by James Hunt
“He killed himself because of what Joza would do to him when he discovered the abduction failed.” Grant shook his head. “Those guys were willing to take their own lives because they were afraid of one man. I’ve never seen anything like that before. Have you?”
Sam hesitated. “You shouldn’t have even been in the woods in the first place. What’s the name of the officer who gave you a weapon? He should be reported.”
Grant paused, taking a breath and then leaned closer to Sam. “We have a mole that we haven’t questioned, a man in custody who won’t talk, and two parents that are still missing. How much longer do you think they’ll stay alive now that they don’t have the girl?” He watched the officers and shook his head, that itch in the back of his mind still not scratched. “I don’t think Kover was the only mole.”
Sam stepped closer, arms still crossed but her interest piqued. “How do you know that?”
“Mullens said he was told that this route would be clear,” Grant answered.
“Christ.” Sam dropped her arms to her sides then scanned the officers sweeping the woods. “Who do you think it is?”
“Could be Hickem,” Grant said, sounding unsure. “Maybe another member of his team. But I definitely think it’s someone high in the ranks.”
“Grant, throwing around those kinds of accusations around these types of people isn’t going to make you friends anytime soon.” Sam arched both eyebrows. “It’s dangerous. Trust me.”
“We need to press that mercenary we have in custody harder,” Grant said. “Get me in a room with that guy. Shut off the recording devices, and let me see if I can’t get anything out of him. The fact that he didn’t kill himself when his partner did means that he doesn’t feel as strongly about their employer’s repercussions.”
“And what am I supposed to tell Multz?” Sam crossed her arms.
“He’ll approve it,” Grant answered.
“What makes you say that?” Sam asked.
“Because he knows we’re running out of options.”
Sam dropped her arms and gave him the once-over, a mixture of fascination and sadness on her face. “You know, I read your court transcripts after you were dismissed from the police department. You told the prosecutors who were pressing charges that you knew you were out of your jurisdiction, and you knew that it was dangerous to continue your investigation even after your superior officers instructed you to stand down. And despite all of that, you still did it.”
“Yeah,” Grant said.
“And then you said that if you had a chance to do it over again, you wouldn’t change a single thing, because there is no way to know the future. You’re given leads, and you follow them until you reach a dead end.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, but the nervous twitch passed quickly. “You still feel that way?”
He shifted, trying to find his footing on the roots. “You know, I’ve had more nightmares about my career as a detective than I’d care to count. But in all the worst versions of my nightmares, you know what doesn’t scare me?”
“What?”
“Action. We make decisions. We live with them. And then we move on. You spend too much time on it, and you’re just keeping yourself in the past.”
“And is that what you did?” she asked. “You move on, Grant? Finally put that past behind you? Or is this some kind of atonement? Trying to save the people that you couldn’t?”
He wiped his mouth, chuckling to himself. “You people read these cases and think the decisions are so easy out there. That some magical answer will appear just when you need it, but that’s not what happens. Shit hits the fan, and you do your best to dodge the bullets and save as many lives as you can. But I guess you’d know that if you were any good at your job.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Grant regretted them, even before the wounded expression on Sam’s face.
“All right, Grant,” Sam said, nodding. “I’ll make the call. And you know what? They’ll probably give it to you.” She turned to the crowded forest and gestured to the massive show of officers and agents. “After all, you’re single-handedly solving this case for us.” She looked back at him. “Let’s just hope nobody dies on this one.”
The words were meant to hurt, and they did. But he knew Sam had a point. He was treading into familiar territory again. That feeling, that itch, it wasn’t going to go away until this was done. And whenever he scratched, trouble always followed him.
It was just before noon when Grant and Sam arrived back at the marshal building in Seattle. Anna had been taken to a hospital for a checkup. The abductors had given her some kind of sedative, and the medics were trying to figure out what it was. They didn’t think it was anything lethal, but they were running a litany of tests on her to make sure.
The ride back was awful. Grant felt bad for Lane, who didn’t have much of a conversationalist in Grant on their return. After all of his talk about decisions, Grant kept wishing for a do-over with his last conversation with Sam.
“Everything all right, Grant?” Lane asked.
“Fine, Lane,” Grant answered. “Just fine.”
When they returned to the marshal building, Grant found that they were the last to arrive. After they parked, he turned to Lane. “I appreciate your help. You did good work today.” He started to open the door, and then stopped. “And, hey, I asked Mocks to look up the utility account at the house where we found the ferry ticket, but I never heard anything back. Can you check on that for me?”
Lane’s eyes widened. “Absolutely.”
Grant smiled and patted him on the shoulder, and got out.
The lobby was teeming with a mixture of marshals, FBI, and local police. A few people had set up a permanent spot in the lobby due to the lack of desks. Grant weaved through the bodies, heading straight for Multz’s office. The door was cracked open, and Grant let himself in.
Sam and Multz were whispering to one another, and the moment Grant stepped inside, Sam left without a word.
Multz paused for a moment and then pointed at Grant. “You get five minutes. No more. You can’t get anything out of him in that time, that’s it. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, get out.”
Grant headed to the interrogation room, where he found Sam already waiting for him at the door. Their exchange was wordless as Sam unlocked the door and then stepped into the observation room to watch through the one-way glass.
Grant stared down at the timer on his watch, which was still running from when he started it during Anna’s abduction. He stopped it, reset it, and then stepped into the room. The door swung shut on its own, locking him inside.
Gusto Dibrov was shackled to his chair, shirtless, the edges of a white bandage crawling over his shoulder from his back where he’d been shot. His right arm was in a sling, and he eyed Grant lazily. He spoke something in Russian and then spit on the floor.
Grant looked at the spit on the floor. “I’ll make you clean that up later.” He bypassed the empty chair across from the prisoner and instead sat on the edge of the table next to where Gusto was chained. “But right now I need some answers. And you’re the only person left alive that I can question.”
Gusto spoke more gibberish, the thick Slavic accent making it sound as if his tongue was swollen, and then spit on Grant’s shoe.
Grant looked down at the spittle and nodded. “Let’s start with something simple. Was it Joza who hired you to take the girl?”
Gusto turned away, maintaining his apathetic posture in the chair, at least as much as the chains that shackled him would allow.
Grant looked back at the one-way glass, knowing that Sam was on the other side, and knowing that he was already one minute into his allotted five. He slid off the table and then stood right next to Gusto, staring down at the top of the man’s buzzed head. “We don’t have to do this the hard way.”
Gusto laughed then licked his lips as he eyed Grant. “You going to hurt me, cop? I don’t think so. Because this
place won’t let you. You have laws. You have a code. You’re not allowed to do things the hard way.”
Grant drummed his fingers on the table while Gusto gave a mocking smile. “There are two things you need to know.” He crossed his arms. “The first is that whatever rights you think you’re entitled to ended the moment you opened fire on federal agents inside a federal building. Current law dictates that that is an act of terrorism.” He then bent at the waist, resting his hands on his thighs, and pushed his face within an inch of Gusto’s. “And I’m not a cop.”
“Fuck you,” Gusto said, the English muddled with his Slavic tongue.
Quickly, Grant palmed the back of Gusto’s head and then pivoted all of his weight behind the slam that smashed the man’s face into the table, the dull whack of meat and bone against wood preceding the groan of pain.
Grant kept pressure on the back of Gusto’s head, the man squirming beneath but unable to fend off the attack. “Was it Joza?”
Mumbled groans of pain and nonsense answered, and Grant removed his hand, letting Gusto fling himself into the back of his chair. Blood dripped from his nose, which had bent harshly to the right, forcing him to breathe out of his mouth. A tooth and blood covered the table.
Grant punched Gusto in the stomach. “Was it Joza?”
“Yes!” Gusto screamed, gasping for breath as the chains connected to the shackles on his wrists and ankles tightened as he squirmed in his seat. “Joza. Yes.” He closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing, and then straightened up in his chair.
Grant punched Gusto in the face and then hid the fact that his hand was shaking from the blow. He circled around the back of Gusto’s chair and then sidled up on the other side and positioned his hand around Gusto’s throat. He applied pressure lightly and tilted his head back. “Are the parents still alive?”
Gusto choked and then wheezed a few breaths. “I can’t fucking breathe.”
“Focus, Gusto.” Grant tightened his grip. “Are the parents still alive?”
Gusto nodded.
“Are they out of the country?”
Gusto squirmed in more desperate attempts for air, but the random shakes of his head masked his answers. His eyes bulged as he looked at Grant.
“Are they out of the country?” Grant never broke eye contact with him.
Gusto shook his head, his motions exaggerated to make sure that Grant understood the answer. His lips started to turn blue.
“Where are they being hidden?” But as Grant pressed and his grip tightened, Gusto’s eyelids fluttered, and the muscles in his face relaxed. Finally, Grant let go.
Gusto sucked down air in greedy gulps, but Grant didn’t let him rest as he fingered the bullet wound on Gusto’s back. He screamed, thrashing in the chair.
“Where are the parents?” Grant asked.
“The mother,” Gusto answered, scrunching his face tight. “I only know where the mother is.”
“Where?”
“Four, four. Nine, nine, nine, six.” Gusto swallowed. “One, zero, nine. Zero, three, one.”
“Those are coordinates?” Grant kept pressure on the wound.
“Yes!” Gusto screamed, nodding vigorously.
Grant removed his hand and then headed for the door, waiting until someone opened it for him. And he was surprised to find Sam standing there as he stepped out. “Where is it?”
“Wyoming-Montana border west of Highway 120-72. We’re working on getting satellite imagery of the place, but from a quick glance, it doesn’t look like there is anything there.”
“How long?”
“Choppers take off in ten.”
“Good. We need to get there as quick as we can.”
“We?” Sam stuck her arm out, stopping both of them on their walk toward the building’s exit. “Director Multz made your position perfectly clear. Predict and analyze. You’re not supposed to be in the field.”
“The only reason we got Anna back was because I was in the field,” Grant said. “I can help.”
“I’m trying to make sure we stay on protocol. We’ve broken it enough already by having you go in there and—”
“I can get it done!” The flash of anger surprised both of them. “I can finish this.”
Sam shook her head, confused. “What is this about? What are you trying to prove?”
The question hung in the air, and before Grant could formulate an answer, Hickem walked up behind the pair of them, slapping Grant on the shoulder as he passed. “Grant, you’re riding with me. Sam, you’ll be in chopper two. Let’s go!”
He fell into stride behind Hickem. Maybe this was about atonement. Maybe this was Grant’s second chance to get it right, to not let any life fall through the cracks. But then what? What came after that? When did it end for him?
8
The headsets muffled the noise of the chopper blades, but the chatter over the radio felt just as loud as the whine of the aircraft’s motors. Grant paid attention to the portions that he needed to hear. Local law enforcement had already been notified and had blocked off the only road that led anywhere near to the location from the kidnapper’s coordinates.
“Grant,” Hickem said, turning in the front seat of the chopper. “You’ll be part of team one along with Sam and me. The chopper is going to drop us off a few miles from the coordinates to make sure we don’t spook these guys. We’ve already got a SWAT team moving into position, and they have visual confirmation that there is a cabin on site.”
“How many hostiles?” Grant asked, the radio providing a little feedback as he spoke.
“Unknown, but there is only one vehicle on property, so unless they flew in, it shouldn’t be more than three or four, five at the max.”
“Do we at least have confirmation that the house is occupied?”
“Negative. No visuals reported.”
Grant exhaled. If they knew one of their guys was captured, the characters in charge were smart enough to know they should move the victims. But if the mercenaries’ employer were also under the impression that their hired guns fought to the death, sure that they would never turn, then they might stay put. Grant was definitely hoping for the latter.
“Five minutes till the drop site,” the pilot said.
Grant stared at the back of Hickem’s head, still unsure of his motives. There had been no talk of the mole in his unit that had started all of this, and they had zero ideas of what prompted the FBI agent to turn. “What’s the progress with Agent Kover?”
“We have him in a holding tank.” Hickem kept his face forward. “Hasn’t said anything, but we can wait him out.”
“When will we have access?”
Hickem laughed. “C’mon, Grant. You know how these things work. No department likes to have their dirty laundry flapping in the breeze. It’s being handled internally. And as hard as it might be for you...” He turned around. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
Their eyes lingered on one another, both sporting their poker faces. Grant knew whatever truth the FBI did find out in their “internal investigation” would be limited to the public eye.
The chopper slowed, and the pilot found a level patch in the rolling mountains, and Grant, Hickem, and the other two FBI agents that rode with Grant in the back ducked low on their exit, the blades’ whirling winds helping to push them from the aircraft.
Grant found a spot beneath the shade of a tree and adjusted the Kevlar strapped to his chest as the second chopper landed, dropping off Sam with another pair of marshals he didn’t recognize. One wore a cowboy hat that he clamped down on the top of his head, his outfit complete with boots and a pair of dark aviator shades.
The second marshal was bald and wore a pair of glasses that were large and rectangular. His face and midsection sagged with the age and experience of someone nearing retirement.
Sam retained her icy demeanor toward Grant, refusing to acknowledge his presence. He wasn’t sure if she was upset because he had been right, or she had been wrong. If he had
to put money on it, he would say it was a little bit of both.
As the second chopper took off, blasting everyone with more high-speed winds, the seven-member tactical squad formed a circle, Grant acting as the connecting piece between the two agencies.
“Local SWAT still in position?” Sam asked.
Hickem nodded. “They’ve been instructed to hold until we arrive. Still no updates on whether we have any bodies inside.”
Cowboy Hat spit and placed his hands on his hips. “What kind of setup are we looking at?”
“Two entrances,” Hickem said. “Front and back, which face north and south. Two windows on the south side, which is the front of the house, one window on the north side. Two windows each on east and west walls. All of them blacked out.”
“Only one story?” Sam asked.
“Yup. And there is heavy brush around the property, so we shouldn’t have any problems with keeping our presence a surprise.”
“Not unless ol’ Rodney here had beans for lunch.” The cowboy accompanied the statement with a nudge to his partner and a hyena-esque laugh.
“Marshals will take the front door,” Sam said.
“Like hell you will,” Hickem replied, puffing out his chest. “FBI takes the lead on this one.”
“Since when?” Sam asked, not backing down.
“Since you let that family be taken.”
Sam marched into the circle, getting in Hickem’s face, her nostrils flared as she shoved her finger into Hickem’s Kevlar. “That’s fucking bullshit, and you know it! It was your guy that gave away the Copellas’ position.”
Sam’s marshals stepped up behind her, and Hickem’s men backed him up.
“You’ve done nothing but keep us in the dark about whatever the hell kind of operations you’re running in your division, and I trust you about as far as I can throw you.” Sam shoved Hickem hard in the chest, but the big brute barely stepped back.
Hickem moved his hand so fast and so close to Sam’s face that the pair of marshals behind her placed their hands on their pistols, triggering Hickem’s men to do the same, but he never touched her. “You’re way out of line!”