Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  Jake thought of Connelly’s fake birth certificate and college records. “You verified this?”

  “Birth certificate and diploma check out,” Stone said. “We have a call into his former employer, but they haven’t called back yet. MedFire said he was a good employee, no blemishes, good performance reviews.”

  “Married?” Bear asked.

  “Single. Lives in an apartment in North Kansas City off Barry Road. He’s still missing in action.”

  “I’m worried he’s going to stay missing,” Jake said. “What about our man Hart here?”

  “Has worked for Trajor for the last four years as a network engineer.” Foster read off a notepad. “Before then, three years with Verizon. Graduated from University of Kansas with a computer science degree. Nothing interesting in our quick view of his social media. Likes to play basketball, go to Royals and Chiefs games, and two months ago changed his relationship status to single on Facebook after a yearlong relationship with a girl named Melanie Bentley. No criminal history.”

  “Got anything on the name Androv?” Bear asked, referring to the Russian name next to Hart’s in Connelly’s book.

  “Nothing popping on our radar yet,” Stone said. “We’re still looking.”

  “That it?” Jake asked.

  “We were in the process of digging into him when you called. We didn’t get much farther. Thought we agreed Foster and I would handle it.”

  Jake stiffened and crossed his muscular arms. “No, you said you were going to make some calls and told me to do, quote, whatever it is I do, end quote. I found someone who didn’t want to be found.”

  Stone raised his hands palms up. “Whoa, I didn’t mean it like that, Jake. You did a great job bringing this guy in. Would have been awkward if Foster and I talked to him, and you and the sheriff here gave some sort of different message.”

  “Well, we’re here now,” Bear said. “Did you talk to him when you picked him up?”

  “We kept quiet. He asked a lot of questions, but I wanted to make him sweat a little. He’s scared which is good for us. Scared people talk. He shit a brick when Foster flashed an FBI badge and I showed my CIA credentials.”

  “Let Bear and I take first crack at him,” Jake said. “The FBI and CIA might be a little too much firepower right off the bat. Since we’ve already talked to him, maybe he’d be more willing to spill his guts to us.”

  Stone gave a begrudging wave of the arm. “He’s all yours. What’s your angle going to be?”

  “The truth. He’s being hunted and if he doesn’t work with us, he’s going to end up with his Johnson sliced off and stuffed down his throat.”

  “Jesus,” Bear said. “Connelly’s done that?”

  “Judging from those pictures, he’s done worse. But I thought my way has a bit of a dramatic flair.”

  Bear nodded his approval. “Nice touch.”

  “We’ll be watching,” Foster said.

  Jake opened the door, and Bear trailed him inside. He hoped Hart knew something to get them to Connelly and Sokolov. If not, they were back at square one.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The interrogation room in the FBI office was like the Taj Mahal compared to the KC Police Department rooms Jake had the unfortunate experience to be a guest in a few months ago. Instead of the scent of blood and bleach, it smelled like someone emptied an entire bottle of Febreze and polished the conference table in the middle of the room to a high gloss shine.

  Hart waited, his back stiff like a schoolboy waiting to be chastised by the headmaster. He clasped his chapped hands before him, the knuckles blanched white from the effort. While his high-domed head held still, his eyes darted between Jake and Bear as they took seats on the opposite side of the table.

  “Jerry, I’m Jake Caldwell. We spoke on the phone. This is my partner James Parley. He’s a county sheriff here in Missouri.”

  “What’s going on?” Hart asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

  “You know what’s going on. Your Russian buddies are turning up dead. We’re hoping you can stop the trend.”

  “Russian? You said something on the phone, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Bear crowded in. “Bullshit. You know what it is, or you wouldn’t have agreed to come in. You know someone wrung your pal Marta’s neck like a chicken in Westport, and I’ll bet you haven’t heard from Sean Mack in a couple of days.”

  “Who’s Marta?” Hart kept his face stoic but wrung his hands like he was trying to rub his skin off. If he didn’t know a Marta or lied better, the response would have been immediate. He also didn’t deny knowing Sean Mack.

  “She’s the one working with you alongside Sean Mack, your other partner with Borya Sokolov,” Jake said. “We want a little information on what you’re planning.”

  “Sokolov and Mack? I don’t know who either of those people are. I didn’t do anything wrong and I’m not planning anything.”

  Jake loosened a dramatic groan. “Come on, man. We found a notebook written in Russian with the names of your little inner circle in there. You, Sean Mack, and Marta—among others.”

  “I don’t have an inner circle and don’t know what any of this is. If you have this supposed notebook, why do you need me?”

  Jake threw a little steel into his voice. “Because we only saw part of it before its owner decided it would be a grand idea to shoot two FBI agents to get it back. Both were friends of mine and one is dead.”

  “Dead? Oh man. I don’t think I can help you.” Hart shrank into the chair. “I don’t know anything.”

  “You’re gonna choke on all the shit you’re talkin’,” Bear said.

  Jake turned up the volume. “Marta was in the book. She’s dead. An arms dealer named Andre Fisher was in the book. He’s dead, too. Sean Mack was in it. We found him an hour ago with his dick cut off and shoved down his throat. Looks like he choked to death on it.”

  Worry lines sprang forth on Hart’s forehead at the little visual and he wrung his hands again. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  Jake gambled on the Andre Fisher and Sean Mack being dead stories. Might as well push it a little further. “You want to see him? He’s on a cold slab in the morgue. You could have hung up the phone and ran when we called, but my guess is you’re scared. You know you’re in over your head, and you know your life isn’t worth a dime out on the street. Someone is hunting you like an animal, Jerry.”

  Hart shifted in his chair, focused on his hands resting on the dark wood of the conference table. Jake imagined the guy wanted to talk, the truth beating against his conscious like a raging river ramming into a dam. He needed a little something extra to bust the dam loose and send the truth spilling forth.

  Bear kept his voice low and calm. “Like we mentioned on the phone, we can protect you if you cooperate. If you stay with this I-don’t-know-shit routine, we’ll kick your ass to the curb and let you roll the dice with whoever is tracking you guys down. But the way this guy is going, I wouldn’t bet a nickel on your chances. Hell, he could be sitting right outside the FBI gates for all we know. Just waiting for you.”

  Hart chewed on his lower lip and picked at the dirt under his fingernails, his chest rising and falling like he’d run three flights of steps. “Maybe I should have a lawyer.”

  Jake imagined Foster and Stone’s adverse reactions as they watched from the observation window. Given his situation, Hart should absolutely have a lawyer, but they had to do all they could to prevent him from taking that route. It would grind the process to a halt, and Christopher didn’t have that kind of time.

  “Why the hell would you need a lawyer?” Bear asked, jumping in with his expertise. Jake bet Bear uttered that line a thousand times before. “I thought you didn’t know anything.”

  “I don’t.” Hart let a meaningful beat pass. “Not really.”

  “What does ‘not really’ mean?” Jake asked.

  Hart’s index finger drew tight circles on the table. Jake waited
twenty seconds and repeated the question, but Hart didn’t offer a response.

  Bear shot to his feet. “To hell with this. He won’t tell us anything, Jake. I say we boot him.”

  Jake feigned concern, an Academy Award-winning performance. “I don’t know, man. He’ll be dead by sundown.”

  “It’ll be painful too, I bet,” Bear said. “This guy strangled Marta, shot Fisher, cut Mack’s dick off. I wonder what he’ll do to up the ante?”

  Jake rose and noted the panic flushing Hart’s cheeks. “I hope he doesn’t start with your old girlfriend, Melanie.”

  Hart shot up in the chair. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “You and I know it, but this maniac might use her to get to you. She’s a pretty gal. No telling what he’d do to her.”

  Jake and Bear headed toward the door when Hart shouted, “Wait! I want immunity.”

  “Immunity for what?”

  Hart ran his hands through his acorn hair, his body language dripping with angst. “You get me immunity, and keep me and Melanie safe, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Bear cocked his head. “What if what you have to say isn’t worth you getting immunity?”

  Hart hugged his thin arms tight against his body. “Don’t worry, it is. At least I hope it is.”

  Jake opened the door. “I’ll see what I can do. Sit tight, Jerry.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “We’ll have to present the case for immunity for Hart to your new best friend, the Special Agent in Charge,” Foster said.

  Jake grimaced. “Well, that’s just peachy. I hoped to get my balls chopped off sometime today.”

  “He’d have to get approval from the US Attorney, but it won’t matter because technically we can’t give Hart immunity anyway.”

  Bear’s eyes reduced to slits. “What do you mean you can’t do it?”

  Stone took a step forward. “Because nothing in the law grants a federal agent the power to give immunity, meaning the Special Agent in Charge can’t give Hart any kind of deal obligating the Department of Justice to provide him with a pass for his crimes.”

  “I thought they did this shit all the time,” Bear said.

  “You’ve been watching too much television.”

  Jake’s temple throbbed. “Goddamn it. If we can’t offer immunity, this guy won’t tell us a freaking thing.”

  Stone said, “Jake, you really want to give this guy immunity if he’s involved in some Russian plot against the United States?”

  “I could give two shits about this guy. But we have nothing at this point, and if he can get us home and get the kid back, I’ll promise him the sun and the moon to get it. Karma has a way of working its own justice with assholes like Hart.”

  Stone raised his palms like a traffic cop telling Jake to stop. “Now, we can’t promise him immunity, but Murphy can be extremely influential with the US Attorney on what Hart would get charged with, if anything. We have to convince Murphy to go to bat for the douchebag.”

  Jake raised his eyebrows to Foster. “Well, you might as well go get him.”

  Ten minutes later they crammed into a conference room with a pissed off Murphy glowering at Jake and Bear while Foster and Stone laid out the facts of the case before them. The longer the two of them talked, the redder Murphy’s face grew, to the point Jake thought he’d have an aneurism while he quaked at the head of the conference table. In the end, he confirmed what Stone said. They couldn’t grant immunity, but he’d go to bat for reduced charges if he could give them something concrete.

  Murphy focused a withering stare on Jake. “Now, clear the room. I want to have a few words with Mr. Caldwell.”

  Foster, Stone and Bear filed out of the conference room, Bear giving Jake a furtive look before closing the door behind him.

  “What’s on your mind, Chief?” Jake asked.

  “Your inability to follow simple instructions. I told you to stay out of this, did I not?”

  Jake fought the smirk aching to spring forth. “And here I thought you wanted to tell me thank you.”

  Murphy blinked with incredulity. “Why would I thank you for interfering with a federal investigation and getting one of my agents killed and another laid up in the hospital?”

  Jake drummed his nails on the table before answering. “You watch many movies, Agent Murphy?”

  “What’s that have to do with anything?”

  “I love movies, especially thrillers. The good guys lay out the perfect plan, but there’s always the head honcho of some federal agency who throws a monkey wrench in the works because he can’t see the forest for the trees. I didn’t get McKernan killed or Snell shot. In fact, I saved her from getting killed. Do the right thing. I don’t want them to typecast you if they ever make a movie out of this.”

  A snarl spread on the old man’s lined face. “You smug little bastard. They wouldn’t have been anywhere near his house without your involvement.”

  “Yeah, but you also would have no clue there was some evil fuckery afoot here. These Russians are hell-bent to wreak some havoc, bodies are dropping like flies, and you have your underwear in a wad because a county sheriff from the Ozarks and one of his deputies has done more to figure this out than you.”

  “Now you listen to me—”

  “No, you listen.” Jake jabbed a finger in his direction. He’d had enough of the old man’s bullshit. “I’m not in this for fame or glory. I didn’t want it when Bear and I helped stop a bioweapon from getting in the hands of terrorists a few months ago, and I don’t want it now. I’m here because some asshole killed my client and kidnapped her son. This same guy is involved in a plot, and the guy downstairs is willing to shed light on it if you’d consider the facts. Now, do you want to stop some seriously bad shit from happening and save the life of a six-year-old child, or do you want to sit here and bust my balls for the rest of the night?”

  Murphy smoldered, and his chin jutted out in defiance. Jake’s pulse raced, the acidic remnants of his fiery speech leaving a burning pit in his stomach. They needed this guy’s help to proceed, and Jake probably didn’t help matters by antagonizing him. The old man’s brow knitted, and he drew a raspy breath.

  “Agent Snell seems to think highly of you,” he said at last. “I spoke to her at the hospital today and, though she was in a great deal of pain, she recommended I trust you.”

  “Victoria is a smart lady.”

  “It doesn’t mean I’m willing to do it. Trust an ex-leg breaker for the Kansas City mafia, that is.”

  “An alleged leg breaker. Alleged.”

  Murphy allowed a hint of amusement to creep on his wrinkled mouth. “Right, alleged. You think you can get what we want out of this Hart character?”

  Jake did his best to hide his surprise. Was Murphy acquiescing on his involvement? “Bear and I have already established the rapport. I think he’s scared and wants to talk. We have to give him a little incentive to do it.”

  “No immunity. We can’t do it. But, if he’s as scared as you say he is, we could protect him if he helps us stop whatever’s going on. Think you can sell that, mister?”

  Jake climbed to his feet. “I guarantee it.”

  Murphy raised one eyebrow in a slant. “Do it, but know one thing, Mr. Caldwell. You screw up so much as a millimeter and put one of my agents at risk, and I’ll nail your ass to the wall. Do we understand each other?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Jake strode to the door, mustering confidence he had no right to have. He hoped Hart’s story was worth telling. An angry head of the FBI could make his life pretty goddamn miserable.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “How’d it go?” Bear asked. Foster and Stone were nowhere to be seen.

  “I still got my balls.”

  “Maggie will be thrilled to hear it. Foster and Stone headed back to the room. They’re going to wait for you and me to make the pitch to Hart.”

  Jake tipped his head toward the stairs, and they started thei
r descent. “Now we need a silver bullet. Hart may talk given the preferential treatment from our federal government, but he might tell us to piss off since we can’t give him immunity.”

  “Cat get back to you on what you found in Connelly’s house?”

  Jake snapped his fingers and whipped out his cell. He found an empty conference room and dialed Cat on speaker.

  “Wondered if you were ever going to call me back,” Cat said.

  “Been a little busy, man. You find out anything on Hart and Mack.”

  “I haven’t had a ton of time to dig but found a few interesting tidbits. Sean Mack is about as American as your pal Bear is skinny.”

  “I’m right here, you little shit,” Bear barked.

  “Jesus, Caldwell. Bad form. You’re supposed to let people know when they’re on speaker. How you doing, Bear?”

  “I’m right as rain. We’re on a bit of a time crunch here, so spill it and I’ll let your fat joke slide.”

  Cat cleared his throat. “Umm…yeah, right. Sean Mack has the right papers and a documentation trail as long as my arm, but I found the Russian name you gave me, and it matches Mack’s description and timeline. He was KGB until the Soviet Union dissolved back in 1991. The records I found show he’s now a member of SVR RF.”

  “What’s that?” Jake asked. “Some political faction?”

  “No, it’s the Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation. They’re responsible for intelligence and espionage. It’s a complicated structure, but they gather and hand intelligence back to the Russian president. But, here’s the thing, the SVR records list him as dead. Killed in the Middle East eight years ago.”

  “You sure it’s the same guy?” Bear asked.

  “Sure as I can be. This crap isn’t easy to dig up, and frankly, I get a little nervous poking around. I’m a huge fan of breathing.”

  Jake dug his fingers in the base of his skull, rubbing out the approaching headache. “What’s Mack done since he’s been in the States?”

  “Like I said, his paper trail is excellent, but there are gaps. He’s been at MedFire as a software engineer for the last several years.”