Thin Line (13 page)

Bear entered, drawing the stares of a few patrons. Shock, more than anything else, at the size of the man. He scanned the place in the span of a second or
two. I figured his assessment was the same as mine. He strolled over without concern. He smiled at the beer waiting for him and took a seat.

"Tell me you found something," I said.

He shook his head. We'd revealed little over the phone. There was always the chance that someone had breached our systems and was tapping our
communications. Frank kept things secret, but that didn't mean word hadn't gotten out that Bear and I were involved in the attempt on Taylor's life. If it
got back to the right - or wrong - person, they'd use their influence to begin gathering intel on us.

"Right now, D.C. is like taking last night's Chinese food leftovers and mixing them in with your scrambled eggs." Bear lifted his bottle and took a
generous pull. "It's a mess there, Jack. Half the people know nothing. The other half, they know something, but it's bullshit, and they're happy to feed it
to you."

"Not much better here." I paused to watch as a couple entered through the front door. The man waved at the group on the right side of the bar. After they'd
blended into the group, I continued. "I had a run-in with the Old Man. Not sure what to make of that yet."

Bear picked at the corners of the beer bottle's label. "How'd that go?"

"He has a ton of information. So he says, at least. Obviously, I don't know him well enough to tell if he's feeding me a line or telling the truth."

With a corner free from the glass, Bear pulled quickly, then crumpled the label into a ball. He rolled it between his thick fingertips like he was rolling
a joint. "What did he say?"

"That he knows what happened, how it happened, and he can pin it on us if we don't cooperate with him." I paused, then added, "If I don't cooperate. He's
left you out of this, so far."

Bear's cheeks turned a darker shade of red. It was subtle, and quick, but his anger had been piqued.

"We've got a couple days." I noticed the waitress close by, so I twirled my finger indicating another round of drinks. She set off behind the bar. "He
offered an ultimatum of sorts, and he's willing to help us out."

"In exchange for what?"

"Our expertise."

Bear shook his head, lowered his gaze to the middle of the table.

"I know," I said. "Not ideal. But neither is federal prison, which is where we'll be headed. And that's if we're lucky. God forbid we end up in a cellar
somewhere with Ted the Torturer going at us."

"I still think about seeing that man water-boarded." Bear flinched.

"I know. Me, too."

The waitress set two beer bottles on the table and collected the empties. Her attempts at small talk went ignored. The guys from one of the big groups at
the bar had gathered around a video game. The five of them let out a collective victorious yell as one of them accomplished something amazing in the
virtual world.

We'd made the same kind of sound after surviving a ten-on-three attack in Iraq a few years back.

Bear said, "Well, guess it can't get any worse."

"It kind of can."

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

"What?"

"There's a cop."

"There's lots of cops."

"This one's a detective."

"I won't hold it against him."

"Her."

"And?"

"She caught me snooping around the brownstone."

"And?"

"I told her I was a government investigator."

"And?"

"She brought me to the morgue."

"Kinky."

"Little bit."

Bear smiled, said nothing.

"The body wasn't McLellan. Turns out, it was some petty criminal with ties to the Old Man. I'm assuming, at least. No idea what happened to McLellan's
body, though."

"So the Old Man isn't trying to pull one over on us?"

I shook my head. "Don't think so. What's he to gain by doing so? He's serious, and we might have to take him up on the offer if we don't get this figured
out in the next two days."

Bear held the bottle in front of his face. His eyes focused inward on the neck. He nodded slowly.

"What about your findings on Taylor?" I said. "Did you get any names of who else he'd worked for?"

"Names? No." He set the bottle down, shifted in his seat, extending his left arm out. "Locations? Yes."

"Where?"

"Everywhere you wouldn't want him to be. I got a guy… can't say who, yet… who's putting together a dossier of all the intelligence he's got."

"This could be the source of the job."

"It's not. I can guarantee that. He'd never heard of Taylor until I mentioned his name."

So Taylor had become a mercenary in every sense of the word. He didn't care what he did, so long as he got paid. I was almost certain that he'd taken jobs
from the Old Man. And now, Bear had someone promising hard proof that Taylor had worked for those who presented a threat to national security.

"Why the hell would he come home?" I said.

Bear started shaking his head, stopped, nodded. "My thoughts exactly. It was too easy, Jack. We knew his itinerary, everything. Where he was staying, the
times of his flights. How often does anyone have that on us?"

"Never. Didn't matter what we did, our plans were known to no one until they absolutely had to know them."

"Something stinks, Jack. And it ain't this bar."

A couple minutes later, my phone rang. A D.C. number I didn't recognize. I took a chance and answered it.

"Jack, Joe Dunne here. I've got some information on McLellan I wanted to share with you."

"OK."

"Someone slipped his body out of the brownstone without anyone knowing."

"You don't say."

"Even put some bum or something in the bed in his place."

"How'd you hear all this?"

"I've got a mid-level contact in a big criminal organization out there. Said he was part of the transfer process. Someone hired them to handle it."

"He give any names?"

"Nah."

"What about his?"

"Can't tell you that, Jack."

"Well call me back when you've got some real information for me."

"Jack-"

I flipped the phone shut and dropped it on the bar.

We sat in silence for the next twenty minutes, both of us running through possible scenarios and outcomes. After finishing another round of drinks, we left
the bar. The sidewalks had iced over again, making traveling by foot treacherous, especially after a few beers to upset the equilibrium. Still unsure
whether I was being followed, I didn't feel like possibly compromising the location of the apartment, so we checked into a hotel and spent the night in
separate rooms. Our next step was clear.

We had to return to D.C.

WE CUT OUR sleep short and left at four a.m. We decided to take my car since no one in D.C. knew about the vehicle, which we kept in New York at all times.
The parking garage was seven blocks away. A cab got us there in less than three minutes. The concrete structure offered no respite from the frigid
temperature. The wind whipped through the open entrance and exit, but died amid the upward rising slope of the garage.

When we reached the vehicle, Bear inspected the undercarriage, then the engine block. He'd been trained extensively in demolitions and knew a dozen ways to
sabotage a car while making it look like an accident. From behind the sedan, he gave me a thumbs up. That was the deal. He got dirty. I turned the key.
That way there was no chance both of us would die at the same time.

I gripped the key between my thumb and forefinger, stuck it in the ignition, and closed my eyes. If there was an explosion, I didn't want to see the flames
coming. I turned the key. The engine cranked slowly, coughing and sputtering in reaction to being awakened after spending a couple weeks slumbering in the
arctic air. I paused, then turned it again. The car roared to life.

Bear stepped through a plume of exhaust that shimmered red in the wake of the taillights. He slapped the trunk twice with an open palm. The vehicle dipped
and bounced both times. I still found myself surprised by the force the man possessed even though I had seen it on display more than once.

The clock on the dash read 4:29 when we merged onto I-95 southbound. The majority of the trip would be smooth sailing. Traffic would pick up around
Philadelphia, but not to the point of gridlock. There'd be plenty of stop-and-go once we reached D.C.

Unavoidable.

Outside of New York, cars raced along the interstate's sparsely filled lanes. I notched the cruise control at eighty and stayed in the second middle lane.
Bear and I both observed the cars in front and behind. The way I saw it, we had three groups that would be interested in tailing us. At a minimum.

I hadn't gotten the feeling that McSweeney trusted me yet, even after the showdown in the restaurant. I couldn't put it past her to keep track of the guy
she'd found wandering around a crime scene and then fed her a false identity. I had half-expected her to show up at the hotel with a warrant for my arrest.

There were any number of agencies that might also have interest in our whereabouts. Spotting them would be easiest.

The wild card was the Old Man. He'd made me an offer and given me a deadline. How close tabs would he want to keep on me? His network - much like the
government agencies and law enforcement, if they worked together - was vast.

What it came down to was Bear and I didn't care
who
followed us. If there was someone on our tail, we'd have to deal with the threat. And we'd
handle it the same way no matter who it was.

We barreled through New Jersey. Stars disappeared. The sky faded from dark blue to pink to orange. The sun crested the trees outside of Cherry Hill. The
interstate grew tighter. I was still able to cruise along at eighty miles per hour, but now I had vehicles no more than a car's length in front and behind
me. Watching for a tail became trickier, and much of the job fell upon Bear while I focused on the traffic.

There had been no sign of us being followed so far. But any smart group wouldn't use just one car. There would be a team, and they would work the highway
system by having people positioned at various intervals. One car would get off and another would get on, often leaving a mile or two unwatched in order to
coordinate the effort. When done correctly, there'd be no chance of the vehicle under surveillance to exit. And they wouldn't have any idea it was going
on.

Again, this fell to a group with an advanced network in place. The FBI could do it. So could law enforcement, if they worked together. Could the Old Man?
Over the years, I'd heard his moniker mentioned in various circles, but other than the rumors I'd heard, I knew very little about him. People tossed around
the word 'network,' but what did it mean in conjunction with the Old Man's organization? Friends? Employees?

On the other side of Philly, Bear spotted a car that gave him cause for concern. A black sedan. Two men occupied the front seat. They were fit and clean
cut and wore suits and sunglasses. Feds. Or businessmen. No way to tell, yet. The shoes would be a strong indicator, but we couldn't see them.

I continued on another five miles. The other car remained three to four cars behind. They switched lanes, but always ended up in ours. We approached an exit
with half a dozen gas stations and plenty of restaurants. It was a busy area. We got off there.

The exit doglegged to the west, splitting in two. I stayed to the right. There was less of a chance we'd have to stop. I glanced from the road ahead, to
the rear-view mirror. Trees blocked my view of the highway the further we angled away from it.

Bear kept his gaze fixed on the side mirror. "That's them."

I glanced up again. The dark sedan was a couple hundred yards back. There were four cars between us and them.

"They just took the right fork," he said.

"I'm gonna stay this course," I said, "and pull into the second gas station on the left. That way we can get out and onto the highway quickly if
necessary."

"I think we should split up."

"Not sure I like that idea."

"These guys are obviously Feds. So, it's not like they are gonna capture, torture, and kill us. Worst case, they bring us down to D.C. and lock us up for a
while, making it impossible to investigate this mess any further."

"OK."

"If that happens, it's best it only happens to one of us."

"Are you planning on hoofing it the rest of the way?"

"Nah." Bear turned inward and craned his head toward the rear window. "Busy as this exit is, there has to be a rental car place."

"They might pass us by."

"They might not."

The lane we were in continued onto the city highway without requiring a stop. I merged into the far left lane. "Still there?"

"Yup."

"You see anything ahead?"

"Nope."

"OK."

I turned on the blinker and came to a stop. Several cars passed on the opposite side of the road before enough of an opening appeared. By that time, the
sedan was right behind us. I turned into the gas station. A thick line of traffic made its way toward us, filling up two of the three lanes. Instead of
coming to a stop at one of the pumps, I cut the wheel to the left, cut across the sidewalk, hopped the curb, and pulled into traffic. Brakes sang and tires
chirped behind us.

"Christ, Jack."

"Where are they?"

"Still at the intersection. Reverse lights are on, but he's blocked in. Not gonna be able to go backward."

I pressed the accelerator and used the narrow shoulder to push past the five cars between me and the on-ramp. Horns blared. One driver tried to block the
shoulder. Must've thought I was a hothead trying to get on the road faster. We reached the crest of the ramp. From there, I had a two-mile view of I-95.
Heavy traffic, but not backed up. The shoulder ran out two hundred feet ahead. I pushed it as far as I could before wedging in between a full-size SUV and
a minivan.