Double Jeopardy (31 page)

“You, sir!” Beads of sweat trickled down his brow. “I only take orders from you.”

“Is that right? I just had some phone records pulled up from the central database in Quantico. Maybe you didn’t know we had a double check on the phone monitor?”

Simpson’s befuddled expression showed that Henderson had guessed correctly. “I didn’t—”

“Funny thing. I found several unauthorized, unrecorded phone calls to Mr. Janicek’s extension. And they all occurred while either you or the late Agent Mooney were supposed to be monitoring the phones.”

Simpson desperately wanted to loosen his collar but feared it would be a dead giveaway. “You know, sometimes the switchboard gets so busy, it’s possible I might miss a call—”

Henderson grabbed him by his shirt. “What really happened at that shopping mall, Simpson? I never believed for a minute that Travis Byrne killed Mooney.”

“B-but—he did, sir. It was just like—”

“Bull. Makes no sense. And if he wasn’t killed by Byrne; that means it was either you or Janicek.”

He tightened his grip on Simpson’s shirt, lifting him out of his chair. “One of you is going up the river, Simpson. Who’s it going to be?”

T
RAVIS AND CAVANAUGH HID
in a grove of trees north of the large ranch-style home they had determined was the elusive Jack’s current residence. It was a lovely, secluded area not far from Mountain Creek Lake. Curran had volunteered to make a preliminary sweep of the grounds. Although Travis had a hard time believing Henderson could be much help to him, for some reason, Curran had insisted on dragging the man along with him.

Travis tried to keep them in sight, using Curran’s high-powered infrared glasses, but the slope of the hill obscured his view before they had traveled two hundred feet.

“How long have they been gone?” Cavanaugh whispered.

“Only about twenty minutes. Not long, really.”

“Curran said he’d be back in ten.”

“He was estimating.”

“What if he’s been caught?”

Travis tried to comfort her, even though her words only echoed his own thoughts. “Henderson is probably slowing him down.”

“Henderson should know his way around the block if he’s such a big FBI hotshot.”

“Maybe he’s been behind a desk too long.”

“I suppose.” She shuddered involuntarily. “Eerie-looking guy, though. Did you see that scar on his face? Gives me the creeps.”

“Yeah. Well, you can’t judge a book by its cover.” Travis was about to spin off a few more reassuring platitudes when he heard the barely discernible sound of approaching footsteps—a tiny crunching of leaves, an almost inaudible rush of air. It was coming from behind him, away from the house.

Travis’s hand involuntarily went to his gun. He cursed himself bitterly. And just what did you think you might do with that gun, Byrne?

To his relief, he saw Curran trudging up the hill, Henderson a few steps in front of him. “How’d you get behind me?” Travis asked.

“Years of practice,” Curran replied. “So how’s it look? Did you see any security?” Curran and Henderson exchanged a meaningful look. “You could say that.”

“A burglar alarm system?”

“True, they do have that. An electric touch-and-sound-sensitive system wired to every door and window in the house. Very sophisticated. Noise detectors, motion detectors. The works.”

Travis swung his fist in the air. “Damn.”

“Don’t sweat it. The flaw with any system that big is that it requires a lot of power. I found the power source and cut it off. It’s useless.”

“So they’re all in the house without power now?”

“What do you take me for? I didn’t shut off all the power. I just cut the line feeding the security system. They’ll never know the difference.”

Travis’s eyes brightened. “That’s great. So we can just waltz on in.”

“We can, assuming you can avoid the guardpost, the security cameras, the magnetic card gate, and the bodyguards.”

Travis’s chin fell. “Oh. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Moroconi’s here. Henderson ID’d his silhouette in an upstairs window.”

“Then I was right!” Travis thought for a moment. “If we can’t get in, how did Moroconi?”

“My guess would be that he was admitted voluntarily. He seemed to be chatting with someone. And by the way, I never said we couldn’t get in.”

“Then you think we can?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“Okay,” Cavanaugh asked, “how do we get past the security guards?”

“There are only two of them.”

“I’m not that handy in a fistfight,” Travis hedged.

“That’s not the critical issue,” Curran replied. “Frankly, I could take them both down myself. The issue is time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I could take them both out, but not before one of them triggered an alarm. Or called for help. That’s why I need you.”

“Wait a minute,” Cavanaugh said. “If you can take out the burglar alarm, why can’t you take out the phones?”

“I could, but the security guards might notice and they’d know something was up. I’ll take the phones out once we’ve taken care of the guards.”

“Why don’t we just sneak past them?” Henderson asked. “You and I did it when we scouted the grounds. All those bozos are watching is the road in and out of the house.”

“We probably could get past them,” Curran answered. “But what if they notice a disturbance in the house after we break in? They’ll get reinforcements, then come rushing in with big guns. And we’ll be history. No, we need to take them out before we go inside.”

“What if you do take these two?” Cavanaugh asked. “What about the bodyguards inside? What about the magnetic card gate? What about the security cameras?”

“One thing at a time,” Curran replied.

Travis and Curran approached the guardpost, one on each side, using the dense trees, brush, and darkness as natural camouflage. The post was basically a small shack with barely enough room for two men to sit. There were Dutch doors on both sides—top halves open, bottom halves closed. Presumably, one man covered incoming traffic while the other covered the outgoing. Both roads had a gate blocking the lane that could be raised by the guards.

Curran crept up to the Dutch door on his side, then sprang up to his full height. “Excuse me.”

The guard nearest him jumped, startled to see a man suddenly appear in the doorway. “What the—” His hand moved toward the gun in his holster.

“Whoa! Calm down.” Curran held out his hands reassuringly. “I don’t want any trouble. My car broke down about a mile up the road and I can’t get it started.” He showed them the grease he had smeared all over his arms and face. “I thought maybe you’d have a phone.”

The guard glanced at his partner, who shrugged. “I suppose that would be all right.” He unlatched the bottom part of the Dutch door.

The instant the door was unlocked, Curran grabbed it and slammed it back into the guard. He doubled over the top of the door; Curran slammed it back again. The guard fell backward, knocking his partner against the control panel.

On the other side of the guardpost, Travis saw the other guard’s hand groping for an alarm button. He leaped over the Dutch door and grabbed the man’s hands. He heard Curran’s fists connecting with some part of the other guard’s anatomy, but he didn’t stop to see what or where. His job was to make sure his man’s hands didn’t make contact with the control panel.

Suddenly Travis’s guard bent forward and rammed his head into Travis’s gut. Travis fell back with a shout. The guard dove for the control panel. In the midst of this sudden flurry, Travis saw Curran land another fist on his target. He was doing fine, but the guard was proving too resilient. Curran would be done soon, but not soon enough.

Travis grabbed his guard around the neck and jerked him away from the control panel just as the man’s thumb was about to make contact with a large red button. He thrust the man’s head downward; his chin struck the metal panel. He fell onto the floor, apparently unconscious.

Travis heard another punch and saw Curran’s man fall to the ground in a similarly unconscious state.

“I can’t believe it,” Curran said. “You put your goon away before I did mine. How’d you do that?”

“Vitamins,” Travis said, gasping for air. “Now take out the damn phones.”

T
RAVIS GRABBED THE GUARD
by the back of his neck and shook him. He still didn’t rouse.

“Nice job you did on him,” Henderson commented. “He’s out cold.”

“That had more to do with the solidity of the control panel than the strength of my fists.” He shook the man again. No reaction.

“Let me try,” Curran said. He stood behind the guard, wrapped his arms under the man’s shoulders and around his neck, then jerked him violently upward. Travis heard the guard’s neck crack. His eyes shot open.

“Who the fuck—” The guard looked around furiously, then groaned. His head fell to one side.

Curran lifted the man’s head and motioned for Travis to begin the inquisition. Travis searched back in the far recesses of his mind to his police days. Interrogation 101. Play on the suspect’s insecurity. Make him uneasy, unsure. Don’t let him know what you want. Let him wonder—

Oh, the hell with it. “Where’s your security card? Punk,” he added for dramatic effect.

The man stared at Travis, still semidazed. “My what?”

“Your entrance card. The little magnetic gizmo you stick in the box at the door so you can get into the house.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, right. Hold him tight, Curran.”

Travis proceeded to search him. He followed standard police procedure; it was all coming back to him. He patted down the man’s outer body, then came up on the inside of his legs and arms. In the man’s shirt pocket, he found a piece of plastic about the size of a credit card with an electromagnetic strip on the back. “This it?”

Curran glanced at the card. “Probably. Let’s sneak up to the house and give it a try.”

The man sneered. “It won’t work, you assholes.”

“Did you hear that?” Travis said. “He says it won’t work.”

“What did you expect him to say? Be my guest?” Curran tightened his grip around the man’s neck. “So why won’t it work, chump?”

The man grimaced. “You ain’t as smart as you think you are.”

“I think he’s referring to the voiceprint ID,” Cavanaugh suggested. The man’s immediate reaction told them she was right. “I’ve seen this equipment in operation before. You pop in the card and the machine asks you a few questions. Your voiceprint has to match the one the machine has on file.”

“If he thinks that’s going to stop us, he’s in for a big surprise,” Curran said. In the blink of an eye, he released his grip around the man’s neck, whirled him around, and shoved him back against the guardpost. He held two fingers about an inch from each of the man’s eyeballs.

“You see these fingers?” Curran asked. His voice was soft but dark; his expression was menacing. “Do you know how long it would take me to avulse your eyeballs? In case you don’t know, that means to pop them out of their sockets.”

The man shook his head slowly. He was staring at the two threatening fingers.

“About three seconds,” Curran answered. “Believe me. I’ve done it before.”

The guard’s head was trembling. “You’re a fuckin’ lunatic.”

“You know what? You’re right.” An evil leer crossed from one end of Curran’s face to the other, transforming his boyish features into an eerie satanic mask. He rested his fingertips on the man’s eyelids. “Two seconds left.”

The guard’s entire body shook, but he kept his mouth shut.

Curran pressed down on his eyelids. “One second left. And then—
pop!
go the eyeballs.”

“Chrissake,
don’t do it
!” The man’s chest was heaving; he was on the verge of crying. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Good.” Curran whipped him around again. “I’m going to tie you up now. Then we’ll lead you to the front entrance to the house. We’ll stick your card in the slot, and then you’re going to say whatever it is you’re supposed to say. You’re not going to scream or yell for help. You might bring help, but not in less than three seconds. If you so much as peep, you may as well start shopping for a Seeing Eye dog. Understand?”

The man nodded nervously. Sweat dripped down both cheeks.

“By the way,” Curran asked the guard, “has anyone else come calling today?”

“Yeah. Some other guy. I was told to let him in. ’Bout an hour ago.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know his name. Honest I don’t.”

“Medium-size, dark-haired guy? Ugly face?”

“That’s him.”

Curran glanced at Travis. “Your client’s presence is confirmed.” Curran wrapped a heavy cord around the man’s wrists and shoved him toward the house. The others followed behind, careful to stay near the trees and in shadows.

Travis lagged behind. “Henderson,” he whispered, “you’re being awfully quiet.”

“How long have you known this Curran fellow?”

“Oh, about half an hour longer than we’ve known you,” Travis replied. “Why?”

“He seems … dangerous. Like a loose cannon. I wonder if we should be hanging so close to him.”

Cavanaugh overheard. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a lightning rod. Maybe we should let him stay well ahead of us. Deflect fire.”

“I think we have to all stay together or we’re history,” Travis said.

The man nodded thoughtfully without comment.

The machine resembled an automated bank teller. Curran inserted the plastic card into the slot just beneath a small screen. The screen glowed blue; then the words
State Your Name
appeared in white.

Curran shoved the guard forward. “Elmer Thaddeus Brown,” the man said.

Curran and Travis exchanged a look.
Elmer?

The next screen asked for his job title. “Chief of security,” the man replied.

The third and final screen read:
Password.

The guard hesitated. Curran gently reached forward and placed a finger beneath each eyeball.

“Elcon,” he spat out.

Elcon? Travis thought. Yet another connection between that corporation and the mob.