by J. B. Turner
“You don’t know? So what am I supposed to do? Just sit around here for the next year, is that it?”
“Kathleen, what exactly do you want?”
“I want out. I want the sun on my face. I want to chill the fuck out. I want a beer.”
“We can get you a beer. But it’s important you stay out of sight for now.”
Burke closed her eyes and felt tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m scared. I don’t like this. Please … What do I do?”
“You’re fine, Kathleen. Look, I’ll send a doctor across and get you some medication to make you feel better for now, how about that?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Burke ended the call, stared at the TV and began to cry.
FIFTEEN
When Meyerstein emerged from the videoconference room, Jon Reznick was waiting for her. He walked down the corridor toward her as she carried a pile of briefing papers. He thought she looked exhausted, dark shadows under her eyes.
“You okay?” he said.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Your boss giving you a hard time?”
“Like I said, nothing I can’t handle.”
“They wanted you to fire my ass, right?”
“I can’t discuss that, Jon.”
Reznick grinned. “You know, Meyerstein, you really are something.”
Meyerstein flushed. “Yeah, well …”
“So what’s the latest?”
Meyerstein sighed. “We’re on the move.”
“Where?”
“Vero Beach on the east coast of Florida.”
“Why?”
“Just got intel about a guy who knew Hunter inside Leavenworth.”
“What else?”
“Hunter killed this guy’s friend in cold blood. His boyfriend.”
Reznick said nothing.
“Guy’s name in Vero Beach is Jimmy Samson.”
“What else?”
“We’re going to fly down there and see what he has to say.”
A few hours later, the SUV with Reznick, Meyerstein and two other Feds inside pulled up outside a trailer on the outskirts of Vero Beach.
Reznick followed Meyerstein. She knocked three times on the door. The door opened and a tattooed guy wearing a vest was sitting in a wheelchair.
Meyerstein flashed her badge. “Jimmy Samson?”
He stared at the badge for a few moments. “What’s this about?”
Reznick said, “We need to talk in private.”
Samson cocked his head and they went inside while the two Feds stayed behind in the car. “Take a seat.”
Meyerstein sat down on the made-up sofa bed as Reznick stayed standing.
Samson shrugged. “I’m clean. I did my time. Okay, I don’t want trouble or anything.”
Reznick said, “Jimmy, you can rest easy on that. We’re looking for help locating a guy you used to know.”
Samson winced. “Man, don’t be giving me all that stuff.”
“Jimmy, I’m gonna be straight with you. I was reading your file. And we know you have MS, and I’m sorry about that.”
Samson said nothing.
“Jimmy, we’re looking for Hunter Cain.”
“What are you talking about? He’s inside. Leavenworth still, right?”
“Not anymore, Jimmy.”
“Bullshit.”
“Afraid not. Managed to escape. And we believe he’s in Florida.”
Samson closed his eyes and shook his head. “Fucking hell.”
“Now I’m gonna be upfront. We don’t know where Hunter is. No one does.”
“Neither do I. And I’m not likely to if you know anything about me.”
Reznick nodded. “Jimmy, I read about what he did to your partner, Alfredo.”
Samson winced at the mention of the memory.
“Hunter stabbed him to death, didn’t he?”
Samson began to sob. “Please … I don’t want any trouble.”
“There’s no trouble, Jimmy. All we want is to try and find out if there’s anything you know about Hunter Cain. You were quite tight with his crew.”
“Yeah, well that was before Alfredo got shanked. I became an outcast as he was my friend.”
“Hunter didn’t like gays, right?”
Samson bowed his head and nodded. “I think they were gonna do the same to me so I asked to get moved to solitary.”
“Tell me what you know about Hunter from your time inside.”
Samson looked across at Meyerstein, who smiled back. “You really assistant director of the FBI?”
Meyerstein said, “Yes I am, for my sins.”
Samson gave a wry smile. He let out a long sigh. “Hunter Cain is crazy. Scared the fuck out of me from the first moment I saw him. Just had that evil look in his eyes, you know what I’m saying?”
Reznick said nothing.
“He didn’t know I was gay. I didn’t tell anyone. It just wasn’t what was done with those guys.”
“What do you mean, ‘those guys’?”
“The Aryan Brotherhood psychopaths who hung around Hunter. I was on the periphery of their crowd. I’m white, as you can see, and I naturally gravitated towards my own race inside – it’s natural, trust me.”
“What sort of person was he? Did he have any fixations?”
Samson went quiet for a few moments. “He carried a picture of his mother and father around with him. I kinda liked that about him when we met.”
Reznick said, “I believe Hunter was brought up by foster parents.”
“The pictures were of his biological parents. I remember I once saw him put the pictures up on the wall of his cell. And then he, like, broke down. It was pretty bad to see.”
“He didn’t know you were watching?”
“I don’t think so. I was just passing by his cell.”
“I remember a friend of his said Hunter’s dad became an alcoholic. Couldn’t afford the rent of his house after the bank foreclosed. And his father started drinking. Drinking real hard.”
Reznick nodded.
“His mother took Hunter away and she got jobs cleaning. Had four jobs at one time, cleaning big houses.”
“So what happened after that?”
“She had a breakdown, got committed to an asylum. Hunter was taken into care. Father killed himself a short while later.”
Reznick looked down at Samson. “Anything else you can remember?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know – you tell me.”
Samson ran his hand through his hair. Let out a long sigh. “Nothing I can remember.”
Meyerstein stepped forward and handed him her card. “If you remember anything give me a call, night or day.”
SIXTEEN
Hunter Cain and the two AB operatives were escorted to the attic apartment just off Washington Avenue. Three mattresses in one room, air-con unit growling low in the background. The blinds were shut and they had pizza, a large bottle of Coke delivered by one of the back-up crew, an iPad and an iPhone.
“Enjoy your evening,” the crew guy said before carefully heading downstairs and driving off in his small hatchback.
Cain and the guys scoffed the pizza and washed it down with gulps of the Coke. Feeling better, Cain switched on the iPad. An email was waiting for him. He clicked on it and a map appeared. He turned the iPad to show his two colleagues. “This is the layout of the building. Six floors high, two below ground. Stairwells, fire escapes, ceiling heights, everything.”
Neil said, “How many are there going to be?”
“Couple hundred, maybe more.”
Neil grinned. “How long till we go?”
“Two days and two nights. We’re in position. And we’re gonna have a ball, right?”
Cain switched on his cellphone. It began to ring almost immediately.
“I believe you gentlemen are now at base camp,” a familiar voice said.
It was the handler.
Cain stared at his two accomplices. “We’re here. And we’re good.”
“Good is what we like to hear. Okay, I won’t keep you too long. From our side of the fence, it’s looking good. We’re happy with the arrangements. And it’s coming together. The switch of venue hasn’t been revealed, but when it is, it’ll be in lockdown. But we have contingency plans already in place.”
“What about our IDs, our clothes, weapons, where and how? I need details.”
“All in good time. It’s all in hand. Tell me, one final thing, how are your two friends?”
“In what way?”
“Are they showing nerves?”
“Not at all. They’re solid.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“How do you feel?”
“I feel nothing. That’s why this is a piece of cake for me.”
“I knew you were the one, Hunter. Till the next time …”
The line went dead.
SEVENTEEN
The sun was low in the sky, and the sky the color of blood. Reznick was sitting on the sand as Meyerstein walked alone on the sands at Vero Beach. She had her cellphone pressed to her ear. He could see the investigation wasn’t going well. Anyone could see that. And he wondered if it was all getting to her.
He could only imagine the pressure she was working under. The more he thought of it, the more he realized she had a myriad of aspects to consider.
Reznick turned and looked back – saw the two Feds standing beside the SUV, keeping watch over her. His gaze wandered down the beach. He saw Meyerstein had ended the call and was staring out at the ocean.
Reznick got up and wandered down the beach to be beside her. He saw tears were streaming down her face. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Meyerstein.”
Meyerstein dabbed her eyes. “I got a message from my mother. She’s looking after the kids. She’s more or less moved in with me. And she was asking how I was. But she said my daughter was asking when I’d be back. I’m just off the phone to her. And I couldn’t answer. I just said, ‘Mommy will be home as soon as she can. I promise.’”
Reznick said nothing.
“Anyway, nothing I can do about that, is there?”
“We’ve all got choices.”
“You think I should just give up my job, career and head back to the house, is that it?”
“That’s not it. I just said we’ve all got choices. And as it stands, you’ve chosen your career.”
“But you’re implying that if I want to see more of my kids I’ve got to get back into the home.”
“Meyerstein, we’ve all got tough choices to make. You’re away from your kids as they’re growing up. It’s tough. I know. I was away when Lauren was growing up. She’s still away from me. But you know what? Kids are more resilient than you think.”
“I don’t feel very resilient today.”
Reznick nodded and turned and faced the ocean.
“You think I’m weak, don’t you?”
Reznick shook his head. “No I don’t. Quite the opposite, actually.”
Meyerstein took a long sigh and blew out her cheeks. “I’m my own worst enemy. I’m working sixteen-hour days. I’m away from my children, my family, all the goddamn time. Never seem to find a moment, you know what I mean?”
Reznick said nothing.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“How do you cope when things aren’t going your way?”
Reznick took a few moments to think about his answer. “I tend to compartmentalize. Enjoy time by myself.”
Meyerstein said, “Huh.”
“Yeah, not much of an answer, I know.”
“It’s very interesting how men seem much more able to deal with stuff like that.”
“We’re wired differently.”
“Are you?”
“Sure.”
“Maybe you’re right.” She sighed. “Jon, we’re nowhere on this. And I’m getting it from all sides, believe me. They’re looking for results and we’re not getting any. I can’t seem to get a break on this.”
Reznick gave a wry smile.
“What is it?”
“Sometimes, just sometimes, you need to look at it in a different light.”
Meyerstein shrugged.
“You say we’re nowhere on this case. I disagree. I think we’re building up a picture of Hunter Cain. I didn’t know half what we know.”
Meyerstein shook her head. “We’re nowhere.”
“We’ve just not joined up the dots. We’re beginning to.”
“It’s the endgame. We’re missing the endgame.”
“But before the endgame, we need to get some more pieces of the jigsaw in place.”
Meyerstein sighed. “My father’s a lawyer. He often talked about the importance of building a case from the ground up. Get a solid foundation to an understanding of the case. And from that, everything follows.”
“What are counter-terrorism saying?”
“They’re coming at this cold … Florida is a big place, they say. Anti-government militia targets? Honestly? They don’t know. They’re scratching their heads, trying to figure it out. One or two saying there’s nothing in the offing.”
“What do you think?”
“I think they’re wrong. There absolutely is something in the offing.”
Reznick nodded.
“Give me some of your thoughts, Jon.”
The sun dipped over the horizon as the sky went a dark crimson. “What was the point in springing Hunter Cain from a top-security penitentiary unless something’s planned?”
Meyerstein nodded.
“Whoever’s behind this doesn’t want to have him on the outside for no reason. The people behind it, and I believe there are people behind this, believe he can advance their aims. He has top-quality military skills. Organization, leadership, technical, the works. I believe the mission has been known about for some time. And he’s escaped just before this event’s planned. Maybe a matter of days. Maybe hours. They couldn’t risk having Hunter Cain on the loose for months. He might get caught. No, something’s going down, and going down very soon.”
“I thought it very interesting the revelation that Cain’s father, his biological father, killed himself. It’d be useful to know more about that. And I’ve got Stamper and his team to look into that.”
“I worked alongside Hunter for years. And in all the time, I didn’t know anything about that.”
“You said before he was sadistic.”
“Yeah … real mean motherfucker.”
Meyerstein’s cellphone rang. “Never a goddamn minute.” She closed her eyes for a moment before answering. “Yeah?” She nodded. “Are we sure?” She listened for a few moments. “We’re heading down. Good work.” She ended the call.
“Who was that?”
“Face-recognition software has pulled up the face of Ken ‘Mad Dog’ Pearce at a 7-Eleven in South Beach.”
“Miami is the locale.”
Meyerstein stared at him long and hard. “Let’s get down there. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
EIGHTEEN
Kathleen Burke stood in the living room of the safe house, blinds drawn, shaking as she popped her methadone pill and washed it down with a gulp of beer. She looked across at the two Feds watching her. “So is this how it’s gonna be, huh?”
One Fed said, “You’ve got your meds, we’ve got some beers in for you – just kick back and relax. You’re fine.”
“I’m fine? Do I look fine to you? Do I?”
The Fed averted his gaze.
“No I fucking don’t. I know what I look like. A fucking mess. A walking, talking piece of trash. That’s what they call me. I know what they say behind my back.”
“Kathleen, I think you need to remember what the doctor sai
d. You need to rest. And you need to calm down.”
“Rest? You think rest is what I need? You Feds, you’re something else. You don’t know about me. Don’t fucking pretend you do.”
The Fed said nothing as his colleague shifted in a seat in the corner.
Burke finished the rest of the beer. She got another cold one from the fridge and took a long gulp. “This is the only thing that will calm me down.”
“The doctor recommended you don’t mix too much booze with the medication.”
“What do doctors know?”
The Fed sighed.
“I want to see my mother and my kids. When can I see them?”
“We’ve got protocols. This is not the right moment.”
“At least let me speak to them.”
“That’s not gonna happen. Look, you’re safe here, right?”
“What the fuck does that mean? My ex-boyfriend is a psychopath. He called my mother. This ain’t gonna end good.”
“You’re safe.”
“You reckon? Let me tell you, Hunter Cain can reach anyone, anywhere, at any time. I know only too well what he’s like.”
Burke sat down and opened a beer, taking a long gulp. It felt good. “Goddamn.”
The Fed said, “Look, Kathleen, you need to focus. And cool it.”
Burke felt the tears begin to well up in her eyes and her throat tighten. “What a fucking mess I am.”
The Fed said nothing, gaze averted.
“Look at me.”
The Fed looked across the room at her. “What?”
“I want to speak to Meyerstein.”
“Not possible.”
“Listen, I want to talk to her.”
The Fed sighed and shook his head. “Why?”
“I want to tell her how I feel.”
“Look, I’ve told you …”
“Are you gonna let me speak to her or not?”
The Fed sighed and headed into the kitchen. She heard his voice on the phone, explaining the situation. Then he came back into the living room and handed her the phone. “Assistant Director Meyerstein. You’ve got a minute.”
Burke took the phone. “Meyerstein, I don’t like being holed up like this. I want somewhere different.”
Meyerstein said, “Kathleen, now just relax. You’ve got everything you need there. Medication and whatever else, right?”