Tenderloin (Abby Kane FBI Thriller) (21 page)

Reilly stopped the video on the scene where the guard is attacked. “You see that—the way he’s pummeling the guard. That is consistent with the actions of all our previous test subjects.”

“They don’t use weapons?” Cabrera asked.

Elan turned to him. “These men
are
weapons.”

Reilly hit play again. We watched the gang of men swat customers out of the way like rag dolls. To get into the tellers’ area, two of them destroyed the door as if it were made of balsa wood. It literally looked like scenes from a sci-fi movie.

“How can a man physically destroy a door like that? It’s impossible.”

Elan turned to Reilly. “You know how you hear of people in dire consequences doing extraordinary things? Like the mother who single-handedly lifts a car off her child? Well, she is getting her strength from the same place they are,” he said pointing at the screen. “It’s adrenaline. Our drug turns it up even higher, so the superhuman strength lasts longer than a brief moment. It also increases the neuron activity in the brain tenfold, allowing that person’s brain to fire off reactions one thousand times faster than the average human.”

“If they’re so smart, why on earth do they allow themselves to be controlled?”

“The drug is highly addictive. They crave it, especially when they start to come down. Once a person establishes they are in control of it, he can control them. But mind you, this is only what I’ve learned from my earlier observations. Also, while a user does retain some strength and intelligence, for the most part, they return to their original state. In the case of these men, once they come down, they won’t be that threatening.”

Reilly took a closer look at the video. “There appears to be no life in their eyes.”

“It’s a side effect. Trust me; they are conscious.”

“And you believe every man attacking this bank has been given MZ-1?”

Elan nodded.

Just then, the man who attacked the guard walked up to a bank surveillance camera and smiled before turning away, as if he knew we would be viewing the footage later.

“Now I’m even more certain, because I know that smile,” he said. “That’s Malcolm. He killed my brother.”

<><><>

Back at the warehouse in south San Francisco, Zapata and his men celebrated with champagne as video footage from the bank heist played on a large monitor. A few of the men, including Malcolm, had been outfitted with tiny cameras, so Zapata and the others could watch the mission as it happened from the safety of the vans. Now they had it playing on a loop for their entertainment.

This was important, because Zapata had a special guest who had tagged along: the leader of a small gang. His name was Juan Vega though on the streets he was called Don Vega. He oversaw Southern Pride, a Colombian gang associated with the Cali cartel, a large drug organization based in the southern Colombian city of Cali. The Rodríguez-Orejuela brothers had originally founded the cartel, but new leadership had taken over in recent months. “Difficult” was how Vega described their ways, but he had no choice but to continue to do business with them because that’s where he got his cocaine.

Vega had been interested in distancing himself and eventually separating from the cartel—especially after a recent falling out had strained their relationship. There was one problem though: he still needed product. Zapata offered the perfect business arrangement; Vega and his gang would get access to MZ-1 to create their own army so they could increase their territory and defend it so long as the gang bought cocaine from Zapata and no one else.

Zapata walked over to the stumpy gang leader dressed in baggy shorts and a button down and refilled his glass with champagne. “What do you think?”

“I’m impressed,” Vega responded with smiles.

Tattoos crawled out from under his shirt collar and up his neck—unavoidable to Zapata’s eyes. He had never understood the fascination with ink. It brought unnecessary attention. “Then it’s settled—”

“I want to try one more thing,” the gang leader continued. “I want to see how they handle a situation that is realistic to my needs.”

The smile on Zapata’s face disappeared. So did the one on Vega’s.

While intrigued by the possibilities of using the drug to create a disposable army, Vega wasn’t about to go into business with Zapata unless he felt he truly had the manpower to fight off any retaliation from the Cali cartel. The laughter that surrounded the two men had already calmed itself to a few lingering chuckles. Quiet exploded across the room as the others watched the developing showdown.

Zapata tilted the champagne flute back while keeping his eyes trained on the brave and confident Vega. With each swallow, he drained bubbly liquid from the glass until the last swallow emptied into his mouth, where he swished it around once before finishing if off with a loud pop from his lips. “All right. We will do another test. But from now on, you
will
distribute my cocaine.”

Chapter 52

The FBI had confiscated all of the bank footage to prevent it from slipping into the hands of the media. A video showing a gang of men with superhuman strength robbing and killing wasn’t something that needed to be broadcast. We hoped that anyone who decided to talk would come across as a hysterical witness exaggerating the facts.

Malcolm was the only man Elan identified in the video. The others didn’t look like they were from Colombia. I assumed they were from someplace in or near San Francisco. Since no one seemed to match up with any missing persons reports, we figured they were most likely people who lived on the streets. There were a lot of able-bodied teens and young adults that roamed the Tenderloin neighborhood. Reilly arranged for a few officers from the Tenderloin precinct to come have a look in the hopes that we would get lucky.

We all understood Elan’s importance to the case. Everything we knew we had learned from him. Solving the case would require keeping him alive. I still had concerns about his safety, and it took some convincing for Reilly to get on board. Lately, the department budget had been under intense scrutiny, and not every witness got the same treatment. I had pushed for a twenty-four-hour security detail outside his hotel room.

“Faro Zapata will do this again,” Elan said. “And if he sells the drug to others like himself, you will have multiple people creating armies of these men to do their bidding. Also, we still don’t know the long-term effects of this drug.”

That convinced Reilly, who signed off on the paperwork and proceeded to stick Elan in the nearest, decent hotel. Cabrera decided to get a room a few doors down from Elan, which made me feel a bit better. Another eye on Elan couldn’t hurt.

My plan was to head home once I had my witness tucked safely away in his room. What should have been a few days out of town had morphed into a two-and-a-half-week time suck. I even missed seeing Ryan off to camp. It was moments like those when I can honestly say I appreciate having a mother-in-law who was so willing to help out with the kids. I spoke and texted with them while I was gone, but it wasn’t the same as being there—not by a long shot.

Maybe I felt guilty because the summer of family fun wasn’t really happening. I had lost almost three weeks of it to this case, and I could expect to lose more. But I wasn’t going to let that thought spoil my excitement at finally being able to go home.

I gave my cell number to the security detail outside of Elan’s door then headed to the elevators. All I could think of was hurrying home so I could see my family. As the elevator opened, I heard someone call my name. Cabrera was jogging down the hallway toward me.

“Wait up.” He entered the elevator with me. “Now that we’re off the clock, technically, maybe you can show me your city.” Cabrera moved in closer to me. I could smell tiny whiffs of cologne radiating off his chest and neck area.

“Well, first off, it’s not my city. I feel like a newbie myself. I’ve only been here for a few years. And anyway, you know this place. You studied here,” I said, playfully poking his arm.

His brown eyes settled on mine. “Yeah, you’re right. I was just looking for an excuse to hang out.”

I giggled and looked away for a moment. His stare could be so intense at times. “You know you don’t need an excuse, but I’m going to have to take a rain check for tonight. I’m dying to see little Lucy and Po Po.”

“How stupid of me. Of course, family always comes first. But what about little Ryan?”

“
Big
Ryan is at camp.”

“I’ll be here for a while. Another night then.”

He smiled as he took a step closer to me. His eyes never left mine, except to look at my lips. My entire body knew what to expect next as my legs weakened and my heart seemed to stretch out its every beat. We had an unspoken rule that we would keep our little tryst professional. Well, I had that rule, but I think Cabrera had learned to respect it. So there was no touching, grabbing, hugging or kissing in or around the job or coworkers. It had been many, many days of professionalism.

I watched his large frame lean toward me slowly, making me wait. Normally, I like the anticipation, but we were in an elevator, and time was of the essence. I peeked at the floor numbers, and we had just passed the fourth. Our window of opportunity was closing. Soon the doors would open to a very public lobby. I appreciated his slow, romantic move for a kiss, but if our lip-lock was going to happen, it needed to be kicked into high gear. So I grabbed him by his shirt, yanked his juicy lips toward mine and gave him an open-mouthed tongue lashing that lasted for an unforgettable three seconds. When I opened my eyes, his were still closed.
Good work, Abby.

“Abby to Dom: wake up.”

“Huh?”

The elevator doors opened. “Come on,” I said, flashing him a smile.

“Why are you grinning like that?”

“Eh, looked like you were under a spell for moment.”

“Oh, is that so? I’m the one under a spell?”

I held up a finger and mimicked wrapping a string around it.

He reeled back in dramatic fashion. “Oh, is that what you think? If you ask me, I think it’s the other way around.” He leaned in a bit and whispered, “I wasn’t the aggressive one back there.”

“No, you were the shy boy who didn’t know what to do and needed a woman to show you how it was done.”

“You’re right.” This time he leaned too close, forgetting the rules. I stuck my index finger right into his chest and backed him off. It was his turn to be left wanting.

Chapter 53

I had barely set foot inside our Victorian when Lucy came barreling at me. She had both hands stretched out in front as she squealed, “Moommmyyy!”

When the plane had landed, I had put a call into Po Po to let her know I was on US soil but had to make a stop at the office before heading home. I knew she would spill the beans to Lucy. I didn’t mind though. In Lucy’s world, days tended to blend together. She really didn’t know how long I had been gone—only that I wasn’t there.

I dropped to my knees with open arms and waited for Lucy, who was unable to slow down completely before impact. She crashed into me, nearly knocking me over. But oh did it feel so good to have her in my arms. I didn’t even mind her shouting, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, you’re
home
!” at the top of her lungs, causing painful, temporary deafness in my left ear. I smothered her with quick kisses all over her face, which set off the giggles. She begged me to stop, but I increased my sweet pecks until we fell to the floor, both out of breath and laughing.

“Good to have you home.”

I looked up and saw Po Po standing there with a dishcloth in one hand and a ladle in the other. She picked up my suitcase and moved it out of the doorway, closing the door behind her.

“Hi, Po Po. It’s good to be home. Everything okay around here?”

“Everything fine. No problems. You hungry? I made
jok
.” She then turned around and headed into the kitchen.

I lay on my back while little Lucy sat on top of me and played with my hair. She had been asking me a series of questions, not really waiting for an answer on any particular one. I tried to answer the questions that wouldn’t lead into a series of whys. I had been wrong to think I could pull it off.

Lucy and her curiosity followed me into the kitchen and sat in the chair next to me. Po Po placed a bowl of the rice porridge in front of me. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the familiar smell hit my nose. My mother used to make a fresh pot of
jok
every Sunday, and by Tuesday it was always gone. Her version required dried orange peels to give it that citrus bite, which I could never taste, but boy did I hate biting into them.
Blech!
Thankfully, my mother-in-law didn’t follow the same recipe. I dug in and, between bites, answered Lucy’s questions.

“I have more pictures for you, Lucy. Go get Mommy’s purse.”

She returned with my bag, and I took out my phone and gave it to her. She proceeded to “ooh” over the other jungle pictures I had taken. I then retrieved a bracelet that one of the women in the village had fashioned for me for the ceremony and gave it to Lucy. Her “ooh” turned into a “wow!” as she modeled it on her wrist for Po Po and me.

“Did Ryan get upset that I wasn’t here when he left for camp?” I asked while I blew on a spoonful of the rice porridge before placing it in my mouth.

Po Po waved off the notion. “He was fine. He so excited to go.”

I figured as much, but I couldn’t help but think he kept count of all the times I had failed to be there. Sadly, it had already been a week and a half since Ryan had shipped off for camp. He’d been able to hitch a ride with a friend to the bus pickup area near Pier 39. I should have been there waving goodbye along with all the other parents.

I had signed him up for a three-week program, so I knew he would be home soon. In another positive, I was home just in time to attend Family Day at the camp, which was the very next day. It was the only time parents and siblings were invited to visit. Even though I was exhausted, nothing would keep me from making that trip—not even the FBI. They could live without me for one day.