Tenderloin (Abby Kane FBI Thriller) (20 page)

Strangulation was the cause of death; the knife in the chest and the body modification were the handiwork of a sick man who liked to play with his victims after he killed them.

I knew the sooner I could extract Elan out of Colombia, the safer he would be. He was still a walking target. I suspected that Zapata had ordered the hit, and it was only a matter of time before an assassination attempt on Elan would be made.

We were holed up in a suite back at my hotel, rarely leaving and relying on room service for all our meals except when Cabrera stopped by. He always brought food. And his smile.

“I don’t understand. She wasn’t a threat. Who could do this to his own sister?”

I looked up from my laptop. “Faro Zapata, that’s who.”

Elan scooted back on the couch. The television was on, but he paid it no attention. “Why would he send El Monstruo?”

“What do you mean?”

“El Monstruo killed my wife.”

My head tilted to the side as I pursed my lips.
Why is this so difficult? Is he calling Zapata a monster?

“You haven’t heard of him, have you?”

“Who?”

“The man we call El Monstruo. Most people think he doesn’t exist, but he does.”

“Who is this person?”

“That’s what everyone wants to know.”

Elan filled me in on everything he knew about the mysterious person—including the belief that Faro Zapata might work for this guy.

“You mean your brother-in-law isn’t the head honcho?”

“Word is that Señor Zapata is one of his most trusted men.”

“Does Zapata know what this monster man looks like?”

Elan shrugged.

“Well, if he reports to El Monstruo, then it doesn’t make sense for him to order his boss to do a hit. Is it possible that whoever did this signed the name to send a message that it was coming from him?”

Elan shrugged again.

To make matters more complicated, Gómez had sent word that the large compound Elan fingered as the base of their operations in Mitú had been destroyed. Ten bodies were found inside, burned beyond recognition. The families of the workers had also gone missing.

“I’m telling you; he wants me dead,” Elan repeated. “I’m a liability. I know what he’s up to, and I know the recipe to the drug. He’s killing everyone who could know something.”

He was right. He was in danger, and I questioned my ability to keep him alive in a country where I had none of the resources to which I had grown accustomed. Cabrera did everything he could to utilize the Colombian forces the DEA works with. But the agreement to work together between Colombia and the U.S. was strictly for the drug trade. This was a murder in which the United States had no direct involvement. It was the responsibility of the local police force to investigate. However, Cabrera was able to arrange for a security detail at the hotel and for armed transportation to the airport when we were ready. Other than that, we were on our own.

It didn’t help that I had Reilly breathing down my neck to get on the next plane. I knew he worried about losing his own agent in the mess. With what I had already told him about Faro Zapata moving his operations to San Francisco, Reilly was anxious to see us on US soil immediately.

Chapter 49

A single man occupied each of the observation rooms inside the warehouse. A total of fifteen had been picked up in the Tenderloin neighborhood the night before. They were the perfect specimens: street people no one would miss. Zapata wanted to start the new round of testing immediately. If he could turn these men into a viable force, it would be easy to imagine what effects MZ-1 would have on a gang of strong, healthy men. But first, it was necessary to see how far he could push men who were less than desirable.

By the time Zapata arrived at the facility the following morning, the men had been under the influence of MZ-1 for two hours. So far, most of that time had been spent destroying the furniture in their rooms. There was a period of ingestion where test subjects had to acclimate to the effects of the drug. Their bodies were undergoing extreme changes. Dr. Espinoza knew from reading the Ortegas’ notes that, with each dosage, these violent outbursts lessened. Most of the men had already calmed and resorted to pacing their rooms.

Zapata walked by every observation window, watching the men to see how they reacted to his presence. Some ignored him; others lunged at the window with the force of a rhino.

“Where is Malcolm?” Zapata asked when he reached the last room.

“Follow me,” Espinoza said. “Malcolm is kept in a private room, away from the men.”

“Is there something wrong with him?”

Espinoza looked back at Zapata. “He’s fine, but he demanded a room separate from the others.”

“Why?”

“He said he’s above those men, that they’re nothing but a bunch of animals, more brawn than brain.”

“Is that so?” Zapata scratched his chin.
This is getting interesting.

In the far corner of the building, an office had been converted into living quarters for Malcolm. Through the observation window, Zapata could see Malcolm sitting on his bed with his back up against the wall, busy reading a book. “What’s wrong with him? Have you given him the drug yet?”

“Yes,” Espinoza said. “He got his last dose at the same time as the others.”

Zapata stood by the window and watched Malcolm. He had never been this passive while under the influence.

“This room, it isn’t reinforced like the others. He could break out of here in a heartbeat.”

“He said he wouldn’t and that we should trust him. So far, he’s held up his end of the bargain.”

Zapata pressed the intercom button. “Malcolm?”

Malcolm lowered his book enough to reveal his eyes staring back. “What do you want?”

“I have an assignment for you.”

Faster than anyone could have ever imagined, Malcolm moved off the bed and made his way to the window. “Why should I help you?”

Zapata didn’t look away or show any sign of emotion. Malcolm did not scare him. He, in fact, intrigued him. He believed there was something else that could motivate him besides MZ-1. Malcolm’s brain craved a challenge. Zapata could clearly see now that Malcolm wanted to be in control. He wanted power.

“I am putting you in charge of your own army of men. Prove to me you can train them to do more than destroy furniture.”

Malcolm smiled.

Chapter 50

The time was half past ten in the morning when the two white vans parked on Eddy Street between Mason and Taylor. The neighborhood was known as the Tenderloin, the fifty square blocks located in the flatlands on the southern slope of Knob Hill between Union Square and the Civic Center. It had been a red light district since its birth and over the years encompassed everything from brothels to speakeasies, even the city’s first gay neighborhood. Its resistance to gentrification only encouraged its reputation as a less-than-desirable part of town. Most of the surrounding buildings in the vicinity were old—cheap firetraps rented out to newly arrived immigrants or used as by-the-hour hotels.

That morning, it was business as usual. A few street people were out and about, but most of the tenants were still holed up in their roach hotels. It wasn’t until the early afternoon that the neighborhood came alive with a bevy of drug dealers and prostitutes who conducted their business late into the night. About a block and a half south on Eddy, the street dead-ended at Hallidie Plaza, where a Bank of America was located.

Zapata sat in the passenger seat of the first van and surveyed the area. The conditions were perfect. Low traffic and a layer of fog kept it quiet and dark. He turned around and caught Malcolm’s eye. “Are you ready?”

Malcolm nodded and opened the side door, allowing the smell of sour urine to flood the vehicle. He and his men exited. “Wait here,” Malcolm commanded before walking back to the second van and ordering the rest of his crew out.

Back at the facility that morning, Malcolm had been tasked with briefing the men on their assignment. It didn’t take long for him to earn the respect of the others. As soon as they were all put in one large holding room, he immediately killed the largest man. Like a new challenger to a lion pride, he was the alpha male. The others would follow his orders.

His group of fourteen followed him, ignoring a group of street kids shaking cups for change and the early-to-rise dealer offering his wares. They moved down the sidewalk mostly unnoticed, moving around cars and dodging shopping carts. The pack crossed an intersection without any consideration for oncoming traffic, nearly getting hit. Within seconds, they reached Hallidie Plaza. Once Malcolm spotted the bank, he headed straight for the front door with his fearless followers right on his tail.

The security guard inside the bank had turned to the door in time to see what looked like a pack of madmen descending upon the building. Before he could radio for help, Malcolm hit the front door and sent it flying open. He locked eyes with the frozen guard, who still held the radio in his hand, and Malcolm headed right for him, leading with his right fist. Malcolm connected with the right side of the guard’s face, hitting him multiple times before sending the unconscious man to the ground hard. Malcolm had crushed his cheekbone and shattered his eye socket.

Malcolm ordered his men to fill their bags with money from the teller drawers while he went in search of the bank vault. He found it was already open, and a man in a suit had just exited, unaware of what was taking place in the bank lobby. Malcolm tackled him and proceeded to ground and pound. A flurry of flying fists crushing the man’s face beyond recognition.

Malcolm moved on to the vault. He whistled, and within seconds the rest of the men had entered behind him and filled the bags. There appeared to be no concern for security control. All of the bank customers and employees had exited the bank, screaming. Alarms had been tripped, and multiple cell phones had dialed 911. After a few seconds, Malcolm cut his men off and ordered them to retreat.

While exiting the bank, Malcolm did a headcount and realized one of his men had gone missing. He headed back inside and found the man behind the teller desk. The body he was straddling had become his personal punching bag. Each hit produced a splatter of red like a kid puddle jumping. Blow after blow, all the same speed and force. So methodical. So mechanical.

Malcolm pulled his man off the body and spun him around. His pupils were fully dilated and jiggered back and forth. Thick saliva bubbled from the corners of his mouth. He may have been looking straight at Malcolm, but his eyes were empty. Within seconds, he lay on the floor, his neck twisted around the wrong way. He was the anomaly, a bad seed, and Malcolm had dealt with him accordingly. The two white vans had moved to the corner of the plaza, and his men were already filing inside. Sirens wailed in the background as Malcolm ran to the van with a smirk on his face.

Chapter 51

Shortly after landing in San Francisco, I received a call from Reilly that had Cabrera, Elan, and I rushing to the Philip Burton Federal Building.

“Kane, I need you over here ASAP! A bunch of crazed men robbed a bank this morning like I’d never seen before. If it wasn’t for the bank footage, you wouldn’t believe me. I haven’t time for details. Just get here,
now
.” He hung up before I could spit out a question. But it didn’t take much for us to assume what had happened.

“Did he say anything else?” Cabrera asked as we piled into my car.

“No, but I’ve kept him fully briefed on what’s transpired so far.”

“So he knows everything?”

“Yup.”

“Does he believe it?”

“From the sound of his voice, I would say yes.”

I looked at Elan in the rearview mirror. He sat quietly in the backseat, staring out the window. “Elan, do you have any idea what Zapata had planned for when he got here?” His eyes connected with me in the mirror.

“Either use MZ-1 or try to sell the recipe, I imagine.”

“Sell it?” Cabrera inquired. “Why? From what you said, he could do a lot with it.”

“He still can, but why not sell it and make money? The best of both worlds.”

“Maybe he’s here to showcase the drug,” I said.

“Perhaps.”

Elan went back to watching the passing scenery, and so did Cabrera. The rest of the ride into the city remained quiet. Apparently, I was the only one who wanted to discuss the case.

Thirty minutes later, we passed through a security check in the Federal Building’s lobby and rode the elevator to the thirteenth floor. When we exited, I didn’t notice anything unusual about the mood of the office. It was quiet except for the usual, controlled murmur you’d find in any office.

Reilly was seated at his desk, frowning at his computer, when we entered. “Abby, I’m glad you’re back,” he said, looking up over his reading glasses.

Cabrera immediately stuck out his hand. “I’m Special Agent Dominic Cabrera with the DEA. Thank you for your assistance.”

Reilly rose to shake his hand. “Sorry to hear about your partner.”

Cabrera nodded.

I motioned toward Elan. “This is Elan Ortega, one of the scientists I told you about.”

Reilly was tall, over six feet. Next to him and Cabrera, Elan and I looked like two children who’d tagged along on Bring Your Kids to Work Day.

Reilly shook his hand. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Ortega. The FBI appreciates your cooperation. Please have a seat. I understand you recently lost your wife and brother.”

“I did.”

“Abby is one of our best. I hope we can help bring their killers to justice.” He returned to his desk chair. “Rather than tell you about this morning’s robbery, I’m going to show you,” he said as he turned his laptop around.

We watched the footage from the CCTV cameras inside the bank without saying a word. When it finished, Reilly hit play once more. When the gang of men entered the bank, I asked him to pause it.

“Elan, are those men under the influence of this drug?”

“It appears they have been given a dose of MZ-1. Fast forward it a bit… There, stop it.”