Divisible man three nine.., p.24
DIVISIBLE MAN--THREE NINES FINE, page 24
“No shit? Milo O’Brien?”
“Yeah. The guy’s a coyote legend. He probably flew across.”
Horowitz ignored Donaldson’s grin and considered the news. “O’Brien, huh. Management. Not that Sergei Roane ever needs an excuse, but why was he about to turn one of his trusted lieutenants and his family into human piñatas? Was he one of yours?”
“No. But a few minutes ago, I had a chat with him.” Donaldson lied. He sketched what I had told him about Sergei Roane’s wife. Horowitz hung on every word.
“Damn,” Horowitz said when Donaldson finished. “Mitchell Lindsay. Roane will go out of his mind. Losing his wife and O’Brien and coming up as the prime suspect for Lindsay. That’s gotta sting. I want a crack at O’Brien. You owe me that much, Lee.”
“I’ll go you one better. I want you to take them. You always keep a couple safe houses in your back pocket. Off DEA books. I want to turn O’Brien and his family over to you. Just you.”
Horowitz hesitated. “Why do I feel like you just asked me to bend over and pick up the soap?” He glanced at Andy. “Sorry. Why do I feel what I’m feeling? You want McCauley for Lindsay’s murder. O’Brien’s wife—she’s the connection to Lindsay you’ve been after. Why aren’t you jumping for joy and hauling them up your chain of command?”
Donaldson scraped a shoe in the gravel and looked in the general direction of Juárez. Against the night sky, a pillar of black smoke reflected city light.
“I told you. McCauley has a guardian angel. Someone who is keeping the heat off him.”
“You can’t be serious! C’mon, Lee. That’s conspiracy theory bullshit.”
“The guys they sent down here to keep an eye on him? I met them. Decent agents, but B team at best. They told me DOJ put McCauley on the backburner. The terrorist angle has everyone wetting their pants.”
“But now you have your proof. You can put the investigation on the right track,” Horowitz said.
“What I have is second-hand hearsay that the right track exists. If I take this to the investigation now—it gets filed away. Or worse, it gets back to Sergei and puts Milo and his family in serious jeopardy.”
Horowitz pointed at Andy. “Are you seriously not gonna tell me how she got in?”
“I posed as a high-priced call girl from a D.C. madam McCauley uses. I came down here on special order.”
Horowitz looked at Andy in the dark. If his cheeks reddened, it was impossible to tell.
“Fine. If you’re going to bullshit me, I’d rather you just didn’t say anything.”
Andy laughed. “Agreed.”
“I’ll take ‘em,” he said to Donaldson. “I got a place. But a deal’s a deal. I get full access to O’Brien.”
“Talk all you want with him. Lemme have a word with him first.”
49
Donaldson spent half an hour with Milo. Andy tagged along. Horowitz hung back, not wanting to overwhelm the subjects, he said, or be present in case Donaldson needed to become threatening. I suspected Horowitz had his own interrogation in mind and didn’t want Donaldson taking notes.
Horowitz and I made small talk while I watched the ground around my feet. I was surprised, and not surprised at the same time, to discover that Horowitz knew about my accident and the miracle of my survival. He asked a few questions, probing politely. I told him what I could, which is never much. Like most people who bring it up with me, he expressed amazement that I fell from a disintegrated airplane and lived.
Horowitz asked questions about Andy, but not the questions I expected. I thought he might try to probe me about her infiltration of the cartel headquarters. Instead, he asked about her background, about her role in the Clayton Johns arrest, and the Olivia Brogan arrest before that. I searched his unassuming mild mannerisms and polite demeanor for something ulterior beneath the surface. If it existed, I failed to see it. His questions seemed buoyed by genuine respect.
When Andy and Donaldson emerged from the church building, they ushered the small family to Horowitz’s truck. Quick introductions were made. I drifted as far away as possible. I didn’t wish to be introduced or prompted to speak; I didn’t want Milo or Maria to hear the sound of my voice. Milo spared me a suspicious glance, nonetheless.
On parting, Andy received an abrupt hug from Maria who recognized my wife from the bunker. Tears came. I wondered if Maria shed tears out of gratitude or out of regret for the utter destruction of the life she had known. I wondered if Milo, a professional human trafficker, understood the irony of his situation.
Horowitz packed them into the cab of his truck and motored away.
“Are we done?” I asked. “Because I’m beat.”
“Let’s get back to the hotel. I’ve got calls to make,” Donaldson said.
“Okay, what’s the big secret?” Andy asked the moment I closed the hotel room door behind me.
Donaldson’s room being directly beside ours prompted me to put a finger to my lips, which bought me an eye roll. I listened for sounds from the room next door.
“What are you doing?”
“Shhhhhh.” I heard nothing. I turned to Andy and whispered, “Are you hungry?”
She looked at her watch. “Will, it’s after midnight.”
“Let’s go down to the bar. Maybe the kitchen is still open.”
“I really don’t want to eat anything heavy at this hour.”
“Come on.” I took her hand and pulled her toward the door. “I’d rather not talk here.”
Blessed with good luck, both the bar and kitchen were open. Andy and I settled on a pair of stools well segregated from a thinning bar crowd. Andy took the seat she favors, facing the entrance. We ordered a set of Coronas and asked for menus, which the young bartender quickly produced.
We tapped down our limes and raised the cold bottles.
“Us,” she said. I echoed it. We drank. “Darling, you know I love you without the cloak and dagger. Although you would look good in a tux.”
I pulled the photocopy from my back pocket, unfolded it, and held it up. She recognized the sheet of paper from Sergei’s assault on Milo in the bunker. Now she narrowed her gaze at the family in the photo.
“Is that her? Sergei’s wife?”
“Yes,” I said. “You know who else that is?”
Andy blinked her negative response at me.
“That’s Gloria Rilling.”
Oh, if only I could bottle and keep the moments when I genuinely surprise and impress my wife.
“That’s Lonnie Penn’s daughter.”
Andy needed a minute to send runners of thought in the new directions revealed by this development. She arrived at the conclusion that I had reached several hours ago.
“There is no way under heaven or on earth that this is a coincidence,” Andy announced. Detective Andrea Katherine Taylor Stewart would leave sandwiches in our backyard for Bigfoot before she would tolerate coincidence in a police investigation.
“Exactly!” I slugged down some cold beer.
She plucked the photocopy from my fingers and stared deeply into it, as if searching each bleached fiber of the paper.
Her intense gaze shifted to me. She squinted, issuing an unasked question.
“I know,” I said. “I need to talk to Earl.”
“When he asked you to go and meet Lonnie Penn, did he give you any indication that someone put him up to it?”
“He said the client asked for me.” Andy considered this. I hadn’t mentioned it at the time, thinking it had to do with my fleeting fame. Now I wondered. “How did she know about me?”
“Lindsay,” she said. She sat back on her stool and took a hit from the condensation-coated bottle. “But…” she stopped and thought for a moment. “No. Impossible.”
“Not so much. Do you remember just before he left for his meeting with McCauley? Do you remember him taking me out on the porch for a word? You never asked me what he said.”
“I expected you would eventually tell me. Of course, I forgot all about it after everything that happened. What did he say to you?”
“He said he wanted to talk later. About Prince Henry. South Dakota.”
“What?”
“He knew.”
The bartender intruded and asked if we’d made a selection. I ordered enchiladas for both of us.
After the bartender carried off our menus and I finished off the first third of my beer, Andy asked, “How on earth does that connect? We only met Lindsay three weeks ago. How do you connect dots between Sergei Roane’s wife, Lonnie Penn, Earl Jackson and then get to you?”
“I give up. How?”
She frowned at me. “We need to talk to Earl.”
“Okay.” I looked at my watch. “Let’s call him. Right now. And by ‘let’s’ I mean you. He won’t reach through the phone line and throttle you.”
“Just…just…” She held up a hand. Andy’s hesitation wasn’t fear of Earl Jackson. If anyone could call Earl in the middle of the night without causing him to register on a Richter Scale, it was Andy. Earl loves her.
She took a minute to think. I exploited the opening.
“We have to ask another question here.”
“What’s that?”
I swallowed. Hesitated. She instantly read the reluctance and fixed a relentless stare on me.
“Donaldson,” I said. “What if…?”
The stare grew hard. “Will, not this again. Hasn’t the man proven himself enough?”
“Dee, hear me out. It was Donaldson who insisted you—we—run from the FBI on the island. He’s the one pushing us off the grid. He’s the one that brought us here. I don’t know…what if—?”
“What if the good guy is really the bad guy? What if the trusted cop is really the cartel mole? What if the buddy cop partner turns out to be the one on the mobster’s payroll? Oh—my—god!”
I shrugged. “Okay. I get it.”
“Every bad cop movie you’ve ever made me watch, dear.”
“I know, I know,” I conceded. “Then why wasn’t he there for us today?”
“Because it was the plan.”
“That’s what he said.”
“Because it was the plan.”
“You knew he was going to be detained?”
“Lord, Will, he planned on it. I didn’t know about Mike, but yes, Lee told me they would grab him the minute he crossed over. So much the better for us.”
“Well, I guess you might have mentioned it.”
I expected immediate pushback. That it was her profession, not mine. That this was still a criminal investigation. That she might call Usual Disclaimer and share details about her work, but it didn’t mean she had an obligation to share every detail—because her work was her work.
None of it came. Instead she dropped her long lashes and put a hand on my arm.
“I know. I should have,” she said, knocking the argument out from under me. “We’re a team.”
“Well, okay then.” I wasn’t finished. “Why didn’t he take Milo and Maria to the FBI? Why didn’t he let you take them in? Think about it, Dee. Walking into the FBI offices with those two completely exonerates your involvement in all this.”
“It’s not about me.”
“No, but it’s about the entire investigation hauling ass down the wrong rabbit hole. They’re off chasing terrorist gold miners from Africa—which is about as far-fetched as it gets—while McCauley is down here schmoozing with the cartel boss who killed Lindsay.”
Her head cocked on an angle that signaled an abrupt change of direction.
“Did they look like they were schmoozing to you?” she asked.
“You mean, like, socializing? Dee, they were about to torture and murder two children in front of their parents. Not exactly game night among friends.”
She shook her head. “No. Not that part. I mean, McCauley. He’s been…I don’t know…bossy.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, that’s not the typical dynamic around cartel chiefs. That will get you killed in this company. And speaking of company, did you get a good look at the third man?”
“Tall. Black man. Military type?”
“I got the military vibe from him, too. I also got his picture.”
“We need to get someone to examine that photo.”
She gave me a feline smile. “I already did. I sent the whole batch to Horowitz.”
“Horowitz? Dee, what if he’s…?”
“Oh, Lord, stop it. Him, too? Mike is not the friendly, trusted cop who came to the rescue who turns out in the end to be the bad guy, either. Besides, I kept a copy. I sent them to Horowitz because Lee asked me to.”
“Why?”
“He wanted it run through an agency that isn’t currently fixated on a terrorist attack.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t believe it. Neither do I. And today we found a witness who can confirm that belief.”
I folded the photocopy and delivered it into police custody. Andy pushed it into her bag. She looked up at me.
“Honey, you can’t still have doubts about Lee. When would he have had time to become the minion of a Brazilian cartel boss working for a Russian oligarch in Mexico? The man was in a rehabilitation hospital until a few weeks ago and he’s been with us practically ever since.”
I shrugged.
“Will, if you doubt him, then why don’t you do the one thing nobody in your stupid cop movies ever does?” A dimple appeared, warning me.
“What?”
“Ask him, silly.” A second dimple appeared.
“Ask me what?” Donaldson’s hand dropped on my shoulder and I nearly jumped off the barstool. He looked at Andy’s now full-blown smile and at my startled expression. “What?”
“Will wants to know if you’re the bad cop in the movie.”
“Yup. That’s me,” he said. He waved at the bartender for a Corona to match ours, then slid onto the stool beside me. “In deep with the bookies. Wife living beyond our means. Bought a seven-figure house on an FBI agent’s salary. Addicted to oxy. They took my badge and gun and gave me twenty-four hours to solve the case. Listen, I hate to break up movie trivia night, but I made some calls. Guess who Sergei Roane’s wife is.”
“Gloria Rilling,” Andy and I said together. I added, “Lonnie Penn’s daughter.”
The look on his face paid dividends. The dividends doubled when I said, “And I know where to pick up her trail.”
50
We talked for another hour before leaving the bar. I explained how we had arrived at the identity of Sergei Roane’s wife before he did by sharing the story of my trip to South Dakota with one of the Hollywood elite. Donaldson interrupted often, peppering me with questions. The one that seemed to concern him most came at the point in the tale where I met Lonnie Penn in LaCrosse. He clamped a grip on my arm and leaned toward me.
“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. “I have to know. Is she as hot as she looks onscreen? Or is it all lights, makeup and CGI?”
Andy turned on her stool to face me. She folded her arms across her chest.
“Yes, Will. Do tell.”
“Okay,” I said. I took a moment to finish off my beer and consider my words—potentially my last words—carefully. The bartender lifted his eyebrows at me. I waved off a second. “God’s honest truth, Lee, I have no idea. I just don’t notice other women.”
I turned and collected the kiss I had coming.
None of us had a viable theory as to why Gloria Rilling had popped into my life twice within a week, or why FBI Deputy Director Mitchell Lindsay’s final words to me warned that he wanted to talk to me about a woman on the run from the man who more than likely murdered him.
“We need to talk to your boss, Jackson,” Donaldson agreed. “And we need to talk to Lonnie Penn.”
Andy and I agreed but argued that the middle of the night wasn’t the time to start ringing phones. We paid the tab and arranged to meet Donaldson in the lobby at ten in the morning. He muttered about being anxious to join the hunt for Gloria Rilling. I told him the hunt wasn’t going anywhere until I got some sleep.
51
Earl picked up on the second ring. Andy and I stood in the shade of an air museum hangar at the airport. It was all I could do not to wander off and look at the World War II airplanes parked inside.
“This better not be a goddamned robot call. If it is, I’m coming for you, swear on my mother’s grave.”
“It’s Will.”
“Will? What the hell number are you calling me from?”
“Burner phone.”
“You’re lucky I picked it up. I’m telling you—I get one more of those damn calls I’m going to grind up my phone and jam the shards down the throat of the first telemarketer I can find. What’s up?”
“Why did you send me to handle that deal with Lonnie Penn?”
“Told you. She asked for you. I would’a done it, but my knee was all swolled up.”
“How’s the knee now?”
“Rosemary II drove me to see the doc and get shots. I can walk on it again. Why?”
“Just asking. So, did she say why? Lonnie Penn?”
Earl didn’t say anything for a second or two, then lowered his voice. “You ain’t getting any ideas, are you son? Because your wife—”
Andy, who could hear Earl despite the call not being on speaker, smirked.
“No! No, nothing like that. It came up in Andy’s investigation.”
“What investigation?”
Her smirk turned to a grimace and she waved her hands at me.
“She won’t say. But no, Earl, I don’t have a thing for Lonnie Penn. Lovely woman, I’m sure, but—”
“Because I will kick your ass.”
“Andy will be pleased to hear it. That said, do you have Lonnie Penn’s personal number?”
“Goddammit, this is what I’m talking about.”
“I’m not looking for a date, Earl! Here! Talk to Andy!” I almost threw the phone at her.
“Hi, Earl,” she said sweetly. “It’s fine. I need to speak to her about something I’m working on…yes, I think so, too…no, I’m keeping an eye on him. He knows how lucky he is…aww…thank you…okay, hold on!” She tucked the phone against her shoulder and pulled out a pen. She grabbed my hand to write on my palm. “Ready…” she wrote down the number and read it back to him. “Uh-huh…I’ll tell him. Thank you, so much...Uh-huh…yes, that would probably hurt…okay, bye.”
