Witness to Death (5 page)

“That’s what I was trying to do,” Callahan said. “He was surrounded by guys with guns. He ran off, but I know he saw me. He yelled out my name. He knows who I am.”

Weller nodded and scrolled through his Blackberry.

“I understand you had to go through outside sources.”

“How else would I have found him?” Callahan asked.

He watched two people pass him on the street, halting at the corner to check traffic. He felt his muscles tense. When the street was clear the two people crossed.

“My contact heard about the meeting. Put it up on the server. I’m going to have to ask her if she’s heard where he’s run off to.”

Weller looked up from his Blackberry.

“No. Don’t talk to her. She might be the one who gave you up. You’re going to have to earn the spy title this time. You find him on your own. And he better be alone when you find him.”

Callahan didn’t say anything. Across the street someone hailed a cab. Three teenagers ambled up from the south. Callahan figured he could make it to the next block and disappear in the crowd in less than ten seconds if he needed to. He’d already memorized the nearest subway station on the way there.

“I don’t know where to begin looking,” Callahan said. “Tonight was our chance.”

Weller smiled. “Who’s the genius? The man who knows everything? Or the man who knows how to find everything?”

Callahan didn’t bother to respond. Just another one of Weller’s catch phrases.

“You need to hurry,” Weller said. “There’s been a lot of chatter lately. They’re talking about another attack on the city. We’re talking within the next week.” He gestured toward the skyline.

“I think that’s why the meeting with Omar was set up.”

“Good guess.”

“You going to put the city on orange?”

“Not my call,” Weller said. “You know the higher ups. They don’t want to worry anyone. Gotta keep getting people out shopping at F.A.O. and Macy’s.”

The wind funneled down the street, burning Callahan’s ears. The city was a wind tunnel in the middle of the winter. He wished he’d worn a scarf and a hat.

Weller said, “Give me your Blackberry.”

Callahan did, and Weller pulled a short wire from his jacket pocket, connecting his Blackberry to Callahan’s.

“I’m loading the security codes for Jersey City morgues for you. Doreen Duffy got the codes for me. Find out who these guys you killed are.”

“What about Omar?”

“I also put the address of the last place he was spotted about two weeks ago. A Mosque in Jersey City. Check that out too, if you don’t find anything out from the treanchcoats.”

“A lot to do. Little time.”

Weller shrugged. “All part of the job.”

“Maybe I should talk to Duffy,” Callahan said.

“You know that’s not possible,” Weller said.

“Things have changed. People are dead. I need to come in. Discuss.”

“No.”

“I told you to pull me out of this weeks ago. Made a mistake and now I’m too close to this. I can’t be impartial,” Callahan said.

“Come on, you’re better than that. Forget all the other personal stuff. Find Omar.”

Callahan didn’t say a word.

“If Duffy knows about you and you have to do something—” Weller twirled his finger in a circle. “—bad, then the DHS has plausible deniability. The press would be all over us if we made a mistake. She knows nothing.”

Callahan took his phone back and then tucked his hands in his pockets. His knuckles were stiff from the cold air. In his pockets he opened and closed his fingers, trying to get circulation back. Weller hardly flinched with each gust of wind.

“Funny thing about my
assailants
,” Callahan said. “The guy I killed on the train, I recognized him.”

Weller raised an eyebrow.

“He was a Blackwater guy from back when I was in the CIA.”

Blackwater was an outside company the CIA had used to train CIA agents to assassinate high ranking Al Qaeda officials. They also supplied the CIA with private agents to carry out some of the assassinations and interrogations of terrorists.

“I thought that started in ‘04. After you left.”

“It’s the CIA. That’s what they wanted you to think.”

Weller shook his head. “You sure it was the same guy?”

“I was there for the interview. Part of my training, to ask the right questions, make decisions on guys like this. And test my ability to keep secrets.”

“Did you hire him?”

“I don’t remember exactly. We had a lot of interviews. But my gut says no.”

“Glad you didn’t,” Weller said.

“Why’s that?’

Weller shrugged. “You guys may have fought to a tie. I’ll look into it, talk to some of my CIA pals. Who was the guy you were with tonight? Did you bring back-up?”

Callahan shoved his hands in his pockets. “Who are you talking about?”

“The guy all over the news. Someone got his picture on a cell phone. They’re pasting it all over the place. The news, the internet. They say he’s responsible for all the deaths. Nice move, deflecting the attention.”

Callahan squeezed his hands into fists, inside his pockets. He’d sent John right to the police.

The cell phone rang as Christine Verderese slipped the cookie tray into the stove. After taking off the oven mitts, she picked it up. Her Uncle Tony was on the other end of the line, and that meant only one thing.

A job.

Her last job was three months ago, and she was starting to get antsy. Since then she’d had to work small jobs, waitress in a coffee shop, collections for her uncle, even signed up with a Temp Agency. It was like leaving the business. Her uncle told her to keep the faith, and she’d be needed again. But at this point, she felt like she was living a normal life.

And she did not want that.

But now the phone was ringing, and she felt the fire in her veins.

“I need you,” her uncle Tony said.

“It’s about time. What’s the job?”

“Come over and make me meatballs. I’m hungry.”

“You better be joking.”

A rustle of paper on the other end of the line. Her uncle coughed as if he was suppressing a laugh.

“Since Donte took over, things have been tough. You know that. Fucker has not given me any work. And the jobs I’ve sent you on haven’t done much to slow him down.”

Since Donte Maiore took over. Since the Feds started taking people down for breathing near an OTB.
Her uncle’s business was not in good shape.

“So, he finally called you?”

“No, this is something else.”

Christine’s hands went numb. Something else? What, driving some greaseball to the airport? Babysitting?

“You might get to see your sister in the process,” Tony said.

The thick scent of smoke filled her nostrils. Her cookies were burning. Just like the first Christmas after mom died, when her uncle tried to make it seem traditional. When he sent the maid home and tried to bake sugar cookies, and forgot about them. Her mother never baked sugar cookies. They were always chocolate chip. And they never burned.

“What’s the job?” Christine said again, the words coming from her mouth full of spittle.

“Is this line secure?”

“Of course. You don’t trust me?”

“You’re going to find Peter Callahan and Ashley MacDonald. You’re going to do what you do. Get rid of Ashley, no sign. Callahan, you bring him to me. Alive.”

Christine switched the phone from her left ear to her right. She looked into the kitchen and watched the smoke seep out from the oven door.

“Ashley’s not my sister. I don’t know who that is,” she said. Her uncle never did get to meet that “side” of the family. Maybe he was confused.

“I know that,” Tony said. “I’m no dummy. Trust me. I’m calling you because you’re the best at what you do. Get this done and we’ll be back on top.”

“Okay,” Christine said, exhaling through her nose.

“You watch the news tonight?”

“I had it on,” Christine said.

“The Callahan guy, he was involved in that shooting down in Jersey City.”

“Was that him? The picture they had?”

“No, I’ll email you his picture. Be careful, he’s good. He took out five mercenaries. And no old ladies. Good aim.” Tony laughed again.

He rattled off two addresses for the targets. She jotted them down, and then the five figure amount she’d be paid to do the job. She told Uncle Tony she’d report back soon.

“I really do want meatballs.”

She hung up.

The smoke alarm went off; the cookies were ruined. Turning around, Christine opened a window, then fanned her hand in front of the alarm until the siren stopped. Opened a few more windows, and watched the smoke get sucked out into the night air. She discarded the cookies, the acrid smell reminding her of the time she blew up the Corsetti restaurant. Insurance paid big on that one.

As the smell faded, Christine moved into her bedroom. She opened the closet door and reached behind the row of shirts. She pulled out her gun and a sharp knife,then checked her email and printed out the photos of Callahan and Ashley. She studied them, let the images imprint in her mind, then folded them and put them into her purse.

Shutting all the windows, she inhaled the smell of the burnt crumbs once more. Her sister. Uncle Tony was giving her a very interesting job.

She shrugged on a jacket and checked the weapons.

She was ready for work.