The Gatekeeper (29 page)

“Dante Parrish, this is Agent Bennett with the FBI. Come to a stop and get out of the truck with your hands raised. You have my guarantee that no harm will come to you.”

A pause, then they heard a low chuckle. “I think we’re way past harm, buddy.”

“Tell Dante that Burke gave him up,” Kelly said.

Leonard shrugged, then conveyed the information on their private channel.

Another long pause before Dante retorted, “He wouldn’t do that.”

“How do you think we found you, Dante? He set you up to take the fall.”

“I’m doing this for the good of the country,” Dante replied.

Kelly grabbed the receiver over Leonard’s protests. “A true patriot wouldn’t kill innocent Americans, Dante. No one is going to blame the illegals now. They’ll know it was you.”

They were less than five miles from the border. The truck slowed.

“You know what’s crazy?” Dante said meditatively. “My brother works a farm in Washington State. You know the government can track every cow from where they were born in B.C., all the way to the pen they’re in now? But you can’t find eleven million immigrants. Explain that to me.”

On the other channel the hostage negotiator said, “He seems to be responding to her, so keep going. Try to keep him calm, use his name a lot. Make him understand he’d be killing real people.”

“Us among them,” Leonard muttered.

“It’s a broken system, Dante,” Kelly said. “No one’s saying it isn’t. But this isn’t the way to fix it.”

The truck ahead had slowed nearly to a stop. The nearest car paused a few hundred feet away. Kelly and Leonard were fifth in line.

“Do we pull back?” another voice asked over their channel.

“Hold for now,” Leonard said, picking up the receiver. “We’re at a safe standoff distance if the bomb is the same size as Phoenix.”

“But if it blows…” Kelly said worriedly.

“I said hold. Keep going, Jones.”

Kelly took a deep breath, thinking through what she was going to say. “We don’t want another Phoenix here, Dante. A lot of people died there today, a lot of women and children.”

“You don’t understand.” It was hard to tell if he was angry or despondent.

“Make me understand.”

“They bring in drugs, and get kids hooked. They take our jobs. Pretty soon they’ll be running the country. And no one’s doing anything about it.”

Odd talk for an ex-con,
Kelly thought. Dante Parrish was hardly a paragon of American family values. Burke must be extraordinarily convincing. “But, Dante, don’t you see this will only make them stronger? You’ll be the bad guy.”

“Careful,” the negotiator cautioned on the other line. “That might set him off.”

“I’m not the bad guy. Not anymore,” Dante said defiantly.

“I’m not saying you are, but…”

Suddenly the door to the cab swung open and Dante appeared, hands raised above his head.

“Does anyone have a bead on him?” Leonard asked. “Tell me his hands are empty.”

“Negative. He’s got something, just can’t see what it is,” another agent chimed in.

“All right, initiate the jamming.” He glanced at Kelly. “We’re probably going to lose radio contact.”

“Why?”

“Chances are he’ll try to remote detonate. We’re jamming all signals to block that.”

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Kelly said, watching Dante fumble with something. He glanced back at the truck, puzzled.

“New technology, developed to combat IEDs in Iraq. Not foolproof, but we’re up to a seventy percent success rate.”

“Seventy is still pretty risky,” Kelly said dubiously.

“That’s why we wanted the truck out of city limits. But it looks like it’s working,” Leonard said. “Should we go round up our boy?”

Leonard opened his car door and drew his weapon. Kelly secured her vest before following. Within a minute a dozen agents were approaching the truck. Fifty feet away they fanned out in a semicircle.

Dante had his back to the truck, arms out as if surrendering. Kelly saw something in his hand, probably the detonator. Despite Leonard’s assurances about the jamming, her breath was shallow and her skin buzzed with fear. She pictured the haze over Phoenix and imagined a mushroom cloud blooming around them. Her gun shook slightly, and she inhaled deeply to try and regain some calm.

“Dante Parrish, drop it and get on your knees,” Leonard ordered.

Twenty feet away now. Dante appeared strangely
calm, the corner of his lip turned up in a sneer. Another five feet, and Kelly realized he was saying something. She strained her ears, listening. He’d slipped into a low murmur. She caught the phrase,
I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul…

It took her a minute to place it. When she did, her eyes widened and she froze.

Leonard turned to her, puzzled. “What’s he saying?”

“Take cover!” Kelly yelled, trotting backward, keeping her gun level. A single headlight illuminated Dante, arms raised to the heavens as if preaching, head tilted skyward. Leonard stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. The rest of the agents were within ten feet of Dante, too close. “He’s reciting ‘Invictus’!”

“What?” Leonard asked.

“Get everyone back!” Kelly yelled. “Move!”

Something dropped from Dante’s hand.

Kelly spun, prepared to sprint. A surge of adrenaline shot through her veins, but it felt as if she were moving through molasses. Suddenly, a flash from behind set everything in stark relief, cars reflecting the glare. She was lifted off her feet as if a giant hand had swept her up. Her arms and legs pinwheeled as she flew. There was a clap so loud she felt it in her bones, her head throbbed from the concussion.

A roar, as if an entire ocean was crashing down on her, and Kelly was whirled away.

“D
id it blow?” Rodriguez asked.

“The flash didn’t look that big,” George commented.

Jake didn’t say anything. He was no expert, but George was right; the blast they’d witnessed was nothing compared to the Phoenix footage captured by a police chopper. That shock wave had knocked the helicopter out of the sky.

George got on the radio. “This is Agent Fong. What happened?”

They waited tensely for a response. A minute later someone said, “All good here. We’ve got two bad guys, bringing them outside the perimeter in case this thing is on a timer. Bomb squad is going to fly in some suppressant and dump it over the truck. But so far so good.”

“What exploded?” Jake asked.

“Flash bangs after we blew the tires. These boys are practically bleeding out their ears.” The agent on the radio chuckled. “We had them on the ground and hog-tied in under a minute.”

“Nice work,” George said. “Keep us posted.”

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Rodriguez sighed. “Looks like they didn’t need us after all.”

“You kidding? I was not liking the possibility of being anywhere near a dirty bomb,” George said. “Those things mess with your DNA. And I plan on sending little Fongs out into the world someday.”

“God help us all,” Jake said.

They all laughed harder than the joke deserved. Since arriving in California six days ago, Jake had existed in a tight knot of adrenaline and nerves. It was a relief to feel some of that release.

“One more down, anyway,” Rodriguez said. “Wonder how they’re doing in San Diego.”

As if on cue, George’s phone rang. “Fong here,” he answered.

His face grew still as he listened. Jake and Rodriguez waited impatiently for him to finish. After a minute he said, “Right, I understand. Thanks for calling.”

“Well?” Rodriguez asked.

George examined the dashboard. “They stopped the bomb in San Diego. Leonard had high-tech jammers block detonation.”

“So what’s with the face?” Rodriguez asked. “This is good news, right?”

George met Jake’s eyes for a second before shifting back to the dash. A chill crept around Jake’s heart.

“What is it,” he asked, fighting to keep his voice level.

“Dante had a grenade, they think it was his backup plan to ignite the C4. It didn’t work, but a bunch of agents were moving in to arrest him. Leonard and two others were a few feet away when it blew. They didn’t make it. Another nine are injured, some critically. And Agent Jones…”

“She’s dead?” Rodriguez asked.

“No, she’s in a medically induced coma. Jake, they said it doesn’t look good.”

Jake’s jaw set in a hard line. He whipped the car around and floored the accelerator.

“Maybe I should drive,” George said.

“Jake, we haven’t actually gotten permission to leave—” Rodriguez protested.

“Fuck permission,” Jake snarled. “I’m getting on the next plane. Find out what hospital she’s in.”

J
ackson Burke jerked awake. An empty bottle of whiskey lay beside him, the television was still tuned to Fox News. With a groan he rubbed his head. He didn’t remember polishing off the rest of the bottle, in fact he didn’t remember much after his conversation with Dante. The disposable cell phone sat on the end table next to his blood pressure medication. He’d have to dispose of it today, maybe bury it in the woods.

His eyes narrowed as a newscaster announced that the Phoenix bombing was being declared an “accident,” and that contrary to rumors no chemical toxins were dispersed by the dust cloud. In fact, the governor was urging people to return to their homes. The camera cut to the governor at a press conference. Jackson snorted as his old pal Gary bleated on about the state coming together in the aftermath of this terrible tragedy, about how they’d all work together to rebuild, blah, blah, blah.

But could they be lying? Surely they would have tested the area for radioactivity. The emissions should have been significant. Jackson pondered it. Either the government
was willfully encouraging people to remain in an area polluted by gamma rays, or something had gone wrong with the bomb’s construction. He clenched his hands. Apparently Dante had let him down again.

Jackson frowned and kneaded his temples. It took a minute to pinpoint what was nagging at him. Why weren’t they discussing San Diego and Dallas? Those explosions should be dominating the news. He flipped through the channels, all were still spreading and discrediting rumors about Phoenix. Every major affiliate was interviewing locals who had lost family in the blast. A cement wall near the off-ramp was covered with photos of missing relatives, serving as an impromptu bulletin board.

Irritated by the sight of an obese woman whimpering into a microphone, Jackson shut off the TV and stomped to the desk in the corner. Grabbing his laptop, he stormed back to the couch. The online news sites all had the Phoenix incident as their top story, although most claimed it was an accidental crash involving a truck transporting crude oil. He finally located a link to San Diego. Around dawn the AP reported a small explosion near the U.S./Mexico border. Initially news crews leaped on it, but a border patrol spokesperson announced it was just fireworks, and the story quickly slid into the background. Search as he might, he couldn’t find anything about Dallas.

Jackson reflexively clenched his fists. So it had all been for nothing. True to form the government was burying it, making sure the event went down as an accident. And there was a chance that both Dante and Christian were alive and in custody.

Jackson felt a familiar light-headedness and his vision blurred. Faltering to his feet, he lurched across the room, grabbing the pill bottle on his second attempt. He wrestled
the top off, palmed a pill and tossed it in his mouth. He gagged as it caught in his throat. Jackson stumbled to the wet bar, stuck his head under the faucet and gulped some water. Standing and wiping his mouth, he immediately felt better.
Thank God for modern medicine,
he thought.

An instant later, an enormous pressure as if someone had reached into his chest and was crushing his heart.

Jackson tried to sit, but a spasm rocked him and he went down hard. Jesus, he’d never experienced pain like this before. Sweat poured from him, and his lungs compressed. He gasped for breath. The cell phone was still on the end table. He had to get to it and call 911…

A blond woman appeared above him. He blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating. She was dressed all in black, her feet on either side of his head. Jackson grabbed at her ankles, but she kicked his hands away. He opened his mouth to beg for help, but only a strangled gurgle came out.

She shook something. It made a happy sound, like maracas. “You looked stressed, so I replaced your pills with Nardil. Hope you don’t mind.” She knelt by his head, stroked his hair, and bent to whisper in his ear. “But you really should have mentioned the high blood pressure meds. All sorts of drugs don’t react well with those. Especially if you’ve been drinking.” She nodded toward the bottle on the sofa.

“Ple-ease…” he managed to grunt, imploring her with his eyes.

“Sorry, Mr. Burke,” she said, strolling toward the door. “I’m fresh out of favors at the moment. Happy Independence Day.”

J
ake sat by Kelly’s hospital bed, head in his hands. He’d had to fight to enter the ICU. In the end, George’s badge got them through before Jake punched a nurse.

George stood by the window, gazing out at the setting sun. They’d taken the first flight out of Dallas, arriving in San Diego around noon. George periodically excused himself to field some calls, then returned with updates on the bomb investigation. Jake didn’t even bother processing those, he just sat staring blankly at the motionless form on the bed. Kelly looked so small lying there. Part of him didn’t believe it was really her, she looked too frail, her skin so pale it was almost translucent.

A hole had been torn in the truck by the force of the blast, but the C4 didn’t ignite. Leonard died instantly, along with two other agents. Two more were touch and go. Apparently Kelly had shouted out a warning that gave the rest time to take cover at the front and rear of the truck, which shielded them from the worst of the explosion. All that was left of Dante Parrish was a shoe and a necklace. He’d spent his last moments reciting the same poem Timothy McVeigh read during his execution.

Kelly had been found nearly thirty feet away, one leg trapped under a hunk of metal from the side of the truck. She was suffering from massive internal bleeding. After the first round of surgeries they induced a coma and crossed their fingers. Every hour someone came to check her right leg, which produced a noticeably lower bump in the sheet than the left. There were murmurs about removing it, but when they tried to wheel her to surgery Jake almost had to be restrained. George talked the doctors into waiting. What was left unspoken was that in the end, the leg might be irrelevant. There was a good chance Kelly wasn’t going to survive.

Every so often Jake broke the silence. Random childhood memories, past cases, how he pictured their future together. They said she might be able to hear him, but holding her hand, he knew it wasn’t true. He kept stroking the ring he’d put on her finger, the canted edges of the ruby hard and cold against his thumb. He could feel it through her slender fingers—her hands were always so cold, even when it was warm outside—there was no one in there. Kelly’s chest rose and fell, but she’d already checked out.

George reentered the room. “Burke’s dead.”

“What?” Jake looked up.

“They went to arrest him at his place in Virginia—after the guy in Dallas talked they finally got a warrant. Looks like a heart attack.”

“That’s convenient,” Jake said. The bastard was lucky, because Jake had already planned on making sure he felt every bit of the pain Kelly was experiencing. A heart attack was merciful in comparison.

“And whoever prepared the iridium for the dirty bomb screwed up—it was packaged in such a way that it
wouldn’t disperse. So they’ve given the all clear for Phoenix.” George rubbed his eyes as he spoke. He appeared to have aged years in the past two days.

“Randall,” Jake said, thinking that maybe he hadn’t given the guy enough credit. Despite everything, he’d made sure the bombs wouldn’t wreak as much havoc as they could have.

“I’m headed to the cafeteria, you want anything?” George asked.

“Not hungry.” Jake rubbed Kelly’s hand again to warm it. The blip on the monitor kicked up. His eyes darted to it, but almost immediately it settled into the familiar rhythm.

“C’mon, just a banana or something.” George paused at the threshold. “Doctors said there probably wouldn’t be any change tonight. You might as well eat something, or try to get some sleep.”

“Leave it alone, George,” Jake said, more forcefully than he’d intended.

George raised both hands in defeat. “Fine.”

He passed Rodriguez on the way out. Jake heard them exchange a low murmur, then Rodriguez entered, looking concerned.

He wished people would leave them alone. Jake wanted to bar the door and keep everyone out, stop them from poking and prodding her every five minutes. He imagined scooping her up in his arms, tucking her in the car and driving away. They could go to the beach—Kelly had grown up on the East Coast, she’d never seen the sun set over the ocean. He could give her that.

Jake couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow this was his fault. If he’d refused to get the company involved in Syd’s private bullshit, then maybe Kelly wouldn’t be lying here. She would never have heard of Dante Parrish,
wouldn’t have been in San Diego, miles away from him, when that maniac set off a grenade. Part of him knew it was ridiculous, but the guilt was tough to shake. Plus he had to admit, the past few days he’d spent more time thinking about Syd. If Kelly didn’t make it, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

Rodriguez was still standing by the door looking uncomfortable.

“You can go home, you know,” Jake said without looking up.

“Yeah, I know,” Rodriguez said, eyes locked on Kelly’s inert form. “She was a great agent.”

Jake wanted to throttle him for using the past tense. But he took a deep breath, nodded and said, “Yeah.”