Cold Blooded III: Sins and Sanctions (Nick McCarty Assassin Series Book 3) (8 page)

Nick had to intercede as the guy poked a finger into Nick’s chest, waving Deke off. “It’s okay, Deke. Don’t poke at me again, Sir. Deke doesn’t like it, and I don’t either. Take up your grievances with hotel management.”

“If that fuckin’ dog even slobbers on me, I’ll own you and everything you own.”

Nick snatched the man’s hand out of the air, forcing him to his knees in an instant. “Believe me, Sir, Deke is the least of your worries if you come at me. Ma’am. Please talk sense to your companion. Deke and I do not want any trouble, but if this gentleman makes any hostile move towards me after I release him, it won’t go well. Do you understand?”

The woman nodded, stooping down near her to put an arm around Nick’s captive. Nick saw the security guys heading over. He released the man’s hand, heeling Deke at sitdown attention. It took less time than Nick thought to straighten things out, because the young lady told them it was a misunderstanding in spite of her companion’s fervent declarations of being attacked, abused, and threatened. It took less than five minutes for Nick to finally exit the hotel with Deke.

“We’re walking pariahs, Deke. No one understands, respects, or emphasizes with us. We’re well-mannered lone wolves in a sea of sheep, but do we get any credit for not ripping their throats out on a whim? I think not. I’m outraged at that man’s treatment of you, my canine brother. I’m thinking I should have had a drink before we left, my brother. I’m dry as the Sahara Desert, but water will not do. We’ll search out a bar around here that will let you accompany me for a price. Aw… crap… I still have the police to contend with. I won’t short change you though, Deke. Let’s step off. You deserve a long walk seeing the sights after dealing with the elevator idiot. I thought you were magnificent. Situations like that bring out my bad side,” Nick kept talking to Deke in a hushed voice as they cleared the entrance. “You don’t realize how many human beings I’d kill to save your furry ass. No one messes with my drinking buddy. The moment I get back from the cops, you and I will do some serious drinking. I’ll walk you again after so you can get rid of the two beers I’ll give you tonight.”

Deke’s ears perked up at the mention of beer. Nick laughed. “I see your vocabulary has grown a bit, my brother.”

By the time they returned to the hotel, Rachel awaited their arrival at the room door with Nick’s cell-phone in hand. “Sergeant Stallings is a bit more excited about this collaboration than he let on. He’s already called three times.”

Nick pushed the phone aside, his free hand moving over Rachel’s stomach with an almost surreal lightness of touch, a smile spreading across his features. “I love you.”

A few moments later Jean ducked her head out the door with hand held in shielding shun position. “Oh… my… God… would you two please come inside. Shame on you, Deke! How can you let this happen in public? Bite their ankles or something.”

* * *

Nick took the seat waved at by Sergeant Stallings. “My wife said you were a bit more animated about my help, Officer Stallings. Did something change in this murder case?”

“The pressure amped up, Mr. McCarty.”

“Nick… just Nick.”

Stallings held his hand across the desk, and Nick shook it. “Barry. One other odd thing I found out is you have CIA credentials too. How in the world does a bestselling novelist get CIA, FBI, and US Marshal credentials?”

“I’ve consulted on cases with all three of those agencies. I know it’s weird, but you do know I was with Delta Force, and we worked with the CIA operatives many times, right?”

“I learned a lot about your background since we talked, Nick. Your special forces background makes the CIA credentials understandable. Then I poked a bit deeper to find that you’re married to the former Rachel Hunter, who was in witness protection. Would I need to outline the events that have taken place around her chaotic leaving of the program?”

“Am I under arrest, Barry?”

The question caught Stallings by surprise. “No… I…I hoped if you could help us in this investigation, there wouldn’t be a lot of unexplained dead bodies appearing in odd places.”

“If I knew what the hell you were hinting at, I would have to ask you how I could know the answer to that question.” Nick’s mind raced wondering how many threads from his acquiring Rachel, Jean, and Deke this cop had already stitched together. He always knew one day the house of cards would fall apart of their own weight.

Stallings leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. “I believe you know exactly what the hell I’m hinting at. Novelist or not, I think you kill people, Nick.”

“I’ve killed many people in combat, Barry. Delta isn’t an offshoot of the boy scouts. I’m sure you’ve already read the file on me from Pacific Grove when Jamal Kader was killed. I do write novels. What is it you want me to do?”

“I’m an overly qualified man in my field. I have a master’s degree in criminology. I have the distinct feeling you’re overly qualified for being a novelist.”

“There’s no such thing if you write fiction. The key ingredients to writing pulp fiction as I write are imagination and experience. You’re hopping all over the place, Barry. Meet me out in front in five minutes, and I’ll be glad to trade theories with you.”

Nick left without another word. The frosty March night, unpleasant to some, invigorated Nick. He stared up at the star clusters in the clear black night with visceral enjoyment. While circling around in front with a slow steady gait, he saw Stallings exit the station with foul weather coat on. He remained stationary, awaiting Stallings’ approach with the patience of one who knows nothing comes for free – not life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness… or freedom.

Stallings pointed a finger at Nick. “You’re a killer. I know it. I can feel it. I can see it in your eyes. I don’t know how in hell you acquired the position you’re in, with the credentials you have. You’re a hell of a lot more than a novelist.”

“Let’s stop dancin’, Barry. Tell me what you really want from me.”

“The woman police officer who was killed… she was my niece. Her death will probably kill my sister, because Cinny was her only child. I know the guy she was seeing knows who killed her.”

“Now… tell me how you know Paul.”

“I… that is…” Stallings threw his hands up in the air, obviously angry with himself. “I vowed to Paul I’d figure a way to ask you to consult without mentioning him. We served together in the Marines. Would it be possible to keep this between us, no matter what you decide?”

Nick smiled. “Sure, Barry, but unless you plan on never seeing Paul again, or talking to him, my advice would be to tell him the truth. Your powers of deception lack passion. That’s okay though. Tell Paul no blood, no foul. He’ll understand. I’m sure he had his reasons for not bringing this to me directly. Give me the Reader’s Digest version of your niece’s death. If you managed to get Paul involved enough to give me as a referral, there’s something more to it than a tragic death.”

“You’re right. Paul’s eyes glazed over until I told him the undercover assignment Cinny died on involved the Isis jihadi cult. She spoke Farsi and Arabic. The FBI recruited her to infiltrate a cell operating in Boston. Paul thinks they were linked to another group with a plan to blow up the USS Constitution.”

Stallings reached into his jacket pocket, and retrieved a plastic encased memory disc, handing it to Nick. “I received this yesterday. Cinny sent it to me hours before she died. It’s an audio recording of a meeting she infiltrated. My guess is that she didn’t trust whoever was handling her with the FBI. Paul guaranteed me he’d find out who when he gave me your name to contact. I don’t know if I can trust anyone in my precinct either. Any paranoid crap I babbled about would land me a suspension, or a direct order to stay out of the case.”

“Is the boyfriend a suspected member in this Isis cult?”

“Yes. He was the first contact she attracted while attending services at the Islamic cultural center of Boston. Cinny worked slowly over many months to gain trust and familiarity. Ebi Zarin began paying close attention to her. They dated under the stringent code under which she swore to abide in her conversion to Islam. She recorded everything that went on inside the Center.”

“So what made her suspect this Ebi Zarin?”

“One of the guys she saw him speak with at the Center was James Sherazi, a main FBI suspect in the Isis cell. They were to get a search warrant covering Zarin’s communications, bank accounts, and surveillance. Cinny disappeared the day after. They found her in the Charles River Basin. She’d been shot in the back of the head with a .22 caliber. Zarin had an airtight alibi, of course. He played the heartbroken lover card.”

“Were they living together?”

“No. It would have blown her cover. I never got to talk with her during the assignment. Cinny was to have been shunned by her family for being interested in Islam.”

Nick listened to the parameters the poor dead girl abided by, only to be murdered anyway. He had no doubt Stallings was right about Zarin. With the threats made promising attacks by hidden cells inside America by Isis and Hamas, Nick could understand why Paul steered Stallings his way, but not the circumstances. Gilbrech had something else in mind besides justice, or helping out an old Marine buddy.

“You do understand I don’t serve search warrants or bring people to justice, right?”

Stallings nodded. “Believe me. Paul made that abundantly clear. He told me if I was desperate enough to call you, and wanted to remain breathing when this ended, I was not to interfere or remember anything concerning your actions.”

“How do you feel about that, Barry?”

“Like I’m in way over my head, but I want this guy dead. I’m a cop with a family. The FBI already questioned Zarin. He gave them nothing. I don’t have a clue what course I could take to get the real killer that wouldn’t put me in prison. In addition to my wanting to avoid prison, I have no experience with terrorist cells, or interrogations. I expected when Cinny was killed, there would be FBI agents tearing her murder case apart. Instead, they brought in Zarin, asked him a few questions, and went away. Maybe you could tell me what the hell happened.”

“I’ll check the disc and get in touch with you later.”

“It’s in Farsi, I think.”

“I speak Farsi, Arabic, and Pashtu. I’ll call if I find something new. If not, I’ll have to question Zarin. I probably will anyhow, but I’d like to have some information before I do. I’m glad you didn’t let them sweep this under the rug. If an Isis cult is linked to the Hamas group blamed for the USS Constitution bombing threat, it means Boston is still a target.”

“Thank you. Call me at any hour, Nick.”

The men shook hands. “I will.”
No, I won’t
.

* * *

Rachel and Jean with Deke at their sides boxed Nick in as he sat at the room desk with his satellite linked laptop. He ignored their coughs, mutters, and throat clearings while his fingers sped across the keys, causing constantly changing windows of information and mug shots. Rachel bopped him in the back of his head, drawing a giggle from Jean, and a sigh from Nick.

“So much for the break in the action, Muerto. We want to know what you have to say for yourself.”

Nick turned in the chair, taking Deke part way on his lap, scratching the dog’s rear end as he liked. Nick chuckled as Deke put his nose in the air with contented ecstasy. “Okay, Deke’s happy. Would you like me to scratch your butt too, Rach?”

It took a few moments for Nick’s fem force to recover from his comedic offer with Rachel faking a full blown choke hold on Nick. That ended quickly as the happy Deke turned feral at the cause of his rear end scratching being curtailed. He had Rachel’s right hand in his mouth gently with an all business snarl within seconds. Rachel disengaged, pointing at her dog with tight lipped angst.

“You traitor!” Rachel accused, as Jean enjoyed the moment loudly. “Muerto won’t always be at hand to protect you, pal.”

Deke calmly sat down, and offered his paw. Rachel turned away, arms folded across her chest. “Apology not accepted.”

Deke watched her for a moment, then dropped his paw, and perched into rear end scratching position on Nick’s lap to much amusement from everyone, including Rachel.

“We want you to go swimming with us down at the huge indoor pool they have, Dad. C’mon. We leave tomorrow morning for Charleston. Can you take a break for a couple hours, swim, and hit the hot tub with us?”

Nick suppressed the excuses foaming to his mouth with an iron will. His research into the case had him in a vice of considered future mayhem, and myriad ways to bring it about. One look at Jean’s pleading face though and he was lost. “Of course I can. I have one condition though.”

“Booze, right?”

“Very perceptive, my love,” Nick acknowledged. “I think I will need two bottled waters with our orange flavored drink packs emptied into them. Then I will swill enough to add a double Bushmill’s Irish into each. I believe I will be ready for the pool if those terms are met.”

“Agreed,” Rachel stated. “What about Deke?”

Nick patted Deke down. He stood and went to the everyday pack he always shouldered while walking Deke, or moving from one place to another. He took out a huge beef bone he had procured from a butcher’s shop. Deke smelled it immediately as Nick unwrapped the prize, eyes glued to the treat with deadly concentration. “I have something to keep Deke’s attention, while cementing me into his number one human slot.”