Donovan Creed 11 - Because We Can! (17 page)

15.

I’M NOT ALONE. There are seven of us standing around Kimberly’s hospital bed, waiting for her to regain consciousness. We’re told that could happen at any minute, and I’m concerned she’ll see me and say something like, “Dad!” that could make it harder for me to get her out of here and have her hospital records erased. If I could be alone with her when she wakes up I could control the situation. But that’s not going to happen. I won’t be able to meet her privately till the detectives have a chance to try to trick her into saying something they can use against her in court.

As Kimberly’s hand twitches, my phone vibrates. On the chance it’s Callie, I check it.

“Be right back!” I say to the surprised group.

I leave the room, then click the phone to accept the call from Sal Bonadello, Midwest crime boss.

“What’s up, Sal?”

“I heard you’re—whatcha call—
cohabitating
with that gorgeous blonde killer that works for you.”

“I’m kind of busy right now.”

“You’re a helluva cocksman, Creed. A
helluva
cocksman! Eight weeks ago you fly here to meet me, end up humpin’ a hot MILF in the men’s room of a bar. Now Callie Carpenter’s dining on Creed steak. How about you—whatcha call—allocate some of that nooky to me?”

“Callie’s spoken for.”

“I’m talking about the MILF. When a score goes down in my city, I’m supposed to get a taste. And from what I hear, you made a helluva score in the men’s room.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I hear things.”

“Like I said, I’m busy right now. If there’s nothing else—”

“You know those guys I told you about eight weeks ago?”

“What about them?”

“They’re still alive.”

I frown. “Have you been watching the news lately?”

He chuckles. “That Decker’s got you runnin’ in circles like he’s nailed your left foot to the floor.”

“I’ll thin out your herd when this is over. Anything else?”

“I got a strange phone call just now.”

“Can I call you back tonight?”

“Sure, but you’ll want to hear this right now.”

I sigh. “Please be quick.”

“A Louisville attorney asked me to recommend a hit man.”

“I hope you gave him someone else.”

“Nope. I gave him your name and said you’d call him within 24 hours.”

“Why?”

“He wants you to kill one of your people. Maybe Taylor.”

I nearly drop my phone.

Sal laughs.

I say, “What’s this guy’s name?”

“Milo Fister.”

I lower my voice to a whisper. “I heard he died.”

“You heard wrong. Milo and this other lady hired your daughter to kill their spouses. Now they want to hire someone to kill her. Don’t you love it?”

“What’s her name?”

“Who, Milo’s partner?”

“Yeah.”

“Faith Stallone.”

“
What
?”

“You’ve heard of her?”

“The guy Kimberly killed. Was it Jake Stallone?”

“That sounds right. Listen, I want fifty grand for giving you this information.”

“Done.”

“And pictures of what you do to them. You know how I love pictures.”

“We’ll see.”

16.

Callie Carpenter.

IT ISN’T HARD for Callie to find Jack Tallow’s hotel room. A thousand bucks convinces the concierge she’s Jack’s sister.

And why shouldn’t it?

She knows his real name, knows he’s staying at the Rose Dumont under an assumed name, knows the room’s being paid by Donovan Creed, knows he’s convalescing under a doctor’s care, and that the doctor’s checking on him every day.

Still, you don’t get to be a concierge at the Rose Dumont Hotel by giving out guest information, so the concierge insists on calling Jack personally.

“If he’s alone, he’ll hiss,” Callie says. “He’s had an operation, and lost his vocal cords, so tell him to tap the phone once for yes, and twice for no.”

“Very well. And your name is?”

“Jill Whittaker.”

She calls, Jack taps yes to seeing his sister, Jill Whittaker, and Callie heads to the room. Before knocking, she dons a ball cap, tucks her blonde hair beneath it, turns her collar up and her back to the door. When Jack opens it, she backs inside so quickly and forcefully she knocks him to the floor. She kicks the door shut behind her, jumps over him, comes at him from behind, and pushes a syringe into his neck.

Jack’s body goes slack. When he comes to, he finds his arms and legs taped to the desk chair so tightly he can barely wiggle his fingers and toes. His neck is taped to the back of the chair.

She says, “Jack, I want some answers, and I hope you’ll be truthful with me. I have numerous ways to encourage your cooperation, and hope the demonstration I’m about to give will prove my point. Tap your right index finger once if you understand.”

He does.

“Good. As you can tell, I’ve taped your neck to the back of the chair. What you probably don’t know, I’ve placed an extension cord around your throat, like a noose, and tied it behind the chair. I worked your toothbrush into the knot, so that by turning the toothbrush clockwise I can tighten the cord around your neck, like so.”

She turns the toothbrush till tears form in the corners of Jack’s eyes. Then she loosens it, saying, “Everyone I’ve ever tortured would tell you that was a mild demonstration.”

She slides the cord down so it covers his Adam’s apple. “I know you’ve had a brutal neck surgery, and I’ll try to respect your healing process. But what type of interrogator would I be if I ignored your wound completely? For this reason, if I think you’re lying at any point, I’ll crush your Adam’s apple. And of course, that will just be a warm up.”

He hisses, but not in an angry way.

While cutting part of the tape from Jack’s right hand, Callie says, “I’m giving you enough slack to write your answers. I know you can’t see what you’re writing because of the way I’ve taped your neck, but I’ve placed some paper under your hand.” She gives him the pen and says, “Is there anything you wish to say before I start?”

He writes:
You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“Thank you, Jack. That’s nice of you to say.”

He adds:
When this is over, would you consider going out with me?

She laughs. “You’ve got a winning way about you, Jack. Has anyone ever told you that?”

He writes:
I get that all the time. How about it? Will you go out with me?

“I’m sort of in a relationship, but sort of not. I guess you could say I’m trying to decide if I’m available.”

I’d like to help you make that decision.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

As you wish.

“Have you ever met Ryan Decker in person?”

Yes.

“Thanks for your honesty. Jill DiPiese worked with a sketch artist to produce a drawing of Decker. She gave it to Donovan Creed to disseminate to the media. Is the picture a good likeness?”

No.

Callie does a double-take. “Seriously? Wow. Thanks, Jack. You could have slid that one past me.”

What’s your name?

Callie.

I will never lie to you, Callie. Why aren’t you blinking?

“Personal issue. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being a perfect likeness, how would you rate the drawing Jill released to the media?”

One.

“Why did you tell Creed it was a good likeness?”

I was covering for Jill.

“Why aren’t you covering for her now?”

I don’t want you to crush my Adam’s apple. And I want to go out with you. And I’m faithful.

“Well….thanks. That puts you head and shoulders above the guy I’m currently dating.”

Donovan Creed.

“That’s right.”

Jill stripped for him in the limo.

“Excuse me?”

On the way to New Orleans.

“What do you mean she stripped for him?”

We were stuck in traffic on the interstate. Jill made the others get out of the car. Then she told him she wanted to have sex with him. She said she was sopping wet for him.

Callie’s eyes blaze. “You’re lying.” She moves behind him, reaches for the toothbrush.

Jack slaps the chair.

Callie says, “Why would Jill want to have sex with Creed? He killed her taxi driver friend and slapped her around.”

She said she was insanely attracted to dangerous, powerful men.

“When she said she was sopping wet for him what did Creed say?”

He told me to get out of the car.

“Did they have sex?”

I don’t know.

“How long were you outside the car?”

Twenty minutes.

Callie bites her lip. Then says, “Did he even mention my name to Jill?”

Jack pauses. Then writes:
Yes. said he was involved with someone.

“And what did she say?”

She said Callie will never have to know.

“Is it possible you’re lying to me?”

I will never lie to you.

“How did you meet Ryan Decker?”

We were planted in the Witness Protection Program together, years ago.

“Planted? By whom?”

A terrorist organization. Now defunct.

“Do you know Decker’s real name?”

Yes.

The last person on earth Callie feels like calling is Donovan Creed. But she presses his speed dial key because he needs to hear this. When he answers, she places the phone on the desk beside Jack and says, “You just told me that Jill DiPiese gave Donovan Creed a phony drawing to disseminate to the press, and that Ryan Decker looks nothing like the police artist’s sketch. You said you met Ryan Decker when the two of you were planted in the Witness Protection Program together, about two years ago. And you claim to know Decker’s real name. Tell me.”

Jack writes:
His real name is Austin Rennick. His Witness Protection identity was Chase Bowers.

Callie relates that message to the phone, then asks, “Jack, do you know what Decker’s planning next?”

Yes.

“Tell me.”

A swarm.

17.

Donovan Creed.

THE DOCTORS ARE wrong. Kimberly doesn’t come to while we’re standing around her bed. In fact, she takes a sudden turn for the worse. A neurologist is summoned, and the doctor makes us leave the room. The detectives post two armed guards outside Kimberly’s door.

While waiting for the neurologist, the doctor tells us her spinal cord is fine, and everything from the neck down seems to be in good condition. But they’re not sure about her brain injuries. She’s sustained some damage, but they can’t determine the extent till the neurologist performs some tests. He’s telling us this so we’ll understand why we can’t talk to her anytime soon.

I try not to act too interested. Instead, I ask to meet some of the other survivors. The doc gives me permission to see two of them, and the FBI agents escort me to their rooms.

But it’s a waste of time.

Both survivors tell the same story: they went to sleep in their beds and woke up in the hospital.

I call the geeks and tell them to start working on ideas to have Kimberly transferred from Mercy Hospital to Sensory Medical, at my headquarters. Once there, our people can stage her death and give her a new face and identity, same as they did for me a few years back.

Minutes after hanging up, I get a call from Callie.

I’m only mildly surprised to learn she’s interrogating Jack Tallow, and reading his written responses so I can hear them. As the call continues it becomes obvious Callie has struck gold.

18.

Ryan Decker.

RYAN DECKER IS as safe as an American citizen can be.

He entered the Witness Protection Program years ago, received a new name, Chase Bowers, and promptly killed another Witness Protection participant named Ryan Decker, and stole
his
identity.

In other words, the fake Chase Bowers killed the fake Ryan Decker, and stole his identity. Ingenious, because when the Justice Department recently performed an audit of all Witness Protection members only two were missing: Chase Bowers and Luke West.

There may be thousands of Ryan Deckers in the United States, but the one who’s bombing neighborhoods is the only Ryan Decker no one’s concerned about, because he’s in the Witness Protection Program, and has been cleared by the U.S. Marshals’ Service.

The second man who disappeared was an acquaintance of Decker’s named Luke West, who also killed a Witness Protection participant named Jack Tallow, and assumed
his
identity.

Confusing, but effective.

The “new” Ryan Decker landed a job as a killer drone pilot.

Operating out of Indianapolis, Indiana, Decker flew remote-controlled bombing missions in Afghanistan. He’d sit at his console with a bagel, orange juice, and morning paper, turn on his monitor, fire up his drone, and follow a flight plan designed by the Air Force. He’d eat a bagel, sip some orange juice, press a button, blow up a bunker, house, or bridge.

Because the killing takes place thousands of miles away it doesn’t take long for war drone pilots to develop a sense of detachment. It’s a stressful job that wears you down physically and mentally over time, which is why pilots like the new Ryan Decker are able to request and receive large blocks of vacation time.

Decker used his time to create a system that could fly multiple drones in tandem. He only acquired nine drones, but knew that nine, properly equipped and deployed, would allow him to kill 5,000 civilians in less than six minutes.

PART FOUR: The Swarm

1.

Donovan Creed.

CALLIE’S STILL NOT talking to me, but she’s done something I haven’t been able to do. She’s cracked the case wide open.

My first call is to Sherm Phillips. I tell him to contact the U.S. Marshals Service and get us the most recent photo of Austin Rennick.

My second call is to my drone expert, Charlie Whiteside, of Colby, California. Charlie was one of the original Edwards Air Force war drone pilots, and one of the early victims of psychological burnout. After leaving the military, Charlie wound up flying UAV’s for the California Coastline Weather Service. Years ago, when crime boss Joe DeMeo declared war on my family. I paid Charlie to hijack a drone and perform a detailed reconnaissance on DeMeo’s estate. Thanks to Charlie, who stands only 32 inches tall, I was able to deploy my army of little people to the best possible advantage. We overwhelmed Joe, I dodged a lethal threat, and Charlie went back to videoing cloud formations.

After making some small talk I ask if he knows the name Ryan Decker.

Like everyone else in America, he does.

I tell Charlie that Decker has a fleet of nine armed drones. We don’t know where they are, or what he plans to attack with them, but we know his intentions are bad, and the attack is imminent.

“I’ve heard of swarm piloting as a theory,” Charlie says, “but I didn’t know anyone was actually doing it yet.”

“Apparently Decker figured it out. So how do I go about finding him?”

“Nothing could be easier. You’re looking for a guy with current or previous war drone experience. This is a club with less than 1,500 members. You know he’s in the U.S., so that knocks the number in half. Send his photo to the CIA, Army, Navy, and Air Force. They should be able to ID the guy within minutes. They’ll tell you where he served and when he left. And if he’s still active, you’re ahead of the game.”

“We should have the photos within the hour. But suppose he launches the drones before I can pinpoint his location. How can we shoot them down?”

“It’s not an issue.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t have military-grade drones.”

“Assume he does.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Fine. But pretend he does. It’ll help me understand how the damn things work.”

“If he had military-grade war drones we could jam the signal, and there’s a good chance the drones would stop in midflight and fall safely to the ground. Or they could fall to the ground and blow up.”

“I hope you know that’s not a viable risk for us to take.”

“I’m just thinking out loud here, for the sake of argument.”

“What was the other option?”

“If we could intercept the signal, we could possibly reset the GPS parameters.”

“Could you, personally, land the drones safely?”

“Individual drones? Certainly. A swarm? Probably not. Can I tell you why none of this matters?”

“Go ahead.”

“Decker doesn’t have military-grade drones.”

“Convince me.”

“The entry-level price for military-grade armed drones is $22 million. And they’re huge, with wingspans of 45 to 110 feet! No way Decker has nine of them, or even one. He couldn’t keep it a secret.”

“What if he has access to them? What if they’re in Mexico or South America, and he’s working with a terrorist group? Couldn’t he launch them from there? From what I understand they can be launched from 7,000 miles away.”

“And further. But you’re missing the point. He wouldn’t try to attack Americans using military-grade drones.”

“Why not?”

“These types of drones require sophisticated space-based guidance systems that are monitored and controlled by the military. They’re totally reliant on GPS-based navigation, so the military would instantly know about an unauthorized launch.”

“Pretend I’m twelve years old and have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“If you’re in your living room watching TV and I break into your house and start frying bacon in your kitchen, how long would it take you to figure it out?”

“Seconds.”

“There you go.”

“So Decker doesn’t have military-grade drones.”

“That’s correct.”

“Then why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“Funny.”

“Still, I’ve been told he has nine armed drones. What type could they be?”

“Line-of-sight.”

“What’s that mean?”

“If he truly has nine drones, they’re small and primitive. So primitive he has to be able to see what he’s attacking. For example, he could line them up on a runway, drive a short distance toward the target, and stand on top of a building. Then he could launch them, have them fly past him, and he could steer them toward the target. But he would have to be able to see the target.”

“So he has to be within a mile or two of the target.”

“If he’s an urban terrorist, I assume it’s an urban target. So we’re talking a mile or two, max, and we’re talking daytime.”

“What about night vision?”

“Too restrictive. Too many variables.”

“If he launches, how do we stop him?”

“We don’t. If he launches, and his system works, his mission will be successful.”

“How big a payload could these tiny drones carry?”

“Think of it as if he had a hand grenade under each wing. Eighteen in all.”

“Dropped where? The White House?”

“No. We’re talking about an outdoor gathering of people, because the payload’s too small to blast through fortified structures and cause widespread casualties.”

“So theme parks, political rallies, Fourth of July celebrations?”

“Exactly. And don’t forget the Kentucky Derby, Indianapolis 500, outdoor football games…any event that would draw a large outdoor crowd.”

“I’ll get my geeks on it. As far as where he might be keeping the drones, what am I looking for?”

“A large tract of isolated real estate near an urban area, either purchased or leased. Because if this guy’s been testing nine drones, he needs space to practice. And a runway.”

“How long a runway? How wide?”

“Good question. I don’t know.”

“Best guess.”

“Depends on if the drones are linked width-wise or length-wise. My guess is width-wise, but that would require an area the size of a parking lot. Unless he can link them once they’re in the air, which would be really sophisticated. If that’s the case, he could probably make due with a 300-foot driveway.”

I thank Charlie for his help and ask him to be available 24/7 till this is over. He’s glad to oblige. I would be, too, if I spent my days monitoring cloud formations.

My third call is to the geeks. I tell them what to do when Decker’s photo comes through. I also tell them to look up every outdoor event in America that’s expected to draw at least 100,000 people this year.

My fourth call is to Jill DiPiese, to find out what the hell’s going on. But Jill’s phone no longer works, and her safe haven has been abandoned. She’s either with Decker, or she’s turned into a Decker sympathizer. Either way, she’s number two on my hit list. People died because she chose to protect this mass murderer. My daughter’s in serious condition—might even have brain damage—partly because Jill chose to give us a phony description of him.

My fifth call is to Milo Fister. I agree to take the hit and tell him we can work out the details after I kill Maybe Taylor. I assure him the dollar cost will be a fraction of what Maybe charged, and they won’t even have to pay her now.

He’s happy.

Just as I start wondering how Callie’s doing, she calls.

“Have you blinked yet?” I ask.

“Yes. You win. Congratulations.”

“I thought you’d hold out longer.”

“I would have, if Decker’s goons hadn’t attacked us in the hotel room.”

“
What
?”