Andrew Peterson - First to Kill

“You don’t mind being this close to the door with your back facing it?” she asked.

“I prefer it.”

She looked puzzled.

“If trouble comes in, I’m already behind it. Besides, you’ve got a small throwaway under your jeans in an ankle holster. Right side.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a throwaway. It’s a Glock thirty-nine.”

“Correction, it’s a small cannon. I’ll bet it fits your hand well. Forty-five GAP, single, double action. Six shots?”

“Seven, including one in the pipe. You know your guns.”

“A hobby. I noticed the bulge.”

“Is that all?”

“I… tell you what. If a bad guy comes in, I’ll duck. You shoot.”

“It’s a deal. You haven’t asked about the Bridgestones’ cousins.”

“From the way you looked in the lobby, I didn’t want to press.”

“I guess I’ve finally reached that burnout you talked about. I was standing in my kitchen and started to cry for no reason.”

“No reason? This isn’t something small. On the drive up to the cabin, I was talking about a dropped dish or a burned steak.” He wished he hadn’t said burned steak. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”

“How could they do that, burn him alive like that?”

“I don’t know, Holly. I honestly don’t.”

The bartender approached them, a short, balding man with a bushy mustache, bow tie, and friendly smile. He placed a bowl of miniature pretzels on the table. “Can I get you folks something to drink?”

“What type of wine do you have by the glass tonight?” Holly asked.

“Tobin James cabernet sauvignon, vintage 2003.”

“Is that a local winery?”

He issued a more-or-less gesture with his hand. “Paso Robles.”

“That’s perfect, thank you.”

“You, sir?”

“O’Doul’s, please.”

“You don’t drink alcohol?” she asked.

“I’ve been recovering for a long time.”

“Good for you. Are you okay with me having some wine?”

“Not a problem.”

Holly lowered her voice a little. “At the farmhouse, we found the entrance to the tunnel in the bedroom closet. They used a piece of plywood covered with dirty clothes to hide it. There was a small chamber with two bunk beds just under the slab. Probably took them weeks to excavate by hand. It looked exactly like the setup at the compound. They used railroad ties for the walls, and water skies with skateboard wheels to travel the tunnel. Like you suspected, the other side came up under the windmill at the property corner. We found marks in the dirt where they crawled across the neighboring property to a canyon that connects to another road.”

“What about Billy and his brother?”

“SWAT found them. They’d been dragged fifty feet into the tunnel. Both had been shot in the back of the head with a twenty-two caliber.”

Nathan pursed his lips and shook his head.

“It isn’t your fault, okay? We can’t even be sure they were there at the same time we were.”

“They were there.”

“You don’t know that for sure. They could’ve shown up anytime yesterday. They could’ve arrived early this morning when Bruce dropped off their cousins. Bruce is lucky to be alive. He could’ve been killed too. In fact, I think it’s fair to assume they weren’t there or he would’ve been killed. We also had the place bugged, we would’ve heard them talking.”

“They probably suspected there were bugs and communicated by written notes. Who knows? I should’ve seen this coming. It was that damned garage. Other things too. Everything was right there and I didn’t see it. I should’ve put it all together.”

“We had no reason to believe Ernie and Leonard would be there. Bruce was right, their cousins were just a couple of hayseeds.”

“Then why were they killed?”

Holly said nothing.

“It’s because they knew something, maybe another safe house or hiding place or a contact. Something important. Was the motorcycle still in the garage?”

“No. We’ve got an APB out on it. City, state, and local law-enforcement cops are stopping anyone seen riding Enduros regardless of color. Maybe we’ll catch a break.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“We’re doing everything possible to find them.”

“I’m pretty sure I know why the Bridgestones went to the farmhouse. I think it’s where they stashed the missing Semtex from the compound. Probably in the tunnel or the underground room. Can your forensic people check for trace evidence of it?”

“Yes, but it’s very difficult to detect. Semtex doesn’t leave-”

The bartender returned with their drinks. Nathan’s O’Doul’s was served with a mug, cloudy from frost. He poured some and offered a silent toast. Under a solo spotlight onstage, the musicians continued their jamming.

“Semtex doesn’t leave much of itself behind,” she continued, “even when it’s exposed. It’s not like gunpowder or ANFO, we can test for those compounds easily. If it was still sealed in its crates, all bets are off.”

“We should’ve spent a few minutes poking around out there.”

“I was the one who wanted to get up to that cabin.”

“There’s a bigger question here,” he said. “A huge question. If the missing Semtex was there, why did they want it?”

Holly stared. “I don’t like that question.”

“I think it’s fair to assume they weren’t trying to complete a sale in progress, and I seriously doubt they were selling individual crates. That’d be too risky. They’d have a single buyer for all it.”

“Who do you think they were selling it to? Foreign terrorists? An Al Qaeda cell operating within the United States?”

Nathan shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. It was more likely being sold to radical militia groups. They love the stuff. It’s way easier to use than ANFO or TNT. The Bridgestones are coldblooded, but they aren’t terrorists. Something tells me they wouldn’t sell to radical Islamic types. I just can’t see them doing that. It’s all about money, not hatred of their country. I don’t have anything to base that on but my gut instinct. If the Bridgestones could somehow be caught and interrogated, I think we’ll find they’ve been doing business with militia groups, not terrorists.”

“By strict interpretation, the Bridgestones already are terrorists,” Holly said. “Look at what they’ve done so far.”

“I can’t deny they’ve committed some horrible crimes, but at the risk of sounding callous, not on a grand scale. Like I said on the drive up to the cabin, if they try something, it won’t be a random target. They’ll go after whoever hurt them. The FBI and now me.”

“Why do you think the Bridgestones showed their cousins where the money was hidden? I mean, they could’ve told them to get lost for a couple hours while they buried it.”

“I wondered the same thing myself. I think they had this routine planned from the beginning. It’s a believable bone to throw. That much cash gets serious attention. You remember Henning’s reaction to seeing it? If the cousins were ever questioned by the authorities, they could hold out for awhile, then give up the cash and the cabin, making it seem like they caved.”

“So you think the Bridgestones used the money as a distraction, a decoy? They sacrificed it?”

“It worked, didn’t it? Once we had the cash and the info about the cabin, we were out of there in a hurry.”

“I can’t deny that.”

“Listen, Holly, there’s something you need to know, and I don’t want to do it behind your back.”

“Okay…”

“I’ve arranged a phone call with Director Lansing tomorrow.”

She stared, her mind working. “May I ask why?”

“This whole thing reeks of my father’s involvement. I asked Harv to call Frank Ortega and verify my suspicion. Ortega confirmed it. When we first met with him, Ortega told us Director Lansing knew of our involvement before the raid. He said he’d never do something like that behind Lansing’s back. Lansing then told Ortega he didn’t want to know about it, kind of a don’t-ask, don’t-tell thing, but Lansing didn’t say no. I think Ortega called in a major favor to involve us. He knew we were a covert-ops team, knew how we did things. I think he wanted his grandson found at any cost.”