“Mornin’, partner,” Nathan said, passing through the threshold. “Get much sleep?”
“A few hours.” Harv grinned. “You?”
“None.”
“Attaboy.”
“Hey, it was all in the line of duty.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Holly just dropped me off, she’s heading over to the office to make sure you have the tape by six.”
“I hope I wasn’t too… you know, overbearing last night about wanting to hear the tape.”
“You, overbearing?”
“I made some coffee. It’s not too bad.”
“So who are you bringing up from San Diego?”
Harv stared for a few seconds. “Did someone from the office call you?”
“Nope.”
“I guess you figured it’s what I’d do.”
“Yep.”
Harv handed him a cup. “You can’t blame me.”
He took a sip. “I’m totally aboard with it.”
“It’s after eight back east, so we should make that call to Thorny. It might take him a few hours to get the visitation logs from the Castle. You still want that chat with FBI Director Lansing?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I thought as much. He wasn’t real happy about it, but Ortega’s arranged it for you. He sounded like he’s worried about being blacklisted from the investigation. Now that James has been found, he probably will be. You’ve got a very brief window at ten-hundred this morning.” Harv winked. “I’ve been instructed to tell you to lose the phone number after you make the call. It’s a direct line to Lansing’s secretary and she’ll put you through to his cell. He’s in New York City today.”
“Good work.”
“What do you hope to accomplish?”
“I want a get-out-of-jail-free card.”
Harv just stared.
“We’re going after the Bridgestones,” Nathan said, “with or without his blessing and we don’t operate within socially acceptable boundaries. Let’s face it Harv, we’re no Ozzie-and-Harriet team. If we have to kick a few butts along the way, so be it. I just want the FBI to stay out of our way.”
“Lansing will want us to stay out of his way. I don’t think he’ll agree to what you’re asking.”
“Since blackmailing him is off the table, he definitely won’t agree. I just don’t want him running interference. Tailing us. Tapping our phones. You know the drill.”
“You really think he’d do that?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“What about Frank Ortega?” Harv asked. “How much do we tell him about what we’re doing?”
“As little as possible.”
“Because of your father?”
“Yes.”
“Ortega could still help us. I don’t think he’s been blacklisted yet, and Greg could access the NCIC database for us.”
“I’ve already got that covered.”
“Hasn’t Holly risked enough? Greg has access to nearly everything she does.”
“Nearly being the operative word.”
“Beyond access to the NCIC, what else would we need?”
Nathan sipped his coffee and said nothing.
“You want her to get the credit if we catch them.”
Nathan didn’t answer.
“The reverse is also true. She could take the fall if we screw up.”
“We aren’t going to screw up.”
“A lot of things could go wrong, Nate.”
“Lansing’s people are not going to collar the Bridgestones before we do. To steal a line from General Patton, ‘I’m going to beat that gentleman to Messina.’”
Chapter 11
Leonard Bridgestone pulled a gray pickup behind a supermarket and parked near its loading dock. As expected, the area was deserted. Ernie parked the stolen UPS truck next to the pickup and together they untied the tarp covering the pickup’s bed.
Leonard helped Ernie haul the Enduro motorcycle out of the bed and get it upright on the asphalt. He checked the large ice chest strapped to its rack. He squinted as his brother gave the ice chest a soft caress before pulling a ten-foot-long, three-by-six piece of lumber from the bed of the pickup. Leonard followed him to the rear of the UPS truck and hoisted its roll-up door. Bound and unconscious, the driver was stripped down to his underwear. Although the driver’s uniform didn’t fit Leonard perfectly, it was close enough. Ernie slid the three-by-six in next to the driver. Shaped by a table saw, two of its squared edges were cut at 45-degree angles along its length so it could be easily driven over when the time came. The bottom of the three-by-six also had a V-shaped channel cut along its entire length.
“Are we sure about this?” Leonard asked. “It’s not too late to call it off.”
“Of course we’re sure, they killed Sammy.”
“This won’t bring him back.”
Ernie frowned. “What, you having second thoughts?”
“Getting out of the country is going to be a lot more difficult.”
“Shit, we’ll get out. Is that your only reason?”
Leonard didn’t like the accusatory tone. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Use your fucking head, Ernie. This is a huge thing with huge consequences.”
“Hey, take it easy. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
“Once we do this, there’s no turning back. You know that.”
“I know,” Ernie said.
“Do you really? Do you have any idea? I wonder…”
“We already talked about this.”
“Well, we’re talking again.”
“So talk.”
Seeing it was hopeless, Leonard slammed the roll-up door and latched it. “Let’s just do this before I change my mind.” He retrieved a helmet with a dark visor from the front seat of the pickup and handed it to his brother. Ernie pulled it on, swung his leg over the motorcycle, and pressed the starter button. Its four-stroke motor hummed to life in a deep-throated rumble. His brother nodded. He climbed into the UPS truck and pulled away from the loading dock, heading for Kern Parkway. He was sorely tempted to drive in the opposite direction and never look back. He thought back to the raid at the compound and had to admit seeing Sammy’s lifeless eyes had hammered him. His youngest brother, someone he’d sworn to insulate and protect, was dead. Murdered. By a sniper, and a damned good one at that. Leonard hadn’t wanted to involve Sammy in Freedom’s Echo, but Ernie had talked him into it. He should’ve known better, should’ve known something like this would happen. And now they were about to raise the stakes.
He forced his mind back to the task at hand and merged into traffic. In the side mirror, he watched his brother gun the motorcycle’s engine to keep up. He scanned the traffic in both directions, looking for cops. Close to his destination, he turned right and slowed. Behind him, Ernie pulled over to the curb and stopped. He drove the brown delivery truck into a driveway and rolled to a stop at a guard shack with an automatic gate.
His hand on the butt of his gun, a security guard, sharply dressed in a blue uniform, came out of the shack and approached the UPS truck.
“Where’s Malcolm?” the guard asked. Then he smiled. “Too many beers last night?”
“Couldn’t say,” Leonard said. “Probably got a case of the flu.”
“Yeah, it’s been going around lately. Since I’ve never seen you before, I’ll have to ask for some ID.”
“No problem, glad to do it.” Keeping his head down so the bill of his cap covered his face, Leonard climbed out of the jumper seat and walked around the front of the truck. A few more paces and he’d be out of the camera’s line of sight. Before the guard could react, he pulled a.45-automatic from his jacket and pressed it into the guard’s belly. “Open the gate and you’ll live to see another day.” In one smooth movement, he removed the guard’s gun, shoved him back toward the shack’s entrance, and pushed him through its open door. Staggering backward, the guard lost his balance and fell with a grunt.
Leonard jammed the barrel of his automatic into the guard’s mouth and pushed until the man’s head met the cabinet under the counter. “Open the gate right now.”
When the guard didn’t move, Leonard stomped on the guard’s left hand with the heel of his boot. Fingers crunched. The guard howled and bit down on the blue steel lodged in his mouth. Chips of teeth flew.