by Mark Parragh
He needed someplace where the body would be found but where he could get in and out without being noticed. A few miles farther along, he saw blue signage with a white “H” pointing off the highway. A hospital. That would do.
The hospital was a sprawling three-story complex surrounded by parking lots and landscaped grounds. Crane pulled in and followed the signs that directed him toward visitor parking. At the end nearest the building, he found another lot announcing it was for doctors’ parking only. Crane pulled into that lot and let the Jeep roll slowly past the spaces, ranking the cars by vulnerability. Deep in the lot was an older Cadillac. Perfect.
Crane stopped behind it, hopped out, and went through the toolbox in the back of the Jeep. He found a long, thin metal rod for cranking the jack, and an oil-stained wooden wedge that Melissa probably stuck behind a tire to keep the Jeep stable on steep hillsides.
He forced the wedge into the rubber window molding on the driver’s side door and slowly forced the glass away from the Cadillac’s doorframe until he could get the rod inside. Then he simply slid the rod in and turned it to hit the lock button. The doors unlocked with a satisfying thunk.
Crane tossed his tools back into the Jeep and took another look around to make sure no one had noticed. Then he carried Acosta’s body to the car and wrestled it into the driver’s seat. The body fell over, but Crane pulled it back up to a sitting position so it would be visible.
“I’m sorry, Hector,” Crane murmured as he dug under the dash for the car’s alarm wiring. “I don’t know what you thought you were doing back there, but it was a useless death.”
The Cadillac’s alarm went off like a banshee’s wail, which Crane figured was about all the funeral he owed the man. He slammed the door, jumped back into the Jeep, and was out of the lot and gone before anyone came to see what was happening.
###
It was dark by the time Crane returned Melissa’s Jeep and caught a cab back to the Vanderbilt. It had been a long day and not a good one. He poured a drink from the minibar and turned on the TV. Officer Acosta’s death lead the news. It was the typical “police are searching for the killer of one of their own” story. It explained how Officer Hector Acosta, shown smiling in an undated photograph, had been shot during a routine traffic stop somewhere east of Carolina, a good thirty miles from Melissa’s lab. There was a plea for witnesses who had seen something along that stretch of highway to call police.
They’d covered it up well enough, but Crane knew they’d be looking for him behind the scenes. The question was how high up it went. That was something he’d have to discover for himself.
Now came the other unpleasant and risky thing he had to do. Crane took out his phone and dialed the private number Josh Sulenski had given him.
There was a thin background hiss when Josh answered. Crane guessed he was on an airplane, speaking into something that was trying to cancel out the engine noise.
“John, how are you? Do you have any news?”
“Are you somewhere you can talk?”
A note of concern entered Josh’s voice. “I’m on my jet. What’s going on, John?”
Quickly and concisely, Crane recounted what had happened, from his arrival at the facility to disposing of Acosta’s body. To his credit, Josh remained quiet and let Crane detail what little he knew about who and why.
There was a long beat of silence when Crane stopped speaking. Finally Josh let out a breath. “Are Melissa and her people safe?” he asked. “I can get them out of Puerto Rico tonight.”
“If they wanted to kill her team, they had plenty of opportunity. They just wanted the project dead. I think as long as it stays that way, they’re okay. Just tell them to lay low; they can’t start up until this is settled.”
“Melissa won’t like that.”
Crane chuckled. “No, she won’t. She damn near got herself killed taking one of them on with a steel pipe.”
“She doesn’t back down from much. That’s why I decided to fund her.”
“Well, talk her down. I’ll need her help, but I can’t do this if she keeps going off half cocked.”
Josh paused. “Are you?” he said at last. “Doing this, I mean? A dead cop… I mean, this is a lot more than you signed on for, John. Say the word, and I can get you out of there tonight too.”
Crane stood up and walked over to the window. Outside the wind blew strong and steady off the sea, and whitecaps glowed in the moonlight as they rolled up the beach.
“No,” he said after a moment. “I’m all in if you want me. But that means you’re all in too. No questioning my tactics or complaining about my expenses. And there’s no backing out after this call. I’m not planning to stop until I know why this happened and who’s responsible. And they’re going to have a problem with me. I just told you I killed a police officer, Josh. It’s gut-check time.”
There was another long silence, no doubt while Josh considered the implications of becoming an accessory after the fact.
“Do what you need to do,” he said at last. “You’ll have all the backup I can give you. So we’re up against the Puerto Rican state police. What do they have against Melissa’s project? Did she get too close to something? Are they up to something out there in the rainforest?”
“No, there’s nothing out there. I’ve been all over that place, and I can’t see any reason why they’d give a damn. Best guess is that they’re working for somebody else who does care about it.”
“How do we find them?”
“We follow the chain back to whoever’s pulling on it. You don’t advertise on Craigslist for cops to do your dirty work. These guys were already bent. They’re into something else, and that led to this. So I’m going to find them and get into their business. I’m going to shake things up until something falls out.”
“What do you need from me?” Josh asked.
“I’ll need some things I can’t just pick up at the mall. I’ll send you a shopping list. You should be aware not everything on it will be entirely legal for civilian use.”
“I’ve got a guy who can source whatever you need,” said Josh. “Might even surprise you. I’ll send you a care package.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. This means a lot to me, John. I want to be clear about that. If you weren’t there, today still would have happened, and it would be just as bad, or maybe worse. We just wouldn’t have any way to fight back.”
“Take care,” Crane said. “I’ll call when I’ve got something to tell you.”
“Okay. I’ll keep an eye out for your shopping list.”
Then Josh hung up and Crane stood there for a long time, looking out over the sea. He opened the sliding glass door and let the breeze sweep over him as the tide rolled in, and dance music drifted up the beach from the clubs in Condado.
He wasn’t a government agent anymore. He was out here without the US military and intelligence machine as his lifeline. All he had backing him up now was a rich kid who wanted to do the right thing.
He hoped that would be enough.
Chapter 13
Acevedo sat in his cruiser with a flask of rum and waited. It was a bad end to a bad day. Acosta’s body had turned up in a hospital parking lot of all places. He’d had to fix things with the local cops who got the call. Thankfully, cops tended not to think straight when another officer died. They bought his story about Acosta working undercover to catch drug thieves working the hospital. They’d helped him sell the official story—that he’d been shot during a traffic stop and left to die on the side of Highway 3.
He’d just come from telling Acosta’s wife that version, hearing her shrieks, swearing he’d track down whoever killed her husband. Then there was the rest of his crew, all thinking it could have been them. Thinking he’d led them into this mess and gotten one of them killed.
He took another pull on the flask, felt the liquor burn its way down his throat. He’d lost a good friend today, and he didn’t even have a chance to mourn. He w
as too busy trying to contain the damage before everything blew up in his face.
The Little Russian’s BMW appeared, and Acevedo slipped the flask under his seat. Then he got out of the car, walked around it, and leaned against the front fender. Some instinct told him he didn’t want to be shut inside the car for this.
The Little Russian pulled up alongside and eyed him for a moment before he cut his music.
“Is it done?”
“Yeah, it’s done,” he said, a little too quickly. “They’re out of business.”
“Something’s wrong. What?”
“Someone was there, that’s what. Someone who killed Acosta.”
He recounted the story of the attack. All the details. Zajic grew more agitated as he went on. “This man,” he said afterward. “Who was this man?”
“The hell if I know! She went for help. She came back with one man. We figured he was an insurance man or something.”
“We need to find him. He’s a threat.”
“What the hell do you want now? Track this guy down for you? How do we do that?”
Zajic swore in his native tongue. Acevedo didn’t understand the words, but the intent was clear.
“You’re the fucking cops! Don’t they teach you how to find somebody? Jesus. You need a clue? Okay? The woman. She brought this guy, right? Put some guys on her! Follow her until she leads you to him!”
“No. This is not our problem. This is your shit that you dragged us into. We’re done. You want the guy, you go find him.”
“Not how it works, little police man. You fucked up. You need to make it right. And fast.”
Acevedo’s temper surged. “Make it right?” He slapped the hood of the cruiser. “Fuck you, make it right. This shit is not our job, you hear me? We pick up the drugs, we get them to the airport, we get them on planes. That’s what we do! Shooting up somebody’s fucking lab in the jungle is on your side of the fence, you understand?”
The Little Russian opened his door and stepped out. Jesus, he was huge. Acevedo couldn’t figure out how he moved around on that stupid boat he lived on with its tight quarters.
Zajic moved right into his space, inches from Acevedo’s face, cold eyes looking down into his. It occurred to him that it was a very dangerous thing he’d done. But it wasn’t the most dangerous thing he’d done today. Acevedo held his ground.
There was a long, tense moment. The only sound was the odd truck rolling by on the road, the sound of engines peaking and then fading away into the night. Finally, Zajic stepped back with a shrug.
“Okay, if that’s how you want it, okay,” he said. He took a phone out of his jacket pocket. The screen gave off a greenish glow. He held out the phone, and Acevedo took it because he didn’t know what else to do. “You can talk to the boss yourself.”
Acevedo looked at the phone in confusion. There was an active call in progress. What the hell was going on? How did he…
He put the phone to his ear but heard only static.
“Hello? Is somebody there?” he said.
Zajic sighed and reached around to whack him on the back of the head.
“Not Spanish. Come on. Think. Use English. And talk slow.”
“Hello, this is Sergeant Javier Acevedo, Puerto Rico Police,” he said in English.
There was a long beat of silence, just the soft hiss of network noise on the phone. Then a heavily accented voice said, “Do you know who you are speaking to, Sergeant?”
“I think so.”
“Good, good. I’m glad Emil has told you something about me. He’s told me a great deal about you. You’re part of the chain that moves my product. So I learn all I can about you. Do you understand?”
The silence dragged until Acevedo decided it hadn’t been a rhetorical question. “I understand,” he said.
“Yours is a small piece of the operation,” the voice went on. “I have to watch all of it, beginning to end. That means I must keep my eye on more than you must to do your part. And so when I asked you to shut down the research project in the jungle, I understand this makes no sense to you. I ask you to trust me because I have my eye on the big picture.”
Acevedo glanced at Zajic. He stood in a wide, ready stance. His expression was unreadable.
“So I ask you to do this strange thing for me, knowing you will think I’m a crazy old man who wastes your time. But you did it, and I thank you. But there are complications, yes?”
“There was a new man there,” he said. “A stranger. He was no scientist. He killed one of my men.”
“I share your grief. I too command soldiers,” the man said, and now Acevedo could hear truth in his voice. “When one of my men is killed, at least it’s simple. We bury him, we grieve, we take care of his family. But no one questions it. In our world, there is violence and men die. For you, I know it’s not the same. When a policeman dies, there are many questions.”
“Yes. I put out a cover story. But there will be investigations, scrutiny. I told your man here, this endangers our operation—”
“I know that,” the voice interrupted. “Which is why I understand your reluctance. But this man…appearing here now, it puts us all in danger, Sergeant. In much more danger than you understand.
“A man in my business makes many enemies. I succeed because I know what my enemies are doing. This isn’t easy. Say someone attacks one of my gambling rings and kills my men. I have many questions. Who did it? Who were they working for? Why hit me exactly there and now? The answers aren’t always clear. Maybe two enemies have joined forces against me. Maybe a newcomer wants to muscle in. It can be very complicated. Many times I can only guess, and that is what I am doing now. There is a group that has a reputation in my field. A very bad reputation. I have been worried they will interfere with me, and now someone has done just that.”
Acevedo didn’t know how much of this he was supposed to know. But he knew more than they thought he did. He’d heard Zajic talking about something they called Team Kilo. Acevedo had no idea who this Team Kilo was, but he knew Zajic and his boss were scared to death of them. Scared enough to break protocol this way. Scared enough that Acevedo began to be afraid himself.
“If they’ve taken an interest in our operation there, then I need to know that. So though I know you don’t understand why and though I know you have a problem with your dead cop, I’m telling you this is more important. I need you to find this man. I need to know exactly what he’s told his people. And then I need him dead.”
“It is difficult for me to act unobserved—”
“My own safety is, of course, my first priority,” the voice interrupted, suddenly ruthless and cold. “If I have to, I will act myself to cut the cords leading back to me. It’s not as though this man would spare your life, Sergeant. Or that of your lovely wife, Emilia. Or Ruben or little Belinda.”
He let the threat hang there. Acevedo struggled to control his fear and anger.
“They know nothing about this,” he finally choked out.
“Of course not. But they can be used to squeeze you, and that means they aren’t safe. Do you understand me now?”
Acevedo felt himself trembling involuntarily. He clenched his muscles, trying to hide it from Zajic.
“I understand,” he said.
“Good. I know you will do all you can. Now I need to talk to Emil. Good hunting, Sergeant Acevedo.”
Acevedo thrust the phone at Zajic like something radioactive. Zajic took it and listened for perhaps five seconds. Then he said a couple words in his native tongue and hung up.
“So now you know what we’re up against,” he said. “We live or die based on whether we find this man. I suggest we find him before the Colombians get here.”
Chapter 14
The sky was gray, and mist hung in the morning air as Crane and Melissa drove back to the lab. Neither spoke until they pulled through the gates into the empty parking lot. The building sat there, surrounded by dripping greenery, its front glass wall now a gaping dark hole. It lo
oked like some lost ancient tomb, Crane thought.
He’d gone shopping again, for cleaning supplies this time. They unloaded them from the back of the Jeep and silently headed inside. Their footsteps echoed off the bare cement.
They found the dark stain of dried blood in the hallway. Crane glanced over at Melissa and saw her reliving that moment again.
“Is it just here?” she said.
“Nobody else got hurt,” said Crane. “But I carried him out. We should double-check my route from here to the doors.”
“I’ll have a look around,” said Melissa.
While she was gone, Crane carefully scrubbed away Acosta’s blood with a wire brush and a wet sponge. He soaked the area down with detergent and cleaned it again. Then he washed the area with bleach, and another wash with water to clear the bleach.
When he was satisfied that he’d done all he could, he sprinkled the area with luminol powder and went over it inch by inch with a portable UV flashlight. It would do. Even if they went over the scene in depth, which Crane doubted, there was nothing left to prove what happened here. He cleaned up the luminol and took the supplies back to the Jeep.
Melissa still hadn’t returned when he got back. He went looking and eventually found her in one of the lab spaces off the atrium. She was surrounded by the remains of esoteric lab equipment, and Crane could see she’d been crying. He put a hand gently on her shoulder.
“That’s a high seek ten,” she said softly, pointing to a large metal box that had been shredded by bullets. Crane spotted a label that read HiSeqX. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get our hands on that? They cost a million dollars, but you can’t buy just one. You have to buy ten. We found a biotech startup in Boston that wanted five, so we scraped around until we found four other projects looking for one and we went in together on them. When it showed up, we all just sat and looked at it for like an hour because we couldn’t believe we had one of our own. A high seek. Out here in the middle of nowhere. We’ll never replace that.”