Struggling to catch his breath from the bullet’s impact on his ballistic vest, the police officer fell sideways. Nathan tried to grab his uniform, but missed. The man fell to the sidewalk and cracked his head on the concrete.
He grabbed Montez by the throat and clamped down. “I should kill you right here and now.”
“I made a deal for your life.” Montez said through clenched teeth.
“So I heard.” Nathan threw his former interrogator to the ground and kicked him in the stomach. Hard. Montez coughed and curled into the fetal position. Using his pistol, he hammered the back of Montez’s head.
Nathan bent over, checked the officer, and found him semiconscious with several facial cuts, but otherwise okay.
“I can’t stay,” he said. “I promise to clear this up. You have my word.”
“W-Who are you?”
He grabbed the lapel mike from the officer’s uniform and pressed the transmit button. “Officer down, south parking lot, Belmont Park. Officer down.” He re-clipped the mike to the officer’s uniform. “Don’t try to get up. Backup’s on the way.”
The dispatcher came back immediately. “
He didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. Every unit on that frequency had just heard the officer-down call and would be screaming to this location.
Wincing from the sting of his feet, he hustled over to the prone security guard and rolled him over. Dead.
Precious seconds were ripping by with no sign of Grangeland. He had no choice. He returned to the cruiser, used the officer’s cuffs to secure Montez’s hands behind his back, jammed him into the backseat, and slammed the door shut. Montez stirred to consciousness but had nowhere to go. Designed for prisoners, the cruiser’s rear compartment would afford Montez no means of escape.
He retrieved the officer’s weapon and holstered it for him. He didn’t like abandoning a defenseless cop or taking his cruiser, but he had to clear the area. Either that or yield control to the SDPD. They’d both be taken into custody, where Montez would be given a chance to lawyer-up. Not an option.
Once in the cruiser, he turned off the light bar and headlights, and sped toward the south entrance to the parking lot. A glance to his left confirmed his suspicion. Three police units were racing along West Mission Bay Boulevard toward Belmont Park, probably from Harv’s location. He figured he slipped away with less than thirty seconds to spare.
“Do you really think you’ll get away with shooting a police officer and stealing his vehicle?” said Montez from the backseat.
“I’ll be asking the questions from now on.”
“You sound pleased with yourself.”
“Would you like to be gagged again?”
Montez didn’t answer.
A thought came to Nathan.
“Nathan?”
“Change of plans. Keep going south on Mission Boulevard past Belmont Park. Make a right at the very end and find me. I’ve still got Montez. He killed a security guard. Look for a parked SDPD cruiser. Where are you?”
“Westbound on Sea World Drive. Seems like every cop in the city is converging to your location. I’ve been passed by two code-three cruisers doing over a hundred.”
“Call if you have any trouble finding me.”
He estimated he had four minutes before she arrived. Probably the same for an SDPD helicopter. By now, Dalton’s yacht would be on its way back to the marina. He hoped Dalton would survive his wounds. The man had surrendered himself to this sadistic madman to save his family. Whoever Dalton was, he couldn’t be all bad.
At the end of Mission Boulevard, he turned right, drove several hundred yards, and pulled into an isolated parking stall facing the channel.
Why not use this time productively?
Pistol in hand, he climbed out. His feet still stung, but not as badly now. He stepped gingerly around the cruiser and got into the backseat next to Montez, making sure to leave the door open. He didn’t want to lock himself in. The dome light stayed dark.
“Well, Colonel Montez, you really look like shit.”
“Tell me something, McBride. Why didn’t you give me your name down there? What harm would it have caused? Why not just do it and avoid the pain?”
“Because it was all I had left,” Nathan whispered, almost to himself. He shook his head, marveling at how smoothly Montez had taken the initiative from him. “If you go off-topic again, Monty, I’m going to hurt you badly. Do you understand? Let’s get right to it. Who are you working for and what’s Dalton’s role?”
“You really don’t know?”
Nathan sighed. “I warned you.” He pulled his Predator and jammed the tip into Montez’s cheek. He applied a gradual increasing pressure, forcing Montez to hold perfectly still or risk a lengthy incision. A rivulet of blood oozed from the small cut. “A few more pounds of pressure and the blade goes through to your cheekbone. I’d really hate to see your face ruined… like mine.”
Montez said nothing.
“Well?”
“I only learned the truth tonight. I thought I was working for Dalton, but he was only a middleman.”
“A middleman? For whom?”
“You won’t like the answer.”
“Try me.”
“The CIA.”
Chapter 47
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true.”
“So I’m supposed to believe you were working for the United States government?”
“Believe what you want.”
“Why would the CIA need a worm like you involved with a clean coal negotiation in Hungary? That’s horse crap. You’re lying.”
“The clean coal thing was only a front.”
“For what?”
“Counterterrorism. Holding and transfer of enemy combatants. Rendition.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been interrogating prisoners.”
Nathan felt his blood pressure rise. “I don’t believe you.”
“I can prove it. The thumb drive in your pocket? Dalton confessed to everything.”
“You tortured him. Of course he
“He held out for quite a while, made a heroic stand.”
Nathan let the knife sink a fraction of an inch into Montez’s cheek. “Spare me your sick musings. You were going to dump Dalton in the ocean. Alive. Like you did to Kramer. You could’ve killed Kramer first. Why drown him like that?”
“I’d put up with Kramer for years. He was a small, cruel man who lorded every ounce of power he had over those around him.”
“Sounds like
“He did. As a contractor. He owned a small, private company called Ironclad Management.”
