“Nobody sees us unless we want them to see us. You think we’d walk into the lobby of this building allowing our pictures to appear all over the place the minute we leave?”
“So, that’s how you didn’t show up on video when you killed the Bonsleys?”
Cristos smiled at Jack but remained silent.
As the car passed sublevel two, Aaron reached inside his jacket and pulled his gun.
“Absolutely not!” Jack shouted at Aaron before turning to Cristos. “You want my cooperation, no guns. Let me just walk in and get the box, and we walk out.” Jack felt as if he were descending into Hades with hell’s minions.
Aaron shook his head, but Cristos nodded in agreement. “No guns… for the moment. You’ve got two minutes to get the case.”
Charlie nodded to Perry, who stood at the exit from the evidence room, buzzing him out the security door into the lobby. Charlie didn’t much like the overly stiff FBI agent who walked around his domain as if he owned it, talking to his own people with respect yet talking down to both Charlie and the female analyst from the DA’s office.
As Perry left, Charlie smiled inwardly. Despite all of Perry’s arrogance, all of his blowhard superiority, Charlie knew he would never find what he was looking for. As far as Charlie was concerned, he was the one who actually controlled the moment. He was well aware of what everyone was looking for, he knew its exact location, and he knew that no matter how many records people pored over, no one would be finding it anywhere in the database. And if and when they decided to go through every box, it could take them weeks before they found the unregistered evidence box that Jack and Mia had hidden away.
But Charlie also remembered how scared Jack’s wife looked when asked about its contents. When he had heard of their untimely deaths this morning, Charlie knew that it was no car accident that ended their lives. Someone, somehow, gave them a little push. When he had arrived earlier in the day to see the FBI and judicial liaison waiting for him, asking if he knew where an evidence case belonging to Jack Keeler might be, he said he had no idea. It wasn’t in the system. Deny till you die; the phrase kept echoing in his head. It was Charlie’s intention to wait until things died down, grab the box himself, and turn it over to Frank Archer.
But now that Charlie knew Jack was alive, that he was on his way to get the case, a new clarity formed in his mind. Jack would set things to right. That’s what he did. It’s what he had always done.
Charlie turned as two cops exited the elevator and stood at the glass window.
“How’s life at Midtown South?” Charlie asked the two detectives who stood on the other side of the security glass.
“Hey, Charlie,” Scott Myers said. “Always fun.”
“You know, the usual summertime mayhem,” Sid Reiner said as he dug through his pants, searching for his ID, cursing under his breath.
Although Reiner thought his words were unheard, Charlie heard it all, their voices amplified through the speaker under the window. Everyone knew Charlie’s rules. Charlie had always been a stickler for protocol, demanding to see proper ID from all cops and detectives who ventured down into this world-his world-no matter if he knew them a lifetime or a day. And if they were his relatives, he asked to see two forms of ID before he granted access. This was his domain. He was charged with protecting it, and if someone wanted to curse his ass out under his breath for enforcing security, that was just fine.
And with Perry now standing in the vestibule, impatiently waiting for the elevator, watching the exchange with judgmental eyes, Charlie was going to ensure that the FBI understood not only how seriously he took his job but also how strongly he carried it out.
Detective Myers stood at the window, holding his ID up for Charlie to see as he laughed at his partner, who grew frantic in his search. Charlie had known Myers and Reiner for a few years now. They were good detectives, but like so many before them, their passion for the job had faded, their appearance sloppy, their attitudes jaded. Charlie didn’t fault them-after all, he was removed from their world, safely hidden behind a wall of glass. Myers and Reiner saw and dealt with things most people couldn’t imagine and did it on a salary that forced you to live paycheck to paycheck.
As Reiner continued to fumble for his ID, the second bank of elevator doors opened, and to Charlie’s surprise, Jack stood there flanked by three men. Larry hadn’t called down, hadn’t told him anyone else was on their way down. They had spoken not two minutes earlier confirming that Myers and Reiner had some evidence to log in, but there was no mention of Jack or three companions.
It was Perry who reacted first at seeing Jack. He stood there speechless, his mouth half open in surprise.
“Mr. Keeler?” Perry said, his normal confidence temporarily on hold.
Jack thrust out his hand in an election-style greeting.
“I’m glad to see you’re alive…” Perry said as he shook Jack’s hand.
“And you are?” Jack asked, a hint of distrust in his voice.
“Joe Perry, FBI.” Perry looked at the other men, his mind beginning to spin. “I hadn’t heard you were alive. And your wife?”
“Alive.”
“Thank God,” Perry said before reverting back to his old self. “Forgive me, but why are you down here?”
“This is my backyard, Mr. Perry, and you’re asking me what I’m doing here?”
“I mean no offense, but your wife, who works for us-”
“Who is still missing,” Jack snapped back.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Perry paused. “But if your wife is still missing… why is it this is the place you come to?”
“Charlie,” Jack called out, ignoring the question and hoping to keep the conversation from devolving into a situation where Aaron would feel compelled to reach into his jacket again.
“Mr. Keeler,” Charlie said, “so glad you’re here-”
“Excuse me,” Perry interrupted. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Jack could see Aaron and Donal getting edgy, exchanging glances.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. His mind was flying. Before a single threat was made, Jack knew that disaster was looming. Perry wasn’t going anywhere, and if Jack was to retrieve the case, something would have to give, and sadly, he knew what that was. “Perhaps we could speak in private.”
Cristos looked at Jack, his eyes void of communication but his thoughts clear.
Scott Myers had watched the entire exchange from where he stood by the glass window and, like everyone else, had that same reaction at seeing Jack Keeler come back to life. But when he saw the body language of Keeler’s escorts, his instincts took over, and he cautiously laid his hand upon the Glock 19 at his waist. Not a second later, a bullet caught him in the right cheek before his hand had a chance to draw his gun.
Donal, the barrel of his gun still smoking, turned it on Perry.
From behind the safety of the glass, Charlie grabbed the phone.
Aaron charged Reiner, whose hands were still in his pockets searching for his ID, grabbing him, smashing his face up against the glass as he jammed his pistol into the detective’s neck, twisting his head violently to the side. Aaron looked at Charlie and said, “Drop that phone if you want this man to live.”
Charlie hesitated, staring between Reiner’s desperate eyes and the face of his red-haired attacker.
“Now, open the door.”
Charlie and Reiner stared at each other, fear etched in the detective’s face as his eyes pleaded for help. Charlie was frozen, the phone still in his hand, poised to dial.
Cristos gave a subtle nod, and Aaron pulled the trigger. The blast of the 9mm echoed in the small vestibule as the side of Reiner’s head splattered the window.
Donal grabbed Perry by the back of his collar; his gun jammed into the FBI agent’s neck and shoved him toward the blood-covered window. Aaron released Reiner’s body and let it crumple to the floor. Donal took his place, shoving Perry against the glass.
“Care to have
another go at that?” Donal said.
Charlie stared back through the blood-covered window at Jack, sharing a horrified look as they both stood there powerless.
But Aaron wasn’t waiting. He reached into the black bag on his shoulder and withdrew an egg-sized ball. A small LED device protruded from the malleable substance. He rolled it around in his hand, fingered two small buttons on the LED, and jammed it up onto the bloody glass.
“You are a stubborn one,” Donal said to Charlie. And without another word, Donal pulled the trigger, killing Perry.
Charlie, in shock from the sight of death close up, stared at the Silly Putty-like glob. The moment hung there as he finally realized what it was… and dived for cover.
The small explosion shattered the three-inch-thick window as if it was a wine glass thrown to the floor. The accompanying fireball rolled up to the ceiling and curled back down.
Without waiting for the smoke to clear, Aaron climbed through the three-by-three foot hole onto the reception desk and leaped down on top of Charlie, who rolled around on the ground with shards of bloody glass embedded in his skin. Aaron kicked him in the gut and quickly turned to the console, wiping the glass from the surface. He found and thumbed the red door button. The buzzer sounded, and Cristos, Donal, and Jack came charging in.
Donal shucked the bag off his shoulder and onto the counter as he looked around the room. He reached down to Charlie, taking his gun and handcuffs.
Cristos turned to Aaron. “There are three in there. Clear the room so Mr. Keeler can get what we came for.”
Jack raced to Charlie’s side, leaning over him, running his hands around his body, looking for serious injury.
“I’m so sorry,” Jack whispered before being violently snatched to his feet by Cristos.
“Time to save your wife.”
CHAPTER 30
FRIDAY, 8:45 P.M.
Bracato and Stratton sat in the back of the evidence room at a makeshift desk, feeling like overqualified guards, as Holly whirred away at her computer, trying to locate the evidence case that might or might not be down there.
Stratton didn’t mind babysitting Holly. He had always liked blondes and had been partial to the more athletic types, a description that the twenty-five-year-old Holly easily fit. He hoped at least to get her phone number by the end of their shift.
Greg Stratton was the senior of the two agents. He and Carl Bracato were in their third year as partners and had developed a substantial and successful case history in the white-collar crime division. Stratton had thought it ironic; after all of the training they went through at Quantico, all of the weapons and hand-to-hand skills they had developed, they had never even drawn their Glock 23s from their holsters. Having met on the first day of class, they were always competitive, Stratton seeming to edge out Bracato in everything from target practice to exams to navigating city streets in mock car chases.
Stratton might have been the better shot, the smarter of the two, but Bracato was the one who wasted no time in seizing the day. He had already set up dinner with Holly for next week.
“What do you say I go pick up dinner?” Bracato said to Holly and Stratton.
Holly looked up from her computer amid the stacks of paper and smiled in the affirmative.
“Sure, how about-”
The sound was muted, a dull pop, but Stratton knew at once what it was.
“Shit,” Stratton said as he drew his pistol. “Holly, go to the back corner, and stay there until we come back for you.”
The second muted gunshot sounded. Bracato pulled his gun and was already on the run up the aisle.
“Who the hell would try and shoot their way down here?” Bracato said. “They’ll never get in.”
Then the sound of the muffled explosion reverberated through the evidence room, the tinkle of shattering glass trailing off.
“Holy shit,” Bracato whispered as Stratton arrived at his side. They bisected the main aisle, hiding between the twelve-foot-high rows of shelves twenty feet from the main entrance door. Sounds of commotion drifted out from the office.
Bracato looked to Stratton for direction.
“No question, they’re coming in here. Stay lost among the shelves. If you take one out, quickly move your position so they don’t find you.”
A skinny red-haired man in a sportcoat rolled into the room, spinning into the first row of shelves. Bracato watched as he looked back, signaling a second, taller man who came in gun held high, sweeping the room. Bracato could see from the way they held their guns, the positions they took, that they were law enforcement.
Bracato stayed low, two rows back from the two men, watching, thinking. The taller man was obscured by the shelves, but Bracato could see over the evidence boxes, through the open spaces, as the man took a few steps forward. Bracato could see his eyes focused. This man was not there to capture anyone. He was there to kill.
In that single moment, Bracato made his decision. He crouched low, creeping forward, his eyes fixed on the man through the slatted shelves, watching as he approached, only ten feet away now.
Bracato wrapped his fingers around the trigger. He could hit a small target at one hundred feet, so ten feet should be nothing. But he had never shot anyone; this man would be his first. And Bracato had no intention of shooting to immobilize, to take out a leg or an arm. He was going for the kill, knowing that the man would do everything to kill him if given the chance.
He lined up his sight, shoulder high, and waited for the man to appear in the open.
And the bullet exploded through Bracato’s chest, entering through the left of his back, piercing his lung, nicking his heart. Bracato collapsed face-first to the floor.
He never saw or heard the other man’s approach. He was so focused on the tall man that he failed to notice the other.
Bracato was roughly flipped over onto his back. The tall man, the one who had been the bait, leaned down and took the gun from his hand.
“Where’s your partner?”
Bracato stared up into the man’s eyes. His face was plain, an average-Joe kind of look that would get lost in a crowd, the type of face that so easily obscured a dark heart.
Bracato knew that he was dying, a minute, maybe two, left as his lungs filled with blood, and in those two minutes, he would do everything he could from his position to save his friend and the young woman with whom he would be missing a date next Saturday.
“He left,” Bracato struggled to say, stifling a cough. “He and Holly went to get our dinner.”
“When?”
“A couple of minutes ago.” Bracato could taste the iron flavor of blood in his mouth. “Maybe five.”
The man leaned down and looked into his eyes, searching for truth. Bracato did everything his crippled body could do to convey it. It was a moment, the two men assessing each other.
Then the tall man laid his pistol on Bracato’s brow. “You shouldn’t have hesitated. Lucky for me, I guess, or we’d be switching positions.”
And the man pulled the trigger.
Jack watched as Charlie’s large body was violently hoisted up into a rolling desk chair by Cristos. Small rivulets of blood rolled down his friend’s face, pooling in the collar of his white shirt. But other than the small cuts and singed hair, he seemed to be all right. Jack couldn’t bear the thought of his friend dying at his expense.
Aaron stepped back into the office.
“Well?” Cristos said.
“We got one. He says the other two left to get dinner. We’ve swept the room, didn’t find anyone, but I’m not sure.”
“Then the two of you escort Keeler back there. We are running out of time.”
Jack looked around at the devastation, through what was left of the window into the vestibule, and could see the three bodies lying there in intermingled pools of blood.
“You said no one was going to die. You’re going to kill my wife and me as soon as you get the box, so why should I get it? Why should I help the man who is going to
kill me?”
Cristos stared at Jack. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“I’ve seen your deals.”
“I made no promise about people not dying. Collateral damage, you remember what that is? You remember those teens who died in your pursuit of justice?”
Jack hated this man.
“I give you my word, I’ll let Mia live,” Cristos said.
“You have no word to give.”
“On the contrary. If you get me what I want, she will live.”
Jack said nothing, not believing the word of the man before him.
Aaron and Donal stepped over to Jack, flanking him. They looked to Cristos for guidance.
“Or how about this?” Cristos said as he drew out his gun, laying it on Charlie’s thigh.
“I’ll let you choose: your friend here or Mia. Could you make that choice in front of your friend?”
“Jack, don’t let this guy mess with your head,” Charlie said as he looked up.
“Say it, Jack, who would you choose? Could you watch the eyes of your friend here as he suffers and dies so that your wife may live? Does he even know her? Would he be willing to make the sacrifice for her?”
Jack’s mind was spinning. He couldn’t bear to look into Charlie’s eyes. They both knew the choice Jack would make, what any person would do for the one they love.
“If you don’t want to be faced with that choice, you’ve got one minute to go get me my case.”
Remaining in the shadows of row Q, Stratton watched at the far end of the evidence room as three men walked through the main door into the room. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Jack Keeler. Stratton did not know the man, since he and Bracato were based out of the Washington office, but he had seen his file not twelve hours earlier when he was assigned to babysit this place.
Keeler was being escorted by the two men who had killed Bracato. Stratton heard the gunshot too late, rounding the corner to see his friend lying on the ground. He had tried to take a shot but had no clear angle, and by the time he did, the two men had lost themselves in the rows of shelves, only to slip out the door.
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