Gone Bad (9 page)

A long sigh down the line. “Martha, you’ve told me quite a lot about him. And I’ve thought about that. You’ve told me about what he’s done for you. And I’ve got to say, I admit I’ve never met him, but I think you’ve deployed him judiciously.”

“My bosses don’t feel the same way. They’re threatening me with ‘it’s either you or him.’”

Her father sighed down the line. “What do you want to do?”

“I know what he can do. I know what he can bring. And I know he crosses lines, boundaries and God knows what else. And this can be problematic.”

“Is he breaking laws?”

“He has.”

“Not good.”

“I know. Thing is, his actions, they break some federal laws, but he’s helped us get a handle on a developing situation.”

“You talking about a few eggs getting broken, sort of thing?”

“Precisely.”

“The problem is, once you start ignoring illegality, before long it becomes the norm. Besides, you’re in the law-enforcement business, right?”

“Broadly speaking, yes.”

“Martha, want my advice?”

“Sure.”

“You gotta draw a line in the sand with him. Have that conversation. But then move on.”

“But my boss, he doesn’t see it like that. I believe they’re not bluffing when they say they’ll get rid of me. I’ve taken years and years of damned hard work to get where I am.”

“I know that better than anyone, Martha. So, my question to you is, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have to think long and hard about that.”

Meyerstein turned round and saw one of her team signaling that they were on the move. “Dad, I gotta go. Thanks for that. I love you.”

“Love you too, honey.”

Meyerstein ended the call and turned and headed along the beach to the car. She slid in the back beside Reznick.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Let’s get down to the FBI field office in Miami. Step on it.”

TWENTY-TWO

Just after midnight, Hunter Cain emerged from the unfurnished apartment on 14th Street and walked across the street to the Deuce bar, a windowless dive. He’d been holed up for the last twelve hours and was getting cabin fever. He walked in and ordered a vodka and Coke. He looked around, saw a smattering of hipsters, alcoholics and a few nice-looking chicks. Rock music playing loud.

Cain ignored it all. Had a timetable to adhere to. A plan. Bit by bit was coming into place. His two accomplices had moved to a separate studio apartment on Washington as arranged. A few minutes later they walked in. He ignored them as Mad Dog ordered a couple of bottles of Schlitz. He caught their eye, turned and headed to the bathroom. It was empty.

A few moments later Pearce came in. He handed the new cellphone to Cain.

“Good work,” Cain said. “Any problems?”

Pearce shook his head. “What time you expecting the call?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“You follow me as soon as I leave the bar, right?”

“Got it.”

Cain returned to the bar as Pearce returned to his position at the far end. He ordered a Heineken. The cold beer felt good.

His cellphone vibrated in his pocket and he took it out.

“Listen and listen good, Hunter. You don’t know me, but I know you. This is how it’s going to work. There’s an alley down the side of the bar.”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

“There’s a cab waiting for you. A second one is out front on 14th Street for your two friends.”

“Where exactly are we going?”

“Not long now, Hunter, relax.”

The line went dead.

TWENTY-THREE

Reznick was sitting in the back of the SUV with Meyerstein as they approached the outskirts of Miami. Stamper sat up front with the driver. “How long till we’re at the field office?”

The driver said, “Fifteen minutes, once we get through this goddamn traffic.”

Stamper turned round and looked at Reznick. “Jon, tell me more about Hunter Cain. We’ve been over his records. Military and all that. Prison. But what I’m puzzled at is you had no inkling your old Delta buddy was in jail.”

“Why would I know what he was up to?”

“I don’t know … I thought all you guys stuck together. Thought you were tight.”

“We are. But people don’t keep in touch with everyone they know. Do you keep in touch with all your friends at college?”

Stamper flushed. “No, but college is different.”

“Is it? How is it different?”

“Jon, I’m merely asking a civil question. I wish to God you wouldn’t be so defensive.”

“You wanna know about Hunter Cain? Read his file.”

“I have. But I thought you could enlighten me as to how one of your fellow Delta operators could have gone so badly off the rails.”

“Roy, here’s the thing. We’re trained to kill. It’s sometimes not so easy for some people to switch all that off.”

“Are you condoning him?”

“Don’t be so fucking stupid.”

Meyerstein’s cellphone rang and she put up her hand as if to silence them. “Enough!” She answered the call. “Yeah, Martha speaking.” She scrunched up her face. “Are you kidding me? Seriously? That’s ridiculous.” She ended the call.

Reznick looked at her. “What is it?”

“That was the FBI field office in Miami. They’ve received instructions from the director that Jon Reznick is not to be admitted to the premises.”

Reznick said nothing.

Meyerstein sighed. “This is getting ridiculous. We’re in the middle of a goddamn investigation and they’re pulling stunts like that. It’s crazy.”

Stamper turned round. “Martha, for what it’s worth, I think …”

“Roy, enough! I need to think.”

Meyerstein tapped the driver on the shoulder. “How far from North Miami Beach to Miami-Dade police HQ?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Let’s get to it.”

As they headed across town, Reznick felt a growing sense of unease. He wondered if Meyerstein was crossing the line and putting herself up against powerful forces within the highest echelons of the American intelligence community. When he tried to raise these points, she brushed them aside. Instead, Meyerstein called in a favor with the Miami-Dade police chief she knew, and they pitched up in a secure meeting room. It was almost like she was wanting the confrontation with the directors of the FBI and Homeland Security.

Reznick was introduced to Lee Jackson, a police officer who specialized in Florida gangs and militias. He had the lowdown on biker groups, Hell’s Angels, Aryan Brotherhood associates and militias across the state. He told them that white gangs had become all-pervasive, especially with the spread of methamphetamine dealing. He told them about biker gangs who owed the militias money. And he told them about a failed hit on a militia associate the previous year.

The image of Mad Dog Pearce was uploaded to a huge TV screen.

“Roy, give me details about exactly when and where this was taken before we open this up,” Meyerstein said.

“This guy is one of Hunter Cain’s most trusted associates. High propensity to extreme violence. Not afraid to mix it with anyone. But, anyway, this was taken at a 7-Eleven at Alton Road and 15th Street, twelve hours ago. As you can see he’s carrying a 7-Eleven bag. According to the manager he bought two sandwiches, two Cokes, two candy bars and two packets of cigarettes.”

Meyerstein nodded and looked at the gang officer. “You want to speculate, Jackson?”

“Question is, where’s the other one?”

Reznick said, “Roy, have we got any other footage of this guy?”

“That’s it.”

“So the question is, is Hunter Cain with this guy Pearce, or is there anyone else? Also, are they all together?”

Stamper scrunched up his face. “Why would they split up?”

“If one gets caught, for example Pearce, it doesn’t bring down the whole operation.”

Meyerstein nodded. “Cell structure?”

“Basically, yeah,” Reznick said. “We got lucky with this clip of Pearce. But if that camera hadn’t been working at that time, we’d have nothing. If I was in Cain’s shoes, I’d make sure I was apart from the others.”

Meyerstein looked across at Jackson. “You think they were hunkered down there. Do you think they might still be there?”

Jackson blew out his cheeks. “Possibly. Who the hell knows what these guys are planning? That’s part of the problem. We don’t know what they’re up to.”

Reznick said, “Hunter Cain is not a stupid man. He’ll know it’s only a matter of time till they’re tracked down. So that’s why they won’t be sticking around for long.”

Meyerstein glanced up at the image of Pearce on the big screen. Then she stared across at Roy. “What’s the latest analysis we’re getting from your team on this?”

“It’s all pointing to one thing. Miami, clearly.”

“Okay, I get that, but exactly what? What’s going to go down?”

Reznick leaned back in his seat. “Roy, we know about this message that was smuggled out. The assassination code. But we need to be further along the line with analysis at this stage, don’t we?”

Stamper stood and pointed at Reznick. “Who the hell do you think you’re speaking to?”

“It’s a simple question, Roy, and you don’t seem to be able to answer it.”

“I don’t answer to you, you understand?”

Meyerstein stared long and hard at Reznick before she fixed her gaze on Stamper. “No. But you do answer to me, Roy. So where are we with this?”

Stamper slumped back down into his seat. “We have nothing. Hunter Cain and his guys are out there, and we don’t have a clue where they are at this moment, or what they’re about to do.”

An icy silence descended on the room.

Meyerstein’s cellphone began to ring. She picked up. “Who’s this?” She nodded. “Mr Samson, thanks for taking the time to call back. What is it?” She scribbled some notes. “Are you sure?” She scribbled some more notes. “Now are you positive?” She let out a long sigh and stared across at Reznick. “I appreciate your time, Mr Samson. We’ll look into this. Thanks again for your help.” She ended the call and leaned back in her seat.

Reznick said, “What is it? He knows something.”

Meyerstein nodded. “He said there was something else he forgot to tell us. Something about Hunter that escaped his memory till now.”

Stamper shifted in his seat. “What?”

Meyerstein’s gaze wandered round the room. “This sounds crazy. He said one night Hunter and his crew were playing cards. And someone asked about his girl. Hunter said she wouldn’t fuck around as he knew where she was 24/7.”

Stamper said, “That’s bullshit.”

Meyerstein shook her head. “Sadly not. Remember the cross round Kathleen’s neck. Samson said Hunter said he’d got a jeweler friend of his to make a piece of jewelry. A silver cross. And he sent it to her.”

Stamper shrugged. “I don’t follow.”

“Hunter got the jeweler to insert a minuscule GPS sensor inside the cross . It would track her movements, night and day, till he got out.”

Stamper shook his head. “Martha, we need to get Kathleen Burke out of the safe house right away!”

Reznick shook his head. “Wrong move, bro.”

“What the hell you talking about, Jon? This is not your call.”

Reznick looked first at Stamper, then fixed his gaze on Meyerstein. “It sounds like the right play, but it’s not. It absolutely is not.”

Stamper blew out his cheeks, hands on hips. “Martha, the safe house has been compromised. She needs to move.”

“Roy,” said Stamper, “think this through. Jesus …”

Meyerstein held up her hand. “Jon, what’s your rationale?”

“Rationale? Firstly, we’ve got to assume they’ve got someone at this moment aware of where she is. Secondly, we’ve got to assume they’ve got someone in place ready to kill her, as Cain said he would. Therefore, logically, it would be harebrained to do anything this overtly.”

Meyerstein shrugged. “So what do we do with Kathleen Burke?”

“Get three cars out front. But get one to reverse right up the driveway to a side door. Screen off with a sheet or whatever, tarpaulin. Then get her into the trunk of the second car. And get the hell out of there. We’d effectively have blockers in front and covering the rear. Then get her to a secure facility. Military preferably.”

Stamper shook his head. “Jon, with all due respect, that’s going to draw attention to matters. It’s a bit convoluted.”

“If that was my daughter in that situation, that’s what I’d do.”

Meyerstein got to her feet and began to pace the room. “We need to alert Miami FBI to what we’re going to need.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Kathleen Burke was on her second packet of cigarettes, drinking a glass of rum and Coke to wash down the methadone, when one of the Feds’ phone rang.

The Fed got to his feet and began to pace the room. “Ma’am, I got it. I’ll pass that on to her now.” He passed Kathleen the cellphone. “Assistant Director Meyerstein for you.”

Burke dragged on her cigarette as she took the call, pressing the phone tight to her ear. “Yeah, what is it now?”

“Kathleen, tell me about the cross around your neck.”

“What the hell do you want to know about that for? You wanna buy it off me, is that it?”

“No, Kathleen, that’s not it. Who gave it you?”

“Why the hell do you wanna know that?” She dragged again on the cigarette and tried to waft the smoke away from the Feds. “What kind of question is that?”

“Answer me, goddamn it!”

Burke was surprised at the sharpness of Meyerstein’s reply. “Man, you really need to dial it down a notch. What is it with you?”

“Kathleen, I’m asking a simple question.”

“Yeah, but why are you wanting to know that? Does it matter who gave it to me?”

“Yes, it does. Can you answer my question, please?”

Burke shrugged. “It was Hunter. Hunter gave it me.”

“He handed it to you?”

“No, he got a friend of his to deliver it. Thought it was pretty sweet of him. Looks expensive, doesn’t it? Hand-made in New York, you believe that?”

“Kathleen, I want you to take it off and hand it to the agent who gave you the phone.”

“Fuck off! That’s mine! You ain’t taking that. Who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with?”

“Kathleen, listen to me. We have reason to believe that within the cross is a GPS tracking device.”