The blonde said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“You won’t.”
Top Hat was fully conscious now, and his eyes reflected rage, not fear. That would change soon enough.
Mason grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down the stairs. The guy grunted with each step, sounding like slow-motion laughter.
Mason knew Chip would be uneasy about leaving the women alive, but he’d never protest. Chip respected his command decisions, and Mason’s actions weren’t out of character with their ops in Afghanistan. There’d been many times when Mason could’ve killed innocents, but let them live.
Downstairs, Mason dragged Top Hat across the dance floor into the stockroom. Hahn returned the set of keys to the dead man’s pocket.
He radioed Darla. “Hahn’s coming out. He’ll watch the alley while you bring the SUV.” Mason locked eyes with Top Hat. “If our guest offers any resistance, I’ll knock him cold and drag his ass down the alley. Give me a ten-second arrival call.”
“Copy.”
Before stepping out the door, Chip put a bullet into the exterior camera.
Mason glanced at his watch. From entry to exit, less than five minutes had elapsed. Without a hitch, they’d just kidnapped one of Alisio’s most important lieutenants.
When Top Hat made eye contact, Mason winked at him.
CHAPTER 22
Standing with Harv in the parking lot, Nathan glanced toward the sedan to verify the windows were still rolled up. He didn’t want Karen to hear any part of this call.
“Well I guess we’re about to find out how well my dad knows George Beaumont. You ready?”
“Go easy, Nate.”
His father answered on the third ring.
“Hi, Nathan. You’re calling awfully early. I always enjoy hearing from you, even at . . . oh, five thirty in the morning.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“My alarm beat you. I’m prepping for a long day of lobbyists, activists, campaigners, and petitioners. They all want their feel-good programs as long as someone else pays for them.”
“Sounds like business as usual.”
“It is.”
“I have you on speaker. Harv’s with me.”
“Good morning, Senator.”
“Harv, I’ve been trying to get you to call me Stone for over twenty years.”
“Sorry, sir, I’m old-school.”
“How’re Candace and your boys Dillon and Lucas?”
“Very well, sir, thank you. How’s Martha?”
“Nathan’s mother has the constitution of a dreadnought.”
“I’ve always wondered where Nathan got his mettle.”
“What can I do for my fellow Marines?”
“We’ve got a situation out here,” Nathan said. “How soon can you call us back from a secure landline?”
“A situation. What’s the problem?”
“It’s best if we don’t discuss it over open airwaves. Can you head into your office early today?”
“I was already planning to. Something tells me my hectic day’s about to get worse. Can you give me something, at least?”
“Beaumont Specialists, Incorporated.”
Silence on the other end.
“I can be in my office in about twenty-five minutes. What number should I call?”
Harv gave Stone his private line at First Security.
“Got it. Let’s make it more like thirty in case there’s any kind of traffic or road construction.”
“We’ll talk then.” Nathan ended the call.
Stone shook his head. Could Nathan’s timing be any worse? He was tempted to wake George Beaumont up and find out what the heck was going on but thought better of it. He should hear what Nathan had to say first. Could it be a coincidence that Beaumont was in town and scheduled to speak at today’s weekly meeting of the CDT?
Although Nathan hadn’t been confrontational, Stone heard the tightness in his son’s voice. He wished Nathan wasn’t so short-tempered, but after what he went through at the hands of that sadistic madman in Nicaragua, it was completely understandable. Stone had learned years ago that absorbing his son’s anger, rather than reflecting it, worked best.
Martha McBride, Stone’s best friend for sixty-four years, entered the kitchen. She was four years younger, but at their current ages, the difference seemed minimal. At eighty-five, Stone had the dubious honor of being the oldest federal legislator currently holding office. He knew the running joke around Capitol Hill was that he got his nickname because his birth certificate was carved on a stone tablet. In reality he’d earned the name during a heroic, perhaps reckless, display of bravery during the Korean War. The men under his command said he’d acted like Stonewall Jackson, the Confederate general who’d rallied his men under heavy Union fire at the First Battle of Manassas. It hadn’t been bravery, just blind rage at being shelled by mortars for two straight hours.
Like father, like son.
He liked that Martha didn’t dye her hair. At five foot eleven inches, she was taller than 90 percent of the men on the planet. But not Stone. He was six foot four, an inch shorter than Nathan, but no less ornery. Butting heads was a common occurrence in the McBride family. Martha had once referred to them as a couple of bighorn sheep fighting for a crag on a mountaintop.
For his part, he kept his white hair cropped short in the classic Marine cut. Although gravity and the sun had taken a toll on both of them, he’d gladly test his and Martha’s stamina against people half their age, because they’d win most of the contests.
“What’s wrong, Stone? You’ve got that look.”
“That was Nathan. He wants me to call him back from my office.”
“It sounds serious.”
Stone’s tone was shorter than he intended. “Isn’t it always?”
“He’d been calling a lot more, until lately.”
Stone didn’t respond.
“The phone works in both directions.”
Again, Stone said nothing.
“You’re going to call him back, aren’t you?”
“Just as soon as I get to the office. I’m afraid we’ll have to skip our breakfast time together.”
“What’s your day look like? I can meet you for lunch.”
He already knew, but he opened his weekly calendar booklet anyway. Good grief, he was already overbooked and needed to reschedule several appointments. There just weren’t enough hours in a workday. If he allowed them, the energy vampires would quite literally drain all of his free time. Not just some of it, all of it. He fought a constant battle between the unrelenting weight of political pressure—seemingly from every direction—and maintaining a private life. There were times when his job felt like a gravitational black hole.
“Try to be patient with him,” she said.
“He should be more patient with me. He thinks I have a cushy job.”
“He doesn’t think that. He’s never even implied that. Nathan knows how hard you work.”
Stone took a final swig of lukewarm coffee and gave her a hug. Despite her height, she disappeared inside his grasp. He smelled her favorite shampoo. He kissed her good-bye, grabbed his briefcase, and headed for the garage.
“See? You can do it,” Harv said.
Nathan attempted a smile. “I didn’t even use a single profane word.”
“There’s hope for you yet. I’d better head over to First Security and get Karen squared away. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
“Don’t forget to give her the cabin’s gate combination. And remind her not to go back to her house after picking up Cindy. Maybe they should meet up at Lindbergh’s long-term parking lot so her car won’t be towed. There’s no telling how long they’ll need to stay at the cabin.”
“I’ll tell
her to do that. See you back here in a few.”
From the backseat, Karen made eye contact as Harv got in the car and pulled away, her eyes pleading for some sense of sanity.
Standing there alone in the concrete tomb of the parking structure, his world seemed to compress. A nagging sense of unfairness invaded his thoughts. What was wrong with him? How could he have been so cold to Holly? Okay, she had a seat on his father’s committee . . . So what? What’s wrong with that? Nothing, he supposed. Then why did it feel so awkward? And why hadn’t she told him right away? Why hold it back? Holly knew his relationship with his father had been strained over the last few months—hell, forever—but it seemed like a pretty slim reason not to tell him. Maybe Harv had a point—his reaction to hearing the news spoke for itself.
What if he came clean with Holly and told her about his history with Karen and Mara? But that held inherent risks. Holly might find his previous connection to prostitutes repulsive. Prostitutes . . . Such a harsh word. Mara hadn’t been a streetwalker turning tricks to support a drug addiction; she’d been an expensive escort. Escort? Is that what she was? Deep down, he knew the truth. For two years, his only source of intimacy had come from Mara. Back then, he’d loathed his looks, the scarring that would never go away, and seriously doubted whether he could love or be loved. But Mara had never judged him . . . Of course she hadn’t, he’d been a paying customer. A well-paying customer.
Ancient history, he reminded himself. He wasn’t that person anymore. Holly had shown him a different way of seeing the world, a different way of life. She’d proved he didn’t have to be alone.
He was tempted to use the Internet to find out what the FBI director’s chief of staff did, but figured it could wait. Now wasn’t the time. He needed to keep his head up, not bury it in his cell phone. He’d apologize to Holly in person after Harv returned, and things would return to normal.
The coyote-like wail of a distant siren interrupted his thoughts, a reminder this wasn’t over yet—probably first responders headed to or from the ambulance shoot-out scene.
Without knowing Toby’s condition, what would Mason do? He imagined himself in Mason’s situation. Would the guy make another attempt to kill the witness to his crimes? If so, when? An idea formed. What if it were leaked that Toby never regained consciousness and died on the operating table? Lansing and Holly could work out the details with the hospital’s administrator, but if Mason believed Toby never spoke to the police before dying, he might think containment was still possible and not flee. Still, Mason would have to be wondering who he and Harv were. Holly too.
With his father’s help, they could crumble Mason’s world. If Beaumont cut Mason off and severed his access to BSI’s assets he’d likely flee—frustrating to Nathan personally, but not the worst thing that could happen in the short term.
Nathan took a deep breath and dialed Holly. After one ring, he got dumped into her voice mail. He hoped it meant she was talking to Lansing. Either that or she didn’t want to talk. He couldn’t blame her. He ended the call without leaving a message and dictated a text:
I’m still in the parking structure. Harv took Karen to First Security. She’ll go from there to the cabin. Three of our security guards are on the way, and I’ll send one inside to join you. Maybe ten minutes. After they arrive, Harv and I are heading over to his office to use a landline to call my father. You’re welcome to come with us. I’m sorry about what I said, and I offer no excuses. I’m proud of you taking the position on my father’s committee.
He sent the text and stared at his phone, urging it to light up with a return text from Holly. Half a minute later, nothing had changed.
He dictated one more text:
Would it be possible for you to work with the hospital’s administrator to leak that Toby never regained consciousness and died on the operating table? Safer for Toby if Mason thinks he’s dead.
His phone remained dark for another minute or so. Its sudden vibration felt like a jolt of electricity, and he nearly dropped it. It was Harv, calling to update him on the status of their security guards.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll watch for their vehicles. I sent a text to Holly telling her we’re heading over to the office once you get back. I also asked her to think about having the hospital leak that Toby died without ever regaining consciousness.”
“Good move. You tried calling her first, right?”
“Voice mail.”
“She’s probably on the phone with Lansing.”
Nathan didn’t say anything.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay sharp, partner.”
“Always.”
Standing there, Nathan decided the rain made a lonely sound, like wind through trees.
CHAPTER 23
Sheltered from the mist in the nightclub’s pedestrian alley, Mason searched Top Hat and found a cell phone, a wallet, and a set of keys. He kept them, unsure whether Top Hat would need the phone or the keys, but turned the phone to silent mode. Mason knew there was some degree of risk keeping the phone because they could be tracked, but it could prove invaluable if Top Hat needed it to contact someone or vice versa.
After receiving Darla’s ten-second call to arrive curbside, he told her they were ready. “Leave your headlights on, but turn them off at the curb.” Anything else would look suspicious.
Top Hat’s wallet revealed that his name was Javarius Michaels, age thirty-two, of La Mesa, California. Mason considered his approach with Michaels. It was doubtful the guy had ever been interrogated, so breaking him shouldn’t present too much of a challenge. The man’s attitude had already changed drastically during the past few minutes. He seemed less belligerent and more nervous: a good sign. Once fear replaced resolve and a victim realized his situation was hopeless, interrogation became much easier. In his experience, fear was far more powerful than pain.
He saw a sliver of the brick wall brighten as Darla turned the corner and approached the alley. With a firm grasp on Michaels’s arm, he ushered the man toward the gate. Because his ankles were bound loosely, Michaels moved in a chain gang shuffle. Darla pulled the SUV to the curb and killed the headlights.
Stepping out of the shadows, Chip opened the rear passenger door, allowing Mason to shove his captive into the backseat. Mason got in next to Darla.
Looking around, he didn’t see anyone. It was possible someone in the low-rise hotel across the street saw the action, but the SUV had only been stationary for a few seconds. Leaving the nightclub, they rode north in silence. Neither Darla nor Chip would say anything. Giving a prisoner the silent treatment was all part of the game.
After Darla got on the southbound Five, Mason pivoted to face his captive.
“By now, you’re realizing you’re in serious trouble. I have no desire to torture you; that’s not my thing. Darla here has a different attitude. If I have to turn you over to her, things will get ugly. Remove his gag.”
Chip reached over and pulled the gag free. Top Hat shook his head, but didn’t say anything.
Mason locked eyes and waited. After a few seconds, Top Hat looked away.
“Here’s what we know,” Mason said. “There’s an important delivery being made later today. You’re going to fill us in on some missing details. We know a South Korean yacht has been used to smuggle weapons into US waters, and for the last eight months you’ve been the point man, overseeing every aspect of the operation. The delivery isn’t guns this time—that much we know. We’d like you to tell us what’s being delivered and how it’s going to take place.”
Top Hat didn’t respond.
“Do I have your attention, Mr. Michaels?”
“I have cash. Two hundred grand. It’s yours if you let me go.”
Mason sucked his teeth and shook his head.
“Okay, five hundred large, but that’s all I got, I swear. If you want more, it’ll take time.”
&nb
sp; He nodded to Chip.
As if palming a basketball, Chip wrapped his hand around the side of Michaels’s head and shoved. Michaels’s skull smacked the glass with a dull thud.
“What the fuck!” he yelled.
Chip dribbled the ball again, harder.
Michaels winced but didn’t protest a second time.
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Mason said patiently. “It’s an interrogation.”
“If I tell you guys anything, Mr. A’s gonna kill me.”
“No doubt that’s true, but he has to find you first. I have a feeling you’ve got much more than five hundred grand rat-holed away. Disappearing shouldn’t be a problem for you. You’ll blend into the Caribbean perfectly. Listen carefully, now: we don’t want your money, we want information.”
“So I’m supposed to believe you’ll just let me walk away?”
“Believe whatever you want, but I’ll guarantee you’ll be wheeled away if you don’t tell us what we want to know.”
Michaels didn’t say anything.
“You’re probably thinking, ‘If I feed them bullshit, it’ll buy some time and I might be able to escape.’ Put that out of your head, Mr. Michaels. We’ve dealt with desert-schooled jihadists who are far tougher than you; trust me on that. See, we aren’t going to let you go until after we’ve verified what you tell. If you give us crap, you’ll have to talk with Ms. Lyons.”
“The sellers are gonna bolt if they see anyone but me.”
“We’re aware of that.”
“I always pick up and deliver the goods with my two bodyguards, but you killed them. They’re going to ask why they aren’t there.”