Off the Grid (A Gerrit O'Rourke Novel) (27 page)

She glanced up as Richard silently nodded.

Quickly, she reached down and grasped the senator’s right hand around the butt of the weapon. Summers began to resist. With her left hand, Collette drove two fingers deep behind the senator’s collarbone causing him to scream in pain and loosen his grip on the gun. She yanked up the gun and shoved it toward his temple, forced his fingers into the trigger well, and squeezed. A blast erupted from the barrel.

Summers slumped in the chair. Dead.

Collette looked up at Richard, her face splattered with blood, eyes gleaming. “I believe a vacancy just opened up in the senate,
monsieur
.”

Mirthlessly, he laughed. “And I have just the candidate to fill his shoes. Now, let’s get out of here.”

Emergency lights from patrol cars and yellow-flashing lamps attached to street barricades filled the night with eerie excitement. Yellow crime-scene tape created an inner and outer perimeter as police and FBI vehicles clogged the streets. A few of the lucky ones were able to drive past the outer line and park in front of the senator’s residence.

He drove up to the first barrier, stopping to allow a uniformed officer to peer inside. He patiently held up his identification and badge, waiting for the officer to use his flashlight for illumination.

The officer peered inside the car. “Beck Malloy. FBI, huh?”

Beck nodded, trying to shield his eyes from the flashlight’s angry glare.

The officer straightened. “Let me just get you to sign in on this crime log.”

Beck shook his head. “Call your boss. Have him speak to the agent running this investigation. Give him my name.”

The officer shot him a puzzled look, backing away a few feet while talking into a mike clipped to his shirt collar. He gave someone Beck’s name and waited for a reply. “Huh, dark wavy hair, brown eyes, about two hundred pounds, in his forties, my guess.” The officer shifted back and forth on his feet, waiting for a reply, then cocked his head, apparently listening to someone through his earpiece. The police officer looked back at Beck, eyes wide. “Yes, sir.”

Flashing the light back at Beck, the officer approached. “You can go ahead, Agent Malloy. I guess you’re not required to sign in. Really weird. It’s like they don’t want a record of you. Never heard anything like that in all my years.”

Beck nodded. “Appreciate that you checked it out, Officer.” He pulled away and drove down the street until he came to an FBI vehicle—a converted RV-size bus—being used as a command post.

He piled out of the car and walked to a side door of the command post. He reached up and flung it open. A large man in a blue FBI Windbreaker stood just inside. The man was on the telephone. “I don’t care who they are. Keep all media a block away. If I catch any of them inside my crime scene, I will have you transferred to the Dakotas…in the middle of winter. Forever.” He slammed the phone down. Other phones jangled as men and women, wearing identical Windbreakers, jostled around inside as they sought a place to work. The irritated agent spotted Beck standing in the doorway. “Beck Malloy? Let’s step outside for a moment.”

Beck held the door open as the other man pounded down the stairs, landing on the asphalt so hard Beck thought he felt the pavement shake. “Just got word of this, Ray. Came as quick as I could.”

“Just got word?” Ray looked at him with skepticism. “My people say you’re the one who alerted the Bureau about this fiasco. Give me a break, Beck. How did you know about this?” The man pointed a finger toward the house. “You can’t believe the kind of storm that’s brewing over this. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry from D.C. is on the phone, trying to get information. Help me out here.”

Beck looked at the house. “An informant deep undercover gave me a heads-up. I called PD units to check it out. How’d they do it?”

“They?” Ray looked incredulous.

Beck grimaced.
My big mouth.
He knew where this was going. Joe O’Rourke had called it in minutes before Richard and his people hit the place. He did not mention this fact to the police.

Ray continued to harangue him. “There was more than one? How in the name of everything that’s holy did you pull that out of the hat? Is this coming from some of your spook contacts? Counterintelligence? Don’t tell me we’re dealing with terrorists.”

The words just spilled out as Beck watched the man come unglued. “Let’s just stick with the facts here, Ray. Tell me what you’ve found out.”

Irritated, Ray rubbed his jaw, eyes narrowing. “Okay. Here’re the facts. Victim found in his den, sprawled out in a recliner. No one else at home when officers arrived. Front door wide open. A single tap to the right temple from an S&W revolver, five-shot Model 638, registered to the senator. Found one spent .38 caliber casing in chamber and four live rounds.”

“Senator’s right handed?”

“My guess. Doubt he did it, though, based upon what you just told me. So you going to tell me what you know?”

Beck shook his head. “Can’t, Ray. I’m sorry. Right now, this must remain classified. Dispatch gave the Bureau a call, right?” He didn’t give Ray a chance to answer. “Cops get here. Find the senator dead. So here we are.”

Ray nodded, remaining silent, giving off a look that told Beck the man knew something important.

“What else did you find out, Ray? A witness?”

Almost gleefully, the agent pulled out a clear evidence bag from his pocket. Inside, Beck saw a small electronic device.

“Wiretaps?”

“Federal wiretaps. At least they were federal once upon a time. Stolen from a shipment to one of our no-named spook groups—NSA, DOJ, CIA. You name it. Do you know who might have used these?”

“Not FBI?”

Ray’s face tensed. “You tell me, Malloy. How’d you know the senator was in trouble before anyone else—unless you’re listening to the wiretap?”

Beck ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I told you. An informant called it in. Swear on a stack of Bibles, I did not know the senator’s house was bugged. I cannot reveal my source at this time. He is not involved with Summers’s death. That’s all I can tell you.”

“You mean that is all you’re
willing
to tell me.”

Beck let the barbed comment go unanswered.

Ray glanced toward the house. “Anyway, we found a bunch of these throughout the house. And one more interesting fact.”

Beck looked at the agent, waiting.

“There doesn’t seem to be forced entry into the house. But the front door was thrown open with such force that the inner doorknob slammed into the wall. Like someone opened the door with a key, then got mad and kicked it open. Fresh damage.”

Several agents hurried past the two men on their way to the outer perimeter. One of the men turned toward Ray. “Sir, the SAC’s on his way. I think he is going to handle the media from here.”

Ray groaned. “Oh, great. This investigation is going into the toilet fast.” He turned back to Beck. “You’d better get out of here while you still have the chance. Once the Special Agent in Charge and his entourage get here, watch out. Everyone better hold their butts with both hands.”

Beck reached over and shook Ray’s hand. “Thanks for the information. Let me know if anything important comes up. You got my number. I can be reached 24/7.”

Ray nodded. “Oh, one other thing. It looks like the senator may have had a visitor just before he got whacked. We found two glasses near his body. Running prints on both of the glasses.”

“Thanks. Stay in touch.” Beck turned and began walking to his car. As he climbed in, Ray was still watching. Beck gave him a thumbs-up as he drove away. As he reached the corner and began to make the turn, three unmarks with lights and sirens swept past. Beck knew one of them carried the SAC.

The investigative nightmare just got worse.

As he watched them pull away in his rearview, he thought of the information Joe O’Rourke passed his way. Beck eyed the taillights as they grew smaller and wondered who he could trust. For all he knew, one of Richard’s men could be sitting in those cars that just passed. In fact, even the SAC could be one of Richard’s men.

Beck stepped on the gas to put distance between him and the investigation. When did everything begin to change, when there were no longer clear lines between the bad guys and the good guys? When others—because of wealth, power, and position—were no longer bound by the same laws everyone else lived by? Had it always been that way?

A world of two countries, two governments, two classes. On one side, all the law-abiding, hardworking, taxpaying people who loved this country. And on the other, all the Richards of this world, viewing themselves as unaccountable to no one but themselves.

It seemed futile at times as he struggled to make things right, working with the corrupted system to hold people like Richard to the same standard as everyone else. Beck thought of the cost paid by Joe O’Rourke and his people. Always running, always hiding, always waiting for the executioner’s ax to drop. And now, Gerrit had been thrust into that same world.

Beck had been watching over Gerrit ever since he came to know Joe. Now, Richard knew Gerrit was alive. That Gerrit was out there with information and skills that might expose Richard and his people. Unfortunately, Gerrit would now become Richard’s primary target, with all the forces that man could bring down. The odds seemed staggering.

A helicopter rushed overhead, its rotors beating the air like a giant hummingbird on steroids. The craft headed toward the crime scene. He pulled out onto Capital Beltway, heading toward D.C.

Last summer, he’d visited New York’s Metropolitan Museum where he saw the famous painting of Washington and his bedraggled troops crossing the Delaware to attack British troops. Badly outnumbered, badly in need of supplies, Washington and his Continental Army surprised the enemy and scored a resounding victory with all the odds against them. Just like Joe, Gerrit, and the others.

As Beck sped toward the capital, he vowed he’d do everything in his power to even the score. Until they came for him.

R
ichard Kane peered out the window as the helicopter made one more sweep over the senator’s residence. Red, blue, and white lights still flashed below, and men the size of black ants crawled around the crime scene. A block away, a parade of media vans blocked the residential street below like one huge parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, Kane directed the pilot to set down at a landing site where a limousine waited. After telling the others to wait in the helicopter, he exited the aircraft and strode toward the car.

He climbed into the vehicle, made sure he was alone, then opened up his laptop, waiting until the video-conferencing software kicked in. An Anthony Hopkins look-alike came on the screen, only he spoke with an Eastern European accent, his suit worth almost as much as the helicopter carrying Richard. “Where are we, Richard?”

He straightened. “Senator Summers just passed on and a major investigation is underway.”

“Were you able—?”

“Cops too quick. Somebody tipped them off before the cleanup crew did their thing.”

“Is there anything left behind that should concern us?”

Richard shook his head. “Some damage to the front door and…the equipment we left behind. Stuart, I’m sure they’ll know it was not a suicide when everything is collected.”

“Who alerted the authorities?”

Richard tightened his jaw. “They got to the senator. And Summers shared enough information that we have a situation.”

“About Megiddo?”

“Not specifically, although he used the name. He gave up Albuquerque and the capabilities we’ve developed so we can kick off the project.”

A heavy sigh came across the computer as Stuart breathed out. “Do we need to activate the protocol?”

“No. No,” Richard said, shooting out the words like bullets. “I’ll get this under control. Minimize the damage.”

“How do you propose to do that?” Stuart steepled his fingers, tapping impatiently. “It seems you’ve made several mistakes already. Who did Summers reveal all this information to?”

Richard hesitated, not wanting to bring up the subject but knowing it must be answered. He shuddered to think of the consequences if Stuart found other sources. “We know for sure Gerrit survived the blast.”

“How do we know?”

“Gerrit confronted the senator in his home. Our spike mikes and video cams picked up his voice and image. Summers spilled this information to Gerrit after the man broke inside the senator’s house and waited for him to get home. We can only assume he was wired and transmitted everything that Summers revealed.”

Another heavy sigh. “So we can assume this recording is in the hands of whom—FBI, Justice, DIA?”

Richard hunched forward. “My guess is Joe O’Rourke is behind this. He has close ties with someone in the FBI, someone who’s been helping them elude my search teams.”

“Do we know who this person might be?”

“Not yet, but I have my suspicions. We’re working on that. If we can identify this FBI agent, we can use him to lead us back to Joe, Gerrit, and the others. This agent and Joe must have some way of communicating that our systems aren’t picking up.”