Half-Past Dawn (27 page)

“You might say that. Who is downstairs, by the way?”

“Charlie, he’s always down there; some accountant”—Larry pointed at Aaron and Donal—“and three of their friends.”

Jack glanced at the two. “I don’t think these guys have any friends.”

“Oh, and I just sent two detectives from Midtown South, they’re just dropping off. You’ll probably pass them on the way down.” Larry smiled as he pushed the button releasing the security gate and waved them past. “What about you?” Larry said to Josh, who lingered behind.

“Sounds a little crowded down there. I think I’ll wait up here.” Josh held up his cell phone. “I’m waiting for a call, anyway.”

“Suit yourself. There’s a bench over there if you want it,” Larry said as he pointed to the far corner of the lobby.

“Larry,” Jack called out as they arrived at the elevator bank, “don’t tell a soul that you saw me or that we’re downstairs.”

“Mr. Keeler, once a cop, always a cop. You know I have your back.”

The elevator arrived, and the four stepped inside. Just as the doors were closing, Jack smiled and said, “Thanks, Larry.”

• • •

FBI A
GENT
J
OE
Perry stood in the middle of the evidence room, thinking of what a misnomer its name was. The vast space was more like a warehouse or a storage facility than a room.

Perry had been assigned as the liaison with the Bureau of Courts in locating the evidence case in the possession of Mia Keeler before her death that morning.

A day earlier, an internal investigation had begun on her possible connection with evidence tampering, but he had his doubts. He had known Mia for several years, and that was something that was not in her character.

After ten hours here on top of his seventy-five-hour week, Perry was done. He was heading home for a late dinner with his wife and would crawl into bed for at least eight hours before he had to return the next morning. He was leaving behind two young agents, Bracato and Stratton, to ensure security. As both agents were younger than thirty and known for their weekend exploits and surveillance stamina, he had no fear of them being able to pull an all-nighter. Holly Rose Tremont, the analyst provided by the DA’s office, was still poring over computer records and wasn’t planning to leave until after nine. She had gone through the several hundred files in cases brought in since Tuesday but was forced to expand her search once someone realized that Mia might have had her evidence case stashed inside another case that was already down there.

J
ACK PUSHED THE
button for sublevel five, and the cab began its descent. The four banks of elevators were separate and apart from the prison facility serving the sublevels up to the fifth-floor medical and psychiatric facility.

“You realize we are all being recorded,” Jack said without looking up at the security camera.

Donal smiled broadly, looking straight into the lens. Both he and
Aaron reached into their pockets and pulled out small black key-fob-like devices.

“Nobody sees us unless we want them to see us. You think we’d walk into the lobby of this building allowing our pictures to appear all over the place the minute we leave?”

“So, that’s how you didn’t show up on video when you killed the Bonsleys?”

Cristos smiled at Jack but remained silent.

As the car passed sublevel two, Aaron reached inside his jacket and pulled his gun.

“Absolutely not!” Jack shouted at Aaron before turning to Cristos. “You want my cooperation, no guns. Let me just walk in and get the box, and we walk out.” Jack felt as if he were descending into Hades with hell’s minions.

Aaron shook his head, but Cristos nodded in agreement. “No guns … for the moment. You’ve got two minutes to get the case.”

C
HARLIE NODDED TO
Perry, who stood at the exit from the evidence room, buzzing him out the security door into the lobby. Charlie didn’t much like the overly stiff FBI agent who walked around his domain as if he owned it, talking to his own people with respect yet talking down to both Charlie and the female analyst from the DA’s office.

As Perry left, Charlie smiled inwardly. Despite all of Perry’s arrogance, all of his blowhard superiority, Charlie knew he would never find what he was looking for. As far as Charlie was concerned, he was the one who actually controlled the moment. He was well aware of what everyone was looking for, he knew its exact location, and he knew that no matter how many records people pored over, no one would be finding it anywhere in the database. And if and when they decided to go through every box, it could take them weeks before
they found the unregistered evidence box that Jack and Mia had hidden away.

But Charlie also remembered how scared Jack’s wife looked when asked about its contents. When he had heard of their untimely deaths this morning, Charlie knew that it was no car accident that ended their lives. Someone, somehow, gave them a little push. When he had arrived earlier in the day to see the FBI and judicial liaison waiting for him, asking if he knew where an evidence case belonging to Jack Keeler might be, he said he had no idea. It wasn’t in the system.
Deny till you die
; the phrase kept echoing in his head. It was Charlie’s intention to wait until things died down, grab the box himself, and turn it over to Frank Archer.

But now that Charlie knew Jack was alive, that he was on his way to get the case, a new clarity formed in his mind. Jack would set things to right. That’s what he did. It’s what he had always done.

Charlie turned as two cops exited the elevator and stood at the glass window.

“How’s life at Midtown South?” Charlie asked the two detectives who stood on the other side of the security glass.

“Hey, Charlie,” Scott Myers said. “Always fun.”

“You know, the usual summertime mayhem,” Sid Reiner said as he dug through his pants, searching for his ID, cursing under his breath.

Although Reiner thought his words were unheard, Charlie heard it all, their voices amplified through the speaker under the window. Everyone knew Charlie’s rules. Charlie had always been a stickler for protocol, demanding to see proper ID from all cops and detectives who ventured down into this world—his world—no matter if he knew them a lifetime or a day. And if they were his relatives, he asked to see two forms of ID before he granted access. This was his domain. He was charged with protecting it, and if someone wanted to curse his ass out under his breath for enforcing security, that was just fine.

And with Perry now standing in the vestibule, impatiently waiting for the elevator, watching the exchange with judgmental eyes, Charlie was going to ensure that the FBI understood not only how seriously he took his job but also how strongly he carried it out.

Detective Myers stood at the window, holding his ID up for Charlie to see as he laughed at his partner, who grew frantic in his search. Charlie had known Myers and Reiner for a few years now. They were good detectives, but like so many before them, their passion for the job had faded, their appearance sloppy, their attitudes jaded. Charlie didn’t fault them—after all, he was removed from their world, safely hidden behind a wall of glass. Myers and Reiner saw and dealt with things most people couldn’t imagine and did it on a salary that forced you to live paycheck to paycheck.

As Reiner continued to fumble for his ID, the second bank of elevator doors opened, and to Charlie’s surprise, Jack stood there flanked by three men. Larry hadn’t called down, hadn’t told him anyone else was on their way down. They had spoken not two minutes earlier confirming that Myers and Reiner had some evidence to log in, but there was no mention of Jack or three companions.

It was Perry who reacted first at seeing Jack. He stood there speechless, his mouth half open in surprise.

“Mr. Keeler?” Perry said, his normal confidence temporarily on hold.

Jack thrust out his hand in an election-style greeting.

“I’m glad to see you’re alive …” Perry said as he shook Jack’s hand.

“And you are?” Jack asked, a hint of distrust in his voice.

“Joe Perry, FBI.” Perry looked at the other men, his mind beginning to spin. “I hadn’t heard you were alive. And your wife?”

“Alive.”

“Thank God,” Perry said before reverting back to his old self. “Forgive me, but why are you down here?”

“This is my backyard, Mr. Perry, and you’re asking me what I’m doing here?”

“I mean no offense, but your wife, who works for us—”

“Who is still missing,” Jack snapped back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Perry paused. “But if your wife is still missing … why is it this is the place you come to?”

“Charlie,” Jack called out, ignoring the question and hoping to keep the conversation from devolving into a situation where Aaron would feel compelled to reach into his jacket again.

“Mr. Keeler,” Charlie said, “so glad you’re here—”

“Excuse me,” Perry interrupted. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Jack could see Aaron and Donal getting edgy, exchanging glances.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. His mind was flying. Before a single threat was made, Jack knew that disaster was looming. Perry wasn’t going anywhere, and if Jack was to retrieve the case, something would have to give, and sadly, he knew what that was. “Perhaps we could speak in private.”

Cristos looked at Jack, his eyes void of communication but his thoughts clear.

Scott Myers had watched the entire exchange from where he stood by the glass window and, like everyone else, had that same reaction at seeing Jack Keeler come back to life. But when he saw the body language of Keeler’s escorts, his instincts took over, and he cautiously laid his hand upon the Glock 19 at his waist. Not a second later, a bullet caught him in the right cheek before his hand had a chance to draw his gun.

Donal, the barrel of his gun still smoking, turned it on Perry.

From behind the safety of the glass, Charlie grabbed the phone.

Aaron charged Reiner, whose hands were still in his pockets searching for his ID, grabbing him, smashing his face up against the glass as he jammed his pistol into the detective’s neck, twisting his head violently to the side. Aaron looked at Charlie and said, “Drop that phone if you want this man to live.”

Charlie hesitated, staring between Reiner’s desperate eyes and the face of his red-haired attacker.

“Now, open the door.”

Charlie and Reiner stared at each other, fear etched in the detective’s face as his eyes pleaded for help. Charlie was frozen, the phone still in his hand, poised to dial.

Cristos gave a subtle nod, and Aaron pulled the trigger. The blast of the 9mm echoed in the small vestibule as the side of Reiner’s head splattered the window.

Donal grabbed Perry by the back of his collar; his gun jammed into the FBI agent’s neck and shoved him toward the blood-covered window. Aaron released Reiner’s body and let it crumple to the floor. Donal took his place, shoving Perry against the glass.

“Care to have another go at that?” Donal said.

Charlie stared back through the blood-covered window at Jack, sharing a horrified look as they both stood there powerless.

But Aaron wasn’t waiting. He reached into the black bag on his shoulder and withdrew an egg-sized ball. A small LED device protruded from the malleable substance. He rolled it around in his hand, fingered two small buttons on the LED, and jammed it up onto the bloody glass.

“You are a stubborn one,” Donal said to Charlie. And without another word, Donal pulled the trigger, killing Perry.

Charlie, in shock from the sight of death close up, stared at the Silly Putty-like glob. The moment hung there as he finally realized what it was … and dived for cover.

The small explosion shattered the three-inch-thick window as if it was a wine glass thrown to the floor. The accompanying fireball rolled up to the ceiling and curled back down.

Without waiting for the smoke to clear, Aaron climbed through the three-by-three foot hole onto the reception desk and leaped down on top of Charlie, who rolled around on the ground with shards of bloody glass embedded in his skin. Aaron kicked him in the gut and quickly turned to the console, wiping the glass from the surface. He found and thumbed the red door button. The buzzer sounded, and Cristos, Donal, and Jack came charging in.

Donal shucked the bag off his shoulder and onto the counter as he looked around the room. He reached down to Charlie, taking his gun and handcuffs.

Cristos turned to Aaron. “There are three in there. Clear the room so Mr. Keeler can get what we came for.”

Jack raced to Charlie’s side, leaning over him, running his hands around his body, looking for serious injury.

“I’m so sorry,” Jack whispered before being violently snatched to his feet by Cristos.

“Time to save your wife.”

F
RIDAY
, 8:45
P.M
.

B
RACATO AND
S
TRATTON SAT
in the back of the evidence room at a makeshift desk, feeling like overqualified guards, as Holly whirred away at her computer, trying to locate the evidence case that might or might not be down there.

Stratton didn’t mind babysitting Holly. He had always liked blondes and had been partial to the more athletic types, a description that the twenty-five-year-old Holly easily fit. He hoped at least to get her phone number by the end of their shift.

Greg Stratton was the senior of the two agents. He and Carl Bracato were in their third year as partners and had developed a substantial and successful case history in the white-collar crime division. Stratton had thought it ironic; after all of the training they went through at Quantico, all of the weapons and hand-to-hand skills they had developed, they had never even drawn their Glock 23s from their holsters. Having met on the first day of class, they were always competitive, Stratton seeming to edge out Bracato in everything from target practice to exams to navigating city streets in mock car chases.

Stratton might have been the better shot, the smarter of the two, but Bracato was the one who wasted no time in seizing the day. He had already set up dinner with Holly for next week.