Robert Tanenbaum: Malice

"Perhaps not," he added when the coughing subsided. "But never mind, I don't have much time before your guardian remembers what he's supposed to be doing. The truth is that I wanted to see you after I heard that you'd been shot and make sure you're okay. But I'm not exactly welcome around here, or anywhere, even during visiting hours. However, the more important reason for my visit is to warn you that there's a traitor in your midst. I don't know who yet, but it's someone close and they're working for someone or something with a lot of clout and no conscience."

"What makes you think there's a traitor?"

"Don't tell me that you haven't considered the possibility," Grale said. "But we can start with Kane's escape."

"We already know who betrayed us there," Karp said. "The FBI agent, Michael Grover."

"Yes, Grover was the guy on the inside. But who was he working with or for? He was obviously just an expendable pawn, otherwise Kane would not have been so cavalier about killing him."

"What makes you think Grover wasn't working for himself and just doing it for the money?" Karp asked. Even though he'd reached the same conclusions, he wanted to test the theory on Grale.

"This was bigger than one agent gone bad for cash," Grale replied. "Even Kane couldn't have pulled this off without a lot of help. I assume most of his assets had been frozen, so he probably didn't have the funds to pay for it. And even if he did, making arrangements with such disparate allies as Islamic terrorists and Grover was beyond the capability of someone sitting in a jail cell in the Tombs."

"Go on," Karp said.

"Whoever was helping him and the terrorists thought nothing of the consequences of murdering a half dozen schoolchildren, as well as nearly a dozen cops and federal agents, to do it. And it must have cost beaucoup dollars to finance and carry out Kane's plan to seize St. Patrick's Cathedral and hold the Pope hostage. You do realize the real purpose was to kill everyone, including the Pope, and create a terrorist public relations bonanza that would have made the attack on the World Trade Center look mild?"

"The thought's crossed my mind," Karp admitted. "But who? And to what end?"

"As for who, we don't know," Grale said. "The faces and names are unknown even to those of us who live in the shadows and make a living off of secrets. But whoever they are, they apparently can infiltrate federal law enforcement agencies and even the Office of the District Attorney of New York."

"No one in my office would reveal confidential information," Karp growled.

"Jesus might have said the same thing about his disciples," Grale replied, "until Judas took his thirty pieces of silver."

"Not my guys," Karp insisted.

Grale shrugged. "I'm here to warn you, not argue. But I can tell you that what I'm telling you is not just the opinion of your favorite mad monk, David Grale, but the collected wisdom of others who take an interest in your activities, as well as the safety of you and your family. But you're a grown man, what you do with the information is up to you."

"And this 'we' you mention," Karp said, "do 'we' have anything concrete to go on? This is all pretty conspiracy-theory stuff. Grassy knoll, two shooters, the CIA, and Castro."

"Yet, there are laws against conspiracy to commit murder, so sometimes conspiracies are real," Grale pointed out.

"Touche. Yeah, I know, 'You aren't paranoid if they really are after you,'" Karp replied.

Grale laughed. "Good to know…sometimes it seems that way. But back to your question about who might be responsible. We have one name linked to much of this-Jamys Kellagh…J-A-M-Y-S…K-E-double L-A-G-H. Ring a bell?"

Karp racked his brain for the name but drew a blank. "No, not that I can recall."

Grale nodded as if Karp had confirmed his suspicion. "We think that it's an alias for whoever pulled the strings on Kane. We also have allies in Brooklyn who believe that he was the liaison with the terrorists who helped Kane."

"So you think all this is being controlled by one person? This Jamys Kellagh?"

"No, no more than we believe that Kane was doing all of this on his own either."

Grale glanced over at the clock radio. "I haven't much time," he said, "but you'll recall that when Kane tried to flee upriver from the Columbia University boathouse, my people intercepted his band. We were able to capture two of them alive and take them back to our little underworld home where we…um, persuaded them to speak candidly about what they knew. One died before he said anything useful. But the other seemed to have been somewhat higher up in their food chain. He said that Kane was in contact with someone named Jamys Kellagh, who apparently was getting inside information from the authorities."

"Anything regarding his identity?" Karp asked.

"Nothing much," Grale said. "There is a photograph-perhaps someday you will see it. I'm told that it shows our friend, Kane, the Russian agent, Nadya Malovo, and this Jamys Kellagh. Apparently, it is not good quality, and its owners are trying to decide how best to use the information to derail Kellagh's plotting. His face is turned and it is difficult to identify him in the shadows, but he is wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a tattoo can be partly seen here…" Grale touched the inside of his right bicep.

Karp contemplated the information. "Tell your source that the New York DAO would be happy to take the photograph and put it to good use."

"My 'source' is well aware of that," Grale said, "but is concerned with the security breach."

"Well, what happened to your prisoner, then?" Karp asked. "I'd like to talk to him."

Grale gave him an amused look. "I'm afraid he didn't survive our attempts to glean information from him. I can assure you, however, that he was an empty vessel before we dispatched him to the hell that awaits these demons."

Karp shuddered. The bastard probably thought he'd already gone to hell before they killed him. "What about Kane?" he asked. "You survived. Is he dead?"

A scowl creased Grale's face. He appeared to be weighing an old debate in his mind. At last he nodded. "Yes," he replied. "I believe that he is dead. We struggled beneath the water for what seemed like hours. He was fast and strong and knew what he was doing with a knife. He cut me here"-Grale touched his side-"but the wound was not fatal. However, I had the pleasure of feeling my knife go deep into his chest."

Grale paused to suppress a cough. "I would have liked to have questioned him about those whom he served. But the current swept him away, and I was desperate for air."

"Your people find his body?" Karp asked.

Grale shook his head. "We searched better than the cops. We also listened to word on the streets and in the dark places of our world. But there was nothing to suggest he lives. My mind tells me he is dead."

"What does your heart tell you?"

Grale grimaced. "It tells me not to stop looking for him until I have his skull in my hands."

Karp shuddered. A sociopath named Felix Tighe had once been about to rape and murder Karp's daughter, Lucy, until Grale showed up and put a stop to it. A few days later, the killer's rat-gnawed skull had shown up at the New York Medical Examiner's Office, where it was identified from dental work. Karp suddenly had a vision of Grale sitting on a throne surrounded by mounds of skulls like some Mongol king and flinched when Grale suddenly moved toward him.

Grale backed away with a look of sadness on his gaunt face. "I wouldn't hurt you, Mr. Karp," he said.

Karp relaxed, ashamed of his reaction. "I know that, David. I'm just a little jumpy. And it's Butch, okay?"

Grale smiled, moved again to the side of the bed, and reached above Karp's head to push the nurse's call button. A moment later, the buzzing of the fluorescent light in the hall stopped and the glow beneath the door disappeared. A red light appeared in the corner of the room indicating that the machines next to his bed were running on the backup power system.