Shadow Man (47 page)

44

I
’M ON MY
way into the FBI building with Callie. We’d left a policeman with Leona, and our suspect is being taken to the Wilshire police station for booking. I came here to get Alan and to plan out our interrogation strategy. I have just punched the up elevator button when my cell phone rings.

“Smoky!”

I go on instant alert. It’s Elaina, and she sounds terrified. “What’s wrong, Elaina?”

“There are three men sneaking around outside the house. In the backyard. Young-looking.”

A thrill of terror shoots through me. I think of Ronnie Barnes. Is this related? Did Jack Jr. create himself a little psycho army? Or am I just being paranoid?

Paranoid? With Jack Jr.? No way.

I think about what I had said to Alan, about how Elaina wasn’t in any physical danger, and I am sick at the possible consequences of this misestimation.

I break into a run, forgoing the elevator, rushing up the stairs. Callie follows. “Elaina, what about the agents out front?”

Silence.

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287

“Their car is there. I don’t see them.”

“Do you have a weapon in the house? A gun?”

“Yes. Upstairs, in the closet.”

“Get it, lock yourselves in the bathroom. I’m getting Alan and it’ll take us maybe fifteen minutes to get over there.”

“I’m scared, Smoky.”

I close my eyes for a moment, as I continue to run. “Call the cops, get the gun. We’ll be there soon, Elaina.”

I hang up, hating myself as I do it. But I do it to force her into motion. Moments later I burst through the door of our office. The look on my face has everyone’s attention.

“Alan, Elaina has visitors!” I point at Leo and James. “You two stay here. James, coordinate with LAPD on the suspect they’re booking for us. Callie and Alan, come with me. Move it!”

Alan is in motion already. His face is full of questions, his eyes are full of terror. His voice is steady, even as we rush down the stairs toward the parking lot. “How many?” he asks.

“Three. Creeping around the house. I told her to call the cops, get the gun, lock herself in the bathroom.”

“Where the fuck are the agents who are supposed to be guarding Bonnie?”

“I don’t know.”

We run through reception, slamming through the front doors of the building, racing down the steps. Elaina and Bonnie, Elaina and Bonnie, the mantra cycles through my mind, over and over and over. On some level I register that I should be more afraid, but everything is about forward motion, not enough time to feel or think deeply. Callie hasn’t said a word. She’s following without question. And then it happens.

“Die,
cunt
!”

We are in the parking lot, and the young man who screamed this is rushing toward me, a knife raised in his hands. His face is contorted, maniacal. His eyes are hungry. Time slows to a frame-by-frame. Six feet, I think, analytical. Running, knife raised, that means he’ll be on me in about a half second—

I have blown a hole through his head before I really even finish this
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C O D Y M C F A D Y E N

thought. The speed involved in pulling my weapon and firing is just too fast to track if I had to think about it. It’s instinctive, a decisive lightning strike.

His head explodes, time restarts at normal speed, I’m whipping aside as he pitches forward, his body hitting the pavement with a dull thud that sends both gray matter and the knife flying.

“Holy fucking shit!”
Alan yells.

I notice neither he nor Callie have pulled their weapons yet. I don’t hold it against them. We have a special relationship, my steel blackbird and I.

My mind continues to move at the same blinding speed. “Callie, you’re going to drive. Keep moving!”

I see Tommy running toward us. I don’t stop. “We’re okay!” I yell.

“But there are unsubs at Alan’s home!”

Tommy doesn’t break stride, or nod, or do anything other than whip around and continue running at the same speed back toward his car. That Secret Service training, I think. Instant, unhesitating, decisive action.

We reach Callie’s vehicle and pile in. She has it in gear and is burning rubber about two seconds later.

“Who the hell was that?” Alan asks.

Callie responds for me. “Blood brothers of Ronnie Barnes, honeylove,” she murmurs, eyes fierce as she rockets out of the parking lot. Alan doesn’t respond. I see understanding dawn on his face, followed by fear. “Oh, no . . .” he whispers. I don’t respond. None is needed. He has the same mantra going on in his head as I do in mine: Elaina and Bonnie, Elaina and Bonnie, Elaina and Bonnie.

I’m sure for him, like me, it’s turning from a mantra into a prayer.

45

A
LAN CALLS ELAINA.
“Babe? We’re on our way. Did you call the cops—what? Shit! Stay there, honey! Right where you are.” He puts a hand over the mouthpiece. “They’re in the house. She can hear them creeping around.” Talks to Elaina again. “Listen, babe. Don’t speak back to me anymore. I don’t want them to hear you. Keep the line open, put the phone down, and point the gun at the door. If you don’t hear me, Smoky, or Callie, then you shoot whoever tries to come through it.”

Elaina and Bonnie, Elaina and Bonnie, Elaina and Bonnie . . . We’re on Alan’s street. Callie screeches up to the driveway and we pile out. Alan has put his phone away, has his weapon ready. We all do. I look around, see Keenan’s car. I run up to it, and what I find fills me with rage and sorrow. Both he and Shantz are dead, holes in their foreheads. Vengeance now, I think. Mourn later.

I move away from the car, up the driveway to the front of the house. I point at the door. It’s been forced open, the jamb splintered. “Go in quiet,” I whisper. “We need them alive if possible. Do you hear me, Alan?”

He stares at me for a moment, a long, cold, killer’s stare. Then gives me a begrudging nod.

We enter through the front door, guns and eyes moving, checking
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C O D Y M C F A D Y E N

for signs of the intruders. Callie, Alan, and I all look at one another, shake our heads. Nothing down here. We all stop as we hear motion upstairs. I point to the ceiling. We move up the stairway. My heart is hammering away. I can hear Alan breathing and see sweat on his brow, even though it’s cool inside the house. We’re almost to the top when Elaina screams.

“Alan!”
Her voice is filled with terror. I hear the
BOOM-BOOM-
BOOM
of a handgun being fired.

“FBI!”
I yell, and we hit the top of the stairs, silent no more.
“Drop
any weapons you’re holding and get down on your fucking knees!”
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
Again, more handgun fire, and now I can see where it’s coming from. A young man with dark hair looks like he’s jitterbugging as Elaina’s handgun blows holes through him. She’s on overkill, going to keep firing until she clicks on empty. Two others turn to face us. One has a gun, one has a knife, I note in an instant. They seem surprised at first, then see me and hatred kicks in.

“It’s her!” the one with the gun says. “That Smoky cunt!”

He raises his weapon to fire, the one with the knife rushes toward me, and now everything is moving frame by frame again. I see Alan and Callie fire on the gunman, watch with a kind of detached approval as holes open up in his head and chest, spraying blood. I see his weapon discharge as he falls backward. Knife guy is heading toward me, and it’s a replay of the parking lot, except that this time I shoot the hand holding the blade to take him alive. Watch as two of his fingers disappear, see his eyes widen and roll up into his head as shock hits him like a sledgehammer. He drops to his knees, mouth in an
O
. Vomits once, then falls forward, unconscious but trembling.

“Elaina!”
Alan screams.

“In here!”
she screams back, hysterical. “We’re okay! We’re okay!

We’re okay!” Both Alan and I rush forward into the bathroom. I am weak-kneed with relief to see them there, in the bathtub, unharmed. Elaina is weeping, still gripping the gun in both hands, eyes wild. Bonnie is sitting at one end of the tub, arms wrapped around her legs, forehead against her knees, rocking back and forth. Alan and I bump into each other as he rushes to Elaina and I rush to Bonnie.

“You okay, sweetheart?” I ask, frantic, grabbing her head in my hands, searching for any signs of harm.

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Alan is doing the same with Elaina, and Bonnie starts sobbing, throws her arms around me, and Elaina mirrors this with Alan. The sound of Alan and me saying, “Thank God, Thank God,” echoes off the bathroom walls. It is the chaos of relief.

“Callie!” I yell out the door. “They’re both fine! No one’s hurt!”

There is no reply. “Callie?”

The image slams into me, a thunderclap. His gun discharging . . .

“Oh no . . .” I whisper. I put Bonnie down, draw my gun, creep out of the bathroom.

I see her.

I am enclosed in a bell of silence. A stillness formed of shock. Callie lies at the top of the stairs, on the carpet, hair fanned. Her eyes are closed.

A red stain spreads on her chest.

“911, Alan . . .” I whisper. Then I am screaming.
“911! 911! Mother-
fucking 911!”