drunk, but he’d been over the legal limit and that’s all that mattered. The responding officer had written in his notes that Ernie had been extremely indignant, stating over and over that he wasn’t drunk and that it wasn’t his fault. He’d used profane and derogatory language about the dead victim’s ethnicity, which was Hispanic. Things quickly turned ugly. After resisting arrest, he’d been Tasered by a backup officer. Booked for felony drunk driving, his bail was set at 10,000 dollars.
The next documents in the file concerned Ernie’s civil-court matters. His driver’s license had been revoked for eighteen months and he’d been fined 2,000 dollars, the maximum allowed by law. Because Ernie had been in the military, Nathan knew his troubles were only beginning. As an active member of the United States armed forces, Ernie had been subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, no matter where the accident had happened. On or off base, it didn’t matter. He’d been surrendered to the military police of Pensacola Naval Air Station and placed in the brig. Notes from the transporting MP’s also indicated Ernie had been belligerent, profane, and generally uncooperative. In the court-martial that followed, the presiding military judge showed no leniency. Had Ernie possessed an outstanding military record with no prior offenses, things might have been different. But Ernie had a long history of insubordination. The bottom line: The Marine Corps made an example out of him, sentencing him to five years in the USDB at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Basically, the Marine Corps version of good riddance, dirtbag. The final sheet of paper was a copy of a newspaper clipping, complete with a photograph of the victim. Nathan’s eyes grew as he stared at the low-resolution photocopy.
“I’ve seen this face,” he said.
Behind him, Harv whispered, “No, it can’t be.”
Nathan rewound his mind, trying to place it. Then he had it. Staring up at him from the lifeless sheet of paper was an image he’d seen for the first time only days ago.
The face of Frank Ortega’s daughter.
Chapter 19
Harv barely managed a whisper. “Do you know who that is?”
Nathan nodded.
“Do you know what this means?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never felt so… betrayed. This whole thing, it’s, it’s-”
“Dirty.”
Neither of them spoke for several seconds, each running the events of the past week through their minds.
“We risked our lives for Frank Ortega at Freedom’s Echo compound. We could’ve been killed, almost were killed. Nathan, I’m sorry.”
“Harv, this isn’t your fault.”
“How could-” Harv cut himself off and pointed to the door interconnecting the rooms.
Nathan nodded.
Without saying another word, they both left the room. In the elevator, Harv said, “How could the Ortegas have done this to me, to us?”
“Blood is thicker than water,” Nathan said quietly. “A lot thicker, it would seem.”
“Greg and I go back fifteen years.
“How deep does this go, Harv?”
“You mean Lansing? Ortega must have cashed in that IOU earlier than we imagined. Getting his grandson assigned to the Bridgestone operation…” Harv gave Nathan a double take. “You mean your dad? I can’t fathom him betraying you like this.”
“I can,” Nathan said. The elevator dumped them into the lobby. Nathan kept his voice low. “We’ll take a cab over to Sutter Hospital. Holly needs to know about this right away.”
“Nate, she could be involved.”
He shook his head. “She’s not. I can’t explain it, but I’m sure she’s not.”
After the bellman called the cab, it took several minutes for it to arrive. Their moods identical, neither of them spoke during the late-afternoon ride through rush-hour traffic.
Nathan sensed Harv’s anger mounting. Anger and pain at being used like a pawn and betrayed by a trusted friend.
Nathan grasped Harv’s arm. “We’ll get through this, okay?”
Harv shook his head and closed his eyes. “I’m so damned angry, Nate. I can’t…”
Nathan squeezed his arm. “We’re going to turn this around on them, Harv. You hear me? We own their asses now.”
* * *
Nathan knocked on Holly’s door.
“Come in.” Her cheery tone ended the moment she saw the expressions on their faces. “What happened? Did they hit us again?”
“No,” Nathan said. He pulled a chair over from the corner. Harv did the same.
“You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“We have.”
“What’s happened?”
“Ernie Bridgestone killed Frank Ortega’s daughter.”
“Oh, no. When?”
“Eighteen years ago.”
“Eighteen years ago?”
“Drunk-driving accident. It’s why he went to prison. This whole thing’s about revenge. Frank Ortega set Ernie Bridgestone up for a fall.”
“No, I don’t believe that, I won’t believe that.”
“It’s true, Holly. Everything makes sense now.”
“Director Lansing?” she asked.
“Right in the middle of it.”
“Are you absolutely sure about this. Is there any possibility you could be wrong?”
“None.”
“Do you know what this means? What it means for the FBI? For my field office, for my agents?”
“Holly, listen to me. Harv and I aren’t going to do anything that would compromise or embarrass the FBI. We aren’t whistle-blowers. You have our word.”
“Nathan, I-”
“Just listen for a sec. We’ve been thinking about this, working it out. Strictly speaking, what Lansing and Ortega did wasn’t illegal. It may be a terrible lapse in good judgment, but it wasn’t illegal, we all need to understand that. But it raises some other questions. What exactly were the Bridgestones doing prior to dealing in Semtex?”
She sat up a little. “Where are you going with this?”
“Stay with me here. Think back. What did the Bridgestones initially do to get the attention of the FBI?”
“I can’t remember exactly, but I’m sure I got a call from Director Lansing to begin surveillance up there.”
“Is that normally how things work? A call from Lansing?”
“No. My boss is in the Los Angeles field office, he’s an assistant director. The call should’ve come from him.”
“Right, but it didn’t, it came from Lansing himself. It would be like a brigadier general giving an order to a battalion commander, bypassing the regiment commander. He bypassed the chain of command, left your assistant
