A Voice from the Field (26 page)

Tia took a step after him and Stahl frowned. “Like I said, Detective, this is need to know only.”

Before Tia could say anything, Delafield said, “She's need to know, Lester.”

Stahl's frown deepend. “Look, Curtis. This—”

“Look nothin',” Delafield said, cutting Stahl off. Tia watched as the deep-cover agent squared off with the desk jockey. “I mean, if nothing else, out of respect. The way I see it, Suarez and I are the only ones who got real skin in the game.”

“Fine.” Stahl's irritation was clear in his voice. “Suarez, you can stay. But let's get back on track. What's Kane expecting at this point?”

Tia could tell that Delafield had the others eating out of his hand. Tia had a long history with undercover operatives, dating back to her early days in the Marines. She'd known CIA agents who worked deep cover in foreign nations for years, never coming up for air. Since becoming a cop she'd met a few narcs who did some limited undercover work, going into hazardous locations like gang hangouts or dope houses. That kind of work required balls big enough to carry around in a wheelbarrow. Tia had done some low-level U/C street work, but nothing that involved the high risk of an extended swim in shark-invested waters. In law enforcement circles, when a covert speaks cops listen.

“He wants to take delivery of the Hellhounds tonight,” Delafield said. “Says he'll put up another two hundred thousand.”

There was a low murmur from the crowd; then Delafield went on. “I figured we'd be interested, so to keep Kane dialed in, I let him hang on to the guns and his hundred grand in good faith.”

Tia could hear the nervous strain in Stahl's response. “That seems a bit risky, Curtis. Kane is sitting on a lot of government hardware, not to mention cash.”

It was Delafield's turn to be dismissive. “I know this guy. He can be a real dick if he feels like he's being disrespected. Kane likes to be courted. So I say, we let him hold the guns and tell him we'll close out the finances on final delivery. If we're going to try and close a deal on something like Hellhounds, believe me, we want everyone as relaxed as possible.”

Stahl turned to the attorney. “That would be a three-hundred-thousand-dollar federal seizure. Plus, we can take Tanner's property and the Roadhouse. We could clear almost a million in seized assets and completely gut the North Aryan Front. We'll probably end up with at least a dozen bodies for federal prosecution.”

“Hang on a second, Stahl,” Tia interrupted. “What about the girl?”

Everyone turned to look at Tia. She didn't explain, just waited for an answer.

“Who are you talking about, Suarez?” Stahl asked.

“You know exactly who I'm talking about. We agreed that Kane would be arrested today and we would enter into search and rescue mode.”

“And now we're discussing other contingencies.”

“There are no other contingencies.” Tia moved closer. “We've already had that conversation. Last night they were holding a sex auction. God knows what's going on with the women inside that club. And we still have no idea where he's holding the kidnap victim. Seems to me we have a call of duty here.”

“Oh, the sex auction?” Stahl's voice held a sarcastic tone. “Would you like to know about the
victim
you rescued?

“Her name is Allison ‘Pepper' Coltrane. Alias Allison Connors. Alias Allison Capers. Alias Pepper Hill. She's wanted by Chicago PD for fraud. Bilked an old man out of his life savings, about two hundred K. On top of that, she has a criminal history that goes back seven years for drugs, theft, credit card fraud, and—oh, this will come as a real shock—prostitution.”

None of that mattered to Tia. “She was chained to a pole, Stahl. Men were bidding on her.”

“And now she's in protective custody, all right? But I'm not sure who got protected from whom, to be honest with you.”

Tia shook her head in disgust but moved on to the bigger issue. “And the underage girl in the van?”

“I think we can pretty safely assume her circumstances aren't too much different than those of Miss Coltrane-Connors-Capers-Hill
.
”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“We went over this, Suarez. We're talking about a federal operation with years of investment.” Stahl held up his hand, thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “We're this close to decimating a militia organization with designs against the U.S. government. We're not going to risk this operation for a bunch of hookers and pole dancers. Why can't you understand that?”

“They're just not worth the government's time, right?” Tia said scornfully.

“You're damn right,” Stahl practically yelled. “You got a problem with that, Suarez?”

The room fell silent until Delafield spoke up.

“I got a problem with it.” Stahl and Tia both turned to the undercover, who went on. “What the hell, Stahl? Did you really just say that shit?”

Stahl tried to bring the man back on board. Tia noticed the attitude Stahl had displayed toward her was gone, replaced by respect and negotiation. “Look, Curtis. You've put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into this case. I don't want that to go to waste.”

Delafield shook his head. “Sounds like we got a lot of cleanup work to do. Maybe we should move now, take him down like we originally planned. I'll go back in, bring him out to the parking lot.” Other men began nodding.

The dynamic between Delafield and Stahl was now clear to Tia. The operation might belong to Stahl on paper, but he needed Delafield to make it happen. The classic desk jockey and foot soldier combination. Stahl didn't want to alienate his U/C, which meant he had to play nice with Tia. She could see the disgust on his face as he turned to her, before his professional mask slipped back into place.

“Look, Detective, all I'm saying is, it turns out the woman from last night is a pretty righteous crook. But even though she's got a felony warrant hanging over her head, we took her into protective custody. Unfortunately for her, it's likely to be upgraded to criminal custody before too long.” Stahl shrugged as if to say,
Not my problem,
then continued. “And, as I've said all along, I don't want to risk this high-stakes case on an unconfirmed kidnapping.”

“Oh? Are we back to that now? You telling me I didn't see anything that night?”

“No, but I am telling you that whoever you saw is likely to be a prostitute or another stripper. That's the business Kane and Tanner are in. If she wasn't being treated like a lady, we can deal with that issue later. But whoever she is,
whatever she is,
she won't come off as a credible victim. Prosecution would be unlikely. The best chance we have to put Kane away for any real time is our federal sting.”

He turned away to the assistant U.S. attorney. “Patricia, we need to rethink our strategy. This new development gives us a chance to significantly increase our asset seizure. Plus, we can really strengthen our ability to prosecute. If Kane took possession of grenade launchers?” Stahl shook his head. “Stick a fork in him. He'd be looking at life.”

Tia jumped back in. “What are you talking about? You've already got plenty to prosecute this guy on. You can't be serious about stringing this out any longer.”

Delafield said, “Obviously, Hellhounds and grenade launchers purchased by a white supremacist separatist organization? That's a fricking 9/11 headline, for sure. And it would completely destroy any possible defense. Hell
, I
could try that case.”

He looked at Tia. Something flickered in his eyes—uncertainty? Insincerity? “But Suarez is right; there are other considerations.”

It occurred to Tia that Delafield wasn't playing to her. Graham was his target. Looking at Graham, Tia saw an attorney who wanted her case wrapped tight and sealed with a bow before she walked into a courtroom or, more important, before she stood shoulder to shoulder with the attorney general in front of TV cameras.

“We've already handed over a hundred automatic rifles,” Graham said. “I will not put grenade launchers in this man's hands unless it is under the most controlled circumstances.”

Stahl was quick to answer. “We can use dummies. Or disabled launchers. Either way, the intent will still be there and we never let him leave the delivery site.”

Graham threw out another concern. “And the guns? The ammunition? He's already holding all that.”

“All the weapons are serialized,” Stahl said. He gestured at the bank of televisions, clearly annoyed with the lawyer's questions. “We've got eyes on. He can't move the hardware without our knowing.”

Graham looked around the room, managing to avoid Tia's stare.

“All right,” Graham said. “I want to know if he's serious about this next move. If so, we can make a controlled delivery of grenade launchers. But I want us to use dummies. I can work with that for court purposes. Once he accepts delivery, Kane will be immediately taken into custody. No more delays. Is that clear, Agent Stahl?”

“Absolutely. I agree one hundred percent.”

“I don't believe you people.” Tia was on her feet and headed for the door.

Stahl called out, “Just a minute, Detective. Where are you going?”

She spun around. “Away from here, Stahl. I don't want to have anything to do with this operation of yours. Count me out.”

“You do realize everything you heard was classified?”

“I get it, Stahl. You people, DTAT or whatever it is you call yourselves, work whatever case you want. But I'm working a kidnapping. If our paths cross, so be it. Get in my way, Stahl, and you won't like what happens.”

Tia reached for the door and found it was locked. She refused to turn around or ask permission to leave. Stahl spoke in tones of ice. “You're going to need an escort.”

“I'll walk her out,” Delafield said.

“Fine,” Stahl said, “but hurry up. I want to decide when and how we're going to deliver the launchers.”

 

THIRTY-TWO

They walked back to the elevator without a word between them, Tia doing a slow burn. While Delafield produced a key and called the elevator, Tia finally spoke. “That little act back there? You played Graham like a violin.”

It seemed to Tia that Delafield did his best to look confused. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Save it, Delafield. I've navigated a few minefields with deep-cover types. I'll admit it. You got skills.”

As she expected, the man stayed in character. “Really, Suarez. I'm not following you.”

Tia smirked and turned to face the closed elevator doors. “Fine. Sorry for my mistake. But seriously, I've gone after a few high-value targets. I know how sometimes you need to make changes on the fly. But you guys? You're out of control. Stahl is winging this shit. I'm going back to Newberg.”

The elevator doors opened and Tia stepped in. When she turned back, Delafield abruptly stuck out his hand. Caught off guard, she shook hands. “I'm still hoping we get a chance to work together, Suarez. And trust me on this—nothing you said today went unnoticed. Thanks for speaking your mind.”

Delafield withdrew his hand, turned, and walked away. Tia balled her fists as the elevator doors closed and the cab moved slowly upward. Her gaze drifted up to the red light of the security camera in the upper corner. A moment later the doors opened and the same thick-necked boy-guard stood waiting to silently escort her back to his desk. She gave him the side-eye but said nothing.

He handed over the envelope with her badge and ID and Tia's first act was to pull out the locker key and retrieve her gun. She felt him scanning her body as she jammed in the magazine and pulled back the slide to chamber a round. She reholstered, giving him a hard look. “If you get tired of this gig and you want to do some police work, you should give us a call.”

His expression turned sour. “Sure. I'll join up with Newberg PD. Great career move.”

“Yeah, on second thought, maybe you're right. I hear elevator attendants are making a comeback.”

After making her way back through the rabbit warren of the federal building basement, Tia hustled to the car. She couldn't resist glancing back over her shoulder, half-expecting to see she was being followed, but the lot was clear. Once she was in her GTO, she opened her fist and looked at the bit of paper Delafield had slipped into her hand during their farewell.

TODAY. NOON. CROSSROADS CAFÉ ON HWY 53.

Tia looked at her phone. It was coming up on 9:00
A.M.
Delafield wanted to meet in three hours, and whatever it was he wanted to talk about, he had gone through a lot of trouble to be sure they weren't going to be overheard.
Nothing you said today went unnoticed.

Yeah, I'll be there,
she thought.
But before that, I got one other stop to make.
She dropped the goat into gear and lit out of the parking lot, headed back to Newberg.

 

THIRTY-THREE

Tia parked in front of the neat Victorian home and smiled at the sight of old friends. Alex Sawyer knelt in the grass, surrounded by a half a dozen potted plants, a bag of organic gardening soil, and an assortment of yard tools. A few strands of blond hair peeked out from under her broad-brimmed sun hat and her cotton tank top showed off the toned muscle of her arms. Tia watched Alex scan the ground, stop as if she had found just the right spot, then plunge a metal spade into the lawn, clawing a hole in the soft black dirt.

Tia's old boss, former Newberg Police Chief Lars Norgaard, sat nearby, leaning forward in a folding lawn chair, pointing his cane at a nearby patch of grass. He wore a Packer ball cap that looked to be about as old as the team, and Tia saw he had given up the tight crew cut he'd long favored. Wispy red hair had grown to his collar and even from a distance Tia could see a shine in his blue eyes.