Gone Bad (8 page)

Meyerstein nodded.

“Whoever’s behind this doesn’t want to have him on the outside for no reason. The people behind it, and I believe there are people behind this, believe he can advance their aims. He has top-quality military skills. Organization, leadership, technical, the works. I believe the mission has been known about for some time. And he’s escaped just before this event’s planned. Maybe a matter of days. Maybe hours. They couldn’t risk having Hunter Cain on the loose for months. He might get caught. No, something’s going down, and going down very soon.”

“I thought it very interesting the revelation that Cain’s father, his biological father, killed himself. It’d be useful to know more about that. And I’ve got Stamper and his team to look into that.”

“I worked alongside Hunter for years. And in all the time, I didn’t know anything about that.”

“You said before he was sadistic.”

“Yeah … real mean motherfucker.”

Meyerstein’s cellphone rang. “Never a goddamn minute.” She closed her eyes for a moment before answering. “Yeah?” She nodded. “Are we sure?” She listened for a few moments. “We’re heading down. Good work.” She ended the call.

“Who was that?”

“Face-recognition software has pulled up the face of Ken ‘Mad Dog’ Pearce at a 7-Eleven in South Beach.”

“Miami is the locale.”

Meyerstein stared at him long and hard. “Let’s get down there. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

EIGHTEEN

Kathleen Burke stood in the living room of the safe house, blinds drawn, shaking as she popped her methadone pill and washed it down with a gulp of beer. She looked across at the two Feds watching her. “So is this how it’s gonna be, huh?”

One Fed said, “You’ve got your meds, we’ve got some beers in for you – just kick back and relax. You’re fine.”

“I’m fine? Do I look fine to you? Do I?”

The Fed averted his gaze.

“No I fucking don’t. I know what I look like. A fucking mess. A walking, talking piece of trash. That’s what they call me. I know what they say behind my back.”

“Kathleen, I think you need to remember what the doctor said. You need to rest. And you need to calm down.”

“Rest? You think rest is what I need? You Feds, you’re something else. You don’t know about me. Don’t fucking pretend you do.”

The Fed said nothing as his colleague shifted in a seat in the corner.

Burke finished the rest of the beer. She got another cold one from the fridge and took a long gulp. “This is the only thing that will calm me down.”

“The doctor recommended you don’t mix too much booze with the medication.”

“What do doctors know?”

The Fed sighed.

“I want to see my mother and my kids. When can I see them?”

“We’ve got protocols. This is not the right moment.”

“At least let me speak to them.”

“That’s not gonna happen. Look, you’re safe here, right?”

“What the fuck does that mean? My ex-boyfriend is a psychopath. He called my mother. This ain’t gonna end good.”

“You’re safe.”

“You reckon? Let me tell you, Hunter Cain can reach anyone, anywhere, at any time. I know only too well what he’s like.”

Burke sat down and opened a beer, taking a long gulp. It felt good. “Goddamn.”

The Fed said, “Look, Kathleen, you need to focus. And cool it.”

Burke felt the tears begin to well up in her eyes and her throat tighten. “What a fucking mess I am.”

The Fed said nothing, gaze averted.

“Look at me.”

The Fed looked across the room at her. “What?”

“I want to speak to Meyerstein.”

“Not possible.”

“Listen, I want to talk to her.”

The Fed sighed and shook his head. “Why?”

“I want to tell her how I feel.”

“Look, I’ve told you …”

“Are you gonna let me speak to her or not?”

The Fed sighed and headed into the kitchen. She heard his voice on the phone, explaining the situation. Then he came back into the living room and handed her the phone. “Assistant Director Meyerstein. You’ve got a minute.”

Burke took the phone. “Meyerstein, I don’t like being holed up like this. I want somewhere different.”

Meyerstein said, “Kathleen, now just relax. You’ve got everything you need there. Medication and whatever else, right?”

“I feel sick. I want to see my kids. My mother. I want to call them.”

“Not possible.”

“What do you mean, not possible?”

“There can be no contact till this is over.”

“And when will that be?”

Meyerstein said nothing.

“See … you don’t know yourself when this whole thing will end. I could be stuck here for months.”

“That’s not going to be the case, Kathleen.”

“Well, how long?”

A silence opened up down the line. “Maybe a few days. Maybe a week or so.”

“I’m going out of my mind here.”

“Listen, how about we get a new doctor sent round, and he can get your mood lifted – how does that sound? It might be what you need. Do you suffer from anxiety?”

“Yeah. Big time. And this isn’t helping.”

“Leave it with me. I’ll get a doctor and maybe he can help you out.”

Burke felt tears spill down her face. “I’m sorry … you must think I’m pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic, Kathleen. This is a terrible situation you’re in. But we’re here to help you. And protect you and your family. Don’t ever forget that.”

NINETEEN

Matt Pearce pulled up a block from the waterfront house where the Feds had Kathleen Burke. Exterior security lights, and lights on upstairs. He switched off his engine and checked the GPS tracking app on his iPhone. It showed Burke inside the smart house with a Lincoln parked outside. He took a note of the license plate and relayed that back.

He wondered who was inside with her. Was it friends? Boyfriends? Was it their car outside? His instructions had been simple.
Find her. Watch her. And then kill her.

He knew he had to comply with the request. It was made by Hunter Cain no less. He’d served time with him, along with his brother, in Leavenworth. Aryan Brotherhood had certain codes of honor. Blood flowed. And it always flowed with the AB. He knew if he didn’t carry out the order, he’d be killed himself. As would his brother. No ifs or buts. It was just the way it was.

And that was fine. He knew they’d be there for him.

Since he’d been released, he’d killed three people on orders from Cain. A former AB guy who had turned informer. A Texas skinhead who hadn’t carried out a planned hit. And a black guy dealing methamphetamines to white kids in a trailer park.

He hadn’t thought twice about any of the hits. It was AB business. And that’s all he needed to know.

He wondered how he should execute her. Would he break in and just blast her? Stab her when she went to the pharmacy for her meds?

The more he thought about it, the more excited he got.

He felt his guts tighten and his heart start to race. The endorphins were kicking in. He sensed this was going to be a good one.

His cellphone vibrated in his shirt pocket, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Matt, you in place?” The voice was Hunter Cain.

“Maybe fifty yards or so from the house, bro.”

“Any sign of her?”

“Too early. Just got here.”

A long sigh down the line. “Okay, good work. I owe you one for this, buddy.”

“The car outside. The Lincoln.”

“Yeah.”

“Feds.”

Cain took a few moments to answer. “You reckon you can handle this?”

“It’s all in hand, bro.”

“Want it dealt with real quick.”

“How quick?”

“Sooner rather than later.”

“Leave it with me.”

The line went dead.

TWENTY

Reznick was in the back of an FBI Lincoln headed down I-95 when Meyerstein’s cellphone rang. She covered the mouthpiece and clicked her fingers to get his attention. She whispered,
It’s him
.

He knew exactly who it would be.

Reznick took the cellphone from her. “Yeah, who’s this?”

A long silence opened up before a man spoke. “Jon Reznick … well, I’ll be damned.”

Reznick recognized the voice and accent immediately. “Hunter, how you doing?”

“How am I doing? I’m doing great, man. I got a message from a woman to give you a call. Didn’t realize you were employed by the FBI now … you’ve changed, man.”

Reznick stared out of the window. “I heard you got out and I was wanting to talk.”

Cain sighed long and hard. “Sorry to say, bro, don’t believe a goddamn word you’re saying. Wish it wasn’t so. But, hey, it happens to the best of us, right?”

“Hunter, hear me out. You didn’t just escape prison to enjoy the Florida sun, did you?”

“Are you fucking judging me? Are you casting aspersions on a former Delta buddy? You working for the government? Are you kidding me?”

“I’m not working for the government. I’m working with them to ensure that whatever it is you have in mind doesn’t escalate.”

“Jon, I’ve never had no beef with you, man. I love you, man. Like a brother, you know that. But sometimes, just sometimes, a man has to take sides.”

“It’s not about sides, Hunter. It’s about doing the right thing.”

“The right thing, huh?”

Reznick looked at Meyerstein, who was leaning forward and whispering in the lead Fed’s right ear. “I just wanna talk.”

“Jon, the time for talking ended a long, long time ago. You know that better than anyone. I know what you think of the government. The country. You think it’s going to the dogs, don’t you?”

“I think we need to do a lot of things a helluva lot better. And, yes, we need to keep the hell out of people’s lives.”

“Jon, you’ve spoken to my girlfriend, right?”

“Yes I did.”

“Jon, I want to be really upfront with you. I’m going to kill her. And I’m going to kill anyone who gets in my way. And that goes for you!”

“Hunter, this doesn’t have to go down, whatever it is you’re planning.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Jon. This has to go down. Why? Because Americans need to realize that we’re no longer in charge of our country. It’s the government. It’s the banks. It’s the institutions. The little guy doesn’t stand a chance. We need to try and reclaim back what is rightfully ours.”

“Hunter, I don’t disagree with anything you’ve just said. But once you cross a line into killing innocents, you’ve lost the right to your point of view.”

“Jon … be under no illusion. I’m going to kill my girlfriend. And I’m going to make people sit up and take notice of what’s happening to our country, right under our fucking noses.”

“Why won’t you meet up and talk it over?”

“Man, you’re just a patsy. A government patsy, Jon. I love you, man. But I’m gonna kill you too if you get in my way.”

Reznick said nothing.

“Don’t fuck with me, man. Don’t ever fuck with me.”

Then the line went dead.

TWENTY-ONE

Meyerstein stared out of the window of the SUV. She felt a renewed sense of trepidation after the call from Hunter Cain. The investigation was slipping out from her control. The pressure from above – the director of the FBI and the director of Homeland Security – only added to a sense that she hadn’t got a grip of events. Things were sliding.

When they pulled up at Pompano Beach for a coffee break, Meyerstein headed out onto the sands alone. She began to walk and walk as the breakers crashed onto the shore. It felt good to get the warm sea air and the sun on her skin. What she wouldn’t give for a two-week vacation. She never seemed to find the time.

The more she thought of it the more alone she felt. She was surrounded by people all throughout the day. But it was work. Constant. From sunup to sunset. Relentless. Sometimes around the clock.

She thought of her family being looked after by her mother at her house in Bethesda. On the surface it was idyllic. The great job. The great house. The beautiful children. But since her husband had left her, she’d noticed a sadness seep into her thoughts. She was getting more and introspective. She didn’t want to enjoy lunches with friends. She was immersing herself so much in work that she wasn’t giving herself or her family any time.

She remembered her father saying that one of his biggest regrets was never finding the time to be a father when Martha was growing up. Instead, the would-be partner in a powerful Chicago law firm was working sixteen-hour days, seven days a week. He didn’t have time for family. He drove himself hard. To the top. But he also missed out on the great things children do. School Christmas plays, fun days at the beach, weekends at home. Even in his sixties, he was still doing seventy-hour weeks. It was almost like he was scared to slow down in case he lost his position in the firm. She wondered if that was her problem. If she slowed down there would be someone else to take her place.

Meyerstein could see she was becoming more and more like her father. She took out her cellphone and punched in her home number. Her mother answered. It was good to hear her soft voice. Yes, the kids were great. They were at school. When was she coming home? Hopefully soon. She ended the call and punched in her father’s cellphone number. He answered on the fifth ring. “Hey, dad, how’s it going?”

“Martha, honey, I’m great. Mom’s missing you. Are you okay?”

Meyerstein felt her eyes fill with tears. She missed hearing his voice. “Dad … I’m good, thanks. Work’s just kinda, well, you know …”

He went quiet for a few moments as if waiting to pick the correct words to use. “Martha, I can hear in your tone of voice something’s wrong. I can hear it, honey. Because I know you. Tell me what’s wrong. I’ve got all the time in the world for you today.”

Meyerstein dabbed her eyes and shielded them from the sun. She turned round. In the distance Reznick was standing outside the SUV, drinking a coffee, looking in her direction. She gave a wave of acknowledgment and he did the same. She turned round and stared out over the ocean. “I’m getting a lot of heat.”

“What kind of heat?”

“The kind of heat that involves using the services of a certain operative.”

“You talking about Mr R?”

Meyerstein smiled. “The very one.”