Syd climbed in the chopper with Madison, headed to the nearest E.R. for her ankle to be examined. The paramedics administered a sedative. Tears still streamed down her face but she had finally stopped wailing. Her expression was unnerving, though. Jake wondered if she’d really be okay, there was no telling what those guys had done to her over the past week.
Audrey wept when he called, tears that sounded oddly bereft despite the good news. He couldn’t reach Randall, left three messages on his cell and at work before giving up. The rest of the Delta team slipped away in the initial confusion, per Syd’s orders. She didn’t want them involved. Jake protested that they were going to have a hell of a time explaining the situation as it was, allowing their employees to leave the scene would only make matters worse.
“I got it covered,” she’d said, nodding toward the MARAD guard.
More police boats were arriving. Jake slumped against the rail, watching as a swarm of uniforms slowly climbed the rope ladder. A dead body below deck, and here he was carrying three weapons of questionable legality. Jesus, he thought, shaking his head. He’d assumed that most of their cases would occur on foreign soil. Abroad, a few well-placed bribes let you avoid this sort of situation. He’d used that to his advantage while working for Christou.
But here he was left holding the bag, forced to explain to Benicia P.D. what the hell had happened. He’d be lucky not to get thrown in jail. Syd had left him with the number of a local defense attorney just in case. At the moment, that was small comfort. At least they’d gotten Madison back alive.
Jake’s cell rang and he checked the number, smiling before clicking it open. “Hi, honey,” he said. “How was your day?”
Eighteen
Kelly clicked the phone shut, exasperated. She was still trying to process everything Jake had said, something about a kidnapped girl, a mothball fleet and a dead kidnapper. Then the offhanded remark that she might have to post bail if things didn’t go well. Not exactly a stellar beginning for The Longhorn Group, she couldn’t help thinking. She knew Jake well enough to assume he was glossing over details that might upset her. It was one of the things that gave her pause, this ability to play things fast and loose when it suited him. He epitomized moral relativism; in his opinion any action was justified as long as it produced the desired end result. Above and beyond the other circumstances surrounding his dismissal, it was this quality that ultimately kept him from fitting in at the Bureau.
Almost a year ago Jake had tagged along on one of her cases. There was a pair of serial killers terrorizing the Berkshires. They escaped across the Canadian border with Jake at their heels. He was out of contact for a full day, and Kelly nearly went out of her head with worry. Soon after his return, one killer was found duct-taped to the hood of a car. The other turned up dead weeks later in the woods outside Montreal. The surviving killer confessed to the murder. He was currently serving life without parole, and the case was closed. It was that case that provided the first black mark on her career, but Kelly had long ago made peace with that.
However one question still niggled at her: Where was Jake when that murder took place? Could he possibly have witnessed it without interfering? She suspected that if he thought it served justice, that’s exactly what he would have done. At the time Kelly decided she didn’t want to know the extent of his involvement. After all, she’d just agreed to marry him.
Now, the initial glow of the engagement long faded, Kelly decided it was time for him to explain exactly what happened. She was sitting at the gate waiting for her plane to board. Rodriguez had uncovered a string of businesses filed under the same tangled web of parent companies, mostly located in Texas. They’d narrowed the list down to a few that looked promising, and Kelly booked a flight to San Antonio. As far as her boss knew, she was tying up a few loose ends, and would catch a connecting flight to D.C. the following day.
“Hey, partner.”
Kelly glanced up, startled from her reverie. Rodriguez stood there, clutching the handle of his carry-on as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. If possible, he looked even worse than he had in the hospital that morning. The bruises had darkened into a mottled mask of green and purple, and stitches strained against his still-swollen features.
“Jesus, Rodriguez! What are you doing here?” Kelly jolted to her feet, trying to help him sit. He waved her off with annoyance and plunked down beside her. A young woman glanced up from her iPod and took in his appearance. She gathered up her things and shifted down a row.
“Guess I’m not making any friends on this flight, huh?” he asked ruefully.
Kelly caught the strain of pain in his voice. “You’re supposed to stay in the hospital for another few days.”
“Not according to our government-issue health plan. Docs gave me the okay. I look like hell, but there’s nothing they can do for bruised ribs, and they can’t reset my nose until the swelling goes down.” He turned sideways. “I’m thinking of going with the ‘Jude Law.’ What do you think?”
“I think you should be resting.” She eyed his ticket. “That better not be for San Antonio.”
“Hey, I thought we’d reached a new level in our professional relationship,” he sounded wounded. “Besides, this is my lead.”
“You’re insane.” Kelly gestured to him. “I can’t let you slow me down.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He straightened a leg carefully and grimaced. “I’ll be fine. Got enough Advil to get me through. Hell, I could probably run a marathon if I had to.”
“ASAC McLarty doesn’t know you’re doing this,” Kelly guessed. His eyes confirmed it. “I’ll call him, say you’re not following orders.”
“And you are?” he said pointedly. “I spoke with Phoenix P.D. They seem to think the Morris case is wrapped up with a bow. So I’m guessing you haven’t filled McLarty in on the details of your Texas layover.”
Kelly clenched her jaw. Rodriguez was right, she’d led her boss to believe the case was as good as closed, but persuaded him to hold off on the press conference. At the moment, she was as off the grid as Rodriguez was. A year ago she would never have considered such a move. But since she was already viewing her FBI career in the rearview mirror, it hadn’t even given her pause. Which made her more like Jake than she cared to admit.
Rodriguez caught her expression, mistook it for guilt, and extended a hand. “Listen. You don’t rat me out, I won’t tell on you. Deal?”
Kelly eyed the extended hand, eyes narrowed. Rat was an odd choice of words. She wondered if he knew about the rumors. After a minute, she shook.
“All right, then.” Rodriguez peered around. “Do I have time to grab a slice before boarding?”
Randall worked carefully, holding the blowtorch at arm’s length. Beads of sweat ran down his face, both from the weight of the protective suit and lead apron and from stress.
They’d assigned the largest and most dangerous-looking man as his helper. Randall tried to refuse, inspiring a flash of pure relief on the guy’s face before they were told it wasn’t optional. Thor was supposed to make sure Randall did what he was supposed to. Not that he would have a clue if something was wrong, Randall thought disdainfully. He obviously had as much experience with low-level radioactive waste as he did with an Emily Post manual.
Thor stood at what he must have assumed was a safe distance, approximately twenty feet away. Close enough to intercede if Randall made a break for it. His nickname was so ridiculous that even under the circumstances Randall couldn’t glance at him without wanting to chuckle. Not that there was much funny about the situation.
Low-level radioactive waste came from sources as varied as hospital medical equipment and the density gauges used by building contractors. Few people were aware of how much radiation they came in contact with on a daily basis; it would probably terrify them to know. But even direct contact with most low level waste wouldn’t have immediate dire consequences. For that reason, until 9/11 that form of waste disposal was at best loosely regulated and monitored on a state-by-state basis.
More dangerous waste materials, like plutonium from spent fuel rods, were consolidated at a few sites in Nevada and Texas. The government generally made sure they were safely stored in specially designed water-filled
