First to Kill

by Andrew Peterson

  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.”