First to Kill (29 page)

“Harv, this isn’t your fault.”

“How could—” Harv cut himself off and pointed to the door interconnecting the rooms.

Nathan nodded.

Without saying another word, they both left the room. In the elevator, Harv said, “How could the Ortegas have done this to me, to us?”

“Blood is thicker than water,” Nathan said quietly. “A lot thicker, it would seem.”

“Greg and I go back fifteen years.
Fifteen years
. We spent night after night together looking at satellite imagery when you were missing. I knew Frank’s daughter had been killed, but Greg never talked about it. I never knew the circumstances.”

“How deep does this go, Harv?”

“You mean Lansing? Ortega must have cashed in that IOU earlier than we imagined. Getting his grandson assigned to the Bridgestone operation…” Harv gave Nathan a double take. “You mean your dad? I can’t fathom him betraying you like this.”

“I can,” Nathan said. The elevator dumped them into the lobby. Nathan kept his voice low. “We’ll take a cab over to Sutter Hospital. Holly needs to know about this right away.”

“Nate, she could be involved.”

He shook his head. “She’s not. I can’t explain it, but I’m sure she’s not.”

After the bellman called the cab, it took several minutes for it to arrive. Their moods identical, neither of them spoke during the late-afternoon ride through rush-hour traffic.

Nathan sensed Harv’s anger mounting. Anger and pain at being used like a pawn and betrayed by a trusted friend.

Nathan grasped Harv’s arm. “We’ll get through this, okay?”

Harv shook his head and closed his eyes. “I’m so damned angry, Nate. I can’t…”

Nathan squeezed his arm. “We’re going to turn this around on them, Harv. You hear me? We own their asses now.”

* * *

Nathan knocked on Holly’s door.

“Come in.” Her cheery tone ended the moment she saw the expressions on their faces. “What happened? Did they hit us again?”

“No,” Nathan said. He pulled a chair over from the corner. Harv did the same.

“You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“We have.”

“What’s happened?”

“Ernie Bridgestone killed Frank Ortega’s daughter.”

“Oh, no. When?”

“Eighteen years ago.”

“Eighteen years ago?”

“Drunk-driving accident. It’s why he went to prison. This whole thing’s about revenge. Frank Ortega set Ernie Bridgestone up for a fall.”

“No, I don’t believe that, I won’t believe that.”

“It’s true, Holly. Everything makes sense now.”

“Director Lansing?” she asked.

“Right in the middle of it.”

“Are you absolutely sure about this. Is there any possibility you could be wrong?”

“None.”

“Do you know what this means? What it means for the FBI? For my field office, for my agents?”

“Holly, listen to me. Harv and I aren’t going to do anything that would compromise or embarrass the FBI. We aren’t whistle-blowers. You have our word.”

“Nathan, I—”

“Just listen for a sec. We’ve been thinking about this, working it out. Strictly speaking, what Lansing and Ortega did wasn’t illegal. It may be a terrible lapse in good judgment, but it wasn’t illegal, we all need to understand that. But it raises some other questions. What exactly were the Bridgestones doing prior to dealing in Semtex?”

She sat up a little. “Where are you going with this?”

“Stay with me here. Think back. What did the Bridgestones initially do to get the attention of the FBI?”

“I can’t remember exactly, but I’m sure I got a call from Director Lansing to begin surveillance up there.”

“Is that normally how things work? A call from Lansing?”

“No. My boss is in the Los Angeles field office, he’s an assistant director. The call should’ve come from him.”

“Right, but it didn’t, it came from Lansing himself. It would be like a brigadier general giving an order to a battalion commander, bypassing the regiment commander. He bypassed the chain of command, left your assistant director out of the loop. Do you remember what he said?”

“Vaguely. Something about a new militia-type group he wanted to watch.”

“Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“No, I honestly don’t.”

Nathan looked at Harv, then back to Holly. “We read the file on the Bridgestones operation. Frank Ortega gave it to us prior to the raid. Freedom’s Echo was tiny, way under the radar compared to other militia groups in Montana, Idaho, Ohio, you name it. Those big groups have hundreds, sometimes thousands, of members. The Bridgestones were small potatoes. They dealt mostly in small-arms conversions, semiautomatic to full auto, that kind of thing. It wasn’t until the last few months that they started dealing in bigger things.” Nathan watched understanding take Holly’s face.

“You’re saying James Ortega wasn’t just undercover, he was their contact for the Semtex.”

Nathan nodded. “Yes. It was more than a deep-cover operation. It was a sting. The FBI was both the seller and the buyer of the Semtex.” He paused to make sure she was absorbing it all. “Ortega and Lansing set the Bridgestones up for a fall, for a very personal reason. They thought they had it all under control until two things went wrong. First, the Bridgestones discovered James Ortega was undercover. Second, when the raid came, the FBI had no idea about the tunnel. No matter what happened to James Ortega, the Bridgestones should’ve been cooked. But with the tunnel, the targets escaped with a bunch of the Semtex, leaving Lansing and Frank Ortega with a nightmare scenario, their personal little war gone amok. There’s more. We have to assume James Ortega cracked under the torture and spilled his guts. I don’t fault him for it.” He looked down at the floor. “In Nicaragua, I told my interrogator more than I should’ve. I’m not proud of it, but I’m only human. After a certain point, you just can’t take it anymore.”

“So he told them everything.”

“That’s right. The brothers found out about Frank Ortega’s plan to bring them down. James caved under the torture and told them who he was and who his grandfather was. Think about it, Holly. How angry would Ernie Bridgestone be at finding out who the FBI had sent to bring him down? The grandson of the man who railroaded him eighteen years ago. How angry would he be? Would he be angry enough to bomb your field office? Suppose it hadn’t been James Ortega? What if it had been any other agent? Would the Bridgestones have let it go? Would they have just taken their money and run?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Harv said. “We also killed their little brother, which may have been the last straw. Could’ve been the deciding factor.”

“That’s absolutely possible,” Nathan agreed. “We may never know the truth. But here’s what we do know. After he got out of prison, Ernie Bridgestone had thirteen years to avenge what he claims was an unfair imprisonment for killing Frank Ortega’s daughter. But he didn’t. I think it’s fair to assume he’d let it go, put it behind him. My point is this: It was very bad judgment to use James Ortega at Freedom’s Echo against the Bridgestones. Undercover agents are always facing the threat of discovery and interrogation. Frank Ortega should’ve known that if his grandson were ever captured, he’d reveal his identity under duress. He had to know that would trigger Ernie Bridgestone’s old vendetta.”

“You’d think so,” Holly said. “He just never thought they’d fail, that the brothers might get away. This whole thing…” She paused, shaking her head. “Selling those people Semtex? You may be right, Nathan. From a legal perspective, Director Lansing’s clean. Ethically, it’s a different matter. It was a severe conflict of interest to involve James Ortega. It may not be illegal, but it’s a career-ender. The real question, I guess, is what are we going to do about it.”

“Nothing,” Nathan said.

“Nothing?”

“I don’t see anything constructive in blowing this wide open right now, or ever. As much as Harv and I resent being used as pawns, it doesn’t compare to the pain Frank Ortega has endured. He’s lost both a daughter and a grandson to the Bridgestones.”

“You amaze me, Nathan. I would be far less forgiving in your shoes.”

“This isn’t about me or Harv. It’s about justice. Justice for the dead SWAT agent, for James Ortega, your two techs from the van, and twenty-four other slain FBI employees. I’m not above using the information to keep Lansing off my back, though.”

“Then we stick to the plan,” she said.

“We stick to the plan,” Nathan said. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Nathan, I’m sorry about Director Lansing and Ortega.”

“It’s not a reflection on you. You and me, we’re still good.”

“I appreciate your trust, especially after all the BS you’ve been through.”

“I don’t need to tell you this, but I will anyway. Be careful, Holly. Watch what you say.” He squeezed her hand and got up. “The walls have ears.”

* * *

Under a flawless afternoon sky, the press conference was staged on the steps of Sacramento’s Capitol Building. The podium held over two-dozen microphones, six of them from foreign countries. The bombing of the Sacramento field office had made international news. The reporters and cameramen were set up in ten rows of semicircular seating fifteen feet away from the podium. Assistant Special Agent in Charge Breckensen was being introduced by Governor
Schwarzenegger. The ASAC looked sharp and focused, his tailored suit gleaming in the afternoon sun. He shook hands with the governor and took the podium.

* * *

Leonard and Ernie Bridgestone were still holed up in the same cabin they’d broken into after the raid on their compound. While charting their next moves, they’d been watching the near-constant news coverage of their handiwork, compliments of the cabin owner’s satellite dish. They agreed their best course of action was no action. They needed to let things cool down before heading up north to Canada, but when they did leave the U.S., it would be for good. Getting to the location of their hidden money cache in northern Montana had been the topic of many conversations. The longer they stayed put, the better chance they’d have of quietly slipping through the net. Leonard found it ironic he was the antsy one, while Ernie seemed quite content watching the television coverage.

Ernie sat forward in his chair. “This oughtta be good.”

“We aren’t out of the woods yet, Ern.”

“Shit, these feebs couldn’t find their own ass with a mirror on a stick.” Ernie cranked the volume and sat back.

ASAC Breckensen’s face filled the screen. “Thank you, Governor Schwarzenegger. I’d also like to thank the press for attending on such short notice. As you know, on October seventeenth, our Sacramento field office was bombed with catastrophic results. The blast killed twenty-four people and wounded fifty-five others, many with career-ending injuries. Our thoughts and prayers go out to all of our employees and their families.”

“Breaks my fuckin’ heart,” Ernie said.

Leonard increased the volume.

Breckensen continued, outlining the chain of events leading up to the bombing. “One of the reasons we called this conference was to make a plea to the general public to come forward with any information, no matter how insignificant it may seem. As an example, I’d like to introduce Ms. Amber Mills Sheldon.” He gestured off-camera to his right.

Ernie jumped up from the sofa. “What the fuck?” Then he yelled at Leonard. “What the fuck is this?”

His mind already working, Leonard squinted and said nothing.

The camera followed Amber Sheldon as she stepped up to the podium. The makeup artists had earned their pay, Leonard thought. She actually looked good. She placed a piece of paper on the podium and thanked Governor Schwarzenegger and ASAC Breckensen. She looked visibly nervous. Reading from a prepared statement, she began.

“My name is Amber Sheldon. I was married to Ernie Bridgestone in Pensacola, Florida, where he worked as a drill instructor training naval-aviator candidates at the NAS. I am both shocked and horrified at the bombing of the FBI’s field office. I would not have thought him capable of such an act.”

Sheldon looked up and stared into the camera for several seconds with the haunted look of a woman in emotional pain. “I wish to express my deepest sorrow and condolences to the colleagues, friends, and families of the slain FBI employees. I have fully cooperated with the FBI.” Her lip quivered and a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away and looked off-camera. Breckensen stepped up to the podium and put his arm around her.

“Look at that son of a bitch,” Ernie hissed. “He wants a piece of that. I can’t believe this shit.”

“Shut up, Ernie,” Leonard said. “He’s just comforting her.”

“Yeah, right.”

Breckensen leaned in toward the microphones. “Ms. Sheldon has agreed to take a few questions.” He pointed to a reporter seated in the middle of the first row.

“Ms. Sheldon, have you had any contact with Ernie since the bombing?”

“No,” she said.

The same reporter fired a second question. “When was the last time you spoke with him?”

She looked at Breckensen, silently asking if it was okay to answer. He nodded. “Years ago. After he was released from the Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Breckensen pointed to another reporter.

“Ms. Sheldon, is there anything from Ernie’s past that might’ve led up to this?”

“Not really. He was very angry about his court-martial, but that happened a long time ago. I don’t think this is about that.”

Just as Breckensen was about to point to a third reporter, a question boomed out from one of the back rows. “Have you told Ernie Bridgestone that he’s the father of your daughter, Janey Sheldon?”

The sudden anger in Amber’s face couldn’t be hidden. “That’s none of your damned business.” She twisted away from Breckensen and stormed from the podium. The camera showed Governor Schwarzenegger running to catch her.

Leonard looked at his brother, who was staring at the television with his mouth hanging open. “Ernie? You okay, man?”

“She never told me. How could she never fucking tell me?” He hurled the TV remote across the room.

Leonard didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to provoke Ernie, who seemed dangerously poised at the moment.