The Gatekeeper (16 page)

“We’re on their radar now,” Kelly said. “Watch my back and we’ll be fine.”

Rodriguez muttered something about being dumped on the other side of the border, but she ignored him. Crooked or not, she doubted any cop would risk two dead FBI agents turning up on their watch. For all Rowe knew, their boss had their exact coordinates.

Kelly placed her hands on the loading dock and hauled herself up. Rodriguez muttered something about his injuries, and Jim went to unlock the side door. While she waited, Kelly let her eyes adjust to the dark. The inside was cavernous, large enough to house a 747. The entire room was empty save for a circle of chairs. Two small Quonset huts were hunkered down against the far wall.

“Offices,” Jim said, following her gaze.

“So only you and your brother use this place?” she asked.

“Rent was cheap,” Jim said, following her as she crossed the warehouse floor.

“Lots of empty places around here,” Rowe explained.

“You know the owners?”

Jim shrugged again. His head was tilted forward, hat shielding his eyes. Kelly reached the first office. The walls
were lined with posters of nude centerfolds. A tire calendar displayed a topless woman perched on a stack of whitewalls. No desk, just a few bare cots on the floor. Kelly wrinkled her nose. The scent of urine was unmistakable.

“We sleep here sometimes,” Jim offered up lamely.

“Piss here, too?” Rodriguez asked.

Kelly could hear the tension in his voice, knew he was thinking the same thing she was. Whoever had slept here, it wasn’t the cowboys. “Where’s your brother?” she asked.

“Other office, doing some paperwork,” Jim said. “I came out to see what Luke wanted.”

Rowe stiffened. “So you two are friendly,” Kelly noted.

Rowe shrugged. “Part of my regular rounds.”

Kelly nodded as if that was the most natural thing in the world and crossed to the opposite office. The door opened before she reached it, blocked by the other cowboy.
Not much of a family resemblance,
she thought to herself. This guy was larger, thicker through the shoulders. He still wore his hat.

“Agent Kelly Jones,” she said, extending a hand.

He shook it reluctantly. “Jethro Henderson.”

“Mind if I take a peek?” she asked.

Jethro shrugged and stepped aside, tucking his hands in his pockets. The other hut was similar to the first, with the exception of the mattresses. Posters on the walls, a battered desk.

“Not a lot of tools,” she commented.

“Keep most of ’em in the truck,” he said warily.

Rowe stood at her shoulder. “So looks like you’re about done here,” he said with finality.

“Soon as I check the truck,” Kelly replied firmly.

Something passed between Jethro and Rowe. Kelly thought she caught a small nod, but couldn’t be sure.

“That okay by you, Jethro?” Rowe said slowly.

“Feel free.” Jethro tossed her a set of keys.

Kelly unlocked the back of the truck and lifted the gate, then struggled to lower the rear hatch. She flushed slightly, feeling amused eyes on her back as it slammed down harder than she’d intended. She reached forward, tugging the duffel bag toward her. It was heavy and only moved a few inches.

“Give you a hand with that?” Jethro asked, appearing at her elbow.

She waved him off. “I got it.” She unzipped the bag and opened it. Inside was a stack of tools. She sifted through to see if anything was hidden underneath, but only encountered more metal. Kelly withdrew a pair of tongs and held them up. “What’s a contractor doing with tongs?”

Jethro tensed, but after a moment let out a small laugh and said, “You got us. After a long day, we throw a barbecue.” He held out his wrists. “Want to cuff me now?”

Rowe laughed with him. Kelly’s eyes narrowed. “Thanks, I’ll wait.”

“Just pulling your leg, ma’am,” Jethro said, still smirking. “No need to get all riled.”

Rowe followed them back to the car. The other cop watched from under the brim of his hat as they passed. Rowe opened Kelly’s car door, then shut it behind her.

“Thanks for the assistance, officer.”

Rowe nodded, watching as they pulled away. Kelly drove in a slow circle around the parked police car, heading for the interstate a few blocks away.

Rodriguez shifted in his seat, clearly irritated. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t ask them about the corporation. Or what the mattresses were for.”

“I’m thinking they weren’t going to tell us. Not even if we asked nicely.”

“Still—”

“And we’re out of our jurisdiction, in the middle of nowhere.” Kelly gestured to the bleak surroundings with one arm. “Four of them, two of us.”

“But something is going on there.”

“Definitely.” Kelly steered onto the on-ramp. “The question is, what?”

“Coyotes, maybe, smuggling people in? Someone was using those mattresses.” Rodriguez winced and adjusted the seat belt over his bruised ribs. “We’re close to the border.”

“Maybe. But then their affiliation with Laredo P.D. doesn’t make sense.”

Rodriguez peered out the window, thinking. “Plus that doesn’t jibe with their poster.”

“What, all the pinups?” Kelly rolled her eyes. “That seemed pretty typical.”

“Not those, the one in Jethro’s office. The Statue of Liberty behind barbed wire.”

“Didn’t see it.”

“I recognized it. Texas Minutemen.”

“One of the vigilante border patrol groups?”

“They would say, ‘True Americans.’” Rodriguez smirked.

“So why would they be keeping people in the warehouse?” Kelly furrowed her brow. “And what’s the link to the skinheads from the bar?”

Rodriguez shrugged. “Common interests? Hate groups have doubled in membership in the last decade. They gave a symposium on it at the Academy last year. Internet makes it easier for them to link up with each other, and
immigration has been a rallying cry.” He shook a fist, saying, “Send them back!”

Kelly cocked her head at him. “You know the strange thing? I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”

“Why, because I’m Mexican?”

“Yes.” She pulled into the high-speed lane to pass a slow moving truck. After a minute she added, “Emilio and his grandmother seemed to bother you.”

“That’s because they’re part of the problem, getting involved with a gang that ruins lives and communities. And then they refuse to report a crime or assist an investigation. Pisses me off.”

“You can hardly blame them, if talking ends up getting them deported.”

“Yeah. But it’s not exactly what they teach in Citizenship 101.” Rodriguez paused, examining a scab on his knuckle before continuing. “Hey, I’m all for reform. Too many illegals die each year trying to make that border crossing.”

“So you support building a fence?”

“I would if I thought that would work. But anyone who thinks a Mexican can’t handle a ladder hasn’t hired a paint crew lately.”

Kelly tried to figure out how to frame the next question. In conversations like this she was always afraid of accidentally saying something that might be perceived as racist. Eggshell territory. “But you’re second generation, right?”

Rodriguez’s knuckle was bleeding again. He tucked it in his mouth and spoke around it. “You’re thinking I’m a hypocrite for saying they should reform immigration now, after my family got in. But it’s different. In the eighties, there were less than two hundred thousand illegals entering the U.S. every year. Now there are closer to a million, mostly from Mexico. Too many people for
a country whose resources are already limited. And recent immigrants aren’t assimilating. I’m an American, everyone in my family considers themselves American. But some people want to have it both ways.”

Kelly mulled over a response. She hadn’t given immigration much thought before this case. Her relatives had all arrived in the early 1900s, long enough ago that she took her American heritage as a given. Someone whose roots went less deep might fear the hold was more tenuous. Which meant new arrivals were perceived as a threat. “Anyway,” she said, “immigration seems to be the only link so far. Duke Morris’s murder, the attack on you, the warehouse being used for something illegal that the police are in on.”

“Makes sense.”

“You think? I was going to say it all sounds pretty circumstantial.”
Much easier to blame it on a Salvadoran gang and get on with my life,
Kelly thought, repressing a yawn. The scene at the warehouse had taken it out of her, she felt like she’d run a marathon.

Rodriguez glanced at her. “So what next?”

What she really wanted was to get a room at the next hotel, close the blinds, and sleep for three days. Kelly passed a Holiday Inn and watched sadly as it receded in the rearview mirror. “We check out that other warehouse. Maybe it’ll tell us more about what the hell is going on.”

“Awesome.” Rodriguez said, satisfied. “And screw the warrant. We go in first.”

Kelly didn’t answer, but thought that this time she might let him.

Madison tried to scream but a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling it. A man’s face hovered above her. She lashed out, striking him with her arms and one good foot,
tears rolling down her face. She’d escaped the boat, only to have something happen here in the hospital.
What the hell was going on? Where were the guards?

Suddenly, her mother appeared over the guy’s shoulder. He was one of her rescuers from the boat, Madison realized, overcome with relief. Her mother shoved the guy aside and whispered in her ear. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe. But we have to go.”

“What? Go where?” Madison asked, confused, craning to see if Bree was still in the chair beside the bed. She was gone. “Where’s Bree?”

“Already outside, honey. Please, Mr. Maltz is saying we need to hurry.” Her mother looked anxiously over her shoulder at the guard. He was standing by the door, peering down the hallway.

“I don’t understand. Aren’t we safe here?” Madison started to shake.

Her mother rubbed her arms. “It’s just a precaution. We’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Shift change,” Maltz said, voice flat. “It’s time.”

“We have to go now, Maddee.” Her mother held out a pair of baggy sweatpants she’d brought from home, as if Madison was a toddler and needed help getting dressed. Madison glanced at the guard, then held the back of her gown closed with one hand and let her mother pull on the pants. She’d cut off the left lower leg to make room for Madison’s cast.

“What about my medicine?”

“I have pills in my purse.” Her mother smiled weakly, clearly trying to be reassuring. “They were going to release you tomorrow anyway.”

“But I thought the police wanted…”

“It’s time.” Maltz held out a wheelchair, and without thinking Madison lowered herself into it. The hallway was
empty, lights dimmed. She heard some chatter at the nurse’s station around the corner, a bark of laughter. He was leading them toward the stairs, not the elevator, she realized.

“My ankle. I can’t…”

“I’ll carry you.”

“What? No—”

“Madison, please be quiet!” Her mother’s voice was low but urgent. For the first time Madison realized that she didn’t sound drunk. She hadn’t heard that clarity in months.

Maltz soundlessly opened the door to the stairwell and wheeled her in with one hand. He put on the brakes and scooped Madison up. She felt awkward, embarrassed. She couldn’t figure out what to do with her arms, putting them around his neck was too weird so she ended up crossing them over her chest.

The stairs exited on the far side of the parking lot, away from the ambulance dock. A white van idled at the curb. The panel door slid open, and another guy reached for Madison. Something about the entire situation felt wrong. She wondered why her mother assumed they could trust these guys. If her father had sent them, why hadn’t he shown up yet? But she saw Bree already inside, tucked between two of them, her face drawn and scared. Madison swallowed hard and let herself be pulled in. They maneuvered her onto the long banquette lining the rear of the van. Maltz helped her mother inside and closed the door. Madison noticed they kept the headlights off until they were out of the parking lot.

“Where are we going?” she asked after ten minutes of silence. She’d never been in this part of California before, everything was unfamiliar.

“Somewhere safe,” Maltz said.

“Is my father meeting us there?” She saw her mother exchange a glance with Maltz. “What?”

“Nothing, honey. It’s just—”

“Dad’s missing,” Bree interrupted. “That’s why we had to leave.”

“So it’s not over,” Madison said. Fear tightened a noose around her neck. She struggled to breathe.

“Calm down, honey.” Her mother bent forward, reaching awkwardly to stroke her hair. “I’m sure he’s fine. We’re just being extra careful.”

It wasn’t fine, and Madison knew it. She shook off her mother’s hand and let the tears come as the city lights receded.

A half mile back, a sedan followed them through every turn.

“T
his is ridiculous. There’s nothing here.” Jake threw a stack of papers back on the table. They’d spent the past few hours tearing apart Randall’s apartment. The more time passed, the more it looked like Randall’s departure hadn’t been voluntary. They both knew it, though neither had said it aloud.

“He must have told you something. You practically lived together the past few days,” Syd said.

“Not exactly. Most of the time I was driving all over God’s green earth looking for Mack Krex,” Jake grumbled. He plopped down on the couch and wished a coffee place were still open. He’d already ransacked Randall’s cupboards and found nothing but tea. “What kind of guy doesn’t drink coffee?” he muttered, checking his watch. Midnight already. He experienced a momentary flash of irrational rage at Randall. They rescued his daughter, and then the guy disappeared. Jake knew it was their own fault. It should have occurred to them to keep better tabs on Randall, but still. Everything about that guy was bad luck.

“Randall drinks it, but he doesn’t make it himself. He’s hooked on lattes.”

Something triggered in Jake’s brain. He lunged to the kitchen and fumbled through cabinets.

“What the hell?” Syd asked, hands on her hips.

“The mugs. That was how he got info in and out, something about coffee mugs.” Randall had three of everything: plates, mugs, utensils. Apparently he didn’t do a lot of entertaining. Three travel mugs with the facility logo lined the shelf above the plates. Jake grabbed one and twisted the bottom. Nothing happened. He strained harder, but it didn’t give. “Damn. Maybe if I had a knife….”

“Or maybe it takes some finesse. Randall wasn’t exactly he-man,” Syd said, reaching out and taking it from him. She held it to the light and examined it. Removed the lid and scanned the inside. After turning it over in her hands, she pressed on a spot beneath the handle. The bottom popped off.

“Impressive,” Jake said.

“What can I say? Spy stuff.” Syd grinned. “But bad news. There’s nothing in here.”

Jake grabbed the other two and repeated the trick, opening the bottoms. Empty. “Maybe there’s another compartment.” Jake tapped one on the edge of the counter.

Syd raised an eyebrow. “It’s a coffee mug, Jake, not a cryptex.”

“So he gave them info on flash drives. Let’s check those again.”

“I’ve checked them all twice. They’re blank, if there were files on them they’ve been erased.”

Jake set the mug on the counter and looked at her. “You knew this guy. Where would he go?”

“With his daughter missing?” Syd shook her head. “Nowhere. Whoever kidnapped Madison probably has him.”

“Why not grab him in the first place then? Saves them a step.”

“They needed his access to the facility. And now, apparently, they don’t. He must have handed over whatever he was supposed to get for them.”

“Shit,” Jake said, remembering their last conversation, the look in Randall’s eyes after he watched the video of Madison being tortured. “So they probably killed him.”

“Probably. Unless they still need him for something.”

Jake examined her. “You don’t seem too torn up.”

Syd met his gaze. “I gave up on mourning people, Jake. Once they’re gone, they’re gone, nothing you can do.”

“That’s…” Jake tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t hurt her feelings.

“Cold? Maybe. But in my line of work, I learned to distance myself.” Syd shrugged, seemingly unperturbed. “Besides, Randall might be fine. He’s a smart guy, you never know.”

Jake looked around the apartment. He hated to admit it, but suddenly being here with Syd was creeping him out. Her tone was unsettling, monotone and flat like she was a pod person or something. More than anything he wished he was in bed with Kelly, arms wrapped around her waist. Preferably naked. “So you want to call it a night, head back to Benicia? They probably noticed by now that we’re gone.”

“Hell no. We haven’t even scratched the surface yet.” Her eyes roved the walls. “Tons of places he could have hidden stuff.”

“You need help?”

“Nah. Crash out on the couch, if I need you to move I’ll wake you.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. Jake kicked off his shoes,
swung his feet up, and covered his eyes with one arm. Within a minute he was dead asleep.

Syd watched him while she rubbed her neck with one hand. She sighed, then went to her purse and extracted her tools.

Randall glanced at Thor. He’d been dozing on and off all day. Honestly, he couldn’t blame him. Spending hours watching radioactive material get filed into a fine dust wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time. He’d initially made an attempt to be vigilant, watching warily as Randall extracted the core material, shuffled slowly across the warehouse floor and placed it in the lead box. But once the real work had begun, he’d quickly lost focus.

Which suited Randall’s plan perfectly. He waited until Thor’s head dropped to his chest, then gave it five minutes. Everyone else was on the far side of the warehouse playing poker. Occasionally tempers flared and Dante intervened, but by and large the men were left to themselves.

Randall took a few deep breaths. He had to get this exactly right for his plan to succeed. He thought for a second of his girls, and in spite of himself, Audrey. The last vacation they took together, to the Big Island of Hawaii. Their marriage was already in its death throes, and most of the trip was marred by spats and recriminations. But there had been one night when their car broke down as they returned home after sightseeing. Initially it was business as usual: Audrey enraged, as if the car’s failure was somehow his fault, Madison and Bree silent and stiff in the backseat. But the tow truck driver dropped them at a restaurant while the car was being fixed, and it turned out to be one of their best nights together as a family. Dinner was served on a patio perched on the sand,
so close to the water the girls joked their table might get sucked out to sea. He and Audrey drank mai tais, and she developed a case of the giggles. They watched the sunset and munched on coconut shrimp while Madison and Bree fidgeted and chatted the way teenagers do. Everything that night had been wonderful. In fact it was the last perfect moment he’d experienced.

It was enough, Randall decided. He hadn’t achieved everything he’d hoped to accomplish with his life, there was no Nobel on his mantel, no theory named after him. Funny how insignificant those things seemed now. He just wished he could have his family together one last time.

Thor stirred in his sleep, head reflexively bobbing. Randall waited for him to still, then took a deep breath. With a solid kick he knocked over the lead case.

It hit the ground with a loud thump. A cloud of fine shimmering powder scattered across the floor, settling into the ridges like chalk dust.

“Shit!” he said loudly.

Thor jerked to his feet. It was startling how quickly he came to life. “What?” His eyes widened at the dust on the floor, and the small cloud above it. He instinctively took a step back.

“It spilled,” Randall said, raising both hands helplessly.

“Holy shit!” Thor yelled, loud enough to draw the attention of the card players. Two of them stood, and another sauntered over.

Randall pulled off his dosimeter, held it up in one hand. “It’s black,” he said with finality.

Thor tore off his own, dropping it when he saw the same color. “No, no, no!” he moaned, backing away. “The fuck did you do!”

“What’s the problem?” It was Dante, eyes cold. Thor
appeared incapable of speech. Dante registered the shock on his face and glanced at Randall, who still held his dosimeter.

“It spilled,” Randall said.

“No shit.” Dante crossed his arms over his chest.

Randall shrugged, trying to look blasé. Every cell in his body was screaming at him, fight or flight instinct on overdrive. It wouldn’t make a difference, the damage was already done. As soon as that hatch opened he’d condemned Thor and himself to death; at least he’d be taking one of them with him.

Curious, the other men joined them. When they saw the powder, a murmur rose up. They backed away, close enough to hear but twenty feet from the spill.

Fools,
Randall thought. They might not die, but they’d been contaminated.

“I told you to watch him,” Dante said calmly.

Thor was beyond reason. He spotted a streak of blue on his pants leg and tore off his clothes, stripping down to a pair of boxer briefs.

“We need to get to a decontamination unit,” Randall said calmly.

“Not going to happen.”

“Thor,” Randall said. “We need to get to a decontamination unit. They can save you.”

His words penetrated. Thor’s head whipped around to Dante. “I want to go.”

Dante shook his head. “No.”

“You’ll be dead in a few days otherwise,” Randall said, then raised his voice to make sure they could all hear him. “You’ll all be dead unless we get to a decontamination unit.”

A buzz rose up among the other men. Randall heard his words repeated and saw the fear in their eyes. Embold
ened by it, he squared his shoulders and turned to face Dante. “You know there’s still time to save them.”

“They knew the risks,” Dante said forcefully. But he glanced back over his shoulder.

“Fuck this. Doc, where’s the closest place?” Thor snarled, drawing himself up to his full height.

“Where are we?” Randall asked quickly, hoping he’d respond without thinking.

“Outside Houston,” Thor said without hesitation. Dante’s eyes half closed with disgust and he swore under his breath.

“There’s the Texas Medical Center. Right near Rice University, south of downtown.”

“You’re not leaving,” Dante said.

“The fuck I’m not. Hey, you don’t want to die, get in the van,” Thor called to the others. He gathered up his boots in one hand and walked toward the van parked near the door.

“You’re as good as dead already,” Dante said. “They won’t be able to save you.”

Thor stopped dead, shifting his eyes to Randall. “I’m the expert,” Randall countered. “Trust me, they can save you.”

A blast by his ear. Randall cringed, hands jerking up protectively. Everyone froze. Everyone except Thor, who stumbled forward as if pushed. The second shot caught him in the back of the head as he fell. He landed hard, blood pooling around him.

Dante had already spun, holding the gun with both hands at shoulder height, military-style. “The rest of you were too far away to get sick. Strip off your clothes and we’ll shower off one at a time. You’ll be fine.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Randall said. “He’s lying to you.”

The men glanced back and forth between them, trying
to decide who to believe. Dante pointed the gun at Randall as he growled, “Shut the fuck up.”

Randall shrugged. “Go ahead. Saves me a few painful days.”

Dante shook his head. “I mean it, Grant. I’ll have them bring your family here so you can watch what happens to them before you die.”

Suddenly, two other men peeled off from the group, bolting for the opposite end of the warehouse. Dante watched them run. The others remained where they were, shuffling uncertainly. At the door the men glanced back, as if surprised by the lack of a reaction. Dante kept his gun leveled on the others. The door closed behind them. A second later there were two loud reports, followed by a scream. Then one last shot, and silence fell.

“No one leaves,” Dante said firmly.

“Your dosimeter,” Randall said, pointing at it. The lower circles had filled in, he was one shy of Randall’s reading.

Dante glanced at it and half smiled. “I’m like you, Grant. Never expected to make it out of here alive.” He marched back to the remaining men and said a few words. One of them nodded, the others examined the floor. After a minute, they filed off toward the bathroom. Dante watched them go, then reholstered his weapon. “Nice try, but nothing stalls this mission. Back to work.”

“But—”

“Scrape this powder off the floor and get it back in the case. And I want the other cores finished by tomorrow. Any more accidents, your family pays. Got it?”

“What, no shower for me?” Randall said with forced bravado. In truth he was near tears. His plan had failed, and now he’d be dead within a week. He’d hoped the men would panic and rise up against Dante, enabling him to
escape. At least he would’ve been able to save his family and let the FBI know about the plot.

“We both know it’s too late for you. You’re the expert, right?” Dante said snidely. He turned and walked away, calling back, “I mean it, Grant. Anything else goes wrong, we kill your wife and kids.”

Kelly was having serious second thoughts. Rodriguez struggled with the door’s dead bolt, swearing under his breath.

“I used to be able to do this in under a minute,” he said, smiling apologetically.

Kelly raised an eyebrow. “Really? I must’ve missed that training seminar.”

“Misspent youth. Anyway, I’m out of practice.”

“I’m thinking maybe we should try to get a warrant…” Kelly said, glancing around. This area was less deserted than the other warehouse district. Despite the late hour a few trucks were still parked outside other buildings. She hadn’t seen anyone around, but you never knew. An arrest for breaking and entering would definitely hasten her exit from the Bureau, and she wondered if subconsciously she was hoping the decision would be made for her.

The sound of pins clicking, and Rodriguez turned the knob. Kelly unclipped the top of her holster and put her hand over her Glock.

“Stay behind me,” she said in a low voice.

“Not a problem.”

It was pitch-black inside, the only illumination filtered moonlight from windows set far above. Kelly clicked on a flashlight, keeping the beam low to the ground. The layout was similar to the other warehouse, two smaller huts in the rear of the building, a large open area up front. Except this time, the space wasn’t empty.

“What the hell?” Rodriguez whispered. A flatbed trailer held an enormous float decked out in the colors of the American flag, with slogans splashed across an eagle.

Kelly didn’t answer, gesturing for him to stay behind her while they searched the warehouse. She checked the first door—instead of an office it housed a line of portable toilets. The smell rising from them was rank. The doors had been removed, and Kelly held one hand over her nose as she quickly scanned down the line. All empty.