The Betrayal (25 page)

32

Closing In

Wednesday, February 10, 10:20 p.m.

Just outside the area monitored by the Chicago Police Department security unit in charge of the safe house in Addison, Illinois, Jack Keller carefully edged the unmarked Crown Vic squad off the pavement, through a shallow snowdrift, and into a forest preserve parking area.

“What?” Boone said, eager to accomplish whatever needed to be done in Addison so he could make sure Haeley was all right.

“Sit tight,” Jack said. “Normally I'd assign you this task, but with you being a cripple . . .”

Jack popped the trunk and slid out of the car. Boone heard him rustling around and then saw that he had apparently removed the jumper cables from their burlap tie sack. Jack moved to the front and kicked at the right wheel well until a shard of frozen sludge broke loose. Boone watched him brush away the residue and slip the remaining triangular block into the sack. This he set on the floor of the backseat.

“Dare I ask?” Boone said as Jack got back in.

“Keep your eyes open, junior. I'm gonna look like a genius before the night's over.”

Boone's phone chirped as Jack shifted into drive. “Hold on,” Boone said. “This is a first. A text from Fletch. Listen: ‘Urgent. You and your partner get to where you can stop and study this. This is the most fun I've had as a cop, bittersweet as the assignment is. Already second-guessing retirement. And in case you're wondering, no, I'm not texting this. Someone's keyboarding it for me on some fancy wireless thingie. This connection is not guaranteed secure, so here's your new numbers, one for each phone. Hang up and don't answer till you get a message from me. It will come in ten or twenty seconds and will be long. Both phones will ring. Hang up now.'”

Jack shoved the Vic back into park, and as they sat there alone in the wintry darkness, illuminated by only their headlights, both cops laid their cell phones on the rubber dashboard pad.

Both phones sounded simultaneously and the men reached to connect.
Write down those new numbers,
Fletch's message read.
I don't know how the techies do it, but both your phones have been reconfigured remotely and are now secure and impenetrable. They may have been secure before, and we have no evidence of anyone breaching their security, but now we know.

Stewart Lang, Heathcliff Jones, and I have set up shop at the evidence lab with Doc Waldemarr, Judge Peggy Overmeyer, and Friedrich Zappolo, Esquire. Stewie and Cliff and I have each chosen select beat cops we trust implicitly. They'll work with a SWAT team to handle the operation in River North. We already have visuals that tell us all the lights are on in the residence and that several people are there. We believe both Wades are there, and we can only assume our victim is too.

Boone didn't like Haeley being called a victim, especially, he hoped, prematurely.

Judge Overmeyer approved the warrants, and the tech team is wired in to Pete's, Thelma's, and Antoine's cells, as well as the landline at the condo, Pete's landline in his office, and the landline at their Naperville home.

Best, they have remotely engaged Haeley's phone, muted it, and programmed it to transmit. We don't know for sure where she is, and we assume someone has confiscated her phone, but this could give us our best information.

If we find that the Wades are holding Ms. Lamonica, we will strategize a retrieval. That's polite language for “Somebody's gonna get hurt and it ain't gonna be us.” The number at the bottom of this message is the one you should respond to.

“So text back what we're up to,” Jack said.

“What
are
we up to? You're gathering stuff for a snowball fight. . . .”

“You get hit with that baby in a snowball fight, and you're dead. What I'm gonna use it for will become obvious soon enough. Just tell 'em we're minutes away.”

“How am I going to do that with one hand? Wait, this phone has voice-to-text.” As Boone dictated, the words appeared on the screen:
Aim texting this bye voice. Minutes from safe house. Will cause plumbing problem, call in streets and san, and pull our people out in tanker truck. Whole story later, but jacks using an old friend of yours, Carl earl. For the job.

Fletch texted back:
Got it. Green light. Muffled sounds from Lamonica phone. Must be in someone's pocket.

As Jack stopped for the first security check a few yards up the dirt road, the cop in the beat-up, idling pickup rolled down his window. “Deputy Chief Keller,” Quincy said, “didn't expect you this evening.”

“Just checking on our man and dropping off my overnight guest.”

Boone leaned over and nodded to Quincy, who nodded back and jotted on a clipboard.

As Jack drove toward the compound, he slowed and peered ahead. “You see what I'm seeing, Boones?”

He followed Jack's eyes. “Lots of tracks.”

“Pastor Sosa?”

“Probably,” Boone said. “But that would have been one car. There've been a lot more.”

Jack stopped and turned around. When he reached the pickup, the window came down again.

“Who's been here?”

Quincy looked at his clipboard. “Pastor Sosa. That's it for tonight, till you. Why?”

“Oh, just thought someone else from our office might have come.”

“Nope.”

Jack headed back.

“He's lying,” Boone said.

“You got that too? What was your first clue?”

“Checking his list.”

“Exactly. One visitor and he had to see who it was? Can you handle the Beretta with one hand?”

“I'd love to be tested.”

“I'll just bet you would. And I'd wager my pension these tracks are only coming in, not going out, except Sosa's.”

“So Quincy is Wade's guy?” Boone said.

“Looks that way. Question is who else, and who joined 'em tonight? We can't believe anything we see here.”

When they reached the high fence the dogs barked and snarled, despite their wagging tails giving them away. “Poor things must not get much action, Williams,” Boone said as the trainer called them off.

“You're right,” Williams said. “You can see in their eyes that they want so bad to work, or play—and it's all the same to them.”

But though the dogs seemed to lose interest in Jack and Boone at Williams's command, they didn't retreat to their warm shelter as usual. They sniffed the air and snarled and cavorted. Boone had an idea why. Those extra tire tracks had been no illusion.

Inside the Quonset hut, the shorter of the two disguised guards was dozing, and Unger kicked him when Jack and Boone entered. Both men stood. “Welcome back,” Unger said. “Anything we can help with?”

“Nope,” Jack said, the heavy burlap bag swinging in his hand. “Feel free to get back to your chores.”

Unger chuckled and triggered the opening, while Sleepy cleared his throat and looked confused. Jack and Boone made their way through the hanging plastic curtain.

“Hey,
amigos
!” Pascual Candelario called out, switching off the TV and laboriously rising from the couch. “What's new?”

“Sosa the only visitor you've seen tonight?”

PC nodded. “Thought I was getting some more when I heard the dogs about an hour ago. False alarm.”

“Let's hope,” Jack said, then ran down the plan for him.

PC's curious look gave way to a clouded visage. “We're gettin' out of here in a septic truck?”

“You first. Then I'll carry Jose up and hand him down to you. Then I'll help your mama get in.”

“Where you takin' us?”

“No idea yet,” Jack said. “But it'll be too cold to keep you in that truck for long.”

“I know a nice place,” Boone said. “Furnished, fancy even. If the first operation gets over in time, it'll be empty and likely well stocked.”

“River North?” Jack said. “No way. It'll be a crime scene.”

“Not unless somebody's dead. By the time they get Haeley out of there, CPD will have all it needs on Wade and Antoine Johnson, and probably Fox and Villalobos too.”

“You're crazy,” Jack said. “But it just might work. Nobody will notice an Addison Streets and San truck there in the middle of the night, and if we can get their cars out of the garage, we can pull it in there and unload the family.”

“If it'll fit,” Boone said. “That's a tall truck. I don't remember the garages being extra tall.”

“If we have to pull 'em out in the driveway,” Jack said, “so be it. Anybody watching will just be confused.”

“I've been called toxic waste,” PC said. “But nobody ever expected to see me come out of one of those trucks. Chief, your bag is leakin'.”

“I'm going to stick this in your toilet, Boone. Okay?”

“Mine? Why?”

“Might look suspicious if we show up and all of a sudden Pascual has a plumbing problem. Anyway, we can flood your room without messing up the whole place.”

PC and Boone followed Jack into the tiny bathroom connected to the room Boone had stayed in. Jack wrestled the sack over the toilet and slowly lowered the ice chunk into the water. The level immediately rose to the rim. Jack used the bag to cover his hands as he reached to jam the thing into the neck of the bowl. It appeared to want to float, so he kept the pressure on until it was set.

Jack reached for the handle, looking knowingly at Boone and Pascual, and said, “Fire in the hole. Prepare to evacuate.”

As soon as he flushed the toilet, it made a racket and water spilled onto the floor. Jack pulled the lid off the tank and disengaged the bobber. That kept the water rushing, and the three men moved back into the TV room.

“Call Carl,” Jack said. “I'll go tell the guys up front what the problem is and that we've called the city. We've got to keep everybody out of that bathroom until the ice melts. The slush residue is going to look realistic.”

“Gross, man,” Pascual said. “You want me to pretend I was asleep? Everybody here knows I'm a night owl.”

Jack said, “Just tell 'em you were watching TV when Boone's toilet overflowed. But wake your mother. Let Jose sleep until it's just about time to go. He won't cry or make a fuss, will he?”

“Naw. I'll convince him we're having fun.”

“You've all got to dress warm and bring blankets. It's going to be really cold down in there.”

Boone slapped his phone shut. “Carl says the roads are opening up, but he's still at least an hour out.”

“Hope it's sooner,” Jack said. “I still think we've got company.”

Boone followed Jack to the front, where Jack told the guards at the counter what happened. Unger made a move like he was going to check it out. “No need to come back there,” Jack said. “Got it under control. You can see we're tracking water. I shut off the feed and Streets and San is on its way.”

“This time of night?” Unger said.

“Guess they've got an emergency unit for stuff just like this. I'll let everybody know someone's coming.”

“Use my walkie-talkie,” Unger said, pulling it from under the counter. He depressed the button. “Hut to Front, do you read? Keller wants a word.”

“Roger.”

“Hey, Quincy. Got a little plumbing problem here and think it's the septic. Streets and San is on its way.”

“Everything under control?”

“Yeah, but watch for them. No idea how long they'll be, but they tell me it'll be a white tanker truck.”

“Got it. You'll tell Williams?”

“Will do. And can you let me know when the truck gets here? I can lead him right to the tank.”

Ten minutes later Boone received a text from Fletcher Galloway.
Just monitored a call to Wade's cell from the guard at the front of the complex there, telling him what's going down. Wade doesn't like it but this guy is assuring him he's got it all under control. Wade asked him if everyone else was in place. And he said yes.

So Quincy updates Wade on everything that goes on here,
Boone dictated back.

Wade must have more than one insider, though. Ever vigilant.

Lots of tracks in the snow. Jack fears assassins. Our goal is to get our people out of here before anybody gets suspicious. And can we use the river north condo as the new safe house?

Bring them this way. We'll put them somewhere.

33

The Getaway

Thursday, February 11, 12:05 a.m.

Pascual Candelario's mother sat holding her sleeping grandson, Jose, whom she had somehow outfitted with a heavy coat and shoes over his footy pajamas. Next to her sat a stack of blankets, two suitcases, and several paper bags. Clearly she had no intention of returning to the safe house.

PC looked pensive and sat with his monstrous parka in his lap.

“Peek out that window next to the door,” Jack said, “and if you see only the truck and me, come out immediately. PC, you first. Head up the ladder and down the hatch. My guy says he set it to open easily.”

“Am I going to fit in there, man?”

Jack stepped back and studied him. “Let me see you with the parka on.” PC slipped it on and looked like a mountain. “Just don't let the thing get hung up on your way down or the tight squeeze will pull it over your head. You get stuck and I'll have to come up there and stomp you through. There's no light in there, but you might get a little from the lamppost. Feel for seats, seat belts, and handles on the wall. I'll hand you Jose and help your mom get in. I'll radio the guard in the pickup and tell him it turns out it wasn't the septic tank after all and that the truck is leaving. Otherwise it's gonna look mighty strange, pulling in and then leaving right away.”

Jack and Boone moseyed back up through the maze to the counter, waiting for word. Unger's walkie-talkie buzzed. “Streets and San is here,” Quincy said. “Can you put Keller on?”

“Just click it to stay open,” Jack said. “This is Keller!”

“Truck's approaching,” Quincy said. “After I clear him, you want to tell him where to come to?”

“Sure.”

Quincy set his transmitter to stay open as well. “Been expecting you,” he said.

“Bet you have,” Carl said. “I'm always the most welcome man in town, least till I get down into the muck.”

“I'm gonna put someone on who'll tell you how to get to the tank. Hey, you look familiar.”

“People tell me that. One of them faces, I guess.”

“No, you look like a cop I knew years ago.”

“Cop? Ha! Do they let ex-cons be cops these days?”

“Not hardly.”

“Then I ain't your man. Been on this job since I got outta the joint thirty years ago. 'Bout to retire.”

“Well, you could be his father or his older brother then.”

“No cops in my relation,” Carl Earl said. “They wouldn't have me.”

“I swear you're a dead ringer.”

“He was a handsome guy too, eh?”

Quincy laughed. “Keller, you there?”

“I'm here. I'll be waiting by the fence, sir. Follow me to the left and around the back.”

As Jack stood at the front door of the Quonset hut watching for the truck, Boone said to the two guards at the counter, “You going to go out and help the driver get his bearings?”

Jack slowly turned, and Boone saw the horror in his eyes. Boone winked at him.

“Not on your life,” Unger said. “We're not supposed to move from our posts. Now if he needs to get into the bathroom to look at the plumbing, we can help him.”

“Freezing out there,” the other said. “And those dogs give me the willies. Why don't
you
help out?”

Boone laughed. “The temperature and the dogs would not be good for my shoulder.”

When the truck lights came into sight, Jack headed out. Boone went back through to the living area and past the Candelarios to the back door. Carl slowly backed the truck into place under the light pole as Jack walked alongside, waving for Pascual Candelario to come out.

Boone held the door open, icy wind slicing his face as he scanned for even a shadow of movement. PC pulled on his parka again and lumbered out. “This better work, man,” he said. “You guys are
loco
.”

Jack helped him get started up the side of the truck, PC yelping at the frozen ladder. “Don't you have any gloves, Pascual? You're going to freeze in there.”

“I got good pockets.”

Carl Earl opened his door and leaned out. “There's a wheel in the middle of the hatch top. I left it loose. Just spin it to the left.”

“What're we gonna do for air in there?” PC said.

“I set the hatch to stay open about an inch,” Carl said. “It'll be cold, but at least you'll be able to breathe.”

“I'd rather suffocate warm. Never see cold like this in Mexico.”

“Keep moving,” Jack said. “I'll get Jose.”

PC was surprisingly agile getting to the top, but he had to keep stuffing his parka into the hole as he went. Once he dropped out of sight, Jack stepped past Boone, whispering, “See anything?”

Boone shook his head.

Jack approached Mrs. Candelario. “He's still sleeping,” she said. “Wrap him in this blanket and cover his face. If he wakes up, he'll be afraid. Just tell him you're taking him to his daddy.”

It appeared to Boone that Jack was surprised at the weight of the boy, and it seemed all he could do to manage the ladder with his free hand. As Jack climbed, Jose whimpered and wrenched around, causing Jack to stop and push the little body higher against his shoulder.

“Let's go see Daddy, okay?”

“Daddy!”

“Shh!”

Mrs. Candelario approached Boone, dark eyes peering out at Jack and Jose. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Jack won't let go of him.”

But as soon as Jack reached the top he stopped. In the light from the lamppost Boone could see Jack fighting to keep his footing on the curved steel top. He knew he should still be scanning the dark horizon for interlopers, but Boone couldn't look away.

“Hold still, Jose!” Jack hissed. “Pascual! Can you reach Jose?”

Mrs. Candelario set her stuff down and hurried out to the ladder. As she began climbing, Boone heard the telltale sound of the fake wall casing turning on its axis down the hall behind him.

With his good hand, Boone pushed the Candelarios' supplies out the door one by one. He hated to leave paper bags and blankets in the snow, but he couldn't let anyone see those.

Pascual reached through the opening at the top of the truck and gathered in his now-screaming son, shushing him as they descended from sight. Jack lost his footing and began to slide over the side, grabbing the hatch door with one hand and the top of the ladder with the other as PC's mother drew into his view.

“Hang on a second, ma'am! Let me get my bearings.”

“Someone's coming!” she said.

Jack let go of the ladder and, attached only to the hatch, grabbed her under one arm. With his feet dangling, he hauled her up to the top rung where she could reach the edge of the opening.

“PC! Get your mom down there!”

Boone heard footsteps. “Jack, get out of sight! Carl, look busy!”

Carl huffed out of the cab while Boone used his foot to slide the supplies away from the door. Jack pulled himself up and over the other side of the truck, and Boone saw only his hands on the wheel atop the hatch door.

There Jack hung on the dark side of the truck as Carl kicked his way through the snow. Boone was just pulling the door shut as Unger arrived from up front.

“So, how's it going, Drake?” he said.

“All right, I guess, but I'm freezing.”

Unger peeked through the window. “Driver doesn't look happy.”

Even through the closed door, Boone could hear Carl swearing a blue streak. “He doesn't sound happy either. Guess he's decided it's not the septic tank after all.”

“Where's Keller?”

“Out there somewhere, trying to help.”

“He's a better man than I am.”

“We already established that,” Boone said, smiling, half expecting to be attacked from every direction in the next second.

Carl came to the door and banged loudly. “Let me in, you lousy—”

Boone quickly opened the door and shushed him. “Sir, we've got a family sleeping in here, including a child. Keep your voice down!”

Red-faced and gasping, Carl almost convinced Boone he was at the end of himself. He whipped off his fogged-up glasses and wiped them with an oily rag. “What do you people take me for?”

Boone put a finger to his lips, and Carl whispered hoarsely. “Call me out in the middle of a night like this. There's nothin' wrong with that septic. Let me see the toilet where this started!”

“It's the bathroom off my room,” Boone told Unger. “Can you show him? I'd better find Keller.”

Unger took Carl down the hall, and Boone slipped outside. “Jack! We've got him preoccupied. Come get this stuff!”

“I can't get back up!” Jack called, still dangling from the other side of the truck.

“Well, I can't get this stuff into the tanker. What're we gonna do?”

Boone heard a groan and Jack sliding, then a
whomp
as he landed in the snow, feet first and then on his rump. The air seemed to burst from his lungs.

“You all right, Jack?”

“I've been better,” he said, slowly rising and coming around the back of the truck. He knocked on the side. “PC! Open the hatch all the way so I can get this stuff in there!”

In three trips up the ladder, Jack dropped the two suitcases and the pile of blankets into the tanker. As he came back down for the last of the supplies, Boone heard Carl and Unger coming. “Get in here, Jack!”

Jack pushed the remaining paper bags aside and tramped in, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands. “So the problem's not in the tank, eh?” he said to Carl.

The older man still looked agitated. “You people didn't need Streets and San! You needed a plumber.”

“So we're dumb cops. Our bad.”

“Your bad. Gimme a break. Well, I'm not moppin' up that mess in there. That's on you.”

He pushed past Boone, giving him a look, and yanked open the door. “Put those sacks on the seat,” Boone whispered. “Head toward the city and we'll be in touch. And, Carl, don't stop for anybody.”