First to Kill (28 page)

“What are we going to do about them?” Nathan asked.

“You want to mess with them?”

“It is tempting, is it not? Did you see them while I was out of town with Henning?”

“No.”

“Means they are watching me, not you.”

“Probably, but I could’ve missed them.”

“You are better at this than me.”

As they chatted in Russian, they passed a homeless man sitting against the brick wall of a liquor store. “Gol-darned for-ners,” he muttered.

Nathan smiled at the comment, removed his wallet, and took out a twenty. “Don’t spend it all in the same place,” Nathan said in English. He used the opportunity to glance back at the Hard Rock’s entrance. Their tails were just walking out the door. They turned and started down the sidewalk holding hands. Yeah, right.

Harvey kept walking without turning.
“They coming?”
he asked in Russian.

“Yes. I will divert over to the registration desk and let them catch up. You head into the bar and order a glass of wine. I will head up to the room. Give me three minutes, then come up.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Waste some taxpayer money.”

At the registration desk, Nathan spoke softly to the woman behind the counter. She was in her mid-thirties and slightly overweight. Her dark hair was in a bun. As usual, she did a double take at Nathan’s face, but recovered quickly and forced a smile.

Nathan leaned forward and spoke quietly. “There’s a man and a woman following me. When they come through the doors, give me a nod. Okay?”

“You want me to call the police?”

“No, just nod when they come in. They work for an insurance company, they’re harmless, but don’t make it obvious you’re noticing them, okay”

Ten seconds later she gave Nathan a nod.

“Thanks,” he said.

Nathan strolled over to the bank of elevators and pressed the button. At the sixth floor, he hurried to his room and let himself in with the electronic card key. He grabbed his 9-millimeter from the duffel bag and unloaded it. After opening the door on his side of the adjoining room doorway, he placed an ear against the second door. Sure enough, he heard the room’s door open and close. With a smile, he stepped back, raised his foot, and kicked the door with all his strength.

The door splintered away from its jamb, flew open, and smacked the dresser hard.

Nathan burst through. The woman he’d seen in the Hard Rock was just setting her purse and sidearm down on the bed.

She made a move for her gun, but Nathan pointed his Sig at her chest.

She held her hands up. “FBI special agent.”

“I know that. Where’s your partner?”

She hesitated. “In the lobby, watching Mr. Fontana.”

Nathan held his gun up. “Do I need this?”

“No.”

“I’ve got your word on that?”

“Yes.”

“Good, ’cause it’s not loaded.”

“When did you spot us?”

He tucked the gun behind his back. “In the Hard Rock. Your partner kept using the mirror behind the bar to watch us.” He smiled, but it wasn’t returned. He gave her a closer look. She was actually quite attractive. Around the same age as Nathan, she wore jeans and a white silk shirt under a black leather jacket. Her blond hair was cut shoulder-length and she had piercing blue eyes behind a Slavic face.

Nathan looked around the room at all the surveillance equipment. Half-a-dozen black boxes were stacked on the dresser next to the door, all of them connected to a digital recorder.

“Okay, Special Agent…”

“Grangeland.”

“How do you want to play this out? We have a couple of options. The first, I smash every piece of equipment in this room and you’ll have to explain its destruction to whoever you’re reporting to, presumably Lansing. The second, we maintain the status quo. Harvey and I will be careful what we say and no one needs to be the wiser. I’ll tell the hotel staff I lost my footing and fell against the door.”

She crossed her arms. “What makes you think I’d allow you to break all this equipment?”

“Because I outweigh you by a hundred pounds.”

A smile touched her lips. “I have a counterproposal. You and me. Right here. Right now. The winner decides the outcome.” She slipped out of her coat and tossed it on the bed.

Nathan stared, not sure he’d heard it right. Was she challenging him to a physical contest? He’d make mincemeat of her. He narrowed his eyes. “May I assume there will be no closed fists and no groin or head blows?”

“Sure, why not.”

Nathan tossed his gun on the bed next to hers.

It happened fast.

One second she was six feet away, the next she was on him. He parried her palm punch aimed at his solar plexus and realized his mistake too late. Before he could react, she had dropped down and swept his legs out from under him. He went down hard, landing on his butt with a grunt. Two seconds later, he found it difficult to breath. Pinned against the base of the bed, his mind tried to register what had happened, but his vision was already graying. He was pretty sure he felt her left forearm across the back of his neck and her right hand squeezing his throat, but he couldn’t be sure. Somewhere in the growing black tunnel he heard her whisper in his ear, “You can cry uncle anytime.”

Nathan would’ve laughed and responded with a witty retort, but he was immobilized in a half nelson executed by an opponent half his weight. He braced his legs against the base of the bed and thrust out, flipping them both onto their backs. Now underneath him, Grangeland’s grip on his throat didn’t waver. His mind was fading fast. He figured he had ten to fifteen seconds to break the hold or be rendered unconscious. If they hadn’t agreed to no head blows, he could easily drive the back of his head into her face and smash her nose, but he wouldn’t do that to her, even it meant losing this struggle.

He sucked in what air he could and saw an opportunity to break her hold. Yeah, it could work. Using the space between the bed and the dresser, Nathan rolled to his side and braced his feet against the bed. With his free right hand, he reached behind her back and grabbed the belt above her butt. With Grangeland still clinging to his back he began simultaneously pulling her jeans up while starting a crushing leg press. All 130 pounds of Special Agent Grangeland ended up pinned between himself and the dresser. He was hoping the intrusive distraction of her jeans, coupled with the pressure on her torso, would drive the air from her lungs. Feeling his mind begin to plummet into the void, he pushed his legs harder and yanked her jeans higher. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, he doubled his energy, giving it all he had.

It worked.

He felt a hiss of air escape her lungs on the back of his neck. Her arms loosened, giving him just enough room to wrench his head sideways. When her grip on his windpipe failed, he jerked his head free, and sucked in a precious lungful of air.

Red-faced and panting like a dog, he gasped, “Let’s call it a draw.” He managed to gain his hands and knees just before his Caesar salad came up in projectile fashion. When he finished vomiting his dinner, he wiped his mouth and half laughed. “Damn it, woman, that was some trick.”

She rolled onto her back, her legs bent at the knees. “You cheated giving me that wedgie. I had you.”

“The hell you did.”

“No doubt you enjoyed that little stunt.”

“You’ll never know.” They both looked up at the same instant. Harvey was pointing his Sig at a man who was pointing his Glock at Nathan’s head, the four of them frozen in time like waxwork figures.

“It’s good thing you showed up when you did,” Nathan said. “I might have killed her.”

Grangeland held up a hand. “Stand down, Agent Ferris. This isn’t what it looks like.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Ferris holstered his gun and looked at Harvey.

Harvey tucked his gun into the small of his back and looked at Nathan, then to the woman, then to the pool of vomit. “I see you two have been properly introduced.”

Still breathing heavily, Nathan said, “Special Agent Grangeland, meet Harvey Fontana.”

Harvey shook his head. “What is it with you, Nathan? Didn’t your mother hold you enough as a baby?”

“Hey, it was her idea.”

“Uh- huh.”

“Well?” Nathan asked her.

With a grimace, Grangeland sat up. “I guess we’ll keep the status quo.”

“Good choice,” Nathan said.

“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Ferris asked. He looked at the splintered door jamb then back to Nathan. “Looks like a clear case of breaking and entering to me.”

“Tell me about it,” Grangeland said. She staggered to her feet and limped bull-legged into the bathroom.

Nathan rubbed his throat. “She’ll be okay.” Even though Ferris was formidable looking, Nathan towered over him. In his mid-thirties, Ferris had the same intensity in his eyes that Henning had shown several nights ago. He was clean-cut, dressed in tan Docker-type slacks with a long-sleeved buttoned shirt. Nathan knew Ferris didn’t like the idea of his partner rolling around on the floor with a complete stranger.

“Sorry about the mess,” Nathan said. “Tell me something. Where’d she learn to wrestle like that?”

“Alternate for the 2000 Olympic team.”

“No kidding,” Nathan said. “You ever go a round with her?”

“Once.”

“And?” Nathan prompted.

“Got my ass kicked in ten seconds. She’s also holds black belts in three different forms of martial arts.”

“I’m in love,” Nathan said. He looked at the processed romaine lettuce on the carpet. “Want me to call housekeeping?”

Ferris just stared.

Harvey grabbed Nathan’s handgun from the bed. “Come on, Nathan, let’s get the hell out of here.” Harvey turned toward Ferris, then pointed at the electronic surveillance equipment. “This is
bullshit.
”

“Easy partner, don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Why not?” Harvey said. “We’ve been open and honest.” He waved a hand at the black boxes. “And this is the thanks we get?”

“It’s just business,” Nathan said.

Harvey grunted and walked out of the room.

Nathan addressed Ferris. “This doesn’t have to go any further than the four of us. We’ll let you save face with Lansing, but we’re onto you now. If you want to know what we’re up to, just ask.” Nathan joined Harv and closed the door behind him. Still rubbing his throat, he sat on the edge of the bed.

Harv was standing at the window, staring at the State Capitol Building. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He turned and smiled. “Your mother held you a lot, you were an only child.”

“No, you’re right, I acted childish in there. I didn’t have to spar with her. I could’ve said no.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Not sure. I’ll tell you what, she’s tough as nails.”

There was a soft knock at the door. They both turned at the same time. Half-expecting to see the hotel manager standing in the hall, Nathan went to the door and peered through the peephole. It was one of their own security guards. Nathan opened the door and the tech handed him a fax. It was from Dr. Fitzgerald at Fort Leavenworth.

“Let’s see what we’ve got.” Nathan sat down at the desk while Harv looked over his shoulder. The first piece of paper was a copy of the Pensacola police department’s incident report. Ernie Bridgestone had been going the speed limit, the skid marks on the road verified it. From what they could glean from the report, a woman had entered the street from between two parked cars. The right bumper of Ernie’s Camaro had clipped her, sending her head over heels. She died instantly from a broken neck. Her BAC, or blood-alcohol concentration, had been .35, over four times the legal limit of .08. Ernie’s BAC had been .10. Just as Amber Sheldon had said, he hadn’t been truly drunk, but he’d been over the legal limit and that’s all that mattered. The responding officer had written in his notes that Ernie had been extremely indignant, stating over and over that he wasn’t drunk and that it wasn’t his fault. He’d used profane and derogatory language about the dead victim’s ethnicity, which was Hispanic. Things quickly turned ugly. After resisting arrest, he’d been Tasered by a backup officer. Booked for felony drunk driving, his bail was set at 10,000 dollars.

The next documents in the file concerned Ernie’s civil-court matters. His driver’s license had been revoked for eighteen months and he’d been fined 2,000 dollars, the maximum allowed by law. Because Ernie had been in the military, Nathan knew his troubles were only beginning. As an active member of the United States armed forces, Ernie had been subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, no matter where the accident had happened. On or off base, it didn’t matter. He’d been surrendered to the military police of Pensacola Naval Air Station and placed in the brig. Notes from the transporting MP’s also indicated Ernie had been belligerent, profane, and generally uncooperative. In the court-martial that followed, the presiding military judge showed no leniency. Had Ernie possessed an outstanding military record with no prior offenses, things might have been different. But Ernie had a long history of insubordination. The bottom line: The Marine Corps made an example out of him, sentencing him to five years in the USDB at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Basically, the Marine Corps version of good riddance, dirtbag. The final sheet of paper was a copy of a newspaper clipping, complete with a photograph of the victim. Nathan’s eyes grew as he stared at the low-resolution photocopy.

“I’ve seen this face,” he said.

Behind him, Harv whispered, “No, it can’t be.”

Nathan rewound his mind, trying to place it. Then he had it. Staring up at him from the lifeless sheet of paper was an image he’d seen for the first time only days ago.

The face of Frank Ortega’s daughter.

Chapter  19

Harv barely managed a whisper. “Do you know who that is?”

Nathan nodded.

“Do you know what this means?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never felt so… betrayed. This whole thing, it’s, it’s—”

“Dirty.”

Neither of them spoke for several seconds, each running the events of the past week through their minds.

“We risked our lives for Frank Ortega at Freedom’s Echo compound. We could’ve been killed, almost were killed. Nathan, I’m sorry.”