Perilous (18 page)

Sommer stared down at the bodies. “These two, and the one back at the house, they’re all Hispanic.” Sommer scratched at the underside of his chin. “Are you sure there are Russians behind this? You’ve never mixed it up with anybody from a cartel or something?”

I shook my head again. “Never anything with any cartel. These guys act like regular street thugs.”

“What makes you say that?” Sommer asked.

“They’re just shooting all over the place, hoping they hit something. The weapon the guy had back at my parent’s house, in the hands of anyone who could aim, is lethal. It’s something a pro would have. But…” I shook my head.

“But what?” Sommer asked.

“The guy just sprayed it through windows. It’s a sniper rifle. From the distance he was at, it should have been crosshairs, trigger, dead. The gun is that good.”

“Be thankful it wasn’t. So, you are certain it’s not a cartel?” Sommer asked.

“Certain. If it was a cartel hit squad, they would have fifty men with automatics. I’d be dead, and so would everyone else. Did your guy catch any chatter over that earbud?”

“If he did, his orders were to call me immediately. He hasn’t called.”

Wakkman walked back toward us and handed Sommer his notepad. “I pulled his sheet in the car. Career criminal. Long list of offenses. I left his sheet up for you to take a look.”

“So that’s a real name?” I asked.

Wakkman confirmed.

“Does the photo look like either of these two?” I asked.

Wakkman stared at the bodies. “Hard to tell.” He shrugged.

“I’ll take a look in a second. Let’s check out the inside of this house quick.”

Sommer, Wakkman, and I headed for the house. We walked in through the front and started looking around.

“Vacation home?” I asked.

“Probably some Illinois folks’ little vacation spot, yeah.” Sommer motioned toward the Chicago Cubs logo on a blanket folded in the corner. “I’ll have someone back at the station get into contact with them.”

“We got some blood in the bathroom back here,” Wakkman said.

Sommer and I walked the short hall and looked in. The bathroom walls were olive green, and beige tile covered the floor. A bathtub was to my right. The toilet took up the back wall, and a small sink and vanity were to our left. Wakkman pointed toward the toilet. Next to it on the floor, by the radiator, was a small amount of smeared blood. We walked over.

“It still looks wet,” I said.

I knelt to get a better look. The olive paint behind the toilet’s base was worn away. Drywall dust mixed with paint chips lay on the floor. It looked like something was scratched into the wall. “One of you have a light on you?” I asked.

Wakkman handed me a small penlight, useful for conducting alcohol-related traffic stops. I thumbed the button and shined it on the area with the marks. I got my face close. Scratched into the wall was the name John Kane and that day’s date. My father had been there that day. He was alive. I showed Sommer and Wakkman.

“They could have been taken from here when that fire was started,” Wakkman said.

My cell phone buzzed against my leg. I slid it out. The screen said it was Callie.

“Hey, Cal.”

“There are two sheriffs here. I just wanted you to know.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Yeah. They came to the door. I guess one of them is going to stay parked in the driveway overnight, and the other is going to stay down the street.”

“Good. That makes me feel a little better.”

“Okay. I think I’m going to go to bed soon, so I just wanted to say good night.”

“All right, babe. I love you. Hey, can I talk to Jeff real quick?”

“Jeff? Um, sure, hold on.”

I heard her call him. He came to the phone.

“Yeah, Carl.”

“Hey. I know you have sheriffs outside, but do me a favor and keep that rifle close.”

“You think—”

I interrupted. “No. Just keep your eyes open for as long as you can.” My other line beeped. I looked at the screen. Faust was calling. “Jeff, I have another call coming in. If you have to sleep, you have to sleep. Just know the most important things in my life are in that cabin. It’s up to you to protect them.”

“I feel the same way. I’m watching, Carl.” Jeff said.

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you guys later.” I clicked over to the other line. “Yeah, Faust.”

“Do you have a pen handy?” he asked.

“I will in a second.” I covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “Sommer, let me get your notepad and pen again.”

He handed them to me. “Just hang on to them.”

I took them and brought the phone back to my mouth. “Ready.”

“We got two different GPS locations on the phones. I looked them up and got the addresses. One is at your father’s. The other three were at another address.”

He rattled the address off. I wrote it down, ripped the page out, and handed it to Sommer. I covered the mouthpiece again. “Sommer, call a couple of guys from my father’s house to back us up. That’s our address.”

“Let’s go.” He pointed toward the door. “Wakkman, come on!” he shouted.

The three of us left the front of the house.

Faust was still on the line as I hopped in the passenger side of Sommer’s cruiser. “Kane?”

“Yeah, I’m still here,” I said.

“The three phones dropped GPS signal about two minutes after we got them. The place looks like it’s just north of your father’s, about fifteen minutes.”

I relayed the message to Sommer, and he called it over his radio. Wakkman followed us out of the driveway and north. I glanced in the side mirror. In the distance behind Wakkman, I saw the lights of more squad cars.

“Are you in the area still?” Faust asked.

“Yeah. We’re leaving for the address now.”

“How far out are you?”

I covered the mouthpiece. “How far away, Sommer?” I asked.

“Thirteen minutes.”

I put my mouth back to the phone. “Thirteen minutes,” I said.

“It will be almost twenty minutes since we’ve had a signal by the time you get there, but I’ll let you know if we get a ping somewhere else,” Faust said.

“Okay, good. What did you get on the names?”

“Daniel Juares is a fake. Though he did just take a flight from Tampa to Milwaukee. Your guy is Jose Gomez. He got popped for robbery a couple years back. He spent a little over a year at USP Coleman. So he has ties to Coleman, where Azarov is. I’m guessing that’s not a coincidence.”

“I’d say you’re right. Anything else on him?”

“Not really. No clue as to why he was out in the woods, shooting at you. He’s a criminal, but nothing to suggest a hired gun. I’m working on pulling his actual phone records now, and we’re looking into his time at Coleman, to see who he ran with there.”

“Thanks, Faust.”

“Ask about the other name while you have him on the line,” Sommer said.

I looked at Sommer and nodded. “Hey, Faust, I have another name—Carlos Cruz.”

“Hold on.”

I waited roughly a minute.

“You still there?” Faust asked.

“Yup.”

“This guy is another graduate of USP Coleman. It seems Mr. Cruz is a little more rough around the edges than Mr. Gomez. He got out a few years ago after doing five years for gun charges. He had a stint in the Marines prior. Looks like he got into drugs, guns, and a string of B and E’s after being discharged. What’s the deal with this guy?”

“He rented the cars they are using.”

“That doesn’t make much sense. The other guy had a fake ID that was good enough to fly with, and this guy uses his real name and information to rent two cars that they plan to commit crimes with?”

“I don’t know, Faust.”

“Let me know what you get at your next stop. I’m going to do a little more digging here. I’ll be in touch.”

“Sounds good. Thanks.”

I hung up and filled in Sommer on the new information.

We made a left off the main street ten minutes later.

Shortly after we turned, Sommer’s radio came alive with a 9-1-1 call. He responded and then looked at me.

“That call just came from the address we are headed to.”

“What did they say?” I asked.

“No one said anything.”

Sommer immediately pulled to the side of the road. Wakkman did the same behind us, as did the two cruisers who’d caught up. We stepped out of the car, and the deputies gathered.

“Everyone just receive that call?” Sommer asked.

The men all confirmed.

“What do we make of it?” Wakkman asked.

“I don’t know. We’ll find out in a minute,” Sommer said. “Here is how this is going to go down. No lights, no sirens. When you see me kill the headlights, you do the same. The lieutenant here and I will pull past the driveway. We’ll pull sideways in the road to block anyone trying to go west. Wakkman, pull in front of the driveway.” He looked to the other two deputies. “Howard, you pull behind Wakkman.” The deputy named Howard confirmed. “Clements, you’re going to mirror me, blocking the road to the east.”

“Okay,” Clements said.

“Body armor goes on now if you’re not already wearing it. Get suited up, and let’s get up there. The address is a mile or so up this road. We’ll park in our positions, group, and approach the house. We may be dealing with hostages, so no shots inside unless we have a clear view. Got it?” he asked.

They all confirmed.

We disbanded. Sommer stopped at his trunk and pulled a vest from inside. “Put that on,” he said, handing it to me.

I pushed it back toward him. “I’m not taking your vest.”

He slapped his coat. “I’m wearing mine. That’s an extra.”

I took off my jacket, strapped the vest on, and pulled my jacket back over.

“Are you carrying?” he asked.

I felt the weight of the pistol I had in my jacket pocket. “I have my father’s Colt 1911.”

“Good,” he said.

We pulled from the side of the gravel road and proceeded. The gravel, mixed with snow, crunched and bounced in the cruiser’s wheel wells. Sommer killed the headlights.

“Quarter mile up,” he said.

Woods lined both sides of the road. The moon was our only source of light. Sommer slowed. I saw a gap in the woods up ahead to our right.

“That’s it there,” he said.

I looked down the driveway as we crept past. The place was lit up inside. A single car sat parked in front. It appeared to be a newer dark Chevy Malibu, our second rental car. Sommer turned sideways in the gravel road and killed the motor. We stepped out. Sommer pulled his service weapon from his hip holster, and I pulled my father’s Colt from my pocket. The other cruisers parked where instructed. We walked toward Wakkman’s car. He got out in a hurry and pointed his gun over the roof.

A handful of police cruisers sped past him, heading north.

“That was fast,” Yury said with a smile.

He continued south. The trip to his destination would take him past both scenes. He neared the first. The car that he’d had the guy set on fire could be seen still smoldering behind a fire truck, a couple of squad cars, and a fire marshal’s red pickup truck. He looked over but didn’t slow. A little over a mile down the street, he caught the red and blues of multiple squad cars lighting up Kane’s parents’ cabin—again he looked without slowing.

The main highway that would take Yury south, before it turned west, lay just a mile up the road. He took his personal cell phone from the center console of the car and dialed.

“Done?” the man asked.

“Done. Moving on to the woman.”

“The parents?”

“I left them to be found. I dialed 9-1-1 from the house before I left. A handful of cops just passed me, heading in that direction.”

“Anything left to tie you to the place?”

“No.”

“Good. Kane will be tied up with his parents, and trying to figure out what exactly went down, for the rest of the night. It gives you plenty of time to take out the bitch. It will be halfway through the day before he realizes something isn’t right. She’ll be dead, and you’ll be back here by then.”

“There are other people at the cabin where she is hiding out. I’m pretty sure it’s the rest of the cop’s family. What would you like done with them?”

“No one lives.”

“Got it.” Yury hung up.

“The front door is open,” Wakkman said.

“Let’s go,” Sommer said. “If we alert them to our presence, this could turn into a shootout, and we don’t know who’s inside. Let’s get up there, quietly, and see what we have.”

We fanned out and headed up the short driveway. Clements and Howard confirmed the car out front as empty. We approached the trailer’s front door.

Sommer whispered over his shoulder, “I’ll take point and get the door. Get guns on the interior as soon as I do.”

We confirmed.

He held his service weapon in his right hand and stood off to one side of the front door, trying to get a look inside through the crack. “Empty,” he said. He pointed in and pushed the door.

We climbed the single step and filed into the room, guns drawn. The small living room was empty, as was the kitchen to the right.

“Hall,” Sommer whispered.

We filed down, clearing the small bedroom and bathroom on the way. Sommer was still our point man, and he came to the last door at the back of the trailer. The light was on, the door half open. He pushed it open the rest of the way and pointed to the floor. I took the doorway as he entered the room. A body lay at my feet. Sommer swung right and quickly cleared the room. A man lay covered in blood in the bed, a pistol resting in his hand on his chest. Sommer disarmed him. The other deputies entered behind us.

“What the hell?” Sommer said.

The man on the floor had been shot in the back of the head. The wall to our left was covered in brain matter and blood.

Sommer checked the man in the bed for a pulse. “This son of a bitch is still alive.” Sommer cuffed him and called on his radio for an ambulance.

I took in the room and its occupants. It appeared that the man in the bed had shot the other while his back was turned.

“Clements, Howard, you two go look around outside,” Sommer said.

They left the room.

“More of your guys, it looks like,” Wakkman said.