Delta Ghost - 02

by Tim Stevens

  He looked up at Venn.

  “I drove Flowers to him a couple of times. Back in San Antonio.”

  Venn said: “You remember where?”

  Clune’s face worked. “Shit, I don’t know... there were so many runs, so many jobs...”

  He looked up again, his expression exhausted, defeated.

  “Sorry. I just can’t remember.”

  Venn watched him for a few seconds. Then he stepped forward and hunkered down and crouched with his face a handful of inches from Clune’s.

  “Listen, kid. My partner, Walter Sickert, is dead. Now he was a slob, and a psycho, but he was a good cop. And a good man. You’re not responsible for his death. You’re a civilian. But you’re at the center of all of this, and you have knowledge that may help take down the people who are responsible.”

  Venn leaned in closer, so that the kid flinched.

  “Furthermore, you have a good memory. You’re a dickhead in every other way, but your powers of recall and of observation are excellent. You noted my significant other’s photo on my desk, and used that to follow her to my home. You’ve given good descriptions of the people and events you’ve encountered thus far. So... try. Try to remember where, exactly, you drove Flowers in order to meet this man, Franciscus. Try to visualize it.”

  The kid stared back at him.

  Venn glanced at Harmony, standing over them.

  “Otherwise, I may need to ask my partner here to prompt your memory. Stimulate those neuronal connections a little. And believe me, if you think Walter was nuts... you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  Venn stood up.

  Clune pressed his palms over his face. He rocked on the bench, back and forth.

  At last he lifted his hands away. He looked at Venn.

  “Yes,” he said. “I remember.”

  “You remember what?”

  “Where I saw this man. Franciscus. It was at an office building, some distance to the north-west of San Antonio.”

  “You think you can find it again?”

  After a few moments’ pause, Clune said: “Yes.”

  Venn beckoned him up with his hand. “Come on.”

  Harmony said, “I know I said we should get out of town, but... Texas?”

  “Yes,” said Venn.

  *

  As they strode through the park, Venn made a call.

  Captain Kang answered quietly, though he’d clearly recognized the caller ID. “Joe. What the hell are you playing at? I told you to –”

  “Cap, I need you to put out smoke,” said Venn. “Delay stuff.”

  “What? What stuff?”

  “You’ve heard about the shootout in Harlem.”

  “Yes. Was that –”

  “It was me and Harmony. Cap, there’s major politics in this. I feel it. I know you told me to back off. But I have a lead so critical, it would screw everything up if they hauled me in now. Just buy me some time. Block any search for me. Thirty-six hours. After that, I’ll come in. I’ll face whatever it is I have to. But trust me on this.”

  Venn paused, then played the ambition card, the one he knew Kang valued most of all.

  “If I pull this off, you’ll be riding high. You’ll be fighting off the hordes of Congressmen wanting to pin a medal to your ass. It’ll mean a ton of increased funding for our division, major respect for our achievements.”

  Kang took a few seconds to respond.

  “Joe,” he said. “I recognize bullshit. I’m an appointee. I’m part of the system. Don’t try and schmooze me. Don’t slather it on. It isn’t your style.”

  “But –”

  “But, I’m willing to give you a pass on this. God knows why. Maybe because I gave you this job, and if you go down, it makes me look like a douchebag. So, if you’re going to screw up, you may as well do so spectacularly. At least I’ll get headlines from it in the New York Times.”

  Venn said: “So you’ll head things off for thirty-six hours?”

  He heard Kang sigh down the line. “Yes, Joe. Tell you what. I’ll throw in a bonus four hours. How about that? Forty hours for you to prove I wasn’t totally insane to hire you.”

  “Okay, Cap.”

  Kang started to say, “Hey. Do you have that British guy –” but Venn killed the call.

  He looked at Harmony. “San Antonio.”

  “Airplane?”

  Venn shook his head. “The cops at all of the ports will be looking out for Clune. So will airport security. We rent a car.”

  Harmony said, “San Antonio is –”

  “Thirty hours away. We better get a move on.”

  Chapter 37

  They crossed into New Jersey on the I-78 at a little after two p.m.

  Thirty hours, without stopping for longer than it took to refuel, take a pee or load up with snacks, would mean they’d reach San Antonio at around eight tomorrow evening. Assuming Captain Kang honored his promise and managed to persuade the NYPD not to alert the Feds and start a manhunt for Venn and Clune and Harmony.

  Venn was behind the wheel, Harmony beside him. He’d chosen a silver Subaru Impreza sedan for the speed. At the car rental place on Canal Street he’d told the other two to wait outside. Clune looked a little rough round the edges and it was possible that the rental guy would suspect that this was a gang of fugitives. Venn used his credit card to pay. There was little point in trying to mask his tracks. Again, either Kang came through or he didn’t.

  Clune had said the office where he’d taken Flowers to meet Franciscus had been part of a lot a few miles northwest of San Antonio. Both times, he’d been told to wait in the car while Flowers went inside. And on both occasions, he’d seen Franciscus at the door, greeting Flowers and then seeing him out.

  It was possible, Venn knew, that they’d find nothing at the office. No clue as to who Franciscus really was, or what his connection was with Flowers. But it was worth a try, because Venn didn’t have any other leads.

  *

  By the time they reached Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, the somber silence in the car had become oppressive. Venn had been flicking through the news channels on the radio for something to do, but now he found a talk station and left the dial there.

  From the backseat, Clune piped up: “Hey, Lieutenant. How about some music?”

  “Get some sleep while you can, kid. It’s a long journey.”

  “I’m not tired. Too buzzed.” After a moment, Clune said, “What kind of music do you like?”

  “What?” Venn shook his head. “I’m not in the mood for chit-chat.”

  “Come on. Classic rock? Grunge? You’re just about old enough to have been into hair metal.”

  “I said –”

  “Humor me, okay? I’ll shut up after that.”

  Venn sighed. “Country and western.”

  “Bollocks.” Clune laughed. “There’s no way you listen to that stuff.”

  Beside Venn, Harmony rolled her eyes.

  “Come on, Lieutenant,” Clune persisted. “You’re a rock type of guy. Give me a clue.”

  Harmony said, “Just tell him something, okay? I can’t take thirty hours of this.”

  “Bruce Springsteen,” muttered Venn.

  “Yes! Knew it!” crowed Clune, bouncing in the seat like an excitable little boy. “You ever see him live?”

  “No.”

  “I have. Three times so far. Keeps getting better and better.”

  He launched into an attempt at a discussion with Venn, asking him which albums he preferred, which band lineup he thought worked the best. Venn parried the questions with grunts and silences. Clune didn’t seem to mind, and eventually lapsed into a monologue about the performers Springsteen had been influenced by and had in turn influenced.

  After twenty minutes of the babbling from the backseat, Harmony said, “You think it’ll wind down like clockwork or something? Or its voice will wear out? Or maybe I should just stuff a rag in its mouth?”

  As if taking his cue, Clune said: “How about you, Detective Jones? W
hat music do you –”

  She didn’t say anything, just turned around and stared at him. Venn didn’t catch her expression, but whatever it was, it was enough to make Clune shut his mouth abruptly.

  It didn’t last.

  *

  Just across the Virginia border they stopped for gas and to stretch their legs. The sun was setting, but Venn felt the day’s heat still lingering as he stepped out of the car’s airconditioned interior.

  He’d called Beth earlier, to say he had to go out of town to follow up a lead and wouldn’t be back for a couple of days. She was on call at the hospital and wouldn’t be home tonight either. He’d had to disappear like this a few times before, and his work was sensitive enough that Beth understood not to ask where he was going, though he’d usually tell her afterwards.

  Venn didn’t mention the shootout in Harlem, or the fact that his Mustang was a writeoff. She’d only worry that he was in danger.

  While Venn filled the gas tank, Harmony and the kid went into the store to get something to eat. They emerged with arms loaded with the kind of crap you inevitably got at this kind of place: potato chips, jerky, soda, and sandwiches that looked as plastic as the packaging they came in.

  Harmony took a turn at the wheel. They’d just pulled out onto the interstate again when Venn wrinkled his nose.

  He turned, saw Clune lighting up a cigarette.

  “Hey. Hey.” Venn reached over and plucked it out of the kid’s fingers and threw it out the window. “Cut that shit out.”

  “But there isn’t time to stop,” said Clune. “When else am I going to –”

  “You can wait till we get to Texas.”

  “Ah, come on, Lieutenant. Have a heart.” The kid’s tone was whiny. “I’m under a lot of stress here.”

  Venn stared at him in fascination.

  “You know something, kid?” he said. “You’re a real pain in the ass.”

  “Arse.”

  “What?”

  “In Britain we say arse,” Clune said brightly.

  “It’s my American ass that’s hurting.” Venn considered for a moment. Then: “One cigarette. Just one.”

  “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

  “It’s LOOtenant. And the deal is, in return for that smoke, you keep your mouth shut for the rest of the trip. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “Or I’ll kick your arse.”

  *

  At eleven p.m., just as they were nearing Knoxville, Tennessee, Venn’s phone rang, startling him.

  It was Mike Crowe, his contact at the Quantico training base. “Venn. Sorry to take so long to get back to you.”

  “What you got, Mike?”

  “It’s the damnedest thing,” said Crowe. “The reason it’s taken me so long is that I had to jump through a whole bunch of extra hoops to find anything out about this Franciscus guy. There are layers of restriction and secrecy like I’ve never seen. Enough to deter anybody.”

  “Anybody but a dogged cuss like you.”

  “Yeah. Anyhow, what I did find out turned out to be anticlimactic, to say the least. I was expecting to learn that this guy had been involved in some kind of top-secret mission with the Rangers, or had moved to the CIA, or something. But all I got was his postings while he was in service, none of which are particularly unusual, and his career since he left, which is a straightforward one: law school, then the New York bar, then his current private practise in Lower Manhattan.”

  “Huh.” Venn thought for a moment. “Tell me about his postings with the Rangers.”

  Crowe listed them. Panama, as Franciscus had already told Venn when they first met. Iraq, the first time round in 1991. Stints in Bosnia. Iraq again.

  Then, in 2004, Franciscus had spent nine months involved in training exercises in San Antonio, Texas.

  There was no detail available about what he’d actually done during those nine months. Venn thought that probably his military work there had been uncontroversial. But it meant he had a historical link with the place.

  Venn thanked Crowe and ended the call. Beside him, Harmony said, “Anything?”

  “Not a lot,” said Venn. “But our boy has links with San Antonio that go back ten years, at least.”

  They drove on through the night.

  Chapter 38

  They reached the outskirts of San Antonio at around five-thirty the following afternoon, which Venn thought was a pretty damn good run, considering the stops along the way. He and Harmony had driven in four-hour shifts each. Neither had slept a great deal in between, and Harmony looked as haggard as Venn suspected he did.

  He’d considered asking the kid to take a turn at the wheel, but decided against it. Clune was a one-man catastrophe, and he’d probably end up getting them pulled over for speeding, or crash into a billboard, or something.

  Around lunchtime Venn called Beth, and was surprised to learn she was still at the hospital.

  “Your shift finished at seven this morning,” he said.

  “We’re short-staffed,” she said. He could hear the tiredness in her voice, even though she did a good job of hiding it. “I’m hoping to get out of here by three at the latest.”

  “Love you, babe,” he murmured, conscious that Clune was eavesdropping with interest in the backseat.

  “Love you too,” Beth said.

  Now, Venn slowed, taking the Subaru through the unfamiliar streets of San Antonio. Clune sat up on the backseat, peering around.

  “Head that way,” he said uncertainly.

  It took them a further half-hour before Clune said, suddenly: “Okay. Got it. I know where we are.” He nodded toward a highway sign. “Take that turn. It’s about four miles straight down there.”

  Venn kept up a steady speed, not driving too fast in case the kid told him to change direction suddenly.

  “There,” Clune said, jabbing his finger.

  Venn took the turn-off, and saw a dirt track leading away from the main road. He slowed, the Subaru jouncing over the rutted ground. Ahead, he saw a forecourt lined on the far side by buildings, many of them looking unused.

  “The one over there, on the left,” Clune said. “That’s where I delivered Flowers.”

  Two vehicles were parked on the forecourt, both of them four-wheel-drive offroad cars. There was nobody in sight.

  “How are we going to play this?” asked Harmony.

  Venn pulled the Subaru to a stop, halfway down the track and two hundred yards from the forecourt. He said: “We don’t know who’s there, or even who they are. I’m going to go in there and inquire. I’ll flash my shield. Doesn’t matter that it’s New York, whoever’s there will think twice about attacking me. You stay here. Any sound of trouble, get the hell out.”

  “Better if I come in with you,” said Harmony.

  Venn shook his head. “Can’t leave the kid here on his own. And we can’t bring him with us, in case he’s recognized.”

  “Okay,” said Harmony. She shifted over behind the wheel, placing her gun on the seat beside her.

  Venn strode up the track toward the building, tensing himself instinctively in anticipation of a hail of gunfire he would have no defense against. Inside his shoulder holster the Beretta was fully loaded. The heat pounded down mercilessly, far worse than anything he was used to in New York.

  The building in question was a squat two-storey office block, the kind that might house a small business. There were no signs up to give a clue as to what it was being used for. Venn glanced into the two four-by-fours as he passed them. They were empty.

  He squinted up at the windows. They were closed, and the glare of the rays from the low sun made it impossible to see anything beyond them.

  With his shield in one hand, Venn stepped up to the wooden front door and knocked sharply.

  He expected to hear either silence, or the furtive movements of one or more people taken by surprise. Instead, the door opened almost immediately, as though somebody had been waiting behind it.

  A Latino ma
n peered out, looked Venn up and down. “What you want?”

  Venn showed his badge. “Police. I’d like to come in and ask a few questions.”

  Again, to his surprise, the man stepped aside without hesitation and opened the door wider. Venn saw a reception room beyond, with the usual couches and coffee table strewn with magazines.

  The man who’d let him in stood waiting, his arms hanging by his sides. “Who you want to speak to?”

  Venn understood, too late, that the man’s unthreatening manner was intended to catch Venn off guard, because he heard the movement behind him just as he started to turn.

  A flash of brilliant white pain exploded in Venn’s head and he felt himself going down, though not hitting the floor.

  Chapter 39

  Franciscus nodded at one of the men, who stepped forward and tipped the bucket of water over Venn’s head.

  Venn coughed and snorted, his head jerking up and back, though his eyes remained shut. He was tethered to a solid wooden chair, his wrists bound behind the back with plastic ties, his feet similarly secured to the chair’s front legs. Venn’s jacket was off and his Beretta had been removed from its holster.

  “Again,” said Franciscus.

  The man picked up the second bucket he’d brought in and upended it onto the tethered detective. This time Venn gave a roar and shook his head from side to side.

  Something that must have hurt, Franciscus thought, considering the bump that had risen on the back of Venn’s scalp where he’d been hit.

  Gasping, Venn hunched forward as far as he could, blinking his eyes, peering up at Franciscus.

  “Lieutenant Venn,” said Franciscus. “You’re back with us.”

  He saw Venn’s eyes dart around the room, taking stock. They were in a storeroom on the first floor, which Franciscus had selected because of its uncarpeted stone floor, something that made it easier to clean.

  Venn’s gaze took in Franciscus himself, and the two men who’d been in the office with him when Venn had arrived.

  He also saw the woman, Jones, and the young man, Clune, over to the side. They too were secured to chairs. On either side of them stood two more men, the ones who’d pulled up behind the Subaru and blocked it from leaving.