The Gatekeeper (7 page)

The phone on his desk beeped, and Jackson frowned. His assistant knew he relished these few moments alone at the end of each day. For her to interrupt, something serious must have happened.

He lifted the receiver and listened for a moment before saying, “All right, put him through.”

As Dante spoke, Jackson’s expression hardened. He picked up a rock from the Zen garden on his desk and kneaded it between thumb and forefinger. “I see. And how did you respond?” Another burst of chatter. Jackson thought for a moment, then said, “It’s time to make Grant understand the seriousness of the situation. Do whatever is necessary.”

M
adison awoke in the dark. Despite becoming somewhat acclimated to her surroundings, the shock of waking in a strange place never failed to throw her. Every time she went to sleep, deep down she harbored the hope that perhaps this was one of those dreams within a dream, where you only thought you were awake. She always fell asleep hoping to open her eyes and see her bedroom.

Not this time. She drew the thin blanket up to her shoulders and tried to still her shivering. Wherever they’d taken her was cold for June, and for the millionth time she wondered where she was. Back home on the East Coast, summer was in full swing. Central Park was lush and overgrown, the grass still green after recent rains. It felt like forever since she was there. Madison had skipped the last day of school, and spent that Friday hanging out by the pond exchanging texts with Shane and tossing her lunch to the geese. How long ago was that now? One week? Two? She’d started tracking the days, it had been at least three since they took her. But considering how many times they’d injected her with drugs at the beginning, she could have been whacked out for weeks. She
wondered what the hell they wanted, and why it was taking so long. And if anyone was ever going to clue in to her GPS transmitter.

She groped under the mattress and pulled out the DS Lite. Even on the lowest power setting, she was down to the last bar. Madison chewed her lip. Maybe she could ask Lurch to bring her the power cord, it was with the rest of her stuff. Or she could give it to him to charge. That was riskier—he might decide not to give it back. She didn’t think he’d be able to tell it had been altered, but whoever was with him might be shrewder.

Suddenly, the groaning of metal indicated that the door was about to open. She hurriedly tucked the DS Lite back in its hiding place and flipped over to face the wall, regulating her breathing to mimic sleep. A shaft of light sliced the room, casting a silhouette on the wall facing her. Madison drew in her breath sharply. Whoever had come for her, it wasn’t Lurch.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he said. His voice was gravelly, like he was getting over a cold.

Madison’s stomach clenched. Slowly, she rose to a seated position and turned. His face was cast in shadow, and she squinted in the light. “What time is it?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Time for us to get acquainted, kitten.”

“Sorry, Kel, you’re fading in and out. They’ve got crap reception here.” Jake plugged an index finger in his opposite ear and squinted at the lights below. The sprawling lab facility was visible from Randall’s small deck. Some buildings were floodlit, others hunched in the dark. Ironic that so close to the epicenter of the world’s most cutting-edge technology, he couldn’t get a cell signal to save his life. Maybe they had some sort of jamming apparatus.

“I said, I’m still in Arizona.”

“Well hey, we’re nearly on the same coast. Wanna meet for a late dinner in Bakersfield?”

“No way Bakersfield is the halfway point,” Kelly snorted.

Jake could picture her nose crinkling as she said it. He smiled. “All right then, Denver.”

“Wow, your grasp of geography is impressive,” Kelly laughed.

“Hey, keep in mind I was living abroad for years. How much longer are you there?”

“Tough to say. Right now the chief is ready to call it, blaming everything on this street gang.”

“But you’re not buying it?”

There was a pause. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “These are bad guys, but this seems beyond them. Unless we come up with a more direct tie to the senator, they don’t seem the type to be making a political statement, you know?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t sound like it.” Jake recognized the note of frustration in her voice. The Bureau always wanted high profile cases solved quickly, even if that meant arresting the wrong person.

Not Kelly, though. If that happened, it would eat at her. Even if this gang had been killing nuns and schoolkids on a daily basis, she’d hate to see them locked up for something they didn’t do. It was one of the things he loved about her.

He caught himself hoping she’d be forced to compromise. Something like that would practically guarantee her departure from the FBI. Then the endless debates over her job and where they should live would be forced to a conclusion. He experienced a pang of guilt at the thought and forced some cheer into his voice. “Don’t worry. It’ll work out.”

“Maybe.” She sounded disconsolate.

“Rodriguez still riding you?”

“I feel like I’m babysitting.”

“Yeah, but you felt that way about me, too, right?”

“I still do.” Her voice brightened at the teasing.

“So should I be jealous?”

“Of a twenty-seven-year-old who’s driving me nuts?” Kelly laughed. “Sure, go ahead. I think he has a fiancée, though. He mentioned something about getting married in the fall.”

“Yeah? I love fall weddings.”

There was a long pause before Kelly said, “How’s everything going for you?”

“Wow, you’re becoming the master of the segue.”

“I can’t handle wedding talk right now,” she said. “Did you get any clients signed on? One of us deserved a good day at work.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably. As a concession to Syd, he’d told Kelly he was scrounging up business with Silicon Valley venture capital firms. He hated lying to her, yet another reason why things would be easier if she joined The Longhorn Group. “Mine was okay, I guess. This is a lousy part of the state, nothing but strip malls and parking lots. I feel like I keep getting off the interstate in the same place.”

“Drum up any business?”

“Maybe. Got some leads.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about heading to Costa Rica after this wraps up. Want to tag along?”

“A few weeks into a new job and already he needs a vacation.” Kelly laughed. “Your work ethic is truly awe inspiring. Don’t you have to be around in case any of these leads pan out?”

“Nah. Syd’s a closer, she loves dealing with the clients. Besides, we still haven’t taken a real vacation together.”

“What about Vermont?”

“You mean that first weekend we went away together, two years ago?”

“It counts.”

“It took almost the entire weekend just to get you in my room.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

“That was only because—” Jake’s call-waiting beeped. He glanced at the number: Syd. “Kelly, my love, I’ve gotta go. Syd’s on the other line, it might be important.”

“Okay.”

She sounded despondent, and Jake’s heart lurched. He hated that after all this time they still hadn’t found a way to be together for more than a few days. “Costa Rica. Think about it.”

“I will. Love you.”

Jake clicked over to Syd’s call. “Please tell me you’ve got something.”

“Who’s your favorite person?”

“Depends. Give me a reason.”

“I got a match on the face.”

“Really?” Jake straightened. “The driver?”

“Yep. The facial recognition software worked. We were lucky the shot was more or less head-on. And let me tell you, getting access to that database was a bitch.”

“I’m sure.” Jake considered asking how she’d done it, then figured he probably didn’t want to know. Infiltrating government databases was definitely frowned upon. “Let me guess. Ukrainian.”

“Not even close. You’re going to love this. Winner of the creepy kidnapper prize of the month is Marcus Krex. ‘Mack’ to his friends.”

“Krex doesn’t sound Eastern European.”

“Give the man a prize!” Syd sounded gleeful, and Jake was glad to hear it. This case had been beating them both up. “Born and bred in Stockton, California. Krex doesn’t even have a passport, he’s never left the country, at least not legally.”

“So the e-mail router was meant to throw us off track.”

“Apparently. But based on his sheet Mack isn’t tech-savvy.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Petty crimes starting as a juvie, graduated to grand theft auto and burglary, closed out his career nicely with a stretch in Corcoran for armed robbery. Paroled less than a year ago.”

“Jesus.” It was nice to finally have a name to go on, but the fact that Madison was snatched by a hardened criminal wasn’t the best news he’d heard all day. At least Krex hadn’t been convicted of a sex crime—thank God for small favors. “How did this guy not qualify for the three strikes law?”

“Grandfathered out. But he will, if he’s caught one more time.”

“Where is he now?”

“Kept his nose clean, as far as I can tell. His parole officer said Krex was coming in every week, passed all the drug tests, seemed to be a model citizen. But he missed last week’s appointment. He’s been so good, the PO didn’t worry. He was going to report him if he missed this week.”

“When’s his appointment?”

“Tomorrow morning, 8:00 a.m. His PO said he’d be happy to sit down and review the case file.”

“I’ll get on the road first thing tomorrow. Who knows, maybe Krex will even show.”

“That would make our lives easier,” Syd said drily. There was a long pause.

“Syd?”

“Yeah, I know you’ve gotta go. I was just wondering. How’s Randall holding up?”

“You talked to him.”

“Right, I did.” She sighed. “I’m shit at this sort of thing.”

“Shocking.” Jake grinned. “Fortunately you’ve got a relationship master like me to ask for advice.”

Syd barked a sharp laugh before asking, “You think we’ll get her back?”

Jake gazed across the landscape. The moon hovered above the buildings, casting them in stark relief. “Maybe. But we’re probably going to need more firepower. If we find out where they’re keeping her, we should call in the cavalry.”

She thought it over. “It might jeopardize the operation.”

“I don’t think we’ll have a choice.”

Jake clicked the phone shut and went back inside. Randall sat at the desk tucked in a corner of the living room, staring in horror at his computer monitor. The tinny speakers played a garbled soundtrack that sounded like pigs squealing.

“Jesus, Doc, what the hell are you watching?” Jake crossed the room in long strides. A video filled the screen. It was a close-up of Madison, eyes wide with terror, head whipping back and forth in torment as she screamed.

Kelly ran a hand through her hair as she hung up the phone. Jake had sounded unusually sketchy ever since he abruptly flew to California. There was no reason for him to stress over business meetings with executives, he thrived on that sort of thing. Then there was his Costa Rica suggestion, a prototypical Jake Riley reaction—when you’re on a bad case, plan a trip. He clearly had no idea how predictable he was.

It bothered her that he felt the need to lie, she’d rather hear that he couldn’t discuss the case. She could respect that, there were certainly details of her work she didn’t share. Lying just fed her doubts. Kelly spent a good chunk of her day getting misled by people, the thought of facing the same at home was unbearable.

After the interview with Emilio, she and Rodriguez had spent a couple of hours going over the files to see if they’d missed anything. At 6:00 p.m. they met with the rest of the task force, who reported that the tip line and canvassing had produced the usual band of loonies and conspiracy theorists. Barring any new developments, they’d charge Psycho and his friends with the Morris murder in the next couple of days. Kelly sent everyone home, figuring they’d earned a good night’s sleep.

At least they were in a decent hotel. She propped the pillows against the headboard and flipped through TV channels. All the local news stations were running elegiac montages of Duke Morris’s career. A former exterminator-turned-public official, there were shots of him holding a rifle at an NRA meeting, glad-handing at a rally, practically spitting into a microphone as he gripped a podium. Kelly had the TV on Mute, but based on his demeanor she guessed he was ranting about his pet issue, immigration reform. Within a day or two something else would shove the Morris story off the national media’s front pages. Arizona would hold out longer, but once arrests were made and the governor appointed a new senator, it would be over.

Kelly knew that her superiors were keeping a close eye on her work in this case. She’d be expected to toe the party line if they forged ahead with the MS-13 connection. Even if the gang was guilty, if she uncovered a real connection between them and Morris, her boss would want it buried. And then she’d have to decide what to do.

The camera cut to a studio anchor, one of those interchangeable blondes with perfect hair. Kelly watched her lips move, and idly wondered how they always found a shade of lipstick that exactly matched their suits: hers was peach. The camera cut to a man. A banner at the bottom of the screen announced him as “Jackson Burke, lifelong friend of Senator Duke Morris.” He looked vaguely familiar, although Kelly couldn’t place him. She clicked the volume up to catch what he was saying.

“…the real tragedy here, Dawn, is that we lost a man who grasped the true threat our nation faces. Since 9/11, our government has spent so much time focused abroad, we’ve completely forgotten about the dangers right here at home. Our military is stretched to the limit, our debt is spiraling out of control, and we have thousands of illegals streaming over our borders every day. Some of those people come here looking for a better life. But others clearly intend to do us harm.”

“What kind of harm, Mr. Burke?”

“We keep hearing about how al Qaeda is trying to sneak in a bomb, so they can destroy the democratic principles that this great nation was founded on. But the real threat is more insidious. I’m talking about cartels, multinational gangs whose sole purpose is to flood our schools and streets with drugs. And God knows what else they’re bringing over with them. Guns? Bombs? In California, felons get away with murder, literally, because of so-called Sanctuary laws. Just last week a young Honduran man was released from jail even though the authorities knew he wasn’t here legally. Next day, he killed an entire family in a home invasion robbery.”

“And what would you propose, Mr. Burke?”

“In honor of my good friend Duke Morris, I’m starting a new lobbying firm. We’re going to put some pressure
on those honchos in Washington, ask them to get the National Guard back here to do what they should have been doing all along—guarding our borders. Stem the tide, before natural-born Americans wake up to find that Spanish has become the first language and their kids are now the minority…”