by Alan Chaput
Staring at the photos on the wall of his hotel room, Father John shook his head. However well Herman Stockford had executed Henrietta’s murder, his attack on Meredith was ill-conceived. Too many basic mistakes. The man was no professional, and that would be his undoing.
“You won’t escape my justice,” John said in a tired voice. “Good trumps evil.” He swallowed his words. “Dear Lord, forgive me for being prideful,” he prayed.
John reached for his cane and, walking reasonably well, went to the fridge for a bottle of beer. He took a long pull on the beer. He wasn’t sure why the Lord had permitted his leg injury. Too much pride, he supposed. Pride was a cancer that eroded his redemption. He supposed the injury might be a kind of penance. Whatever the reason, he’d press on regardless of how long it took to fully recover.
He paused at the suspect wall and toasted Herman. “Just a matter of time, buddy. Just a matter of time.”
John didn’t have a lot of time. He was beginning to show his years. Gray hair and much less energy. He was scheduled for cataract surgery when he returned to the Vatican. Growing old sucked all the joy out of his work. But, compromised or not, with muscles like a competitive weight lifter and razor-sharp intuition, he was still a substantial weapon of justice.
* * *
Though Herman Stockford wasn’t working, he parked his battered truck in the restaurant employee parking area, keeping it well out of the line of sight of the uppity manager. Herman chuckled to himself. Soon enough he would be driving one of those fancy cars the manager liked to see parked out front. Not that Herman would frequent the dive after he made it big.
Herman, dressed in khakis and a navy polo shirt, swept in the restaurant’s back entrance and through the noisy kitchen. The smell of grilled hamburger spiced the air. He left the busy kitchen and entered the main dining room. His sister sat at a corner table, far from the other patrons.
She looked terrible. Actually, he’d never seen her so unruly. Uncombed hair swirled around her face like a hurricane. Her rumpled shirt looked like she’d worn it for a couple of days. She wore no makeup. But what disturbed him most were her dull eyes. Normally they were ablaze with emotion, but in the past month she’d turned increasingly dark. He missed her sweetness and humor. Concerned, he met her gaze as he sat and said, “Hey. What’s up?”
“Not much besides the outside temperature, bro,” she said softly.
Sally, a server, arrived. Herman greeted her with a smile and ordered iced tea and a cheeseburger. Sally left, with a hint of jealousy in her over-the-shoulder expression.
Sally was the only employee at the restaurant who was nice to him. Maybe after he cashed in on all his sister’s jobs he’d take Sally out on the town. From the waist up she was a knockout, but she had the butt and thighs of an offensive lineman. And the only thing heavier than her makeup was her lilac perfume. He’d reward her kindness and get laid at the same time.
“How are you managing?” his sister asked.
He was still rattled that the last target survived, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “Fine.”
She stared, slack-jawed, spearing him with a look of disbelief. “Are you sure there’s no remorse?”
He looked around and shrugged. “No. There’s no remorse. A job is a job. The first was for money, the second was for survival.”
Sally returned with the iced tea. Herman grabbed her free hand and held it. Sally’s brows arched, then she smiled. Herman gulped the tea down and motioned for a refill. Sally pulled her hand free, sighed, and refilled his tea with a look of being trapped in subservience, then stomped away.
“Do you have another job for me?” Herman asked.
“Are you up for more work?”
“I’m always up for work like that.” He gulped down the iced tea. He loved the brain freeze he got from doing that.
“Then I might have another job for you.”
“How much?”
“The same.”
“Who?”
“We’ll talk later.”
“You and your mystery. When?”
She rolled her eyes. “Your next job is upstate in South Carolina, and because timing is critical on this one I want you to leave immediately and get into position.” She handed him a printout with the address of a motel. “Once you check-in, give me a call. Do you still have the prepaid cell phone I gave you?”
“Yeah.”
She held out her hand. “Give it to me?”
“Why? It has minutes left on it.”
Her eyes went flint hard. “Damn it. Give it to me, Herman.”
A chill rippled his flesh. What the heck had he done to warrant that? He was just trying to economize.
She extended her arm farther.
He handed over the like-new phone.
She dropped it in her purse, then gave him a new throwaway phone still in the bubble pack.
He’d been through the routine before. Frequently switching phones assured no one could trace him while on a job. He removed the packing, slipped the phone into his pocket and returned the garbage to her.
She pushed a prepaid credit card across the table. “This one’s got $1,000 on it.”
“That’s very generous. Thanks.” His heart raced. Money like that was a powerful stimulant. Anticipating a lot more when the job was completed, he put the card into his wallet. “Any more business?”
“No, that’s it. Get up there as fast as you can, and don’t forget to call.” She paid the bill, then walked with him to his truck.
As he stepped up into the truck, an alarm buzzed in his head. He was being sent a long way from Savannah, and he hadn’t been paid for the last job. He started the engine and slid the window down. “When are you going to be able to pay me?”
“Soon. You’ll get what’s coming to you soon. Trust me.” She gave him a hug through the window. A different hug. Longer. Tighter. More affectionate than usual. “I love you, bro.”
“I love you, too,” he said wearily, then backed the truck out. As he steered his truck onto I-95, stillness settled through him. Man and machine, fused.
Thirty minutes later, just inside South Carolina, Herman suddenly felt extremely tired. He pulled to the shoulder and collapsed onto the steering wheel.
* * *
A light tap sounded from the door of Father John’s hotel suite. Annoyed at the unscheduled interruption, he grabbed his cane, hobbled to the dining room, and switched the main computer monitor to the hallway security camera he’d installed on arrival.
A profile of Bishop Reilly appeared on the high-resolution screen. He wore jeans and a white polo shirt. John canvassed the hall. Reilly was alone.
What was the bishop doing here? More importantly, how had Reilly located him? No one but Connie, his daughter and understudy, knew about the place, and she was isolated at the secondary safe house. Absolutely no one else knew. He’d been careful to rent the suite and set up his elaborate data center totally off the grid yet, incomprehensibly, Reilly was out in the hall seeking entry.
Ignoring Reilly wouldn’t undo the fact Father John’s command center had been compromised. If Reilly knew the location, who else did? The only way to find out was to grill Reilly, right now, before the news spread.
Father John left the dining room, careful to shut the double doors on the massive array of sophisticated electronic gear.
The tapping turned to pounding.
Father John swung the door open. “Good day, your Excellency. So nice to see you. To what do I owe this visit?”
“Good day, Father. I thought you’d like to know someone else is also investigating Henrietta’s murder. He’s a very good friend of mine and an excellent investigator. In fact, once I mentioned your interest in Henrietta’s case, he had no problem locating you. He’d like to discuss the case with you.”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential. Didn’t I make that clear at our first meeting?”
Reilly stood completely still. Clearly a person accustomed to exercising authori
ty. “You were perfectly clear. Nevertheless, my friend insisted I extend the invitation.”
“I’d rather not meet with your friend.”
“That would be a mistake, Father. Please reconsider?”
Father John shook his head. “Tell your friend to keep his nose out of my business. As for you, don’t contact me again. If I want to speak with you, I’ll contact you. Understand?”
Reilly’s cheeks flushed. “I understand, but I doubt my friend will. He’s quite insistent.”
“Tell your insistent friend to bug off.”
Reilly’s full face turned bright crimson. “I got that. Just saying—”
“Just say goodbye.” Father John moved forward a step.
Reilly frowned then, as the frown faded, he backed off.
Father John inched the door closed as Reilly turned and strode purposefully to the elevator.
Father John scanned the room. His location was compromised and had to be abandoned.
Suddenly, deep cathedral bells pealed from Father John’s computer, indicating an incoming instant message from his daughter.
CN: I located Herman Stockford.
FJ: Where?
CN: Jasper County Morgue.
He let out a frustrated breath.
FJ: What happened?
Before she could reply, a knock sounded at the door of Father John’s suite. He typed, Got to go and switched the monitor view to his hallway security cameras. Two powerfully built men Father John didn’t recognize stood to either side of his door. Obviously security types. Too bulky for hotel security. Not the kind of people he wanted in his room. Not with all the military-grade security electronics. Father John gritted his teeth. He had an urgent case to solve. He didn’t need these two jerks slowing him down.
He made a shooting motion at the screen, then activated the stun mat he’d installed outside the door.
Both men dropped to the floor. They didn’t stay down long before they clambered to their feet, backed away from the door muttering, and left.
Father John began methodically locking out his systems and shutting down his hardware in preparation for abandoning the compromised suite.
Suddenly the lights went off, leaving the heavily curtained room in darkness save for the battery-powered laptop and the independently powered hallway security cameras, which showed nothing more than a totally dark hall. Apparently, the two had left to switch off his power. So you two want to play in my domain, he thought expectantly as he activated the inner stun mats and slipped into his body armor and headgear.
Battering rams crashed into both doors to the suite. Father John depressed the anti-flashbang button on his helmet seconds before one of the doors swung open and two flashbangs went off. Sound and night vision restored in time to see the second door open and two three-man assault teams hurtle into the suite and onto the considerably more powerful inner stun mats. The assaulters dropped their weapons like hot coals and went down, stumbling over each other.
Father John grabbed his cane and hobbled out in the confusion. With regret, he triggered the magnesium incendiary devices that would destroy the sophisticated electronics in his room, and probably trigger the fire alarm and sprinklers. He hit the call buttons for both elevators, then took the left fire stairs to the roof where he crossed over three other buildings before stashing his escape gear in a rooftop box and going down the fire stairs to his alternate room, configured identical to the one he’d just torched.
As he entered the backup site, Connie looked up from her position at the desk. “Hello, Dad.”
Though lots of people called him Father, no one but her called him dad.
“I was watching on the monitor. What did those guys want? Did you forget to pay your rent?”
He chuckled. “Much worse. Someone pierced the veil. They know I’m here and knew where to find me. They sent the bishop to arrange a meeting to discuss what we know about Henrietta’s murder. I told them no. Did anyone follow me across the rooftops?”
“Not a soul.”
“Unfortunately, if their command could find me once, they could locate me again, particularly since this location duplicates the first. Whatever they used to detect the first hideout, they could detect the backup site too. Not for long.” He methodically switched off all his electronic devices, including his secure phone. “Time to go. Leave everything.”
They took the stairs down, then, using standard counter-surveillance methods, walked the three blocks to the hotel garage where the van was parked. He settled down at the electronics console and powered it up. Facial recognition had identified the two men in the hallway. Both were ex-Rangers currently living in Pooler, just west of Savannah. Father John requested profiles on the two Rangers, then shifted to the front seat and left the garage.
Chapter 24
Patricia padded upstairs and took a quick shower after her workout in the home gym. Trey wouldn’t be home for an hour. The house was empty without him and she felt vulnerable. Strange, because Falcon House was so fortified. But the protections that kept strangers out also kept her in. In the unlikely event she barricaded herself in the safe room, she couldn’t escape.
She sat at her vanity and pinned back her hair. Sheila had once said these historic Savannah mansions were connected by tunnels. When Patricia had asked Trey, he claimed the stories were urban myths. He further explained that, in colonial times, Savannah’s infamous tunnels connected popular taverns to the waterfront. Pirates used them to Shanghai drunks. Nothing more. She’d dropped the subject. Now, feeling trapped, she wished she hadn’t. What if the tunnels beneath the city were more extensive? What if the tunnels were connected to her home? A secret entrance. A secret exit. “Oh my,” Patricia whispered aloud, wondering why that hadn’t occurred to her before.
Surrendering to her paranoia, Patricia decided to explore. She went down to the neglected, unfinished basement, turned on the lights, and began to search methodically. First the ballast-stone walls, then the packed dirt floor. Nothing suggested a tunnel entrance.
Miffed at being so foolish, she stomped up the stairs, stopping midway. She stepped down hard on the next step. It sounded hollow. Of course. Empty space beneath the stairs. What a fool. She hadn’t checked under the stairs. She went back down and examined the paneled wall that enclosed the stairs. No door there.
Still, there might be an entrance concealed behind the paneling. She was used to calling her own shots, but Trey would have a fit if he knew what she was contemplating. Nevertheless, she grabbed a claw hammer and flashlight from the tool bench and removed a panel. The air beneath the stairs tasted stale. She panned the light into the void.
“Goodness gracious,” she said, covering her mouth. Goose bumps erupted. Spiders. A huge colony of spiders scurried back into the shadows. Her hand trembled, bouncing the flashlight beam over the thicket of spider webs. Time to call the exterminators. Then she saw something else. Well beyond the dense webs loomed a huge dark shape that could be an old cabinet or vault. She gulped. Go in?
No. She couldn’t go in. Too dangerous. Killer spiders. Though the thought snatched her breath, she squared her shoulders. It would be better not to think about checking out the cabinet right now. She’d heard of deadly brown recluse spiders and knew they were present in Savannah, but she had no idea what they looked like. Unwilling to go farther without that knowledge, she went upstairs to search the Internet for a definitive photo of one.
At the top of the stairs, she recalled that Simon had shut down the home network and confiscated her laptop. She went into the dining room.
Simon sat at the table removing a black box from her laptop.
“Simon,” she said.
He looked up, wariness in his look, as though he was trying to figure out what she wanted before she asked.
“What the hell are you doing to my laptop?”
“Removing your hard drive,” he said in a cool tone.
“That’s my life you’re doing surgery on. You can’t do that. No. No. No
.”
“Your network has been compromised. Someone may have already copied all your files. Chances are they have. But if they haven’t, I want this hard drive detached from your computer. No one can see what’s on this drive when it’s removed.”
“And my computer won’t run without the hard drive. I need my computer.” Patricia thought about all her documents, bridge club letters, Junior League membership files. She felt mildly ill, but then she thought of the alternative; a killer on the loose. “Fine. A new computer.”
She left the room shaking her head. After all this was done, if they survived, and if she still cared, she could replace all of that information. In the living room she composed herself, then called Trey. “Hi, honey. Sorry to bother you. Are you still at the office?”
“Yeah.”
“I need a secure laptop.”
“What’s going on?” Trey asked.
“Simon says our home network has been compromised so he’s shut down my computer and our home network. And I just saw some spiders in the basement. I think they may be those deadly ones.” Her skin crawled at the thought. “I need a secure computer to look up pictures of bad spiders.”
“Call the exterminators.”
“Trey!”
“Okay. I suppose I can locate a secure laptop with satellite access for you. I’ll bring one home tonight. I’ll be late. Don’t hold dinner. Can it wait until then?”
“I wish you were here.”
“I do too, Patsy, but I have a job to do tonight that could lead to who killed your mother.”
“Be careful.”
* * *
After Father John and his daughter walked into the city parking garage, Trey left his vantage point and climbed into the passenger side of Alton’s Mercedes to await their exit.
When Father John’s van emerged from the garage, Alton pulled his Mercedes into traffic behind it. Trey kept radio contact with Beau, who trailed in his own car. Their backup plan for abducting the priest was progressing as intended, but the woman in the priest’s van complicated things.