Contract to Kill (42 page)

Nathan felt his face flush. An image of Special Agent Hutch being slowly tortured to death by this vile being invaded his mind. He hoped Hutch hadn’t sobbed in agony, pleading for his life.

Grangeland stepped over and put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “It’s too bad Mr. Alisio was killed in the firefight.”

Nathan’s expression brightened. “Yeah, that
is
too bad.” He painted the Sig’s laser on Alisio’s forehead.

“A horrible shame,” Stone said. “May I quote our president?”

“By all means,” Nathan said.

Stone cleared his throat. “‘It should be noted that while on American soil, Mexican nationals engaged in the wanton murder of US citizens do not fall under the umbrella of our Constitution and therefore do not enjoy the protections thereof
.
’”

Nathan nodded in agreement. “Elegantly stated. No need for reading his rights anyway, then.” He kept the gun trained on Alisio’s head.

“Wait! I have cash and diamonds. It’s right over there. Gold too. Lots of gold!”

“He has lots of gold,” Nathan said. “Do you see any gold, Special Agent Grangeland? How about you, Dad? Do you see any gold?”

“Not a nugget.”

Nathan pursed his lips, shook his head.

Alisio pointed toward the burning cars. “Wait! It’s right over—”

Nathan pulled the trigger.

A blank expression took Alisio’s face, as if his scrambled brain were unable to comprehend the damage it had just sustained.

Nathan raised a brow and looked at Grangeland.

She shrugged as if to say,
That wasn’t so bad
.

“I had no idea you knew all that about me,” Stone said.

“Well, don’t let it go to your head.”

His dad looked at Alisio’s lifeless form. “I wasn’t sure you’d do it.”

“Honestly, neither was I. Then I thought about Mara and all the other deaths and misery surrounding this man and said:
Screw him
. God can be his judge; I’ll just be the conduit for the introduction.”

“That’s a rather unorthodox approach to being a Christian, isn’t it?” Grangeland asked.

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

She gave him a long, tight hug. “In a different life,” she whispered.

“Dad, you okay with what just happened?”

“That hug? I think I should’ve gotten it.”

Grangeland stepped over and wrapped him up.

“Easy, Grangeland, you’re gonna give that old jarhead a heart attack.”

“It’s not every day I get to hug the chairman of the CDT.” She kissed his cheek.

“Don’t you have a call to make?”

“Special Agent Grangeland is doing just fine.”

“Dad, need I remind you that you’re leaking? Grangeland, would you mind grabbing the first aid kit from the Hummer and putting a few more wraps around that wound? I’ll be right back. I’m gonna do a quick head count. Everyone stay sharp; there could be a straggler.” He turned to go, but stopped. “I’m really sorry about George. I shouldn’t have doubted him.”

His dad nodded.

Nathan took off toward the burning SUVs and the buildings beyond. It took a couple of minutes to do the survey. Including Alisio, he counted seventeen in the pit. The three men Lyons killed at the top completed the tally at twenty.

Harv checked in and said Lyons had managed to crawl fifty feet before expiring. Nathan affirmed, unwilling to mourn her passing any more than that of the other criminals here. They’d made their choices.

When he returned to the Humvee, Grangeland told him his dad was on the phone to Lansing, doing his best to explain how he and George had managed to get their hands on a Marine Corps Humvee and why they thought it necessary to insert themselves into the fight. All in all, it sounded like the call was going fairly well.

He heard his father say something along the lines of “the results speak for themselves.” Lansing wanted to speak to him, as evidenced by his father extending Grangeland’s phone.

“Director Lansing, it’s Nathan.”

“I want to personally thank you. And like I said before, please call me Ethan.”

“We couldn’t have pulled this off without Special Agent Grangeland.”

“She’s got a solid future with us.”

“Good to hear. Don’t be too angry with my dad. He showed up at a critical time and helped turn the tide of the fight.”

“I’m very sorry we lost George. No one knows what I’m about to tell you because he wanted it kept confidential, but he had metastasized pancreatic cancer. He might’ve lived another year, but it would’ve been a slow, drawn-out ending. He died serving his country. He’ll get a full Honor Guard service at Arlington, and I hope you and Harv will be there.”

“Count on it.”

“I’ve got an FBI bird on the way. It’s been standing by at Imperial County Airport. It would be best if you guys weren’t around when it arrives.”

“No problem; we’ve got our own ride. My dad’s got a pretty serious calf wound. It’s not life threatening, but he needs an ER visit.”

“Let me make a call. I may want you to take him to the flight surgeon at NAF El Centro. Can you receive cell calls in your helicopter?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, get in the air and head west.”

“What about local law enforcement? They’re on their way by now.”

“Attorney General Ames and I have that covered. It’s best if you don’t know the specific details. The BSI personnel won’t be found. They were never there, and neither were you.”

“Good enough. Mason’s two accomplices are up on the rim and three more bodies are near the top of the switchbacks.” Nathan used the stadium references and gave Lansing their exact locations. He also reminded Lansing about the cash, diamonds, and gold coins.

“Got it,” Lansing said. “I want to thank you and Harvey again. It seems the IOUs keep adding up.”

“We aren’t keeping them.”

“You’re a lot like your father.”

“Thanks, Ethan. I consider that very high praise. Will you do me a favor?”

“Sure, name it.”

“Please tell Holly we’re okay.”

“Consider it done.”

EPILOGUE

One week later

Under a flawless La Jolla sky, Chief of Staff Holly Simpson parked her rental car and climbed out. The two men she’d met at Harry’s Coffee Shop pulled in behind her and joined her on the sidewalk. Across the street, the pop of tennis balls mixed with a mockingbird’s song. She liked this neighborhood—it triggered a childhood memory of walking to school. Draper Avenue held a nice mix of small residences, apartments, and retail shops.

Before leaving Harry’s, she’d gone over some dos and don’ts and let them know that Nathan McBride tended to be an extremely private person who didn’t want attention or public recognition.

Just ahead, she saw the sign. Given the size of La Jolla Presbyterian Church, the modest sign seemed too small, and yet it somehow fit. She asked the men to wait at a planter in front of the chapel.

At the double doors, the music of a pipe organ filtered from within. She smiled when she recognized it.

“Adagio for Strings” by Samuel Barber.

Nathan marveled at how something so mathematical could sound so beautiful. He didn’t think the organ rendition lost any of the emotional aura of the piece.

He came here when his soul was troubled, like now . . .

The short calls and texts he’d exchanged with Holly seemed synthetic. Their relationship felt damaged, and he didn’t know if it could be repaired. Maybe it shouldn’t be. Maybe his destiny was solitude, and he’d been naïve to believe otherwise. Nathan blamed himself. He hadn’t intended to chase Holly away, but he couldn’t help thinking she’d be better off without him, without his baggage.

He was about to leave when he caught a familiar scent.

Light Blue by Dolce & Gabbana.

Holly.

He stood when she entered the pew.

Tight jeans. A white buttoned shirt. Turquoise and silver belt.
She’s so incredibly beautiful
. . .

Without a word, they embraced each other. Tightly. Neither wanted to let go, and didn’t.

He rested his chin on top of her head. “Are you here to give me bad news?”

She shook her head.

“I need you in my life. I used to think Harv’s friendship was enough, but it’s not.”

She wiped a tear.

“Can you ever forgive me?” he asked. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I wanted to tell you about my seat on your father’s committee, but I didn’t.”

“We’ll forgive each other and move on. That’s what friends do. You’re much more than that, but you’re my friend before anything else.”

“There’s so much I want to tell you; I don’t know where to begin.”

“Me too.”

They sat down and listened to the music reach its peak.

“In Yuma, I executed Alisio. I shot him right in front of my father and Grangeland.”

“Lansing told me.”

“I wanted to believe I’d moved on, that I didn’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

“It won’t make you feel any better, but Grangeland said you beat her to it. Alisio was as good as dead.”

“The guy made some depraved threats, and I believed he would’ve carried them out. I couldn’t let that happen.”

She nodded. “Do you regret killing him?”

“No. But that’s not what’s bothering me. I should’ve disliked it more than I did. So what does that make me?”

“Nathan,” she said quietly, “if you weren’t asking yourself that question, I wouldn’t be here. Don’t second-guess the gift you’ve been given.”

“Gift . . . ”

“I believe there are a chosen few who step up when called upon, and you’re one of them. You’re a good man with a deep conscience. I trust my instincts.”

“I guess I needed to hear that.”

“I wish you heard it more often.”

He looked at the cross beyond the chancel. “I felt something . . . at the quarry. It’s hard to describe. There was no burning bush or booming voice from the heavens, but when Tanner Mason fired his M4 at me, I felt protected. The white star from its flash suppressor was beautiful, not frightening.” He stopped. “Listen to me: I probably sound like I’m crazy.”

“Not at all. You faced death and survived. It’s happened before. You’re processing the experience and finding meaning as best you can. It’s a good thing, Nathan.”

“I wish knowing that made it easier.” For another long moment, he said nothing. “There’s something else bothering me, something I should’ve shared with you years ago.” Nathan felt his face tighten. “You sensed it . . . at Toby’s apartment.”

“You’re talking about Mara . . . Karen and Cindy too.”

He looked down.

“They were call girls, weren’t they.” It wasn’t a question.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I just knew.”

“For two years I thought Mara could give me more than I paid for. I guess I knew the truth deep down, but I couldn’t face it.”

“Nathan, I can’t . . . won’t judge you. Confession time? In my sophomore year in college, I once traded my body for a couple grams of coke. The guy wasn’t a stranger, but I sold myself just the same.”

“We aren’t those people anymore.”

“No, we aren’t.”

“I was worried you came here to give me my walking papers.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ve become partial to Marines.”

“Heaven help you.”

They enjoyed a comfortable silence. “This is a beautiful sanctuary,” she said. “The stained glass is amazing.”

“Each one represents a ministry of Christ.” He looked back to her. “Did Harv tell you where to find me?”

“Actually, it was your mother’s suggestion. Your dad relayed it to me.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“How long have you been in here?”

“A few hours.”

Holly suddenly seemed a little uneasy.

“What?” he asked.

“Remember when we first met, and we were really good listeners?”

“Uh-oh.”

“There are two men outside who want to meet you.”

He started to object, but she stopped him by putting a hand on his chest.

“It wasn’t my doing; it was Lansing’s and your father’s. You haven’t been set up. I made it abundantly clear the decision’s yours. You don’t have to meet them.”

Nathan wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t like the idea. Hated it, really.

“It’s important to them. They want to thank you in person. I think I know you pretty well, and you’ll be okay with it.”

“They’re outside right now? Who are they?”

“Vincent Beaumont and Ramiro.”

“Holly, I don’t—”

“You need to trust me.”

That got through. He smiled and said, “Done.”

Nathan waved a thank-you to the organist and followed Holly down the center aisle. Outside the vestibule, he saw the men right away. He recognized Vincent Beaumont from the memorial service. Both of them stood when he approached.

“I’m Vince Beaumont.”

“Nathan McBride.” He shook hands. “I’m very sorry about your father.”

“Thank you.”

Nathan reached toward the other man. “Ramiro.”

The tall Hispanic man pumped his hand and offered a genuine smile, nothing plastic about it. “My real name’s Tomas Bustamante, but everyone calls me Tommy. It’s going to be a little weird adjusting to it again.”