Blind Justice (14 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The attacks of September 2001 still weighed on Black
’
s mind, and so he decided to pay a visit to the interior portion of the Pentagon 9/11 memorial. He wandered the hall until he reached the space designated for those who had senselessly lost their lives that day. The walls were some type of brushed metal, and obsidian displays lined the room. Over the center display, large black lettering read
America
’
s Heroes
. Beneath that was a seal embossed with an eagle and the words, “A Grateful Nation Remembers.”

He would certainly never forget where he was that Tuesday. Home on leave, he had been visiting his brother. Michael went to work, and Jonas had driven to a local shopping mall to pick up a gift for his nephew. On the drive there, he remembered the disc jockeys joking that some idiot had apparently flown a Cessna into a building in New York. He hadn
’
t thought much of it, but within a few moments, the radio personalities apologized and gave more details. When he arrived at the mall, he and a group of other people stood in front of an electronics store and watched the attacks replaying on twenty different screens of various size. The smell of cinnamon rolls and donuts hung heavy in the air from a nearby Dunkin
’
Donuts as he watched the destruction. It was a good thing that he had never been partial to sweets, since the mental association forged that day had forever turned his stomach against any fresh baked donut, roll, or pastry.

As the day progressed and more attacks occurred, he remembered distinctly feeling that it was the end of the world or at least the end of life as most Americans knew it.

Munroe had told him to take his time, and so he padded slowly back and forth across the dark gray carpet, examining each obsidian slab with care. A table attached to the center display held binders detailing the biographies of all those who had died. He skimmed through it, examining each smiling face. The binders also listed the names of those military personnel awarded the Purple Heart from that day and the select civilian DOD employees who had received the Defense of Freedom medal.

As he glanced through the lists, his eyes caught on one name—one of those DOD employees awarded the Defense of Freedom medal. Printed in small black lettering on the page was the name
Deacon Munroe
.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Munroe
’
s thoughts swam in a maelstrom of pain, anger, and confusion. He thought of all that he had lost. His sight. His wife. His best friend. Not for the first time, he considered how much easier it would be to just lay down and die, to give up, save himself from the burden of living and the pain of remembering. But one name that he knew to be etched into the simple plaque in front of him kept him from giving into the darkness. It was the name of a Navy officer who had saved his life on September 11
th
2001. He owed it to that man to live, to do something worthwhile with the life that a brave soldier had exchanged for his own.

The door opened, and Munroe thought at first that Black had returned. But the footfalls and cologne didn
’
t match the big man. It was probably just another pilgrim paying homage. He didn
’
t say anything to the newcomer. This was a place for quiet contemplation, not idle chitchat. The person moved up behind him, and he shifted to the edge of the bench to allow room for the stranger to sit.

The attack occurred so swiftly and expertly that Munroe barely reacted. The stranger
’
s hand slid over Munroe
’
s nose and mouth and a piercing pain shot up his left side. Cold tendrils of agony and then numbness swept over him.

He tried to move his limbs, to fight back somehow, but the shock was too great. His strength left him. He feebly clawed at the stranger
’
s hand over his face.

Keeping the hand over his nose and mouth, the stranger laid him back on the bench. He felt the blood pumping out of his body through the wound in his side. Nausea. Fear. Confusion. Cold chills. A desire to fight but no strength to do so.

The stranger searched through Munroe
’
s pockets and pulled something out. The flash drive.

The sound of retreating footsteps. The door closing. He tried to call for help, but his scream came out as a wheeze. Laying his head back against the bench and accepting his fate, Munroe turned to the memorial and thought of the name etched there, the name of the man who had saved his life.

He felt guilty for wanting to give up and apologized to the Navy officer. And then darkness surrounded him, embraced him, devoured him.

PART THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

At a make-shift airfield located in Alexandria, VA that was little more than a long patch of grass, Antonio de Almeida watched the Cessna Corvalis TTX make its approach. The sleek little single engine plane looked more like a private jet with its smooth, aerodynamic lines and rounded cockpit. Despite the uneven terrain, the pilot put the plane down gently and maneuvered it to a gradual stop between the white pines and hickories that bordered the runway. The doors on both sides of the Cessna opened, and the pilot and two large Hispanic men hopped down from the craft. The protectors scanned the area and gave Almeida a nod. Then they assisted the plane
’
s final occupant to the ground.

Ramon Castillo
’
s black pin-striped suit didn
’
t even look wrinkled from the flight. The cartel boss wore a silver shirt, no tie, and wire framed spectacles. Black hair, streaked with gray, swept back from a bearded, handsome face that had only recently begun to show the signs of age. Ramon was a third generation cartel leader, but this hadn
’
t caused him to be decadent or spoiled. The people called him Vaquero, meaning cowboy, because a rumor had spread that Castillo had descended from the original herdsmen who first came to California with the Jesuit priest Eusebio Kino in 1687 and were the first cowboys to visit the region. Unlike many of the other cartel bosses, the people loved Ramon in addition to fearing him. He had a reputation for only being ruthless when necessary and only toward those who stood against him. To the people of the regions he controlled, he had always shown compassion and mercy and had actually greatly improved their standards of living.

Almeida approached Castillo with open arms, and the cartel leader embraced him firmly. “It
’
s good to see you, Vaquero,” Almeida said.

“And you, my son.” As they walked toward a black Mercedes GL550, Castillo growled as he slid in a patch of blue-gray mud. “Dammit, I should have just landed right on the fairway instead of all the way over here.”

Almeida laughed.
“The guests at the country club may have noticed, Vaquero.”

A pair of businesses concealed the Castillo Cartel
’
s base of operations in Virginia. One was the Hill Crest Landfill, and the other was the Hill Crest Golf Course and Resort. The landfill housed mostly construction and demolition debris, while the resort catered to the rich and famous.

Castillo asked, “Has Mr. Lennix calmed down yet?”

Almeida shrugged. “He is a difficult man, not built for this kind of conflict.”

“Did you acquire the drive?”

“I
’
m afraid not. One of our men took a drive from Munroe, but it was a fake, just a decoy. Munroe must have hidden the real drive somewhere.”

Castillo swore under his breath. “But he can
’
t access it?”

“No, he doesn
’
t know anything about what we
’
re planning or the weapon. He
’
s put some of it together, but not nearly enough to cause us problems.”

“Is he still alive?”

“I
’
m not sure. Our man stabbed him, but they rushed him to the hospital for treatment. I haven
’
t heard beyond that. I
’
m sorry, Vaquero. I should have had him killed instantly at Georgetown, but I thought that perhaps I could reason with him.”

Castillo smiled and clasped Almeida
’
s shoulder. “That
’
s why I love you so much, Antonio. Many of the men who gravitate toward our profession are borderline sociopaths. They don
’
t care who they hurt and actually enjoy the killing. But not you. You realize that even a soldier must maintain honor and keep a clean soul. It
’
s about business and raising our people out of the gutter, not about causing pain. But sometimes even that is necessary. Think of the wars that King David fought in defense of his people, and he was a man after God
’
s own heart.”

“You
’
re right, as always, Vaquero,” Almeida said with a nod. “We
’
ll find Munroe and get the drive back.”

“I know you will, my friend. When I found you on the streets of Bogota living like an animal, even then, I could see greatness in your eyes. I know you won
’t disappoint me.
”

Almeida thought back on his early years in Bogota, all the things he had done to survive. He had sold his innocence to perverted old men in exchange for food. Sometimes he still woke in the night thinking he could feel their hot breath on his neck and the stink of cigar smoke and aguardiente in his nostrils. He had stolen food from the mouths of other children. Once another boy, who was only six years old, had managed to pinch a muffin topped with arequipe. Almeida bludgeoned the boy to death and took the sweet confection for himself. And then one day he stole the wallet of a young man in a fine suit. The man captured him, and a young Antonio thought his life was over, not that it was much of a life anyway. But instead the young man, named Ramon Castillo, saw something in him and gave him a life and a purpose. From that day forward, Castillo took him under his wing and treated him like a son.

They climbed into the Mercedes and headed off in the direction of the resort. In a few moments, the lights of the clubhouse came into view. The forty-five thousand square foot facility featured an elegant ballroom, restaurant, tavern, and a well-stocked golf shop. A red-roofed dining terrace supported by massive stone columns wrapped around the front of the impressive structure.

As they approached, Castillo spoke in a voice so low that Almeida could barely hear him over the hum of the engine and the car
’
s air conditioner. “These American politicians think that we are nothing but cockroaches, Antonio. Their corruption and greed and hypocrisy make me sick. They stand on pedestals and spew lies about their ideological and moral superiority, while all the time they
’
re abusing every ounce of power they have in shady back room deals while snorting our cocaine of an underage prostitute
’
s backside. They talk about their Geneva convention, about human rights, and due process while they send their black ops assassins to murder my family. But they will pay for their transgressions. Just like God himself struck down Sodom and Gomorrah for their sins, we
’
re going to burn Washington, DC to the ground.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

As the last shackles of sleep and disorientation fell away, reality took hold, and Deacon Munroe remembered the stabbing and the theft of his decoy flash drive. After the encounter at Georgetown, he had switched the real drive with one from his office so that if anyone else tried to take the drive from him, he could provide them with a fake instead.

He tried to sit up, but the movement tugged against the needles in his arms and the monitors attached to his body. On his right side, his youngest daughter, Chloe, said, “Mak! I think he
’
s awake.”

Footsteps sounded from his left, and he felt Makayla
’
s soft fingers intertwine his own. “Dad? Do you know where you are?” she said.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words came out as a dry crackling like the crunching of dead leaves. “Here, take a drink,” Chloe said.

After letting the cool liquid slide down and coat his throat, he said, “How bad?”

“You
’
re lucky,” Makayla replied. “You probably would have died if you had a kidney on your left side.”

Munroe had lost his left kidney and a piece of his liver at the same time he had lost his sight, and now that old injury had apparently saved his life. “Where
’
s Black?”

At the foot of the bed, another voice answered, “He
’
s in the hallway. Do you want me to fetch him?” He hadn
’
t realized that Annabelle was also keeping vigil by his bedside.

“Yes, thank you.”

“You shouldn
’
t be worrying about the case. It
’
s over now. Fuller wants you in protective custody and says to let NCIS handle the investigation.” Their supervisor, Jack Fuller, was an intelligent and forward-thinking man and mostly stayed out of Munroe
’
s way, but he also had his own career to consider.

“Did you tell him about the flash drive?”

“No, but you should. I
’
ll be right back.”

He heard her footsteps move away from the bed and toward the door. Chloe stroked his hair and said in a strained voice, “We thought we
’
d lost you.”

With a squeeze of her hand, he said, “I
’
m much too ornery to die, darling.”

“It
’
s not funny. Black told me about the other attempts on your life. I know you
’
re doing this because of Uncle Gerald, but it
’
s not worth losing you too. You think that—”

“We can talk about that later,” Makayla interrupted. “He
’
s barely even awake.”

Chloe added, “Somebody needs to talk about it.”

“I said that
’
s enough.”

“You
’
re not in charge here, Mak. I can say whatever I want to
my
father.”

“You are such a brat. Dad doesn
’
t need this right now.”

“Girls, please. Both of you. I
’
m fine. I
’
m going to continue to be fine.”

Chloe began to cry. “
I just don’
t want to lose you, too.”

He placed an arm around her and pulled her close. She had always been the sensitive one. She was the daughter who rescued stray animals, nursed birds with broken wings back to health, and had been strongly considering a vegetarian lifestyle after seeing a video at school on the poor treatment of livestock. Her nature reminded him of her mother. Makayla, on the other hand, was analytical and practical and took more after him. He wanted to comfort Chloe by saying that he would let the case go, but he also didn
’
t want to lie to her.

Makayla gasped as a set of large footsteps pounded in from the hall. “You need stitches,” she said to Jonas Black. “How did that happen?”

“What this?” Munroe couldn
’
t tell to which part of his body Black had gestured. “Just a souvenir from the attack at Georgetown. You should see the other guy.”

“You realize that you
’
re in a hospital. You should get that looked at.”

“
I don’
t like doctors. I
’
m damn near immune to anesthesia. It takes about six times as much to have the proper effect, and by the time I get stuck with that many needles, most of the time it
’
s easier to just get whatever it is done without being numb. It made going to the dentist a ton of fun when I was a kid.”

Interrupting the conversation, Munroe said, “Girls, can you give me a few minutes alone with Mr. Black? Maybe fetch my doctor. I
’
d like to know when I can get out of here.”

“They want to keep you for at least a few days,” Makayla said.

Chloe sighed. “You
’
re not a doctor, Mak.”

As their voices moved toward the hall and faded away, he heard Makayla reply, “And you
’
re not a baby, but you whine like one.”

A chair scraped across the floor and creaked with Black
’
s weight on Munroe
’
s left. Small feminine footsteps entered the room, and the door closed. The scent of jasmine grew more potent as Annabelle took up position next to him. “They
’
re worried about you,” she said.

“They
’
re smart girls. They should be worried. We
’
ve stumbled into something big here. Whatever is on that drive is worth a whole heap of trouble.”

“And now they
’
ve got it back,” Black said.

“No, they took a fake. I hid the real one somewhere safe after Georgetown. Did they find the man that attacked me?”

Annabelle replied, “He got away. They have camera footage, but so far, no hits from facial recognition.”

“It sounds as if I
’
ll be laid up for at least a couple days, but we can
’
t afford to let things settle that long. The case needs to continue forward. By the time the docs clear me, it could be too late.”

“Fuller gave me specific orders that we were not to pursue this case any further,” Annabelle said. “He even went as far as saying that the orders came from above, so there was no point in you trying to call in a favor and go over his head. It wasn
’
t supposed to be our investigation in the first place.”

“Normally, I have no problem following orders, but not this time.”

“Dammit, Deac. I miss Gerald too, but this has gone far enough. Nothing you do will bring him back, especially getting yourself killed.”

“I
’
m not just going to roll over on this. And it
’
s bigger than just Gerald. General Easton and Wyatt Randall were murdered. Corrigan
’
s about to be executed. Who knows how many more people have died or will die over whatever the hell is being covered up here. You think everything
’
ll be fine if we just stop making waves?”

“It
’
s not our problem! Someone else can handle it.”

“Easton contacted me because he didn
’
t know who else to trust. And neither do we. Once we have the big picture and some usable evidence, we
’
ll take it up the food chain and get help. But right now, it
’
s on us.”

She stood and stormed toward the door. “
You stubborn bastard,
” she said under her breath.

Munroe closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “What about you, Mr. Black? Are you ready to let it go?”

“
I don’
t have anything better to do.”

“So you agree with me?”

Black seemed to consider the question carefully. “I honestly don
’
t know, but I owe it to you to see it through.”

“Good enough.”

“What
’s our next step?
”

Munroe was quiet a moment as he weighed their options. Then he said, “I
’
m going to recover, and as I do that, you
’
re going to be my eyes and ears out on the street. You’re going back to the beginning, Mr. Black. You’re going to find out how John Corrigan’s family really died.”

“I
’
m not an investigator.”

“A fact to which I am most certainly aware, but I think I know who may be able to lend you a hand.”