Blood in the Water

by Jack Flynn

  ‘They have drilled for a week, and they have more experience than all of your men combined,’ Javier said. ‘Perhaps all but you.’

  Soh nodded. It was true. Soh felt as though he’d been fighting gang wars his entire life, and he longed to have enough power to insulate himself from it. He supposed, though, that it was impossible. War would always rage. Particularly after tomorrow.

  ‘You met with this police woman and offered to turn on me?’ Javier asked.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Were you convincing?’

  ‘I believe I was.’

  ‘She will take care of O’Connell, so that he cannot interfere?’

  ‘She will.’

  ‘And she still doesn’t know the truth of our plan?’

  Soh shook his head. ‘She still believes that our attack on the front of the courthouse will be the main assault rather than a diversion. She has no idea what is really planned. And she knows nothing of our inside man.’

  ‘Good,’ Javier said. ‘If the police believe that is where we will attack from, we will be successful – as long as we can control the traffic in the harbor. Can you guarantee that as well?’

  ‘I can,’ Soh said. ‘I have a man who will make sure that the harbor will be clear. He is monitoring the situation, and if anything changes, he will notify me, and he will make sure that the situation is set right.’

  ‘Who is this man?’ Javier asked. ‘And how does he have so much power?’

  ‘Under normal circumstances, he would be a man of no consequence. It is just fortune that has made him instrumental to our plan.’

  ‘And you trust him?’

  ‘I trust that he fears me. He has allowed himself to be used before, and that has made him vulnerable. And I have made promises to him, in exchange for his help. Promises a man like him cannot ignore.’

  ‘Does he understand the power that he has over the lives of so many?’

  Soh shook his head. ‘He knows nothing, other than that he must do as he is told, and that he will be rewarded for it. That is all he needs to know.’

  * * * * *

  It was evening when the call came in. Toby looked at the number on the caller ID screen and braced himself. His heart was beating so fast, he thought he might throw up. He was never cut out for the kind of deception he had been forced to practice in recent weeks, and he wasn’t sure whether he would be able to pull it off one more time.

  He took a deep breath and picked up the receiver. ‘Yeah.’

  It was Cormack. ‘I’m just checking in,’ he said. ‘Everything OK there?’

  ‘Yeah, Boss, everything’s good.’

  ‘You got all the allocations done for tomorrow’s harbor traffic?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s done. We’re all good.’

  ‘OK, good.’ Cormack sounded weary – lost, even. Responsibility could do that to a man, Toby was just discovering. It wasn’t, as Toby had always suspected, freeing. ‘Listen, Toby,’ Cormack continued. ‘I want to let you know, you’ve done a good job. Things are crazy right now, but hopefully it’ll be back to normal soon. In the meantime, you should know that the way you’ve stepped up to keep the harbor running hasn’t gone unnoticed, OK?’

  ‘Yeah, OK. Thanks, Boss,’ Toby said. The praise made him uncomfortable. ‘You coming in tonight?’ he asked. ‘You could look over the books for tomorrow.’

  ‘I would, but I can’t,’ Cormack said.

  ‘You got a date?’ It was meant as a joke, but Toby could hear it fall flat. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean …’

  ‘No worries, Toby. I’ve gotta see someone. Depending on how things go, I may or may not be in tomorrow, OK?’

  ‘Sure, I can keep things running either way.’

  ‘OK. Thanks again Toby.’

  The line went dead. Toby placed the receiver back on its cradle. For a moment he thought he was going to throw up, but he managed to get hold of his fear and keep his stomach down. It would be over tomorrow. That was what he’d been told, and after that … well, he’d just have to see how things played out.

  Sixty

  The address she’d given him was at the terminal end of Kneeland Street, at the edge of Chinatown, in the no-man’s-land in between Downtown, the South End, and the Back Bay. It was the spot where Boston’s two major highways intersected, with Interstate 93 splitting north toward New Hampshire and south toward Cape Cod, and the Massachusetts Turnpike springing west toward the wealthy suburbs and on to Worcester and Springfield. All around, the surface roads yielded to hideous on-ramps, rising from the earth like unholy cement monuments, and gave way to dark, cavernous tunnel openings. As Cormack guided his car to a parking spot outside a former industrial warehouse, the surroundings seemed a testament to the ugliness that human progress sometimes left in its wake.

  The elevator in the building hadn’t been replaced when the place had been converted to lofts, so Cormack had to pull the metal fencing at the front closed before pushing the button to the fifth floor. The elevator rose through the heart of the building, until it stopped at his destination and he pulled the gate open.

  Kit Steele’s loft was at the end of the dark, barren hallway. It was a corner unit – probably twelve hundred square feet of open space – with industrial wood floors that, if properly refurbished, would have been considered trendy. She opened the door almost immediately when he knocked, as though she had been waiting at the threshold, anticipating his arrival.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. Her voice was reedy. She stepped back to allow him in.

  He looked around. ‘So this is your place,’ he said, taking it in. It had potential she’d neglected to fulfill. The corner windows looked southeast, over the highways to South Boston and the harbor beyond, with its endless construction along the shore in the waterfront district. It was early evening, but already dark outside, and the lights twinkled in the city stretched out toward the water. The ceilings seemed impossibly high, with exposed wood beams and pipes painted off-white. The interior corner was a kitchen area, with a large sink and oversized appliances. An old butcher-block island separated it from the rest of the loft. There was a nondescript sofa set along the windows with a coffee table in front of it, and mismatched chairs on either side. There was no dining area he could see. At the far end of the loft, there was a partial wall that rose halfway toward the ceiling, blocking off what he assumed was a bedroom nook. ‘It’s nice,’ he lied.

  She looked around at the place as though she’d never really seen it before. ‘It needs some work,’ she conceded. He wondered whether she was talking to him or to herself. ‘I’ll get around to it at some point. I guess I’ve been too busy.’

  ‘I’m surprised you asked me to come here,’ Cormack said. ‘It’s risky.’

  ‘Compared to what I’ve already done?’ she asked. There was more life in her voice now, and it made him feel better. ‘Besides, I needed to see you before I could believe you were really alive, after the last few days,’ she joked.

  He held his arms out at his sides, as though ready for inspection. ‘Well, here you are,’ he said. ‘See for yourself, still breathing and only a few extra dents.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Me too,’ he admitted. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Am I what, glad?’ she asked.

  ‘No, are you OK?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ She stepped toward him, reaching out and touching his chest. Before he could move, she was leaning forward, kissing him – gently at first, and then harder, with unmistakable urgency.

  He kissed her back, and for some reason it felt like the first time. It was odd; they had been intimate for seven months, and their physical relationship had always been active and fulfilling, and yet it had always been just that – physical. This felt like something new, something different. After a moment she broke off the embrace. She looked at him, and it seemed that she was as surprised as he was.

  ‘What was that?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not really sure,’ she admitted. ‘Was it wei
rd?’

  ‘It was different.’

  ‘Different good, or different bad?’

  ‘Good, I think.’

  They stood there, looking at each. He moved forward and took her in his arms. They kissed, and this time there was no hesitation for either of them.

  * * * * *

  Later, they were lying in her bed. Cormack looked at the beams overhead, wondering what had happened between them. There was no question that the stress of the preceding weeks had taken its toll on him. He’d lived a life on the edge for as long as he could remember, but he couldn’t recall a time when he’d escaped near certain death in the way he had twice in a short period of time. And the guilt he felt at the thought that he’d put his daughter in danger was more profound than he could comprehend. Maybe that stress was breaking down his walls.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ she asked him.

  ‘Soh,’ he responded. It was only a partial lie. He had been thinking about everything that had transpired recently, and Soh was a central player in those events.

  ‘Do you know where he is now?’ she asked. For a moment, it felt as though she was pumping him for information the way she had in the past. The moment passed, though, and he let himself accept the possibility that they had moved beyond that stage in their relationship.

  He shook his head. ‘He’s gone to ground.’

  ‘He’s getting ready,’ Kit said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘To try to spring Vincente Carpio,’ she said.

  He frowned. ‘You really think he’s that crazy?’

  ‘I think he’s that ambitious,’ she said. ‘The Carpios can give him the keys to the castle. If he has access to their supply and control over ports on both coasts, he’ll be one of the most powerful gang bosses in the world. He may even take over MS-13. And I can’t even imagine what could happen if Carpio escapes. He’s determined to kill as many people as he can. If he’s given another chance, there’s no telling what he’s capable of.’

  ‘But how can Soh seriously think he could free Carpio? I assume he’s in super-max?’

  ‘He is. At Devens.’

  ‘There’s no way to get into a place like that,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Probably not,’ she agreed. ‘But he has to appear in court tomorrow. That may be his opportunity.’

  ‘He’d never try,’ Cormack said. ‘It would be suicide.’

  ‘He will try,’ Kit replied. ‘I’ve got sources. It’s planned. We’re ready for him, though.’

  ‘I’m sure it seems that way,’ Cormack said after a moment. ‘You must have an army guarding Carpio. Soh’s got men, but not enough to take on an army.’

  ‘No? How many men does he have?’

  ‘Near as I can tell, between fifteen and twenty,’ he said.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I have sources. Like you.’ The feeling that she was treating him like an informant again crept back into the corner of his mind. Was it possible she was still using him? ‘Who are your sources?’

  ‘Who are yours?’ She waited a beat before saying, ‘See? Neither one of us is willing to give the other that kind of information.’ She rolled over and put her head on his chest. ‘I want you to do me a favor,’ she said. He held his breath. Maybe this was all an elaborate set-up, and the other shoe was about to drop. ‘I want you to stay out of this for now,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ He didn’t understand.

  ‘I want you to lay low and let my people handle Soh and the Carpios. I’ve figured out a guaranteed way to make sure he never escapes, and I need you to stay clear.’

  ‘There’s nothing in this world that’s guaranteed.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ she agreed. ‘Then let’s just say I don’t want you in the line of fire. You’ve risked enough already.’

  ‘I’m already in the line of fire,’ Cormack pointed out. ‘Soh’s going to come after me. If not now, then later.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Kit said. ‘But he can’t come after you if he doesn’t know where you are. And he’s not going to want to split his resources. If he’s going to try something at the courthouse, he’s probably going to keep all of his focus there.’

  ‘Even so,’ Cormack said, ‘my men and I might be useful.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Kit said. ‘But I can’t take on that responsibility.’ She picked her head up and kissed him. ‘Not anymore.’ She got out of bed and put on her clothes.

  He sat there in bed, his head swimming. He had too many questions rushing at him all at once. ‘This doesn’t make any sense,’ he said. ‘You need all the help you can get. And I need all the help I can get. We’re on the same team.’

  She looked at him, and the intimacy that he thought he’d detected earlier seemed to be gone. ‘We’re not on the same team. Not really,’ she said. ‘Everything I’ve done with you has been illegal. I’ve never had authorization for any of it. You know that.’

  ‘I know that,’ he conceded. ‘But it’s been in everyone’s best interests.’

  ‘Has it?’ she asked. ‘Maybe it has. I don’t know anymore. All I know is that I’ve taken care of this,’ she said. ‘I need you to not interfere tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘For now,’ she said. ‘Not forever.’ She leaned over the bed and kissed him. There was none of the warmth that there had been before. ‘I have to leave, I have somewhere I need to be. You can let yourself out.’

  She walked around the half-wall that served to cordon off the bedroom area. In the large open space he could hear her shoes clack over the wooden floors. He heard the front door open and then slam shut.

  Sixty-One

  Kit had George Martin run the meeting. Boston’s law enforcement community was still an old boys’ club at the higher echelons, and she knew that she had a tendency to antagonize those within the establishment. Having Agent Martin run the meeting would also appear to put distance between herself and the information she’d received from Soh. She’d told Martin that she had an informant, and after some convincing, he’d accepted the accuracy of the information without knowing the specific source. The two of them had discussed the plan at length. Now he was relaying that plan to the other men in charge of security for the next day’s hearing at the court.

  There were three of them who needed to coordinate. Kit and the FBI had already taken over the role of overseeing the federal corrections force that was responsible for transferring Vincente Carpio from Devens to the courthouse. Marshall Troy Kingman was in command of the Federal Marshall’s office, which was in charge of security at the courthouse itself. Bill McCaughey was the Boston Police captain tasked with providing street security, manpower for crowd control, and SWAT support.

  ‘They’ll attack the caravan on Northern Avenue,’ Martin said. ‘Just as the vehicles make the turn onto Courthouse.’

  ‘How can we be sure?’ McCaughey demanded.

  ‘We have an informant,’ Martin said. ‘Besides, it makes sense. Once the vans are onto Courthouse Way, there’s nowhere for them to go. Even if they could get Carpio out of the van, they’re up against the harbor. They have to strike before that.’

  ‘If we know all this, why the hell is the hearing still on for tomorrow? Why not change the date?’ McCaughey asked.

  ‘That’s just delaying the inevitable,’ Kit said. ‘Besides, with the information we’ve got, we can keep Carpio in custody and also put a dent in MS-13 in Boston.’

  ‘Which means it’s on us to make sure this goes right,’ Martin said. ‘We’ve got the manpower. As long as we have them positioned right on Northern, we should be fine. So let’s go through the plan one more time.’

  * * * * *

  The meeting broke up an hour later, and the participants headed out to brief their teams and make the necessary arrangements. It was late in the evening, and Martin and Kit Steele were left alone.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ he said.

  ‘It’s a free country.’

  ‘What is
it with you and this guy?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Carpio. I get that he’s a psycho, but you’ve got an obsession.’

  She felt the past welling up inside of her, but she pushed it back. ‘These people took everything from me.’

  ‘How so?’

  She shook her head. ‘I shared my informant’s information,’ she said. ‘You don’t get my personal information. Understand?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, I get it. You’re sure your information is good on this?’ he asked.

  ‘I am,’ she said. She felt sure, though she knew no information was 100 percent perfect. The kernel of doubt nagged at her.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because if you’re wrong and Carpio gets free, the shitstorm is going to swallow all of us whole.’

  ‘If I’m wrong, and Carpio gets free,’ Steele said, ‘I’ll be dead. I’m not leaving his side. If they want to get to him, no matter where they’re coming from, they’re going to have to go through me.’

  * * * * *

  ‘I want all eyes on the shoreline open tomorrow.’

  Cormack O’Connell was leaning against the bar at Lucky’s Lounge. It was a dark, step-down hole-in-the-wall, with scarlet Naugahyde bar stools and matching booths, on the south side of Fort Point Channel just inland from the expanding waterfront district. For decades, when the area had been surrounded by warehouses and parking lots, it had been a favorite of the Southie scruff crowd – a place where crooks and street runners felt comfortable, and where few questions were asked. Since the first office buildings and luxury apartments had been built, though, it had been overrun with millennials who seemed determined to seek out every ‘authentic’ place they could find and ruin the very authenticity they sought. Late on Tuesday night, though, the place was quiet, and Cormack could pretend that the world hadn’t changed in the ways that depressed him. He lifted his Tullamore to his lips and took a sip. One was all he would allow himself this evening. He needed to be sharp in the morning.