“You talk to McLarty yet?” Rodriguez asked as they strolled back to their car.
“I was going to call him on the way. I needed to power up, my phone died last night.” In the car she pulled it off the cradle. Almost immediately, it rang. She recognized Jake’s number and picked up. “Hi.”
“Jesus, Kelly, are you okay?”
Sure, now he was concerned, she thought. “I’m fine. We’re leaving the hospital, they should have the test results in a few hours.”
“Okay. Are you heading to the warehouse now?”
“I am, actually,” Kelly said, puzzled.
“Great. I’ll meet you there.”
“What? Where are you?”
“In Houston. It’s a long story, but it looks like our cases overlap.”
“What are you talking about?” Kelly struggled to process what he was saying. How could a K &R case in California have anything to do with the Morris killing?
“Look, it’s a long story. I’ll see you soon.”
“What was that all about?” Rodriguez asked.
“I have no idea. But my fiance is here, he said something about our cases overlapping.”
“Great. Can’t wait to see Jake again.” Rodriguez steered them onto the highway and gunned the engine. “Maybe he can tell us what the fuck is going on.”
Jackson Burke sat in front of a row of mirrors. This was an important appearance, an interview on a national political talk show the day after his Senate appointment. He needed to look just so, and with an eye to that had carefully chosen his wardrobe. The conservative blue suit-nice but not his finest, so he wouldn’t alienate his base. A red tie, no stripes, a little wider than was currently fashionable. And of course the ubiquitous American flag pin. He’d instructed the makeup girl to eliminate the pouches under his eyes and even out his skin tone, but not to make him look like a dandy. He knew exactly what people expected from their politicians, it was all about attention to detail. Look trustworthy, and they’ll trust you. Don’t come across as too slick, throw in a few folksy expressions, and they’d be eating out of your hand. He’d spent a lifetime crafting his image and building his position as both a major donor and tried-and-true standard-bearer for the state party. When it came to naming Duke’s successor, there was only one logical option. There had been a few hours of panic over rumors that the governor was considering some spic state senator. But one phone call reminded the governor who had buttered his bread through countless campaigns. Now it was finally time to reap the benefits of all he’d sown.
Of course, he could have run against Duke in the next election. But that raised the risk of splitting the party vote, not to mention alienating Duke and his supporters. No, this had been so much more elegant. This way Duke’s legacy lived on, he became a martyr to the cause, and his supporters were now Jackson ’s. Everyone won. And after tomorrow, he’d not only be leading Arizona, but the nation, as well. Everything he’d said yesterday at the swearing-in ceremony would appear prescient: he, and only he, knew how to protect the American people from the danger on their borders. He’d already crafted his speech for the aftermath, pointing out how the administration had failed to stop the flood of terrorists, criminals and prostitutes who were destroying the American way of life.
People would be afraid, probably even more frightened than on 9/11. And he was fully prepared to capitalize on that fear. Years’ worth of failed legislation could be pushed through Congress in a matter of weeks, if the Patriot Act was any indication. The president, already facing a disenchanted electorate, would find himself sliding in the polls as he was gearing up for reelection. And if everything went as planned, there would be an appropriate challenger confronting him, someone who had developed a reputation for steadfastness and strength when America needed it most. Sort of the Giuliani model, but without the tawdry affairs.
Jackson ’s phone rang, and he frowned at Dante’s number. The man was turning out to be such a disappointment. Though Dante was infinitely more capable than the scum he ran with, and had mustered support in arenas that he could never have accessed otherwise, the string of recent failures proved what he had always suspected. Once trash, always trash.
Jackson answered on the fourth ring. “Yes.” He listened, and the frown deepened. A PA appeared at the door and held up five fingers. Jackson nodded to show that he understood, waiting until she was out of earshot to say, “This is very bad news. How did they find it?”
As he listened a red flush rose up his neck, tainting his makeup. “You’re right, under the circumstances we need to reconsider the targets. We’ll switch to the backup sites. Make it happen.”
Jackson hung up and drummed his fingers on the armrest, blood pressure climbing. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for a bottle of pills, popping one in his mouth. As his pulse stabilized he focused on his breathing, eyes closed. It was going to be okay. He’d been very careful, and hopefully Dante had, too. Nothing tied him to that warehouse, and according to Dante it would take the FBI days to sort out the situation anyway. By then it would be too late.
The PA reappeared and Jackson hopped down from the chair, practicing his easy grin as he followed her down a long hallway to the set. In a way, this might be for the best. The new targets were not obvious ones, which meant he wouldn’t have to worry about last-minute security measures. And after all this was over, he’d send Dante on a well-deserved vacation-one he’d never return from.
Jackson rolled his shoulders once, waiting for the applause to begin before bounding onstage to shake the host’s hand. No one can stop me now, he thought, raising both arms to the crowd and letting their approval wash over him.
Thirty-One
Kelly scanned the scene. The perimeter now encompassed a full half mile around the warehouse. They had passed through two checkpoints to get within one hundred yards of the building. The entire warehouse had been covered in plastic sheeting, and the parking lot was bumper-to-bumper mobile labs and office units. It was like a small city had been raised within the past twelve hours. Dozens of people hurried from trailer to trailer, most wearing full Hazmat suits and masks, looking like so many moths fluttering around a bulb. It was madness, Kelly thought, taking it all in.
“Jesus,” Rodriguez said, almost reverently. Kelly guessed she wore the same expression of befuddled awe. In all her time with the Bureau, she’d never seen anything quite like this. It drove home the enormity of what they had stumbled across.
Someone directed them to one of the many trailers, and she stood on the threshold. It was packed with people, a solid mass of bodies. Leonard leaned against a desk on the far side of the room, flanked by two other agents in matching suit pants and windbreakers. He was in his mid-fifties, taller than average with a beaklike nose and dyed hair. Against the opposite wall, facing him, stood Jake.
Kelly was surprised by a sudden welling of emotion. All the events of the past week caught up with her, and she had to restrain herself from rushing into his arms. As if sensing her, Jake turned. A slow smile spread across his face and he crossed the trailer in two long strides, elbowing people out of the way. He grabbed her in a tight hug and kissed her hair.
“Hey, babe. I missed you,” he whispered.
Kelly let herself relax into him for a moment before becoming aware of everyone’s stares. She stiffened and pulled away, managing a weak smile.
“So you two know each other,” Leonard said drily.
“This is my fiance,” Kelly said, self-consciously running a hand through her hair.
“We were discussing what a strange coincidence that is.” Leonard’s face had hardened, as if he’d like nothing better than to slap handcuffs on her wrists.
“So has there been a break in the case?” Rodriguez asked, crowding in behind her.
Kelly stepped forward to give him room, at the same time surveying the rest of the crowd. She recognized Syd, who issued a nod along with her usual look of dismissive disdain. Another agent, an Asian man, stood next to her. The mood in the trailer wasn’t friendly.
