First to Kill (12 page)

“I’ll… ride with Gifford,” Harv said. “If that’s okay.”

“Come on, then,” Gifford said to Harvey. The two SWAT guys exchanged a glance before sliding into the rear seats of Gifford’s sedan. Harvey climbed in next to Gifford.

Henning secured the Bridgestone cousins into the rear of the transport sedan and got behind the wheel. Nathan slid into Holly’s sedan. Ten seconds later, all three vehicles were headed down the road with Henning’s sedan in the lead.

* * *

Nathan settled in for the long drive into the mountains by sliding his seat back as far as it would go and reclining it slightly. He wasn’t sure what to expect conversation-wise. She was, after all, a complete stranger. Might as well start with an observation.

“Henning’s got a thing for you,” he said.

“Is it that obvious?”

“It’s the way he looks at you.”

“I’ve done my best not to encourage it. I don’t want to transfer him, but it may come to that. His wife works under my command. You probably saved her life up at the compound. She’s the SWAT agent who tried to light you up behind that tree.”

“She’s Henning’s wife?”

“Yes. They aren’t doing too well.”

“Well, he’s just bubbling over with gratitude.”

“This situation with you and Harvey is difficult for him. To be honest, for me too.”

“Did you and Henning…”

“Absolutely not. He’s married, and I don’t have those kinds of feelings toward him. Bruce Henning’s a fine agent. He’s honest and hardworking, and loyal as hell to the bureau, but he’s a Boy Scout.”

“And you don’t date Boy Scouts.”

She looked at him. “I don’t date married men.” They rode in silence for several minutes.

“I saw that glance you gave Harvey just before everyone piled into the vehicles.”

Nathan didn’t respond.

She smiled. “You have the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Following the other two sedans, Holly made the turn onto Highway 50, heading west toward Sacramento. “You handled Henning pretty well back at the airport,” she said at last. “You didn’t back down or go on the defensive. You were calm but assertive.”

“You ever watch a television show called
Dog Whisperer?
”

“Hmm.” She thought for a moment. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never watched it.”

“Well, it’s about this guy called Cesar Millan and he has this uncanny ability with dogs. He’s a dog psychologist of sorts, but he really counsels people who have dog problems. He likes to say he rehabilitates dogs.”

“Okay…”

Nathan knew she was wondering where this was going. “It’s what you said about being calmly assertive. That’s Cesar’s philosophy. Be calm, but assertive.”

“And you think the same approach works with people?”

“To a limited extent. The basic difference is that dogs live in the moment, people don’t. Dogs don’t hold grudges. People do. Everything is right here and right now with dogs. I really like them a lot. I own two giant schnauzers.”

“I’ve heard of that breed.”

“They’re around a hundred pounds. Super-smart. Bullheaded, though.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Nathan looked out the window and smiled. “Point granted.”

“Not many people own giant schnauzers or a helicopter,” she said.

“The helicopter isn’t a symbol of ego or financial status for me. It’s about freedom. Too many people take it for granted.”

She paused for a moment. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“You can ask.”

“What was it like I mean, being a scout sniper?”

“That’s quite a question, Holly. We hardly know each other.” He fell silent for several miles. The road stripes slid under them in an endless procession of hypnotic yellow flashes. She didn’t force the conversation, and he appreciated the silent interval to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how deep he wanted to go into his psyche. There was a demon down there. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but at the moment of truth it’s a feeling of intoxicating power.”

Holly didn’t respond.

“It’s dangerous, Holly. Real dangerous, like an addictive drug. Only worse.”

“I guess I never really thought about it like that before. I have snipers under my command. Two of them are in that sedan ahead of us. All our SWAT members are cross-trained.”

“Don’t ever ask them what you just asked me.”

She waited.

“They’ll resent it.”

“Do you resent it?”

“I don’t work for you.”

Holly said nothing.

“Your guys may have a totally different take on it. They don’t do covert field ops where the exit from the shooting position is a concern.”

“You won’t like my next question.”

He waited.

She looked over. “Did you like it?”

“And I thought your first question was tough. May I assume you aren’t just morbidly curious? Then the answer is both yes and no. But not in the way you’re probably thinking.”

“And that is?”

“That I liked everything but the actual killing. The trigger pull.”

“Are you saying you liked it?”

“No, I didn’t.” Nathan knew she was waiting for him to explain his yes-and-no answer. “I loved the exit after the shot. The thrill of being chased, of knowing everyone was hunting me.”

“And that’s the part you liked? It scares me just thinking about it.”

“I’m afraid so. I never felt so alive. So… I don’t know… exhilarated, I guess.”

“Did Harvey feel the same way?”

“No, just the opposite. Harv hated the exit. He liked the insertion and tracking. But not the killing. Neither of us got off on that.”

“You and Harvey are pretty close.”

“Sometimes I think we share a single consciousness. He can read my mind and I can read his. Like the look I gave him before we left. I didn’t have to say a word, he just knew I wanted to ride with you alone.”

“I envy you, being that close to someone.”

They rode in silence for several minutes, the glow of Sacramento growing with each mile they traveled toward the city. In the dim moonlight, mature oaks loomed like giant mushrooms.

Holly broke the silence. “You think we’ll find Ortega’s grandson at the cabin?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Or at least evidence of his interrogation there. They needed an isolated place for that. They couldn’t use their compound knowing it was probably under surveillance.”

“If he’s there, at least his family will get closure. It has to be horrible not knowing.”

“After meeting with Frank Ortega, I’m pretty sure he believes his grandson is dead. I saw it in his eyes.”

“It takes a special kind of personality to work undercover. I don’t know how they do it. The constant stress of being discovered and having to act like one of them. It would be like waking up every morning with a gun in your face. I couldn’t handle it.”

“Me either,” he said.

“How do you think they made him?”

“He was probably seen by someone the Bridgestones had on the outside. A grocery-store clerk or gas-station attendant, someone like that. He or she probably reported seeing him use a pay phone or meet with a stranger. Think about it. Who uses pay phones anymore? When he returned to the compound, they grabbed him.”

“You’re probably right. I doubt they could’ve tailed him without his knowledge.”

“He blew his cover relaying the info because he knew how critical the situation had become. He’s a hero in every sense of the word, Holly. I hate the idea of those dirtbags doing whatever they wanted to him. It’s why I agreed to help Ortega. It really pisses me off thinking about it. I’m sure he held out for as long as he could. He bought time with pain.”

“It must be horrible.”

“It is.”

“You and Harvey did a good job with the Bridgestones’ cousins. I heard everything. As promised, nothing was recorded.”

“Thank you.”

“I had all kinds of images in my head of what you’d do to them.”

“It’s rarely necessary.”

“Then you’ve…”

“Been rough? Yes. You have to detach yourself,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “You have to think of it like acting in a play or a musical.”

“Do you like musicals?”

“Immensely, and thank you for changing the subject.” In the amber light of the dashboard, he saw her smile and admired the way it transformed her face into the genuine article. Not forced or plastered. He looked out the window and wondered if he should be pursuing this, whatever
this
was. Where could it go? But somewhere deep down, where only the truth survived, it felt like something. Something new and exciting. Maybe that was it. Somehow, Holly felt right.

“I wouldn’t have figured you for a musical sort of guy. What’s your favorite?”

“
The Music Man
. I’ve seen it half-a-dozen times at the Starlight Theater in Balboa Park. It’s an outdoor amphitheater that’s directly under the flight path of Lindbergh Field. When the actors hear an oncoming jet, all the action stops. Everyone freezes in place, even the orchestra, as the jet roars overhead on its approach. After the jet’s gone, everyone resumes as though nothing happened. It’s the damnedest thing you’ve ever seen, but they make it work.”

“I have to confess, I’ve never seen a musical.”

“You’re missing out. It’s a traditional form of entertainment. People dancing and singing on a stage. No special effects, just good old-fashioned live acting. If I hadn’t joined the Marine Corps, who knows?”

“I just can’t picture it. You, on Broadway?”

“I appreciate the discipline involved. If you think about it, covert operations officers have to do a lot of acting.”

“I guess you’re right, I’ve just never thought about it like that.”

“I like ballets and symphonies too, although some operas can be a little heavy.”

“Well, aren’t you cultured. What about sports?”

“Ice hockey.”

“Me too. I’ve been to a couple Sharks games. It’s a rough sport. If I’m not mistaken, it’s the only sport that actually allows fighting, with a penalty, of course.”

“Yep. Five for fighting.”

“I wish I had more time for stuff like that.”

“Fighting? Nah, it’s overrated.”

She smiled.

“You need to make time, Holly. You know what they say about too much work.”

“Do you think I’m dull?”

“Not at all. What I’m saying is something you already know, but need to hear. You need downtime, time to reboot. Especially with a high-stress job like yours. It can’t be easy running a field office along with all the resident agencies as well. You must have… what, five hundred people working under you?”

“I manage.”

“But at what cost? Sooner or later you’ll reach burnout.”

“I haven’t yet.”

“It sneaks up on you. One day you’ll just break down into tears over something small. It’s your brain telling you you’re on overload.”

“You speaking from personal experience?”

“Absolutely. Take my advice and do something for yourself, something totally selfish. Go to Cancun or Bermuda. The Bahamas. Lay out at the pool. Give that lily-white skin of yours a tan. The FBI will do just fine without you for a spell.”

“Henning told me the same thing, except for the lily-white-skin part.”

“I hate to agree with the guy, but he’s right.”

“I guess I do have pretty fair skin.”

He half laughed. “I was talking about the stress. Why don’t we try dinner after the dust settles?”

“I’d like that.”

Holly followed the caravan onto I-5 north and then onto the Highway 70 exit a few miles later. For the next thirty miles the landscape was totally flat. Farmland receded into the darkness on either side of the highway. Marysville was deserted except for a few convenience gas stations. They followed Highway 70 as it  jogged through town before again heading north toward Oroville. To the west, the black outline of the Buttes contrasted the distant glow from the San Francisco Bay Area.

Holly kept the conversation lighthearted and told him about her family, how she came from a long lineage of law enforcement. Her father was a retired City of Sacramento detective and her two brothers were both cops, one in Dallas, one in Modesto. She talked about her years at Boston College, her childhood, and of their family pet, a toy poodle named Pierre who used to sleep under the covers with her.

Either she hadn’t made the connection with his last name or she was being respectful of his privacy, but she hadn’t asked about his father. Given her assertive and frank nature, it was likely she didn’t know or she would’ve mentioned it. Everyone in the FBI knew of the Committee on Domestic Terrorism, especially SACs. The FBI was directly involved in the security of the nation, and domestic terrorism was high on its list of responsibilities. He knew sooner or later the subject would come up, so why not just get it out in the open and be done with it. Besides, she’d told him about her family. It seemed rude not to reciprocate.

“My father is Senator Matthew McBride.”

She looked over at him, then back to the road. “You’re joking, right?”

He said nothing.

“Stone McBride, chairman of the CDT?”

“I thought maybe you knew and were just being discreet.”

“I hadn’t made the connection with your name. It wasn’t in your file. Is that why you’re involved?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Probably. He and Ortega go way back. They served in the same unit in Korea. Harv’s close friends with Ortega’s son, Greg. That’s the personal favor he mentioned at the airport.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t change anything. I’m glad you’re aboard with us, but it does add a bit of depth.”

“We aren’t too close.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“He didn’t approve of my career choice. His commanding officer was killed by a sniper. Deep down, he knows I’m no different than any other soldier. The man was a battalion commander. He called in artillery and tank support. He gave orders that cost lives on both sides. Hell, he had snipers under his command.”

“Then what’s the real problem between you? In a single word.”

“A single word?”

“It cuts to the chase, eliminates the BS.”

Nathan thought about it for a few seconds, and one word came to mind. “Okay, a single word. Absence.”