Death Never Lies

by David Grace

  Speculation over who was behind the plot was rampant. The media threw around phrases like “right-wing fanatics”, “hate groups”, “Aryan militias” and half a dozen other left-wing code words for patriots who were trying to keep America from becoming even more of a police state than it already was. What a fucking disaster! Judges were supposed to make their rulings based only on the law but if one of the other Justices was wobbling this cluster fuck might just tip him in the wrong direction. All that money for–

  “Dad, I want to watch Glamour Girls.”

  Feeney pulled his eyes away from the video loop of greasy smoke boiling up from the street in front of Hopper’s house.

  “It’s down to Kerry and Emma and that horrible Amber.”

  Feeney looked at his daughter, his incredible, beautiful daughter, upset about missing some mindless TV show and felt his heart melt. This is why we do these things, he thought. Not for ourselves but for our children. The fact that George Hopper’s daughter had almost been blasted into wet hamburger at his orders did not enter Carl Feeney’s mind. All he could think of was the clean and perfect world Robin would inherit if only he were able to protect her from the bleeding hearts and socialists who wanted to steal her birthright.

  “Haven’t you watched the story about those crazy people enough?” Robin asked. “Dad?”

  Feeney stared at her, his heart almost stopped by her beauty and her innocence, then it seemed to miss a beat at the buzzing of the burner phone. Feeney tossed her the remote then mumbled, “I have to take this,” and rushed from the room.

  “Donald?” he whispered a moment later.

  “Mr. Green? I assume you’ve seen the news?”

  “It’s a disaster! Whatever possessed you to–”

  “You only specified the goal. Methodology was up to me.”

  “I figured you’d shoot him from some window half a mile away, not try to blow up his house with a suicide vest like some fucking Arab terrorist.”

  “That’s enough.”

  “What are–”

  “You’re upset that the mission was a failure. I understand that, but that’s enough.”

  Donald waited for five seconds and Feeney seemed to calm down.

  “All right,” Feeney said, “what’s the next step?”

  “There is no next step. I’d need ten men and rocket propelled grenades to get to him now.”

  “I paid you to kill him.”

  “You paid me to use my best efforts. No one can guarantee something like this. I got very, very close, as close as anyone could have gotten.”

  “So, that’s it? Thank you very much, better luck next time? You were paid to do a job and you haven’t done it.”

  Donald almost warned Feeney what happened to men who talked to him that way but held his tongue.

  “Well?” Feeney demanded. When Donald answered all trace of human timber had disappeared and his voice was as flat and cold as if spoken by a machine.

  “I’m keeping $250,000 for my expenses and inconvenience. I’ll transfer the rest of the bitcoins back to you. Their value has gone up so you’ll get almost the whole amount back. I’ll text you the details on the transfer and then I’m going to destroy this phone. You’ll need to do the same. Our business is over.”

  “Wait!” Feeney shouted. “What about Mr. Black?”

  “What about him?”

  “If they find him he can lead them to someone who can lead them to me.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  “He can also lead them to you.”

  “That sounds like a threat,” Donald said in a soft voice.

  “It’s a statement about something that’s in our mutual self interest.”

  “How had you planned on solving that problem if my mission had been successful?”

  “I thought I had it handled but I haven’t been able to reach the other contractor. I think the mess you caused has him spooked.”

  “I’m sure he’ll get around to Mr. Black eventually.”

  “You’ve got two-hundred fifty thousand dollars of my money. Earn your pay.”

  “You’re skating on very thin ice talking to me that way, Mr. Green.”

  “Are you sure you want to wait for the other contractor to do the job? I heard that the Gestapo is offering a million dollar reward for information about that mess you caused. Do you want to gamble that Mr. Black won’t try to make a deal, that he won’t give you up for the money before he can be neutralized?”

  The phone was silent for five seconds. “I’ll take care of it,” Donald finally growled then asked, “You still owe him money, don’t you?”

  “The job was never done. I don’t owe him anything.”

  “But he thinks you owe him money, right?”

  “I suppose,” Feeney admitted.

  “Good. As soon as I’m in place you’ll call and tell him that you want to pay him off.”

  “Why would he believe that?”

  “He’s a degenerate addict. All he’ll be thinking about is his next fix and how much dope that money will buy him. He won’t be able to help himself.”

  “All right. What exactly am I supposed to say?”

  “When I’m ready you’ll call and arrange to meet him to deliver the cash.”

  “I’m not meeting with him.”

  “Don’t worry,” Donald said. “I’ll have it covered,” and then hung up.

  Feeney dropped the cell into his top drawer and left his study. From down the hall he heard music swell and then Robin shouted, “Oh, my God, no! Not Amber!”

  In spite of all the terror and heartbreak of the last two days Feeney smiled and at last felt the rats scurrying inside his stomach begin to slow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Kane’s cuts and scrapes were mostly hidden under his suit and his return to the office the next morning drew little notice. Other than a vague remark to Danny, Kane had shared the nature of his special assignment with no one and few of his fellow agents had cared enough about him to ask where he had gone. Even Danny and Immerson only knew that Kane had been tasked with reviewing Hopper’s security procedures. On Kane’s return the boss gave him a quick once-over and merely asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Fit as a fiddle. Tight as a drum,” Kane answered in almost a sing-song voice.

  “Did you hit your head?”

  “My head is fine.”

  Immerson gave him a questioning glance then shrugged.

  “Are you all done with the Justice Hopper thing?”

  “I gave my statement to the Secret Service first thing this morning.”

  “What about Senator Denning?”

  “Him too.” Kane scanned the bull pen and spotted Danny energetically running his mouse across his desk. “I guess I’d better check on the kid.”

  Immerson thought that he should probably say something encouraging like ‘Good to have you back’ but hesitated, unsure if Kane’s obvious strengths outweighed his equally obvious flaws and then it was too late. Kane was already out the door.

  “Hi, Danny,” Greg said when he reached Rosewood’s desk.

  “Agent Kane!” Danny spun around and broke into a smile. “Are you all right? I saw that explosion on the TV. Were you anywhere near that?”

  “Not too far away.” Danny obviously had more questions but Kane cut him off before he could ask any of them. “Any progress on our guy?”

  Danny gave Kane a “Mom, Dad, I got an A!” smile and started clicking his mouse. A picture of a row house with a green door filled the screen. “I found him. That’s his house.”

  Kane placed his palms on the desk and leaned forward.

  “You’re sure? Did you take this picture?” Kane asked with an edge in his voice.

  “It’s Google Street View,” Danny said and Kane relaxed. Danny running surveillance on an ex-cop like Mearle Farber was like sending a chicken out to spy on a fox.

  “Does the boss know about this?” Kane asked, glancing over his shoulder toward Immerson’
s office.

  “No,” Danny said, not sure if that was the right answer.

  “Good. We don’t actually have any evidence on him for the Brownstein thing beyond some grainy video.”

  “We can still arrest him for helping that Munroe guy escape.”

  “That’s not our case. It’s not even a Homeland Security case.”

  “Are you saying that we should turn this over to the FBI or the Marshals?”

  “Hell, no. We’re going to grab this bastard ourselves. The FBI and the Staties can have him after he tells us what he did with Albert Brownstein.”

  “OK. When do we take him?”

  Kane looked away from the monitor and into Rosewood’s determined face.

  “We don’t. It’s going to take at least six men to fully cover that house and we’ll only get one shot at it. We’re going to need a QRT.” Danny gave Kane a confused look. “In Baltimore we call it the Quick Response Team. Like SWAT.”

  “Oh. Does Homeland have a QRT? I know the FBI has an HRT, Hostage Rescue Team. Should we call them?”

  “No! I mean the paperwork . . . no.”

  “There must be a–” Danny paused and looked at Sebastian Wren striding toward them.

  “Kane,” Wren said, sticking out his hand. “I read your report on the Justice Hopper thing. Great job. Great job! The Principal Deputy is putting you in for a commendation.” Wren noticed the confused look on Danny’s face. “Your partner here saved Justice Hopper’s life. Did you know that?”

  “No sir.”

  “Well, he did. He figured out that the Justice’s daughter had been outfitted with a coat filled with explosives and he ripped it off her at the risk of his own life before she and the Justice could be blown to smithereens.” Wren patted Kane on the shoulder and smiled. Danny looked at his partner as if he had just been introduced to the Pope. Kane said nothing. “Well, what have you got there?” Wren asked, pointing at the monitor.

  “Just a case we’re working on,” Kane answered when the silence became uncomfortable.

  “The Brownstein disappearance? What’s that have to do with it?”

  “Just a lead we’re checking out.”

  After another long silence Wren glanced at the clock over the bull pen door.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Keep me advised. The Principal Deputy is very concerned about the possible WMD aspects of that case. If there’s anything you want call me directly. After the job you did on the Hopper case I’ll make sure that you get anything you need.” Wren paused then turned to Rosewood and stuck out his hand. “Danny, that goes for you too. Is there anything we can do to help you?”

  Danny shook Wren’s hand. “No sir,” then he glanced at the monitor. “Well, I was wondering, do we, Homeland that is, do we have a SWAT team?”

  Kane forced himself not to clench his teeth and shout Oh, shit!

  “A SWAT team? Why? Do you need a SWAT team?”

  Danny glanced at Kane and quickly looked away.

  “No, oh, no. Uhhh, we were just talking, well, I was talking. I saw this movie and there was this SWAT team in it and I wondered if we had one. I asked Agent Kane and he didn’t know. He said the Baltimore PD has a QRT and I said that the FBI has the HRT so, well, anyway we were just wondering if we, you know, have something like that.” Danny gave Wren what he thought was a casual smile. Kane kept his face as flat as one worn by a guy with a pair of threes who was trying to steal the pot.

  “It’s called the Special Response Team, SRT,” Wren said. “Call me if you need one.”

  “Yes, sir, we’ll let you know if we ever do.”

  For another second Wren looked questioningly at Kane then let it go.

  “All right then. Congratulations again, Kane, on a job very well done. . . . Danny.” Wren glanced a final time at the monitor then walked away.

  “Do we have a SWAT team?” Kane muttered.

  “It just slipped out. It was only a question. I didn’t tell him anything.”

  Kane stared at the exit where Wren had disappeared then turned back to Danny.

  “OK, nothing we can do about it now. Let’s hope he’s dumber than he looks.”

  “What should we do about. . . ?” Danny waved at the house on the screen.

  “I’ll make a call to the D.C. police. I’ll get Immerson to back me up if I have to but I’m hoping I won’t.”

  “When should we do it?”

  Kane unconsciously sucked his teeth as he thought.

  “Normally, we would stake out the place, make sure he’s home, but this guy, he’s got to be watching for strange vans parked near his house. If I were him I’d have a camera trained on the street, running a feed to an Internet site. . . . Let’s keep it old school,” Kane said after a few seconds pause. “One guy drives by after dark looking for lights and a car in the driveway. We do it again with a different car every half hour until we see something that tells us he’s home. Then we come in hard through the front and the back doors and we leave guys outside in case he tries to crash out through a window.” Again Kane looked around the room. It all seemed normal, ordinary, but he felt as if his every move was being watched.

  * * *

  Something was up with Kane and Rosewood. Wren was sure of it. He was just as certain that it had something to do with that house on the monitor, number 817. Unfortunately, he didn’t know the name of the street. He could call tech support and have them hack Rosewood’s hard disk but what reason would he give? Idly, he pulled out his phone then stuck it back in his pocket. Over the years he’d learned to let questions he couldn’t answer percolate a while to give his brain a chance to chew them up and maybe spit out a better result. He decided he would give it at least until the end of the day. Maybe something would come to him. He could always make the call to tech support if he had to.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  As the day wore on Kane was reminded again that most of police work was really paperwork. First, he had to get an arrest warrant allowing them entry to Farber’s house. That meant an affidavit, an application, a draft warrant and almost an hour in the lumpy chair in the clerk’s office waiting for the duty judge to review the documentation and question Kane about any factual issues that concerned him. When the warrant was finally signed Kane still had to recruit the manpower needed to serve it. If he had had any friends in the D.C. police that might not have been too difficult but, of course, he didn’t. Kane generally considered himself ahead of the game if he was able to avoid actually making enemies.

  After two hours of fighting the D.C. PD’s bureaucracy Kane was only able to get the manpower he needed by reminding Captain DeJesus that in addition to aiding in the escape of a federal fugitive the target was also wanted on state charges of suspicion of murdering a police officer. Even then DeJesus was resistant. It took a call from Tony Canaro confirming Kane’s story to finally get DeJesus’ agreement to provide a six-man squad. Kane and Rosewood could go along but DeJesus made it clear that his man, Lieutenant Marty Bernard, would be in charge.

  For a moment Kane thought about leaving Danny out of the raid but the kid had done good work and didn’t deserve to be so brutally disrespected. Still, Kane resolved to keep Rosewood behind him at all times. It was a little after seven when Bernard and his squad assembled with Kane and Danny relegated to a couple of plastic chairs in the back of the room.

  Bernard put up Google Street View images on a 60” plasma and slowly moved the POV down the block, stopping every thirty feet or so to spin the camera three-hundred-sixty degrees.

  “All right, here’s the target’s house,” Bernard said, tapping the screen with a rubber-tipped pointer then slowly zooming in on the front door. “As far as we know there’s no connection between this unit and the houses on either side so the suspect’s only points of egress will be the front and back yards. Desimone, Webber and Crane, you’re Team Two. You’ll position yourselves in the backyard at 794 Riverton.”

  Bernard switched to an aerial view and tapped the street in fro
nt of number 794 then drew a line from the curb, down the driveway, along the side of the building, into the backyard, then over the fence and into the rear yard of number 817. “You will wait on the 794 side of the fence until you hear my signal then you’ll go over and into the backyard at 817. Webber and Crane will secure the rear of the house in case he comes out the back door or from one of the upstairs windows. Desimone, you will enter through the back door and clear the rooms at the rear of the house on the first floor.”

  Bernard paused and got nods and thumbs-up acknowledgments from the three men.

  “Stottlemeyer and I will enter through the front door and clear the front rooms. Once the first floor is clear Desimone will hold position there while Stottlemeyer and I clear the second floor. If we still haven’t found the suspect, two of us will search the basement. Kramer, you and Homeland Security agents Kane and Rosewood will cover the front of the structure to make sure that he doesn’t jump out a window while we’re clearing the interior. Does everybody understand their assignments?” In theory Bernard was talking to everyone but when he asked that question he never took his eyes off Kane.

  “All right,” he continued after a little pause to drive his point home. “The subject is considered armed and dangerous. He was a Baltimore County deputy sheriff who, with another officer, was transporting a prisoner wanted on weapons charges and suspected in the deaths of two federal agents. That prisoner went missing and the other deputy is missing and presumed dead. So what we’ve got here is a former law-enforcement officer who is suspected of murdering his partner in the course of helping a felon to escape. This is a very dangerous person who will not hesitate to kill any of us if we give him the chance. Do not give him that chance.” Bernard gave his team a hard stare then looked toward the back of the room. “Agent Kane, do you have anything to add?”

  Do I have anything to add? Kane thought. You’ve as much as told them to shoot Farber down if he gives them the slightest excuse.