The Last Word (14 page)

“I am.”

“Then why haven’t I seen you following up on that?”

“There isn’t anything to follow, sir.”

Chief Masters grimaced. “Gaylord Yokley is aligned with ROAR, Sweeney’s personal army of clueless morons, and he’s represented by Tony Sisk, Sweeney’s lawyer, who arranged for your father and Sweeney to meet for some goddamn reason. All of which just happens to occur weeks before the mayoral election. And right before Sweeney goes to court to argue that he should be released from prison because his rights were trampled in a gross miscarriage of justice, which, he says, was orchestrated by me and Neal Burnside. And you don’t think there’s anything to follow? Sweeney is plotting something.”

Chief Masters had obviously been keeping a much closer eye on things than Steve had thought. Actually, Steve never thought about it. He tended to keep his attention focused on his work and not on the political machinations happening on the upper floors of Parker Center.

Big mistake.

“There’s no evidence,” Steve said.

“Get some,” the chief said.

“The only people who can prove that Sisk is relaying messages of a criminal nature between Sweeney and Yokley are Sisk, Sweeney, and Yokley. And none of them are talking.”

“Sure they are, Detective,” Masters said. “Just not to us.”

“Are you suggesting that we electronically eavesdrop on Tony Sisk?”

The chief sighed and looked out the window at the construction workers who were returning to their jobs, their lunch hour over.

“As of this moment, Detective, you are no longer on the Yokley investigation. You are now on special assignment to me.”

“The last time that happened, I got shot. My father was framed for murder by Mob accountant Malcolm Trainor. And you withheld crucial information from me that nearly undermined the entire investigation.”

“I’ve decided to overlook your mistakes and give you a second chance to impress me,” the chief said. “I’m giving Lieutenant Tanis Archer the same opportunity.”

Tanis had been Steve’s partner in his previous stint on special assignment for the chief. Since then, her career had taken some serious body blows. Her lack of political prowess was even greater than Steve’s. She’d arrested the son of a prominent politician for beating a woman, and then she personally gave him a taste of what it felt like to be the victim. Ever since then, she’d been shuffled from one terrible job to another in the hope that she would quietly resign. But she wouldn’t. Giving up wasn’t in her nature.

“She is presently assigned to an administrative position with the Anti-Terrorism Strike Force, where she will stay for the duration of this special assignment,” the chief said. “The strike force has access to all the latest surveillance equipment as part of the war on terror. I think Carter Sweeney is suitably terrifying, don’t you?”

“We don’t have enough evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, to get a wiretap warrant,” Steve said.

“Is that a problem?”

“What you’re suggesting is illegal, sir.”

The chief shrugged. “Don’t tell me that it bothers you. I’ve seen how you operate.”

“Maybe it doesn’t bother me,” Steve said, “but it should bother
you
.”

“Sweeney is a serial bomber who enjoys killing people,” Masters said. “Is this really a man who deserves the protection of the law?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Carter Sweeney tried to humiliate your father, ruin his reputation, and destroy everything he held dear. And when that failed, Sweeney blew up Community General Hospital with you and your father in it, maiming and killing how many people? And you expect me to believe you’re concerned about his civil rights?” The chief looked at Steve incredulously. “What kind of man are you? What kind of cop?”

Steve met the chief’s gaze. “Does Carter Sweeney scare you that much?”

“My job is to protect and to serve the people of this city,” the chief said. “I do it by stopping men like Carter Sweeney and making sure they never hurt anyone again. If you want to wear that badge, it damn well better be your job, too.”

The chief hit the UNLOCK button on his armrest. There was nothing more to be said. The meeting was over.

Lieutenant Tanis Archer’s LAPD career had hit rock bottom, a fact dramatically symbolized by the location of her office, which was a cement-walled cubbyhole in the subbasement of Parker Center. The air barely circulated there, and she could go months without seeing another person.

She didn’t take it personally. Her rationalization was that the subbasement was the perfect place for the clandestine operations of the Anti-Terrorism Strike Force to be conducted without notice.

The room was lit by one bare bulb dangling from a wire that came from somewhere in the recesses between the pipes and ducts that ran across the ceiling. There was a trash chute in one corner with a laundry cart below it to catch the files and papers that were dropped down to her from her faceless, nameless superiors with data for her to input into the computer terminal atop the lone desk.

Her job was to coordinate requests from various agencies and then shred the original documents. When she wasn’t doing that, she made balls out of rubber bands and bounced them off the walls.

Tanis had her feet up on her desk and was bouncing one of those balls when Steve came in. She was wearing a tank top, cargo pants, and Doc Martens.

“I see you’re having another busy day,” Steve said. He’d never been in Egypt when they opened a crypt that had been sealed for a thousand years, but he figured it smelled just like Tanis’s office.

“The war on terror is brutal,” she said.

“You and I are on special assignment to the chief,” Steve said.

“Super Secret Special Assignment,” Tanis said, tossing Steve the ball. He caught it. She swung her legs off the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a box. “The chief wants us to bug the conversations between a criminal defense attorney and his client. So you can bet that nobody but you and me knows we’re doing it for him. If we get caught, we’re on our own. We’ll take the fall and Masters will do absolutely nothing to help us.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Steve asked.

“It’s not like my situation could get any worse.”

“You could go to jail,” Steve said.

“At least those cells have windows, a bed, and a toilet,” she said. “You know how far the nearest toilet is from here?”

“So that’s how you’re justifying this to yourself?”

“I don’t feel a need to justify it. I don’t have a problem with what I’m doing,” Tanis said. “But I’m not as uptight and goody-goody as you think you are.”

“We’re breaking the law,” Steve said.

“You’ve done worse than listen in on some private conversations. What bothers you now is that you’re being ordered to do it instead of going rogue and coming up with it on your own,” Tanis said. “It’s okay to break some laws if it arises out of your righteous indignation—that way it’s not the institution that’s corrupt, you are. You see the LAPD the way Jack Webb did, as this noble bastion of truth and justice. But if the chief of police orders you to break the law, that undermines your faith in the institution. You can be bad, but the LAPD can’t.”

“Been watching a lot of Dr. Phil down here?”

“Wish I could,” Tanis said, “but the reception sucks.”

She opened the box. Steve peered inside and saw several business card-sized electronic devices that looked like ultrathin cellular phones with alligator clips attached to all four corners.

“We got these as a gift from our buddies at Homeland Security,” she said. “You clip these gizmos to the phone lines. They are voice activated and the conversations they record are uploaded to a secure Web site that only you and I can access from anywhere on the planet.”

Steve picked up one of the devices and examined it. “Why would I care about being able to get these recordings from somewhere else than right here?”

“Because if our off-the-books errand for the chief blows up in our faces, we could be on the run,” Tanis said. “And these recordings might be the only leverage we have to keep our asses out of a Turkish prison.”

“How could we possibly end up in a Turkish prison?”

“You’re overthinking things,” Tanis said. “The point is, the recordings are stored on a hard drive in some godforsaken corner of the former Soviet Union, and we are the only ones who can retrieve them. The chief may have given us this assignment, but we control the intel.”

“What if Sisk is talking on a cell phone?”

“I’ve got gadgets that cover all of that. We can tap into his cell phone signal. But if he’s using throwaway cell phones, we’ve got to bug his car, his house, and his office and hope we catch his end of the calls that way.”

“I know where you got these goodies,” Steve said, holding up one of the devices, “but how did you come up with the Web site and all of that?”

“I’ve made some sleazy friends working in anti-terror,” Tanis said. “One of the few perks of this job.”

Steve tossed the device back into the box. “I hate this.”

“They why didn’t you tell the chief to stuff it?”

“Because I’ll do anything to make sure that Carter Sweeney can never hurt the people I love again,” Steve said. “Chief Masters knows it, so he’s using me. And I’m letting him do it because I can’t think of a better way to stop Sweeney from doing whatever the hell it is that he’s doing. What’s your excuse?”

She shrugged. “I’m just bored out of my mind.”

 

“This doesn’t creep you out?” Olivia asked. She was lying naked beside Steve in his bed, looking up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath.

“What part are you talking about?” Steve replied, pretty winded himself.

“Doing what we just did with your dad sleeping upstairs,” she said.

“Not really,” Steve said. “I’m an adult. He knows that.”

“Well, it creeps me out,” Olivia said. “Next time we’re going to my place.”

“As long as you keep your dog out of the bedroom,” Steve said.

“But that’s where Boris sleeps,” she said.

“Not when I’m there,” Steve said.

“Boris is just going to scratch at the door until I let him in.”

“Then put him outside,” Steve said.

“What’s wrong with Boris being in the room?”

“I have a hard time concentrating with a dog staring at me.”

She propped herself up on an elbow and looked at him. “Making love to me takes
concentration
? I’m not a problem to be solved.”

“Of course you are,” Steve said. “You’re a woman.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not sure how I should take that.”

“Would you prefer a guy who
wasn’t
giving you his full attention?”

Olivia kissed him. “Nice save.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. “I’ve had some practice.”

“Maybe you need more,” she said with a sly grin.

“I wish I could,” Steve said, “but I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Nobody is making us punch a time clock on this case,” she said.

“I’m not on it anymore,” Steve said. “I’ve been reassigned to another investigation.”

“You saved that bit of news until now?” She studied his face. “Is this your way of breaking things off?”

“It’s not my idea,” Steve said. “It’s orders from above.”

“What’s the case?”

“It’s this one,” Steve said. “Only I’ll be working the Carter Sweeney angle.”

“So take me with you,” she said.

“I can’t,” Steve said.

“These orders from above,” Olivia said. “How far above are we talking about?”

“The next step up is Bob Dylan,” Steve said. “And then God.”

She lay down again. “You’re going to get burned. You know that, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said, rolling over on his side to face her. “Will you be there for me when that happens?”

Olivia didn’t look at him. “Probably not.”

Steve nodded and kept looking at her.

“You want me to go?” she asked.

He stroked her hair. “No.”

“Even after what I just said?”

“I just wanted to know where you stood,” Steve said. “You told me straight out. I respect that.”

And to prove it, he gave her a deep kiss. She grabbed him by the shoulders, rolled on top of him, and pinned him down.

“You’re getting some more practice whether you think you need it or not,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Dr. Mark Sloan was awakened at five-thirty a.m. by a call from one of Sharpe’s crisis team members. They were having a meeting in the executive conference room at Community General in one hour and Mark was expected to be there.

As much as Mark resented being awakened by a stranger and ordered on ridiculously short notice to attend a compulsory meeting, his curiosity about the status of the CDC investigation was stronger than his irritation. There was no way he was going to miss the meeting, and Sharpe knew it. So why the last-minute call? Why the power play?

There was no reason for Sharpe to play that kind of game, but Mark wouldn’t put it past Janet Dorcott—which made him wonder what she was up to and why she wanted him rattled.

Whatever her reasons were, it couldn’t be good for him, Jesse, or Amanda.

Mark dressed in a hurry, without showering or shaving. He grabbed a Coke for the caffeine rush, an untoasted bagel so he’d have something in his stomach, and got in the car.

Traffic was light, even for Los Angeles, at five forty-five in the morning, and Mark managed to make it to the hospital by a little after six.

Jesse was sitting alone in the conference room when Mark arrived. His hair was askew, his face was unshaven, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was eating handfuls of chips from a bag of Fritos and washing them down with gulps from a carton of Yoo-hoo. He looked miserable.