The Promise: An Elvis Cole and Joe Pike Novel (26 page)

R
ED NEON FISH
slid across her SUV as Hess drove toward me. White fish and green fish, cast by headlights, traffic lights, and pulsing Hollywood Boulevard streetlights, swam over gleaming paint. Janet Hess stopped with the nose of her car so close our vehicles kissed. I wondered what she drove in her real life, and if she was married with children. I wondered whether her life would be ruined after tonight, or if she would ruin mine.

I got into her car as I had each time before, only this time I carried my laptop.

“I’m your best friend. Learn to love me.”

“Did you find them?”

Them. Not Amy.

“Here. You can see for yourself.”

I held the laptop so both of us could see.

“Kinda like we’re at a drive-in, isn’t it?”

“Is the show-and-tell necessary? What is this?”

“Watch.”

The video was cued up and ready. Amy was seated on the left side of her couch, feet flat on the floor, palms on her thighs, staring at nothing.

Hess frowned as if she wasn’t quite sure.

“Amy.”

“Yes.”

“Where is this?”

“Watch.”

“Where did you get this?”

“Watch.”

Amy sat without moving for twenty-five seconds, then looked toward the door two seconds before we heard three fast, light knocks. Amy stood, and went to the door. She momentarily disappeared on the bottom left side of the screen, then reappeared as she stepped back to open the door. I froze the image.

Hess glanced up, confused.

“What happened? Why’d you stop?”

“Charles is about to come in. I didn’t want you to see him.”

“Stop acting stupid. Show me.”

“If you see him, you’ll recognize him, Janet. He works for you.”

“What did you call me?”

I nodded at the video.

“Only this isn’t part of his job. He’s on his own time here. Like you.”

I closed the laptop, and tucked it under my leg.

“I called you Janet. As in Hess. See?”

I showed her a print of her government Web page, and the pictures Pike took on the day he followed her. I had one picture left, but I saved it.

“This would be you, on your official Homeland Security Web page. And here’s us, together in this vehicle. And here you are again, swapping this vehicle for your G-ride in Long Beach. Note the public parking lot, so you can swap cars without anyone from your office seeing you.”

I slid the prints onto the dash.

“You hired me to find Charles, not Amy. And I’m not ready to give him to you.”

A shadow cut her face in half, masking her eyes. A car swung past, and the mask was swept away by its lights. Her eyes were thoughtful and calm. She was studying me when the shadow returned.

“You would be wrong, Mr. Cole. I’m conducting a special operation.”

“No doubt. You think the director will buy it?”

“Of course. It’s the truth.”

“I’m thinking about telling him a truer truth. Namely, that seven hard cases involving explosives and high-value technology vanished here in his L.A. Field Office during the past two years. And then I’ll tell him about the unknown subject who came along, offering explosives and explosives technology to al-Qaeda, which would make this case number eight, because it went away, too. Which was when the SAC—this would be you, Janet—began to suspect an agent in her office was involved, and the SAC—you, again—decided to violate protocol, and bring in a civilian investigator—this would be me.”

Hess stared.

“How do you know this?”

“Magic.”

She glanced at the prints, and the corner of her mouth curled. A smile.

“Looks like I hired the right man.”

“One lie too many, Janet. Thomas Lerner. Really?”

“Stop playing games. Who is he, and where are they?”

“You screwed up, Janet. Making up Thomas Lerner? Did you think I was stupid?”

“What I thought was you’d find an empty house and maybe some stolen goods. I sure as hell didn’t think you’d walk into a murder and a cache of stolen munitions.”

“You knew Amy was trying to contact al-Qaeda?”

“I didn’t know Amy Breslyn’s name until two weeks ago. The real Meryl Lawrence called. Amy’s behavior had her concerned, so she wanted us in the loop. I put it together from there.”

“And realized you had a problem.”

“That’s one way of saying it, yes.”

“Al-Qaeda isn’t part of your problem. There aren’t any terrorists.”

“Of course not. Al-Qaeda! Please, the new bogeyman. The buyer’s a hijacker named Eli Sturges. ATF heard Sturges was getting his crew together, so the SAC gave me a shout. It was happening fast. Sturges has been linked to a fence named Colinski, and Colinski’s been linked to the house, so I needed an agent on the house or I’d miss my chance.”

“Me being your agent.”

“C’mon, Cole, I have a rotten agent. I didn’t have time to mount an internal investigation, and I sure as hell didn’t want him to suspect I was onto him.”

“Did Amy embezzle money?”

Hess glanced away, almost as if she were embarrassed.

“No. I wanted to put a bug in your ear about Charles.”

“Do you know what she’s selling?”

“She offered al-Qaeda her expertise, and a quantity of material. I don’t know how much.”

“Two hundred kilograms of a plastic explosive. These particular explosives are not marked by taggants.”

She rolled her eyes, and maybe looked worried.

“Do you know where it is?”

“I’ll find out tomorrow, and take it.”

“You’re not going to do anything, Cole, except tell me where these people are.”

“No, Janet, I’m going to do plenty. I’m going to drop you dead-center in your director’s lap, unless I get what I want.”

She rolled her eyes again.

“A shakedown. Please.”

I patted the laptop.

“Or maybe I won’t do anything. Maybe I’ll lose this, and leave you stuck with a rotten agent. Then you can go to work every day, and wonder which one.”

“Whoa! Whoa-whoa-whoa, Cole, this is a federal investigation. You’re in no position to threaten me.”

I leaned toward her, and didn’t smile.

“No, ma’am. It’s a Janet Hess investigation. So what’s actually going to happen is, you’re going to call the U.S. Attorney. By eight tomorrow morning, I want a written agreement granting immunity to Amy Breslyn from all charges—”

She slapped the prints on the dash. She was angry, and her voice was loud.

“These prove nothing. I discussed an investigation with you. I sought your expertise in a complex local matter, and, brother, you came through. This kind of thing is done all the time.”

“Not by a Special Agent in Charge. You might’ve been a shit-hot street agent back in the day, but now you’re management.”

“I’m the SAC. The SAC can send whoever she wants.”

“Seeing as how she sent herself, I’m betting the director doesn’t know. You’re working off the books, kind of like Meryl Lawrence. You’re off the reservation, Janet, and you’re breaking the law.”

We stared at each other for what felt like a couple of hours until she sighed.

“What do you want?”

“A written agreement granting immunity for—”

She interrupted.

“No way, Cole. The woman offered her services to foreign terrorists. I appreciate the trauma she’s suffered, but I cannot ignore what she’s doing.”

“You don’t know what she’s doing. You have no idea.”

“She offered support and weapons to fucking lunatics. Terrorists.”

I showed her the last picture. It was the picture I snapped of Amy’s workroom with the fine leather jacket.

“That’s what she wants them to think, Janet, but that isn’t what she’s doing.”

“What is this?”

“She’s planning to wear it tomorrow when she meets the people she thinks are al-Qaeda. See the pouches in the lining? She isn’t helping them, Janet. She’s delivering a bomb. She’s going to kill them.”

Hess stared at the picture, glanced at me, and turned away.

“I hate this.”

“Full immunity by eight
A.M.
, subject to her agreement to cooperate and testify, and present herself for a psychiatric evaluation and counseling, if so ordered by the judge. I get the notarized paper, you get the agent.”

She was still staring, but her eyes were softer.

“I don’t know if I can get it done that fast.”

“No paper, no agent. And one more thing.”

“I’m not saying I won’t. I might not get it done in time.”

“No paper, no agent. You’re going to call the chief of police. Call him tonight.”

“LAPD?”

“Yes. They suspended a K-9 officer named Scott James for helping me.”

“The cop from Echo Park?”

“You’re going to take the bullet for Officer James. You’re going to tell the chief James was working for you, and with your assurance his involvement was legal, and in the national interest. You’ll say you recruited him because he met the suspect, and you used the power of your position to convince the officer to conceal his involvement, even though you knew this to be against LAPD policy.”

“I’ll look like an asshole.”

“You’ll apologize, and you’re going to convince the chief to make this right.”

“Jesus, Cole, I get it.”

She frowned at her watch. I knew she was feeling the pressure, but I also knew she would give it a shot.

I said, “Agent Hess?”

She looked at me, and I patted the laptop.

“I got him for you. You can have him.”

“And then what? Nothing here will be admissible.”

“The truth is what we agree to.”

She stared at me, waiting, and maybe I waited, too.

I said, “Thomas Lerner exists. I met him exactly as I stated to Carter.”

She leaned back, and watched me.

“You didn’t hire me. I became involved while trying to find Lerner, exactly as I claimed in my statement, and, being me, I investigated. I discovered a link between the house and Colinski, and a possible connection with an employee of Woodson Energy. Since Carter had accused me of being involved, I didn’t bring this information to the police. I brought it to you, which is how you and I met. You immediately looked into these things, and discovered the criminal involvement of one of your agents.”

I stopped, and waited some more. I knew she was thinking, but I couldn’t tell what.

“This thing happens tomorrow, Janet. Help me save Amy, and you’ll get your agent, and whoever else happens to be there.”

Hess nodded, and her face looked softer, there in the shadows.

“This is why I hired you, Mr. Cole.”

I opened the door, slid out, and looked at her.

“Get the immunity, and take care of James. You have my cell. The next time you call, I’ll answer.”

I closed her door, went to my car, and drove back to Silver
Lake.

Jon Stone

J
ON CLEANED HIS WEAPON
S
while Amy Breslyn slept. The two .45s and the M4, though he didn’t expect to use them. Ritual. He cleaned them in the dark, sitting in the Rover’s back seat.

When the guns were away, he fired the engine to recharge his power packs. The power packs supplied juice for the laptop, his satellite transceiver, and cell phones. While the power packs charged, he slipped out of the Rover with his toiletry kit, and stood in a dark pool of shadow. Three minutes after four in the
A.M.
, the little street was sleeping.

Jon stretched deep from the hips, getting his hamstrings and spine, and twisted to warm his core. He clicked off a hundred push-ups, stretched, and knocked out a hundred lunges. He finished up with a hundred burpees, and a nice little sweat. Wasn’t much, but he did what he could.

Jon shaved and brushed his teeth, then took off his clothes. He cleaned himself with wet wipes and a bottle of water, and put on the fresh clothes Cole brought from his home. Breakfast was trail mix, a banana, and two protein bars. By then, the sky was beginning to lighten, so Jon took his place behind the wheel.

These cops Cole brought were a pain. This woman Hess? An idiot. The government agents who tagged along? Fuckups waiting to happen. Delta didn’t allow fuckups. Fuckups got people killed.

Hess rolled in like she was in charge, and laid out her plan to approach Ms. Breslyn. The ‘first contact’ team would consist of two women and an older, but nonthreatening, man. The team would include herself, another woman, and the man, the other woman being a shrink in her forties, and the man being a U.S. Attorney with a gentle, assuring presence. First contact, like Ms. Breslyn was an alien. Hess was explaining how their ‘first contact’ had to be staged when Jon interrupted.

“Forget the team. I’m going to approach her, and I’ll be alone. Thanks.”

Hess and her suits lit up like flares, so Jon turned off his radio.

A little while later, they called his phone, and asked if he’d wear a wire.

“No.”

Jon sat in the Range Rover cocoon, listened to Amy sleep, and knew people were beyond the edge of the darkness. Talking and planning, positioning cars at egress points to cover the house, and setting up at the storage facility. No one knew how Amy would react, or which way this would go, so they had to be flexible. Jon resented their intrusion.

The deep blue canopy paled, and lights went on in a couple of
houses. Construction workers come early to beat the morning crush arrived, parked, and leaned back to catch a few last-minute zees.

The image on Jon’s laptop grew visible as Amy’s room lightened with the dawn. At five fifty-one, her arm moved. At five fifty-two, her leg. She checked her watch at five fifty-eight, and sat up stiffly, the way people do, after a long sleep.

Jon pressed the push-to-talk.

“She’s up.”

Pike said, “Rog.”

Cole said, “Need anything?”

“Yeah. Keep those people away from me.”

Cole didn’t answer, and neither did Hess. Stone knew she was listening.

Amy did her business, then went to the kitchen. She stayed for several minutes, came out with a cup of coffee, and returned to the bedroom. She selected an outfit, laid it out on the bed, and went into the bathroom with the coffee. He heard the sink, and then the shower. Seeing her clothes laid out made him think of a mortuary, the way morticians laid out clothes as they prepared to dress a corpse. Jon tried to stop thinking about it, but the image stayed with him.

He wondered at her inner landscape. In a few hours, Amy would put on an explosive device, and end her own life, yet she had slept soundly. She appeared calm and relaxed before she went to bed, and seemed comfortable and at ease now. Maybe she was at peace with this terrible end. Maybe she was relieved.

Amy came out naked, and went to the bed.

Jon touched her image.

“Not on my watch.”

She dressed, poured herself a second cup of coffee, and sat on the
couch in the living room with her computer. Jon watched for signs of messaging, but decided she was reading the news.

At two minutes after seven, she put the coffee cup in the kitchen, returned to the bedroom, and took the large purse and fringed coat from the closet.

Jon pressed the push-to-talk.

“Five or less. She’s getting ready.”

He shut the Rover’s engine, and pocketed the keys.

Hess spoke from the two-way.

“Don’t fuck up.”

Bitch.

Amy stopped in the living room to put on the jacket, and hung the big purse from her shoulder.

Jon left the Rover and walked toward her house. He’d wanted to meet Amy and talk to her since he learned about Jacob, and now here they were. Groovy.

Hess had no idea. She was clueless, and here for the wrong reasons.

Amy was locking the front door when Jon reached the steps. She gripped the rail as she always did, and started down, one step at a time, watching her feet as if she were afraid she would fall. She didn’t see him.

Jon climbed a few steps, and waited.

She took another step, and another. She finally saw him, and startled, as if he’d given her a fright.

Jon smiled, and held out his hand.

“My name is Jon. I’m here about Jacob.”

She seemed startled again.

“How do you know him?”

“I don’t, but I’ve been there, where he died. I’d like to tell you about it. Let’s go up. We’ll talk.”

Jon followed her up to the house, where he sat with Amy Breslyn. He said things he couldn’t have said if he had worn the wire, but they made her feel better, and gave Amy hope.