Off the Grid (A Gerrit O'Rourke Novel) (6 page)

No one came to the closet door.

“Hurry up in there.” Nico’s voice. Angry.

Gerrit heard someone vomiting. A moment later a woman’s voice called out just a few feet away from the closet door. “Give me a minute.” Her voice seemed strained, frightened. More retching. What was her name? Yeah, Cassandra.

Muscles began to burn from the strain. He could no longer hold on. He must risk it. He eased himself lower, muscles burning, until his head cleared the opening, feet finally resting on plush carpet. He allowed his weight to rest on his feet a little at a time, waiting for the boards underfoot to give him away. This close and one squeaking board might catch Nico’s attention. He knew the man was waiting for any noise that might alert him to trouble.

Where was the girl?

He heard Cassandra moving around in the bathroom. Nico’s voice came from farther away, somewhere deep in the master bedroom. The girl must be near the Russian gangster. But where?

He reached down and unholstered his .40 caliber S&W, slowly withdrawing it. His right thumb flicked off the safety and his index finger slid across the trigger. The closet door was only a few steps away.

Cassandra’s shoes clicked on the floor as he neared the door. She seemed to be moving away. Back into the bedroom?

He paused, keyed his mike, and whispered, “Finch. When I key the mike twice, I want you to create a disturbance in the hallway just loud enough to grab the suspect’s attention. Copy?”

“10-4,” Finch’s voice crackled over the radio, full of tension.

Gerrit lowered his free hand and reached down to grasp the door handle, slowly turning counterclockwise. He felt the knob stop and knew the door would open when he was ready. He pushed forward, opening it a fraction at a time. Bright light began to filter in as the door widened. He stopped, peered through the opening.

No one.

The door blocked his view from the rest of the bathroom but gave him a straight shot into the bedroom. He needed to get past this door so he could clear the bathroom behind him and move toward where Nico stood guard over his wife and child.

Now was the time to make his move.

Gerrit pushed the door further and stepped into the room. He started to level his weapon toward the bedroom door when he heard a sharp gasp behind him.

Whirling, he pivoted to see Cassandra’s startled face. He clamped a hand across her mouth, her eyes wide with fear. She didn’t resist. How had he missed her? He looked down and saw she was barefoot. She must have kicked her shoes off after getting sick.

Cassandra looked at him as if waiting for instructions.

Pointing for her to move back into the water closet, Gerrit edged around the closet door, closing it behind him while still trying to keep a visual on the doorway to the bedroom. He couldn’t see anyone from this position.

Cassandra’s hand squeezed his arm. She motioned toward the bedroom, gesturing that her husband and child were to the right, just out of sight. Nodding, he crossed the bathroom until he was standing to the right of the bedroom threshold. Carefully leaning to his left, Gerrit peered around the corner. The girl lay rigidly on the bed, fists clenched, staring up at Nico. Nico paced back and forth a few feet away like a caged animal.

Gerrit drew back out of sight. Maybe he wouldn’t need to alert SWAT. He could end this right now.

He brought up his weapon, looking over the front sight as he edged to the left until he had a bead on Nico’s head. Had to be a head shot. A shot to center mass would give Nico time to twitch and fire a weapon before dying. Now it was about the child, not his parents’ death. Nico must die quick.

A shot ran out somewhere in the house.

Nico lunged toward the girl, grabbing her hair in a clenched fist. The girl screamed, crying.

Gerrit backed out of sight as Nico dragged the child toward the doorway leading into the hallway. He lost his chance to take Nico out.

Cassandra pushed against him. “Stop him, please,” she whispered. He tried to restrain her.

“I told you to back off,” Nico screamed through the locked door. “You want me to kill the girl.”

Maria
. That was the girl’s name. Gerrit clenched his teeth. Why did it matter at this point? Sometimes his brain came up with information at the oddest times. Maria might be dead in the next few seconds.

Cassandra stirred behind him, eyes bulging with fear. Gerrit glared at her and jerked his head toward the bathroom. Cassandra shook her head, tears welling up.

He held a finger to his lips, trying to get her to remain quiet, as he turned his attention toward the bedroom.

Finch’s voice bellowed down the hallway. “Accidental discharge. We’re staying back…just like you said.”

Gerrit peered into the room and saw Nico release the girl once again. He was facing the door. “Maria, get on the bed and lie down. Don’t make a sound.” The girl started to comply until she looked up and saw Gerrit.

She screamed.

Nico swung around just as Gerrit got him in his sights.

“Freeze.”

Nico continued to take aim.

Gerrit fired.

Maria and Cassandra screamed in unison.

He fired repeatedly until Nico’s body lurched back, the Russian’s gun firing into the ceiling. Nico’s weapon slipped from his grasp as he collapsed on the carpet.

Rushing over to where the man lay, Gerrit pointed his gun at Nico’s face, ready to fire if the man so much as twitched.

Nico’s eyes turned toward him, and he gave one gasp. His sightless eyes stared back.

Scratch one gangster
.

The girl sobbed, and her mother rushed past him to comfort her.

Gerrit hit the transmission button. “Suspect down. 10-55. Units cleared to come in.”

And another lead to his parents’ death just killed.

“M
an, that’s one sick animal. Holding a gun to his own kid’s head.” Taylor moved over to make room for Gerrit in the van.

“Not his kid.” Gerrit eyed one of the shooting team investigators across the street before closing the door behind him. They were still holding down the scene three hours after all the shooting. It was going to be a long night. “Nico married Cassandra when Maria was a year old. Rumor has it Nico had her dad wasted just to clear the way to Cassandra. He hates the kid.”

Taylor shook his head. “How’d you know about the access panel in the storage room?”

Smiling, Gerrit shrugged. “Just remembered.”

“You’re weird, dude. Freakin’ weird. Who remembers—?”

Pounding on the van door reverberated through the vehicle. “Gerrit, you in there?” Lieutenant Cromwell’s bellow was easy to identify. “Get your ass out here. Now.”

Gerrit smirked. “He’s such a sensitive soul. Worried about my traumatic experience.” Seeing Cromwell peering through the tinted window, Gerrit edged over and unlocked the door. “Coming out, Lieutenant.”

Cromwell stepped back as Gerrit swung open the door. “We need to talk. Privately.” He whirled around and crossed the street to his rental car. “Get in, O’Rourke.” It was a command, not a request.

Gerrit slid into the passenger side as Cromwell heaved himself behind the steering wheel. “What are you doing here, sir? I thought you’d be standing by in Seattle for details.”

“Plans change. I’m driving you to the airport.” Cromwell fired up the engine. “Taylor can bring your things later.”

“Boss, you came all the way down here to drive me to the airport?” Gerrit looked at him incredulously. “Besides, we’ve got a ton of evidence and property to seize back there. And the shooting team—”

“Leave it to me to coordinate. That’s why I am down here.” He yanked on the wheel and hit the car horn. “This comes from the top. I mean, straight from the top in Justice. Our chief got the word several hours ago. Ordered me to hop on a plane and personally drag your sorry carcass onto the next flight to D.C. They want you there yesterday.”

Marilynn’s earlier phone call flashed in Gerrit’s mind. “What’s up, Lieutenant? Why the urgency?”

“Sometimes, we’re just not given a reason. You’ve been in the military. When they say ‘jump,’ we just ask ‘how high.’ This is one of those times.”

“The shooting team took my weapons. I’ve got nothing on me.”

“Won’t need it where you’re going, although you never know about these Washington bureaucrats. Might want to consider wearing a bulletproof vest so they don’t stab you in the back.”

“Came here to fill me with confidence?”

“Don’t give a flying leap about your confidence. Just want to make sure you get on that plane.” Cromwell gave him a hard stare. “Son, be careful. Don’t know what’s going on, but these people are serious. Deadly serious. I’ve been around the block a few times, and my gut tells me you’d better watch out. Trust no one.”

Gerrit watched the road ahead. They pulled onto southbound I-5. Ten minutes later, Cromwell took the exit to San Diego International Airport, runways cutting between the USMC’s recruiting depot and the Navy’s fleet anti-sub warfare school along the edge of the San Diego Bay. A well-protected stretch of real estate.

As they neared the airport, Cromwell glanced over at him. “Oh, they have a passport waiting when you get to D.C. I guess you won’t be staying there long.”

“What? My passport is locked up in a safe in Seattle.”

The lieutenant shrugged. “My guess, they’ll be giving you undercover creds. Passport included. You’re on your way out of the country.”

“Where are they sending me? And who is ‘they’?”

Cromwell turned his attention back to the road. “They will tell you who ‘they’ is when they want to. Why they’re sending you, only God knows, son. Him and those calling the shots. Watch your back.”

Washington, D.C.

G
errit landed in D.C. as a steel dawn cracked the eastern horizon. A man dressed in the black and white uniform of a chauffeur stood at the boarding gate peering at each passenger as they emerged from the plane. The man glanced toward him with a look of recognition, then moved in for contact. “This way, Detective. I have a car waiting.”

How did this guy get past security? The driver entered a code to access a secured door, then led him down a flight of stairs to the tarmac. A stretch limo was parked near the doorway.

The driver opened the car door to reveal a predawn greeting party for him—Marilynn; her father, Senator John Summers; and a third man Gerrit didn’t recognize. The senator leaned forward. “Climb on in, Detective. Get out of the cold.”

He stooped through the doorway and slid onto a black leather seat opposite Marilynn and her father. Senator Summer’s gravelly voice—as if hewed from granite rocks—spilled on about law enforcement, serving one’s country, and fighting the good fight. It was as if the man was trying to win Gerrit over as a voter.

After the political rhetoric, the senator leaned forward with a conspiratorial look, introduced the third man as someone from State without giving a name, then lowered his voice. “As you know, Gerrit, I sit on the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. I also have a pipeline to the White House on intelligence matters. You know, the right hand keeping the left hand in the know.”

Gerrit stared back. Where was this conversation going? Marilynn avoided his glances, as if he wasn’t even here. The State guy—probably a spook—sat tight-lipped, watching.

“We’ve got friends in a lot of key places—particularly in the business community. People willing to help us protect this country and make it a safe place to live. Know what I mean?” The senator shot him a wink.

Gerrit looked on without responding. The word
snakeskin
came to mind as he studied the senator.

“My daughter tells me good things about you and your work on this here task force she runs.”

She finally gave him a glance.

“We have a
situation
, a matter of national security you might be able to help us with.”

“Like what, Senator?” So far, Gerrit didn’t have a clue as to why he was sitting in this plush ride.

Senator Summers sat up, back rigid, his look of friendship vanishing. Instead, a mask seemed to slip over the man’s face. His eyes narrowed. “I know about your service to our country while in the armed forces. Special Ops in the Mideast, several tours of duty. Impressive record, son.” The man’s impassive face seemed to conflict with his impassioned words. As he spoke, the senator seemed to be sizing Gerrit up as if trying to decide whether he could be trusted.