And here he was driving back home, to Jenny, not only putting himself in danger but also his wife. She’d go crazy if he didn’t come home tonight.
Damn.
What to do for the best? Protect her. Protect himself. And worry about their relationship later. Silk made the decision as the stop light turned to green, classifying it as a sign. He touched the satnav into action, scrolling down to find nearby hotels. If he didn’t know where he was going no one else would.
Except Collins, an ironic side of him spoke up.
Silk ignored the voice and headed for the nearest hotel. Midnight was already past. His mind clicked furiously over the problems the dawn would bring.
*
When he woke it was with a sense of the unfamiliar. There had been a time with the agency when waking up in strange, uncomfortable hotel rooms was the norm, but that life had been left behind. Or so he’d thought.
His cell vibrated its way across the bedside table. Silk answered it still with the fog of sleep clouding his brain.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Jenny?” Silk coughed and sat up. Morning light trickled through the partly open curtains.
“Who else would it be?” Jenny’s voice sounded dangerously high.
“No one. Look, I’m sorry about—”
“Where were you?”
“I’m working. All I’m doing is working.”
“But you’re in LA, Adam. Why can’t you come home? Who was the woman who died?”
Silk felt the words catch in his throat. “It’s complicated as hell.”
“It always is.”
“Jenny,” Silk tried. “You’ve never questioned a job before. Not even the disavowal. Why now?”
His wife was silent for a moment and then her voice turned quiet. “Because I saw your face,” she whispered. “After the phone call. I saw . . . something die in you.”
Silk couldn’t speak. He stared at the opposite wall, suddenly unable to see because of the water in his eyes.
“Meet me later,” Jenny pleaded. “To talk.”
“Alright.” Silk’s voice was husky.
“The pier,” she said. “At two. We’ll get coffee and donuts.”
“Alright.”
Silk finished the call without another word, his thoughts far away. On the one hand he knew exactly how Jenny felt and what he was doing to their terrific relationship. On the other he didn’t care and believed that Tanya came first. Not only that, speed was a factor here. A trail went cold in less than twenty four hours. It had already moved past that point.
His cell rang again. Silk glanced down, prepared to send the call to voicemail, but then saw the blocked number.
“Yes?”
“Hi, Adam Silk?”
“Is that who you’re trying to contact?”
“Yes. This is Detective Brewster of the LAPD.”
Silk dredged the name up. Brewster was the cop who had stepped in yesterday; Rosenthal’s partner. She was also on the task force and had seemed amenable enough. Silk put a smile in his voice. “Hi, Detective.”
“Listen. I have some time while Reggie’s not around. And I want to talk to you about a few things. Do you wanna get coffee?”
Silk agreed, painfully aware he had put Jenny off until this afternoon. “Sure. Now?”
“I’m already there.”
*
Silk entered the coffee bar and saw Susie Brewster straight away. She was hard to miss. She held his gaze all the way across the floor, long enough for Silk to discern a complex depth of determination and pain behind those distracting eyes. This early in the morning she wore sweats and a sheen of perspiration, yet her eyes were red-rimmed and her fingers trembled.
Silk ignored the latter as he sat down. “Been working out?”
“I like to work my issues out in the early mornings.”
“Good to know. Remind me never to wake up with you.”
Brewster raised an eyebrow. Silk cringed. “Crap. That came out wrong. Sorry.”
The detective slid a mug of coffee across the table. “Ordered you a black Americano. That okay?”
“Sure is. Now, what did you want to talk about?”
“Rosenthal,” Brewster shook her head, “sure has some mixed-up feelings for you.”
“I hope none of them are good.”
“You’d get your wish. This gang you used to be part of—they fucked him good and proper.”
Silk had no wish to discuss Reggie Rosenthal and his indolent failings. “Any good cop would have made a difference. But not Reggie.”
“Yeah, well, I’m here now. And trying to make sense of it all.”
“Where did you come from? And what did you do wrong?”
Brewster’s face hardened. “What?”
“To end up with Reggie as partner.”
“Oh. I just moved down from the SFPD.” She paused as if unsure she should continue, then simply said, “Bad break up.”
Silk wondered if the split was personal or work-related, but said nothing. Brewster continued, “Got stuck with Reggie six months ago and am just trying to keep my head above water.” She attempted a bright smile that fell fifty kilowatts short of a hundred. “Coping.”
“I’m guessing you already know that working with Reggie won’t help.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that already. But then neither does curling up alone with a bottle of red to watch one more soppy movie.” She paused and mentally kicked herself. “But hey, enough about me. Listen . . . do you recall the fact I mentioned? The one we aren’t releasing to the press?”
“The impression the killer left in the victims’ foreheads?”
“Yeah. Well, forensics believe it was done with a kind of pendant. Y’know, like a keepsake. Or a bracelet? Something like that.”
Silk frowned. “I see. Can I ask, Detective Brewster, why are you so freely involving me in all this? Couldn’t it get you disciplined?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I want to close this goddamn case and there ain’t no way I’m gonna do it working with Reggie. Plus, you guys are a good crew. I asked around. And the lady FBI agent vouched for you.”
“And Reggie isn’t interested in justice.”
“Not this time. Other times—he has his moments. I have more . . . if you want to hear it?”
Silk braced himself. “Go on.”
“Tanya’s neck was cut pretty deep. Professionally. Possibly with a military blade. We’re still working on that one. Footprints around the scene indicate the perp was a big man, over six feet tall. Tanya had carpet threads behind her fingernails, possibly from struggling after being confined alive in somebody’s trunk.”
Silk sipped his coffee. This close up, he could smell the alcohol on Detective Brewster’s breath. If today wasn’t her day off then she needed to start serious work on a packet of breath mints. The smile was so frayed around the edges he could see the deeper darkness peering through. But there was also a determination, a gritty single-mindedness that he admired; probably because it reminded him of himself all those years ago.
Susie Brewster was worth saving.
He smiled at her without realizing. The gesture made her face light up. She sat back and folded her arms. “So whatcha got for me?”
Silk told her everything from the night before, and about how Agent Collins had convinced him that he might be the next target.
Brewster nodded. “Reggie also said that. But he sounded more hopeful.”
“Has the task force checked into Tanya’s new life yet?”
“Ongoing. So is the boyfriend check, though he’s fine so far.” The detective sighed.
“Don’t worry,” Silk said. “We’re gonna fry this bastard and anyone who stands in our way.”
14
The killer saw the forthcoming scenario play out as plain as day in his mind’s eye. The actions were exhaustively planned, the outcome inevitable. Easier than frying a burger. Freddie Knott would succumb to a long-planned and even longer-awaited justi
ce.
The bell was about to toll for the fourth member of the gang, the one who liked to slice. The killer had hoped to save him for last, but with the new police investigation and the fact that he hadn’t yet located the fifth and final member, the decision had been taken out of his hands.
Speaking of which, he unclasped them and allowed his mother’s pendant to fall to the floor. It landed with a little thud, springing open, showing a small, faded picture of a happy family. His dad, mom, sister and himself.
Before it all fell apart.
First Mom and Dad. Then, years later, his sister unable to cope in her new life. His loving family, taken from him.
He left the pendant where it was, rose and went over to the bureau. Resting atop it were the only other photographs that meant anything to his new life. A not-so-old picture of himself and his army buddies. They were gone now, decaying with honors in the ground—leaving him as alone as he’d been all those years ago. And then the Army itself, his new family, had betrayed him, throwing him to the wolves for the mere battering of his commanding officer.
Stress and the loss of one’s comrades wasn’t a consideration it seemed.
But revenge wasn’t easy. It had occupied his mind, consumed him this last year or so, each obstacle being overcome with a clever plan. And now he was almost there. The investigation was stalling even after Tanya’s murder thanks in part to that idiot Rosenthal. The killer listened to his rants and to the comments of the other task force members.
It all helped hone the plan into even more perfect shape.
Constantly evolving . . .
Only one more variable remained. The fifth gang member, who would be the sixth and final kill. Adam Silk. The man had dropped right out of sight the moment he quit the gang, and the killer hadn’t been able to track him. If he was still in LA then someone with skill had worked hard to conceal his digital and physical footprint.
But the killer’s ears were always open. He was confident that someone, soon, would put it together and smoke him out.
Then . . . well, what more could he say?
Justice would finally be served.
But first, it would come down hard on Freddie Knott.
15
Trent took the call that would change his life early the same morning.
Doug the Trout was unusually subdued. “Meet me. Usual place. One hour.”
Trent turned away from the local news channel he’d been letting wash right over him. “What’s wrong?”
“All of you. Just come. Reality just hit, my friend, and it’s one big, hard mother.”
“Are you okay?” They had several pre-planned code words arranged between them.
“We’ll see. Just get there.”
Trent was left listening to the loud buzz of the empty line. Doug, usually the life of the party, had just delivered his most despondent lines ever. Trent took several things from that—the three members of the Edge weren’t going to like what they heard; Doug didn’t like what he had heard; and their lives were about to erupt.
In the next hour everything would change.
Trent called Radford then Silk. Dan answered on the first ring. Silk didn’t answer at all. Trent’s face fixed into an uncompromising mask. If their friend didn’t want their help, he couldn’t be forced to take it.
But this was different. Trent relented and tried three more times, eventually giving up and leaving a message. There was one more thing he needed to do before the life he had built and everything around it went ballistic, but because it was a school day he couldn’t even do that. Mikey would remain blissfully unaware of his father’s difficulties and Victoria wasn’t even worth taking the time to call.
Trent picked Radford up a short while later. As they climbed the winding roads toward Mulholland, the tall buildings grouped around the center of the city behind them glittered as they reflected the rising sun. Another day had dawned in the City of Angels. Trent wondered just how many people would change their lives down there today. Not as many as hoped to, he was sure.
They reached the black curving cable of Mulholland and, for the first time in many years, Trent felt a tiny flutter of anticipation. The three-man team had been disavowed years ago; they had lost their jobs and become outcasts; they’d taken the fall for a monumental fuck up that was in fact the fault of every agency out there. With their careers ended and some handsome recompense, the Edge had taken to helping those who couldn’t help themselves out of nasty situations. With Doug’s help they’d taken down some pretty slimy criminals.
But over the last month a vital analyst, friendly to Doug, had warned that something around the disavowed case was starting to unravel. Some secrets were never meant to be kept and this, it seemed, was one. Trent was especially reticent about learning the new real truth. The Edge were just starting to settle nicely into their new lives and this would turn everything upside down yet again, not to mention the renewed government attention.
And Mikey? He hoped to God his son would be kept out of this one.
Doug’s car was already parked in their usual spot. Trent pulled up behind and the two men climbed into Doug’s dark-blue sedan. The air-con was whispering away softly, the cup holders sporting Styrofoam cups of black coffee. Doug stared straight ahead through the window, his face an unreadable mask, and he did not look at them.
“First. Doesn’t matter what you want. I can’t stop this coming out. No one can. So don’t even go there.”
“Jesus, Doug, I’m shaking here.” Radford tried to make light of it.
Trent remained impassive, staring like Doug into the middle-distance.
“Alright. Now, I know you guys recall this as easily as my wonderful face but it helps us get the perspective, so I’m gonna go through it anyway. Believe me, you have no idea where we’re gonna end up. It’s fuckin’ crazy.” Doug shook his head, worrying Trent even more.
“So. The Miller family, all grown up, are together and out for a fun Sunday drive. Mom. Dad. Brother. Two sisters—Maisie and Emilia. Their day began to deteriorate when they became part of an interstate pile up. Not good, but they were all uninjured, not even a scratch on the car, so take that as a win-win, right? Then, they become witnesses to a murder. A man called Blanka Davic caused the pile up by chasing down one of his own, uncaring of the civilians caught up in his little crazy moment, and then stepped out of his car to finish the guy off. Point blank.”
“Are we going somewhere?” Radford suddenly interjected. “C’mon, Doug!”
The Trout ignored the interruption. “The Millers were witnesses. They saw Davic commit murder and he saw them watching. The Serb was about to step over to their car and finish them off when the cops arrived. Cue Davic’s quick exit and the Miller’s introduction to protective custody.”
“Lives destroyed,” Trent murmured.
“Too true. And you never know when it’s gonna happen.” Doug paused. “Take Silk for example. And where the hell is he?”
“Just noticed?” Trent asked with a brief smile. “Silk’s on a personal job. We’ll get back to that. Go on.”
“Alright. So the trial is set. The Millers are prepped. The leader of the Serbian Mafia is all set to go to jail. Then the unthinkable happens. Why unthinkable I hear you ask? Because—”
“I didn’t ask anything,” Radford moaned. “I sighed in boredom.”
“Because . . . the best teams in the business are part of the protection detail. The CIA are the eyes, using the Razor’s Edge as primary and the Thrusters as back up. The FBI are internal, watching the grounds. WITSEC agents guard the family itself. The cops even have a second perimeter worked up. This is powerful protection, big time stuff costing big bucks. Nothing can go wrong.”
Doug looked down at his lap. “But it did. Davic’s thugs got past the CIA, the FBI and everyone else. They stormed the house, gained entry, and murdered that poor family whilst they ate their supper. Only twenty-five-year-old Emilia Miller survived the onslaught and she’s still alive, proba
bly because the bad guys didn’t know she survived, and living somewhere under an assumed name. Broken to pieces, no doubt. Two members of the assault team were caught, but to this day haven’t spoken a word. The CIA team took the fall for it all because they were responsible for surveillance. The situation called for a scapegoat. You guys were it. The end. Have I missed anything?”
“The part where no one ever found out how Davic’s men actually located the Millers and how they broke through my security,” Radford said quietly. “I designed that perimeter array. It should never have failed like it did.”
Trent studied the drop off to the left of the car and the sprawling view below. “Let’s hear it, Doug.”
The Trout drew a nervous breath. “I just can’t believe what I’m about to tell you.”
“We need to hear this.”
“No one needs to hear this,” Doug whispered. “It’s pure political dynamite. And I hope you guys are all brushed up on your combat tactics. ‘Cause you’re heading for the biggest firefight of your lives.”
16
Doug drained his coffee before continuing.
“So what do we know? The comms went down, the lights went out. The Millers bought it. We brought out the bodies and Emilia. That it?”
“Yes.”
“No. We were infiltrated. We were hacked. The Millers never bought it.”
Trent turned for the first time. “Say again?”
“A team hit that house. A very special team. In black ops they’re known as ‘clean-up crews’, and they’re the best at what they do. Some call it exfiltration.”
“I’ve heard of those crews. Even the CIA think they’re a myth,” Radford said.
“Well, they’re real, or at least they used to be. And some of those guys are still in the game. Their specialty lies in disappearing people, and leaving nothing questionable behind. You wouldn’t believe the people these guys have made disappear and gotten away with it. The names . . .”
“Doug!” Radford all but screamed.
“Yeah, yeah. Well, in this case they disappeared the Millers. Or most of them. And they handed that family, alive, over to Blanka Davic.”
The Disavowed Book 2 - In Harm's Way Page 7