Special Agent Tom Lange Box Set

by T. J. Brearton

  “I could have,” Charlie said. He seemed to stare at the agent guarding the front door. “Ernst — he’s not going to be scared off by all this action? If he’s watching?”

  “He expects it. He sees feds and he thinks Heather is being treated as a federal witness against Palumbo.”

  “Got it. That’s slick.”

  Tom said, “Alright. I’m going in. Sit tight.”

  The FBI agent was already giving him the stink eye as he got out and crossed the street to the unmarked car. The agent rolled down his window. “Help you?”

  Tom showed his ID.

  Looking at it with half-lidded eyes, the federal agent said, “Who’s in the car with you? That the relative?”

  “That’s him.”

  The agent looked past Tom at the shape of Charlie, sitting in the Durango. “Well, we’re going to have to check him out.”

  “He’s waiting.”

  The agent spoke into a transmitter on his wrist, and the other fed appeared from the back of the house, walking toward them. The first agent then got out, and his gaze fell to the small zipped case Tom was holding. Tom handed it over and the first agent went through its contents.

  “Special Agent Blythe should have briefed you, yeah?”

  The first agent said nothing, just handed the case back to Tom, then finally led Tom to the door, showed him in as the second agent approached the Durango.

  Heather was on the couch, looked like she’d been dozing with a book. The fed in the house, the young woman Heather had mentioned on the phone, was sitting in a chair in the hallway. Tom flicked a look past her to where a bullet had punched through the dry wall, narrowly missing Sergeant Sanchez. The hole had been covered by a framed picture of Heather and the girls, all smiling. Fitting, Tom thought.

  “Hi,” Heather said, her eyes still sleepy. “What’s going on?”

  “Can we sit down?”

  “Of course.” She gestured to a space on the couch beside her.

  Tom said, “In here? In the kitchen?”

  Heather showed curiosity, but rose and walked him to the table. Tom scanned for where the camera would have been, just above the sink, maybe hidden in the potted fern that hung there in front of the window. Nothing there now. He pulled out a chair, sat across from her.

  “You’re kind of weirding me out,” Heather said. She seemed a shade paler. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine. Where’s your phone?”

  “My phone? It’s in the — I guess it’s over there on the couch, where I was sitting.”

  “Bear with me.” Tom crossed back into the living room, found the phone starting to disappear into the couch cushions. Grabbed it and dislodged the battery, the female agent looking on from her chair in the hallway.

  He returned to the kitchen table with the phone and battery, set them down in front of Heather. “Heather, we have some tough stuff to go over, and everything is . . . a bit sensitive right now.”

  She looked at her dismantled phone with trepidation. “Uhm, okay. But Tom — now you’re scaring me.”

  His own phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the text from Culpepper.

  Culpepper had just written: He’s on the move.

  Another text followed immediately: Just left his place. Headed east. I’m on him.

  Heather looked increasingly alarmed as Tom replied with a quick OK.

  “Charlie is outside,” he told her. “Your brother-in-law. In my car.”

  “Charlie?” Her eyes widened and she looked over Tom’s shoulder, to see out the front windows. Then she started to get up.

  “Hang on,” Tom said. It was happening quickly. Time had gotten crunched due to Charlie’s flight, and Tom hadn’t wanted to alert Ernst ahead of time. He was on his way to meet with Heather and prep for the morning hearing, but maybe he was watching the street, too, had seen Tom pull up and enter the house.

  “Is something happening with Palumbo?” Heather spoke in a plaintive whisper, her gaze seeking the bedrooms at the other end of the house, where the girls were sleeping. “Is he — Tom, is something happening?”

  “What’s happening is that your lawyer has been lying to you.”

  “Robert?” She scowled, but Tom thought he saw a glint of recognition in her eyes. She had to have suspected something. “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me everything, okay?”

  She leaned back a little. “Robert helped me with the estate. After Glenn died. He’s been very supportive . . . I don’t understand.”

  “Robert set all this up. He’s the one who put that pill in your bag, he’s the one who called you using that voice synthesizer.”

  She looked shocked, but already growing convinced. “Robert? Doing all of this? That’s crazy.”

  “Well, no. Because so much of this was already in motion. Robert has just come along and tweaked things to his liking.”

  “Why?”

  “Well he’s profiting from it. And he’s a fucked-up individual. And because he thinks he’s in love with you, would be my guess.”

  Her mouth opened a couple times to respond, color rose from her neck to her face and her eyes searched the room, Tom’s face. Finally she lowered her gaze and said, “Ah, God.”

  “Did you know he had feelings for you?”

  Her eyes came back, sharp and wounded. It was all there in her face — shock, disbelief — and yet, guilt. She’d suspected Ernst had feelings, kept it platonic, but perhaps she’d known, on some level, he was expecting her to someday reciprocate. And she hadn’t. But she’d never expected this.

  She looked toward the street again. “Charlie is out there?”

  “Glenn told him things about Robert; Robert’s tendency to distort reality. Charlie flew in from Nevada this morning, to help us. To help you.”

  “Why is he sitting out there in the car?”

  “Because I wanted to talk to you first. And because . . .”

  Another text from Culpepper. Just merged onto 75. He’s coming to you.

  Tom did the calculation. They had about fifteen minutes before Ernst arrived. He wasn’t entirely sure that the lawyer would just pull up out front, be so bold. He was smart, so there had to be contingencies. But he unzipped the case he was carrying and pulled out the two mikes and the transmitter. “I’m going to ask you to wear this. I’m sorry you haven’t had more time to absorb all this, that I couldn’t tell you sooner. But Robert watches, and he listens. There were cameras in your house not long ago.”

  She flinched, then looked around. Finally, she stood, and Tom thought he knew what she was thinking. He got up, moved quickly beside her. “They’re going to be okay,” he said about the girls. “I promise. Okay? There are three federal agents here, plus myself and Charlie. One of my guys — you remember Culpepper — is following Robert. And Agent Blythe and my director, Turnbull, are monitoring everything, standing by with a team.”

  He sensed her sorting through it all, coming to acceptance, but she was still aiming for the girls’ bedroom, about to push past him. “Where is Robert now?”

  “On his way here. He’s a little early; he might be watching the street, another camera or two somewhere, something.”

  “He’s coming now?”

  “Which is why you need to put this on.” He held out the microphones and transmitter in the palm of his hand. “I doubt he will admit to anything, but we want to get it down anyway.”

  Heather looked directly into his eyes. In a low voice, said, “You’re using me as bait.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. And by coming here to do that I’ve alerted Robert, and that’s what I expected.”

  He could see she didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t blame her.

  “I want to talk to Charlie,” she said.

  “Absolutely. But it will have to be quick. Robert could be just a few minutes away.”

  * * *

  With Ernst in motion, chances were slim he was still watching, or, even if he was, slimmer still he’d be ab
le to make out Charlie Moss’s face from a distance on a dark street through a lipstick camera. The agents brought Heather’s brother in-law to the door, and he stepped through, and embraced her. They held on to one another for several seconds, Heather saying things with her face buried in Charlie’s chest that Tom couldn’t pick up. Charlie Moss stroked her hair and glanced at Tom, his eyes sheeting with tears.

  Culpepper’s text: On Imperial Parkway. Five minutes out. Tom ushered the two to the table in the kitchen, where they sat holding hands, talking quietly, and he went about his work.

  Back in the Durango, he pulled a two-way radio off a charger in the back, checked in with Blythe.

  “We’re here,” she said. “One street over. You think he’s going to show? Or will he scare off?”

  Tom waited a minute, watching the dark shapes of men and women moving outside Heather’s bedrooms. He felt another twist of guilt — lying to Heather didn’t sit very well, but it was for the best. He pressed the button. “I’m hoping he considers the additional manpower is for Heather’s safety, like it’s all going according to plan. But I don’t know. We’re just about set.”

  Blythe came back: “Cutting it close.”

  “I know.”

  Tom set the radio down, then quickly squeezed into the body armor he’d brought. If he was right, Ernst still had at least one weapon. He might try and lay waste to anyone and everything if he felt backed into a corner. The agents were sneaking the girls out the back door while Charlie distracted Heather.

  He snapped the armor in place, heard Abigail’s tiny voice in the distant dark. Tom picked up the radio. “You got them?”

  Blythe: “Yeah. We got them.”

  A text from Culpepper: Two minutes.

  Tom opened the hidden panel, took out the Remington shotgun, carefully but quickly checked the gun, loaded in the shells, stuffed more in his pockets. He closed the back hatch, jumped into the driver’s seat, and drove away in the Durango. He hooked onto the next street, then the next, and knocked over an orange cone holding a spot for him to park. He jogged through the backyard of another property holding the shotgun. A dog started barking, a perimeter light snapped on. He squeezed through a break in the hedging, made his way along another property, then came to Heather’s house, squatted in the bougainvillea with a good view on the street. Settled, he stuck the ear bud in, and listened as Heather talked to her brother in-law, Charlie.

  “. . . but that was in — oh I don’t know what year it was. Olivia was just six months old.” The transmission came in nice and clean.

  Charlie laughed. “Glenn told me she used to do this little monster face. She’d wrinkle up her nose and . . .”

  “Yeah, it was like this.” Heather stopped talking and Tom heard her take several rapid breaths. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but it sounded like reminiscing.

  “I’m sorry I missed so much . . .” Charlie said. Then his voice took on a different pitch. “How about Robert — did he ever come around when Glenn was sick? Glenn never said.”

  “He did, once. Brought flowers to the hospital. It was about two weeks before Glenn . . . you know after that things went pretty quick.”

  “But did Glenn say anything about him?”

  “I don’t think he even knew Robert was there.”

  They fell silent. Charlie said, “Fucking guy.” Then, “Excuse my language.”

  Tom watched the street as they spoke. Culpepper came over the radio. “He turned, guys. He made the turn down Matheson Ave. Be there in thirty seconds.”

  “Copy,” Tom said. “Everybody off.” He felt his heart beating harder, studied the street, holding his breath.

  The beige Acura rolled into view. Slowed in front of the house, stopped. A moment later, Robert Ernst got out, dressed in jeans and a pink button-down shirt. He ducked back into the vehicle and reemerged with his briefcase. Crossing the street, he pressed his key fob — the Acura chirped and its lights flashed once.

  The FBI agent got out of the unmarked car, met Ernst along the front walkway and the two men had a brief exchange. Ernst smiled about something, then nodded, looked around as the agent patted him down. He glanced, just for a moment, toward the spot Tom was hiding. Then he seemed to give the house a long look.

  He wasn’t going in, Tom thought. Did he see Charlie through the window? He shouldn’t have been able to — the kitchen table wasn’t in view from the front yard. Something had him spooked, though, Tom could read it in the lawyer’s face, his body language — he was stiffening up, losing that cocksure pose.

  But then he resumed walking up to the front door, and he went inside.

  Tom let go the breath he was holding, listened as Ernst came into the room, closer to the kitchen table, and the microphone. So far so good.

  “Robert, this is my brother-in-law, Charlie Moss.”

  There was some shuffling, like Charlie was getting up from the table. “How do you do.”

  Ernst said, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Heather’s told me a lot about you . . . What a surprise.”

  Charlie: “Well, you know, when I heard about everything Heather was going through.”

  There was, Tom thought, an awkward silence.

  Robert: “How did you hear? Heather didn’t call you — did she? She told me you were unreachable.”

  Charlie: “Saw it on the news, believe it or not.”

  “National news? Wow, I had no idea.”

  “Actually I watch Florida news. Yeah. Just — you know. My way of keeping in touch. Listen, I know you two have this hearing to go over tomorrow.”

  Robert: “No, no. It’s alright. We’ve got a few things, but . . . I don’t want to rush you out.”

  Clear tension in their voices. Ernst was aware something was going on, and Charlie knew it. Heather hadn’t said a word. Tom had to make his move, and he had to do it now. If Ernst left the house, he’d go right back to the Acura, grab his weapon. Chances were good he still had the AR-15. The feds were in on what was happening, but had been asked to ignore the vehicle to keep Ernst confident.

  Tom crawled into the yard and stood up. From the angle he could just see the back of Charlie’s head through the window, half of Ernst’s face. Tom ducked down, moved closer to the house, keeping out of sight. They were still talking about whether or not Charlie was going to leave.

  Come on, Charlie, Tom thought. Get to it.

  Charlie did. “Robert, listen. I don’t — I mean, I appreciate what you’re doing for Heather.”

  “Well, I’m just doing my job.”

  Heather spoke up for the first time: “Robert?”

  She was nervous. Tom waited.

  “I’m going to let you go, Robert.”

  “What?”

  “I’m letting you go as my lawyer. I believe you haven’t been honest with me. And I think you’ve had ideas about what to expect by helping me out. Maybe I . . . if I led you to believe we would ever be more than what we are, I’m sorry.”

  “Heather . . .”

  “There is a conflict of interest here. I’m firing you, Robert, and I’d like you to leave.”

  Ernst said nothing. The whole room fell silent, and Tom grabbed up the radio. “Move in. He’s going to come out. He’s going to come out.”

  Ernst said: “Heather, I don’t understand. I don’t know what Charlie has told you, but I’ve only ever had your interests at heart. You think I . . . ? Heather, you’re forgetting how we first met. I introduced you to Glenn. This is just — what is going on?”

  “I remember you introduced me. We met at that dinner, a couple nights before the bike race. I remember that, Robert. And then afterward I saw you a few more times. I remember you came when Glenn was . . . just before he died. And then after that . . . Robert, this is partly on me too. I needed an escape from my life. I accepted your help, and I knew how you felt. But, you’re lying about it. And I’m concerned you’re lying about more than that. That you’ve done things. You’ve done very bad things . . .
”

  “This is nuts. I can understand you’re under pressure here, Heather, a lot of pressure, but we have to—”

  “She asked you to leave . . . Robert, hey, Robert, what are you doing over there — oh Jesus, put that down, man.”

  Tom was right at the front door. He pressed the transmitter on the radio: “He’s got a gun.” Tom could see into the room, the handgun Ernst was pointing, and Tom threw open the door, shouting for Ernst to drop the weapon, to get down, but Ernst spun on him.

  He’d had a different weapon stashed in the house and they’d missed it. Shit.

  Tom had the Remington ready but Heather and Charlie were in close proximity to Ernst. By the time Charlie grabbed Heather and pulled her to the ground, Ernst was running. He crossed into the living room, fired at Tom, twice, both shots missing, and he disappeared into the hallway.

  Tom used the radio: “He’s coming out the back. He’s coming out the back.”

  “I got him, I got him . . .” Blythe said.

  Tom’s ears were ringing from the lawyer’s two shots, but he heard more gunfire, then shouting. He reached the back door and saw Blythe on the ground, hit. He stopped and checked her, seeing other agents running after Ernst. “I’m alright,” she said. She was wearing her armor. “Go.”

  Tom ran. The other agents had crashed through the bushes hemming the property. Tom followed, hurdling some low shrubs, came out in a neighbor’s driveway. There were footfalls out on the street. An agent came over the radio, out of breath: “He’s on Dean Street. On Dean Street, headed west.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Chest burning again. Running as fast as he could, Tom was hoping to God that Robert Ernst didn’t go into someone’s house, try to take a hostage. He shouted into the radio as he booked along: “Anybody see him?”

  No response. Tom recognized where he was — Olivia’s elementary school was coming up on the right. “Anyone have eyes on? Anyone have—”

  Two shots: Pop pop. Somewhere up ahead, on the right. A ways beyond the school though; sounded like over on Old 41. Tom threw a glance back, saw a dark shape following him, looked like maybe one of the feds. He reached Old 41 and turned right, saw one of his people sprawled out in the Circle K gas station parking lot. Tom ran to him, saw that it was Culpepper and he was bleeding, dragging himself toward cover, leaving a trail of blood.