by Ty Patterson
‘Trap?’ Janikyan asked angrily. ‘How’s that possible? He can’t get the cops there. You’re looking for him.’
‘And I would know if he approached the chief.’
‘Exactly.’
‘We suspect he was wearing some kind of suicide belt at Covarra’s meeting. That’s how he stayed alive.’
‘Let him wear whatever he wants,’ Janikyan said. ‘We got a trump card. The woman he rescued.’
‘Which woman?’
‘Brae. She used to be a Street Front banger’s girlfriend.’
Matteo’s brow cleared as he remembered the incident. ‘Moe,’ he breathed softly.
‘Yeah. Grogan can set whatever trap he wants. We’ll be ready for him.’
93
Cutter went down the hill swiftly, sprinting when he was between houses and slowing to a casual walk when he was passing in front of them.
He approached the hairpin turn cautiously and spotted no traffic, no parked cars, no dog walkers or joggers.
He held his breath as he vaulted over the metal gates to the house and exhaled in relief when no alarm or lights went off.
He checked the outside yard to see if the cops had mounted any security cameras but didn’t spot any.
He checked the lawn at the front of the house, the gate and the adjoining wall. He tested the front door and found it locked.
He went to the side window where he had entered the previous time. Nothing seemed to have changed. The same stale air, the smell of an unused house. He checked all the rooms and went out to the patio, which was partially shaded by roof. His face turned grim when he took in the dark patches on the concrete. No one bothered to clean the blood stains.
He went to the front of the house and headed to the garage at the side. Cut its lock with the bolt-cutters he had brought along and inspected the contents.
He found what he was looking for, neatly arranged on a shelf on the wall. Neutral-colored duct tape, cans of paint in various colors, a bag of cement and, hanging on the wall, a shovel. A bunch of floor tiles, strips of ceiling molding, rolls of lawn turf and sacks of soil were a bonus.
* * *
Cutter went to the lawn and dropped the weapons bag and backpack to the ground. Rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He dug several holes strategically in the lawn and at the base of the wall. Assembled C4 slabs with detonators and timers. He rocked back on his heels and wiped sweat from his forehead.
When do I need the first one to go off?
Forty-five minutes from my arrival?
He thought about it and nodded. Adjusted the timer on the first bomb and buried it in the first hole, near the gates. He set the other explosives to go off at random intervals thereafter and buried them, too.
He covered the holes with soil and turf where needed, got to his feet and surveyed his work critically. He adjusted a patch of grass here, raked soil there with his fingers, until he was finally satisfied the front yard and lawn would pass muster.
They won’t be looking for explosives.
He was confident about that.
* * *
Cutter went inside the house and cut molding from the ceilings of several rooms and planted more explosives behind them. He went around the house testing for loose tiles. Dug them out carefully when he found them, and buried bombs in the holes he made beneath them.
Sweat streamed down his face by the time he went to the patio. It’s concrete. I don’t have the equipment to dig it out.
His took in the large flower pots in the corners, long since dried out. Those will do. He removed their soil, planted his explosives and covered them with a fresh layer. The low wall that hung over the bluff had two ornate light poles in the corners. He turned them into bombs by inserting C4 into their hollows, then wiped his hands on his camo pants.
He went inside the house and duct-taped scabbards to the back sides of the legs of several chairs. He inserted four-inch knives in them and painted over them, a color to match the wood. He dragged a glass coffee table to the patio as the emulsion dried.
He checked out the chairs when he returned inside. A close look would show the tape and the bottom of the hilt. It’ll have to do, he thought, shrugging. He drew the knives out to check they moved freely in their sheaths and dropped them back in place.
He brought out the chairs and arranged them around the table, with a couple to each side of the sliding door.
Janikyan and Matteo will come to the house and go out to the patio when they see the furniture.
It was war strategy that he had learned in Delta. Draw the enemy into the field of his setting.
He leaned over the low wall and let the breeze cool his face as he took in the panorama of the city spread out below him.
It might be the last time I get to see LA like this, he thought grimly. Alive.
94
‘Grogan,’ Janikyan gloated. ‘How does it feel to be the most hunted man in the city?’
Zeb listened along with his team while Beth played the recording on her phone.
They were in his hotel room, playing cards, watching TV or reading, when she had snapped her fingers to draw their attention to the call.
‘This was last night?’ he turned off the recording when it ended.
‘Yeah, nine pm.’
‘What’s he planning?’ Chloe asked, a pinched look in her eyes. ‘He can’t go in there alone. They’ll kill him.’
‘I’m sure he knows that.’ Bear reached for the fruit basket, inspected an apple critically, polished it against his shirt and crunched into it heartily. ‘He’ll have planned his getaway.’
‘How?’ his girlfriend challenged him.
‘How would I know?’ he replied with a helpless shrug. ‘I can’t read his mind.’
‘We’ll be there,’ Bwana said—a statement, not a question.
‘Yeah.’ Zeb smiled briefly. ‘But we won’t show ourselves. Will we be able to hear—’
‘That phone’s recording everything.’ Beth’s ponytail bounced as she nodded her head. ‘Anything he does, anyone speaks near it, we’ll hear it.’
‘Where’s he now?’
‘In Beverly Hills,’ Meghan answered. She turned her phone to show them Cutter’s location, a red dot on the side of the hill. ‘He spent the night there. Alone.’
That’s what I would do, too. Zeb gazed at the screen and pictured the hill where his friend was. I would be out there, above the house, watching, waiting, preparing myself for the showdown.
* * *
Cutter woke at the break of dawn, checked the house with his binos and found no trace of visitors.
He worked out for an hour and stripped to his waist to let the breeze cool his body.
He broke open a protein bar and ate it slowly. Followed that with a piece of fruit and drank water. He wiped his hands on his trousers and turned on his phone.
I came to LA twenty-five days ago, he began recording. To claim the bodies of my friends and find out who had killed them.
He narrated every incident since his arrival succinctly and finished half an hour later. He composed an email to Difiore and attached the audio file to it. Set it to be delivered the next day. Finally, he uploaded the recording to his cloud storage account.
He strapped on two custom-made Velcro strips, one on each wrist. They had magnetic loops that stretched to accommodate whatever was inserted in them.
He thrust the hilt of his Benchmade in them and tested that they gripped the blade tightly. They did.
He emptied his mind and returned to watching.
* * *
Chloe sucked her breath sharply when Meghan played the audio file an hour later. No one else displayed any emotion. They listened quietly in Zeb’s room, and when the recording ended, Bwana got to his feet, stretched, cracked his knuckles and started cleaning his Glock.
* * *
Cutter watched the two SUVs arrive at eight pm. He made Janikyan, who was hustled inside the house by several hitters. Was Zohra
b among the men?
He checked his phone and found no green dot on the app. Tracker’s died or he’s discovered and destroyed it.
Did that change anything? He considered it for a moment and then shook his head.
No, it didn’t. I must have missed spotting him. He’ll be there with Janikyan. The gang leader doesn’t go anywhere without him.
He saw movement inside the house through the windows. They’ll search the house to make sure it’s empty. He hoped they wouldn’t discover the knives or the explosives.
The vehicles drove away when the last of the bangers had gone inside and quiet returned to the street.
Cutter went down the hill at eight-forty-five pm.
95
He left his backpack and the weapons bag on the hill, pushed deep inside a thicket, locked.
He had his Glock, several spare magazines and his knife on him. No disguise. There was no longer any need for that. No armor, either. They’ll search me and remove it.
He went down like a wraith, slipping through the shadows of the trees and then onto the street. A tall, lean figure who used the darkness of the night to his advantage as he got closer to the house.
He felt empty, relaxed; he knew he was at his most lethal in that state.
How I feel doesn’t matter. I’ll either come out of this alive, or I’ll be dead.
He knocked on the metal gate at nine pm.
* * *
Ten miles to the east, Matt Lasko opened his eyes.
* * *
Toros made the call at the same time. He knew Janikyan would kill him if the gang leader found out, but, what the hell! Covarra paid well for his information.
‘There’s a meeting going down in Beverly Hills,’ he told Salazar. ‘Right now. Janikyan and Grogan.’
The deputy ran to his boss as soon as he hung up. ‘I know where Grogan will be,’ he burst out.
Fifteen minutes later, Covarra and Salazar rolled out of their safe house, along with several hitters.
* * *
Zeb checked Beverly Grove Drive up and down. No traffic. The two SUVs in which they had arrived were deep inside the driveways of two adjacent, empty houses.
‘You expect trouble?’ Meghan joined him and looked up the hill. The hairpin bend was barely visible in the night, but the house was unmistakable.
‘I’ve got that feeling.’
‘Beth and I’ll go down the hill,’ she said. His inner radar was known to them. ‘We’ll check out approaching vehicles and warn you if we spot anything suspicious.’
‘And,’ added Chloe, who had come up to them, ‘Bear and I will go up and check out cars that are coming down.’
* * *
‘He’s here,’ a banger yelled toward the house, as he opened the gate and checked Cutter.
96
Cutter double-pressed the volume button on his phone, raised both hands high and stepped inside.
The gates rolled shut behind him as a banger pushed him towards the house.
He checked out the yard from the corners of his eyes as he went up the walkway. Nothing appears disturbed. Doesn’t look like they’ve found the explosives.
He climbed up the porch and went through the front entryway.
‘Go on,’ a hitter growled behind him.
He continued deeper into the house, through darkened rooms, until he stepped onto the patio.
Janikyan was seated on a chair, flanked by two bangers, his back to the low wall over the cliff.
‘I was wondering if you would come.’ The Armenian flashed a smile, but his eyes remained cold.
Cutter took in the assembled men casually and stopped counting after he got to six.
Where’s Zohrab? He isn’t here.
‘Why wouldn’t I? I told you, I want answers.’ He raised his hands higher when a banger searched him and removed his Glock, knife and all his magazines. The hitter felt his pockets and came out with his phone. He checked that it was turned off and placed it on top of the weapons that were on the floor, to the side.
* * *
Difiore was with Quindica in Dade’s office when her phone buzzed. Nope, don’t recognize that number. I don’t take calls from strangers.
Something stopped her from declining it, however. She recognized Cutter’s voice instantly when she accepted it and heard his Why wouldn’t I. She turned on the speaker, placed the device on the chief’s desk and motioned for silence.
* * *
‘You’re something,’ Janikyan said admiringly. ‘You are alone, surrounded by my men, and yet here you are. You don’t look scared. Any other person wouldn’t have come.’
‘You know why I’m here.’ Cutter took a step closer. Another stride and he would be at the table.
He sensed movement and glanced back to see two bangers inch nearer to him. They had hands on their assault rifles, alert for any move he made.
Janikyan snapped his fingers, as if he had forgotten. ‘You want to know who killed your friends.’
Footsteps approached before Cutter could respond. Matteo and Cruz entered the patio, followed by more shooters.
‘It was you all along,’ he said, addressing the lead detective contemptuously. ‘You misled me from the start. Heck,’ he spat coldly, ‘I was at the same spot. Here, over those blood splotches, when you, Cruz and Estrada found me. You lied to me. Told me there was a gang shootout—’
‘I didn’t lie,’ Matteo’s face and voice were expressionless. ‘There was—’
‘Where’s Estrada?’
‘He isn’t involved.’
‘How does it feel to be a traitor? Why, Matteo? Why did the two of you throw in with Janikyan? You both are two of the best cops in the LAPD. Why did you cross the line?’
‘How did you figure it out?’ the lead detective ignored his question.
‘You made mistakes. You should have checked on Lasko. He recovered briefly … enough for the medics to remove his tubes. He told the nurses you didn’t come.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I overheard them talking. That shootout in the hospital, that was me, in case you didn’t work that out.’
‘That was enough for you?’ Matteo asked expressionlessly. ‘Just those words?’
‘Your friend,’ Cutter said sarcastically, as he nodded at Janikyan, ‘let slip that LA wasn’t like Cameroon.’
The detective closed his eyes momentarily, disgusted at himself. ‘That was in your military file.’
‘Yeah. I knew then that he had someone in the LAPD. That’s when I set the trap for you.’
‘He’s clean?’ Matteo turned to Janikyan, who was following the conversation with a thin smile.
‘Yeah.’ Janikyan’s eyes danced. The gang leader was clearly enjoying the moment. ‘No wire, he’s got no backup. No suicide belt, no weapons.’
‘Kill him. Let’s finish this.’
‘Who killed my friends?’
Cutter’s belly tightened when two more people came onto the patio.
Brae, her mouth taped, her hands tied behind her, a look of terror on her face—and behind her, Zohrab, a wicked grin on his face.
‘Let her go,’ Cutter said hollowly as he turned to Janikyan. ‘She’s got nothing to do with this.’
‘She’s insurance,’ the gangster said, grinning. ‘We know you by now. You wouldn’t have come here on your own without an exit. With her here,’ he chuckled savagely, ‘it’s over, Grogan. Here’s where you die.’
Brae made unintelligible noises behind her gag and shook her head furiously.
‘What’s she saying?’ Janikyan asked irritatedly.
‘I DON’T KNOW WHO HE IS. PLEASE LET ME GO. I WON’T TELL ANYONE ANYTHING,’ she burst out when Zohrab ripped the tape off her mouth.
The gang leader looked at her strangely for a moment and then smiled knowingly. ‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘Grogan, you never showed your real face to her, did you? That’s why she doesn’t recognize you.’
‘He was the one who killed your boyfr
iend,’ he told her sneeringly. ‘And took you to the Lintock Center. He thought you would be safe there. Safe from us!’ he snorted.
‘Shut her up,’ he ordered coldly before Brae could speak.
Zohrab slapped her casually, applied the tape on her mouth and shoved her on a chair.
Cutter looked away when she fell heavily. That look on her face … I’ve got to save her, whatever happens to me.
‘She’s your insurance?’ he shrugged contemptuously. ‘Kill her and then you lose any leverage you have over me. Did you think about that?’
From the looks Matteo, Cruz and Janikyan exchanged, they hadn’t.
‘I came here for answers,’ Cutter said, ‘not to save anyone’s life. Who killed Arnedra and Vienna?’
Janikyan was startled by his uncaring response for a moment. He recovered and sneered. ‘Haven’t you figured that out by now?’
He paused dramatically for a moment. ‘It was Zohrab and me. With the rifles the men behind you are holding.’
97
‘They’re at that Beverly Hills house,’ Difiore’s head looked up from the phone on which their attention was riveted.
‘Your task force.’ Dade rose abruptly and put on her jacket. ‘Can they handle this?’
The NYPD detective took a moment to absorb her meaning. She doesn’t trust Matteo’s team. We don’t know who else is dirty there.
‘Yeah,’ she replied.
‘Let’s roll.’
* * *
It was Zohrab and me.
Janikyan’s declaration seemed to reverberate in the night.
Cutter was conscious of the small details.
The tic on Matteo’s cheek, his dark gaze. A shoe squeaked as someone shifted his weight behind him. A moth flew past the corner light and vanished in the night. The wail of a distant siren.