by Rick Acker
“Nate!” Jessica called after him.
He turned to see her still standing just outside the door. She walked toward him, a hard-to-read expression on her face. “I just wanted to tell you how much Brandon and I appreciate everything you did. I know how hard you fought for him, how many sacrifices you made. You did a great job, a really terrific job. I don’t know why the jury couldn’t see that Brandon was innocent, but that’s not your fault.”
“That’s very kind of you, Jess.”
“No, it’s the truth. Don’t blame yourself. You did everything you could, even if it wasn’t enough. I . . . I’m honored to know you.”
“Thank you, Jess,” he said, surprised by how much her words moved him.
She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something more, but then closed it again. They stood there silently for a few seconds.
“I just thought you should know that,” she said at last.
“Thanks, Jess,” he repeated. He turned and went down into the station.
CHAPTER 103
October
Brandon quickly adjusted to life at High Sierra Prison. It was older, more run down, and farther from home than Tassajara. But it was an improvement in some ways. Most importantly, it had no known Los Reyes members, so Brandon didn’t have to spend all his time cooped up in ad-seg. Plus, there wasn’t much hazing—maybe it was his size, or maybe his reputation as a killer preceded him, but for whatever reason, the other inmates didn’t give him a hard time. He also liked the view: he could see the Sierra Nevada mountains rising beyond the prison walls. Even if he could never set foot in their forests or climb their snowcapped peaks, it helped to know that they were there.
After he had been there about a week, one of the guards approached him in the yard, where he was doing some exercises to rebuild the strength in his right arm and chest. “Ames, you’ve got a visitor.”
He hadn’t been expecting anyone, but he toweled off and followed the guard back to the administration building. The guard took him to one of the little rooms generally reserved for attorney-client meetings.
Father Vicente was waiting for him there. He looked older, and a cane rested against the table where he sat, but his warm smile was unchanged. “How are you, Brandon?”
“I’m fine,” Brandon said. He moved his right arm in a careful circle. “My chest still hurts, but it’s getting better. How about you?”
“Oh, I can’t complain. Better than I have any right to be, as my doctor reminds me. Good enough to finally have the visit we had planned before the riot interrupted us. How is the transition to prison going? It must be a disappointment to be here rather than back at home.”
That sounded like yet another attempt to get him to talk about his feelings, and Brandon’s defenses went up reflexively. But then he remembered the priest jerking as the bullet hit him. The bullet meant for Brandon. He decided the man had earned an honest answer at the very least. “This place isn’t bad. But yeah, it’s a disappointment. It’s still tough to believe that I’m going to spend the next fifteen years here, maybe more. I guess in the back of my head I never completely believed that I could be convicted. But the prosecutor got up there and told the jury that I had guilty blood—that my DNA was at the crime scene—and they believed him. Even though it wasn’t true.”
Father Vicente nodded sympathetically. “I’m truly sorry. The justice system is not always just.” He paused for an instant. “Have you given any thought to what you’ll do now that you’re here? Most inmates find that life is much easier if they have something to do with their time, something constructive to do. I know I did.”
“If most inmates were like you, I don’t think I’d mind prison much.”
“But they are like me, more or less.”
Brandon liked Father Vicente, but the man’s false modesty was a little annoying. “Oh, come on. My Judas celly was nothing like you. The Los Reyes shot callers were nothing like you. Hector Garcia was nothing like you.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Father Vicente said. “Thirty years ago, I was a lot like Hector. And if he had lived, Hector could easily have become like me.”
Brandon blinked. “You knew him?”
The priest nodded. “Much better than you did. You knew Hector for the last thirty seconds of his life. The worst thirty seconds. He was a loyal Rey and would do whatever the shot caller told him to. But there was much more to him than that. He had a girlfriend and a young daughter. He wanted to get a job in construction so he could support them honestly. He came to the masses I held at Tassajara, and he helped with communion. We would often talk after the services were over. I spoke at his funeral.”
Brandon looked down at his hands. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t know any of that.”
“And there’s no reason you should have,” Father Vicente said. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. Hector attacked you, and you killed him in self-defense. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just saying that there were other sides to him. And to me and you, and everyone inside these walls.”
“What was Hector in for?”
“He’d been arrested for vehicular homicide. He was driving home after a party and he hit a man on the side of the road. The police gave him a breathalyzer test, which he failed.”
Brandon shifted his weight on the little chair. “I, uh, got picked up for a DUI a couple of years ago. I didn’t hit anyone, but I could have. I guess that day I really did have guilty blood.”
“We all do, Brandon. There’s only one man in the history of the world who didn’t have guilty blood flowing through his veins.”
Brandon nodded. He let the Jesus reference slide by, but he was beginning to think of his fellow inmates in a new light. How many of them were like Hector? Like a young Father Vicente? And how many had been wrongly convicted like him?
“You know, Brandon,” Father Vicente began, his voice curiously hesitant. “If you’re looking for something to do in prison, you might want to consider being a chaplain’s aide. You wouldn’t have to be Catholic.”
“You mean, be your aide?”
“Well, yes. We don’t have a chaplain at High Sierra right now, so I’ve been driving out twice a week—or I had been until I was shot. I’ve been trying to start up again, but it’s been difficult. I could use some help. It wouldn’t be too burdensome—setting up chairs before services or catechism classes, putting things away afterward, helping with the music, and so on.”
Brandon realized he was smiling. “I’d be happy to.”
CHAPTER 104
November
Kevin knew that Nate’s murder case was over, of course. Nate had told him two months and three days ago. But it still bothered him. For one thing, he didn’t like the verdict. He had imagined all the Lan Long guys lined up in handcuffs, being led off to jail. Instead, it was a friend of Nate’s who had done nothing wrong.
Kevin also didn’t like the loose ends. He had never managed to put all the facts together into a satisfying pattern. Worse, he had been thwarted when he tried to do so. Lan Long had found him, tried to kill him, and sealed off every possible vulnerability with heavy-duty protection. How had they caught him? He couldn’t get past their security now, and he began to fear that he might never know. The missing puzzle pieces might be hidden forever behind Lan Long’s firewalls.
At last it occurred to him that he might want to look elsewhere. Maybe the answers weren’t in China. Maybe they were someplace closer to home. Two days later, he found his first lead. And thirty-five hours after that, he had found the missing pieces.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. The pattern was now complete.
He started to call Nate, then remembered Steve’s rule about never calling before nine o’clock in the morning. His computer’s clock said 10:13, and a quick glance out the window confirmed that it was morning. “Hal, call Nate Daniels.”
“Hello, Kevin,” Nate said when he answered the phone. “What can I do for you today?”
�
��Nothing. I found some information you should know.”
Kevin heard the squeak of Nate’s chair. “Really? What?”
“An FBI agent is getting payments from a bank account owned by Lan Long. Also, his cousin is in a military prison in China. Last January, Lan Long sent money to the general in charge of that prison.”
Nate sucked in a breath. “Who is the agent?”
“William Chen. He is also part of the FBI team that’s investigating Lan Long.”
“William Chen,” Nate repeated. “I’m stunned. How did you catch him?”
“Lan Long kept spotting my hacks, which should have been very hard. Then they found out who I was and where I live, which should have been practically impossible. I couldn’t figure out how they did it. Then I realized that these things only happened after you told the government what I found. Do you understand so far?”
“Yes, please go on.”
“I also remembered that you said you thought Linc Thomas might’ve been an FBI informant, and somehow Lan Long found out about that and killed him. I decided to check all the FBI agents in northern California, to see whether any of them were getting money from China. Are you still understanding?”
“Yes.”
“Then I traced the money to see whether any of it came from Lan Long accounts. It took some work, but I found out that William Chen received five hundred and fifty thousand dollars from Lan Long. Then I searched for Chen’s name in the emails I downloaded before Lan Long encrypted their accounts. That’s how I found out about his cousin.”
“Do you have documents that prove all of that?” Nate asked.
“I have access to them. I also have some phone records for Chen. I have store surveillance video showing him buying prepaid phones that were used to call numbers of Lan Long people in China. In the two days before Linc Thomas’s murder, Chen made five calls—three on one phone and two on another. There was another cluster of five calls right before Lan Long tried to kill us. Then there were six more calls over the last two days. Do you need downloads of everything?”
“Yes, the financial information, surveillance video, and phone records. And descriptions of where to find them online.” He paused. “This is a very big deal, Kevin. Thank you.”
“Do you think we’ll finally be able to put the Lan Long guys in jail, and William Chen too?”
“Let me look at the documents first,” Nate said. “And it’s possible that going to the authorities may cause problems for you.”
Kevin snorted. “Is this that thing about antihacking laws again?”
“Yes. It sounds like you’ve been accessing the personal financial information of lots of FBI agents. That’s very illegal.”
“But I was doing it for a good reason,” Kevin said. “Just explain it to them like you did last time.”
“They still haven’t agreed not to prosecute you for last time,” Nate said. “I’ll do my best, but you might want to go on a long vacation to someplace that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States.”
CHAPTER 105
Nate finished reading the materials Kevin had sent him. They proved exactly what Kevin said they did.
He swiveled his chair and stared into the fog-bound cityscape outside his window. His first impulse was to immediately call Al Francini and tell him everything. Al needed to know that his office had a dirty agent, and the flurry of recent calls between Chen and Lan Long indicated that they could be working on something new.
But even if Al wanted to do something right away, he would have to go through his boss, the US Attorney—and probably Main Justice in DC. If past experience was any indication, that could take a long time. Also, they would certainly view this as a highly sensitive and embarrassing incident. They’d want to handle it quietly and do damage control. Maybe they’d simply find an excuse to transfer Chen off of the Lan Long investigation, then arrest him later when the investigation was over—whenever that was. They certainly wouldn’t be interested in digging into Chen’s possible connection to the murder of an informant. That would attract unwanted media attention.
Unwanted media attention.
Nate knew what he was going to do.
He picked up his phone and dialed Al Francini’s number.
“Al Francini speaking.”
“Al, it’s Nate Daniels. Since we’re friends, I wanted to give you a heads-up about a story involving your office that’s going to be all over the news tomorrow.”
“What are you talking about? What story?”
“Remember that FBI agent who interviewed me about Lan Long—Billy Chen?”
“Yes,” Al said warily.
“It turns out that Lan Long was paying him. Over five hundred grand. And he was also in touch with Lan Long right before Linc Thomas’s murder and the attacks that killed three people and nearly killed my cocounsel and me. Oh, and he’s also been in touch with them again over the last few days. I’ll bet there’s something brewing as we speak.”
“You’re . . . you’re sure about all that?” Al asked, sounding stunned.
“Yes. I’ll send you the proof as soon as we’re off the phone, if you like.”
“Thanks.” The line was silent for a moment. “I’m not sure what to say. I’m shocked.”
“I understand. That’s why I wanted to give you advance warning before you started getting calls from reporters.”
“Wait—you can’t give this to the press. Let’s talk. We need to investigate this first.”
“Like you’ve been investigating the other information I gave you?” Nate replied. “The government never responded to my last offer, I have one client in prison, and you’ve been talking about prosecuting another.”
“We will absolutely prosecute if you go public and it turns out you broke any laws in putting this story together,” Al shot back. “I could probably put you in jail just for threatening to disclose this to the media.”
Nate checked the clock. Kevin and his parents should have landed in Andorra half an hour ago. “The person who put it together is outside your jurisdiction, fortunately. But I’ll make you a deal: you can have forty-eight hours to investigate—if you need to after you see what I’m about to send you. But I’ll need to see results on three fronts by the day after tomorrow. If not, this goes to the press. And if I get the slightest hint of any attempt to arrest or enjoin me or anyone else on my team, it goes to the press immediately.”
He could hear Al drumming his fingers. “What kind of results are you demanding?”
“First, Chen under arrest unless there’s a very good reason to leave him on the loose—and you’d need to explain that reason to me and get me to agree that it’s very good. Second, everything connected to him gets searched for DNA evidence—his car, apartment, gym locker, clothing. Everything. Third, immunity for the source of the information I’m giving you.”
Al blew out a breath. “Nate, I’ll be honest. I don’t see how I could possibly do all that in two days.”
“I’m sure somebody in the Justice Department can,” Nate said. “And they’ve got forty-eight hours.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Good luck.”
Nate ended the call. He turned and looked out the window again. “I hope that was a good idea,” he murmured to himself.
CHAPTER 106
The night mist chilled Cole’s exposed skin, and he shivered in his body armor. His team was waiting behind a stack of shipping containers in the shadow of a warehouse in the Port of Oakland. A new-looking container ship had just started unloading. A customs inspector had gone on board and was talking to one of the junior officers.
Hoping to get credit for cooperation, Billy had said during his interrogation that two of the containers on that ship would get “missed” during the inspection. Those held unconscious women.
Billy. Cole shook his head. They had worked together for five years. He had trusted Billy, considered him a friend. And for the last two and a half years, Billy had been feeding
information to Lan Long. No wonder Lan Long always stayed a step ahead of them. Until tonight—he hoped.
The inspector was going from container to container, checking each with some sort of handheld sensor. He tagged a few seemingly at random. All the while, he was talking to the junior officer, and they seemed to be having a good time. Cole could hear their voices and laughter over the water. He wondered whether Lan Long’s operatives had acted the same way when Linc came on board. Before they killed him.
Billy had denied having anything to do with Linc’s death. Maybe he was telling the truth on that. They had him cold on corruption charges, but all they had tying him to Linc’s death were some phone records that—
There. The inspector just passed two containers without checking them. He made it look like he had been distracted by his conversation, but he walked right past them. If Cole didn’t know better, he would have thought it was just a sloppy mistake.
Cole signaled to his team. They ran out of their hiding place and to the gangway, which was the only route onto or off of the ship. Once they had it blocked, they moved more deliberately, walking onto the ship carefully, guns at the ready.
The captain came out of the bridge, eyes wide and hands held out in a placating gesture. “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked in lightly accented English, sounding mystified.
He was a good actor. Or Billy had lied to them. Cole looked at the customs inspector and junior officer standing halfway down the deck. They were standing and staring, surprised looks on their faces. They weren’t reaching for guns or trying to hide. Just standing there, like they had no idea what was going on.
Cole pointed to the captain, the inspector, and the junior officer. “Watch them,” he said to the team coming up the gangway behind him.
He jogged down to the two containers the inspector had skipped. This was the moment of truth. He’d spent the last two and a half years of his career working toward this moment.
He unbolted the doors and pulled one of them open. The stench of urine and excrement seeped out into the damp night air. He shone a flashlight into the interior. Two rows of young women lay strapped onto filthy cots, IV lines running from their arms to bags of fluid hung on hooks on the interior walls of the container.