“If you were so concerned about something like this happening, why didn’t you send a SWAT team instead?” asked Web.
“It wasn’t my call. Orders came from higher up.”
“How high up?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“It is if my ass is going to be in the ringer over this.”
Bates just stubbornly shook his head.
“If the shots came from outside, somebody knew we were hitting the place,” said Romano.
“That’s brilliant, Romano, remind me to put you in for a promotion,” snapped Bates.
“Leaks can come from anywhere,” said Web, “from the bottom up or the top down, right, Perce?”
“Stow it, Web.”
“Is there anything you can tell us, then?”
“Actually, the night wasn’t a total waste.” He turned and opened a file on the desk behind him. “Found some interesting stuff on the Frees. Silas Free was among the dead. And with him were several gents in their sixties and four men who weren’t old enough to vote yet. I guess the Frees had really fallen out of favor after the school shooting—recruiting problems.”
“But no Ernest B. Free,” said Web. “I checked.”
“No. No Ernie.” Bates pulled some papers out of the file. “But hidden in a space in the floor of one of the houses we did find a quantity of bomb-making materials and three intelligence files on Judge Leadbetter, Scott Wingo and Fred Watkins.”
“Pretty clean trail,” said Romano.
“And that’s not all. We also found Oxycontin, Percocet and Percodan with a street value of about ten thousand dollars.”
Web looked surprised. “The Frees working the black market for prescription drugs?”
“Membership down, probably funds running low. Oxy is a big-time moneymaker in rural areas. It makes sense,” said Bates.
“Damn, do you think that’s the tie-in to what Cove was investigating? Frees set up a bogus drug op center in D.C., snooker Cove and HRT gets called in and then wiped out.”
Bates was already nodding. “And maybe they’re the ones putting the muscle on Westbrook and the other drug crews to get them to combine,” added Bates.
Though Web also nodded his head in agreement at this, something just didn’t feel right.
“We also found this,” continued Bates. “A roster of past and present members of the Free Society.” He looked at Web. “Want to take a guess who was once a Free?”
Web shook his head. “I’m too tired to think. Tell me.”
“Clyde Macy.”
Web forgot all about Oxycontin. “You’re kidding me.”
“From ten years ago, until about two months after the shooting in Richmond. The Frees kept good records; maybe to use as blackmail on ex-members later when their cash flow ran low. KKK probably does something like that.”
“Macy a Free, and then he jumps to being muscle for a black guy in ghetto D.C. Epiphany, or the man just looking for work where he can get it?”
“Don’t know. And we’ve now lost track of him. And of course there’s the other body.”
“What other body?”
“Antoine Peebles. Gunshot wound to the head. We found him last night.”
“You think Westbrook was behind it?”
“It makes sense, though nothing in this case has made sense so far.”
Web debated whether to tell Bates about Claire’s run-in with someone impersonating Big F but then finally decided against it. Web didn’t think the giant had been behind Peebles’s death. But he had no reason to help Big F, and he might just confuse things by telling Bates.
Web held out his hand for the file. “Mind if I take a look?”
Bates stared at him for a long moment. “Sure. But if you see anything that hits you funny, I’d appreciate knowing about it before you walk out of this office.”
While Romano stepped out of the room to speak to another Hotel Team member who passed by, Web turned through the pages. There was a posed photo of a younger Clyde Macy in combat garb holding a machine gun in one hand and a shotgun in the other and with a scowl that would probably scare off bears. As he read through the file, Web saw the speeding tickets Macy had gotten and that Bates had mentioned earlier. He glanced at the tickets and looked up. “A guy like this, and all he’s got are speeding tickets?”
“Hey, such is life. He’s one lucky or careful bastard or both,” said Bates.
“How about the rental truck that the machine guns came off?” “Silas Free did rent it. We checked with the rental agency. They remembered him. But about a week after he rented it, he filed a stolen vehicle report.”
“Pretty convenient,” said Web.
“No, it’s SOP for people plotting some serious stuff. Rent the vehicle and then say it was stolen. And you hide it somewhere and fill it full of explosives or, in this case, machine guns.”
“The rental truck is direct evidence of the Frees’ connection to what happened to Charlie Team,” said Web.
“And after last night, we are going to need it,” commented Bates ominously.
The next thing Web turned to made his mouth go dry. He looked up at Bates and showed him the pages. “What’s this?”
“Oh, that’s real cute. That’s the Frees’ newsletter. I guess they want to keep members informed on their various murders and mayhem. It’s a fairly recent thing, because I’d never heard of it before. They even have a website now, if you can believe it.”
Web didn’t hear Bates’s remark. He just stared at the name of the newsletter emblazoned across the top of the front page.
Damn to Hell. That was the name of the Free Society’s newsletter. And they were also the exact words Kevin Westbrook had spoken to him in the alley.
Web and Romano walked over to the ’Vette. Web was still deep in thought over what he had learned. It was all so murky, though, like the edges of a nightmare. You knew something formidable was lurking nearby, yet you couldn’t get a comfortable handle on it.
Web stowed his gear in the ’Vette and started to climb in the passenger side.
Romano was looking at him with an expression that was probably as close to sympathy as the man ever got. “Hey, Web, you know, all the years we’ve been working together I’ve never once let you drive this thing.”
Web looked confused. “What?”
“How about you drive us back to the farm? Trust me, when you’re feeling shitty, there’s nothing like a ride in this machine to get you back.”
“Thanks, Paulie, but I don’t think so.”
In response, Romano tossed the keys to Web, who caught them. “It’s like a bottle of great wine, Web, you have to sit back and just let the experience happen.” Romano climbed in the passenger side and looked at him. “You don’t keep a beautiful woman waiting, Web.”
“Don’t tell me you gave this thing a name too, like your guns.” “Just get in.” He winked at Web and added, “If you think you’re man enough.”
They drove out to the main road. Before they hit the highway,
Romano said, “Okay, rule number one, you get one scratch on her and your ass is mine.”
“You’d think after eight years of jumping out of choppers with me in the middle of the night with explosives tied to our butts that you’d trust me to drive your stupid car.”
“Rule number two, you call her a stupid car again and I’ll break your face. Her name is Destiny.”
“Destiny?”
“Destiny.”
When they reached Interstate 95, Web headed south and passed a state trooper writing a ticket. The hour was still early enough and they were heading against traffic, so they were pretty much alone.
“Okay, we got some breathing space now and a long straightaway. So punch it now or forever hold your gonads,” said Romano.
Web glanced at him and then hit the accelerator. The car roared to a hundred so fast Web could feel himself being held against the seat by the force of the acceleration. They flew past the only other car on the
road as if it had been parked. “Not bad, Paulie, and I’ve only got it halfway to the floor. Let’s see what it really can do.”
Web punched the gas again and the car rocketed even faster. They were now coming up to a curve in the highway. From the corner of his eye Web watched Romano. The guy looked calmly ahead, as though he drove this fast every day. Hell, maybe he did. Web cranked the car to a hundred and thirty and then a hundred and forty. The trees on either side were one green blur and the curve was directly ahead. There was no way Web could navigate it at this speed. Web glanced at Romano again and he saw a small bead of sweat appear on the man’s forehead. That alone was worth about ten million bucks.
They were two seconds from kissing a wall of pines.
“Okay, okay,” said Romano, “slow the damn thing down.”
“You mean slow Destiny down?”
“Just do it!”
Web hit the brakes and they soared around the long curve at a mere eighty miles an hour.
“Slow it down some more, I just changed the oil.”
“I’ll bet Destiny loved you being inside her. Was it good for you too?” Web cut it to seventy, found an exit and they pulled in front of a diner. Inside, they ordered coffee.
As the waitress walked off, Web leaned forward. “I hope you’re prepared for the heat we’re going to take about the Frees.” Romano shrugged but said nothing. “It’s going to come, you know.”
“Let it. Those pricks had it coming. Wasting Charlie.”
“They haven’t been convicted yet, Paulie.”
“The brass at the Bureau wouldn’t have authorized the hit unless they were damn sure they knew those punks had done it.” He added in a less confident tone, “At least I sure as hell hope so.”
Web leaned back. “What’s bothering me about this whole scenario is the fact that we’re expected to believe that the guys we just wiped out were sophisticated enough to put together an automated sniper nest using mini-guns stolen from the Army and they did it so well that nobody saw it coming. And on top of that, they murdered a judge, prosecutor and attorney using cutting-edge bomb materials and came within a whisker of taking out Billy Canfield and you and me as well? And now they’re supposed to be orchestrating a large-scale drug operation that’s reached into the District? And this is supposed to be revenge for something that happened years ago? Hell, most of the guys we just shot were still in sixth grade back when Ernie and his buddies hit that school. Their stupid sentries were playing video games and they had one subgun in the whole group. This shit does not compute, Paulie, or am I missing something?”
“No, it doesn’t add up,” he agreed. “But you got direct evidence, Web, enough to go to court with and win. And who gives a shit about the Frees? They’re scum.”
“That’s right. Who cares about the Frees? They make a perfect patsy. And everybody’s figuring they busted Ernest Free out of a maximum-security prison two thousand miles from here, but he wasn’t in that compound. And I’m thinking those losers would have as much chance of knocking over the White House as they would getting Ernie out of jail.”
Romano stared at Web. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking why a real tough street-drug dealer would bother to tell me about those tunnels. And I’m also wondering why a truck registered to Silas B. Free and later reported stolen is videotaped at the exact spot where we think the guns are going in once we know about the tunnels. You didn’t hear Bates say that because you had stepped out of the room. Maybe Silas was telling the truth. Maybe the truck was stolen. But you’re right, it’s connect-the-dots time, everything seems to fit. That may be nice and clean from a prosecutor’s point of view, but I don’t think even old Silas was that stupid, and I don’t think my good buddy Francis Westbrook is that charitable.” Web looked out the dirty window of the diner as sunlight started to stream in. Wouldn’t it be nice if things could clear up so pristinely in his head? He looked back at Romano. “Were you born with a silver spoon in your mouth, Paulie?”
“Yeah, right, one of ten kids in tenement housing in Brooklyn? Hell, I had my own butler.”
“Well, I wasn’t born with one either, but my gut tells me we were just spoonfed the sweetest damn concoction you ever saw and we swallowed every drop. I think somebody wanted the Frees wiped out, and we just did it for them.”
46
When they got back to East Winds, Web called Claire on her cell phone, but she didn’t answer. He tried her at work and got no answer. Web called the hotel where she was staying. No luck there either. He put the phone down, not liking any of that one bit. He mulled whether to go to the hotel or not. She might simply be in the shower. He decided to try later.
The next thing he and Romano did was something neither of them could avoid: They grabbed a few hours of sleep. After that they drove up to the main house and relieved the agents patrolling there. Gwen met them at the door, her face pale.
“We’ve seen the news,” she said. She led them inside to a sitting room off the main hallway.
“Where’s Billy?” asked Web.
“Upstairs. He’s just been lying in the bed. He hadn’t seen that tape in years. I didn’t even know it was on the damn shelf.” Web could see that her face was damp with tears.
“It was my fault, Gwen, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, playing that tape in your house.”
“It didn’t matter, Web, it was bound to happen sometime.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“You’ve damn well done enough.”
They all turned and looked at the doorway, where Billy stood in old jeans, bare feet, with his shirttail hanging out. His hair was in disarray and he basically looked like hell, observed Web. Billy lit up a cigarette and cupped his hand for an ashtray as he came forward. Web noted that Gwen made no move to stop him from smoking.
He sat down across from the two men, his piercing eyes watching them from behind the drifts of smoke. Web could smell the alcohol from where he stood and assumed Gwen could too. She rose from her chair to go to her husband, but he motioned her back down.
“We saw the TV,” said Billy.
“That’s what Gwen said,” replied Web.
Billy squinted at him, as though he were having trouble seeing over the one foot that separated them. “You killed them all?”
“Not all. Most.” Web kept his gaze on the man. Part of him thought Billy might toast the demise of the Frees, and part of him thought the man might throw him and Romano out for leaving any of them alive.
“How’d it feel?”
“Billy!” said Gwen. “You have no right to ask that. We’re talking about people being killed.”
“I know all about people being killed, honey,” said Billy as he shot her a smile that had nothing in it. He looked back at Web, awaiting an answer.
“It felt like shit. It always feels like shit. Most of them were high school age or grandfathers.”
“My son was ten.” He said this without emotion, just stating it as a clear, indisputable fact.
“I know that.”
“But I hear what you’re saying. It ain’t easy killing somebody, unless you’re way screwed up to begin with. It’s only hard for the good guys.” He pointed at Web and then at Romano. “For men like you.”
Gwen swiftly went to her husband before he could stop her again. She put an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go back upstairs.”
Billy ignored her. “TV says old Ernest B. Free wasn’t among the dead. That right?”
Web nodded and Billy smiled. “Sumbitch’s luck just keeps holding, doesn’t it?”
“Looks that way. But if he was planning to come home to his little group, he’ll have to find somewhere else to live.”
Billy considered this. “Well, that’s something.” He looked at Gwen. “Where’s Strait?”
Gwen seemed very relieved by the change in subject. “On his way back from the sale. He’ll be here tonight. He called from the road.
It went really well. Every yearling sold and we got the price we
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