“Just be sure to tell Carter...again, I’m sorry. I know you admired Marksman. But we’ve got no one to trust. Not Dad, not the CIA, not the Det.”
And maybe not Lori. Working some financial investigation that few in CIA knew about? Sounded like an excuse for loose accountability. Now she says they can’t trust her side, either. Suspicious. Maybe she’s dirty and the hit was the CIA doing housecleaning. The thought jolted his tired mind.
But not his wife, the mother of their kids. Not in her nature. She’d always put the family first. Even breast-fed all three kids while holding down a job just because a doctor said it was better for their immune system. And she’d never lied to him before.
His eyes darted to her leg. Damn it. There was no way he was getting sex tonight. A wave of guilt filled his stomach.
Focus. His mind was getting tired.
No, it definitely couldn’t have been a CIA hit. Way too public. Whoever put out the contract was making a statement, or being sloppy. They wanted it in full view, violent, with lots of guns and excitement, enough to win front-page news.
Red sat upright. “We’ve got Carter. He’s a friend, even if a reluctant one. He needs more time. You’d better call your family and let them know you’re OK.”
She shook her head. “No. They don’t know I was shot and they’re not going to know anything about this. I’ll explain the leg by telling them I got hurt riding. They’ll believe it because of what just happened to Penny. No loss without some small gain.”
The phone in his pocket vibrated, then rang with three sharp beeps. He flinched. The ringtone he’d assigned the Det.
Lori opened her eyes. Her shoulders drooped with exhaustion. “Go ahead and answer,” she mumbled, half-asleep now, squeezing his hand.
Red stepped into the bathroom, and the thick one-hour rated fire door thudded shut. He glanced at the glowing screen, pressed the message icon. It read conference call. His stomach knotted. He’d been activated. The phone beeped again, now an incoming call. It was Grace, his assistant and administrative right hand at the Det. He’d only known her a couple of weeks, but she was so efficient it annoyed him. Her attitude was an eclectic mix of confidence—bordering on cocky—and humility. He never knew which one he’d get. But when he had shown up as squadron commander on the first day, centered on the red mahogany desk was a new eight-by-ten photo of Lori. It seemed Grace had his back.
“We’re OK,” he told her. “Lori’s alive, but took a round through the calf.”
“Damn it. Sorry to hear. She enduring it OK?”
“Pissed at first, but now just exhausted.”
“Hate to be the one to say it, but you’re active. Get your ass to work.”
Red sat on the toilet seat. “I was told we’d be dark for at least another week. When did it happen?”
“Just came down. You got the notification, right? I logged in and the activation is command level only, plus the liaisons. You need me to come in, too?”
“So...it may not be an op.”
“Not yet, from what little the order said.” A baby’s cry rang in the background. She whispered, “But it’s no coincidence you’re active right after all hell breaks loose on you two. You need me?”
“Please.”
“I’m already dressed. Be there in half an hour.”
Red slipped the phone into his jeans pocket, angry he’d answered it. The Det could manage a few hours without him. He needed to stay here with Lori. He opened the bathroom door, casting light across his wife’s body, but she didn’t move till he picked her hand back up. She started awake. “The gears are already turning. I’m active.”
Lori breathed deep, then closed her eyes again and laid her head to one side. “Might be for the good. If it’s about whoever took a crack at me, you’ve got my blessing. Don’t come back till they’re dead. Them, and whatever other sonsofbitches...” Her lips moved, but nothing more came out. He bent and pressed his against them, then opened the curtain. He nodded to a bulky tan-suited man and squatty woman, similarly appointed, two pillars standing outside the hospital room door. He pulled the lever below the disinfectant bottle with a squeak and worked the liquid between his knuckles as he stormed down the hall.
Chapter 14 – Capacitors
Beijing, China. Present day.
A cold morning mist wet Zhāng Dàwe’s cheek. The Chinese man stepped out of the JAC truck into a shallow puddle. A splash of muddy water flew toward a guard in green fatigues, a subdued red star on each shoulder. It fell short. Damn.
His trick knee locked. Stumbling, he braced the other leg in time to catch himself. The guard lifted a corner of a blue poly tarp stretched across the flatbed, then unhooked a bungee, revealing a pallet of white canisters, each the size of a large can of apples.
The thin, young skin of the guard’s forehead wrinkled. “How many of these you need?”
Zhāng looked down. He slid a palm across the edge of the bed rail. “They keep burning up, sir. We figured out it was a design flaw, so the factory gave me all these. Said I was to replace them once a week till they get it right.” He counted on his fingers. “The coolers have thirty, so this should last one month. May need more if the factory doesn’t get the problem fixed by then.” He pointed to a white corrugated-steel warehouse behind a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. “You must run a massive data center with all those coolers. Ever going to let me see inside?”
The guard folded his hands atop the Type 95 assault rifle slung around his neck. “No.” He took a step toward Zhāng so they stood toe to toe. His breath smelled of kimchi. “Know your place, old man. No more jokes. Do not ask again.”
Zhāng stepped back and bowed. A short man in black suit and glasses climbed into the passenger seat. A new escort, with a chest thick enough to bench-press the truck.
“I can pass?”
The guard lifted another corner of the tarp. “How do I know these are capacitors? Maybe they’re something else.”
“Pick one up,” Zhāng said, smiling, eyes downcast, head bobbing in a mock bow. Arrogant murderous bastard.
The guard’s hand landed on one of the objects, then reached farther into the pallet and lifted another. He held it before his nose, frowning, as if inspecting grapefruit at the market. “It’s light.”
Zhāng bobbed his head again. “Yes, yes.”
The guard slid a hand under the pallet and lifted the entire side.
“See? Nothing to worry about.” That’s right, prick. I’m harmless. Just a senile old man.
Some years after killing his uncle, Zhāng had begun to have pity for the communists, many of them brainwashed from youth. But at their core they were still the power-lust cadres who’d stolen his family land, humiliated Papa, and destroyed centuries of Chinese progress. Today, most of the population had been lulled into complacency by their overlords loosening their strangle hold of control, but Zhāng was no fool.
Arriving in Beijing at nineteen years of age, he’d worked on an electric components assembly line, clawing his way to supervisor, now even driving a company truck. Surviving through the failure and starvation of the Great Leap Forward taught him to seize any opportunity that came. And he had done it yet again, six months ago when approached by an acquaintance with whom he’d often shared a table at lunch. But this man was gregarious, had many friends, and his proposition to Zhāng, somehow, hadn’t felt a surprise.
The guard slid the capacitor back into its slot, glanced toward the gatehouse, and lifted a finger. The fence rumbled open. A rock skipped across the pavement, thrown from a tire as Zhāng drove forward.
The escort pointed to a low concrete outbuilding, a brown rust stain streaking down from light boxes mounted on either side of a roll-up door. “Put them out there.”
Careful. Don’t show arrogance. Zhāng cleared his throat. “Sir, the factory says they’re burning up from temperature ch
anges. Cracking, and moisture getting in. The temperature in the warehouse is steady. If they aren’t kept there, they may be bad by the time I swap them out.”
The escort shifted his bulk in the seat. He grumbled.
Zhāng allowed a half smile. “They will fit in the utility area fine. I will make sure of it. There was an empty spot back in the corner, last time I was here.” He stopped abreast of heavy double steel doors set in the side of the large warehouse and stepped on the stiff parking brake. “I’ll need help carrying the pallet.”
The escort held a black radio to one ear, free hand on the warehouse door handle. In a few minutes the heavy slabs swung open, edges notched to overlap. Zhāng carried one side of the pallet, pointing with his jutted chin to a wooden spool as tall as he. Though light, the pallet’s sharp edge dug into the calloused skin of his palms. “Let’s put it over there, behind that reel of feed cable.”
The escort was carrying the other side of the pallet with one hand. “There’s already a tray of them there.”
“Yes. Those are the faulty ones. They go back to the factory in a few weeks.”
They lowered the wooden pallet atop the other. Though the “faulty” ones worked just fine, as anyone with a multimeter could verify. But Zhāng knew no one would bother. He rubbed at the red lines in his palms and stepped over an extension cord on the way to the door.
Outside, he bent his neck in a small bow. “Thank you. It’ll take a few hours to replace the ones on the roof. You’re welcome to watch.”
“Come see me on your way out,” the man said. He turned and, crunching gavel beneath heavy steps, strode toward the front gate.
Zhāng pulled keys from his pocket and unlocked a tool crib on the side of the truck. He lifted its lid and ducked below to shield his eyes from the brilliant sun. Every peg held its appropriate hand tool, most with outlines sketched in black onto the white wall. He slipped his fingers into rubber insulated gloves and pulled supple leather sleeves up to his shoulders. The suede rawhide smelled like his childhood donkey, Tiny, after a day’s work in the rice fields. Unhooking a tie-down from the toolbox, he lifted it from its bracketed resting place.
Only a few more weeks of putting up with these dogs. They filled their bellies from the efforts of others and lapped at the sweat of their struggle.
He stepped toward a steel ladder scaling the building’s side. Fingers wrapped around a steel rung as he started up.
Chapter 15 – No Body
Carter flashed a sheriff’s detective badge to a young, thin-faced officer standing inside yellow barrier tape stretched between a light pole and trash can, blocking one end of the parking lot of Alessandro’s Italian Restaurant. Carter flipped the wallet shut and slipped it inside the chest pocket of a brown Theory trench coat. He stepped quickly, trying to look aloof and official. The officer didn’t stop him. Carter tugged on the ends of a black-plaid Saks Fifth Avenue cashmere scarf, snugging it around his neck, and tucked them back inside the breast flaps.
As he walked, he lifted his phone and pressed the button his daughter had shown him. In his sleep-induced haze after Red had woken him with a call, he’d left home forgetting to grab his regular camera. He pointed the device at the rear plate of a white van. The flash fired and the picture appeared in the corner of the screen. Looked like he’d done it right.
“Hey!” came a shout near the front of the van. A few seconds later a short, white-haired man with a ponytail down the back of his green jacket stepped around the bumper. He squared up to Carter. “Who you?”
The scratchy voice was distantly familiar. Carter tried to pull up an association but failed. “Detective Carter.”
The man grunted. “Who you with?”
Shit. “Sheriff’s Department. New Kent County.”
“What the hell you doing on my scene?” The man glanced at the tall junior officer standing next to the trash can, who’d recently turned his back and now appeared to be instructing civilians outside the police line to step back, though they were already well clear.
Time to see how elastic truth could be. “I’m working an investigation involving the lady who was shot here, and her husband. He called me from the hospital and told me what happened. That’s why I’m here.”
He pointed with yellowed fingernails. “Already working an investigation? You working with the feds?”
Damn. How’d he guess that one? This could go either way. “Yes.”
“Some Agent Jackson from FBI told me they were taking over. You can take your needs up with that jackass when he gets here. Until then, this is my scene and you can walk your ass back outside that line.”
A memory surfaced of running after hound dogs, the animals yelping and baying in delight. They’d been chasing a scent, bounding through green briars, ignoring the way the tiny daggers tore their ears. Carter snapped his fingers. “The Hastings case.”
Ponytail scowled. “What about it?”
“You were there when we ran the dogs. Hastings came through our county’s backyard. You guys didn’t have dogs. I’m the one that got some for you. We used deer hounds.”
“And they flushed fifty bucks before they got to Hastings.”
Carter snorted. “But they got him.”
“And I got sick as hell from running five hours and wading creeks and getting bit by everything with teeth. I pulled ticks off me for a week.”
“But you got Hastings.”
Ponytail glanced back at the tall rookie, who was still pretending to perform crowd control. He eyed Carter. Through clenched teeth he said, “What you want?”
“I won’t touch a thing. Just some pictures and a few questions.”
The man pointed across the dim lot to a stout uniformed woman leaning against a blue RV. “Check in with Cindy. Then only talk with me. Got it? I’ll give you three minutes; then you’re outside till the feds get here.”
Right. He’d be gone by the time any of them arrived.
He walked toward Cindy, but Ponytail turned his back when someone approached him. Carter passed by the officer and pretended to throw something away in the trash can behind her, then returned to the van. Couldn’t afford to have any record of his visit.
The vehicle was new, its paint still glossy. Carter snapped a photo of the VIN through the cracked windshield. The vehicle had hit a gray sedan squarely, pushing it down until the front of the van was wedged off the ground by the car’s bumper. Blood was smeared on the sedan’s hood, and remnants of bandage packaging evidenced EMTs had worked on someone there. A body slumped on the ground behind a green Dumpster and another lay on the pavement next to the car, black-bladed hunting knife still wrapped in its fingers. A bleached-blond boy with acne gripped a camera in one hand and chalked a line around the body with the other.
“Only two?” Carter asked.
Ponytail nodded. “And two still alive. Barely.”
“The driver of the van?”
“Yeah. EMTs took him to the hospital.”
“But he was dead.”
Ponytail regarded him. “Explain.”
“I mean, the victim, her husband, he said the driver of the van was dead.”
Ponytail flipped open a notepad. “Probably never seen a dead man before. This husband. He is...”
Marksman not dead? Red could have missed it, Lori being shot and everything else going on. But he’d said he had his hands inside Marksman’s gut, pinching off an artery. No way he could have survived. Carter considered his response. “He’s a fed, a special ops unit.”
The man’s book snapped shut. “Well then, you guys deserve what you get. Enjoy your little incestuous investigation. Three minutes are up.”
“Which hospital did they take him to?”
“Rappahannock. Same as your victim.”
* * * *
Carter stepped from darkness onto the lit curb next to Rappahannock Gen
eral Hospital’s emergency room. His watch read 3:00 a.m. He trotted quickly, squinting at a bright light cast from the entry canopy. A red LED above sliding glass doors flashed as they opened. The ER desk attendant glanced his way, then back to a computer screen shining green upon her pink face. Her plump figure suggested she seldom raised herself from the chair. “Can I help you?” she asked, her gaze still on the screen.
Carter put his badge on the counter. “I’m here to see Mar... I mean, I’m here to check on three of tonight’s patients.”
She swiveled toward him and studied his badge. “The shootout?” she said with bright eyes.
“Yes.”
She leaned toward him, then peeked behind her. “One’s in surgery. You won’t be able to ask him anything tonight. Maybe not never. The lady, they took her down the end of the second floor. I think she’s a politician, ’cause they got all kinds of guys with radios and thick chests that way.”
Carter grinned, having seen a couple of black Ford vans in the lot that screamed CIA. This lady was being entirely too helpful. “And the other?”
“The other...” She glanced behind again, then whispered. “The other was dead on arrival.” She sat back down with a smile and a nod.
Yeah. Probably dead when he was picked up. “Can I speak with the doctor who attended him?”
“Not till he’s out of surgery. He’s working on the live one. The man’s busted up worse than a motorcycle accident.”
“I need to see the body.”
She leaned back, and air hissed from the cushion. “I can’t say no more, ’less my boss say so.”
“No problem. You don’t need to say anything. Point me to someone who can show it to me.”
“This time of night? Ain’t nobody.”
“Well, the corpse isn’t sitting behind your desk. Someone wheeled it to the morgue, right? Let me talk with that guy.”
She crossed her arms and glanced at the computer screen. “You doin’ an investigation, like on TV?”
“Yeah. Like on TV. Except I’m for real. And I know what the hell I’m doing.”
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