Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) (28 page)

He and his colleague Dr. Dayo were going to be quite busy for the next six hours.

•      •      •

Jimmy watched another broadcast from the scene of the fire as the talking heads speculated about what happened.

“Move, you asshole,” he growled at the screen.

The young reporter refused to accommodate him, and Jimmy was forced to examine the background around him for the information he was looking for. They had watched updates for the last few hours, but once the fire was out, the story just bogged down as the reporters couldn’t find anything to add to it. The police had quickly taped off the immediate area and then extended that to the end of the block in both directions a short time later. The only view they had was through the long lenses of the news cameras as helicopter traffic was strictly controlled in the DC area.

The reporter passed the story to one of his equally young colleagues standing outside the ER entrance at George Washington hospital. He just repeated the same thing he had said thirty minutes ago. Two victims brought in. Both men. Both burned. No names for either of them and the police were keeping a tight lid on the whole thing. Back to you Ron.

Jimmy just shook his head and forced himself to be patient. Manuel already had their bags packed and sitting by the door. They just couldn’t leave until they had some confirmation. Jimmy put two and two together and was willing to bet that one of the patients at the hospital was the cop. He had been farthest from the blast area, and likely just had a headache. If so, that was fine, he really didn’t care. He needed to know about the others. If there were two in the hospital and two at the scene, then he only needed to know about the ones at the hospital, as the two at the scene were obviously dead. The lack of urgency by the firemen and EMS workers walking around behind the idiot reporter told him that. He didn’t know where Angel was, so he needed to see two bodies leave and hear of one dead at the hospital.

He cussed the TV as they moved on to celebrity dirt and snatched up the remote to find another channel. He tried to keep the noise down. Manuel was sleeping in the chair next to him.

Kidnapping becomes growth industry
7 September, 2000—BBC
 
 

—TWENTY-ONE—

L
uis drove aimlessly around the neighborhood and passed the house once, looking for any cars that didn’t belong. The drop point was one of six they used. It served to keep the groups within the organization apart. He had never met any of the people who guarded the ones that they kidnapped, and had no plans to ever do so. They were employees and he had one in charge of each group who ran it and took care of any problems that presented. As far as they were concerned, he was just a voice on the phone, a phone that changed its number regularly. If any of his people screwed up and got caught, the most they could give the police was an old phone number.

Last night they’d had a problem. But his man had already taken care of it by the time he had called. The heart was on the way, and the package he had asked for was in the dead drop. He had to simply pick it up on his way.

He pulled his car to a stop under some trees and left it locked. The insignia on his license plate would keep it from harm, unless the thieves were too young or ignorant. But he didn’t plan on being away from it for long. Lighting a cigarette, he started on a stroll down the street. It was an old neighborhood with large homes, many of them still grand, but some crumbling under the weight of age and lack of upkeep. Most had walls around them, and this was something he was exploiting.

The walls were for privacy and they worked well. Through a combination of walls and landscaping, a person on the sidewalk was hard-pressed to see the houses behind them. Even the second stories offered only a glimpse. But it also worked in reverse as anyone on the sidewalk was hidden from those inside and, with the exception of the occasional dog walker, the occupants tended to stay inside their walls.

Luis kept his gait slow so as to appear as nothing more than a man out for an afternoon walk. As he approached his target, the wall changed from one of white brick to an older red stone. The stone had several large gaps where the mortar had let a piece slide free and Luis scanned them from behind his sunglasses as he counted his steps. He slowed only slightly and with one quick motion reached over his head and pulled the bag free from the gap. The ice had melted, but the water was still cold. His man had been smart enough to place the Ziploc in a second opaque plastic bag, but he still transferred it to the small paper grocery bag he had brought with him. He swung the bag casually as he continued around the block and made it back to the car without passing another pedestrian.

Once behind the wheel, he fired up the engine and flipped on the air conditioning before examining the contents of the bag. He counted them quickly. Five.

Five little fingers.

He placed the fingers in a cooler full of ice he had brought with him and pulled out the box. It was already addressed and showed a forged processing stamp from the post office. He selected a finger and placed it in the box before adding the letter and sealing it shut. He placed the box on the dash so it would be warm by the time he got there.

Checking his watch, he saw he had over an hour before his appointed time at the house. He decided to grab something to eat first. He would treat himself to something nice. This day would very likely turn out profitable.

•      •      •

Dr. Dayo sat in his office alone with his hand idly playing with his pager on the desk blotter in front of him. The man in the ICU was on his mind, as were the men he had met in the parking lot of the hospital. The words of the Interpol agent had refused to leave his mind since he had heard them.

He had been to war and seen evil up close. Back then he had been young, and not as wise to the ways of the world. In a way he wished he still was. The photo of his wife and kids on the desk in front of him caught his eye, as did the photo next to it—him and his college roommate smiling into the camera at their graduation. He and Tommy had been best friends for several years, attending the same schools and challenging each other at every turn. An addict in need of his next fix had ended Tommy’s life for the cash in his pocket shortly after their graduation. He never got to see his son arrive or even perform his first surgery. Somehow the evil had found its way to him now. There was a police car outside his house every day and his kids had armed escorts taking them to school. He stopped playing with the pager and forced himself to set it down before he threw it across the room.

The phone on the desk in front of him rang and he answered it, already knowing the message.

“Dayo.”

“The patient’s been heprinized. Should be ready for you in about thirty minutes, Dr. Dayo.”

“Okay, tell them I’m on my way.”

He cradled the phone and contemplated the pager in front of him. Opening his desk drawer, he rooted around in the mess until he found a small flashlight. He twisted it on before dropping it in the drawer and shutting it. The light peeked out through the small crack, but it would be unnoticeable unless you were sitting at the desk. He stuck the pager back on his belt before leaving his office.

•      •      •

It took another hour, but the reporters finally had something new to report. A hospital spokesman was coming out to address the crowd of reporters. He had two senior members of the DC police with him and looked a little nervous. It was obvious from the beginning that he was not an experienced public speaker. He had to be led to the bank of microphones and told where to look. He was carrying a pre-written statement and after a go-ahead nod from the police chief, he cleared his throat.

“Hel . . . Hello, my name is Peter Wosniak and I’m the current head of administration here at George Washington. I have a prepared statement for you, and then I’ll attempt to answer your questions.”

“Today the hospital received two men who were victims of the explosion that occurred this morning here in the District. We are not releasing any names at this time, pending notification of next of kin. The first patient had injuries to his head and burns to his hands, as well as some inner ear damage from the blast. He is expected to make a full recovery. The second man received extensive burns to the torso, neck, and head, as well as some inhalation injuries. Our trauma team and burn unit worked on him extensively, but were unable to save him and he died approximately thirty minutes ago. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you at this time.”

The reporters didn’t wait for the man to finish his last sentence. They screamed in unison, trying to be first. The spokesman got a nod of support from the chief before pointing to a woman in front.

“Can you tell us the cause of the explosion?”

The chief quickly stepped forward to field that one and the administrator gratefully stepped back to let him.

“At this time the event is under investigation. I can assure you that both the police and the fire marshal will find the cause of the blast. So far they have ruled out a gas leak. There is no danger to the other homes in the area.”

“Was this a meth lab explosion? Were there chemicals involved?”

“We found no evidence so far of a meth lab being on the premises, but we have yet to rule it out entirely.”

“Can you tell us the occupations of the people involved?”

The chief smiled at that one. Were they cops, was what he was really asking. He gave them his favorite answer.

“No.”

“Can we speak to the injured man?”

The chief turned and looked at the administrator. He reluctantly stepped forward and replied.

“No. He has requested that no press be allowed in and we are bound by law to honor that request.”

“Chief, just what can you tell us?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. My office is appointing a liaison to handle all press inquiries. You will need to direct your questions through them. All questions to the hospital will be forwarded to the liaison also. I’ve been asked to remind you that the hospital grounds are off limits unless cleared to enter by administration. We will update you when we have more information to give. That is all.”

The chief ignored the shouted questions and walked back toward the hospital, flanked closely by the administrator. As soon as they were through the doors he turned to his aid.

“Get me Jack Randall at the Bureau on the phone. Now.”

•      •      •

Jimmy had watched the whole thing with satisfaction. He had tied up the one loose end. The other had been taken care of right before the press conference. A clever reporter had knocked on a few doors and with a little money changing hands had found an upstairs window with a view of the crime scene. With his long-view lens he had managed to capture the packaging and loading of two bodies into the waiting ambulance. A group of Federal Marshals stood around in a tight group and the people working around them gave them a wide berth. The reporter eagerly read into the story what he thought it all meant, prompting Jimmy to hit the mute button.

He dug in his pocket for his phone. Making sure he had the right one, he pulled up the contact list and scrolled through the numbers until he realized that he didn’t really know who had sent them on the operation. He flipped it shut before contemplating his sleeping partner in the chair next to him. Reaching out his foot, he gave him a stiff nudge. Manuel woke with a start, reflexively reaching for his beltline before realizing where he was. He gave Jimmy a lopsided smile for an apology before his gaze found the screens. He was afraid he had missed something.

“Sorry.”

Jimmy waved it away as insignificant before filling him in.

“I think we’re done. They just had a press conference at the hospital. They got one dead and one with minor injuries. Won’t let the press talk to him.”

“That’s gotta be the cop Perfect excuse to keep the press away.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, too. Some reporter at the scene found a perch where he could see over the barriers and fire trucks. He got some footage of them loading two bodies into the ambulances. The cop was farthest from the blast, he’s our lone survivor.”

“We going to poke around a little and make sure?”

Jimmy sat back and sipped his coffee while he thought about it.

“Who gave us the job?”

“Rico.”

Jimmy made a face at that information. Rico was Oscar’s brother and definitely the dumber of the two by a long shot. It had always been a combination of Oscar’s brains and Rico’s muscle that had allowed them to rise through the ranks. Brains always won out in this game, but what Rico lacked in intelligence, he made up for in loyalty and a willingness to do whatever his brother required. But no matter how expensive the suit or how pretty the woman on his arm, Rico always looked like what he was. A street hood with too much money. Jimmy had never liked him, and for good reason. While Oscar had always projected his power through Jimmy with a goal in mind, Rico used his power simply because he could. As a result, Oscar would often cancel Rico’s orders after an informative call from Jimmy. Without his brother around to rein him in, Rico could become quite dangerous.