Andrew Peterson - First to Kill

* * *

Holly awoke with a start. What was that sound? Had an animal somehow gotten into the house? She reached for her gun, but her hand froze an inch from its cold form. She heard a muffled moan followed by a hiss and spitting sound. No, not animal. Human. She tore the sheets away and hurried down the hall. In the living room, she dimmed the overhead light before flipping the switch. Oh dear Lord, Nathan. His hair plastered to his head, he was covered in sweat, moaning and waving his hands in front of his face at invisible demons. He issued a howl that sent a shiver through her body. He was there, in Nicaragua, being tortured. She remembered what he’d said on the ride up to the cabin, how he’d put a girlfriend in the hospital for waking him up, but how could she let this go on? Would he wake up on his own? She took several steps back and called his name from the opposite side of the couch.

No response.

She said it louder. Again, nothing. What should she do? Steeling herself, she yelled his name. His eyes snapped open, wild with anger. Gritting his teeth, a growl escaped his lips. He jumped to his feet and assumed a low fighting stance, his hand clutching an invisible knife.

“Nathan, it’s me.”

His eyes darted around the room and returned to hers. Her instincts told her to back away, but she held perfectly still. His expression changed to recognition. She rushed around the sofa and wrapped him up in her arms, ignoring the sticky feel of his skin. They held each other without speaking for several moments.

His voice cracked. “What time is it?”

“Just after four in the morning. You okay?”

“I’m really thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some water.” She returned a few seconds later and handed it to him.

He downed it in a single pull. “The moths came for me again.”

They settled onto the floor facing each other.

“Moths?”

“In Nicaragua, my interrogator put a bright light in my face at night. The moths were attracted to it. My hands were tied. I couldn’t bat them away.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Thanks for the water.”

She could see he was still trembling.

“I’m okay.”

But he wasn’t okay. An echo of terror still etched his face. She reached over and held his hand.

He half chuckled. “I wasn’t kidding when I said my picture was next to baggage . I’m sorry you had to see that. I was hoping for the night off.”

“Hey, there’s no need to apologize about anything.”

He looked down at himself. “I think I need a shower.”

“Come on.” She led him down the hall to the guest bathroom. “You want some company in there?”

“Is there a mustache in Mexico?”

She laughed, hardly believing how good it felt. “I’ll take that for a yes.”

* * *

She dropped Nathan off at the Hyatt just before five in the morning. “I’ll make sure Harvey has a copy of the tape before six.”

“You’ve got another long day ahead of you,” he said.

“Will you keep me informed of your progress?”

“You know I will.”

“Nathan… About this morning. ”

“It’s okay.”

She smiled. “I’ll call you later.”

“Stay safe, SAC Simpson.”

She smiled again and pulled away from the curb. He waved when she looked in her mirror, then strode through the lobby to the elevators. Harv would already be up, so he knocked quietly on his door. He saw the peephole darken just before the door swung inward.

“Mornin’, partner,” Nathan said, passing through the threshold. “Get much sleep?”

“A few hours.” Harv grinned. “You?”

“None.”

“Attaboy.”

“Hey, it was all in the line of duty.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Holly just dropped me off, she’s heading over to the office to make sure you have the tape by six.”

“I hope I wasn’t too… you know, overbearing last night about wanting to hear the tape.”

“You, overbearing?”

“I made some coffee. It’s not too bad.”

“So who are you bringing up from San Diego?”

Harv stared for a few seconds. “Did someone from the office call you?”

“Nope.”

“I guess you figured it’s what I’d do.”

“Yep.”

Harv handed him a cup. “You can’t blame me.”

He took a sip. “I’m totally aboard with it.”

“It’s after eight back east, so we should make that call to Thorny. It might take him a few hours to get the visitation logs from the Castle. You still want that chat with FBI Director Lansing?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I thought as much. He wasn’t real happy about it, but Ortega’s arranged it for you. He sounded like he’s worried about being blacklisted from the investigation. Now that James has been found, he probably will be. You’ve got a very brief window at ten-hundred this morning.” Harv winked. “I’ve been instructed to tell you to lose the phone number after you make the call. It’s a direct line to Lansing’s secretary and she’ll put you through to his cell. He’s in New York City today.”

“Good work.”

“What do you hope to accomplish?”

“I want a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

Harv just stared.

“We’re going after the Bridgestones,” Nathan said, “with or without his blessing and we don’t operate within socially acceptable boundaries. Let’s face it Harv, we’re no Ozzie-and-Harriet team. If we have to kick a few butts along the way, so be it. I just want the FBI to stay out of our way.”

“Lansing will want us to stay out of his way. I don’t think he’ll agree to what you’re asking.”

“Since blackmailing him is off the table, he definitely won’t agree. I just don’t want him running interference. Tailing us. Tapping our phones. You know the drill.”

“You really think he’d do that?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What about Frank Ortega?” Harv asked. “How much do we tell him about what we’re doing?”

“As little as possible.”

“Because of your father?”

“Yes.”

“Ortega could still help us. I don’t think he’s been blacklisted yet, and Greg could access the NCIC database for us.”

“I’ve already got that covered.”

“Hasn’t Holly risked enough? Greg has access to nearly everything she does.”

“ Nearly being the operative word.”

“Beyond access to the NCIC, what else would we need?”

Nathan sipped his coffee and said nothing.

“You want her to get the credit if we catch them.”

Nathan didn’t answer.

“The reverse is also true. She could take the fall if we screw up.”

“We aren’t going to screw up.”

“A lot of things could go wrong, Nate.”

“Lansing’s people are not going to collar the Bridgestones before we do. To steal a line from General Patton, ‘I’m going to beat that gentleman to Messina.’”

Leonard Bridgestone pulled a gray pickup behind a supermarket and parked near its loading dock. As expected, the area was deserted. Ernie parked the stolen UPS truck next to the pickup and together they untied the tarp covering the pickup’s bed.

Leonard helped Ernie haul the Enduro motorcycle out of the bed and get it upright on the asphalt. He checked the large ice chest strapped to its rack. He squinted as his brother gave the ice chest a soft caress before pulling a ten-foot-long, three-by-six piece of lumber from the bed of the pickup. Leonard followed him to the rear of the UPS truck and hoisted its roll-up door. Bound and unconscious, the driver was stripped down to his underwear. Although the driver’s uniform didn’t fit Leonard perfectly, it was close enough. Ernie slid the three-by-six in next to the driver. Shaped by a table saw, two of its squared edges were cut at 45-degree angles along its length so it could be easily driven over when the time came. The bottom of the three-by-six also had a V-shaped channel cut along its entire length.