“No joke. The man on the other end of this phone in Malibu is an assassin.” Jonathan continued to watch his family play in the pool. “You have sixty seconds to do exactly as I say. If you follow my instructions, your family lives. If you don’t, your family will die.”
A sinister-looking man’s face appeared on the iPhone screen. “Targets are secure. We will execute in sixty… ” The video feed then returned to Jonathan’s family.
Jonathan looked at Bic as he mentally played through the thousands of wonderful moments he had spent with his daughter and grandchildren. Then he squared his jaw and said, “What do I need to do?”
Bic pulled two round yellow tablets out of his pocket. “Take these two pills. That’s all.”
Without hesitation, Jonathan grabbed the pills, then reached with his other hand for the glass of water on his desk. He tossed the pills into his mouth, paused, and looked at Bic.
Bic looked at his watch and said, “You have fifty-five seconds left.”
The hand holding the water started to shake. He couldn’t believe he was even hesitating this much. Looking at his family on the phone, Jonathan knew he had to do this. He could only hope Bic would hold up his end of the bargain. He took a big drink and washed the pills down.
His heartbeat quickened. “Call the man,” Jonathan demanded, short of breath. “Call this off.”
“I will, but we’re not done yet,” Bic said, as he drew a pen from his jumpsuit pocket.
Bic picked up the desk phone and dialed 911. “Tell them who you are and that you’re having a heart attack.”
Jonathan waited several long seconds until someone picked up. By then he was sweating, and his heart was pounding so hard he was sure it was audible. “911, this is Wendy. Is this an emergency?”
“Yes. This is Jonathan Killebrew in the Kempco Building. I’m having a heart attack. Send help quick, and please—and tell my family I love them.” His voice broke on the last words.
Bic disconnected the call. He then turned the top half of the pen. A small needle extended out from the bottom.
Bic put the gun in his satchel and zipped it closed. “I’m going to inject this into you. If you cooperate, I’ll make the call.”
Jonathan nodded, realizing he was going to be dead in a matter of moments.
Bic took Killebrew’s finger and injected something under the tip of his nail.
Jonathan grew briefly terrified as he lost control of his body. His arms first, then his legs. They twitched and shook with increasing violence.
Bic reached for the wrapped pork chop on the table. Jonathan gained control of his hand long enough to weakly grab Bic by the wrist. They locked eyes, and though unable to speak, Jonathan silently pleaded for Bic to make that call.
Bic grabbed his phone, then said, “Full cooperation. Abort mission. I repeat, full cooperation.”
“Ten-four,” the man replied.
Jonathan smiled, or tried to. His sweet daughter and her children were safe. He couldn’t move now, and no air was coming into his body. Though paralyzed, he could turn his gaze to the picture of his wife on his desk and thought, I’m coming, sweetheart, finally. I’m coming home.
72
Mack opened his eyes, mildly amazed that he still could. He lay on his back, disoriented— a light shone on him from above. He wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive, though he felt as if an eternity had passed since he had been shot.
He glanced around: plain white walls, plain doors, and manila-colored cabinets with a countertop and sink below. He knew he wasn’t dead then; heaven couldn’t be this bland. He had an IV in his arm and a monitor sensor on his finger. He was in a hospital room.
He winced, touching his chest … it hurt to breathe, but more like the worst workout strain in the world kind of pain and not the “where are the holes?” kind.
A man dressed in green scrubs walked into the room. “It’s not your chest you should worry about,” he said, smiling, “it’s your head.”
“Who are you? Where am I?” Mack sat up, and realized his mistake as the world reeled sickeningly. The man was right about his head.
“I’m Dr. Ross, and you’re at St. Rita’s hospital. You were unconscious when you came in here.”
Mack reached up and felt the stitches on the crown of his head. “Anyone know I’m in here?”
“Your partners visited yesterday—a loud Italian guy and a well-dressed black man.” The doctor picked up an ophthalmoscope and shone a light into Mack’s eyes.
“Yesterday?”
“You’ve been in and out for the last twenty-four hours. You suffered a concussion from hitting your head on the concrete. Luckily, there was no severe swelling or bleeding on the brain.” He shone a penlight into Mack’s eyes. “Your pupils are responding better than yesterday—that’s good.”
As Dr. Ross scribbled something on a clipboard, Mack took a deep breath and glanced toward the bulletproof vest draped across a chair next to the bed. Caroline, he thought. Her ridiculous insistence that he wear his vest anytime they did field work had saved him.
Dr. Ross placed the clipboard at the head of Mack’s bed and said, “Get some rest. I’ll check up on you in a couple of hours.”
73
Mack woke up suddenly. According to the clock on the wall, only three hours had passed since he fell asleep. Staring at the ceiling, he wondered what Gabriel was doing back in America?
His thoughts became a jumble once he heard a woman’s shoes clacking down the hall. His heart fluttered.
“Mack!” Caroline called, practically jumping into the bed, hugging him tightly. Mack didn’t want the hug to end; her warm body and gentle breath next to his ear revived him better than any medicine.
Her eyes were glistening with impending tears. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t with you,” she said softly.
Mack wasn’t sure what to do. Their lips were now only inches apart, and the painkillers were making him feel reckless. But he could smell a trace of another man’s cologne still clinging to her. There was that stab of jealousy again. Feeling too exposed, he let go of her.
“I should have been there for you,” she said, sounding ashamed.
“You were.” His eyes went to his Kevlar vest hanging off the chair.
Caroline’s eyes followed his, and she smiled. “Wow. How many times did we argue about that vest?”
“I’ve got a crazy one for you,” said Caroline. She showed Mack the news feed on her phone. “Looks like you got out of cooking me that candle-lit dinner.”
He sat up and winced, his head feeling like a pressurized bowling ball as he focused on the headline: Jonathan Killebrew, 58, Found Dead in Office. And the byline below: CEO suffers massive heart attack.
Caroline took a deep breath. “The day you were shot, Henry Barron was killed in a gang crossfire.”
“What? That’s five billionaires in a couple weeks.” Mack thought for a moment. “What if these aren’t accidents?”
“I have to admit, it’s getting a little creepy now.”
“What just happened is statistically impossible. We need to get Bender to assign some agents to investigate.”
“Taking this to Bender? After the stunt you pulled with Utah? That sounds like a man who’s just been concussed.”
“All we need to do is follow all that money.”
“Follow it where, Mack?”
“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? But all these guys combined have a net worth equal to the GDP of several small countries.”
She had a strange look on her face. Like one who was starting to doubt reality as she knew it.
“What is it?” he said.
“I was just thinking that’s enough to kill for.”
“Welcome to my brain,” he said.
74
Bic headed north to Nebraska, driving 65 on I-35 in a late-model black Cutlass Supreme. The AC didn’t work, and only warm air flowed through the rolled down window
s. The car sped past perfect rows of fields, marred only by the hot grey two-lane highway.
It was a half-hour past dusk, but a full moon had risen in a black sky bright enough to illuminate the seeded tips of the tall, wild wheat grass along the roadside. From time to time, sporadic gusts of wind brought the tall grass to life, and it swayed like an endless carpet of people dancing wildly in a nightclub.
Bic drove on, glancing at the passenger seat and at the wrapped pork chop from Killebrew’s desk there. For the first time when his target had been at death’s doorstep, he hadn’t been overtaken by a ferocious blinding rage about his father—the rage that always stopped him from feeling any compassion for his victims.
Unlike the criminal marks of the past who had deserved the spoils of his rage, these were good people he was killing. Jonathan Killebrew had, without fanfare, sacrificed himself to save his family. When he looked into his eyes, Killebrew’s love for his family trumped Bic’s rage in a way that had never happened before. Instead of showing Killebrew his exotic eyes, then pulling out the pork chop in a blind rage and reciting to him the last words he would hear on Earth, Bic let this man die in peace, knowing his family was okay.
Bic suddenly applied the brakes and veered off onto the gravel shoulder. He reached into his backpack on the driver’s side seat and pulled out his iPhone. He recalled the conversation he had with Hawk on his “work” phone, and the conversation regarding Gracie.
He didn’t want to complete his contract. He no longer wanted to kill—but if he stopped now, what would happen to Gracie?
Chest tight, he opened his email and pulled up his list of sent items. In the past seven days, he had emailed Gracie several times. Was she in danger?
Bic decided to test the theory. He sent a simple email, asking if there were any backup contingencies in case something was to happen to him. He knew he was taking a big chance. No one in his business ever asked these kinds of questions without a reason, and almost always, it was a reason that didn’t suit the employer.
Bic phrased the question simply and blandly. He didn’t wait five minutes before he got an answer:
Alteration of the timeline is not possible; no contingencies exist. Failure to follow the contract would result in severe penalties, including a reshuffling of targets for a future potential contractee, to include the following targets [list follows at bottom].
Confirm immediately that there will be no changes in schedule.
And congratulations on your future philanthropic endeavors.
Bic read on down to the bottom. The reshuffling included Bic’s present list plus the addition of two names: Hawk and Gracie.
And that last line? Philanthropic. Not only did they know what Gracie meant to him, but what he was paying for. Frustrated, he looked in the rearview mirror, and the rage he felt from the near-perfect image of his father overwhelmed him as he wondered if they knew where his father was, as well.
He needed to know that, too.
He answered his employer’s email with one word: Confirmed.
He sent another email to Hawk, making it clear that if Hawk didn’t find his father in the next week, then Bic would have to drop what he was doing and start looking for his father himself.
After sending the email, he pulled back on the road, his mind racing.
75
“You sure you’re alright?” Bender said, almost genuinely concerned.
“I’m fine,” said Mack, easing his way into a chair across from him with Caroline’s help. “If I could just shake the feeling that I was just bludgeoned with a sake bottle, I’d be perfect.”
“Well, I want you to take some time off. I think that’s a given.”
Mack’s heart sank. “Is it the report?” He nodded to the folder on Bender’s desk.
“I was thinking more of the fact that you happen to have a bad concussion.”
“That’s not why we’re here, though,” said Caroline.
Bender looked at her, surprised at her bluntness.
Bender put his hand on the folder. “What do you think I would like to know about your incident, Agent Maddox?”
“Sir, you’re probably not going to like the truth,” he said softly.
Bender maintained his grave expression as he nodded. “By all means, lie to me then.”
“Well, sir, I went to the San Diego DEA office for two reasons. First, I felt a little responsible for what happened to the SWAT team, since they were following up on my lead. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help out. Second, I wanted to have a talk with Agent Utah. I was curious about—”
“Why did you think it was okay to question a Special Agent in Charge?”
“Well, sir, I went there with the hope of gathering some additional information to help me with my inquiries. It was part of my investigation.”
“And what kind of information did you think you would find?”
“I didn’t understand the DEA’s—and by extensions Agent Utah’s—need to send a strike team in to ‘deal with’ Hernandez.”
“You didn’t understand? Do you need to understand the workings of another agency before you let them do their jobs, Maddox? Or are you just burned that another agency was going in to bring down your man?”
“No sir,” said Mack defensively. “I just assumed—”
“You shouldn’t assume anything. I’ve known Utah for twenty years. I called him to run my situation by him, and he said he already had a team down at the border ready to go in, so he did me a favor—and that psychopath killed five good men because of it. Would you rather it had been you?”
Mack remained still, biting his lip.
“I’m taking the two of you off the case. TJ and Moretto will handle it from here.”
“I understand.”
“Mack, you have great instincts, but great instincts combined with inexperience have the potential to get people killed in this business. You need to let your experience catch up a little, so you don’t make more stupid mistakes like you did on Sunday.”
“Thanks for the advice, sir.” Mack said, attempting to stand. Caroline’s firm hand was on his back and his shoulder.
“Mack, I’m glad you’re okay. Wearing your vest—that shows some foresight.”
Mack nodded toward Caroline. “It’s this pain in the ass you should thank. She’s the one who’s always badgering me about the vest.”
“Sir,” said Caroline, “since we’re off the case, what will we be doing?”
Mack looked at her. She was ballsy today.
“The reason I ask is Mack and I have been following the news about the five billionaires who’ve died in the past couple of weeks.”
“You have any inklings about it?”
“Well,” said Mack, “it doesn’t look like there was any foul play involved, but that’s just the thing: it looks like there’s no foul play involved.”
“We thought it would be prudent,” said Caroline, “for the FBI to reexamine some of the scenes to verify that.”
“It is very likely that there is nothing to it, but we figure it would be a great learning experience,” Mack added, referring to the A.D.’s advice.
Bender folded his hands, then looked away for a moment, thinking. When he looked back, he said, “Henry Barron was a huge supporter and friend of the President. I’m sure the White House would appreciate us taking a provisional look.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Caroline.
“The key word here is provisional. If you get yourself into any more trouble, I’m transferring both your asses to Alaska.”
After shutting Bender’s door, Caroline smiled ruefully. “He was really pissed, huh?”
“Wow,” said Mack, “I thought you’d be through the roof when he took us off the case.”
“Moretto gave me a heads-up just before we went to see Bender. He agreed to keep us up to speed on the case—let us help where we could.”
“That’s a curve
ball.”
“I’ve learned in the last couple of days if you try to save everyone you wind up saving no one,” she said.
76
The details of the dream receded too quickly into the fog of wakefulness, but he knew it involved that murderous Gabriel.
Mack was drenched in sweat. He grabbed his phone and powered up the screen. 10:17 AM.
He’d missed a call from his dad. He’d been so into the case these last couple of weeks that he’d forgotten his daily calls he’d promised to the old man—every day for a week straight.
“Hey Dad,” he said into his phone.
There was no reply.
“Dad? You there?”
“Yes,” the father replied curtly. Something was wrong.
“Everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” he replied.
“Dad, have you been taking your meds?”
“I saw her,” the man mumbled.
Mack paused and licked his lips. “Where? How?”
“Facebook. She looks so happy. How can she?”
“Dad, it’s Facebook, everyone looks happy. It’s going to be okay”
“No, it’s not.”
“Dad, I’m driving home. I’ll be there in a couple of hours, okay?”
“No,” he said with authority. “I’m fine.”
“Dad, don’t be ridiculous. I’m coming home.”
“No, you’re not. This is all your fault.”
He almost dropped the phone. “You don’t mean that,” he said after a pause.
“You ruined my life!” the man said, and hung up.
Mack stared at his phone. Well, this wasn’t shaping up to be a good day.
He texted Mrs. Lawrence. The neighbor had been a godsend in checking in on his dad. She had a knack for getting the obstinate old man to take his meds.
Mack was offered a week’s leave with pay to recover, but he’d turned it down. Instead, he’d settled with Bender that he’d at least work from home for a couple of days and take it easy.
He stared at the laptop screen. He’d been granted access to countless files from different departments, including a database of every news organization that had any tiny bit of info on the billionaire deaths. Despite a few holdouts, most were eager to cooperate with the FBI. Following up on these new leads helped Mack keep his mind off what had happened with Gabriel. Mack had changed the story a little bit in his report, but it didn’t matter. He knew what had happened. At the most important moment, he’d choked again, freezing up like that little boy who stood there stunned, watching his mother.
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