“How is he?”
“He’s fine. Pissed that you shot him.”
“He’ll get over it. We needed to protect his cover at all costs.”
He stood and walked to the bag, unzipped it and pulled out the socks. He hefted them in his big hands and shook his head.
“So do you have Plan C?”
I said, “Only the hope that I was followed by the bad guys.”
He nodded and pulled an M-4 carbine with an optic sight and laser from the bag. I had already put a magazine in. He locked and loaded a round into the chamber and handed the rifle to me. Next he passed over two extra magazines. I put them in my pockets.
“If you’re right, it won’t be long,” he said.
I was about to say something when a high-pitched tone sounded.
“Motion detector,” he said. “I set up a couple outside. Get over there on the stairs. Take the duffle. Move.”
I scrambled four steps up to a landing, turned, and took another four. It put me in total darkness with an unobstructed view of the living room. By the time I had taken up the position, Peralta was sitting back in the armchair with a blanket over his lap.
Four raps came on the door.
Once again, Peralta said two words. “It’s open!”
I thought about the flash bang grenade in Cartwright’s RV. If that was about to be thrown into the room, we were screwed. If an FBI tactical team followed with orders to shoot on sight, we were double screwed.
Instead, a large silhouette stepped inside.
He said, “Don’t move an eyelash.”
It was Horace Mann. He stepped in three paces and stopped, a semiautomatic pistol trained on Peralta. I silently switched the safety off the M-4 and took dead aim at Mann’s head. Nobody was going to use body armor against me again.
Peralta said, “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
This would be the time for Horace Mann as good guy to produce his credentials and identify himself.
Instead, he said, “Where’s Mapstone?”
“I had to kill him,” Peralta said.
“You’re one cold-blooded dude, Peralta.” Mann used his left hand to swing the door closed. The latch snapped shut.
“Body’s in the kitchen if you want to see.”
“I’ll stay right here,” he said. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
The athletic socks were two feet to his left.
Peralta said, “That something belongs to the FBI.”
“Nobody knows who those stones belong to,” Mann said. “That’s the beauty of it. The rough was shipped FedEx from Vancouver to Seattle, concealed with some student rock collections. It was an accident they were ever discovered. The package came apart and Customs got curious. The diamonds were turned over to the Seattle field office, their investigation went nowhere, and they ended up in evidence.”
“Where you took them.”
Mann hesitated.
“That’s how it went down,” Peralta said. “Otherwise, you’d be here with a SWAT team and a dozen agents.”
“It was easy as hell to spend ten thousand on a tech at the evidence center to look the other way while I took the diamonds and substituted junk. Then sprinkle some bread crumbs to throw suspicion on another agent. I was surprised they discovered it missing, but by that time it was with the Russians and headed to Phoenix.”
“Why didn’t you just take them?”
“And do what?” He looked like he wanted to spit. “Cut glass? The Russians had the means to move them here. They already owed me.”
“Not a fifty-fifty split?”
Mann grinned grimly. “Not even close. But they had a fence here who could turn the rough into real money.”
“Offshore account?” Peralta asked. “Or will you piss it away on your gambling habit? I’m surprised the Bureau didn’t know about that.”
Mann licked his lips. He was starting to get rattled. “It will be a nice supplement to my pension. Officially, the rough will never be recovered. When we find your and Mapstone’s bodies, I’ll theorize that one of the cartels got to you first and took the diamonds. I can’t fix everything for the Bureau. I can finish out my career as SAC in Phoenix and spend half my time on the golf course. Maybe play some poker, too, asshole. Losing the diamonds has been a huge embarrassment. The Bureau will want to move on.”
“Where are your agents?”
“Working,” Mann said. “It’s my day off. Figured I’d follow your boy and he’d lead me to you. Where are they?”
Peralta didn’t answer. The room pulsed with the gravitational pulls of two big men. Mann scanned the room, ignored the socks.
“Why did you kill Mapstone?” he said. “I thought he was your friend.”
Peralta shrugged. “He brought me the rough. That’s all I needed.”
In the dim light, I could see the confusion course through the veins on Mann’s high forehead.
“What are you talking about?”
“I handed off the diamonds back in Phoenix,” Peralta said. “Did you think I was going to keep them on me? That would have made it too easy for you. You’re playing in the big leagues now.”
“I’m here now.” He stepped closer. Now he was about five feet from Peralta. He kept the gun on him.
Peralta said, “They’re on the floor beside you, in those socks.”
Mann quickly glanced to his left then refocused on Peralta. Five long seconds passed and he couldn’t resist. He backed up to the wall and knelt down, feeling through the fabric of the socks with his left hand. He lifted one and gave an ugly smile.
“That’s sweet. All that money inside a three-dollar pair of socks.” He stood. “I sure don’t like it that I can’t see your hands.”
Peralta didn’t answer.
“I said, I don’t like it that I can’t see your hands.” His tone was commanding.
“My hands are cold,” Peralta said. “What makes you think you’re going to get away with this?”
Mann moved forward again, gun at Peralta’s middle.
“What makes me think I’m going to get away with it? I have so far.”
“What about the Mountie?”
Mann looked confused.
“Those are the Mountie’s stones,” Peralta said. “She still wants them. Made me a promise to kill everybody I loved until I turned them over. Probably willing to kill the ones I dislike, too. She’s not willing to move on.”
He cursed under his breath. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about but I’d say the Mountie’s out of luck. And so are you. You’re a fugitive and if I shoot you where you sit, nobody’s going to ask questions.” His voice turned to a shout. “Now show me your hands!”
The blanket fell away and Peralta had his.40 caliber Glock trained on Mann.
“Now, hold on there,” Mann said. “I’m a federal agent.”
“You admitted to stealing fifteen million in diamonds,” Peralta said. “You can’t have it both ways.”
Mann’s eyes widened and he knew he was caught.
“Yes,” Peralta said. “Everything you said has been recorded. Thank God for stupid criminals.”
I could have taken him down right then but I waited.
“We could reach an understanding.” Mann tried to soften his tone. “Half and half. I let you go. Clear your name. Blame the cartel.”
“Tall order.”
“I can make it happen.” Mann’s voice was no longer steady. “My fence is the best. He can set you up with a nice nest egg.”
“He’s dead.”
Mann’s gray pallor intensified.
“You killed him, too?”
“The girl did.”
He opened his mouth and closed it without making a sound.
“So,” Peralta said, “we have this multi-ethnic standoff and the only way to end it is for you to slowly put your weapon on the floor, back away, and put your hands behind your head.”
There was another way and I saw Mann’s gun arm start to tense.
I lit him with the laser. A red dot appeared on his forehead.
I said, “You’ll be dead before you can squeeze that trigger.”
When he had set the gun on the floor, he said, “What are you going to do now? I don’t see any help on the way. You’re both civilians. You can’t hold me or arrest me. And I don’t think you have the balls to shoot an unarmed FBI agent. So I’m walking out that door.”