Blood in the Water

by Jack Flynn

  With that, she turned and headed up the pathway, leaving them behind.

  ‘Fuck,’ Hall said, taking his gun out of his pocket. ‘I thought we were gonna have to kill the bitch.’

  Cormack looked at Cicero Andolini. He was staring straight back into Cormack’s eyes, and Cormack knew that Cicero was thinking the same thing. The old woman and giant dog had no idea how lucky they were that they were still breathing.

  * * * * *

  The synthetic opioid Fentanyl, usually mass produced in Eastern Europe and Asia, is at the heart of the American opioid crisis – a crisis that claimed 64,000 lives in 2016 alone. It’s cheap to make and ten times more powerful than heroin. It’s easy to cut with other more expensive drugs, like heroin and cocaine, as well as with prescription drugs like oxycodone. It can be mass produced in Asia and Latin America and made available on the black market at discount prices.

  Despite the resultant crackdown on its importation by the authorities, all of this made it an ideal commodity for traffickers, and was why the Asian connections of Dr Yee, Juan Suarez’s Fentanyl supplier, were important to him and T’phong Soh.

  Dr Yee was a dentist with coke-bottle glasses who ran an import–export business on the side. He had always been reliable, and provided product of serviceable quality at cut-rate prices. The increased attention on the opioid crisis generally, and on the role of Fentanyl in the drug trade specifically, was squeezing Dr Yee and making shipments more dangerous. Dr Yee had texted early in the morning that he needed to discuss the situation. Juan Suarez texted back and instructed Dr Yee to meet him at the Belle Isle Marshes. His thought was that an outdoor meeting would ensure brevity; Suarez had a busy day ahead of him, and didn’t want to waste too much time with Dr Yee.

  Suarez pulled into the parking lot off Bennington Street in East Boston, at the edge of the marshes. The reservation was squeezed in between Eastie and Winthrop, so it was convenient for both Suarez and Dr Yee, and with the weather as cold as it was, the place would be deserted.

  There was one vehicle in the lot, a white rusted-out service van that looked as though it might have been abandoned, rather than parked. Suarez got out of his car and looked around the area. A slight breeze drifted across the marshes, raising a soft rustle. Other than that, everything was quiet and still.

  He headed up the main path to where it branched off into multiple smaller trails. He had instructed Dr Yee to take the first two left trails and meet him by the bench that faced the airport. Suarez stuffed his hands into his pockets and watched the steam explode from his mouth as he breathed. He still had trouble fathoming the cold in this godforsaken place. Before coming to Boston, he had lived only in Central America and Los Angeles. His first Boston winter had been mild, though he had marveled at the freezing temperatures, and distrusted those who had said that it could get colder. This winter had proved them right, though, and he still could not believe that any place on earth could stay this cold for this long.

  As he came to the spot in the trail where the second branch took him to the left, he was surprised to see an old woman walking toward him with a giant dog on a leash. He looked at her as she passed. She started to nod hello to him, but she stopped and a look of fear came across her face. He was used to it. The tattoos were hard to miss; they covered almost the entirety of his face. Ornate depictions of ‘MS-13’ ran from his chin to his forehead. They sent a message to the world that he was a dangerous man who didn’t care what anyone else felt about him.

  The woman put her head down and her pace increased as much as the dog’s languid trot would allow.

  It was disconcerting to him that anyone would be out in this cold at all; only an insane New Englander would believe that it was reasonable to walk by the water in sub-zero temperatures. He would never understand the people who lived in this place. At least, though, her fear would prevent her from giving in to any curiosity, and there was no chance that she would return. He and Dr Yee would not be disturbed.

  * * * * *

  At that moment, Dr Yee was gathering his cash and belongings to leave the Boston area indefinitely. His involvement with Soh’s men was in the FBI file given to Cormack by Kit Steele. Cormack had passed on that bit of information to Cicero, with instructions to use Dr Yee’s connections to get further information about Soh’s whereabouts.

  Cicero had visited Dr Yee the night before with John Hall in tow. They found him alone at his dental office. Dr Yee had been reluctant to give them any information about Soh or MS-13, even faced with Cicero’s knife. Hall duct-taped Dr Yee to one of his dental chairs, his head pulled all the way back, strapped to the headrest. Cicero began by removing two of the doctor’s teeth. He then began methodically experimenting with each of the various dental instruments and power tools until Dr Yee was begging to cooperate. After Dr Yee had given them all the information he had, they instructed him to text his contact and tell him that he needed to talk. Cicero still had Dr Yee’s phone when Suarez texted the time and place to meet.

  Dr Yee knew he had to disappear as quickly as possible. Once MS-13 found out that he had given up information about Suarez, his time in the dental chair with Cicero would seem a pleasant memory.

  As Cormack waited in the cold of the Belle Isle Marsh Reservation, he heard John Hall chuckle softly to himself.

  ‘That fuckin’ chink doctor last night …’ Hall said, his laughter trailing away. ‘That was too fuckin’ funny.’

  Cicero shot him a glare.

  ‘What? It was.’ He looked at Cormack. ‘This guy was screaming so loud. In his own dentist’s chair, for Christ’s sake. And Mr Andolini, here, was just workin’ over the chink’s teeth. It was the funniest fuckin’ thing I seen.’ He chuckled again. ‘Payback for all the poor schlubs he worked over in that same chair, I guess. Only when he was doing it, the poor schlubs were payin’ him for the pleasure. Too fuckin’ funny.’

  The irony wasn’t lost on Cormack, but he was trying to keep his attention on the trail. The old woman with the dog had thrown him off. He didn’t think there was any chance that anyone else would be out in the cold. He had almost taken her head off, and that would have been more of a hassle than he could comprehend.

  He heard footsteps on the path coming toward them, and he raised his hand to signal to Hall and Cicero to be ready.

  The man passed the entrance to the clearing without seeing Cormack. This time O’Connell knew he had the right target. He could see the tattoos covering the man’s neck and the side of his face that was visible. Cormack stepped out of the clearing and swung the club.

  It connected solidly below the man’s head, on the soft tissue between his shoulder and his neck. Cormack had been careful not to kill him with the blow, conscious of the need to gather information, but Suarez went down hard nonetheless. Cormack was on him immediately. There was no way to know what weapons, if any, the man might have on him. If he was able to get hold of a gun, the situation would quickly get out of control. Hall and Cicero were both on the path now, hanging back a step, pointing their guns at the man on the ground. Still, if Suarez managed to get off one lucky shot, it wouldn’t be good for anyone.

  Cormack swung the club again, this time into his ribs. Suarez seemed to give little resistance, and Cormack worried for a moment that he’d been too aggressive and that he was possibly unconscious. Without warning, though, Suarez turned quickly, and flipped on his side. His hand struck out, and Cormack saw the flash of metal in it, and ducked just in time.

  Suarez didn’t have a gun, but he had a knife. He was struggling to his knees, disoriented. He looked up and saw Hall and Cicero with their guns pointed at him. For a moment, Cormack thought that he would surrender without further resistance. Instead, he lunged at Cormack, aiming for his head. Cormack ducked again, and swung his club up hard. It connected with the man’s skull, and blood poured down his face. Suarez looked at Cormack for a moment, and then his eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell face first into the snow.

  The blood spread ou
t from his head in a semi-circle, staining the white ground.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Hall asked.

  ‘He better not be,’ Cormack said in a cold tone, cursing himself for being careless. ‘We need information. I’m not gonna be happy if he’s dead.’

  Cormack moved forward, slowly. The knife had fallen inches from the man’s hand, and he grabbed it and threw it into the marsh. He rolled the man over. There was snow in his mouth and nostrils, and Cormack cleared them. He bent down low and after a moment he could tell that Suarez was still breathing. He looked up at Cicero and nodded.

  Cicero nodded back. ‘Good. Let’s get him up and move him into the truck.’

  Hall stuck his gun back into his pocket and bent down. He took one arm and Cicero took the other and the two of them lifted the man up. They carried him down the path, his feet dragging in the snow, his head hanging down. Blood continued to drip, leaving a trail in the snow.

  They got back to the white service van and opened the back door. Suarez was still limp as Cicero and Hall lifted him inside. Hall got in behind him and used duct tape to bind his hands and feet. Cormack closed the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. Cicero slid into the passenger’s seat.

  Cormack started the engine and eased the van out of the parking spot. He pulled around and out toward the street. As the van neared the exit, he looked over and saw the old women with her dog standing near the park’s entrance. Both she and the dog were staring at the van. The dog’s gaze was disinterested, but the woman’s mouth was gaping, and Cormack realized that she must have seen them carrying the man’s body out of the park and putting him in the back. She was only twenty or thirty yards from where the van had been parked, and it would have been difficult for her to miss the commotion.

  Cormack looked over at Cicero; he was staring at the woman as well. ‘Wait,’ Cicero said.

  ‘No, there’s no time.’

  ‘She saw us.’

  ‘Yeah, probably,’ Cormack conceded. ‘But we’re too close to the street. If we kill her, someone else will see.’ He could see Cicero wrestling with the risks and probabilities. ‘She’s from Eastie. She knows better than to talk to the cops anyway.’

  Cicero stared at the woman for another moment, perhaps trying to send a message to her. Then he turned his head and looked out the windshield toward the street. ‘It’s a risk either way,’ he said. ‘It’s your call.’

  Cormack stepped on the accelerator and eased the van onto Bennington Street.

  Thirty-Six

  Monday 4 February

  The bleeding had started Sunday night. Diamond noticed it just before she went to bed, and had no idea how concerned she should be. She was able to put it out of her mind and go to sleep, hoping that it would stop by the morning.

  When she awoke on Monday morning, though, she was still spotting. It was at that point that her heart started racing. The speed with which human emotions could swing awed her. Less than a week before, she probably would have welcomed a miscarriage. At that point, she was unsure that she wanted a child, but she was nominally a Catholic, and notwithstanding her lack of formal religious instruction, she still had an unyielding guilt at the idea of an abortion. A miscarriage would have taken the decision out of her hands and limited her sense of responsibility. Now, only a few days later, she had decided that she wanted the baby, and so the thought of a miscarriage was unbearable, and struck terror into her very soul.

  Cormack hadn’t been home in two days and she couldn’t talk to Buddy about her situation – she hadn’t even told him about the pregnancy yet. She realized that she would need to deal with this on her own.

  She called her doctor and made an emergency appointment. The nurse on the other end of the line was polite and reassuring, but Diamond could sense the disinterest in her voice. She supposed it was inevitable for someone who spent their entire lives dealing with pregnant women. Diamond got dressed in sweats, slipping a maxi-pad into her panties. Then she hurried downstairs.

  Joe Konicki was sitting at the kitchen table, just where he’d been sitting when she went to bed. He was wearing the same clothes, and she wondered whether he’d slept at all.

  He was older than Cormack, she was guessing in his mid-sixties, with a head of white hair and thick veins covering his nose. For his age, though, he looked like a powerful man, with a barrel chest and wrists like knotted ropes. She guessed that he had spent his entire lifetime on the waterfront, and it showed in every aspect of his appearance. He glanced up when she walked into the kitchen.

  ‘How’d you sleep?’ he asked. His voice was gravelly but kind.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘You?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘I have to go out,’ she said. ‘I have an appointment I have to go to.’

  He stood, looking uncomfortable. ‘I’m not supposed to let you out of the house,’ he said, his voice uncertain.

  ‘You can’t actually keep me here against my will,’ Diamond said. ‘That’d be kidnapping.’

  ‘Cormack told me to do whatever I have to do to keep you from leaving,’ Joe said. It was a simple statement of fact, with little apology. ‘He was real clear about that. It’s for your own safety.’

  Diamond realized that Joe was serious, and despite the kindness in his voice, she had little doubt that he would use whatever force necessary to keep her there. His determination and the apparent depth of her father’s concern for her heightened her anxiety about what Cormack and Buddy were mixed up in. ‘But I don’t have a choice,’ she stressed. ‘I have to see my doctor.’

  ‘A doctor?’ Joe looked concerned at that. ‘Are you OK? Are you sick?’

  ‘I’m not sick,’ she said. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  She sighed. ‘It’s a woman issue,’ she said, drawing her shoulders up and crossing her arms. He was silent for a moment. ‘It’s just—’

  He held up his hands, mortified at the prospect of getting any more detail. ‘That’s OK,’ he said quickly. ‘That’s your business. I’m just not sure what to do. Cormack was real specific.’

  ‘I’ll come right back after the appointment,’ Diamond said. ‘You could even drive me there and back.’ She could feel that the bleeding had not stopped, and she was growing more and more concerned. She could hear fear growing in her voice, and suspected Joe could hear it, too.

  ‘How far?’ he asked.

  ‘Five minutes,’ she said. ‘It’s over by UMass.’

  Joe was rubbing his chin. ‘How long will the appointment take?’

  ‘Not too long, I hope,’ Diamond responded.

  ‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘But I’m driving you, and we’re just going there and back. OK?’

  Diamond nodded. ‘Thank you.’ It was so odd. He was essentially keeping her hostage, and yet she felt a strong sense of gratitude toward him at that moment.

  He shook his head as he stood up. ‘Don’t tell Cormack, all right? He’d kill me if he found out I let you out of the house.’

  As she followed him out toward the car, she wondered how literally Joe meant that.

  * * * * *

  Kit was back at FMC Devens, staring at the screen that showed Vincente Carpio in his cell. She was trying to decipher some of the tattoos that covered his face and head. There were skulls, all of different sizes. They reminded her of the piles of skulls she’d seen in pictures from the aftermath of the holocaust. There were other images as well, though. Just over his left ear, there was an American flag flying upside down, being carried by a skeleton with a military helmet on it. Over his right ear, there was an altar covered in flames. And on the top of his bald head, there was an image of what appeared to be an angel. Her wings were spread wide, her hair flowing. She was beautiful, except that where her face should have been, there was nothing but a black space ringed with blood.

  Kit wondered at the hatred that could cause someone to have such images permanently inked into the face and head. She knew it existed – she’d seen it in the mur
der of Dillon and Ollie – so she supposed that it should not have surprised her. And yet it did. It always did.

  Watching him, she could feel his determination, and she knew that if he managed to escape again, the odds of recapturing him were low. And if that happened, the havoc he could wreak was difficult to estimate. Vincente had made clear that the madness had overtaken any other impulse he had, and his only goal was to kill as many Americans as possible. If he and his brother had partnered with Soh and Soh managed to take control of harbors on both coasts, there was no telling how Vincente might be able to spread that madness. Kit wouldn’t let that happen.

  * * * * *

  ‘Where is he?’

  There was no reproach in Javier Carpio’s voice when he asked the question – no suggestion that anyone had done anything wrong. It was a question that, as a soldier, he asked to assess strategic realities, not to assign blame.

  There was no blame to assign, Soh knew. Juan Suarez had never been late for an assignment. He was a careful soldier who believed in the process of extreme, targeted violence. He was good at his job; perhaps the best that Soh had ever encountered. And he was loyal. When Suarez did not show up on time for their meeting at the warehouse, he knew that Suarez had not sold him out. The situation was more serious than that.

  ‘Where is he?’ Javier Carpio asked again.

  ‘Dead,’ Soh responded. ‘Or worse.’

  ‘Will this be a problem?’

  Soh shook his head. ‘He knows what to do. He will not betray us.’

  ‘You seem sure.’

  Soh could detect a pinch of skepticism in Carpio’s voice. ‘Do you have reason not to be?’ He was not used to being questioned, and the notion that the El Salvadoran would doubt Suarez – one of Soh’s men – annoyed him.

  Carpio shrugged his enormous shoulders. ‘I was in the wars in El Salvador. I had a lieutenant under my command,’ he said. ‘A young, strong, brave man. The bravest anyone had ever known, and the most loyal. I taught him everything I could. I told him about our strategy for wearing the government soldiers down, for cutting their supplies. I told this young man where the best towns were to hide and how to blend into the crowd in those towns.’ Javier Carpio took a knife out of his pocket and used it to stab a hunk of cheese that was sitting on the table in the center of the warehouse. Soh couldn’t help but marvel at the size of Carpio’s hand. He slowly sliced the cheese into thin pieces and slid them into his mouth.