by Dom Testa
I took out my phone and made a quick call to Poole. I let her know where I was, what I was doing, and asked if there was any news.
“Darnell Cox doesn’t seem to have made contact with Parks. He’s holed up in his room. Must be waiting for the boss to arrive.”
“Good. I’m glad I beat Parks to town.”
Cole returned as I took another sip of beer. She sat down across from me with a new cell phone and held out a hand. I gave her my phone and she went to work on the two gadgets, connecting them with a patch cord, while I continued my talk on speaker with Poole.
“What about Pradesh?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
I grimaced. “Okay. And Santa Fe? Any updates there?”
“Autopsy results on David Torres, the guy found on the floor of his kitchen. Same poison used on Leon Haas and his assistant at Marquart Labs. We’d probably find it was also the same used on you, if we could ever find your body.”
This caused Cole to look up from her work, her eyebrows raised. I chuckled and said softly, “It’s a long story.” To Poole I said, “Let Quanta know I’ll be downtown in about an hour. I could use some backup, especially to watch Jonas for a couple of hours while I do an upload.”
“Will do. I’ll text you the hotel information and have someone from one of the other departments meet you there.”
We hung up.
Cole kept tinkering. “So, poisoned, eh?”
“And really nasty stuff, too. I’m sure I suffered. Those are the bastards we’re after.”
She nodded, and left it at that. Good Q2 support staff knew when to stop asking questions.
“How long have you been stationed here?” I asked.
“Since late summer. It’s a nice city. Good food, that’s for sure. You’ll like the river.”
“I was there once six or seven years ago. I’m sure it’s the same, only more expensive.”
She finished up her work, disconnected the two phones, and pushed them across the table to me. “You’re all set. Anything else? How are you on ammo?”
“Haven’t fired a shot. Yet. Could be different at the river. Oh, there is one more thing.” I reached into my pocket and removed Aiken’s cell phone. “Will you please break into this and change the password? I’ll need to see what he’s up to. And can you add static to this model?”
“Piece of cake,” Cole said, taking the phone from me. She pointed down the hall. “If you need to use the facilities, they’re right down there. If you want, let me have your weapon, too, and I’ll give it a quick cleaning and checkup while you do your business.”
I handed her the Glock, finished my beer, and walked down the hall. I also made a note to let Quanta know that our San Antonio field staff was first-rate.
She’d been right about the bathroom. The walls were a pink hue and the toilet had one of those fuzzy seat covers on it. When I finished I washed my hands and then leaned against the sink and called Christina. It went to voicemail, so I left a short, sappy message. I missed her, and told her so.
Back in the kitchen Cole had finished hacking Aiken’s phone, and was wrapping up the quick maintenance on the Glock 18. She wiped it down one last time and handed it back.
“You’ve been great,” I said, shaking hands with her again. “Thanks for everything. Including the Shiner Bock.”
“Good luck,” she said. “If you need anything, let me know.”
When I got back to the car the passenger window was open a bit and Aiken was asleep. I picked a long weed from the ground and fed it through the opening in the window, right into his ear. He jumped, his hand catching on the shackle that held him to the steering wheel and yanking severely on his arm.
“Jesus!” he shouted and gave me a glare. I laughed and walked around to my side of the car.
“Real funny,” he muttered, rubbing his wrist after I unlocked the cuffs. “What was this stop all about?”
“This,” I said, and tossed the new cell phone onto his lap. “A late Christmas present.”
“You’re giving me a phone? Why not just give my own phone back to me?”
I started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Because this is the worst phone you could ever imagine. The kind a parent would want to give to their 8th grader. It will do two things: Send calls and texts to me only, and receive calls and texts from me only.”
He looked at it. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. No other calls and texts will work, not even 9-1-1, so don’t use it if you’re caught in a burning building. It also has no Internet connection or anything else. You’ve heard of smartphones; this is perhaps the dumbest goddamned phone ever. But it’s perfect for you and me. All you do to call me is hit 1. That’s it.”
Naturally, he had to try it. He hit 1 and my phone vibrated. He hung up and tried punching in some other ten-digit number. The phone just glowed back at him, silent. “If I’m stuck with you on this trip, why do I need it?”
“Because,” I said, “there may be times when you’re not stuck with me. It’ll be crowded down at the tourist trap and we might get separated in all the confusion. And if that happens, you need to be able to reach me. Trust me, you’ll want to reach me. Because if someone else from my merry little band of badasses finds you, they won’t be so kind and understanding as I am. Clear?”
He put the phone into a pocket and grunted. “Yeah, yeah. Clear as always.”
We merged onto highway 281, heading south, toward downtown San Antonio. I figured it was time, during this home stretch of the drive, to set Jonas Aiken straight on a few things.
“You and I have had a great time together,” I said. “But I hope you don’t think you’re out of danger. Not only do you have government agents on your ass, but if Steffan Parks catches you there’s a good chance he’ll want to give you the ol’ funny water treatment. And you know what that means.”
“Why? I haven’t done anything. I’ve helped him.”
I gave him a look of astonishment. “You’re joking, right? You show up, unexpected, at his appointment in Texas, tagging along with a government agent. And you think he’ll just say, ‘Hey, what a surprise!’ Jonas, if he’s not in a position to poison you he’ll have his bodyguard slit your throat in about two seconds.”
He sat in stony silence for a minute. “If Jayanti’s there—”
“If Jayanti is there she might kill you faster than anyone. Remember, she knocked off Ed, another employee of Uncle Sam, and you’re the one who clued her in that Ed was interested in her. You think she wants you around to testify?”
Another moment of silence, and then Aiken turned to me. “See, it’s things like that. What makes you so sure I told Jayanti anything? You act like you have all this inside information about me, but you weren’t there. How do you know anything?”
I grinned again. “I’m omniscient.”
He rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. Omniscient.”
“The point isn’t how I know. The point is that you’re a loose end. And you’ve seen enough movies; loose ends get snipped. So do two things if you wanna see home again: Stay close to me, and, if something goes wrong, use that phone.”
“If you’re dead, what good would it do me to call you?”
“Because we think of everything, Jonas. Well, almost everything. If I don’t answer after seven rings, the call forwards to one of my friends. So just stay on the line, got it?”
He let out a quiet laugh. “God, you’re a real secret agent, aren’t you? Got all the James Bond toys and everything.”
“Not quite. Never got the ejector seat. And our Miss Moneypenny has absolutely no interest in me.”
In another 20 minutes we pulled up to the hotel. It was right on the river and only three blocks from where Cox was holed up. I didn’t bother to warn Aiken about slipping away. We just got out of the car and strolled into the lobby while the bellman took care of the bags and the BMW.
The courteous young man at the front desk checked us in to our two rooms, gave me both keys
, and pointed to a woman sitting in one of the lobby chairs.
“She asked me to point her out to you, sir,” he said. “Said she’s supposed to meet you?”
“That’s great,” I said. “Listen, can I order room service from you?”
He nodded helpfully and I rattled off a handful of things that every hotel’s restaurant in this city would carry. I promised a fat tip for fast service, and also slipped 20 bucks to the desk agent.
With the important stuff out of the way, I escorted Aiken across the lobby. The woman, in her mid-30s with short, dark hair and a business suit that screamed Fed, stood up and reached for a badge.
“I was sent to meet you,” she said and showed the ID. Sure enough, she was FBI. The name on the badge was spelled K-o-w-a-l-c-z-y-k.
I attempted the pronunciation. “Ko-wall-zik?”
She smiled. “On the first try, even. And this is?”
“This is Jonas Aiken. He’s been really good so far. Haven’t you, Jonas?”
He didn’t respond.
“Don’t mind him,” I said. “He gets into this mood from time to time, but overall he’s been good. Agent Kowalczyk, can you look after him for a couple hours? There’s some work I need to do.”
“No problem,” she said, taking Aiken by the arm.
I handed her the key to Aiken’s room and made for the gift shop to buy a trash magazine. What I wanted more than anything was a quick shower, some food, then a bunch of Hollywood gossip to pass the time while my brain was hooked up.
My room overlooked the water from the fifth floor. I peered out the window, watching hordes of people strolling both sides of the greenish-brown river meandering through the heart of San Antonio. Even with the cool weather business was booming. You couldn’t walk 50 feet without encountering a bar, restaurant, or shop, and the ambience oozed happiness and frivolity. Whatever your cares when you arrived, the river would lift them up and carry them away — helped by a shot or two of tequila. I liked the place. I mean, I don’t care for crowds or traditional touristy fare, but this had a pleasant quality.
When I stepped out of the shower the food was waiting. It’s remarkable what the promise of a sizable tip will do to bump your order up in line. I savored the queso and guac with tortilla chips, and layered a fajita that would make Christina proud. Once sated, I stretched out on the bed, made all the connections necessary for the upload, and began reading about the Greek heiress flaunting her new bod on the beaches of Portugal with the guy who used to be in that boy band.
The time flew by.
At 6:30 I unplugged, ate a few more chips, and relished my break from babysitting Jonas. He seemed like a decent enough guy, but his fanatical obsession with Jayanti could potentially muck things up. I checked his phone to see if he’d received anything from her; all it showed was a text from his wife.
Of course I read it. It said: The car is ready. Want me to pick it up?
I texted back: Yes.
I scrolled back to see if an I love you was expected. Didn’t look like it. I didn’t see a single tender note between them. Their texts were nothing like the ones I exchanged with my wife. Were they the oddballs or were we?
My own phone vibrated with a call from Poole.
“I hope you have news,” I said.
“Cox is on the move. He just left his hotel and he’s heading toward the river. We’re guessing that Parks has arrived.”
“Perfect. Who’s on him right now?”
“Name is Brockington. I’m sending you a photo right now so you can make a positive ID. He’s a loaner from the Texas Rangers.”
“Hey, that’s cool. I wondered what they did during the off-season.”
Poole’s silence told me she totally did not get it. That wouldn’t stop me from trying to make her laugh until the end of time.
“Link me with Brockington’s GPS,” I said. “I’m leaving right now.”
Poole hung up. At the same moment another call came in. It was on Aiken’s phone.
I answered it and immediately hit the star and hashtag buttons at the same time. This added a little something we simply called static. It scrambled the voice on our end so that the other person could barely understand us — you know, the typical bad-signal shit we’re all used to with cell phones. The other person, however, came through loud and clear. Cole at the safe house had installed it in about a minute.
“Hello?” I said. Whoever was on the other end paused, wondering about the bad signal.
“Jonas?” they finally said.
“Yes,” I said. With the intentionally-induced crappy sound there was no way they’d be able to identify me as anyone other than Aiken. “Speak up, I can barely hear you.”
“Where are you?” the voice said.
I smiled. It was Jayanti, calling Jonas.
“Still in Tucson,” I said. “Where are you?”
She paused, probably out of frustration for the sound quality. “I’m with Steffan. We have some business to take care of before we get back to Arizona. I’ll need to meet with you.”
“All right,” I said.
“Listen, this call sounds like shit. I’ll call you back in about an hour.”
She hung up. I grinned again and walked back to the window. Pulling aside the curtain, I gazed at the mass of people shuffling along the Riverwalk. “So you’re with Parks,” I said. “Excellent.”
Chapter Sixteen
I collected Jonas from his FBI handler, Kowalczyk. She would shadow us from the opposite side of the river, and the Texas Ranger, Brockington, would stay on Cox the whole time. The photo Poole sent showed a big, chicken-fried-steak-eatin’ Texas Ranger. I liked having tough guys on my team for a change. Things were looking up.
In the lobby gift shop I bought a Spurs hoodie and a pair of sunglasses for Jonas. It would disguise him well enough, plus Steffan and Jayanti wouldn’t be looking for him. As far as they knew he was still holed up in Tucson.
We pushed through the doors leading to the congested walkways and melded into the crowd. Even with the cooler weather San Antonio’s Riverwalk was its usual lively self. Street vendors, bars and restaurants every few feet, tourist boats puttering by, crammed with out-of-town visitors who enjoyed watery excursions with snarky guides. It was a festive, convivial atmosphere, strangely at odds with my assignment.
I checked my phone’s map and saw Brockington’s dot moving basically toward us. The Riverwalk was set below street level, with stairways for entrance and exit about every block. After calculating trajectories, I took us over a pedestrian bridge to the other side of the water. If I had it right, Cox would be walking down the stairs from Crockett Street.
We were sheltered from the worst of the wind, but it was still brisk. I watched people bracing against the chill on the nearest tour boat, the pilot pointing out landmarks and assorted historical facts. When she indicated a building that once housed something or other I actually looked up at it like a dork.
One glance across the river revealed Kowalczyk, playing her part, pretending to read a guide map. She seemed competent and comfortable.
As we neared Crockett Street I tugged on Aiken’s sleeve to slow him down. I spent a minute perusing the menu of an Irish pub. What that had to do with South Texas was beyond me, but I’m okay with Irish pubs anywhere. Their fish-n-chips looked great, and several of their patio patrons were already pretty well lubricated. If I wasn’t on an assignment I would’ve happily joined.
Aiken bent toward me and said in a low voice, “What are we waiting for?”
Good question. I’d expected to see Brockington by now, and, by extension, Cox. I could only stare at the menu for so long before the hostess would think I was drunk myself.
I checked the tracking signal again and saw that the Ranger’s position had shifted to a strange, out of the way spot and wasn’t moving. Of course, Cox could’ve stopped. But if so, Brockington would be conspicuous just standing there. Something felt wrong.
“Let’s walk. Slowly,” I said.
Kowalczyk was looking at me over the top of her map. I shook my head twice, then held my hand up to keep her in this spot. If Brockington did show up, she needed to be able to make contact. We couldn’t all go barreling off to one secluded spot.
I figured we were about a hundred yards from the stationary GPS dot. At the end of the street was a turn to the left, a tributary of sorts, leading to a dark underpass. This part of the walkway was not trafficked at all; I assumed it led to some sort of maintenance area. There were no vendors, no shops, nothing. Just a concrete strip ending in shadow.
“Shit,” I muttered. I didn’t want to walk down there, but I was paid to walk down there.
Jonas picked up on the vibe right away. “I can wait here.”
“Right. I’m sure you’ll be waiting right here when I get back.”
He nodded toward the underpass. “I don’t want to walk in there.”
“I don’t either, pardner. But this is what we signed up for.”
“I didn’t sign up for anything,” he said with a whine.
“Yeah, you did. As soon as you gave up Ed to your scorpion friend. That put you square in the middle of it. Let’s go.”
I took hold of his arm and he resisted, refusing to budge. So I leaned in close, my face within inches of his.
“Jonas, we’ve been getting along pretty well. Which means you might think I’ve grown a soft spot for you. So let me set you straight. If you don’t move your ass right now I will start by breaking your nose and then see what else fancies me. Capiche?”
He glared back at me, but relaxed. We started down the path.
The wind had picked up a notch, blowing around assorted pieces of trash. It was colder than most of us expected for South Texas. My jacket provided decent protection but I would’ve liked a pair of leather gloves. The wind also created background noise, which mingled with the sound of traffic passing overhead. This was good in that it covered our approach, but bad because it also covered any sounds from up ahead.