The Devil's Punchbowl (49 page)

 

“You don’t know that Po is either. You’re ignoring the question of face. If Po is a criminal, can he afford to let other criminals know that his lieutenants can be killed without reprisals?”

 

“I considered face,” Kelly says patiently. “Also
guanxi.
I think killing Sands is actually the most elegant solution to our problem—and not just for us. If Sands is killed, I suspect Po will claim credit for the murder—unofficially, of course. Competitors will assume that Po had Sands murdered for interfering with his niece, Jiao, whom Po vowed to protect from people like Sands.”

 

Everyone is silent, not least because Kelly seems two steps ahead of us all.

 

“We either kill him or we back off,” Kelly concludes. “Conventional methods are too slow. They’re just going to get someone we care about killed.”

 

“Carl?” Caitlin says pointedly. “Would
you
kill Sands?”

 

The sniper gives her a “Why me?” look, like a grade-school student being called on by his teacher. “Kelly’s a free agent,” he mumbles. “The man makes his own decisions.”

 

“I’m asking about
you.
”

 

“Depends on the situation. If somebody was going to die because I didn’t, I would, yeah.”

 

“But would you shoot him sitting at his breakfast table?”

 

Carl turns up his palms. “I don’t think so, but it’s complicated. I
have
shot somebody who was eating dinner, because the Marine Corps told me he needed to die. Now, I don’t know Jonathan Sands from Jonathan Livingston Seagull. But if I knew he was going to kill my sister or my mother…then I’d vaporize him.”

 

Caitlin turns to me, as though I’m the court of last resort. “You’re an attorney, sworn to uphold the law. You’ve sent people to death row for doing exactly what Kelly’s offering to do now. Are you really going to send him out of this house to commit murder?”

 

The fact that I think Kelly is right surprises even me. I’ve been in similar situations before, with the power of life and death over someone almost as evil as Sands, and I chose to use the court system, even with the chance that they might escape punishment. But Sands is a special case. I wish Caitlin and I could have this discussion in private, because she tends to get more stirred up when she’s in front of people. But there’s no alternative now.

 

“I have sent people to death row,” I concede in a level voice. “But not for doing something like this. This is a unique situation. Tim stumbled into something far bigger and more complicated than he knew. Blackhawk’s position and Peter Lutjens’s warning prove that. We still don’t really know what we’re dealing with. We only know that the government is involved in some way, and that Sands and Quinn are prepared to kill to prevent anyone from learning what they’re doing. I also know that wherever they are, my mother and Annie are scared to death. They’re holding their chins up, but they’re terrified that they’ll get a phone call saying that Dad or me is dead. And I believe that’s a real possibility.”

 

“That sounded like a summation, not an answer,” Caitlin says, her tone still challenging.

 

“Caitlin…this is like a stalking case. When I was a prosecutor, I saw a lot of women die needlessly because the police had no effec
tive way to intervene until after they were dead. A lot of the men who killed those women went to prison afterward. But the women were still dead.”

 

This time I get no ricochet response.

 

“In this case, there are four women who could die,” I go on, “all of whom I love. And one of them is you.”

 

“Don’t do that,” she says with startling intensity. “Don’t use me to justify killing someone.”

 

“Maybe we should take a vote,” Kelly suggests.

 

“No!” snaps Caitlin. “We’re not taking any goddamn vote. No one here has the right to vote on murder. If you kill Sands, you’ve done it on your own.”

 

“What would you do if he went through with it?” I ask. “Would you report Kelly to the police?”

 

She gets to her feet and turns to my father. “Tom, you’re not seriously condoning this?”

 

Dad looks up at her with sad eyes. “I understand your feelings, Kate. I believe in the rule of law. And Sands hasn’t killed a member of my family—yet. But that’s only thanks to chance. My daughter could easily have died two hours ago.”

 

“But she
didn’t,
Tom. She’s going to be all right. We have time to take another path.”

 

“What path would that be?”

 

“We could go public. I can have this story on the front page of twenty-three papers tomorrow, and a lot more than that, if I bring my father into this. I’d hate to do that, but if we’re to the point of assassinating someone, then I think it’s time to break the story nationwide.”

 

“If we go public,” I point out, “Edward Po won’t set foot on U.S. soil for ten years, at least. Whatever he’s doing here, he won’t be nailed for it.”

 

Caitlin looks at me like I’m an idiot. “What do you think Po is going to do if you murder Sands? You lose Po that way too.”

 

“What exactly would you print?” I ask. “Unsubstantiated allegations?”

 

Kelly leans forward and says, “I know going public seems like a magic solution, throwing light onto people who live in the shadows. But men like Po don’t see the world the way you do. They’re not
politicians. While you’re stirring up your media storm, they will be
acting.
To them, this is war. And if they take you out, or Annie or Peggy or Penn, none of us is going to feel comforted by the fact that you splashed Sands’s and Po’s names in the paper. Because that won’t bring back the dead.”

 

Dad seems to be weighing all the arguments in his mind. “You saw those two old black men outside?” he says to Caitlin. “The ones watching over us?”

 

She nods.

 

“Before they were cops, before there even
were
black cops in Natchez, they were members of something called the Deacons for Defense.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“A group of men who got fed up with their friends and neighbors being terrorized, beaten, and killed. They patrolled their neighborhoods with pistols, lay out all night in ditches with shotguns, all to keep their people safe. They did that because they couldn’t turn to the police. The law had failed to protect them, so they did it themselves.”

 

“Has the law failed to protect us?” Caitlin asks, looking around our circle. “We haven’t even
asked
for help yet.”

 

“Kate,” my father says gently. “Let me tell you a story a patient of mine once told me. Back in the sixties and seventies, they had gambling and prostitution not far from where we are now. A place called Morville Plantation. Very close to where Penn and Kelly got attacked. Some of the girls who worked at Morville were held there against their will. God only knows where they’d been taken from, or what hell they’d been through. But one day, one girl got away from there. Half naked, she walked all the way to the sheriff’s department. She was crying with relief while she told her story. The sheriff listened, then put her in his car and drove her right back to the whorehouse.”

 

Caitlin stares at my father in silence.

 

“Kate, you’re sitting in a parish that didn’t have jury trials for almost ten years—from 1956 to 1966.”

 

“We’re not living in that time anymore,” Caitlin says quietly.

 

“That’s true. But how far are we from the story of that poor girl? If we believe Tim Jessup, the same thing is going on today.”

 

Dad’s mention of Tim seems to move Caitlin to silence.

 

“This is what I know,” I conclude. “Peter Lutjens warned me to stay away from Sands, said he could give me no information whatever. Peter would only do that if Sands was involved with the government in some way. Sands is either a target, an agent, or an informant. I’m almost afraid to find out which. But the fact is, he’s been committing felonies since he arrived here, up to and including murder. Yet he’s still roaming free.”

 

“Maybe the government doesn’t know he’s doing that!” Caitlin argues.

 

“The same government you want to pillory for its handling of Katrina and Iraq?” I shake my head. “Either we’ve stumbled into something really rotten, or something so serious that we can’t even grasp its significance. Either way, we have to assume that if Tim’s death didn’t matter to whoever’s in charge of this mess, none of ours would either.”

 

Caitlin looks as if she’s winding up again, but before she speaks, Dad says, “I think Penn and I have to make this decision alone. Caitlin, you and Carl will have no part in it.”

 

“But we
know
about it. We
are
a part of it, whether we want to be or not.”

 

As passionate as she is about this, some part of me wonders about Caitlin’s true motive.

 

“If we decide to go ahead,” Dad says, “you do whatever you feel you must.”

 

The room is so quiet that my cell phone vibrating in my pocket stops the conversation. It’s late enough that I feel I need to check it. The screen shows one new text message. The area code is 202—Washington, D.C.—but I don’t recognize the number. The message reads: GO OUTSIDE AND TURN ON YOUR SATELLITE PHONE.

 

“What is it?” Kelly asks, seeing the color drain from my face.

 

I toss the phone to him. He reads the screen, then jumps to his feet and grabs his gear bag.

 

“What is it?” Dad asks worriedly. “Is it Annie or Peggy?”

 

“I don’t know what it is,” Kelly says, “but it ain’t good.” He looks at me. “Who have you given the sat number to?”

 

“Nobody.”

 

“Shit. Either it’s someone from Blackhawk, or they gave the number to somebody in D.C.”

 

“What do I do?” I ask. “How do they know I’m inside?”

 

“They tried to call the satphone and you didn’t answer. Take it easy. They can’t see us or anything. But you’ve got to take the call. I’ll go out with you.”

 

We brush aside the curtain and go out the patio doors. Caitlin follows. As soon as Kelly sets up the link to the satellite, the phone starts to buzz.

 

“This is Penn Cage.”

 

“Hello, Mr. Cage,” says a voice with a vestigial Southern accent. “My name is William Hull. I’m an attorney with the Justice Department.”

 

“They’re a pretty big employer. Could you be more specific?”

 

“I’m special counsel to the Department of Homeland Security.”

 

“That sounds ominous.”

 

“Very boring, I assure you. Being an assistant DA in Houston is twice as exciting.”

 

“What are you calling about, Mr. Hull? And how did you get this number?”

 

“We have some mutual friends. They were kind enough to give me your private number. As for the purpose of my call, it’s about Jonathan Sands.”

 

“What about him?”

 

“Well, this is a delicate matter. We—”

 

“Mr. Hull, when you say
delicate,
I hear
dirty.
”

 

Hull pauses, his rhythm disturbed. “Jonathan Sands has an important relationship to the federal government at this time.”

 

I look at Kelly and shake my head in disbelief. “You mean he’s an informant.”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“Well, what did you say? Is Sands employed by the federal government?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Is he a close personal friend of someone in the administration?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“Then he’s an informant.”

 

Hull sighs like a man unaccustomed to frustration. “Mr. Cage, there’s an investigation pending—a very large and complex investigation—that began almost three years ago. It involves both the Department of Homeland Security and the Justice Department, through the Special Task Force on Money Laundering. The target is a Chinese national named Edward Po.”

 

“I know who Po is.”

 

“Do you? In any case, Mr. Sands is important to the aforementioned investigation. That’s all I am authorized to tell you, and given my position, it should be enough.”

 

“Well, it’s not. I’ve played this game before, Mr. Hull. I’ve dealt with some pretty unsavory characters in order to nail worse ones, so I know the rules. But I also know that at some point you have to draw a line. Being a confidential informant isn’t a free pass to commit murder.”

 

Hull takes his time with this. At length he says, “You were an assistant district attorney in Houston, Texas. You were dealing with state crimes. I’m talking about the national security of the United States.”

 

“That rubric has been stretched to cover a lot of sins lately. The last time I checked, Mississippi was part of the United States. And her citizens count just as much as those in Georgetown or Chevy Chase. What happens to Sands after your investigation of Po is concluded? Does he walk?”

 

There’s another hitch in Hull’s rhythm. “That hasn’t been determined yet.”

 

“Then tell me this: What chance do you really have of nailing a Chinese billionaire in U.S. federal court?”

 

“There’s a first time for everything.”

 

“You’re telling me somebody up in the Justice Department has finally grown some balls?”

 

“It happens. Mr. Cage, I need your personal assurance that you won’t interfere any further, as of this moment.”

 

“You’re not going to get that. Not tonight, anyway.”

 

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you have no law enforcement authority. You’re no longer a prosecutor.”

 

“The local DA reminds me of that all the time. I am, however, an American citizen.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“Hull, if you’ve forgotten what that means, we might as well hang up now.”

 

“I sense a certain naďveté in your attitude, Mr. Cage. Maybe you’ve been out of the city too long.”

 

At last my outrage boils over. “Do you have any idea what kind of criminal acts Jonathan Sands is committing down here?”

 

“Knowing the man’s résumé, I can guess.”

 

“My sister was nearly killed in England two hours ago by a hit-and-run driver.”