The CleanSweep Conspiracy (28 page)

Matt felt his leg starting to spasm. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and urged himself to be calm.

“So far, so good,” Carling said.

CHAPTER 34

We Have Him
…
We Have Him Not

A
ngela was on the carpet
—
again. No, make that the hot seat. Called to Claussen’s office, she was desperate for good news to pass along. Just then, her phone rang. She held it to her ear and listened intently; a smile curled her lips as she did.

“We have him. We know where he is, boss!” Bristol couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Where
—
?” she started to ask the obvious, but he cut her off.

“He lives in the Beaches, some crap building that hasn’t been upgraded in years. After one of our spotters thought she saw him and called in her report, one of our facial
-
recognition cameras matched him. The camera spotted him going in the front door. I sent Sarah Reznat to check it out. She showed his photo to a couple walking up to the building, carrying groceries. They said he lives in Apartment 304. We’ve been chasing a ghost, but now we have him, boss. Reznat said she hasn’t seen anyone except an unknown male leave since she’s been there, and he was way too old to be Tremain.”

Angela Vaughn didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled. “Are you sure he’s still there?”

“He hasn’t left the building, and a light is coming from one of his apartment windows.”

“We have to take him alive. No rough stuff. You have a green light. Let me know when you have him in custody.”

“The watcher said there was a man with him. We have nothing on him.”

“Do you know who?” Angela was curious.

“No idea, boss. Reznat used her phone to send us his photograph, and the techs are starting to match it with our database now. What about him? What do you want us to do with him if we catch him?”

“He’s expendable,” she said.

• • •

“Now!” Bristol said after his call to Angela Vaughn. He turned to one of the agents with him
—
Adams, his second in command. “The boss says it’s a go. He’s in there,” he said, pointing. “Apartment 304.”

He stood back and watched two men run up to the front door of the building. Watching them rip it open, he motioned to the rest. A team of men and women wearing protective vests stormed the lobby, guns drawn.

He heard Adams shouting. “You two, front stairs! And I want four more right behind. When you get to the third floor, call me on the C frequency. You two, take the back stairs and make sure nobody comes down!”

Bristol stepped into the lobby and looked at Adams, who was holding a radio to his ear. “Roger that,” he said.

Adams turned to Bristol and said, “We’re ready to go in.”

Bristol gave a nod, and Adams clicked the radio, shouting, “Go, go, go!”

It was an agonizing wait for Bristol.

“Fuck.” It was Adams. “He’s not in his apartment, sir.” He reported that their teams had searched all four floors, and Matt Tremain was nowhere to be seen. “Where is he?”

“The basement!” Bristol shouted. “Have you checked the basement?”

Adams turned and, with a wave of his hand, directed four agents. They ran to the back of the hallway and began to pry the locked basement door open. Adams stood at the top as they crowded down the steps. He saw them stop and look around at the bottom. Then he ran down to see for himself.

“It’s a total mess down here, boss
—
and no sign of Tremain,” Adams radioed.

Bristol ran down and joined Adams. They looked around at the destruction and stood without talking.

“It’s impossible,” Adams said. “He has to
—
”

“You have to see this, boss.”

Bristol and Adams turned and looked at the agent who had spoken. He was standing by a strip of wood paneling. He pulled it back from the wall, exposing a door. Kicking the door open, the two officers darted inside the coal chute, shining their flashlights on the ramp. They could clearly see the trail of two sets of footprints that Matt and Cliff had left behind.

“Who the hell is with him now?” someone asked.

“This isn’t going to end well for us,” Bristol said. “Vaughn is going to have us for breakfast, lunch,
and
dinner.”

“And dessert.” Adams groaned as he watched Bristol dial her number.

• • •

Angela was looking in the mirror, admiring her broad smile, when the phone rang again. That would mean they had Tremain at last, and she could look forward to meeting with Claussen. This had to be Bristol, with the details. She held the phone to her ear and watched her reflection change as her smile begin to fade and the color drained from her face.

“How
—
how
? You said you had him!”

She listened for another moment and clicked the phone off without a word. She pressed a number on speed dial. It was the number for Amber, her part
-
time lover and the only person she could confide in.

“It’s over, Amber. I have to tell Claussen we let Tremain get away. Again.” She listened briefly to the commiseration coming from the other end of the line. “My team tracked him to an apartment building and had the area surrounded. They didn’t know he had a planned escape route through the basement.” She observed her frown in the mirror as she listened.

“It’s no use. It’s way too late for excuses. My agent in charge, Bristol, said when the dry cleaners next door opened for business they heard a commotion
—
lots of shouting. It was apparent Matt had escaped through there, and then broke into a shop next to it, too. We have no idea where he went from there.”

She contemplated the woman in the mirror, not wanting to believe it was her own image staring back.

“Bristol mentioned something else, Amber. Bristol said there was evidence of
two
people. We know that there was a man with Tremain earlier, but we looked at the surveillance tapes and realized he left before we moved in. That man got on a streetcar, and nobody there thought to follow him. We listened in on a call, though, and it confirms someone else is with him. Who in the hell is he collaborating with now?” It was a question she knew Amber couldn’t answer.

Vaughn listened. “Thanks, Amber, but I have to get it over with. I have to give Claussen his bad news, gone worse.”

She disconnected the call and took one last look at the face reflected in the glass. Her eyes were swollen and red, and several frizzy curls hung over her right eye, showing her someone other than the consummate professional she was used to seeing. Another woman walked into the room and looked startled when Angela muttered to herself, “I might as well tell him and get it over with.” She was surprised as the woman to find that she had said it out loud.

The phrase “dead man walking” came to her as she slunk down the hallway to Claussen’s office.
“Dead
woman
walking” is more like it,
she thought. She did her best to walk slowly. When she arrived at the door, she paused, then knocked softly.

“Come.”

Claussen looked up. When he saw Angela, he started to smile
—
until, that is, he noticed her appearance. Her red eyes were a clear warning sign. His smile vanished into a grimace. He stood slowly and leaned forward with his hands on his desk. He already knew what she was about to tell him, and he knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Angela saw his jaw tighten and a flush of crimson climb his face like mercury in a thermometer.

“I depended on you.” His voice was cold.

She knew it was useless to offer excuses. Her options had expired with this last missed chance. She didn’t bother to straighten her hair or fix her appearance. She stretched back her shoulders, standing at attention. It was like she was standing before a firing squad, and she intended to face her demise with dignity.

“I depended on you,” Claussen repeated. This time, the frozen tone thawed. Not exactly warm, but not as cold, either. “If Tremain links up with that damn news reporter
…
”

Angela realized she was still holding her shoulders back at strict attention.
Wait
…
I’m still alive,
she thought. With neither one speaking, the silence fueled her unease.
This is worse than being yelled at. When is he going to explode?

“We have to find him and stop him. We have to find Susan Payne as well,” Claussen said, breaking the quiet. “Do whatever it takes. Taking them alive is no longer a necessity. It’s not a valid option. You have to stop them. Do you have what it takes, or
—
?”

Angela realized she was being given one last chance. “I am going to take direct charge, sir. This is too important to handle just by issuing directions from my office. I’m going into the field.”

Claussen looked at her for a long time. It was more than a gaze, but short of a stare. Angela couldn’t read the meaning behind the expression. Finally, she nodded and attempted to execute a precise military about
-
face. It would have been perfect, except that her heels didn’t click together as intended, so she tilted to one side with an awkward motion.

What the hell am I trying to do?
she thought. She turned and walked out the door, letting it close behind her.
Just when I thought he was going to explode at me, he didn’t. Why?

She pulled her phone out of her pocket while she walked. “I want a car, now!”

CHAPTER 35

Never Trust a Drunk

“D
ispatch, three one two five, is ten
-
fifteen this location. I need a supervisor ten
-
twelve.” The radio went quiet. Sitting in the undercover police car, Matt and Carling listened to the radio call.

Matt turned to Carling with a questioning look.

They were seated in the car, a police services handheld radio resting on the dashboard. The detective reached into his coat pocket and pulled out another radio, smaller and sleeker, then placed it next to the first as he explained.

“‘Ten
-
fifteen’ means they have a prisoner in custody, but there must have been witnesses who observed the arrest. They’re warning their supervisor to use utmost discretion when he gets there,” Carling explained. He chuckled. “That was what the ‘ten
-
twelve’ meant.”

“How do you make sense of all the calls? It’s a jumble of noise to me.”

“Anyone working radios develops the knack,” Carling said. “Your mind learns to ignore all the chatter, the useless noise, until you hear your call sign. That call you just heard was from car twenty
-
five in the thirty
-
one division. That was my first post as a rookie, so I still pay attention to their calls.”

Matt tried to ignore the radio traffic noises and to concentrate on why they were still sitting in the garage.

“I could use a drink,” Carling said.

Matt didn’t bother responding. They had been in the car for over thirty minutes, listening to the sounds of search parties nearby. Twice, cars had driven slowly down the alley, shining flashlights between buildings and into garages. Carling had managed to get their garage’s door most of the way down, and so far they had gone undetected.

They both jumped, startled by a voice blasting from one of the handheld radios on the dashboard. “We have him. We know where he is now, boss. We’re going in now.”

Matt looked over, his eyebrows arching in surprise.

“That’s the CleanSweep radio and frequency,” Carling said.

The two men listened to Bristol reporting to Angela Vaughn. Moments later they heard him calling back to relate the unsuccessful search at the apartment and building. They heard everything they needed to know from the undertone in Angela Vaughn’s voice in response to that last piece of information.

“They’re going to find our way out,” Matt said as they listened to the description of the basement and what used to be his safe room.

“But that’s all,” Carling said. “They don’t know where we went after that nail salon. All we have to do is stay put. The worst thing we can do is run. That’s how suckers always get caught.”

“I’m scared.”

“We both are,” Carling said. “We’d be fools not to be.”

The CleanSweep radio blared again. Carling picked it up to lower the volume. He looked suddenly worried.

“I’m on my way.” It was Angela Vaughn’s voice. “It’s time for me to take charge. I want every building and alley in a ten
-
square
-
block area of that apartment surrounded. Tremain couldn’t have gotten far. I want
every
nook and cranny,
every
dark corner,
every
shadow searched. Don’t leave anything to chance. We have to get this guy. On Claussen’s orders, Tremain is now a Code Blue target.”

That made Carling sit bolt upright, as if he’d been jolted with an electrical shock. “That’s an order to kill on sight.”

“There’s somebody with him,” John Bristol said.

“Do you have any idea who it is yet?” Vaughn demanded.

“Damn if I know, boss. What about him? Is he a Code Blue target, too?”

“Disposable,” came the one
-
word response from the boss.

The radio hissed, and Carling adjusted the squelch knob until the white noise stopped. “Hmm, they don’t have a line on me yet. But they’ve raised the stakes on both of us.”

“I never thought you looked anything like a cop,” Matt said. He realized Carling wasn’t wearing his trademark fedora.

“And that may work for us
…
with luck. You can hear it in Vaughn’s words. She’s running scared.”

“And we aren’t?”

“Like I said, we’d be fools
not
to be scared. But we have the advantage.”

“Oh really? Do tell. I would
love
to know what advantage we have.”

“We know where they are,” Carling said, laughing. “They don’t know where we are.”

“Some plan. Some advantage.”

“It’s better than no plan, wouldn’t you say? KBO
…
” Carling hissed.

Minutes passed as the two listened to radio reports from the search parties. It took an ominous direction when they realized agents were starting a careful search of the alleys. It would only be a matter of time until someone opened the door to the garage
—
to find their targets sitting right there in the car.

“I need to get something out of the trunk. Get out, and come to the back of the car with me.”

They could hear voices and footsteps approaching as they did, so they closed the doors as quietly as possible. Carling opened the trunk and pointed to a satchel. He reached in and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He tipped the bottle over his head, letting it wash down over his hair and shirt. Then he took a large swallow, gasping as the heat of the liquor caused him to sputter.

“Damn,” he muttered, “a waste of good whiskey.”

Then a surprised Matt watched as Carling began pissing his pants on purpose, the spreading, wet splotch growing visible even in the dim light. When he was finished, Carling reached down and grabbed dirt from a discarded flower pot and rubbed it all over his face. With his coal
-
stained clothes and his new accessories, he was transformed into a disheveled, smelly man who looked very homeless indeed.

“Now,” he said, pointing, “jump up on the trunk of the car and haul your sorry ass up there.”

Matt looked up at the rafters overhead. Scraps of wood, old doors and windows, and other debris had been shoved on top of them. Matt got up on the trunk, then on the top of the car, and finally hoisted himself up. He curled behind a plywood slab until he was as invisible as he could be.

“Stay quiet.”

Matt didn’t need the reminder. He watched Carling walk to the front of the garage and slide down the wall until he was slumped at the bottom. It was an award
-
winning imitation of a drunk.

The agents conducting the search made no attempt to be quiet. They reminded Matt of scenes from jungle films about safaris, with beaters thrashing the bush in front of the hunters, hoping to scare up the game.

“Has anyone looked in here?”

Suddenly the door was yanked open. A flashlight beam shone on the dirty car and then began swinging around the garage until it landed on Carling. He looked every bit the drunk, leaning there against the wall.

“What the fuck?” Carling demanded, but he made it sound more like “Wha’ de fuuuk?” He held up his hands to shield his eyes from the light
—
and his face from recognition. “Turn off those lights
—
”

“What are you doing in here, old man?” a man yelled.

Another agent came in and dragged Carling up to a standing position. Carling staggered and weaved to the side. As Matt looked down through the debris, he witnessed a remarkable display of near
-
projectile vomiting. Carling puked down the shirt and pants of one of the searchers, then stood there looking puzzled, like he was wondering how that had happened.

“Damn! Fuck! Damn!” the agent yelled. “Some dirtbag just puked all over me!” he yelled with his hand on the radio switch.

The two agents with him started laughing. “You got it good, Billy
—
and they heard it all back at the truck.”

“Too bad our orders are to find Tremain. I’d love to send this guy to a detention center right now,” Billy said. The he punched Carling in the gut and pushed him back down onto the ground. He pulled his leg back to kick the drunk when he stopped himself and said, “Screw it. Let’s get out of here. I need to get cleaned up. You guys finish the alley.”

Footsteps, banging doors, and other noises associated with a search finally receded, and the alley was quiet again. Carling looked up and motioned to Matt to climb down. Carling risked looking out in both directions and then nodded. He walked back and reached into the trunk. He picked up a towel and wiped his hands and face. He stripped off his shirt and replaced it with a clean one from the duffel bag in the trunk.

“How did you
—
”

“Not another word.” Carling’s voice was cold, and it cut the question short. Matt saw a look on Carling’s face that matched the tone of the phrase. “We need to warn Payne and Carl.”