The Gatekeeper (20 page)

“T
hey’re not talking,” Agent Taylor said, handing her a cup of coffee.

Kelly smiled at him. “I figured.”

“Getting a lot of that these days,” Rodriguez commented. They were sitting on the warehouse’s loading dock. Behind them, the building throbbed with activity. Agents from the San Antonio field office were interviewing the illegals. Jethro and Jim were waiting for transport to a federal detention facility. Despite repeated attempts at questioning, they continued to issue the same response.

“Yeah? I’ve never seen anything like it.” Taylor shook his head. “Who else?”

“Bunch of skinheads in Arizona.”

“Arizona? That connected to the Morris killing?” Taylor’s eyebrows knit together. He was in his early forties, dark hair gelled back and a suit that had seen better days.

“We think so, but we’re not sure,” Kelly said.

“What’s with the float?” Taylor jerked his head toward it.

“The Mexicans said they were supposed to ride in the parade next week, then slip off into the crowd.”

Taylor shook his head. “This pair has Minutemen written all over them. Can’t figure out why they’d be running illegals.”

“We can’t, either,” Kelly said. “Have you had any trouble with them before?”

Taylor shrugged. “ICE will be here soon, they’ll have more information. There have been scattered reports here and there, bodies found in the desert, rumors that some of these guys have gone vigilante. But nothing solid.”

“Nothing you’ve pursued, you mean,” Rodriguez said.

Taylor narrowed his eyes. “Like I said, that falls to the folks at ICE. But you know how it is down here. Locals are complaining that the fence isn’t enough to stop them. But it’s harder to make it across now, so more illegals try the desert. The number of them who die out there has skyrocketed. They found ten young girls this week, they’d been dead a few days so there wasn’t much left. And there’s less and less money to do anything about it. I got a pal works the border, he’s supposed to cover three hundred miles a night on his rounds. He stopped driving an ATV after nearly losing his head running into a trip wire the coyotes strung up. Then, if he catches anyone, he’s supposed to stop them himself. Half the time they scatter or throw rocks at him. Maybe he gets one or two.”

“And I thought we had a shit job,” Rodriguez said.

Taylor nodded. “No kidding, they should get combat pay. And God help them if they stumble across drug runners, some of those gangs carry UZIs. So folks around here turn a blind eye to people doing something about it. The Minutemen refer to themselves as true patriots, claim they’re keeping America safe for Americans.” He jerked his head in the direction of the office. “My guess is these boys fall in that category.”

“But their side business is running people across the
border? That doesn’t make sense.” Kelly’s brows knit together.

Taylor shrugged. “Nope, you’re right. And what’s the connection to the Morris case?” She and Rodriguez didn’t answer. He eyed them, then said, “So what’s your next step, barring these guys talking?”

“There’s another place to check in Texas,” Kelly said. “Outside Houston.”

“You got enough for a warrant?”

“Maybe, based on this bust. We could claim linkage, say we suspect a similar criminal enterprise is taking place since they’re both owned by the same shell corporation.”

“I know a friendly judge in that district. You want me to make a call?” Taylor offered.

“That would be great,” Kelly said.

“Guessing you’ll need backup, too,” Taylor said, glancing at Rodriguez. “I gotta say, you look like hell.”

“Thanks,” Rodriguez said wryly.

“There are some good people in the Houston office, I’ll see about getting them to tag along.” Taylor glanced at his watch. “You catch the next flight, you could be there in a couple of hours. I’ll try to have everything ready by then.”

“Listen, we really appreciate the help,” Kelly said, scrambling to her feet. “You sure you don’t need us here?”

“Nah, it’s all over except for the paperwork. But next time you kick up a shitstorm like this, I’d appreciate a heads-up first.”

“Will do,” Kelly said, neglecting to add that hopefully there wouldn’t be a next time, at least not for her. “And if you wouldn’t mind waiting a few hours to process our friends, we’d appreciate that.”

“You want to make sure they don’t warn their buddies
in Houston, huh?” Taylor grinned. “I think it’ll take some time to get them to a telephone.”

“Perfect,” Kelly said. Taylor shook her hand, then headed back inside.

“So I’m guessing this means we don’t get to sleep?” Rodriguez asked, stretching his arms above his head and yawning for dramatic effect. “Or have a decent meal?”

“Later. We need to jump on this before anyone gets wind of what happened here.” Kelly felt a rush of adrenaline. They were onto something, she could feel it. And whatever was in Houston might provide the final piece that explained everything.

“Yeah, yeah. Duty calls.”

“You don’t have to come, you know.” Kelly eyed him. In spite of his joking tone, he looked exhausted and there was a thread of pain in his voice. “I’ll have backup.”

“And miss out on seeing Houston? Never,” Rodriguez said. He lurched clumsily to his feet, wincing. His limp seemed worse as she followed him back inside.

As they walked past the processing table that had been set up, Kelly avoided the pleading eyes of the illegals. They were being taken to a detention center, then in all likelihood would be shipped back across the border.

“Señora!”
one of them called out.
“Por favor!”

Kelly ignored them and kept walking. She tried not to think about all those bodies in the desert, the ones who had failed. In a few weeks, some of these people might be facing the same obstacles again, undertaking the long, deadly trek through the wilderness. Jethro glared as she passed him. He and Jim were shackled to chairs, a couple of agents standing guard over them.

Kelly’s phone buzzed, the caller ID reading
ASAC McLarty.
Kelly hit the ignore button. She’d have to call her boss soon to get approval for marshaling Houston
field office agents, and for the warehouse search warrant. It was a conversation she wasn’t looking forward to. In fact, there was a good chance that by this time tomorrow, she would officially be out of a job.

“Motorcycles,” Jake said. His voice was muffled, shirt pulled up over his mouth to filter the smoke. They were still a hundred feet from the house, but rolling clouds of soot swept through the trees, stinging his nose and tightening his chest. There was a line of bikes parked a few feet away. “Maybe that Stockton gang Dante hung with. You think the Grants were in there when it lit up?”

“I doubt it,” Syd said, fumbling with her radio. “Otherwise the bikes would be gone. Dangel must’ve drawn them off with the van so that Maltz could get the others out.”

“God, I hope you’re right,” Jake said, watching the fire lick the nearest trees. “This whole place is going to be destroyed if the fire department doesn’t get here soon.”

“Not likely. An area like this, it’s probably all volunteer. Might take them an hour, minimum.” Speaking into her radio, she said, “Maltz, this is Syd. Do you read?”

They both listened. Static poured out. Then the sound of Maltz’s voice, choked and garbled.

“Can you make that out?” Jake asked.

Syd shook her head. “Nope, they must already be over the hill.” She squinted past what remained of the house toward the river. On the farside, foothills lined the horizon.

“But on the plus side, it sounds like they’re still alive,” Jake said.

“Maltz, at least.” Syd walked briskly back toward the car. “We need to find a road close to where they’ll come out. Let’s check the map.”

Suddenly, she bucked forward. Jake heard the concus
sion a beat later. He instinctively dove to the ground and scrambled for cover behind the nearest tree. Syd lay facedown ten feet in front of him. She wasn’t moving.

“Syd!” he hissed.

Another shot kicked up the dirt a few feet away. Clearly not all of the bikers had followed Maltz into the woods. And one of them was a hell of a shot. Jake checked his HK, making sure the safety was off and that it held a full clip. The fire and smoke made it hard to see and his eyes smarted from the heat, forcing him to squint.

He saw Syd’s foot shift, and a wave of relief rolled over him. Apparently the sniper witnessed the movement, too, because the leaves next to her ankle jumped. Jake gritted his teeth. Syd was wearing a vest, and flat against the ground she presented a tricky target. If he ran out to try and save her, there was an excellent chance he’d be hit instead. But the alternative was letting the sniper take potshots until one struck home.

Deciding, Jake fired a volley of shots, counted to five, then sent another hail of bullets in the sniper’s general direction. Without hesitation he raced from the tree line and lunged for Syd, grabbing her ankle. He felt something hit his calf. With an almost superhuman surge of strength he swung her behind an enormous tree. Jake dropped down beside her, breathing hard and clutching at his leg. He patted it all over, then yanked up his cuff. Nothing: he was unharmed. He sent a silent thanks to his guardian angel and turned his attention back to Syd. She was lying on the ground, unconscious.

“Christ, Syd,” he muttered, checking her for bleeding.

Maltz dumped Madison on the ground near her mother and Bree, then went to confer with the other commandos. It felt like they’d been traveling for miles. They’d gone
up and over three hills already, sticking to orchards when they could, cutting through open fields quickly, everyone who could run bent double. They’d passed a few houses but Maltz gave them a wide berth, refusing to stop for help. When Madison asked why, he explained they didn’t know the area well enough to know who to trust, some of these houses might even belong to the bikers. The thought gave Madison a chill. It was starting to feel like the whole world was chasing her, that she’d never be safe. She was beginning to believe they’d be running forever.

“You okay, honey?” her mother asked with concern, running a hand across Madison’s cheek. Her teeth chattered through the words. She and Bree both looked frozen now that they’d stopped moving. Madison was the only one who hadn’t had to wade through the fast-moving river. She wondered what time it was, her stomach was rumbling. She wished she’d eaten more at breakfast.

“I’m fine, Mom.” She huddled closer, and her mother drew her in with one arm.

Maltz approached. “They’re still on us,” he said, voice grim. “A few have dropped away, but Fribush saw the rest about a mile back. Looks like they know these hills, and they have some tracking experience. So we better get moving.”

“I’m so tired,” her mother said in a thin voice. She didn’t look well, eyes hollowed out, skin waxy. She probably hadn’t slept much since Madison had been taken, and now she was being subjected to this.

“We’re hoping it’s not much farther, ma’am,” Maltz said. “I’m trying to raise Syd Clement on the radio. She and Riley are meeting up with us.”

“Then what?” Madison asked. “There are only two of them. How will that make a difference?”

Maltz crouched beside her. “Ready to go?”

Madison sighed, but let herself be hauled back up. Her mother and sister struggled to their feet, clearly bone-tired. They set off again, unconsciously falling into the same pattern: a commando in the lead, followed by her sister and mother, then Maltz and her. Jagerson brought up the rear.

They’d gone a few hundred feet when Madison heard a shout. She raised her head off Maltz’s back and saw a glimmer in the trees where they’d just been resting. Another yell, then a shot was fired. Without any warning she was dropped to the ground.

“Looks like we’re going to have to make a stand,” Maltz said.

R
andall watched, completely disheartened, as they loaded the last barrel onto a truck. It had been encased in a large wooden crate, identical to dozens of others still waiting to be loaded. A forklift maneuvered it into position, then slid it all the way to the back.

“Where does it go now?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” Dante was monitoring the packing, making sure the crate containing the barrel was completely buried behind the others. The other two trucks were already waiting by the door.

Randall rubbed his arm. He’d stripped off the PPE suit, acknowledging the inevitable. A long red burn had appeared, though whether it was an actual rash or due to his constant scratching was debatable. “You’re going to kill me anyway,” Randall said with detachment. “No reason not to tell me.”

“No reason to tell you, either.”

“I’m guessing you’ll kill my family, too,” Randall said.

Dante shrugged, his face unreadable. “We’re not animals.”

At this, Randall barked a laugh. Dante turned and
scowled at him. “Killing Americans isn’t what we’re about, Grant. The ones who died gave their lives for the greater good.”

“The greater good? Do you even know what that means?” Randall shook his head. “You’re spouting someone else’s rhetoric.”

Dante’s brow darkened. “It’s not rhetoric.”

“Says the moron who probably couldn’t use the word in a sentence,” Randall scoffed. “Fine, don’t tell me. Your bomb will never work, anyway.”

“What?”

“It won’t work.” Randall shook his head. “Did you honestly think I’d help you, knowing you’d kill my family regardless?”

“What did you do?” Dante’s eyes narrowed.

“Go to hell,” Randall spat.

Without replying Dante whipped out a gun, took a step forward, and fired twice. With an expression of surprise on his face, Randall crumpled to the ground.

Dante watched blood pool around the ruins of Grant’s head. A rumbling, and the first truck rolled down the ramp and out of the warehouse. His gut told him that Grant had been lying. He was too scared to fuck with them, knowing what they were capable of. He was just trying to make them think the plan wouldn’t work. But still…if it failed, Jackson would have his head on a platter.

Dante caught up with the last truck as it was about to exit the building, swinging himself into the cab. He eyed the reflection of Grant’s lifeless form in the side mirror. He had to admit, for a pinhead the guy had some balls. The question was, how far had he been willing to go?

“Syd?” Jake checked her pulse. There was a thin trickle of blood by her temple. He probed it—shallow,
probably just a scrape from hitting the ground. She was still breathing, he could see the steady rise and fall of her chest. He lifted her shoulder carefully, turning her on her side. If she’d taken a bullet, it would have been in the back. They were both wearing vests, so unless it was armor-piercing it shouldn’t have penetrated. No sign of blood on her shirt. He felt along her back, the contours of the vest hard against his hand.

She shifted suddenly.

“You okay?” Jake began lowering her down, but she batted his hand away.

Syd’s voice was strained as she said, “That was, hands down, the worst extraction ever.” She sat up stiffly.

Jake could have cried from relief. “Christ, you scared me.”

“Thank God for Kevlar.” She rapped her vest, wincing slightly. “Still feels like I got shot in the back, though. No blood?”

“Nope. If you want to strip down, I can double-check.”

“Sounds like some good kinky fun. But we’ll have to save that for later.” Syd rolled her head from one shoulder to the other. “Our friend still around?”

As if in response, wood spit off the tree they were hiding behind. “We’re pinned down,” Jake confirmed.

“Fantastic. Any word from the others?”

Jake had completely forgotten about the radio. He glanced around but didn’t see it. “I think it dropped when you got hit.”

She gave him a hard look. “And you didn’t retrieve it?”

“I decided to grab you instead,” Jake retorted, a flush rising in his cheeks. “But the radio would probably be more grateful.”

“More useful, anyway.” Syd pulled herself up until she was leaning back against the tree. “Has he moved?”

“Not yet, as far as I can tell.”

“Well, he’ll be coming in soon, he knows he’s got us. He’ll look for a better angle on this side of the tree. We need to keep moving, distract him.”

“I think he’s got a laser sight. His aim was too good,” Jake said.

“How many rounds do you have left?”

Jake checked. “Plenty, as long as we aren’t here for a few days.”

“All right.” Syd checked her own weapon, moving awkwardly. “We should move.”

Jake eyed her with concern. “You sure you can manage it?”

“Please. I once made it five miles with a bullet in my side. I can handle it.” She shifted to a crouch, gun ready. “Let’s head toward the river, we can split up there and trap him between us.”

“That brings us farther from the car.”

“We take care of him, then go back for the radio and call Maltz from the car.” Sensing his skepticism, she laid a hand on his arm and said, “Trust me, Jake. I’ve been through worse.”

Jake was having a hard time imagining a worse scenario. He’d never been pinned down like this. Despite his stint in the FBI and later work in private security, the past few days had presented the hairiest situations of his life. Maybe he wasn’t really cut out for this new line of work. But he wasn’t about to admit that to Syd, who unless he was sorely mistaken was thoroughly enjoying herself.

“On three,” she said. “One…two…”

The crack of a rifle, and a yelp. They exchanged glances. “What the hell was that?” Jake asked.

Suddenly, a garbled voice. It took Jake a minute to
realize it was being filtered through a loudspeaker. He shrank deeper into the shadows of the tree.

“More hostiles?” Syd hissed in his ear.

“I don’t think so.” Someone was barking orders. Another exchange of fire, then silence.

“I still say we make for the river,” Syd said in a low voice.

A figure approached through the trees, silhouetted hazy-blue by the smoke. Jake stiffened, tightening his grip on his gun.

The man shouted to be heard over the roar of the fire, “Jake Riley, get your ass out here!”

“Who the hell is that?” Syd asked. She looked stupefied.

“The fucking cavalry,” Jake said, face splitting in a wide grin as he stood and emerged from the shadows.

“Thanks for coming,” Jake said, shaking George Fong’s hand as he took him in. The years had been kind to George. He still had that lanky surfer look, broad across the shoulders, lean in the hips, dark hair longer than Bureau specifications. Not surprising since he’d been raised in Hawaii, son of a Japanese mother and native father.

“You kidding? My life is dull now, I can use the excitement.” George nodded toward the burning farmhouse. “Up to trouble as usual, huh? We found a couple good ol’ boys with a sniper rifle. Don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”

Jake shrugged, and George’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, it’s not what you think,” Jake said defensively. “I’m one of the good guys.”

“Benicia P.D. doesn’t seem to agree. They’ve got a BOLO out for you, something about a couple of dead guys on a boat and a missing girl?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“Sure it isn’t.” George crossed his arms. A beam in the house collapsed with a thundering crack. “Nice handiwork.”

“Not mine.”

“Glad to hear it. Any bodies in there?”

“Not that I know of, but we didn’t get a chance to check.”

“We?” George raised an eyebrow.

Jake glanced back. Syd had finally come out of hiding and was approaching slowly, looking ready to flee at the slightest provocation. “This is my new partner, Syd.”

George looked her over appreciatively. “Sure, the hot former-spy girl. Man, I might have to join this new company.”

“We’re not hiring yet,” Syd responded, trailing her eyes over him, “but I’ll certainly take it into consideration.”

“Perfect. We’ll be all set for our first sexual harassment lawsuit,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. He hated to admit it, but the flirtation bothered him. Of course, women always took to George. It was one of the reasons they’d bonded—the two of them could walk into a Georgetown bar and have the pick of the place. He and George had gone through the Academy together, then split off into different field offices—Jake to Seattle, George to San Francisco. He was one of the few people Jake stayed in touch with after being expelled from the Bureau.

“I’d never sue such a lovely lady,” George said.

“Jesus,” Jake groaned. “So how many agents did you bring?”

“Three from the field office, since it was last-minute,” George said, suddenly all business. “Just so you know, they’re under the impression we’re bringing you in.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, and George shrugged. “Hey,
only way I could get any official support. Bureau rules. And even then I had to link it to the kidnapped girl.” He glanced around. “She behind one of these trees, too?”

“We think they set off on foot, probably across the river. She’s with three of my men, her mother and her sister,” Syd said. She’d retrieved the radio and was tinkering with it. “Maltz, do you copy?”

The only response was static.

“And unless the kid joined a biker gang, it appears they’ve got company?” George asked.

“Definitely. We’re not sure how many, though.”

“Christ, Jake. I can always count on you to get my ass in a sling.” George rubbed his chin. “All right. We’ll head north on route 128, across the river. With any luck, we’ll pick up their signal. I’ll see if I can raise the locals to help.”

“You sure the locals aren’t the problem?” Syd asked skeptically.

“My, aren’t we paranoid. You really are a spook.” George grinned. “I assisted on a case up here a few years back. If it’s the same sheriff, he’s good people.”

“We’ll have to chance it, Syd,” Jake said, gazing toward the river. “Madison can’t walk, she’ll be slowing them down. They’re probably running out of time.”