Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  “You want some coffee?” Clint asked as he led them to an office on the right side of the room. He plopped behind a desk and swept his arm toward the two chairs in front of it.

  “No thanks on the coffee,” Jake said. “You know a guy named Jerry Hart?”

  Clint thought for a couple seconds. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but a lot of people roll through here. Why?”

  “Has to do with a murder investigation,” Bear said. “How long do you keep your security camera footage?”

  “Seven days. You think he was in here?”

  Jake handed Clint the receipt. “Hart rented two bays from you. We’re curious who he came in here with.”

  Clint reviewed the receipt and typed on his desktop computer. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Let me pull the files and get to the right time.” He answered his ringing cell phone. “Can you guys give me like ten minutes? There’s a guy with a shipment at the back door, and he gets pissed if you make him wait.”

  “No problem,” Jake said. “Think we could pop off a few rounds on the range while we wait? This guy thinks he can outshoot me.”

  “No problem,” Clint replied. “Is there a wager involved?”

  “Twenty bucks and bragging rights.”

  Clint manned the front counter and hooked them up with targets, eye protection, earmuffs, and a couple boxes of nine-millimeter shells.

  “Loser pays for the stuff?” Jake asked.

  “Deal,” Bear said. “Man, I’m getting a free breakfast and free ammo. This might be my lucky day.”

  They were on their way back to the range when Jake’s cell rang. Jake answered as they went through the door on the right, heading toward one of the empty bays.

  “Jake?” a familiar voice asked. “Detective Ogio.”

  “Hey, Detective. Break up any more terrorist rings since we last saw each other?”

  “Nope, it’s been a hell of a lot quieter since you left, not that I’m complaining. But then you show up and someone ends up dead. Why is that?” Ogio asked.

  “I’m lucky, I guess. What’s up?”

  “The night crew threw this hotel shooting on my desk. Imagine my surprise when I saw your name included in the file. Did you guys happen to talk to the man in the hotel room next door?”

  “The guy listening to the war movie at full volume? No.”

  “Well, there’s a reason he blasted the volume. He reported two men arguing in 201.”

  Interesting. Stone didn’t mention an argument. Then again, Hart cleaned his clock with an iron. “He know the subject of the argument?”

  “No,” Ogio said. “Just two men shouting at each other. He cranked the volume on the TV. Says he thought there were a couple of shots, but it was either the movie or something happening outside. He’s from some little ass town in Iowa and figured it was a normal thing in the big bad city. You guys don’t know anything else to help me out?”

  “Not a thing. Why don’t you check with Stone himself? Or try Special Agent Foster. She texted me an hour ago and said he started to remember some stuff. Probably still at the hospital.”

  “Nope,” Ogio said. “They released him thirty minutes ago.”

  Jake relayed what Ogio told him while Bear loaded a target onto a cardboard hanger with metal clips.

  “What could they have been arguing about?” Bear asked, loading seven shells into the magazine of his Beretta.

  “No telling. Kinda weird if Hart was going to cooperate, unless he changed his mind. We’ll call him and Foster after we get out of here.” Bear punched a distance of fifty feet into a keypad on the left side of the shooting bay. The man-shaped paper target hummed back. “You sure you can see that far, old man?”

  “I’m the same age as you, asshole.” Bear squeezed off seven shots in the span of five seconds. He hit the home button on the computer pad, and the target sped back to them, light shining through tight holes in the center mass of the target.

  “Nice grouping,” Jake said, eyebrows raised.

  “Tighter than a virgin’s honeypot. What do you think?”

  Jake groaned. “I think I’m gonna owe you twenty bucks.”

  Ten minutes later, as Jake slapped a twenty into Bear’s outstretched hand, Clint popped into the shooting bay saying he cued the security footage from the day of Hart’s visit. They followed him back to his office and parked behind his chair as Clint pulled up the digital file on his monitor.

  “I have it cued to the time the receipt shows.” Clint clicked play, and Jake and Bear watched the various camera angles displayed on the monitor. There were three guys and two girls in the lobby, three people working behind the counter and a half-dozen people populating the range bays. “It was right before lunch, so we weren’t busy. Recognize anyone?”

  Jake bent forward. “Not yet. Hit fast forward until a new customer comes in.”

  Clint clicked the mouse and the images sped up. A handful of people came and went until Jake told him to stop. Clint hit the pause button, and the time stamp showed four minutes past noon. Jerry Hart’s face coming through the front door.

  “There he is,” Bear said. “Hit play again.”

  Clint played the footage as Hart went to the counter and talked to a pretty girl working there.

  “I kind of remember that guy.” Clint jabbed a finger at the screen. “He rented an AR-15.”

  Bear asked, “If it was just him, why rent two bays?”

  “Roll the footage,” Jake directed. They observed Hart proceed to the range and shoot the rifle. Clint fast-forwarded the video and stopped when a figure approached Hart, clapping him on the back. He was broad across his shoulders with hair spilling just over his collar. Hart said something and they both laughed.

  Bear squinted at the monitor. “Who is that guy?”

  “Holy…is it Sokolov?” Jake asked, his heart thumping. “Can you isolate the monitor and make it bigger?”

  “Sure.” Clint punched a couple of keys and the video jumped to full screen. They watched the new man empty a magazine in the second bay, waiting for him to turn around so they could see his face. When he did, both Jake and Bear gaped in stunned silence. It wasn’t Sokolov.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jake said. “That’s Sam Stone.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Bear wanted to beat Sam Stone into a coma as he paced the common area at Centerfire. “Lying piece of shit. You can’t trust those government dickheads, especially the CIA. We gotta warn Foster.”

  Jake pulled out his cell, his finger hovering over Foster’s number. “Wait a minute. Let’s think through this.”

  “What’s to think about? She either shoots this prick or gets out of there.”

  Jake’s mind raced through the implications of Stone popping up on the video surveillance with Hart. “If Stone is in this with Sokolov and his crew, it would explain why Hart came in so easily. He knew Stone would protect him, or maybe they have some kind of deal on the side. Would also explain why he took him from the FBI headquarters.”

  Bear rested on the arm of the couch. “Yeah, but Stone shot him twice in the chest. Great protection.”

  “Detective Ogio said the neighbor heard them arguing. Maybe something went wrong with the plan. I mean, this all makes sense. Stone is with the CIA, went undercover in Moscow for a couple of years and turned to the dark side.”

  “I hate it when you use Star Wars metaphors.”

  “How did he connect with Sokolov?” Jake asked.

  “No telling. So, we have two Russian spies trying to kill each other over a bunch of dead people involved with a plot to jack up our medical system and a crooked CIA agent who’s going to get his ass kicked. Sound right?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, face sober, “but don’t forget Angela and Christopher. I haven’t.”

  “I haven’t either, partner, but the bigger question you haven’t answered is why we’re not calling Foster and sounding the alarms?”

  “Because Stone doesn’t know his cover is blown yet. We call Foster and warn her
now, she might tip her hand she knows he’s bent, or she might try to take him out herself. This guy’s a well-trained and deadly spy. I don’t like the odds of her taking him one on one.”

  “Guys?” Clint asked, sticking his head out of his office. “We done? Customers will start showing up pretty soon.”

  “Can you save a copy of the surveillance to a thumb drive?” Jake asked.

  Clint signaled A-OK and disappeared into the office.

  “I say we arrange a meet with Foster and Stone,” Bear said. “We tie his ass to a chair and after we beat the hell out of him, we figure out the next move.”

  “Sounds like a good half-ass plan to me.”

  Bear’s eyes sparkled. “Sometimes half-ass is all you need.”

  * * *

  Since Stone’s temporary residence was a crime scene, Foster hosted him at her two-story Cape Cod in Prairie Village, a tree-heavy suburb southwest of downtown. Massive oaks, with leaves the size of a man’s head, lined the narrow streets. Foster’s corner house was sky blue with white trim in demand of some touch-up paint. A cracked driveway led to a one-car garage, and a red brick walkway covered with a smattering of bright orange leaves led to the front door.

  “Nice place,” Bear said. “Charming, as the wife would say.”

  Jake knocked on the door. “Bet she hates raking these leaves in the fall. Fifty bags wouldn’t even make a dent.”

  “We play dumb about Stone?”

  “At least until we see what he gives us. Stay frosty, though.”

  Foster answered the door in jeans and a white t-shirt hugging her taut figure in all the right places, black hair pulled back in a ponytail. “What’s up, guys? Come on in.”

  She led the way into a living room painted steel gray with a couple of couches bookending a grey-stone fireplace. A television on the mantel held a forty-two-inch flat screen with ESPN playing with the sound muted. A dining room with a table covered by a laptop and papers was tucked at the back of the house, an open window carrying in an earthy tone from the backyard. Stone lounged on one end of the couch, feet on a coffee table. He rose with an exaggerated wince and greeted Bear and Jake with handshakes. Jake jammed his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from throttling the guy right on the spot.

  “How you feeling, man?” Jake asked.

  “Head’s throbbing like I drank a case of beer last night. Cops asked a bunch of questions, but I honestly don’t remember a ton. It’s coming back in bits and pieces.”

  “What do you remember?” Bear asked, stationed behind the couch on the opposite side of the room.

  Stone dropped back on the couch, grunting with the effort. “Took Hart to my hotel room for safe keeping. I remember watching some TV, we ate something from room service. I was in the bedroom making a call, I think, and he came at me with the iron in his hand. Smacked me on the head with it and that’s all I remember. When I wake up, you two are standing there and Hart is dead on the bed.”

  “Any reason he attacked you out of the blue?” Jake asked.

  Stone shook his head, wincing from the effort. “I made a call, had my back to the door, something creaked behind me, and I turned to see him swinging the iron at my head. I must’ve cleared my piece before he hit me. I honestly don’t remember anything more. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you don’t believe me.”

  Shit. Jake forced a smile. “I believe you, Sam. Didn’t mean for it to come off like I didn’t. Just surprised a little guy like Hart got the drop on you.”

  “He tell you anything else on the Blackbird scheme?” Bear asked, his voice low and grating. Jake knew his tone of voice. It meant Bear was close to cracking. His death grip on the back edge of the couch represented sign number two.

  “We went over his story a couple more times in the car,” Stone said. “I wanted to check how consistent he stayed with it. He was scared and wanted protection. I failed to do it.”

  Jake opened his mouth to ask why he took Hart out of the FBI headquarters when Stone’s cell rang, and he answered it. “Two, west side,” Stone said before clicking off.

  “Who called?” Jake asked.

  “My administrative assistant. Wanted her to get my car from the hotel, and she didn’t know where I parked. Slot two on west side of the parking lot. Can’t have Foster driving me around forever.”

  Jake bit his lip to keep from jumping on the line of bullshit. He wanted to bust Stone now with the video but needed to know one more thing. He tried to adopt a casual demeanor and forced his shoulders to relax. “Sam, why’d you take Hart out of the FBI office?”

  “You guys were gone, he agreed to talk. Thought if I could get him comfortable and out of the interrogation environment, he might open up more. I’ve done it before.” Stone pressed to his feet. “Hold on a sec. I need to hit the head. These IV fluids make me piss like a racehorse every ten minutes. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Stone limped down the hall and disappeared through a door to the right, which he closed behind him. The second the door clicked shut, Foster pounced.

  “What the fuck is going on?” she asked, fists bunched. “Why the interrogation on Sam?”

  Jake drew close and dropped to the couch, keeping his voice low. “Stone’s in on it. He’s been dicking us around this whole time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jake relayed the story of their Centerfire experience with the surveillance video and the call from Ogio about the fight in the hotel room. “Has he given you any signs he’s bent?”

  “No,” she said, jaw hanging open in disbelief. “How sure are you it was him in the video?”

  An eruption of dogs barking from the backyard pulled Bear to the dining room, as Jake held up the thumb drive. “A hundred and fifty percent. When he comes back out, we take him down. I wanted to get with you first.”

  Bear ran back to the living room, face flush with anger. “The son of a bitch just hopped your fence. He’s gone.”

  Jake darted to the bathroom. Stone had engaged the lock, but Jake lowered his shoulder and bashed the hollow-core door open. Curtains fluttered in the breeze of the open window. Jake stomped back to the living room, flashing back to the phone call. Two, west side. It wasn’t slot two on the west side of the hotel parking lot. It was two minutes, west side of the house. Stone wasn’t working alone.

  “You see the car?” Jake asked.

  Bear’s face fell. “No, fence is too tall.”

  “Goddamn it,” Jake muttered. “We blew it.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Jake and Bear spent the better part of an hour combing the streets of Prairie Village for any sign of Stone. They had a better chance of finding a rainbow-striped unicorn than catching Stone given his head start, but they gave it a shot.

  “The slippery shit,” Bear growled as they pulled back into Foster’s driveway. “Why did we let him go to the bathroom? He knew the jig was up. I saw it in his eyes.”

  “Don’t remind me. We screwed the pooch on that one.”

  They entered Foster’s house and found her at her dining room table, files spread across the wood and talking on the phone. She set the phone on the table as Jake and Bear entered.

  “Got an APB out on Stone, and Murphy is talking with the CIA. Murphy said the FBI found Andre Fisher dead in a hotel room in Nebraska. One to the heart, one to the head. Professional.”

  “When was he killed?” Jake asked as he and Bear approached the table.

  “Coroner figures two days ago. The killer stuck a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door so the maids didn’t go in, but housekeeping noticed the smell.”

  “Security footage?” Bear asked.

  “Being gathered. Should have access to it by the time we return to headquarters.”

  “We?” Jake scoffed. “You think Murphy is going to let us in the building?”

  “We’re all-hands-on-deck at this point,” Foster said. “Murphy has the MedFire and Trajor execs in
a tizzy over the Blackbird plot we’ve uncovered. They’re combing through their systems trying to figure out vulnerabilities and establish safeguards to protect patients.”

  Jake examined the photos and documents covering the table. The FBI dug harder than he thought, employing more manpower at this case besides Foster. “But, if Hart and Mack are both dead, is there still a threat?”

  Foster tapped a picture of Sokolov. “There is if Hart and Mack finished their part of the puzzle and delivered it to this asshole.”

  “Or to Stone,” Bear offered. “We have to consider the possibility Stone and Sokolov worked together on this.”

  “We are,” Foster said. “Every member of the law enforcement community is looking for both of them. The CIA’s digging into Stone’s files as well.”

  Jake smacked his palms flat on the table, wanting to sweep the piles of papers to the floor. “This sucks. Stone, Sokolov, and the Wolf are in the wind. We don’t know if thousands of Americans might die because of a Russian plot, and I’m no closer to catching the scumbag who killed my client and kidnapped her son.”

  Foster laid a soft hand on his arm. “Take it easy. We’ll get these guys. Follow me to the office and let me get these files back to Murphy’s group. We can check out the surveillance video from Fisher’s hotel and find out where we are.”

  Jake’s jaw clenched, the weight of chasing shadows and coming up with nothing bearing on his shoulders. He thought of Christopher, picturing him huddled in a corner in tears, shaking every time Sokolov came near. Knowing how screwed the kid was even if they found him. His father was a murderer and his mother was dead. He was alone. All alone thanks to a war between the Wolf and Sokolov. He pictured patients seizing in hospital beds because the Blackbird computer program designed by greedy Russian spies shut off their life support systems. He envisioned Connelly tied to a chair and looming over the bastard with blood dripping from his fists, Stone rotting in a jail cell for treason, and the elusive Sokolov in a box buried six feet under.