“I certainly hope so,” said Flagg. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. My bet is that he’s hiding somewhere on Camp Pendleton. Possibly in the same barracks building as Quinn’s wife, or very close by. Stay loose. If the Fishers make the same mistake and call Captain Quinn, I don’t want any near misses. Be ready to move as soon as I call with the location.”
“Would it make sense to take my other team off Quinn to give me more flexibility here?”
“No. This Quinn character has something up his sleeve. I want him watched from a distance at all times. Hold on,” said Flagg. “I just received word that his phone has stopped moving in Las Pulgas. Make sure your men stay back. The transcript from his phone call indicated this was his destination.”
“Copy that,” said Leeds. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes with an update.”
Flagg disconnected the call without answering.
Leeds immediately contacted the team trailing Quinn. “I just received word that Quinn stopped in Las Pulgas.”
“Yeah,” said the operative. “He pulled off on Brown Street and headed for the center of the camp. We’re catching up to his location.”
“Don’t let him out of your sight.”
“We’re reacquiring,” said the operative. “Car surveillance is a little tricky on base.”
“You have to watch his ass closely,” said Leeds. “He’s craftier than you think. I’ll stay on the line until you reacquire.”
“Copy that, sir. Turning onto A Street. Looks like he’s headed for the barracks. Is it possible he stashed the family here?”
“Very unlikely,” said Leeds. “He left his phone on for a reason.”
But why would he leave it on? A panicky idea gripped Leeds.
“Keep him in sight,” he said, “but maintain a safe distance. If anything feels off, get out of there.”
“Ambush?” asked the operative.
“Not the kind of ambush you’re thinking. He could have set something up with base security or even his own Marines.”
“Rules of engagement?”
“Same: do not under any circumstances engage base personnel.”
“Copy,” the operative said. “Looks like he parked at the barracks. We’ll pick a distant spot and observe.”
“All right. I’ll stay on.”
Less than a minute later, the operative was back on the line.
“Sir, I don’t know about this. The tracking data sent to us by tech support says the phone is still in the jeep, but I don’t see Quinn.”
“Did you see him walk to the barracks building?”
“Negative. He wasn’t parked long enough out of our sight to make it to the building.”
“And he wasn’t in the jeep when you drove up?” asked Leeds.
“I can’t be sure,” said the operative. “We didn’t enter the lot. I didn’t want to get trapped between the barracks buildings if Quinn had something planned.”
“Shit. Did you see any other vehicles driving in the lot when you arrived?”
“I don’t think so,” said the operative. “Wait. We did have one car. A red sedan, but that was driven by a woman. A Marine.”
“Goddamn it,” said Leeds. “The Quinns’ second car is a red Toyota sedan. How the fuck did you let that get by you?”
“I know they drive a red Toyota, but—but it wasn’t Quinn. The driver was a female Marine.”
“How could you know that if you weren’t in the parking lot?”
“I could see long blonde hair from the road. And the Marine Corps utility cover.”
“Women in the Marine Corps wear long hair in a fastened bun. Fuck. He swapped cars,” said Leeds. “Which way did the car go?”
“Back toward Brown Road,” he said. “I don’t think it was—shit. I can’t believe that. Sorry, sir. We’ll reacquire.”
“Don’t bother. Return to San Mateo,” said Leeds. “He could be headed in any of three directions right now, and he has one hell of a head start. I’ll be in touch.”
Leeds stared at his phone for a few seconds, shaking his head. Like Flagg said, this Quinn guy was really starting to piss him off.
CHAPTER 56
Supervisory Detective Anna Reeves stood at the back of the small conference room inside the Base Access building next to the Main Gate, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. She’d played little part in the meeting, despite her assignment as lead investigator. Deputy Chief Harris and Captain Gutierrez ran the real show. And what a shitty show it had been up to this point. Twenty-four minutes into the meeting, it didn’t appear that they were making any headway with the two Marines sent to represent Camp Pendleton’s commanding general.
Colonel Larry Banta, commanding officer of the base’s Security and Emergency Services Battalion, shook his head, clasping his hands together on the table. “Chief, I think we’ve reached an impasse. You know I can’t allow county law-enforcement personnel on base in an investigative capacity. Even in a liaison capacity.”
“Can’t or won’t?” pressed Harris.
“Both,” said Banta. “Lieutenant Colonel Westin has the resources necessary to handle this.”
“Let’s be honest here,” said Harris. “Your Provost Marshall’s Office is not equipped to conduct a full-scale fugitive search.”
Lieutenant Colonel Westin leaned forward, forming a snarky smile. “I’m confident we can handle it—without your interference.”
“You guys are unbelievable,” Harris said. “We’re talking about a cop killer here. Isn’t there a way we can work something out? I’m asking as a professional courtesy. I have to bring something back to the chief.”
Banta leaned in. “San Diego County PD will not be admitted to the base, under any circumstance or guise, regardless of whatever threat you hoped to imply. I don’t see the need to discuss this any further. I spoke with the base commander immediately prior to this meeting, and he concurs with my decision.”
“The chief won’t be happy with this,” said Harris.
“That’s your problem, not mine,” said Banta.
Deputy Chief Harris stifled a laugh. “We’ll see about that. The chief doesn’t have a lot of confidence in the Provost Marshall’s Office.”
“So much for his professional courtesy spiel,” said Lieutenant Colonel Westin to the room at large.
Harris continued. “He asked Captain Gutierrez here to investigate the feasibility of establishing police checkpoints outside of your gates.”
“Very feasible,” said Gutierrez, speaking his first words of the meeting.
“You know,” added Harris, “to make sure Fisher and his accomplice don’t slip through your fingers. Can’t be too thorough when you’re dealing with cop killers.”
Reeves couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Did Harris just threaten to blockade Camp Pendleton?
“That would be highly inadvisable,” said Harris. “I assume you understand the impact of blocking Camp Pendleton traffic on family members?”
“I understand it would be very impactful,” said Harris. “And so does the chief. It would go a long way toward avoiding this kind of mess if you’d release the name of the Marine who let Nathan Fisher onto the base last night.”
“I can’t release that name without permission from the base commander,” said Banta.
“And I presume he didn’t authorize that release.”
“Correct,” said Banta. “The individual in question will be questioned by our Criminal Investigative Division, and if the base commander, along with the individual’s direct unit commander, deem it appropriate, he or she will be remanded into your custody—as usual. We have a long history of cooperating with local, state, and federal authorities in criminal investigative matters.”
“This doesn’t feel like cooperation,” said Harris. “I’m sure the chief will agree. I imagine he might take a really close look at Gutierrez’s feasibility study.”
“Very feasible,” repeated Gutierrez.
“There it is,” said Westin.
“A fascinating two-word deep dive into the situation.”
“Two words, two hundred pages,” said Harris. “The result will be the same.”
The Marine major stood suddenly. “Gentlemen, I need to move on to another appointment,” she said, reaching her hand across the table.
This is odd, thought Reeves. The major shook the two senior police officers’ hands and exited the room with her briefcase.
When the door shut, Colonel Banta leaned across the table toward Deputy Chief Harris. Reeves couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say to Harris. She’d always thought the deputy chief was an asshole.
“Now that the lawyer is out of the room,” said Banta in a quiet, measured voice, “we’re going to do everything in our power to nab this guy, which is considerable in a closed military setting. We’ll turn over Mr. Fisher without question, within minutes of taking him into custody, and if we determine that the individual who granted him access to the base was involved in the murder of your detective, the same deal applies.
“But hear this,” continued the colonel. “If you decide to blockade the gates, you better bring something heavier than those flimsy ATAVs. Five members in the standard Marine infantry squad carry weapons capable of punching a hole straight through the ATAV’s upgraded armor kit.”
“Is that a threat?” asked Harris.
“No. Just an interesting fact,” said Banta. “Here’s another fact. The base commander takes threats to the safety and security of the families living off base just as seriously as direct threats to the service members. Make sure Chief Summers understands that.”
“I’ll be sure to pass it along.”
When the meeting adjourned, Harris cornered Reeves in the parking lot while Gutierrez distracted her detectives.
“This wouldn’t be an issue if you’d done your fucking job right in the first place,” said Harris.
“Excuse me?” she said. “Fisher’s case data was independently reviewed by detectives and run through the Virtual Investigative Division. They found no anomalies to suggest he was lying about his purpose at the beach. We knew that going into his interview. And it’s not like he hopped a flight a few hours later. He stuck around for close to forty-eight hours. He checked out.”
“Apparently, he didn’t.”
“I don’t know.”
“What?” asked Harris.
“Never mind, sir,” said Reeves. “I need to get back to my team.”
“No. What were you about to say? You don’t think he killed Peck?” asked Harris, pointing a stubby finger at her. “I know what you’ve been whispering to your people around the crime scene. Quit with the fucking conspiracy theories and stick to the evidence. Fisher killed Peck. I don’t expect you to suggest otherwise. That’s his lawyer’s job.”
He was right about the evidence. They had more than enough to arrest Fisher for the murder of Detective Peck. Further analysis of his electronic profile suggested they could enhance the charges under state terrorism prosecution guidelines. Despite the evidence, something didn’t add up for Reeves. The scene at Fisher’s house generated more questions than answers. Questions that had left the best forensics people in the county utterly baffled. She had a duty to dig deeper, but for now—play the game.
“Understood, sir,” said Reeves, knowing better than to say another word.
“You better understand,” said Harris. “I’m half tempted to find another supervisory detective to run the case. One more aligned with department priorities.”
“My priorities are aligned, sir.”
“I hope so,” he said. “Because the chief isn’t going to sit on his hands with a cop killer on the loose.”
She nodded, enduring one of his miserably long stares. When he disappeared into the backseat of an unmarked SUV, she let out a long sigh of relief. His departing statement signaled trouble. Harris would take this personally and blow the situation out of proportion back at headquarters. By tonight, San Diego County police leadership would embark on some kind of ego-saving, self-destructive operation guaranteed to embarrass the department in the long run. She couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER 57
David Quinn took a deep breath inside the automatic door vestibule at the Marine Exchange and stepped forward, activating the outer sliding door. He strode through the wide opening, pushing a shopping cart in front of him as he scanned the parking lot. There was no sign of the silver sedan occupied by two Marines in dire need of haircuts among the hundred or so cars jammed into the lot. He’d left them behind a few hours ago at Las Pulgas, along with the jeep he needed to retrieve. All part of the plan.
His cart bumped along, jostling the electronics and assorted items he had purchased for the Fishers. Besides a few rugged outfits, waterproof boots, and a handheld virtual gamer for the son, he’d bought a two-person tent. Keira Fisher hadn’t looked too thrilled by the prospect of sleeping on the ground after he’d childishly reinforced her concern about snakes and tarantulas. Fully assembled, the two-person tent would be small enough to hide in one of the draws, and if they kept it zipped tight at all times, the chance of waking up with a tarantula on top of them was minimal.
He’d probably phrase that differently when he gave them the tent.
When Quinn arrived at his car, he pretended to drop his keys. On the ground, he looked under the cars next to him for shoes or odd shadows. Satisfied that nobody was hiding behind a nearby vehicle to ambush him, he opened the backseat of the red Toyota and emptied the shopping cart. The satphones went in the front seat. He’d drive to a less congested area and activate one of them, placing a call to his dad. If that didn’t work, he’d try Nathan’s father.
His attempts to score an encrypted satphone had fallen flat at First Radio Battalion. He’d managed to sweet-talk his way into their operations shack for about twenty minutes, but he never came across any satphones. He’d been tempted to borrow a phone, but couldn’t shake the very real threat of voice-recognition software picking up the call. Now he knew exactly how an Afghan insurgent must have felt trying to coordinate attacks: every call was a risk, every turn a possible end to your day.
Halfway out of the parking lot, he spotted a dark-green Jeep Cherokee with two occupants pulling out of a space two rows over from where he’d been parked. Cerberus would have more than one team on Camp Pendleton looking for them, and the Base Exchange was a logical place for a stakeout. Not a problem. He could work with this as long as they didn’t try to grab him in broad daylight. He could deal with that, too, but it would pretty much put an end to the sneaking around on base. Gunfights tended to attract attention.
Quinn drove his car north out of Mainside, opting to take a longer, more open route back to San Mateo. The half-mile, 120-degree turn on Vandegrift Road just south of Lake O’Neil would be ideal for flushing out a tail. The turn was too long for traditional car-surveillance techniques. The following car would be forced to make a difficult choice. Stay out of sight but fall more than a half mile behind, or follow at a regular interval, alerting the target. His money was on the first tactic. He’d already identified one of their surveillance teams, and that crew had followed him at a safe distance, suggesting a passive surveillance stance.
Passive surveillance made the most sense given the situation. They knew he was armed and capable, rendering a successful kidnapping unlikely. Killing him wasn’t an option either, since they needed him to find Fisher. They would follow at a safe distance and hope he led them to Fisher. At the same time, they would search for his wife. If they captured Alison, they could leverage her against him—and it would work. Forced to choose between his wife and the Fishers? He didn’t want to think about it. Hopefully, he’d have some good news waiting for him back at Fox Company area. News that would take his wife out of the equation temporarily and allow him to focus on the men posing as Marines on his base.
A few minutes later, his car rounded the long, shallow turn on Vandegrift Road. Quinn watched the road across the open field to his left, waiting to see
what approach they would take. It was also possible he wasn’t being followed, and the two Marines he’d seen in the parking lot had extended their lunch break to shop in the exchange. He kept driving on Vandegrift, coming to the point where the road disappeared behind a low rise. The green Jeep Cherokee appeared on the road across the field moments before he lost sight of them. They were following him at a very safe distance, hoping to avoid obvious detection. That made his life easier—for now.
CHAPTER 58
Nathan Fisher stumbled over a thick, protruding root, grinding his left knee into the hard ground a few feet from their makeshift shelter. He’d quit counting the number of times he’d fallen at this point. He was exhausted, and his legs refused to adjust to the uneven ground. At this point, he simply accepted the fact that he would land on his knees every time he left the shelter. That way, if he managed to return from a bathroom trip without falling, he could consider it a major accomplishment.
He was probably being too hard on himself, but looking up from the fall to see no sympathy on Keira’s face did little to validate that theory. She’d woken up in a decent enough mood, given the circumstances, but that literally went downhill shortly after sunrise, when they decided to move into the draw to hide for the day.
The gully turned out to be steeper than it looked, especially when approached farther down the ridge. He’d mistakenly assumed they’d be doing themselves a favor by heading directly into the deep gully from the side, avoiding a longer trek down the densely vegetated middle. The trip had been quicker—no doubt about that—but he would have gladly traded a barely controlled, rapid fall for a longer, more measured descent. He had several bloody scratches and a few bone-deep bruises to support that conclusion.
The first forty-pound jerrican of water broke free of his grip and slid halfway down the side of the draw as soon as they started descending its steep walls. Instead of listening to his wife’s on-the-spot advice about slowing down, he embraced the can’s sudden tumble with a stark lack of logic. Without thinking, he grabbed the second can out of her hand and tossed it into the draw, then jumped down after it. Maybe it was the coffee. Maybe he’d seen too many extreme-sports clips with guys throwing caution to the wind. Maybe he was just too fucking tired to make a good decision. Whatever the combination of stupid reasons, it turned out to be a severely bad call on his part.
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