“I don’t see a way around it, Stan.”
Decker looked to his left and saw a row of garbage cans. “You want the guy with the knife or the bat?”
“I’m actually partial to the knife guys. Hey, I remember that game against Michigan your senior year. What’d you do again?”
“The center spit in my face after I sacked the QB, so I pile-drove him into the turf. Got a fifteen-yard personal foul call but it was worth it. And we won, so hey.”
“That’s right, now I remember. Okay, you might want to pull that one out of your playbook ’cause here they come.”
The six men rushed forward, the bat and the knife leading the way.
Neither Decker nor Baker moved until the very last possible second.
When the bat guy was within a foot of Decker, he grabbed a garbage can lid, swung it around, and caught the man flush in the face. He dropped the bat and fell backward with blood streaming down his features and two teeth missing.
Baker stepped up to the knife wielder. When the man began his downward thrust, Baker used his forearm to block it. Then he deftly gripped the man’s wrist, ripped the arm behind him, and cranked the elbow upward past all breaking points, and the man’s shoulder separated cleanly and painfully. He dropped to the ground screaming and cursing.
Decker had picked up the baseball bat and used it to club the knee of one man, then used the wood to stroke a kidney punch on the third fellow. When the second man came at him again, Decker dropped the bat, flipped him around, heaved him into the air by the waist, and slammed him into the ground.
The man let out a long groan, closed his eyes, and fell unconscious.
Meanwhile, Baker drove his hammy fist into one man’s face, breaking his nose, which spewed blood, and knocking him up against the brick wall. He slumped down, senseless. The last man was the smartest of them all. He took to his heels and sprinted off before either Decker or Baker could get to him.
Baker looked at the fallen men, then reached down and took out the wallet of the guy he’d knocked out.
“What are you doing?” asked Decker, as he watched Baker extract twenty bucks from the wallet before dropping it on the man’s chest.
In answer, his brother-in-law pointed to his shirt where it was heavily stained. “His blood got on my new shirt. I’m not paying for that.” He nudged the man’s arm with his boot. “Idiot.” He folded the cash and put it in his pocket.
Decker looked down at the fallen men who were still conscious and flashed his badge. “I could arrest all of you for being stupid, but I don’t want to fill out the paperwork. Now, those of you who need medical attention, can you get there or get your buddies there without us calling anybody? Because if you leave it to us, it could take a while and then all of you morons are going to jail.”
“Bullshit, man,” yelled one of them. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Decker took out his official creds and pointed to them. “This says F-B-I. It stands for ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation,’ in case you didn’t know. So if I press charges, you guys are going to a federal lockup a long way from here to spend about ten years contemplating your evil ways. And the guys you’ll be spending that time with won’t be nearly as nice as me and my friend are.”
The man who Decker had clubbed in the knee looked up and nodded. “We can take care of each other,” he said quickly. “No need for you to stick around, sir.”
“Fuck you,” screamed the man whose shoulder Baker had separated.
“Did you think of that one all by yourself?” said Decker drily.
He and Baker walked down the street to the next block over and parted company there.
“I’ll call you tomorrow about coming out to the worksite,” said Decker.
“I’m usually there six in the morning until six in the evening. And thanks for helping me back there. Wasn’t your fight.”
“I’m not sure you needed me,” replied Decker.
He left Baker there and continued on his way. The street he was on was even emptier than the previous ones. The rain was falling harder now, and Decker picked up his pace. He calculated that if he took a shortcut down the alley coming up he would shave his time in half.
He ducked into the alley as the rain picked up. He was about halfway down it when something hit him from the side. It was as hard as a Mack truck and took Decker right off his feet. It reminded him of the blindside tackle he’d taken that had led to his brain trauma.
An instant later a gun was fired and the bullet hit the brick wall opposite right where Decker would have been. It punched a two-inch hole in the wall, and as soon as it did a mini explosion happened and flames licked the brick. If it had struck him, he’d have been a dead man.
The person who had hit him was lying on top of Decker. He whispered into Decker’s ear, “Stay down and stay safe. I’ll be right back.”
The next moment Decker was all alone.
THE MAN WHO HAD FIRED the shot at Decker was now sprinting from his concealed position. He had followed Decker to the alley after shadowing him most of the evening. When Decker and his friend had been attacked by the group of thugs the man thought his work might be done by them.
He wasn’t thrilled with having missed, but for some reason Decker had gone down right as he had fired.
As though someone had . . . Shit. The mission’s been compromised.
He picked up his pace as the rain soaked him. He did this for a living, and his paranoia antennae were kicking into high gear. His weapon was a custom-built .44-caliber pistol with a special long barrel to give it more range. He had the big man right in the crosshairs, pulled the trigger, and gotten zip for all his troubles.
He was irritated. Not only would he not get paid, he might get killed for missing his target. It was just that sort of high-level gig. He had no idea who had hired him, but he’d been doing this long enough to know the presence of heavy hitters.
Yes, one crappy night this is turning out to be.
He reached the rental car. The long-barreled pistol went under the front seat. He climbed into the driver’s side and hit the button to start the engine.
Only it wasn’t there. The button was gone. He was just looking at the mechanical innards behind it. What the hell was—
He stopped wondering when the passenger’s-side door opened and the man who had knocked Decker down and saved his life stood there, his pistol trained on him.
His gaze flicked up and down over this new man on the scene. The eyes were cold, colder than his had ever been, and somehow he didn’t think this was the man’s top range of ice. He was about six feet, lean, wiry, probably strong as an ox without all the muscle mass. Nimble, alert, quick in his ways, a pro. That could be read in the calm features as the rain poured down on him.
“Should I even bother to ask who you are?” he said.
The other man shook his head one time and one time only.
“You fouled my shot back there.”
One curt nod was the response to this statement.
“Full disclosure. I’ve got a lot of juice behind me. You can walk away from this or go down under the wheels. I’m not the only one out there. It’s a good deal. Take it.”
Another brief shake of the head.
“Then what do you want?”
It was then that the man spotted the suppressor on the end of the gun barrel pointing at him.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” he said. “This is a lot bigger than both of us.”
“First thing you’ve said that makes sense,” said the other man.
He pulled the trigger once and drilled a hole in the other man’s forehead. Dum-dum round, it stayed inside. The man slumped forward over the steering wheel.
The other man had a comm bud in his ear and spoke into a mic tagged to his jacket.
He gave the location and situation. He received an affirmative that “cleanup” would commence right away. He put the starter button back from where he had earlier taken it. Then he closed the
door without looking at the man he had just shot dead.
He slipped his pistol into a holster that rode on the back of his waistband and sprinted back to the spot where he had left Decker.
Decker was still there lying on his belly in the middle of the alley. With the falling rain he was as soaked as though he had jumped, fully clothed, into a pool.
When Decker saw the man heading down the alley, he called out, “Hey, can I get up?”
“Affirmative.” The man hustled over and helped him up. Decker could feel the strength in the other man’s grip.
“Someone just tried to kill me,” said Decker.
The man pointed to the hole punched in the brick. “Forty-four-caliber steel jacketed with an incendiary, mini-explosive kicker. Someone really wanted to make sure that you would be joining the ranks of the dearly departed.”
“But you saved my ass. Why?”
“It’s my job.”
“Why?”
“That’s it.”
“What happened to the other guy?”
“He was my job, too.”
“And what happened to him?”
“That’s it.”
Decker looked flustered by this odd response. “What’s going on?”
“We’re counting on you to get us there, Mr. Decker.”
“Who’s us?”
“I won’t insult your intelligence.”
“And if I can’t get us there?”
“Not an option. That’s your job.”
“I’m here to investigate a murder. I don’t know about the rest of this. I don’t know about whatever element you’re attached to.”
“We’re on the same team, just a different division.”
Decker looked him up and down. “When did you get into town?”
“Just in time for you, it seems.”
“How long have you been following me?”
“Not long enough to really give you any answers. How did it go tonight other than the shitheads, and the shooter?”
“So you saw the shitheads, too?”
The man nodded. “I would have intervened, but you and your buddy seemed to have it covered, and revealing myself for the JV team was not an ideal use of my time. It would have spooked the guy who took the shot.”
“The shitheads had everything to do with my ‘buddy’ and not with me.”
“But not the shooter. He had everything to do with you.”
“Someone doesn’t want the truth to come out?”
“There’s always somebody who doesn’t want the truth to come out. So what did you learn tonight?”
“I learned about fracking,” answered Decker.
The man studied him. “You consider that a good use of your time?”
“If you’ve got a reason why’s it’s not, I’m listening.”
“Not enough for you not to cover that angle.”
“You obviously know something is going on in this place.”
“I just don’t know the something. I’m not a detective. My talents lie elsewhere.”
“Did you get the shooter?”
“He won’t be bothering you again.”
“We can question him,” suggested Decker.
“He won’t be bothering you again.”
“Are you telling me he’s dead? He could have led us somewhere.”
“He would have led us nowhere. Probably at least four layers between him and where we need to go. Waste of time, and we don’t have time to waste.”
“Did you just kill him?” said Decker.
“Does it matter to you?”
“I’m a cop. Shit like that does matter to me.”
“You let me worry about that. You do what you do. We’re counting on you.”
“If this is such a big deal, how come we don’t have more federal assets here?”
“Stealth, Mr. Decker.”
“Why do I think you didn’t fly commercial into North Dakota?”
“It’s a free country. You can think what you want. I won’t stop you.”
“How do I get in touch with you, then? And you with me?”
“We’ll figure a way.”
“Can you tell me your name, at least?”
The man hesitated, the first instance of indecision Decker had glimpsed in the fellow.
“It’s Robie. Will Robie.”
“WILL ROBIE? He told you his freaking name?”
Jamison was staring across at a soaked Decker, who was leaning against the wall of her hotel room dripping water on her carpet. Decker had come directly back to the hotel, knocked on her door, and woken her up, and now she was sitting on her bed in sweat-pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt staring at him incredulously.
“Yeah, he did.”
“So let me get this straight. First you got attacked by a bunch of morons and you and Baker beat them up?”
“They were after Stan, not me.”
“Then someone tries to shoot you with an exploding bullet, only this Robie guy saves your butt. After that he runs off and takes out the guy who was trying to kill you. And then he comes back and intimates to you that there’s something big going down in this town and we’re expected to find out what it is really quickly with no other assets coming our way.”
“That’s actually a pretty good summary.”
Jamison slumped against the headboard. “And this Will Robie actually said he was on our side?”
“Different division, same team, he said. But the most interesting thing I found out tonight was what Stan told me the guy from the air station said.”
“That we’re sitting on a time bomb? Yeah, that’s comforting,” she said sarcastically.
“Stan thought his name was Ben. And he was in uniform, so it was before Vector took over out there.”
“And he didn’t follow up with what the guy said?”
“Stan isn’t a cop. And they were drinking at a bar at the time. Stan probably thought he was bullshitting.”
“But what the guy said obviously stuck with him.”
“Yeah, it did,” conceded Decker. “In retrospect.”
“So this Robie, what is he? Your guardian angel?”
“He was tonight. I’d be on a slab with my head literally blown off but for him.”
This comment drew a shiver from Jamison. “I’m never going to let you go out alone again. You always get into trouble. I mean always.”
“I just went to have a beer and talk with Stan. I wasn’t looking for any trouble.”
“Well, it always seems to find you,” she retorted. In a calmer tone she said, “So how does this change our investigation?”
“There’s no concrete proof that what happened tonight and Robie’s appearance on the scene are tied to Irene Cramer’s murder.”
“Can a place like London, North Dakota, support two simultaneous dark conspiracies?”
Decker swiped his wet hair with his hand. “Let’s look at this logically. Cramer was thirty. She came here a year ago, and had a college degree.”
“We just have the people at the Colony’s word for that. And they said they didn’t have any record of that other than what Cramer showed them.”
“That’s true. But if she did earn her college degree, then from the age of eighteen to twenty-two or so she was in school. Then she comes here about eight years later and we can find no record of her before that? And the FBI’s alarm bells go off when her prints come through their system?”
“And your point?”
“Cramer didn’t have all that much time to establish herself as some international spy, like we were speculating before. In fact, she didn’t have much time to do anything so remarkable that the Bureau would be hopping when her prints came through. But that’s exactly what happened. And that’s why I seriously doubt she was the catalyst for whatever had happened in her past. So we need to find out what was the actual catalyst.”
“But if not WITSEC, what then?” asked Jamison, her brow furrowed. “Because I can’t think of anything else.”
“Well, I thought of one thing.”
“What was that?”
He gazed at her with a pensive expression. “The sins of the parents can carry over to their children, Alex.”
Jamison’s puzzled look turned to one of understanding. “Cramer’s parents? So it might have been something they did that led Irene to go underground? And maybe change her name?”
“I’m sure she changed her name. We just have to find out who she really was.”
“We don’t have a lot to go on.”
“We usually don’t.”
“And we don’t know that what happened to Cramer is tied to this ‘ticking time bomb’ comment.”
“No, we don’t. But we will figure it out.”
“I wish I were as confident as you.”
“Now, get some sleep.”
“Wait, will you tell Kelly about what happened tonight?”
“For now, let’s keep it between you and me.”
“Are you sure? He is a local cop.”
“I’m not sure, but I’m trusting my gut.”
He headed to the door.
“Decker, promise me you’re not going back out,” she said imploringly.
“I’m going to slide the bureau up against my door, and sleep with one eye open and my gun in my hand.”
DECKER DIDN’T GO TO SLEEP, at least not right away.
He sat fully dressed in his wet clothes on the floor.
From his wallet he took out two pictures. They were of his wife and daughter. Each had been taken shortly before their deaths.
Tonight, he had come as close to dying as he ever had, he supposed. If this Robie fellow had been a second slower, or not there at all?
I’d be dead. Like Cassie and Molly.
He peered down at their images. He hadn’t looked at these pictures in quite a while. On the day of their funerals, he had been unable to speak, unable to really function. Tearful, devastated people kept coming up to him and saying how sorry they were. And he couldn’t comprehend at the time what they were even trying to communicate. He felt as dead as his wife and daughter were. He had actually wanted to be dead, because he had no desire to keep on living while they could not.
But then time passed, he grieved, mightily at first, too mightily because he came close to losing everything, including his own life. Then more time passed and his days and nights were taken up with doing his job, interacting with others, even making new friends. The loss was still there, it would always be there, but the phrase “Life goes on” appeared to be an accurate one.
Walk the Wire Page 12