Tenderloin (Abby Kane FBI Thriller)

by Ty Hutchinson

  “Where’s Lucy?” I whispered.

  “What’s going on? Why do you have your gun?”

  “Is anyone here?”

  “What do you mean—”

  I cut her off with a wave of my hand. “Are you alone?”

  She nodded.

  “Is Lucy upstairs?”

  She nodded again. “She has a slight fever and is resting.”

  Po Po’s breaths had sped up, a sign she was starting to panic. I placed a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes. “Everything will be okay.”

  I checked the front door. It was locked.

  “Stay here. More agents are on the way,” I said before heading upstairs. I had three rooms and a bath to clear. Lucy’s room, to the right of the stairs, was my priority. Her door was open, and I peeked inside. She lay in bed, sleeping. I moved in and cleared the closets, and then woke her.

  “Mommy, you’re home,” she mumbled, groggy from sleep. I felt her head; she was still warm. I wanted nothing more than to hug her tightly forever. I also wanted to give her a hot bath to wash the touch of that monster off of her. Images of him playing tag with her the night before twisted my stomach tighter.

  “Shhhhh. Mommy is here to take care of you.” I picked her up, quickly brought her downstairs and handed her over to Po Po. Then I went back upstairs to clear the rest of the house, all while wondering where the hell my backup was. I checked Ryan’s room and then the bathroom before heading toward mine. For some reason, I had thought that, if he were here, he would be in my room, waiting for me. I decided to save it for last, climbing up one more floor. The top level of the house housed a small media room on one end and my office on the other.

  I returned to my bedroom and faced my double-door entrance, which was closed, just as I had left it this morning. I pressed my ear gently against the cool wood and heard the faint sound of water running through the piping of the house, nothing more. I grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. I made quick peeks around it until I was certain I had no one in my immediate sights. I entered the room and moved to the bathroom. Clear. Only one place left—the walk-in closet. Last one Abby. Be ready.

  I stared at the door, wondering if he was on the other side waiting for me. Ninety-nine percent of Abby voted no, but the other one percent had lottery luck on its side. You never know. I aimed my gun and took a deep breath. A beat later, I stood inside my closet, alone and wondering.

  The faint sound of screeching tires outside signaled that my backup had arrived. As I did a one-eighty, my phone rang.

  “Hello, Ab-by.”

  Chapter 69

  I froze, but my heart leapt out of my chest.

  I could hear him breathing on the other end, waiting for a response. He’d almost had me. Luckily, I had the mindset to switch gears and answer as Agent Kane and not Abby.

  “Agent Cabrera. How nice of you to call. Where are you?”

  “No, no, no. I want to speak to Ab-by.”

  “Tough. You don’t get to make that decision.”

  “Why, I sense you’re angry with me. Don’t be. Remember what we had.”

  “Tell me where you are. We can meet and reminisce.”

  He laughed like we were playing a game of footsie. I wanted to kick his nuts.

  Reilly entered my room with two other agents. Before he could say anything, I motioned for them to be quiet and pointed at my phone.

  “Come on,” I played with him. “Don’t you want to see me?”

  “Oh you have no idea, Ab-by. No idea.” Cabrera took a short breath before speaking. “Did Elan tell you anything?” He asked coyly.

  “He told me a lot of things—too much to repeat over the phone.”

  He chuckled. My jaw clamped tighter.

  “As much as I would love to grab dinner and have wonderful conversations,” he continued, “you and I know that’s not possible right now. Maybe in the future, when you’re not mad at me, we can picnic again. With Lucy, too.”

  My body shook when I heard her name come out of his mouth. How dare he. I gripped my phone harder, noticing that my palms were wet. I wanted to hurt him, then kill him. “Leave my family out of this. This is between you and me.”

  He clucked his tongue at my answer. “Don’t be afraid. I mean you and your family no harm. Just tell me, Ab-by, and we can go our separate ways.”

  I still had no idea what he was referring to, and I had become annoyed with the way he was purposely accenting my name. Reilly flagged my attention and showed me a note he had written. It read that they were having no luck with his GPS signal, but they had his cell triangulated to a tower in Oakland. We all headed back downstairs as I continued to talk to Cabrera. With any luck, we might be able to find him.

  There were two other agents downstairs with Po Po and Lucy. I quickly held a finger to my lips when she saw me. I didn’t want to give Cabrera the satisfaction of hearing her.

  “Ah, you’re on the move. I can hear the rustling. Find my location, did you?”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Well, no actually. It was a necessary evil I had to endure if I wanted my question answered.”

  “Stop talking in riddles. It bores me.”

  “Feisty!”

  “Where are you going to go? You can’t run.”

  “Never mind where I’m going. Give me what I want, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  “I know you’re not deaf, but I’m starting to question whether you’re dumb.”

  “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

  I yanked my ear away from the phone, caught off guard by his sudden change in demeanor.

  “Be nice, or I will come after you and your family,” he seethed.

  “I’m not afraid of you. You’re just one man. No one will work for you, not after you killed your most trusted advisor.”

  He laughed. “I did not orchestrate the attack on Zapata. That was Malcolm’s own doing—a happy coincidence.”

  “Why would you want your number two dead? Oh, wait. I get it. You were afraid he would turn on you, run off with the MZ-1 recipe. Or worse, he would find out you killed his sister and come after you. That’s it, isn’t it? Faro Zapata had spooked the monster.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Why, the truth hurt?”

  “He was selfish. I made him who he was. He was too stupid to realize that. There was no way his minute brain could have orchestrated the cover up with the plastic surgery.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, Ab-by. I thought you were smarter. Ever wonder why you never saw Agent Fredy López?”

  I had, actually. It seemed odd to me that Fredy was out of town the entire time I was down there. “Enlighten me.”

  “Faro was Fredy. The plastic surgery was to make him look like Fredy. No one was the wiser, not even our supervisors. It was genius.”

  Cabrera laughed himself into a fit over his cleverness.

  “Damn, I’m good. You never saw that coming, did you, Ab-by?”

  I hadn’t. “You had similar plans for Agent Riggs?”

  “I did. He was new to the team. He never would have voluntarily gone along with what I was doing. It had to be done.”

  “Well, now you’re screwed, because everyone knows who you are. We’ll find you. You have nothing and no one to hide behind. Deep down inside, you’re afraid.”

  His breathing heightened.

  Had I gotten to him? I wanted to shake his confidence and create doubt in his plan. The more he questioned, the more he stalled. Reilly was already on his cell phone, coordinating efforts to involve the Oakland Police Department. What we needed was manpower looking for Cabrera inside the mile radius where we believed him to be.

  “Of course not. Now, Ab-by, time is running out. Tell me what Elan told you. Tell me the missing ingredient.”

  He surprised me. He had to know I didn’t know. Suddenly, I was the one laughing. “That’s what this is all about? You think I know what the missing ingredient is? W
ell, I hate to disappoint.”

  “Don’t play games! Give it to me.”

  “I don’t know what it is. I’m telling you the truth. Why would he tell me? You were there when he revealed to us what he had done.”

  “You interrogated him without me. You spent time with him without me. You had plenty of opportunities to discover it. Now stop wasting my time and give me the fucking ingredient.”

  “First, tell me why you sent that fake Fredy assassin to the office when I first arrived. Did you really want me dead?”

  “Nah, I just wanted to see how tough you were.”

  “He could have killed me. He was trying to, you know.”

  “I had the odds in your favor, but there was a chance he might have succeeded. Thankfully he didn’t, because at that point, I had already decided I wanted to fuck you.”

  I wished I could have reached through the phone and shoved my weapon down his throat. I bet his tough guy routine would have broken down instantly.

  We were halfway across the Oakland Bay Bridge, still another 15-20 minutes from Cabrera’s location, but OPD would already be combing the streets. However, he knew we were on the way. I could sense him fidgeting on the other end. He could run at any second.

  He was still going on and on about fucking me, so I brought up what he was after. “So maybe I do know the ingredient. If I tell you, what do I get in return?”

  “You get to live.”

  “Not good enough. Your threats are empty.”

  The phone rustled, and I heard noise in the background. Traffic. He was on the move.

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth, Ab-by? How do I know you will give me the correct ingredient?”

  “You don’t. But that doesn’t matter. You’ll never discover what it is. And we will catch you. That I can promise you.”

  I motioned Reilly with my hand before covering the phone. “He’s in a public area. I hear water, like a fountain or something.”

  “There are two that I know of. One is in Jack London Square, and the other is in Frank Ogawa Plaza.”

  “Ab-by, you still there?”

  “Sorry. I nodded off for a moment.”

  “One day your quick mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

  “I hope so. I need some excitement in my life.”

  Reilly had already gotten the word out about the two locations. My goal was to keep Cabrera on the line. I could still hear the water, so he hadn’t moved—yet.

  “We’ll head to Jack London; it’s closer,” he whispered.

  “Tell me, Cabrera; what do you plan on doing with MZ-1? Going to create a little army you can boss around?”

  “That’s what a dumb mule like Faro Zapata would have done. I’ve got bigger and better ideas.”

  We came to a stop. Up ahead, I could see the plaza, and it was packed with an afternoon crowd. We motioned to the agents who had followed our car to spread out and surround the fountain.

  “Big plans, huh? Maybe you can elaborate.”

  “Tell me what the missing ingredient is, and I promise to give you a front row seat.”

  “Is that right?”

  The crowd was thick. The German Consulate was having a German Cultural Appreciation fair. There were tables selling arts and crafts, booths selling food, and four men and women dressed in traditional clothing were teaching people how to polka. I passed a beer garden, complete with large-bosomed women wheeling giant mugs of beer. I figured with my height, I could use the crowd for cover as I slipped in between them.

  I was twenty feet away from the fountain and could still hear it on the phone. I closed in, weapon drawn and at my side. The fountain had a fifteen-foot radius. I stopped just a few feet short, not wanting to reveal myself. I spotted Reilly moving through the crowd on the other side. As I circled the fountain, I searched for Cabrera. He should be here. I can hear him breathing, I think.

  “When can I see you?” I asked. I waited for an answer, but the line remained quiet. That’s when I spotted a cell phone on the ledge of the fountain. Cabrera had vanished.

  Chapter 70

  Between the FBI and OPD, we had the area secured and searched for three hours before calling it off. Cabrera had disappeared. We sent his name and picture to all the proper outlets to prevent his escape from the country, but we weren’t entirely sure he would try to leave the United States. And really, for someone with his skills, his knowledge of law enforcement, and his connections, it would be very easy to leave the country anyway. As the days went on, hope that Cabrera would contact me again had diminished. We never heard another peep from him, and our investigation went cold.

  The DEA delivered the most surprising news once we filled them in on their rogue agent and his alleged involvement with running a drug cartel right under their noses; they claimed to be clueless to it all. When we added that he was also the most feared man in Colombia, the one everyone called El Monstruo, it sent them into a babbling stupor.

  When they finally did react, they denied it, of course. Cabrera was a star agent in their eyes who had furthered the work they did in Bogotá due to his native origins. They were not eager to admit that they were bankrolling a serial-killing drug lord. It also didn’t help that their blind trust had also afforded Cabrera his own office so his team didn’t have to work out of the embassy. That was a colossal mistake. There was no oversight.

  It took about a week or so for the finger pointing to die down. Eventually the DEA came to grips with reality and accepted that they had royally screwed up. From the onset, all parties agreed to keep a lid on the entire operation. If word got out to the American public, it would be a P.R. nightmare for the DEA. It would also undermine the work they were doing in Colombia, not to mention having the government there question the US involvement with the war on drugs. The DEA then proceeded to go through an extensive cover-up that involved inserting an entirely new team in Bogotá with new policies in place.

  During the weeks following Cabrera’s escape, SFPD put extra patrols in my neighborhood and even kept a car outside my house for a week, but it was impossible to keep a twenty-four-hour security detail on duty for an infinite amount of time.

  I’ll admit; my nerves were on high alert following the call with Cabrera. The kids didn’t leave the house without me, and their school was given explicit instructions not to let them leave the grounds until I picked them up. I had all the locks on the house reinforced and added a security system. The Kane compound was officially on lockdown.

  My eldest, Ryan, was well aware of the situation though he did a great job of showing that it didn’t bother him. He had returned from camp with a newfound sense of confidence.

  “He doesn’t scare me, Abby,” he said as he pounded his fist into his other hand. That week, he asked if he could take judo lessons. I signed him up immediately. My boy was becoming a man.

  Little Lucy, however, was too young to understand that the man who had played with her at the park wasn’t our friend, but it didn’t stop me from trying to explain to her what had happened and that, if she ever saw him, she should run away and get help.

  “Crab Bra is a bad man, Mommy.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You put him in the jail, okay?”

  “I will, sweetie.”

  I had no idea if Cabrera’s threats to my family were empty or serious. I made sure that we all knew the importance of watching out for each other. To my surprise, Po Po didn’t attack me for what happened. I half expected her to. This hadn’t been part of the plan I’d sold her when I thought of moving the family for a better life. Maybe her calmness in this situation came from understanding that I couldn’t have prevented this, nor did I encourage it. Yes, if I’d had some other job, we wouldn’t be in this situation, but it was what it was. She agreed that it was much more important that we come together and be vigilant, at least for the time being.

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  As with any traumatic event in life, it passed. Six months later, we had normalized and th
e sound of the house settling or a knock at the front door didn’t send us jumping to our feet. Lucy had forgotten all about Crab Bra, but Ryan hadn’t. He was still involved in judo, and every opponent he faced was the man who dared to threaten us.

  He had his first tournament coming up. It made me so happy to be a judo mom, and I couldn’t wait to support him from the stands.

  “They don’t cheer like that in this sport,” he said with an eye roll.

  I didn’t care. Nothing would keep my big mouth shut. He’d forgive me for embarrassing him, eventually.

  I still made it a point to leave the office in the afternoons so I could walk the kids home from school. Same spot, always. The other parents knew that, and no one coveted my little area near the fence. It helped that I had marked the spot with my incessant heel digs into the dirt.

  That day was no different. I stood outside the school, waiting for the bell to ring. I was lost in my mindless digging, trying to free up a rock to kick, when Elan Ortega popped into my head. I don’t know why; I hadn’t thought about him since his death. Maybe I was in a good mood and feeling very appreciative of my life and my family. The sun was warming, and the breeze was equally cooling, creating a magical environment one could only find in San Francisco.

  As I thought of him, there was no sadness associated with it. I knew in his head, he thought he had achieved something great. No one could take that from him. I believe he died a happy man, like the one I remember on the plane ride. I remember him telling me about his dream to become a scientist and the science kit his father had gotten him and his brother to stop them from taking apart everything in their house to see how it worked. It was during that time, when he told these stories, that he appeared the most innocent. I could see the genuineness in his eyes. I remember that he even complimented mine. That was the last thing I had expected from a man who had recently lost his wife. He said my eyes were the same color as the Ortegarous.

  “The what?” I had asked.

  He laughed and told me it was a bright green flower no bigger than a thumbnail that lived high up in the canopies of the Amazon jungle. He and his brother had discovered the tiny beauty and boldly named it after themselves.