First to Kill (24 page)

“Yes,” Henning said. “We’re planning to rent a car, rather than call the Fresno resident agency for transportation. I’m trying to minimize Nathan’s exposure.”

“Hold off on that,” Holly said. “Fresno’s ASAC, John Pallamary, is good friend of mine. We went through the academy together. I’ll give him a call.”

“We’re hoping to be in the air within the next half hour,” Henning said.

“What’s your plan once you get there?”

“We have Sheldon’s current address, so we’ll head over there and see if she’ll talk to us.”

“If she isn’t forthcoming, let Nathan take over. Understood?”

“Yes,” he said tightly.

“Nathan, use your best judgment when questioning her.”

Translation: Don’t get rough unless you absolutely have to. “No problem,” he said.

Holly continued. “We’ve copied all the video from the bombing and sent it back east to your father’s committee. They’re trying to glean as much as they can. We’ve implemented the largest manhunt in the history of the bureau. Hundreds of agents are on the case. Three more of our people died last night, the rest are probably going to make it. Six of them will never walk again.”

“I’m sorry, Holly.”

“This isn’t your fault. I’ve had a lot time to think about it.”

“Maybe I didn’t have to kill their little brother. Maybe I should’ve wounded him. I could’ve—”

“Nathan, listen to me, I’ve read all the reports. Don’t do this. Sammy Bridgestone was aiming a sniper rifle at our SWAT teams. You took the proper action for the situation as it existed at the time. If our sniper team had seen him before you, they would’ve done exactly the same thing. Any law-enforcement officer in America would shoot to kill in that situation. Don’t second-guess yourself. None of this is your fault. Clear?”

“Clear,” he said.

“Okay. We’ve set up a hotline. Tips are coming in by the hundreds with possible sightings. We’re checking them out. ASAC Perry Breckensen is in temporary command. Nathan?”

“I’m here.”

“Despite all the manpower we’ve got, I think you’re our best chance at finding them.”

Nathan said nothing.

“I’ve got to go, my nurse just came in. Will you ask Harvey to share anything he finds with ASAC Breckensen?”

“Sure, Holly. No problem.”

“Bruce, remember, you’re a sworn law-enforcement officer. Where Nathan is concerned, it’s don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“Understood,” he said quietly.

“If you haven’t heard back from me before you leave Fresno, call me from the air.”

“I will,” Henning said.

“I’ve got to go.” The cell went dead.

“She’s an amazing woman,” Nathan said.

Henning reached for his laptop. “Let’s pack up and get going.”

From his room Nathan called Harv and filled him in. Harv said he’d follow up and make sure he received the DUI news clippings and any other documents Fitzgerald had promised to send. Harv also told him Thorny came through with Leonard’s contacts from his deployment in Iraq.

“We just talked to Holly.”

“How’s she doing?” Harv asked.

“She sounded tired, but otherwise not too bad.”

“Listen, I got that tape of the Bridgestones torturing the two FBI surveillance techs. It’s pretty ugly stuff, but I didn’t hear anything we didn’t already know.”

“Okay.”

“All the techs could tell them was your name and that your father was Stone McBride. Incidentally, our personal info isn’t available. I had Mason try to dig it out. You know DMV,  Social Security, IRS. He couldn’t come up with anything. I think we’re okay. They’d need someone on the inside of the DOD with high-level passwords to access anything on us, and I don’t see that happening. Your father’s a different matter. I don’t know how protected his personal information is.”

“Me either,” Nathan said.

“If they’re heading back east, it’s possible they could tail him from one of his public appearances. We should warn him to stay under the radar for the time being and hire some personal security guards.”

“I told him the score. Keep checking Leonard’s contacts. I have a feeling one of them is our financial insider. We’re looking for someone within a day’s drive, two max.”

“The list is pretty long, several hundred. And that’s a lot of territory to cover, basically the western third of the country.”

“You might need to call ASAC Breckensen and ask for some help.”

“I definitely will.”

“Does the FBI have a temporary field office up and running yet?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find out. Their building isn’t a total loss, but there’s no way they can operate out of there in its present condition. What about you? What’s next?”

“Fresno. We’ll be airborne in half an hour. I’ll call once we know something.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, everyone was boarding the Lear. As Nathan climbed the stairs, he looked at First Officer Williamson and decided to play his hand. Time for this covert bullshit to end. Nathan spoke in Arabic.
“We are on the same side, okay? I have no agenda other than
finding the Bridgestones.”

Williamson narrowed his eyes, but the spark of recognition in his expression couldn’t be hidden. Nathan knew he was considering his options. There were two. Continue playing the game or come clean. Henning turned at hearing Bridgestone’s name in a sentence spoken in Arabic.

Williamson came clean. “Understood,” he answered in Arabic. “I am just doing my job. For what is it worth, I am not real happy about it.”

Williamson headed for the cockpit.

“What did you say to him?” Henning asked.

“I told him the same thing I told you the first time we met, that we’re on the same side and my only goal is to find the Bridgestones.”

Henning’s expression was genuinely puzzled and Nathan now believed he didn’t know Williamson had been assigned as a watchdog. He wasn’t sure before.

“How did you know he spoke Arabic?”

“When I spoke to the cabdriver early this morning, I didn’t see any reaction from him at all. None. Most people show some degree of surprise.”

Henning lowered his voice. “You think Lansing brought him on board to keep an eye on things? To spy on you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Why bring in someone who speaks Arabic? Al Qaeda isn’t involved with the Sacramento bombing. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you consider Harv also speaks Arabic.”

“Good grief,” Henning said. “Sometimes I think there’s no limit to the cloak-and-dagger bullshit in this business.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s a safe play on Lansing’s part. There’s a lot at stake. He was concerned I might speak in a foreign language with Harv to hide things we discover about the Bridgestones. I’d be willing to bet Williamson also speaks Russian. Probably Spanish too. We aren’t going to conceal anything from you guys. If your people find the Bridgestones before we do, that’s fine with me. Don’t get me wrong, we’d love some quality time with them, but finding them is the primary goal.”

* * *

In the cockpit, Williamson lowered his voice. “He knows.”

“Is it going to be a problem?” Jenkins asked.

“He seemed okay about it.”

Jenkins was flipping avionic switches from a checklist as he spoke. “As far as I’m concerned, nothing’s changed. We keep reporting to Lansing as ordered.”

“Do we tell Lansing he knows?”

“Not unless we want egg on our faces,” Jenkins said. “He’d view McBride’s discovery as a blunder on our part.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that. McBride seems like a decent guy. It’s not hard to guess how he got those scars on his face. They aren’t random and he sure didn’t get them from any chainsaw accident.”

Jenkins started the engines, keeping his eyes on the gauges. “I think you’re right, he’s a spook. Someone carved him during an interrogation. Had to be hell.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

* * *

Twenty minutes into the flight, Henning used the air phone to call Holly again. Nathan looked over, but there was no way to put the call on speaker. After a brief conversation, he hung up.

“She made contact with ASAC Pallamary from the Fresno resident agency. An agent’s going to meet us at the airport.”

“You okay with that?” Nathan asked.

“I just follow orders.”

Nathan heard the frustration in Henning’s voice. “Don’t read anything into it. Like I said, there’s a lot at stake.”

Henning didn’t respond, he just leaned back and stared straight ahead. Nathan felt for the guy, but knew the extra measures being taken by Lansing and Holly weren’t a reflection on Henning’s competence or loyalty. Although Nathan wasn’t familiar with FBI methods of operation, he figured it was probably standard procedure to double up on field assets whenever possible to ensure the best chance of success. Even though he preferred working alone, he’d play along for now. The FBI Lear was too big an asset to turn down. He figured having a federal ball and chain in the form of Bruce Henning was the price of admission, but he couldn’t in all honesty discount the help he’d received from Henning so far. If the time came to cut ties with his FBI friends, so be it, but for now, he was comfortable with the status quo.

The Lear touched down in Fresno a little after noon, local time. As it taxied to the general aviation transient parking area, Nathan admired the F-16C Falcons parked next to the Air National Guard hangar. They were beautiful machines, pure in form and function. Although he couldn’t imagine it, he wondered if flying them ever got old.

After Jenkins parked the Lear, Nathan spotted a man standing next to a plain sedan in front of a long hangar building. Their FBI contact. He was reasonably sure the agent assigned to them would’ve been briefed on their objective and the rules of engagement. He had no expectations about the agent’s attitude, but hoped it wouldn’t be a repeat of a few nights ago when he’d first met Bruce Henning. Because the director of the FBI had given him the use of a  Lear, he hoped this new agent would show some discretion. Nathan had to admit there was a definite feeling of importance associated with traveling by Lear. He could get used to this.

As the Lear’s engines wound down to idle, First Officer Williamson appeared and opened the fuselage door and they said their good-byes. Unlike Fort Leavenworth, the air was dry. A bright afternoon greeted Nathan as he followed Henning onto the tarmac. Several dozen private planes were parked to their right.

Dressed in tan slacks and dark-blue Windbreaker to conceal his sidearm, their FBI contact began walking toward them. In his mid-forties, he had cropped thinning hair with a touch of gray at the temples. Former cop or military, Nathan thought. This guy would never make it as an undercover. Their new arrival identified himself as Special Agent Paul Andrews. He looked Nathan over from head to toe before smiling and offering his hand.

Located in the northeast area of Fresno in a mixed neighborhood of residential and commercial properties, Amber Sheldon’s apartment was part of a larger complex of identical structures laid out in pairs, back-to-back, with parking on both sides. Second-story walkways ran their entire lengths, accessed by concrete prefab stairs on each end. Several hundred yards to the north, the metal river of Highway 41 could be heard, but not seen. Andrews parked the sedan at the west end of the buildings where it wouldn’t be noticed from the target’s apartment. According to the NCIC file, Sheldon lived in apartment number 46.

“If she’s not here and has a roommate, we’re blown,” Henning said. “It’s fair to assume the roommate will call her and tell her the FBI came knocking on her door.”

“We don’t have much choice,” Nathan said. “We don’t have time for a prolonged stakeout. If she’s not here, we’ll ask where she works, that way the roommate will think we don’t know.” Nathan turned toward Andrews. “Do you know where Pete’s Truck Palace is?”

“It’s off Highway Ninety-nine, about twenty miles south of the city.”

“Okay,” Henning said. “It’s probably better if only two of us knock on her door. Andrews, you cover the stairwells and watch our backs in case the Bridgestones are around. Shoot first and ask questions later.”

“You got it.”

They followed a concrete sidewalk paralleling the building, then cut across the grass over to the west stairs. Apartment 46 was on the second floor. This had to be a nicer neighborhood because a big-wheel tricycle, along with several children’s bikes, were leaning against the building, unlocked. A smattering of litter was present, nothing serious enough to suggest it was a lowlife establishment. Licking its paws, a calico cat sat on the bottom step of the stairwell. She squinted in friendship as they moved past her. The windows on either side of Sheldon’s door were screened by closed curtains. Nathan and Henning paused and listened to the buzz of a muffled television set.

Nathan kept his voice just above a whisper. “Bridgestone could be in there. I’ll go left, you go right.”

Henning nodded and grabbed the butt of his gun. Keeping to the side of the door, he knocked twice. The sound of the television went silent, followed by a forceful, “Who is it?”

“FBI, ma’am. We’re just here to ask you a few questions. No one’s in any trouble, okay?”

The curtains parted, revealing a slightly overweight, dark-haired woman in her late teens or early twenties. Her yellow tank top revealed more than necessary.

“My mom’s got nothin’ to do with that man no more.” From what Nathan could hear through the window, Amber Sheldon’s daughter had retained most of her southern drawl.

“May we come in, please?” Henning asked.

“Y’all got some ID?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Henning held up his FBI badge.

“Lemme see your gun too. All you FBI guys carry guns, right?”

“That’s affirmative, ma’am.” Henning pulled his Windbreaker open.

“Okay, just a sec.”

They listened to the deadbolt click back and the slide chain being removed from its slot. The door opened and the smell of cinnamon greeted them.

Gun drawn, Henning rushed into the room and pivoted to the right.

“Hey,” the girl protested. “What the hell y’all doing?”

Nathan dashed into the kitchen and checked behind the counter. “Clear.”

Henning checked the bathroom, a hall closet, and both bedrooms. “Clear,” he called and returned to the living room. “I’m sorry for doing that, ma’am, but we had to be sure you weren’t being held against your will. We’re looking for a very dangerous man.”