Devil's Run (36 page)

“Through a chain of beer
distributorships?”

“My, my, you
have been busy. That’s just one idea. Not to mention we have a private airfield
and guests with diplomatic immunity to help move the cash around. Best of all,
Nick, the
piece de resistance
, the icing on the cake, is a license from
the federal government to dispose of all the toxic waste we produce making the
stuff.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

I motioned with my head.
“You know this can’t last. This has been tried before, in the nineties, those
processing plants in Brooklyn.”

“Yes, but that was a large
city. This is isolated and very secure.”

“These things have a way
of coming out. Too many people involved.”

“Maybe, maybe not. We
use a small, select group of mercenaries and everyone understands the
consequences of failure. If you’re ruthless enough, you can keep just about
anything secret.”

“Is that why you killed
those kids?”

“That was just bad
timing all around. I found out someone at EPA had grown a spine and there was
going to be a surprise inspection at the ghost town. We had just taken delivery
of building material for the processing plant, along with a shipment of
chemicals and some drums of jet fuel. So we moved it out of the warehouse and
up to that meadow.”

“The same night the kids
came calling.”

“Like I said, bad
timing. They thought they’d hit the jackpot. And got more than they bargained
for. We weren’t sure what they’d seen or what they knew. So we started
following the trail and killing the key players. We figured a few surgical
strikes and the environmental activist community” - he made air quotes around
community - “will understand that Diablo Canyon is off limits. They can go fuck
with those assholes at Battle Mountain.”

“So Kenneth Boyd is
dead?”

“Honestly, Nick, we
didn’t kill the little bastard. So far, he’s gotten away clean. Maybe his old
man’s disappearance will flush him out.”

“You can’t kill
everyone. Someone will find out and shut you down.”

“Roma, perhaps?” He
laughed at my expression. “Of course I know about him and his little operation.
He’s getting way too nosy. His time is coming. I’ll try to cut him off
politically first, put a bug in some congressional chairman’s ear. But, if that
doesn’t work.”

“He gets what Raviv
got.”

“That would be a last
resort. A fat Jew is one thing, but killing a fed, especially Roma, is a big deal.
Raviv was an important part of John’s operation. He’s going to find it hard to
operate his little off the reservation project without Raviv’s resources.
Anyway, if this does blow up, I’m covered. I’ll be sitting on a mountain of
cash on a beach somewhere sipping Mai Tais.”

“You’re not the boss,
then?”

“Too much pressure at
the top. I’m just a consultant. A fixer.”

“Who is the boss?
Canfield?”

He opened his mouth to
speak, but the phone buzzed.

The guard answered and
listened for a moment. He held the phone out. “For you, sir.”

“Excuse me, Nick.”
Imperatrice set his flashlight down on the fuel drum and walked back to take
the phone.

I looked at the
flashlight. I was familiar with it, a high intensity discharge model that used
Xenon gas to create an intense, dazzling light. Very handy during a power
failure in a mine, but they also generate extreme heat if left on for more than
a few minutes. Some models were known to ignite paper. It occurred to me this
might be one of them.

I turned to watch
Imperatrice, stepping to my right to block his view of the drum. Just then,
Fisher appeared, from the back of the cavern. He avoided looking at the men in
the pozo and made his way past where I was standing, making notations in his
computer.

“Hydroponic cocaine.
Quite an achievement, Doctor.”

He stopped. “Some good
may still come of it.”

“You’re quite the
optimist.”

“You’ve no idea what
this could mean to world hunger,” he said. “To a population that will exceed
eight billion in less than ten years.”

“Are they all going to
get high and forget about their troubles?”

“If these techniques are
applied to staples - corn, wheat, rice - hunger will be abolished in our
lifetimes.”

“Not my lifetime,” I
said.

He looked away,
over towards the
pozo
. “I’m sorry for you.”

“Which plant are you
using?”

He seemed relieved to
change the subject. “I settled on a high altitude variety, from the Chapare
region of Bolivia.”

“Higher alkaloid
content.”

“Precisely. As much as
1.2 percent. I created a prototype, and when that was stable, I experimented
with adding the characteristics of different fast growing plants to speed up
growth.” He turned to face me. “And, after nearly two years, when I found one
that was compatible, the result was a species that grows four times as fast as
the native version.”

“How soon can you
cultivate the leaves?”

“The mature plants allow
cultivation in less than a month.”

“Jesus.”

Behind my back, I was
moving my hands slowly along the top of the fuel tank, searching with my
fingers for the flashlight.

“How did it come to
this, Doctor?”

Fisher took off his
glasses and began polishing them on his lab coat. “The same way it always does.
Money and ego. You have no idea of the restrictions involved with this type of
research, how many thousands die of hunger each day as bureaucrats without
imagination string their red tape.”

“Someone offered you a
pair of scissors.”

“What? Oh, yes. They
approached me when I was working at the University of Florida, offering to fund
my research if I concentrated on the coca plant.”

“And that didn’t ring
any warning bells?”

“I was willfully blind,
I admit it.”

“Who was the ‘they’ who
approached you?”

“The End Hunger Trust,
part of some organization with a French sounding name.”

“
Lutte La
Faim
?”

“Yes, that’s it. Things
went well until I made my breakthrough. Then they told me what they really
wanted. And what would happen to my family if I did not help them with this.”
He put his glasses back on and stole a quick glance at Imperatrice, who was
deep in conversation on the phone. “Are you with the authorities?”

“I’m just looking for a
missing boy. Part of a group that attempted some sabotage here.”

His eyes widened. “The
environmental people?”

“That’s right. You know
about them?”

He shuddered. “They made
me watch while they killed them. An object lesson, he said.”

“Who said?”

“Kohl.” He spat the name
out.

“What happened?”

“Kohl’s men forced
funnels into their mouths and Günter poured sulfuric acid down their throats.”
His face went white. “It was horrible. Horrible.”

“Doctor,” I said, but he
was back in the past, seeing the deaths again. “Doctor!” He looked at me,
startled. “Doctor, this is important. How many did they kill?”

He seemed puzzled by the
question. “Um, two. A man and a girl. She was a beautiful young thing.”

“The man, doctor. What
did he look like?”

“Tall, dark hair.”

“You didn’t see a boy?
Thin, blonde?”

“No.”

Imperatrice finished his
call and noticed me talking to Fisher. He handed the phone to the guard and
came over.

“Sorry for the
interruption, Nick. Couldn’t be helped.” He looked at Fisher. “Doctor, don’t
you have somewhere to be?”

“Yes, yes,” said Fisher.
Clutching the tablet to his chest, he scurried away.

Imperatrice turned to
me. “I don’t think Herr Kohl likes you. I’m afraid he’s convinced the boss to
speed up our timetable, which is not good news for you. I must turn you over to
Isabella’s tender care, after which you and your friend Jeffrey will spend
eternity with a smashing view of our new golf course. Rather poetic, don’t you
think, given your recent profession.”

“You really are a dick,
Dick. You swore an oath to fight these bastards and now you’re one of them.”

 “Oh, good Lord,
Nick. I’ve always been one of those bastards. Even back when I was your boss.”

He stepped closer to me,
eyes bright and smile wide. Our faces were only inches apart and his eyes had
that same manic gleam I’d seen when he held the knife at Catherine’s throat.

“Why do you think I
killed your wife?”

I was too stunned to
react. Imperatrice stepped back, his smile broadening to Cheshire Cat
proportions.

“Still processing, eh?”
He nodded. “I can imagine. What’s flashing across that Neanderthal brain of
yours? All those years trotting around the globe wreaking vengeance on the
people you thought responsible, only to find out Moby Dick was sitting right
across the hall? Must be a lot to take in.”

He was right. Images,
thoughts, and conclusions flashed through my mind. One was that this could be
complete bullshit, but in my heart I knew it wasn’t. He was far too pleased and
had waited far too long to play this card.

“I see from your
expression you believe me. Good, because it’s true. As your former manager, I
know you have two weaknesses, which I tell you far too late for it to make a
difference. One is that you think no one else is as smart as you. The second is
you aren’t as smart as you think you are.”

He took a few steps, as
if to circle me. I pivoted with him to hide my hands, which had resumed feeling
for the flashlight.

“You really believed I
screwed things up back then out of bureaucratic incompetence? I was protecting
the operation, Nick.”

“I almost upset your
plans.”

My fingertips brushed
the flashlight. I traced along it to find the lens end.

“But you fucked that up,
too.” He feigned a stern look. “You really should add the two sisters to your
tally, Nick. If it wasn’t for you they’d be alive and well today.”

“I’ll make a note. Why
did you kill Mary?”

“Surprisingly calm, I
must say. Well, maybe you’re in shock.”

I lifted the flashlight
with my fingertips, holding it just above the top of the drum.

“She was a lot smarter
than you, Nick.” He shook his head, sadly. “She really married down, poor girl,
and that sealed her doom, as they say.”

“She began to suspect
you.”

“I’m afraid so.”

The underside of the
flashlight was slick with leaking fuel. It slipped off my fingertips, but I
caught it again before it clanged against the metal.

“You look a little
strained,” said Imperatrice. “Do you really want to talk about this now?” He made
an elaborate show of looking at his watch. “Oh, that’s right. Now is all you
have.”

“So you killed her just
because she suspected you?”

“Oh, good Lord, no,
Nick. As I said, you just can’t go around killing federal agents, especially
from the IG’s office. I arranged for her to be taken off the case.”

“By framing me.”

He grinned. “That’s
right. I used some of your own reports to create a pattern. My working theory,
which I shared with my superiors, was that you spent an awful lot of time
nailing nickel and dimers. I suggested you were using your high arrest numbers
as a smokescreen.”

“Which is actually what
you were doing.”

“Exactly. Face
it, Nick, everyone uses you. The government, me, Roma, your new
compadres
south of the border. You’re the ultimate patsy.”

I moved the flashlight
sideways, towards the guard’s discarded magazine.

“So they took Mary off
the case,” I said. “Why kill her?”

“She was a gamer,” he
said, sighing. “And she loved her Nick.”

“She stuck with it.”

“She did indeed. I don’t
know how, but she found out I was going to put the final nail in your coffin.”

“How?”

“I made a deal with one
of the drones working the evidence locker at the WTC. He tended to spend a
little too much time in Atlantic City, if you know what I mean. For a certain
sum of cash, a quantity of drugs from one of your busts was going to disappear
and turn up in your home.”

“Let me guess, the deal
went down the morning of September 11th.”

“Right you are. Only
when I arrived, there was little Mary putting her hooks in him.” He shook his
head. “I could see her put two and two together as soon as she saw me.”

“You killed her? Right
there?”

“It was instinct.” The
knife was suddenly in his hand. He held it in front of my face, the blade
mirror bright. “Before I knew it, my fist was against her chest. I assure you,
it was instantaneous. Directly into the heart. I doubt she felt a thing.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You, on the other hand,
are in for quite a time at the hands of Isabella.”

“What about the evidence
room guy?”

“Oh, I had him help me
hide the body. Promises of more money and such. Then I killed him, too. I
destroyed the surveillance videos, it was still tapes back then, and got out.”

“Someone had to have
seen you. There was a sign in log, other surveillance cameras, someone that
knew you. You’d never have gotten away with it.”

“Of course not. I was
already mentally putting my escape plan into motion. Then, boom!” He mimed an
explosion with his hands. “Fate stepped in. All evidence of my crimes
pulverized by tons of rock and glass and eventually hauled away to a landfill.
Not to mention,” he said, pointing at me, “a large pain removed from my ass. Ya
gotta love Al Qaeda.”

The field telephone
buzzed again. Imperatrice turned and went to it before the guard could answer.

“Yes? This is he.”

I felt the flashlight
touch the magazine. I set it down and slowly pulled the magazine over it like a
tent.

“What? Jesus, how
incompetent are your people? Find her! Now! If she gets out, someone’s head is
going to roll. Literally.”

He slammed the phone down
and looked up at me. The smile was gone from his face.

I switched the
flashlight on.

“It appears our chief of
police somehow got out of her handcuffs. You know anything about that, Nick?”

“Not a thing.”

He nodded slowly and
began walking towards me.

“Still, I think I’d like
to have a look at your cuffs.”

I couldn’t take the
chance he’d see the flashlight. I leaped towards him, ramming my head into his
chest. He went down on the floor. I kicked the guard back into the chair and
ran into the tunnel.

The door at the other
end was closed. I turned my back to it and found the knob. The guard in the
cage seemed unsure what to do. I got the door open and was through it before he
could react, but I only took one or two steps before the barrel of an MP5
slammed into my stomach.

I fell to my knees and
something metal slammed against the back of my head, driving me to the ground.
Without my hands to protect me, my face hit the concrete. I tasted blood.

“Get him on his feet,”
said Imperatrice, his tone uncharacteristically agitated.

Hands reached under my
arms and hauled me to a standing position. Imperatrice glared at me, his hair
askew. Next to him was Ms. Ricasso, stoic and unreadable as always. Günter was
holding the submachine gun he’d used to deck me.

“I have to get back up
top,” said Imperatrice to Ms. Ricasso. “Find out everything you can. What he
knows, who he’s told. Take your time, Isabella. Make sure Mr. Craig’s exit is
worthy of the trouble he’s caused us.”

I watched him walk away
across the floor, but my thoughts were on the flashlight. Hoping the hot bulb
would ignite the paper was a hundred to one shot. And if that did happen, would
it set off the little puddle of fuel? And even then, would it spread to the
fuel in the drum or just burn itself out? Then there was the possibility the
guard or one of the workers would see the flames and put them out in time.

Ms. Ricasso walked past
me without a glance. Günter gestured with his weapon for me to go with her. I
followed her over to the elevator. Ms. Ricasso pressed a button. Machinery
whirred and the counterweight rose. A tiny point of light descended from above.
The car that arrived was just a skeleton supporting a heavy duty platform wide
enough to hold two pallets. It was open on all four sides, with only waist high
yellow rope to mark the sides that weren’t doors. A single bare light bulb hung
from the crosshead.

I stepped onto the
platform, and Ms. Ricasso motioned for me to move back and diagonally across
from her. Günter stepped on board and stood towards the front on my side, with
a clear field of fire. Ms. Ricasso swiped her card and punched in the code. The
platform began to rise.

We’d gone less
than ten feet when the door of the building burst open and the four men from
the
pozo
ran out. One of the guards appeared at the door, putting a
shotgun to his shoulder. Before he could fire, there was a whooshing sound and
the walls of the prefab building blew outwards, propelled by liquid looking
orange flame that blossomed and sprayed over the forklifts and drums of jet
fuel. One of the drums tumbled off the pallet and was punctured by the bare
forks of the other truck. The spraying fuel immediately ignited and the barrel
exploded.

A wave of hot air washed
over us. Bits of sizzling metal hissed past, rattling on the elevator frame.
The whole structure shook as another barrel exploded. Günter stumbled, grabbing
for the corner support of the car, and I kicked him in the stomach. He doubled
over, dropping the gun. I kicked at it. It skittered across the platform and
over the edge, but the sling caught on some bit of metal, leaving the gun
dangling.

I turned my attention to
Ms. Ricasso, who was already reaching for that damn necklace. I took two long
strides across the platform and kicked her as well. She went down, but before I
could shove her over the side, I saw Günter reaching for the gun. Ms. Ricasso
grabbed my leg with both hands and held it. By the time I stomped on her and
broke free, Günter was swinging the muzzle around. I charged into him, knocking
him towards the edge. He went over backwards, snapping the yellow rope. As he
fell, he seized my shirt front and together we hurtled towards the water below.