Wake the Devil (13 page)

J
ack disconnected and sprinted to his own car, sick with worry over Beth. Tearing out of the parking lot, he nearly took out a light pole. En route he called dispatch, identified himself, and asked what the status was on the explosion.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know who you are and I can’t release anything without proper authorization.”

“I’m an FBI agent, goddammit.”

“Yes, sir. But I have no way of verifying that. Right now, you’re a voice on the phone. No disrespect.”

Jack pounded his steering wheel. “Connect me with Deputy Chief Ritson.”

“He’s out of the building at the moment.”

“Probably on the way to the explosion, where I’m trying to get. What about Nolvia Borjas? She’s the RHD secretary.”

“That I can do. Have a nice day.”

A second later, Nolvia came on the line.

“Nolvia, Jack Kale. Have you heard anything on Beth or Dan?”

“No, it sounds horrible. We’re listening to it on the scanner. The television’s calling it a possible terrorist attack.”

“That’s because they’re idiots. I need an address.”

Thirty seconds later Jack had what he wanted. A minute after exiting the highway he knew which way to go. It was just a matter of following a line of fire and emergency vehicles, their lights flashing, and their sirens going at full blast. He kept redialing Pappas and Beth’s phones, praying one of them would answer.

Skidding to a halt at the scene, he parked against the curb so as not to block the ambulances. Everything was a mess. At the end of the cul-de-sac people were running, a cop was trying to direct traffic, and water was being pumped onto the side of a ruined two-story home. A gray cloud hung over it like a shroud. The blast had taken out not only one side of the house, but the bushes and a red Japanese maple that was now lying on its side on the lawn.

Jack dodged emergency workers and cops and made his way to where the firemen were fighting a blaze at the garage. Inside, he caught a glimpse of what looked like a white Audi sedan, the lawyer’s stolen car.

There was still no sign of Beth, Pappas, or Todd Milner. He caught a fireman by the arm and asked about the casualties.

“I’m not sure, man. EMS is treating the survivors at that house across the street,” he said, pointing.

A cluster of SWAT officers were gathered around a body on a stretcher, watching the medical techs work. Jack started toward them but only got a few feet before a strong hand closed around his arm. He found himself looking into the scarred face of Dan Pappas. The detective’s shirt and jacket were ripped in several places.

“Where’s Beth?”

“She’s okay. They’ve got her in the back of that ambulance on the end.”

Jack was already moving.

“Yeah, I’m okay, too!” Pappas yelled to his back.

Jack waved over his shoulder.

A technician was applying a butterfly bandage to Beth’s forehead. She was sitting up. Her face was streaked with dirt and one of her shoes was missing. The moment she saw him she jumped up and into his arms. When they finally separated, Jack turned his palms up in a silent question.

“I can’t keep losing shoes like this,” Beth said.

Jack let out his breath. He didn’t know whether to be angry at her for not leaving the house sooner or relieved. He settled on relieved.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“It was bad. After you started yelling to get out, I screamed for Dan to run, then dashed into the bathroom and jumped in the
tub. It’s cast iron and shielded me from the blast. I’m a little deaf right now.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped. “Who’d we lose?”

“I saw them carrying Todd Milner away on a stretcher. He may still be here. I’m not sure. Three of Glen Sheeley’s people definitely didn’t make it.”

Jack closed his eyes. They were men and women he knew. Beth lowered her voice and said, “Uh oh, here comes the deputy chief.”

Six-foot-five Noah Ritson, survivor of four mayoral administrations, moved through the crowd accompanied by his aide, stopping to check on the wounded and speak with the officers. He and Jack made eye contact. When Ritson was finished, he motioned with his head for Jack to join him.

Ritson said, “Todd Milner gave me a rundown on what happened. He has a bad gash on one arm and got pretty banged up, but I think he’ll be all right. I’d like your assessment of the situation.”

“Basically it’s what it looks like, Chief. The Sandman rigged a delay fuse hoping to take as many of us out as he could.”

“Why?”

“Hard to say. The woman whose house this is . . . was, is Mary Quinn, who has no apparent connection to the case other than that missing case file. At least none I can see. Neither did the attorney representing her.”

“Wrong place, wrong time?”

Jack watched a tech wrapping a bandage around Bobby Sanchez’s stomach. He’d met Sanchez before. The officer winced, saw him, and nodded a greeting. Jack had to push the anger and frustration building inside him away. At the moment, he wanted to punch someone. Oddly, he felt his face go red as a sense of humiliation settled over him. He realized the Sandman had outsmarted them. The deputy chief was still waiting for an answer.

“It’s possible, but I don’t think so. The Sandman doesn’t leave things to chance. Not even the little details. The lawyer’s office was selected because it’s directly across the street from the medical practice.”

“What about Ms. Quinn?”

“Two possibilities. Either he wanted us out here to create maximum damage to impede the case, or it was a ploy to leave the witnesses unattended.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, they’re on the way to the safehouse. Our decoys left the admin building earlier and should be back at the station by now. You’d think an assault there would be out of the question, but he didn’t hesitate to attack police headquarters in Munich or an army base outside of Liverpool. If he’s coming at us there, hopefully the Ghosts will spot him first,” he said, referring to Atlanta’s elite surveillance squad.

“You really think he’d try the main building?”

“Steve McFadden texted me a few minutes ago. They’ve been watching a man hanging around the front entrance, who appears to be checking things out. We’re taking that seriously.”

Ritson shook his head in disbelief.

Jack continued. “Nothing the Sandman’s done has been predictable, which is fine. We can deal with that. But there’s a second problem. If the lawyer and Ms. Quinn weren’t chance selections, we have to assume there’s a leak someplace. It’s not so much that he knew we were coming. He might have planned for that like he did in Israel and Madrid. It’s that he knew
when
we’d be here. It’s either us, the U.S. Attorney’s office, or the Bureau.”

Ritson’s blue eyes went as hard as marbles. “Milner just got himself blown up and lost one of his own people. What about further up the line at the FBI?”

“Like Janet Newton?”

Ritson raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

“I’ve known Janet a long time. I can’t imagine her talking to anyone.”

“Donofrio?”

“He wants to take jurisdiction and turn the witnesses over to the U.S. Marshals. We talked him out of it. I don’t see him either, but it’s clear someone’s talking.”

Ritson considered this for several seconds. “I feel comfortable with our people, do you?”

“Completely. That’s why I’m stumped.”

Ritson said, “Donofrio called my office yesterday wanting to know why he wasn’t receiving reports. Personally, I don’t like the
sonofabitch. He gives me the creeps. If there’s a leak, my money is it’s on his end.”

“Which may be why he hasn’t been receiving those reports.”

The deputy chief stared at Jack and said, “You’re an odd fellow, Dr. Kale.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“I consider myself a monument to normality,” Ritson said. “Art Koster told me what happened yesterday. Tell me why the Sandman didn’t kill Beth Sturgis.”

“To be honest, Chief, I don’t have an answer. I suspect this man doesn’t kill out of emotion, at least now. That may not have been the case in the past. Maybe he didn’t feel the need to just then. Either way, I’m not complaining.”

Ritson paused to watch an ambulance make a three-point turn. His arms were folded across his chest, and his face was somber. He said, “People just died on my watch. I don’t take that lightly. Until further notice, the green light stays on. Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

“You like being a fed again?”

“I haven’t had much time to think about it.”

“My offer to join our department remains on the table.”

“I know that.”

*

Noah Ritson considered the man in front of him. Jack Kale was a hard fellow not to like. While they were speaking, his eyes were never completely at rest. They continued moving, taking in everything around him, weighing possibilities. If anyone was capable of stopping the Sandman, it was him. Few people were blessed with his analytical abilities. Other cops knew it. The deputy chief believed the FBI was the wrong place for him. That might be self-serving. Jack Kale and the beautiful detective standing a few feet away made a good team. Yes, he knew about them. It was his job to know. Beth Sturgis was smart, savvy, and a fine investigator. More important, she was a good influence on Kale, who at times seemed his own worst enemy.

“Still attending those NA meetings?” Ritson asked.

“I am.”

“Good. We’ll talk later.”

Jack started to reply, but the deputy chief held up a hand. “Now’s not the time. Tell your girlfriend she can stop pretending to watch them pump water onto the house. It’s really not that interesting.”

Ritson nodded to them and walked away.

*

Using the underground parking garage, Will Landry and Rachel Lawrence were bundled into an unmarked SUV driven by Dwayne Stafford. Ed Mundas was in the seat next to him holding an assault rifle.

Jack assumed the Sandman was monitoring their police frequencies, and probably watching the hospital as well. As a result, the detectives were transporting the witnesses to the safehouse using an unmarked car. He was praying that would be enough to throw the killer off.

By prior agreement, a special SWAT unit known as the Ghost Squad had already been dispersed around the main station. These officers were the best in the business and generally employed to follow organized crime figures. They were so adept, when Jack had asked if there was any chance they’d be spotted, the lieutenant in charge looked at him like he was crazy. Fair enough.

From what Noah Ritson told him when he ran the plan by him, in the ten years since the squad had been formed, they’d never once been made. On two different occasions, they proved instrumental in stopping terrorist plots. This was in spite of the cell’s security people who were supposed to detect if the cops had them under surveillance.

As soon as the decoy van was under way, Dwayne sent a coded message letting the lieutenant know the game was on. It was just a question of whether the Sandman would take the bait. If so, they’d be waiting for him.

T
he beige SUV moved quietly through Atlanta’s streets. Sitting in the backseat, Rachel and Will observed the two detectives escorting them to the safehouse.

“You must be getting tired of seeing us,” Will said.

“Oh, no, sir. Y’all are very pleasant people,” Dwayne Stafford told them. “I was telling my partner that earlier.”

They looked at Ed Mundas, a tall, brown-haired man, approximately the same age as Dwayne Stafford. Both men had heavy Southern accents and tended to complete each other’s sentences. Jack Kale had assured them they were in good hands.

Mundas said, “Dwayne and I sometimes get stuck guarding downright unsavory types. Y’all are a breath of fresh air. You just sit back and relax, ’cause we’re gonna take good care of you.”

“Mr. Kale seems very competent,” Will said.

“Boy’s smarter than Bill Gates,” Mundas replied. “He teaches at Georgia Tech. I never know whether to call him professor or doctor.”

“He’s a doctor?”

“Psychologist. Not sure if that’s the same thing as y’all.”

“It’s in the ballpark. Can you let us in on the plan?” Will said.

“Sure. Just a little while before we left, two folks who favor you and Doc Lawrence came out of your office building. Our boys dressed them up in body armor complete with helmets so you can’t make out their faces. They were driven to the main precinct. Kinda crazy to think someone’s nutty enough to try us there, but what are you gonna do?”

“And you’ll be waiting for him,” Rachel said.

“Us, the FBI, and every cop in the tristate area. He gets outta that one, we’re gonna change his name to Houdini.”

“Sounds good to me,” Rachel said. “If I could borrow a gun and have five minutes alone with the bastard—that would make me happy.”

Mundas smiled. “We’ll see what we can do, ma’am. We’re here to serve. Y’all like pizza?”

*

From a rooftop sixteen blocks from the Atlanta Police Department’s Administration Building, Wesley Simms watched a gasoline truck pull into the parking lot. The lot had two pumps where the cops could fill up before taking their cruisers out. By his estimate, it would take about two hours to fill the underground tanks. A few minutes earlier he observed the cops make a grand show of transferring the witnesses inside. Great performance. First-class stuff. Really. Apparently they thought he was stupid enough to buy it. If he cared, he’d have been insulted.

Ten minutes after the first van and its tail cars pulled out of the garage, his spotter reported the real transport vehicle carrying the witnesses had gone mobile.

Elvis has left the building.

Of course he knew where the safehouse was located. He’d known about both houses two days after accepting the contract. His source had also given him the details of Jack Kale’s “plan.”
So much for that
. He smiled. It was called basic intelligence gathering. Expensive, but necessary.

Wesley’s thoughts drifted once again to Rio de Janeiro. The weather in Atlanta had turned cold over the last few days, which didn’t agree with him. Warm was definitely better. Warm weather and women in microscopic bikinis with smooth skin and agreeable attitudes.

He frowned as another thought occurred to him. He needed to pick up a book on Portuguese.

Wesley turned the volume on his police scanner up a notch. The frenzy seemed to be dying down. Hopefully, Dr. Jackson Kale was there when the bombs went off. Elizabeth was another matter.
Something about her disturbed him. He knew it was probably the resemblance to his sister, but there was something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Still, he didn’t want her harmed. If they followed their own procedures, the detectives would wait to go into a scene until after the cops cleared it, and by then it would be too late.

Removing a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket, he squirted some onto the palms of his hands and began rubbing vigorously. The thought of touching that disgusting bird still revolted him. When he was done, he put the bottle away and went to his car. Time to pay the witnesses a visit.

*

The safehouse wasn’t a house at all but a midrise condominium located just south of Buckhead. The state had seized it from a drug dealer who was now serving the second year of his fifteen year sentence. The city in turn acquired it from the state, which had no desire to pay a seven thousand dollar a month mortgage. The current owner was a man who’d been trying to obtain a liquor license for his “Gentlemen’s Club” for two years without success. He was delighted to lease the property to the city for one dollar per annum in return for the Planning Commission abandoning its objections. Deputy Chief Noah Ritson had brokered the deal.

After seeing the witnesses safely installed, Ed Mundas, connoisseur of pizza in all forms, left to pick up two pies from his favorite shop on Roswell Road. He guaranteed them it was the best in town. Dwayne Stafford rolled his eyes at his partner’s enthusiasm.

The condo consisted of two floors and a balcony that overlooked a nicely landscaped courtyard and a swimming pool. The building surrounded the courtyard on all four sides, with each unit sharing more or less the same view.

“Nice place,” Rachel said, looking around. “George and I used to wonder what it was like in here when we drove by.”

“Must be pricey,” Will observed.

Stafford informed them their unit had been on the market for two million dollars, then filled them in on how Atlanta had come to own it.

“The owner just traded this for a strip joint?” Rachel said.

“When the Platinum Club relocates, it’ll probably make that back and then some,” Stafford told her.

“But still . . .”

“They have some really beautiful women there,” Will Landry said.

Rachel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and she turned to her partner.

“I mean, I don’t know personally. That’s just what I heard. In fact, Nate Moskowitz was telling me—”

“I’m going upstairs to take a nap.”

Both men nodded. Said nothing.

Once they heard her bedroom door close, Dr. Landry shook his head and walked over to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony.

“Don’t believe that’ll work, Doc.”

“Why not?”

“We made a few modifications after acquiring this place, like welding the door shut. Let me walk you through them. The glass on all the windows and doors is bulletproof. They tell me it’ll stop most bullets.”

“Most?”

“Well, I don’t know anything that’ll stop a .50-caliber armor-piercing round, which is what the Sandman used in Paris last year. So I’d ask you and Miss Rachel to keep the drapes shut and away from the windows. We’ve stocked up all kinds of good things to eat and drink if you’re hungry.”

“Except pizza.”

Stafford smiled. “Except pizza. Ed’s a fiend for that. Drives me nuts cause he wants to eat it five days a week.”

“My partner Stu Patterson’s the same way. Not quite so obsessive, but close. His thing is Chinese food.”

Stafford shook his head and continued. “When you’re here, there’s no cellphone use. That GPS stuff can track you down pretty good, so keep ’em off if you don’t mind. Should you need to make a call, the phones have two separate lines. Just press a button and dial straight out.”

“Understood. I’ll tell Rachel.”

“Appreciate it. Now we know y’all can’t just drop off the face of the earth, having patients and such, so there’s a high speed computer
in the den. And there’s a media room across the hall if you get bored. It’s got a hundred and fifty-six channels on satellite dish.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Sure is.” The detective glanced upstairs and lowered his voice. “Got some naughty ones, too. You just need to punch in a code. Six-six-six, I believe it is.”

“Six-six-six? Seriously?”

“That came from Chief Ritson’s wife when she found out, but don’t quote me.”

Will Landry laughed. “Your secret’s safe.”

“Now each room has a red button next to the light switch. Don’t push it unless there’s an emergency. If you do, all hell will break loose.”

“Why?”

“That button tells Commander Sheeley to send in the cavalry. He’s not real understanding about mistakes.”

“I’ll remember that,” Will Landry said.

“I’ve gotta say, you and Doc Lawrence are doin’ the right thing staying here. The captain gave us a briefing on this Sandman yesterday. He’s no one to fool with. You follow our directions and we’ll get you through everything in one piece. You have my word on it.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“How’s she holding up?” Dwayne asked, pointing upstairs.

“Better than I would if the situation was reversed.”

“Y’all pretty good friends with the Lawrences?”

“George and I were roommates in college. That’s where he met Rachel. I actually had a crush on her first, but things didn’t work out. I don’t care what I have to do. I want to help nail the asshole who murdered him.”

“Well, sir, we’re sure gonna try. Before we picked y’all up, I was reading through your file.”

“I have a file?”

“Everybody’s got an FBI file. Least everybody associated with this case does. I understand you saw some combat in Iraq.”

“A little bit,” Will agreed.

“More ’n a little, I’d say. Got you a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star.”

“I forgot to duck.”

Stafford laughed, but then his face grew serious. “So did my brother, Harry. Two days before he was set to ship out a roadside bomb killed him and one other feller in his squad.”

“I’m sorry,” Will said quietly.

“Yeah, me too.”

The detective walked over to the wet bar, reached underneath and came up with a bottle of scotch and two glasses. “I’d like to buy you a drink, Doc, for your service to our country.”

“I thought cops weren’t supposed to drink on duty.”

Dwayne Stafford poured each of them a shot and said, “I heard that, too.”