
“Then what’s the real problem between you? In a single word.”
“A single word?”
“It cuts to the chase, eliminates the BS.”
Nathan thought about it for a few seconds, and one word came to mind. “Okay, a single word. Absence.”
“Okay…”
“Your turn. In a single word, why aren’t you close to anyone?”
“That’s brutal.”
“It’s your game.”
She was silent for several miles and Nathan started to think she wasn’t going to answer. He thought her word would be commitment or dedication, something along those lines. She was married to the FBI and she couldn’t-or more accurately, wouldn’t-take time to form a meaningful relationship. Her answer surprised him.
“Fear,” she said, staring straight ahead. “Maybe you’ll change your mind about dinner.”
“Look at the bright side. Think of all the money we just saved,” he said.
“Seeing expensive shrinks?”
He nodded.
“I think my word was a little more honest than yours. Want to try again?” she asked.
“Not really, but I believe in playing fair.” When she didn’t say anything, he took a deep breath and jumped off the precipice. “Okay… My word is resentment.”
“Well, now we’re getting somewhere. What’s your best childhood memory of him?”
Nathan didn’t hesitate with an answer, because it was one of the few good memories he had, and he could probably count them on one hand. “We were fishing. I don’t remember where, some lake up near Yosemite. I reeled in a big one, or what seemed like a big one, you know, to a kid. He was so proud of me. I remember his smile.” He turned toward the window, grateful for the dark interior. “You’re way out of my league, Holly. After ten minutes, you’ve hit the bull’s-eye with me. Am I really that transparent?”
“Not at all. Just truthful.”
“This isn’t easy to talk about.”
“I appreciate you’re confiding in me. To be honest, I expected you to be all business.”
“I thought the same thing about you. I thought all you’d want to talk about was the Bridgestones.”
“I do want to talk about them, but it’s a three-hour drive up to the cabin. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
Nathan said nothing.
“It’s a compliment.”
“If you say so.”
“How did you know about the buried money?”
“I didn’t. Not with certainty, but I’m betting the Bridgestones have been dealing in Semtex for awhile. They obviously don’t take checks as payment, so they need to move huge amounts of cash around and it’s not easy to do without someone on the inside of a financial institution. They can’t just fly overseas with suitcases full of cash. They’d need someone they really trust to launder it. They probably do it through bogus third-party loans, so they’d need someone to process the transactions. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have numbered accounts in the Caymans or Switzerland or wherever. They’ve probably been making lots of smaller deposits over the years.”
“So how do we catch them?”
“You probably won’t.”
“If we could, how would we do it?”
He thought about it for a few seconds. “Follow the money trail.”
“It’s a dead end, we’ve looked at it.”
“You have to find their insider.”
Holly thought about that for awhile. “Any ideas who it might be?”
“I’d start with Leonard Bridgestone’s military background. Someone he knew from the Gulf War, someone who’s now working for a financial institution. Whoever it is, he’s getting a percentage for his services. There would be signs. Someone who’s living beyond his means. A huge house. Expensive cars. A stock portfolio, those kind of things. Things that can’t be explained by his reported salary. If nothing turns up, then do the same with Ernie.”
“Good thoughts.”
“Find their insider, and you’ll have a better chance of finding them. If it’s someone they’re blackmailing, or threatening, it’ll be nearly impossible. I suppose you could start with local branches, but it’s likely they travel out of state to make the deposits. Probably Nevada, where large cash transactions are common. Harv and I had a similar situation once. This woman was getting a divorce and suspected her husband was hiding money. His old college buddy had managed to launder just under three million dollars just like I described.”
“I thought you guys ran a security company.”
“We do, but we’ll take on private investigative work too.”
“So how did it turn out?”
“We blackmailed him.”
“You serious?”
“Yep. When we confronted him, he was really belligerent until Harv showed him the error of his ways.”
“Do I want to know what Harvey, you know… did to him?”
“No. At any rate, he wrote a check for just over two million dollars to stay out of jail. He was worth ten times that on paper, but as they say, cash is king. She offered us ten percent, but we only accepted three.”
“That was generous of you guys.”
“We made money on the deal.”
“Still, you turned down a lot.”
He shrugged. “It didn’t seem right taking that much. We were doing okay. Besides, she referred us to several new clients, who in turn referred more. It snowballed. In no time we were turning down jobs because we didn’t have the staff to keep up. There’s another possibility with the Bridgestones.”
“What?”
“They’ll come after you. Not you literally, but the FBI. Under your banner, I killed their little brother. They can’t be real happy about that.”
“You think they’ll try to avenge him.”
“It’s a possibility I wouldn’t discount too much.”
“Based on what those guys were peddling up there, that’s a scary thought.”
“If I were you, I’d double my security measures for awhile. Maybe you should take that vacation. Get out of town for awhile.”
“If anything happened, I couldn’t live with it.”
“They could be long gone. They might not give a damn. I suppose it comes down to two choices. Either they’ll cut and run right away, or they’ll cut and run after avenging their kid brother. There’s no way to know which.”
“Which do you think?”
He took a breath and sighed. “At the compound during the raid, one of the brothers, I’m pretty sure it was Ernie, made a mad dash across a hundred and fifty yards of open ground to rescue his little brother after he knew SWAT teams were present. I was about to light him up when the other brother took a few shots at us. Either that was the most reckless act of stupidity I’ve ever seen, or the most selfless act of bravery. I’m leaning toward bravery, but it’s probably a little of both.”
“Then you think they’ll try something before they flee?”
“I’d say there’s a good chance.”
“Against us, the FBI?”
He nodded. “They aren’t terrorists, Holly. They don’t have some fanatical ideology of religion or hatred driving them like Al Qaeda. It’s all about money. If they try something, it won’t be random. They won’t bomb a city bus or train station or sporting event. They’ll go after whoever hurt them. They don’t have a lot of time so they’ll pick a target of opportunity, something that doesn’t require a prolonged surveillance. Who knows, they might already have something planned. It wouldn’t surprise me if they did.”
“What can we do?”
“That’s just it, there isn’t much you can do except increase security. When it comes right down to it, we’ve always lived in a fragile society. Chaos is only a major disaster away. You remember the New York City blackout in the late seventies?”
“Sort of.”
“I was reading about it online recently. Rioting and looting were out of control. Over a thousand fires were lit, entire city blocks torched. When it was all said and done, nearly four thousand people had been arrested and three-hundred million dollars’ worth of damage had been done. There was no hurricane or earthquake or flood. The lights went out. Everybody was pointing fingers at the city, saying it should’ve been better prepared, should’ve done this, should’ve done that. The bottom line, it’s impossible to protect society from itself. It’s been proven over and over throughout time.”
“That’s a pretty bleak picture.”
“Don’t get me wrong. If you do the math, only one in a thousand people acted disgracefully that night. It was a small minority of opportunistic criminal types that caused all the problems. The vast majority of the city’s residents acted honorably, helping each other, lending candles and flashlight batteries to strangers. Disasters define character. I have no doubt you’d be at your best when things are at their worst.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“Believe it. You didn’t join the FBI for the money. There’s a million jobs out there with better pay and fewer hours. Well, maybe not a million, but you know what I mean. You want to look back on your life someday and know that you made a difference, made the world a better place. Hold on to it, Holly. Hold it close and never let it go.”
“Like I said, I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
“I’m no one special. I made a choice not to dwell in the past. Everyone has tragedy in their life at one time or another, it’s how they deal with it that defines them. I don’t hate the Nicaraguan people for what happened to me. I used to, but I don’t anymore. Should a rape victim hate all men for the rest of her life? Anger and bitterness are normal feelings, but they’re like cancer if you can’t control them.”
“I’ve never been tested. I can’t honestly say how I’d deal with it.”
“No one can.”
The rest of the ride from Oroville into the mountains went by quickly. Highway 70 followed a steep river canyon. They crossed bridges and navigated through short tunnels blasted through solid granite. Areas of smooth water reflected the moonlight. On the opposite side of the canyon wall, railroad tracks paralleled the highway. Every so often, they passed a small hydroelectric power plant, their square forms contrasting the random shapes of the rocky terrain. Although he was tired from all the flying and lack of sleep, he found conversation with Holly relaxing. She had a good sense of humor and despite the situation with Ortega’s grandson, kept a positive outlook.
“This is a beautiful drive in daylight,” Nathan said. “Harv and I drove it the day of the raid.”
“I’ve been up here a few times. It’s a designated scenic highway.”
The road continued a gradual climb into the mountains, winding its way up the rocky canyon into a pine forest.
Her radio crackled. It was Henning. “We’re coming up on the turn. We should kill our headlights.”
“Copy,” she said.
All three vehicles went dark. Henning, still in the lead, made a left turn at the intersection of a narrow dirt road that peeled off the highway to the north. There was no street sign associated with the road, just barbed-wire fencing on either side. Massive trees lining both sides of the track screened a half moon low on the eastern horizon. After traveling about a hundred yards, the caravan came to a stop and everyone piled out. Muted in eerie silence, the surrounding forest lacked the symphony of crickets he’d heard back at the farmhouse. The only sound present was the lonely whisper of wind through the pines. It was cool up here, low forties. Nathan guessed the elevation to be around 7,000 feet. He’d kept track of the Caltrans signposts on the way up. The last one they’d passed indicated six thousand feet, and they’d climbed for several miles after that.
They formed a huddle next to Holly’s sedan. Nathan noticed the dome lights remained dark when the doors of the FBI vehicles were opened. He watched Holly pull on a dark-blue coat with large FBI letters on the back. Henning made sure to position himself between himself and Holly.
Henning relayed what the Bridgestone cousins had told him. “According to our guests, the entrance to the property’s another thousand yards up the track. It’s the first locked gate on the right side. The cabin’s another five hundred yards beyond the gate. The entire parcel is fenced with barbed wire. I recommend cutting it at the far corner and approaching from there.”
Keeping her voice low, she addressed Collins and Dowdy. “Okay, I want a visual recon of the cabin from a safe distance first. Gear up. We’ll sit tight until you report back to us.”
The SWAT agents hustled over to Gifford’s sedan and popped the trunk.
“There could be more claymores out there,” Nathan offered. “Make sure your guys watch closely for trip wires. With all the deer around, it’s unlikely, but you never know.”
“Good thought,” she said.
Gifford nodded and walked over to the SWAT agents. Several minutes later, Collins and Dowdy were ready to go. Nathan saw they had the same night-vision devices he and Harv used, except theirs were mounted on their helmets in tandem. They’d have perfect depth perception using two scopes rather than one. The boom microphones extending from the sides of their helmets nearly touched their lips. Nathan felt a pang of envy. He wanted to go with them, but knew Holly would never allow it.
“Okay, recon only,” Holly said. “Do not engage if anyone’s there. Return fire only if fired upon.”
Nathan watched the two SWAT agents walk down the track and vanish into the blackness.
Holly removed her handheld radio from her hip, turned the volume down, and keyed the button. “Dowdy, radio check… Collins…” She turned toward Henning. “Did they say anything useful on the ride up here?”
“Not really. I tried them a couple times. I think they’re really pissed about the cash. I’m sure they had plans for it.”
“Beer money,” she said.
Nathan listened, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Something was bugging him, gnawing at the back of his mind like a festering splinter. Something about the farmhouse. The garage. He couldn’t place it. He also kept listening for the telltale blast of a claymore detonating out of the darkness. Be careful out there, guys.
“What do we do with our guests after this?” Henning asked.
“We take them back and release them,” Holly answered. “There’s still a possibility their cousins will try to make contact. We keep watching them.”
“Better let me have a chat with them first,” Nathan said.
“Okay…” she said.
“I, or rather we,” he said, nodding toward Harv, “need to convince them that reporting any of this would be a bad idea.”
“We did bend the rules a little,” Holly said.
“A little,” Nathan echoed.
“Do you honestly think they’ll keep quiet about this?” Henning asked.
“There are over two hundred bones in the human body,” Nathan said.
Henning looked at Holly with a combined expression of revulsion and dismay.
“You could also offer them some of the cash,” Nathan said. “As compensation for their undivided cooperation tonight.”
Holly didn’t respond.
He shrugged. “What could it hurt? The money’s unofficial. Give them four grand apiece, which leaves an even three-hundred grand. A nice, round number. No one would be the wiser. It evens the score for them a little. Tell them if they say anything, you’ll deny it. It’s your word against theirs. All of this is.”
“That’s not an altogether bad idea.…”
In the dim light filtering through the trees, Henning looked like he was ready to come unglued, his mouth opening and closing as if choking on a chicken bone.
“Let’s use this time wisely,” she said. “Are you and Harvey up to giving those guys an orthopedic briefing?”
At hearing that from his boss, Henning’s jaw dropped.
The more time Nathan spent with Holly, the more he liked her. This woman was definitely with the program, aboard for the big win. “Come on, Harv.” He turned back to Holly. “Can we offer them the cash?”
She hesitated, then said, “Sure, why not.”
Three minutes later, Nathan and Harv were back.
“Well?” she asked.
“They’re A-plus students with beer money for a year,” Nathan said.
Holly’s radio came to life. She held up her hand for a few seconds, then said, “We’ve got a burned-down structure with one BBR.”
BBR, Nathan told himself.
Burned beyond recognition.
James Ortega.