Cross Cut (22 page)

I rubbed my forehead and grunted. “I’m starting to wish I’d just left her to be arrested.”

It was an odd location for a factory. West of the highway, not all that far from the residential areas, and the barren fields belonging to Seal Beach within eyesight. It wasn’t what I was expecting, either. Part of being British was being told the old stories from the industrial revolution. History lessons bombarded you with the look of an era, fixed in your mind as buildings engraved with the appearance of charcoal and smoke.

That view is somewhat moot now. Factories are now pristine, uncomplicated buildings. Merely four walls with which to fit the modern machinery that does all the work, so human hands needn’t touch the charcoal and smoke.

As we parked up and inspected from afar, we noted the simplicity of the building. There was an entrance round front and very little else. We maneuvered round the back from a street across the way, and saw a wall with a steel gate. Open now, but would otherwise block entrance to the building’s loading bay.

Aside from a stray cat wandering inside, there was nothing of interest happening, and we decided we were too close to the area. I drove back up the street, to where we had a nice view of the grounds over the relatively small wall. We could see the loading bay and a few idle trucks. No sign of life. Just the security lights at the corners of the building.

“Nothing going on,” I said, as I killed the headlights.

“Yeah, well, I did say trusting that stoolie was a bad idea.”

“Nah—” I mumbled. “He was telling the truth. I could tell when I was walking round the main office today. Something just didn’t feel right.”

“Doesn’t mean we’ll be getting any action,” Sully said.

“We’ll give it a few hours. I’m of the impression that if they’re making hot merchandise in there, they’ll want to shift it on a regular basis.”

We kept ourselves busy with a deck of cards. It was the best part of two hours before we saw a small truck pull up beside the steel gate. It was now past midnight and we were getting a little restless. The truck waited five minutes. No one left the vehicle and the headlights stayed on. Sully had a pair of binoculars almost suctioned to his eyes, but I could see just fine. I didn’t become an expert marksman by relying on scopes alone.

“It’s opening,” Sully said. “I mean, the shutters of the loading area. Someone’s coming out.”

I squinted. It was a little hard to see in the darkness and the lights around the grounds shone away from the loading bay. However, it wasn’t long until a larger, more intense beam of light appeared. The main automatic floodlight that stood erect not far from the steel gate was triggered as two men came out from the shutters of the loading bay. They waited with their hands in their pockets. I couldn’t quite make out the faces, so I grabbed at Sully’s binoculars.

As I looked beyond the wall, and directly into the face of one of the men, I grunted. “Well I’ll be.”

“You recognize them?”

“Just one. It’s Graham Rudd.”

“The research guy?”

I nodded. “Not sure about the other guy.”

We watched as the steel gate pulled in completely. The truck remained idle for another two minutes, until a further three vehicles pulled up beside it. Two men in each, but my eyes were only interested in one, as he stepped out of the driver’s side of a Lincoln MKZ. It was him, the mystery man outside our beach house.

“That’s the guy,” I said.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“What do we do?”

“Let’s watch and see what happens.”

The six men from the cars crowded around the truck at first. A black guy banged on the window and gave what seemed to be a high five to the driver. My mystery man waited around by the gate, while the others then walked up to Rudd and his companion. Words were exchanged, and soon enough they were signaling the truck into the loading bay. The driver carefully reversed in, and then backed up all the way to the platform before the shutters.

All of the men had firearms; some of them sub machine pistols. The guy with Rudd had a revolver set inside a holster around his waist. Some serious firepower. Something Sully and I couldn’t really go up against. Not without a rifle anyway.

My mystery man mingled with Rudd and his companion, while the five other thugs brought out forklift trucks from inside, each carrying a pallet full of sealed wooden boxes. They took it in turns to level up to the back of the truck, and lift the goods securely on board. There appeared to be some discussion during the final load. I could only guess from such a distance, but I suspected they hadn’t thought the process through. Unable to get the forklifts up and onto the truck, the thugs had only lifted the pallets onto the rear end, and there wasn’t enough width to fit the final load.

While this played out, Sully was taking photographs with his camera. He assured me the zoom lens was up to the job, and either way, we had proof Graham Rudd was involved. Of course, we still had to prove what was going on.

“How do you want to play it?” Sully said. “I think the main truck’s pulling out and your man is getting in one of the idle trucks for the last pallet.”

I rubbed my chin and considered it. “Let the main truck go. We’ll follow my man in the lone one.”

“What about the factory?”

“We can come back to that.”

“I don’t see Kacie or Melissa. That’s probably a good thing.”

“Probably.”

The main truck pulled out of the loading bay and drove slowly down the street, away from us. Meanwhile, four of the thugs got back into their cars. The passenger from the mystery man’s Lincoln joined him in the truck with the single pallet. They followed the main truck at a distance. The man with the revolver disappeared back into the factory with Rudd and the loading bay’s floodlight switched off. We let the mystery man gain a few hundred yards before we pursued.

The key to tailing someone is to keep an inconspicuous distance. This is infinitely more difficult during nighttime, when the vehicle you’re tailing can easily spot your headlights in their rear view mirror.

Another key is to keep a greater distance when you’re tailing in less populated areas. On busy streets, the driver you’re tailing has other distractions, and not just cars. Lights from buildings, pedestrians—anything to shake their paranoia of being followed. There was none of this for three blocks, which is why I nearly lost him as he pulled onto the freeway. After that, it was child’s play. Or so I thought.

The truck was making good time toward LA, and showed no signs they were aware of us. Somewhere along the way, though, I realized my abilities were far from foolproof.

They turned off the freeway and made for an unmanned gas station, with no other cars in sight. I made the right move by driving straight by, but it was already a lost cause. The passenger of the truck got out and began firing at my Lexus. He hit the back windscreen by the time Sully and I had ducked.

I skidded and we both climbed out the driver’s side, keeping low to the ground. I didn’t like the idea of using my Lexus as a shield, but we had little choice.

“I’ll go round the rear,” I said. “Cover me.”

Sully nodded. He carries a PX4. Smooth as silk and a reliable cover weapon. I took cover at the rear wheel. I lifted my head out and two shots went past without alarm. I managed to get a line on the two of them by placing my head to the ground and looking underneath the trunk. The mystery man soon joined his partner. He was holding a pistol in his right hand, but he didn’t seem interested in aiming the weapon in our direction. After another two shots and some obscenities from his partner, it went quiet. The partner went down to the floor with a thud, but not because Sully or I had hit him. The mystery man had hit him over the head with the butt of his pistol with tremendous force.

The mystery man dangled the pistol lazily with his finger in between the trigger guard.

“Come out,” he said. “I’m not here for a fight—Ader York.”

I looked at Sully, who shook his head, as if to say it was a trick.

The mystery man threw his pistol to one side.

“No funny stuff,” he said. “Come out—I’m an FBI agent.” He held out his ID, complete with the badge.

I looked at Sully one more time, and then came out of hiding. We walked up to the man and took a closer look at his ID. Sure enough, the badge was real. Federal Bureau of Investigation - Department of Justice.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked.

“My name’s on the ID. Didn’t you notice? You’re a detective, after all.”

“The question wasn’t literal, dumbass. What are you up to? What were you doing outside our beach house?”

“I can’t explain, not now. If I stay around too long, they will figure something’s up.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. You explain to me right now, or I’ll shoot you in the knee, and I’ll claim I had no idea you were FBI. Our word against yours, two to one.” I nodded at Sully and he nodded back in agreement.

The FBI agent, whose name on the ID was Craig Swanson, sighed and glanced down at the thug, unconscious on the floor.

“Fine. You’ll have to ride with me.”

“What about that guy?” Sully said.

“I’ll leave him by the curb and call the cops later.” Swanson walked over to the truck. “Come on.”

I left my Lexus out in the street and followed him in with Sully. I sat in the middle and had many questions, all of which he tried to answer while driving.

“Okay, let’s have it,” I said.

“Well—” He paused. “I’ve been on the inside of this group for two months. Took a while—I even took to smoking Kent’s just to fit in. I’m FBI, San Francisco Department, but I’m actually working with the ATF on this. The group you’ve picked a fight with have been running a scheme with two other groups in three different cities throughout California.”

“You said ATF?” Sully said. “Why are you running after a meth lab operation?”

“Meth lab?” Swanson said. “What are you talking about?”

“These guys aren’t making meth?” I asked.

“Hell no. Where’d you get that from? They’re trafficking weapons. Enough for an army.”

“Didn’t look like much to me,” Sully said.

Swanson shook his head. “That’s only one of the shipments. For months they’ve been moving the stuff across the state. They use places like Gillham and Mane to segregate the stuff. Day by day, night by night. That way if there’s a bust, only part of the shipment gets hauled away and the owners of the building become the smokescreen.”

“So that’s why Rudd was there. As a fall guy,” I said.

Swanson nodded. “The stuff ends up in various warehouses on the coast, before the final transfer that takes place every month or so, by boat. I’ve finally got inside and, as luck would have it, two days from now is when the transfer goes down. So I’m reluctant to let you two hash it up with your tiff with the Danturas.”

“You know about all that?” I asked.

“Of course. That’s why I was at your house the other day. I was wondering how far along you were.” He gave a small laugh. “I can hardly believe you managed to hide that girl. Not the FBI’s finest hour.”

“How much do you know? Did they kill Guy Lynch and frame Melissa?”

He looked at me with a puzzled stare before giving his attention back to the road. “I don’t know much about that. Honest. I’m only in on the ground floor, kind of like a hired goon. They don’t tell us much. If Guy Lynch’s death had nothing to do with the serial killings, and you’re thinking it’s something to do with the operation here—I dunno. Guy Lynch wasn’t involved with the operation, not as far as I knew. As for your girl—he might have said something, but nothing concrete.”

“He? Who are you talking about?”

“Did you see the guy with the revolver?” Swanson said.

I nodded.

“He’s the one heading this side of the operation. His name is Andonian—an Armenian guy, who was a favorite of Erik Cristescu. He’s always trying to prove he’s a big player. One of the guys mentioned he was—” He paused for a moment. “—coming after Kendra Ryder. Revenge for his old boss. Although, I assume it’s more of a power play.”

I looked at Sully, who said, “That’s the guy who met the stoolie before you.”

I nodded.

Swanson could see my face full of intent, so he quickly tried to shut it down. “I know you’re on a mission, and want to protect Ryder, but I must ask you to wait. Two days from now they’ll be in jail anyway. But we have to wait till the major transfer, to hook them all. I promise you a free hand at him after it all.”

I sighed. “I can’t wait—Melissa is missing, and I need to know where she is.”

“I promise to look into it,” Swanson said confidently. “If I get wind of anything, I’ll let you know.”

He sounded sincere and I had half a mind to believe him.

We drove for a mile in silence, then Sully said, “What are we doing? What can we do when we get there?”

“I’ll have to drop you off somewhere. Can’t have them seeing you. How about here?” Swanson said.

“What, in the middle of nowhere?” Sully said bitterly. “How are we supposed to get back?”

“You’re detectives, you’ll figure it out,” Swanson said.