First to Kill

  “I’ve never seen you break anything.”

  “That’s just it, you’ve never seen it. I once beat the living daylights out of a lawn mower with an aluminum bat. It was brand new and gassed up. But the damned thing wouldn’t start. I must have pulled that cord a hundred times before I took the bat to it. Candace came out to the lawn and without saying a word, handed me the instruction manual. She reached down and turned the gas shutoff valve to the on position, winked at me, and then walked away.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like Candace.”

  “I have to admit, it felt great smashing that mower. Come on, let’s get this call over with.”

  “Harv, I’ll make the call to Ortega.”

  “No. I should do it. You’re in no shape to talk to Ortega right now. Honestly, it’s my responsibility. I got us into this, I’ll make the call.”

  After Harv left the room, he tried to clear his mind of the red fog blanketing his thoughts. He needed to focus, to see the situation from a calm perspective. He concentrated on the FBI’s role in all of this. The farmhouse had been under surveillance before the raid. Okay, why? They obviously thought the Bridgestones might show up there. Still, no one had known about the tunnel at Freedom’s Echo, or else the FBI would’ve been waiting at the other end to grab them. Did Holly Simpson truly believe he and Harv represented the FBI’s best chance of collaring the Bridgestones? It seemed unlikely and overly risky. Maybe Frank Ortega had insisted they remain involved. That seemed more reasonable, but that scenario assumed Ortega had a level of influence with Director Lansing he’d denied during their initial meeting in San Diego. So what was the truth? Nathan wasn’t so sure anymore.

  Setting that thought aside, he again envisioned the farmhouse. Immediately his thoughts returned to the garage. Something about it had been odd. He closed his eyes and pictured it in his head. Okay, it had a workbench on one side, tools on the other. The toolboxes were stacked against the far wall. There was a new Enduro motorcycle in the corner. Red, with a luggage rack. What does something like that cost? Four, maybe five grand? They didn’t seem like the type of guys able to afford something like that. It had looked fairly new and well maintained. Everything in that garage had looked new. He pictured the wall of tools above the workbench, everything organized by type and use and hung on neatly organized eye rings and hooks. And the power tools on the opposite side of the garage were also well maintained and arranged by use and type. He remembered the empty power-tool boxes. Who saves the empty boxes?

  And why would a pair of losers need a trip wire on their front porch? How many people did that? He pictured the rigged stack of beer bottles. Were they just paranoid? Maybe they thought Leonard and Ernie were going to drop by. Could they have anticipated the authorities’ interest in them?

  Nathan looked down at the bandage Harv had applied to his hand and thought about the gauze bandage on cousin Billy’s arm. There had been blood seeping through and the white tape was crossed at the corners. It looked a lot like a field dressing. He held up his hand. A lot like this one. He thought back to his field-medic training.

  Shit!

  He sprinted across the room and grabbed the phone message from Holly and punched the numbers into the nightstand phone and heard an annoying beeping. He hadn’t punched nine first. He stabbed the button and waited an eternity before hearing a dial tone, forcing himself to slow down and dialing Holly’s cell number carefully.

  “Holly Simpson.”

  “Holly, listen to me very carefully. We blew it, blew it badly.”

  “Who is this? Nathan?”

  “We blew it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The farmhouse. I think they were there last night, the Bridgestones, Leonard and Ernie.”

  “What? How? That’s impossible.”

  “Get back out there Holly, get SWAT out there as fast as you can.”

  “Nathan—”

  “Holly, please, just do it.”

  “But we’ve had the farmhouse under constant surveillance, even before the raid. Nobody’s come or gone from there.”

  “Last night I saw what looked like a large diameter pipe sticking up above the ground near the property corner under the windmill. I didn’t think twice about it until now.”

  “Another tunnel,” she whispered.

  “Holly, be careful, have your people check the garage again, the light switch.”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  Nathan began pacing the room. “They played us, Harv. They put on a dog-and-pony show and we bought it.”

  “You could be wrong, they may not have been there.”

  “They were there.”

  “Nate, you can’t know that for sure.”

  “I didn’t put it all together, I should’ve. Their cousins could’ve lasted a lot longer than they did. They gave up the cabin and the cash to satisfy us, to make us think we’d gotten something valuable. They threw us a bone to get us out of there. I think they had this whole routine planned in case they were ever questioned by the FBI or police. That place was their safe house by design, from the beginning.”

  Harv said nothing.

  “It was the garage. It kept bugging me. I thought to myself, no way. There’s no way this garage should look this neat and tidy. These guys were total slobs.”

  “What if you’re wrong? Holly’s risking a lot taking a SWAT team out there. Suppose they don’t find anything.”

  “Harv, you saw those guys, they were covered with oil and grease, especially their hands. The bandage on Billy’s arm was clean. There should’ve been smudges on the tape from tearing it off the roll. It was the only thing in the entire house that was clean. I remember thinking it to myself.”

  “Let’s assume you’re right and there was a tunnel and they were there. Why didn’t the cousins give them up? The money would have been theirs.”

  “Maybe they were more afraid of them than us. Or maybe they were promised a bigger chunk for keeping quiet. Who the hell knows?”

  “Okay, tell me this: Why were they there? What reason could they possibly have for going there?”

  Nathan said nothing, didn’t have to.

  “The Semtex,” Harv said. “The missing crates from the compound.”

  Nathan nodded. “Yep.”

  “And the cousins?”

  “Dead,” Nathan said. “They wouldn’t risk leaving them alive. Those two don’t leave loose ends.”

  “If you’re right, we have to tell Ortega about this.”

  “Not yet. Things might take a nasty twist for Holly. I don’t want her taking the fall for this. I know how it works, crap flows downhill. If I have to, I’ll take the blame.”

  “How? We weren’t officially there.”

  “I’ll threaten to expose everything. The way I see it, crap is going to flow uphill if they try to throw Holly to the wolves.”

  “Nathan, you can’t blackmail the FBI.”

  “Watch me.”

  “No, I mean you can’t do that. I’m not aboard with that.”

  Nathan stared out the window. “Then I want a conversation with FBI Director Lansing. Tomorrow.”

  “There’s no way Ortega will arrange that.”

  “It wasn’t Holly’s decision to involve us, Harv. It was Ortega’s, with Director Lansing’s blessing, the don’t-ask, don’t-tell business. Besides, I’m pretty sure I know who’s behind all this cloak-and-dagger crap.”

  “Your father.”

  “Yep. Remember Ortega’s answer when I asked if dear old Dad knew of our involvement?”

  Harv said nothing.

  “He wants a political victory for his CDT, and he’s willing to break the rules to get it. It’s a big feather in his cap if he pulls it off. It’ll guarantee funding for the next five hundred years. It’s front-page, headline-grabbing material.”

  “I think it’s Occam’s razor.”

  “All right, I’m listening.”

  Harv lowered his voice. “Frank Ortega called y
our father. He’s the one pulling the strings. He wanted his grandson found at any cost. If the civil rights of a couple rat bags get violated in the process, so be it.”

  Nathan heard the pain in his partner’s words and softened his tone. He stopped pacing. “Look Harv, if it was you who went missing, I’d do the same thing. You know that. Don’t condemn Ortega for wanting closure. Will he tell you the truth?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “We need to know for sure. I want that call with Director Lansing. If he doesn’t already know the score, I’ll tell him everything. All of it, from the beginning. No threats. I’ll take full responsibility.”

  “Come on, Nate, that’s not fair to you, to us. There’s plenty of blame to go around. It was the FBI’s stakeout.”

  “It was all there, right in front me. I should’ve put it together. I want to make this right. We need to make this right.”

  “We have to protect ourselves.”

  “That’s why I want the call with Lansing.”

  Chapter 9

  Nathan couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts on James Ortega. When the phone rang, he glanced at the clock. Almost midnight.

  “Nathan, it’s Holly. Did I wake you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m five minutes away, can you meet me in the lobby?”

  He hesitated, not sure he wanted company, but there was something in her voice. “Five minutes.”

  “You were right. About everything.” The line went dead.

  In the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, rubbed a wet washcloth over his face, and made his way out to the elevators. About to press the button, he stopped. No cell phone. He went back for it. During the elevator’s descent, he thought about Holly, what her last twelve hours must’ve been like. He shook his head as the elevator dumped him into a deserted lobby. The clerk behind the counter smiled as he walked past. Holly Simpson entered the hotel three minutes later. Her white shirt was tucked into blue jeans secured by a silver-and-turquoise Indian jewelry belt. Even exhausted, she looked beautiful.

  He stood as the automatic glass doors pulled open.

  “Hello, Holly.”

  Her expression told all.

  “Oh man.” He held his arms wide open.

  She moved forward and embraced him. Tightly.

  “Rough day?” Nathan felt her nod and rested his chin on her head. He needed this hug as much as she did.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  “The bathroom mirror lost an argument.”

  “You okay?”

  “Just embarrassed.”

  She released him and stepped back. “Look at me, some professional.”

  “Nonsense, you’re a human being with deep feelings.”

  She managed a smile. “Thanks for the hug, I really needed it.”

  “Me too.”

  “You saved our lives at the farmhouse last night.”

  “The light switch.”

  “It was rigged to several claymores concealed in an empty toolbox. If Bruce had flipped it, we would’ve been killed. He’s really torn up over it, threatening to resign.”

  “Don’t let him quit.”

  “I won’t.” They sat down, facing each other. “There’s more. The Bridgestones killed our two techs in the surveillance van. Tortured them first, like Ortega. We found them in the farmhouse, both shot in the head. Everything was recorded. The machines were running when they grabbed them. It was horrible.… Their screams.”

  “I’m sorry, Holly.

  “That’s not all, Nathan. They know about you. They know you’re the one who killed their little brother at the compound. They also know who your father is.”

  He just stared. How the hell could they know that? His mind raced with possibilities, all of them bad.

  “We can protect you, put you in the witness security program.”

  “Forget about it. I’m not hiding from those two mutts.”

  “But everything’s changed. They know who you are.”

  “I’ll be okay. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Outside, she asked if he didn’t mind driving. He tucked her into the passenger seat and walked around the front of the SUV. Moving the driver’s seat all the way back, he climbed in and reached for the keys. They weren’t there.

  “Sorry.” She reached into her purse. “There’s a piano bar not far from here. It’s open for another hour.”

  “Sounds good. You go there often?”

  “When I can’t sleep. How did you know about the garage switch?”

  “I didn’t, for sure. It was just a feeling.”

  “Turn right at L, then go left at the next signal. Based on what?”

  “I’m not sure I can explain it.”

  “Will you try?”

  “It was a lot of things. Things that had been floating around in my head. Like the claymores at the compound. The trip wire on porch steps of the farmhouse. The buried cash. It’s hard to nail down.”

  “There was a trip wire?”

  “It was rigged to a bunch of empty beer bottles. I cut the string before you got there.”

  “I saw the bottles, but I didn’t think twice about them.”

  “Harv and I were trained to look for stuff like that, to be suspicious of things that seem ordinary. I’m just glad the garage door itself wasn’t rigged. That’s why I asked you and Henning to look for a wire when I started lifting it.”

  “I’m just really glad you were there. To be honest, I resented your involvement. I didn’t say anything at the airport. I didn’t want to offend you.”

  “Larry Gifford told me the same thing at the compound, almost word for word.”

  “Larry’s a good man.”

  “I like Gifford a lot,” Nathan said. “He’s the real deal.”

  “We’re like a family, the FBI. We look out for each other. Sometimes I think we’re dependent on each other to the point of being restrictive, arrogant even. We don’t like asking for outside help.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  “How can you sound so calm about all this? The Bridgestones know who you are.”

  “Like I said, all they have is my name.”

  “Turn left at the next signal. You can park anywhere, the bar’s just up the street.”

  Nathan pulled over to the curb and climbed out quickly, but before he made it to Holly’s side of the Explorer, she had her door open and was sliding out. He closed it for her.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “My mother’s old school.”

  They walked in silence down the sidewalk. A few cars still lingered about, but for the most part, the downtown streets of Sacramento were deserted. Nathan saw the entrance to the bar just ahead. A small black awning overhung its glass door. A red neon sign in the shape of a grand piano lit the window next to the door. The opposite window had two blue neon signs shaped like cocktail glasses. He could hear muffled jazz coming from inside. It sounded good, even through the glass. He looked for black, flattened wads of gum on the sidewalk as a gauge of the bar’s patrons and found none. The glass door was clean. No handprints or smudges.

  Holly hesitated, letting him open the door. Once inside, Nathan gave the place a quick scan. So did Holly. She scanned from left to right, while Nathan went right to left. Their surveillance met in the middle, and they smiled, knowing they had both been doing the same thing. A linear bar stood to their left with cocktail tables on the right. A small elevated stage on the far wall hosted the two musicians. Because the room was small and intimate enough for natural sound, the musicians weren’t using a PA system. To Nathan’s surprise, they had the place to themselves. The bartender nodded and they grabbed the first table on the right. Nathan pulled Holly’s chair for her, and she thanked him.

  “You don’t mind being this close to the door with your back facing it?” she asked.

  “I prefer it.”

  She looked puzzled.

  “If trouble comes in, I’m alre
ady behind it. Besides, you’ve got a small throwaway under your jeans in an ankle holster. Right side.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a throwaway. It’s a Glock thirty-nine.”

  “Correction, it’s a small cannon. I’ll bet it fits your hand well. Forty-five GAP, single, double action. Six shots?”

  “Seven, including one in the pipe. You know your guns.”

  “A hobby. I noticed the bulge.”

  “Is that all?”

  “I… tell you what. If a bad guy comes in, I’ll duck. You shoot.”

  “It’s a deal. You haven’t asked about the Bridgestones’ cousins.”

  “From the way you looked in the lobby, I didn’t want to press.”

  “I guess I’ve finally reached that burnout you talked about. I was standing in my kitchen and started to cry for no reason.”

  “No reason? This isn’t something small. On the drive up to the cabin, I was talking about a dropped dish or a burned steak.” He wished he hadn’t said burned steak. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”

  “How could they do that, burn him alive like that?”

  “I don’t know, Holly. I honestly don’t.”

  The bartender approached them, a short, balding man with a bushy mustache, bow tie, and friendly smile. He placed a bowl of miniature pretzels on the table. “Can I get you folks something to drink?”

  “What type of wine do you have by the glass tonight?” Holly asked.

  “Tobin James cabernet sauvignon, vintage 2003.”

  “Is that a local winery?”

  He issued a more-or-less gesture with his hand. “Paso Robles.”

  “That’s perfect, thank you.”

  “You, sir?”

  “O’Doul’s, please.”

  “You don’t drink alcohol?” she asked.

  “I’ve been recovering for a long time.”

  “Good for you. Are you okay with me having some wine?”

  “Not a problem.”

  Holly lowered her voice a little. “At the farmhouse, we found the entrance to the tunnel in the bedroom closet. They used a piece of plywood covered with dirty clothes to hide it. There was a small chamber with two bunk beds just under the slab. Probably took them weeks to excavate by hand. It looked exactly like the setup at the compound. They used railroad ties for the walls, and water skies with skateboard wheels to travel the tunnel. Like you suspected, the other side came up under the windmill at the property corner. We found marks in the dirt where they crawled across the neighboring property to a canyon that connects to another road.”