Gone Bad (10 page)

Burke took a few moments to allow the information to sink into her fuzzy head. “Aw, gimme a goddamn break will you? That’s bullshit. What a crock of shit.”

“Kathleen, if you don’t take it off, I have authorized the federal agent who handed you the phone to take it off you. Are we clear?”

“That’s illegal!”

“I’m asking you for your cooperation. Kathleen, do you want me to spell it out for you? Hunter gave you the present so he knew where you were at all times. He could log onto a computer within Leavenworth and check each and every day where you were.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Meyerstein sighed down the line. “You want to find out for sure?”

“This is crazy. Are you saying he’d know I’d been out and about? Where? When?”

“We believe so. That is, if our information is correct. But we need to check.”

Burke took the cigarette from her mouth and crushed it in an ashtray. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know. Can you help us find out for sure?”

Burke felt tears spill down her face. She unhooked the necklace and handed it to the Fed. “I’ve done that now – happy?”

“Stay on the line …”

Burke slumped in a seat as the Fed prized off the back with a Swiss army knife. She watched him tease off a tiny metal sensor with a pinprick green light on the side, and hold it up. “Motherfucker!”

“Kathleen, was it there?”

“Yes, it goddamn was. Your agent has it now.”

“Kathleen, stay on the line. Jon Reznick wants to speak to you.”

“What does he want?”

Meyerstein said, “Here he is now.”

A deep sigh down the line. “Kathleen, Jon Reznick.”

“Everyone having a good laugh at my expense?”

“Not at all, Kathleen. Listen to me, what this means is that you are in grave danger. I have recommended to Assistant Director Meyerstein that you are moved as soon as we can do so in a controlled way. Do you understand?”

“I ain’t going anywhere, man.”

“Not an option, Kathleen. You either cooperate and do as you’re told and get in the trunk of a car unseen, or you will be bundled into a car in the next five minutes and driven out of there. So you either play nice or you get a rough ride. You choose.”

Burke felt tears spill down her face. “What the fuck … what the fuck is happening?”

“It is what it is. Do you understand?”

“I’m not getting in any fucking trunk. I’m claustrophobic. Do you understand?”

“We can get you sedated.”

Burke felt helpless. “Jon, can I say something?”

“Sure, what’s on your mind?”

“I’m scared … I’m real scared now.”

“Kathleen, now listen to me. That’s natural. Don’t be ashamed to be scared. We all get scared.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You didn’t look like the sort of guy that would get scared. You must think I’m stupid.”

“Kathleen, you need to focus and pull yourself together. The Feds will get you out of there in an unmarked car. But you need to get in the trunk, and we can get you to a safe house.”

Burke dabbed her eyes. “I can’t do that.”

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t get in a fucking trunk. So that’s it. I just want to go now!”

Burke ended the call and handed the phone to the Fed. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, why don’t we?”

TWENTY-FIVE

Matt Pearce snorted a line of coke off the back of his hand using a rolled-up twenty- dollar bill as he sat in his car, concealed in an alley in sight of the front of the house. He felt the rush washing through his body. He felt euphoric. The drug was touching his senses. He felt invincible.

He stared down the dirt road, partially concealed by palm trees and on-street parked cars. The postman’s outfit was in the trunk of his car. And he was seriously considering whether it would be needed, as there was no sign of the target.

Pearce had to get this right. If not, his brother would be next. It was the way it was. It was brutal. But effective. He felt a secondary wave through his body as the blood rushed through his veins and arteries to his brain. The high was indescribable. He felt aroused.

He didn’t care now if time dragged. It took however long it took.

Pearce had been told by his brother that the Feds would be protecting her. He assumed there would be two, maybe three inside the property with Burke. He knew this would be a tricky one. His usual modus operandi was a knife to the neck. Quick, silent and deadly. He didn’t mind staring into some fuck’s eyes as they gasped their last breath.

In the distance an SUV turned into the street and pulled up outside the house.

Pearce’s heart began to race. His watching and waiting had paid off. He sniffed hard and felt the last residue of the coke shoot straight to his brain. He was wired. Then three guys in suits came into view. It was the Feds flanking a small woman wearing shades and a Panama hat. She slid into the back seat, one Fed either side. The third Fed sat in the passenger seat up front.

The car pulled away.

Pearce started up the car and pulled away. He knew exactly what he was going to do.

TWENTY-SIX

Meyerstein was pacing the room, cellphone pressed to her ear, waiting for the Miami Fed to answer.

“Special Agent O’Halloran, ma’am. How can I help?” His voice was measured and calm.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Ma’am?”

“Why didn’t you stop Kathleen Burke leaving the house in such a manner?”

“Ma’am, she’s a goddamn law unto herself. I made the decision to just go with it, get her out of the house, and take it from there.”

Meyerstein sighed. “Where exactly are you?”

“Ma’am, we’re headed into Pensacola. We’ve got a perfect place lined up for her.”

“Goddamn.”

“Ma’am, I thought it was important to get the subject out asap.”

“Unfortunately, a more controlled low-key exit might have been better. We could have had a decoy car or two – you know the drill.”

“Ma’am, we’ve got an ETA of six minutes and we’re fine.”

“O’Halloran, is she with you just now?”

“Yeah, you want to talk?”

“Put her on.”

A woman coughing. “Yeah, Meyerstein, what is it now?”

Meyerstein bristled at Burke’s arrogance. She wondered if she should give her a ticking-off for not following instructions. But that was difficult if the special agent in charge was going to allow her to walk all over him. “Just to let you know you’ll be in a nice new place in a few minutes.”

Silence down the line.

“Are you still there, Kathleen?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Just freaked out to find that fuck’s been tracking me for years. He must’ve known I was hanging out at the Outlaws clubhouse.”

“Well, that’s in the past. Let’s start looking forward to a new future.”

“Oh yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to live in fear of Hunter and his crew.”

“You’re safe from them now.”

“I don’t feel very safe.”

A loud bang like a car backfiring.

“What was that, Kathleen?”

“Think we’ve got a blowout.”

“You kidding me?”

“Hang on … we’re slowing down. The right rear has blown out. Fuck.”

Meyerstein shook her head and snapped her fingers to get Reznick’s attention. “Jon, they’ve got a blowout.”

Reznick grabbed the phone off her. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Kathleen.”

“Kathleen, now listen to me. Get on the floor. And tell your driver not to slow down. I repeat, do not slow down.”

“They’re pulling over.”

“No! Put the Fed on the line!”

A brief pause. “Special Agent O’Halloran speaking.”

“This is Jon Reznick, working with Assistant Director Meyerstein. What the fuck is going on?”

“Relax, just a blowout.”

“Have you pulled over?”

“Yeah, our driver is having a look.”

“Get the fuck out of there! Do not stop!”

“What are you talking about?” A silence opened up for a few moments. “Shit.”

“What is it?”

“Hold on … I’ve just got out the car to have a look. The tire’s been shot out. High-powered rifle by the look of it.”

Reznick felt sick. “O’Halloran, get your ass out of there. Do you understand?”

Then the line went dead.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Kathleen Burke was sitting in the back of the SUV, a Fed beside her on the phone, two of the Feds outside. “I thought O’Halloran was getting me to a new place. We’re stuck in some shithole in Pensacola. This is bullshit.”

The Fed beside her held up his finger as if she should be quiet. “Yeah, we need a back-up vehicle right away. And a tow truck. Seemingly there’s no spare tire. No idea why.”

Burke shook her head. “Un-be-fucking-lievable. You don’t have a spare set of wheels? You’re the FBI for chrissakes. Are you kidding me?”

The Fed ended the call. “You mind?”

“Look, I heard O’Halloran. Someone shot out the tire.”

“We don’t know. It looks like that.”

“So how long do I have to wait?”

“Help’s on the way. A matter of minutes. It’s a priority.”

“I don’t like this. I’m scared.”

“Kathleen, take a deep breath and get yourself under control.”

Burke closed her eyes. Was it a warning? Or was it a signal they were about to kill her?

TWENTY-EIGHT

Matt Pearce parked up just over a block away after taking the long-range shot on the move. He adjusted the stolen Pensacola police badge round his neck He couldn’t help the grin on his face. He felt on fire.

He was wearing a denim shirt to cover up his jailhouse tattoos, jeans, sneakers and a Dolphins hat and shades. He got out of the car and walked the block toward the SUV with its lights flashing, two suits standing outside, one talking into a cellphone.

Pearce walked up to the Fed on the phone. “Just passing. Can I give you guys a hand?”

The Fed smiled, covered the phone with his hand. “Thanks all the same, officer.” He flashed his badge. “FBI. We got this.”

“You got a flat?”

“I said we got this, officer. Thank you very much.”

Pearce smiled and pulled the 9mm out from the back of his jeans and pressed it against the Fed’s head. He fired once and the blood and brain matter exploded onto the side of the car. He spun round, shot the other Fed point-blank. Then he trained the gun on the Fed inside and blew his brains out.

He opened the rear passenger door.

Time seemed to have slowed down.

Inside, cowering on the floor, was Kathleen Burke, hands trying to shield her face.

“Please! Please! I have a son!”

Pearce aimed the gun at Burke’s head and smiled. “Hunter says hi.” He fired two shots to the back of her head, blood and brain splattering across the leather seats and the windows.

He turned and walked away, warm blood dripping off his face.

TWENTY-NINE

Hunter Cain was dripping in sweat as he pummeled a punching bag in the basement gym of the oceanfront property on Fisher Island, Miami. Upstairs, behind closed drapes, were his two comrades, willing to spill blood and give their lives for what they believed in. But he sensed a growing tension as the hour grew closer.

Cain punched hard with a right and then a left. And then a right. And then a left. Then he did some free weights for half an hour. Then the medicine ball. He pounded the treadmill, clocking up the miles, headphones on. Metallica blaring out loud. He felt the endorphins kicking in.

When Cain was finished, he showered and put on fresh clothes provided by the ex-military instructor who rented the property. It was a tight crew. The way he liked it. He knew each and every one of them.

He went up to the lounge area where Pearce was watching Fox.

“Hey, check this out, Hunter,” he said.

A blonde TV reporter was standing in front a taped-off police crime scene, a car with its doors opened, partially screened from onlookers. “Sources within the FBI have confirmed that three special agents have been shot dead, along with a woman who has not been formally identified. Speculation has mounted that the woman was the target of a gangland assassination.”

Cain stared at the TV and looked at Pearce. “Holy fuck.”

A cellphone begin to ring. Pearce answered. “Yeah, bro, talk to me.” He nodded and looked at Cain. “You want to speak to him?” A nod. Pearce handed him the phone. “Hunter, my brother.”

Cain gathered his thoughts as he stared at the TV image of the car. “Matt, what the fuck were you playing at?”

“Hunter, you asked me to take care of it.”

“You dumb fuck. I wanted her dead. Why didn’t you just kneecap the Feds?”

A long sigh. “Hunter … sorry, I don’t understand, man. I thought you wanted it dealt with?”

“I wanted it dealt with. You know what this is? This is ratcheting things up a notch or ten. Do you understand the heat that we’re going to get for this? Bad enough the jailbreak, but they’re going to dump this right back at my door now. And I’m telling you, man, I ain’t too happy about how you’ve handled this.”

“Hunter, man, what can I say? I thought I was following orders.”

“Since when did I say kill three Feds, you dumb fuck?”

“What do you want me to do?”

Hunter ran a hand through his hair. “You disappear, okay?”

“Got it.”

“No usual haunts. I mean
really
disappear.”

“Mexico?”

“Definitely not Mexico. They’ll have the borders sealed up real good.”

“Montana?”

“Montana is good. Wyoming is good. Just keep out of sight, and disappear. And keep your mouth shut.”

“Hunter, man, I didn’t realize it was going to go down like that.”

Cain sighed. “What’s done is done. The main thing is, she’s gone. But you need to get out of sight for the next two years. Maybe more.”

The line went dead.

THIRTY

Meyerstein was hooked up to a videoconference screen within Miami-Dade police HQ, her boss on the big screen staring down at her.

“Martha, with immediate effect I’m relieving you of your duties. Do you understand?”

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m not going to comply with that instruction.”

“Do you want me to fire you for insubordination?”

“Sir, I’m asking you to listen to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. This is a terrible day for the Bureau. This is a fuck-up. Three special agents killed and a witness all gunned down. I’m appalled.”