Chasing the Captain

by Terry Shepherd

  31

  Met Headquarters—London

  “Let’s have it, Inspector Evans. You’re investigating the Culpado matter after I told you not to. Why?”

  Lee was always straight with her boss and gave him everything, the text she had sent to Jessica, her arrival in London, and the trip to the archives. He was a good listener. Nodding without comment. Lee had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew more about this than she did. The expected dress-down didn’t come after Lee finished her tale. Just instructions.

  “You are to drop the investigation immediately, Detective Inspector. Put Detective Ramirez on a flight to the States within twenty-four hours. You will personally make sure she boards the aircraft. Until then, she is in your…” he hesitated, “in your custody. Don’t let her out of your sight. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  32

  Nashville

  “Michael Wright. It’s Alexandra Clark. It sounds like you have no lasting side effects from your adventures in Arizona.”

  Jessica’s FBI boyfriend seemed happy to hear from her.

  “Gates! How is my favorite computer nerd? Are you ready to come work in DC?”

  He didn’t know.

  “I’m not sure you’ll want to be associated with my smiling face after this conversation, my friend.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “I think your partner stumbled into FBI territory, something in Associate Director Taylor’s orbit that the Bureau is trying to keep under wraps. I need to know how much trouble we may be in.”

  “Hmm…”

  Ali could hear the wheels turning in Michael Wright’s head. He was flipping through the database in his brain to get ahead of her.

  “OK. What snake pit did Jess drag you into now?”

  Ali feigned annoyance. “You always assume it’s her. Give me some credit for causing my own trouble.”

  “I know you, Gates. You’re the smart-aleck friend who enables a good girl’s poor judgment.”

  “As in her poor judgment about men?”

  “If she had good judgment, we’d be living together. Spill the details.”

  “Know anything about a missing wife and an alleged murderous husband in Nashville?”

  “You’ll have to give me more than that, Ali.”

  “Does Vincent Culpado ring any bells?”

  There was silence on Michael’s end of the line. The name obviously did.

  His answer was cryptic. “Tell me more.”

  “Ahh, you know the name. Chief O’Brien ordered Jess to witness Culpado’s execution. His usual sick attempt to break her spirit.You probably already know that Jess caught the perp a decade ago when he was on the run. Nothing about the experience felt right, and she asked some questions. She thinks the dead wife is alive and possibly living in London. She sent me to Nashville to have a talk with the District Attorney. He blew his brains out after our interview. Two people who Jess says were the wife’s parents were shot and killed about two hours later. In between, a couple of boys who look an awful lot like you tried to grab me. You know how I don’t like unwanted physical contact. I saw them at the home of the dead parents, pulling rank on the local law. Their shields told me they are your brothers in arms. Have we stumbled onto somebody important who you guys are trying to hide?”

  “Give me a moment, Ali. The boss is on the other line.”

  If that was the case, the conversation didn’t take long. The voice that came back was Michael’s command voice. But there was something else Ali could hear in the mix. Michael Wright was afraid.

  “OK, Ali. Here’s what I need you to do. Call Jessica right now and tell her to leave London immediately. If I know her, she’s undoubtedly found a friend at the Met. Tell that person to forget that she ever heard the name Culpado. Her career and maybe her life will depend upon it. By now, our boys know who you are and where you are staying in Nashville. Go to your hotel and wait for them there. I’ll make sure they keep you safe. Do not talk to anyone else about this. Do you hear me, Ali? Say nothing. I need to make some phone calls now to protect the two of you.”

  Ali frowned. “It’s that bad?”

  “It’s that bad, Alexandra. You girls have to play ball with me on this, or nothing I can do will shield you. This goes way beyond things like careers and jail time for interfering. You have stumbled into something with international implications. I’ll do what I can to back you out of it. But for once, please listen to me and do exactly as I say.”

  He was pleading. Ali had never heard that from him before.

  “OK, Michael. I’ll call her right now. I’m sorry if any of this ends up dumping shit on your doorstep.”

  “I’ll deal with that. Make the call and get to your hotel as soon as you can. Do it without drawing attention to yourself. You’re already in danger and it may take some time for me to reorient some attitudes.”

  What the fuck? Reorienting attitudes? International implications? Beyond careers and jail time?

  Ali knew that there was no way she was going back to her hotel.

  She needed time to think.

  33

  The Strand—London

  Lee and Jess sat across from one another at The Wellington, a pub favorite in the Strand. Jess was on her second Lagavulin single malt scotch. Lee was nursing a Guinness Stout.

  Jess winced as the alcohol stung her throat. “So, he didn’t chew you out?”

  Lee studied the tiny ropes of carbonation bubbling upward in her glass. “Not a word. I think his orders were coming from the top of the chain. He was calm and direct. That’s what troubled me. It was as if his own career was on the line.”

  “And I’m persona non grata after tomorrow.”

  “I have 24 hours to get you out of the country.”

  “And you’ll follow orders?”

  “You know I will.”

  “So that gives us another day to make sense of all of this.”

  “I don’t know, Jessica. The boss gave me the impression that we’ve opened some doors he would rather have closed.”

  Jess had to agree. They were locked out of the database, so what they knew about the Blairs was what they were going to get. Every avenue Jess had taken had been a dead end. Perhaps it was time to throw in the towel.

  That’s when she heard the first shots.

  They were a trio of professionals, complete with ski masks and smoking AK47s. The opening volley was designed to get everyone’s attention. They were looking for specific targets. Jess had a bad feeling about that.

  She pulled Lee from the stool and toward cover behind the bar. A voice in an accent Jess couldn’t place shouted above the screams of the patrons.

  “Everything will be all right, people. Just do as we say, and nobody will be hurt. We are looking for two women: a Spaniard and a Black. Point them out to us and the rest of you get to keep on living.”

  Lee and Jess locked eyes. She tilted her head as she spoke.

  “A Spaniard and a Black?”

  Jess was instantly incensed. All the frustrations of the case conspired to light up her Hispanic temper like a flame-thrower. “I’m a Latina, dammit. No guns and no backup. What a cluster.”

  They both heard the shot. Jess knew from the sound signature that it was a 9-millimeter.

  A hail of bullets rained against an overturned table

  “That’s a mate,” Lee said. “Looks like the boss didn’t trust me to keep you on a leash by myself.”

  “He’s got a weapon and we don’t,” Jess hissed back, getting hotter by the second.

  She crawled behind the bar, trying to keep her anger under control and looking for the biggest bottle of booze she could find. Jess saw an unopened Macallan and grabbed it.

  Another shot rang out from the 9 mil. Time to help a fellow officer.

  Jess popped above the bar. The three men were all focused on emptying their magazines into the table. One was close enough to touch.

  She smashed the whisky bottle across his
forehead. The son of a bitch didn’t break. But it dazed him enough that he lost his grip on the AK. Despite her blood alcohol level, Jess snagged it and sprayed about 20 rounds into his chest.

  He had on a Kevlar vest!

  Jess spat an obscenity and popped him with a single shot to the head before dropping behind the bar.

  Jess saw the two survivors recognize their target and turn the fury of their machine guns in her direction as she scampered back to Lee’s position.

  Lee wasn’t there.

  Jess knew where she would be and poked a head around the edge of the bar to get a look at the table where the backup was hiding.

  He was dead.

  Lee wasn’t there to revive him. She was there for his gun.

  Jess rose above the bar and drew a bead on the two remaining bad guys, high enough to be above the protection of their Kevlar vests. Jess didn’t know how many rounds were left in her magazine, so she configured the AK for single-action.

  A shot tagged number two in the shoulder. He reflexively grabbed the arm to stem the bleeding. Jess took him out with a round to the head.

  That left perp number three. If the size of his weapon’s drum magazine was any indicator, he was the leader.

  Lee dove back toward Jessica’s position as he started firing.

  The sound of the AK was coming closer. The drum mag must have been gargantuan because there was no letup in the hail of lead as he walked closer to his targets.

  “Do we want this guy alive for questioning, Lee?”

  “Maybe not. I don’t like his cavalier attitude toward the sanctity of human life.”

  “I’ll get his attention. You take him out.”

  There was a stool within Jess’s reach. She heaved it over the top of the bar, vaulting behind the long line of beer taps.

  The perp swung the AK in her direction, it’s red-hot barrel still firing.

  Lee rose above the bar as the stream of bullets followed Jess’s movements. Her handgun coughed three times, each bullet finding its target.

  The last of the trio crumpled to the ground, his finger still on the trigger of his weapon as the last rounds embedded themselves in the thick oak at the base of the bar.

  “Good shooting, partner,” Jess said, “How is our colleague?”

  Lee’s voice cracked. “Bled out. I knew him. Two young kids and a wife.”

  Her hands were shaking. Jess gently took the semi-auto from her fist and hid both of the weapons under the bar.

  “We probably don’t want to have this on us when your friends get here.”

  “I don’t want to be seen by my friends, Jessica. Let’s disappear before any of them make an appearance.”

  “I thought cops everywhere looked out for one another.”

  “So did I,” Lee answered. “Only Maddox should be able to track the GPS on my cell. Only my brothers and sisters in arms should have known where we were. I’m beginning to wonder who is friend and who is foe. I need some time to get some clarification… from a distance.”

  The two hurried to the door hearing raised voices as the patrons began to comprehend that the evening’s entertainment was at an end.

  The text ringtone on Jess’s cell buzzed when they were out on the street. She recognized the number but couldn’t place it.

  The message was an address.

  34

  Nashville

  The Village Inn restaurant was close enough to the hotel so Ali could bolt there if she got the sense that Michael’s orders had been communicated. But it was far enough away to keep Ali somewhat anonymous as she pondered her options. It had Wi-Fi and caffeine; all her adrenaline-charged body needed to sustain life.

  The Yates murders were already on CNN, as was a suspected terrorist incident in the heart of London. Three shooters were dead. Miraculously, there was only one patron killed among the many that jammed the Wellington Pub. An armed undercover officer was apparently on the scene. Beyond that sparse intelligence, the cops weren’t talking.

  Ali wanted to know more about what she was up against. Michael’s admonition to stay under cover until she got to her hotel was a warning. His compatriots might have different instructions regarding her safety, and he wanted to amend them.

  She fired up her laptop and had little luck finding anything out about Rufus and Charlene Yates. They were two people without a past.

  Ali was about to give it up and follow instructions when the two FBI suits appeared.

  The countermeasures she was using with her technology were apparently more vulnerable than she thought..

  They sat on either side of her, suit coats open, weapons clearly visible in shoulder holsters.

  “Gentlemen. Can I assume you are here to pick up my tab?”

  One twin scooped Ali’s computer and cell phone into a briefcase he carried.

  The other spoke. “You must come with us, Officer Clark. Your shield and weapon, please.”

  “No phone calls from your bosses in DC?”

  “Follow instructions. Your weapon and your badge.”

  There didn’t seem to be any way out. Ali held out both hands where the boys could see them.

  “The holster is behind me. My badge and my handcuffs are next to the weapon. Would you like to relieve me, or should I do it?”

  They both put paws inside their suit coats at the same time. Ail wondered if they taught synchronized swimming at the FBI Academy, too.

  “You do it. Slowly. Everything on the table.”

  There was an explosion by the cash register. A bullet ripped through the forehead of the agent on Ali’s right, painting the wall behind it with a similar parabola of bodily fluids she recognized from her experience in the DA’s office.

  The second agent launched himself away from the booth and toward a lead planter that split the dining area in half. Gunshots followed him.

  Ali slid under the table, trying to get a make on her assailants.

  There were two of them, equally well dressed but clearly not allies. And why weren’t they shooting at her?

  Ali heard shouts in what sounded like Russian. They both stood, legs apart in a firing stance, handguns blazing at the planter.

  She realized they couldn’t see her movements from their position. Ali took advantage of the situation and crawled in the gunfire's direction.

  When they ran out of rounds, she heard the sounds of clips dropping on the tiles. They would have to look down to reload. There was a nanosecond of surprise.

  When the two bad guys refocused, they were in her sights.

  “Bye, boys.”

  Ali double-tapped both twice, just to make sure. She was too close to miss.

  The restaurant was nearly empty, but that didn’t stop the wait staff from screaming. Ali showed her shield and told the hostess to call 9-1-1.

  Then she went over to see how agent number two was holding up.

  He was alive, barely. Blood was draining from a half dozen holes in his body.

  She couldn’t stop it.

  “Who can I call for you, my friend?”

  His voice gurgled when he answered. Blood came out of his mouth with the words, “More are coming. Get away while you can.”

  Alexandra Clark ran for the door, remembering too late that her laptop and cell phone were still in Agent Number One’s briefcase.

  35

  The Strand—London

  “I left my bloody cell phone at the pub.”

  Liyanna Evans knew it wouldn’t take long for any copper who found it to make the connection.

  But there was a bright side. Maddox couldn’t contact her with any further instructions. That bought some time to strategize.

  It was already dark as the two women hustled toward Covent Garden. Lee could tell that Jessica Ramirez was on an adrenaline high. Her words came fast, almost a stream of consciousness.

  “The text message said 75 Charlton Street—Flat 404. Does that ring a bell? I know that damn phone number. Why do I know that damn number? And why would some
one be texting us an address out of the blue?”

  It felt like she was spinning up her brain to squeeze the answers she was looking for out of some corner of her memory. Whatever her process, it bore fruit.

  “Crawford! That’s Jack Crawford’s number.”

  Lee made the connection. “Culpado’s friend who tried to hire you?”

  She pulled a business card out of her pocket. “That’s the one. He doesn’t even know I’m over here. At least he shouldn’t. Is Charlton Street a London address, or is he trying to send me somewhere in Nashville?”

  Lee knew the area. There was a Charlton Street in Somers Town. Number 75 would be right next to the medical center. The nearest tube stop was Brixton.

  She flagged a taxi.

  “75 Charlton Street is nearby. Let’s go have a look. What do you know about this Jack Crawford?”

  “Very little. He said he was Culpado’s friend. But I have no evidence to confirm it.” Jessica seemed to switch gears. “Do you have friends at British Telecom who could talk with the American cell carriers about triangulating the location of Crawford’s phone?”

  “Perhaps. It will take time. What are you thinking?”

  “Just trying to cover the bases. Why the hell hasn’t Ali checked in? It’s been over an hour.”

  “Let me borrow your cell, and I’ll call a mate at BT to see how he can help. He’s a straight arrow, so I’m sure word will get back to Maddox about my request.”

  “I think after our adventures at the Wellington, your boss may have a different point of view about things. When people target cops, the brass gets protective.”

  Lee rang up her contact at British Telecom and gave him Crawford’s number. The kid said he would work his magic and get back to her.

  Ali wasn’t answering.

  That burned up the travel time to Charlton Street. The two stood in front of number 75. It was a four-story building that abutted up against the medical center complex. By rights, Lee should have taken Jessica’s cell phone and called her boss. She floated the idea, and Jessica didn’t like it.