Richard Doetsch - Half-Past Dawn

At 8:25, J ACK walked through the main entrance to the Tombs. Aaron and Donal walked in front, with black bags on their shoulders, while Cristos and Josh were three steps behind. They had run through the plan four times, studying Jack’s hastily drawn map, discussing contingencies. And while there was no further discussion of Mia or the cost of failure, the threat was abundantly clear. If Jack did not succeed in turning the case over to Cristos, Mia would die. Jack had a part to play, and he was about to play it at award-level caliber.

“Holy shit,” Larry said.

Jack smiled back.

“But…” Larry was lost for words. “You’re alive?”

“Hey, Larry,” Jack said as he held his fingers up to his lips. “That’s between you and me.”

“And your wife, she’s OK?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, nodding. “Thanks for your concern.”

“I didn’t hear.”

“No one has, and I need you to keep it that way.”

Larry nodded in understanding.

“We need to go downstairs,” Jack said.

Larry looked the other men over.

“Show him your badges, boys.”

Aaron, Donal, and Josh flipped open their billfolds, flashing badges, quickly closing them up and stuffing them back into their pockets.

“FBI?” Larry said with raised eyebrows, turning back to Jack. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone over to the dark side, too.”

“No.” Jack laughed. “I’m still a good guy.”

“And who’s this?” Larry pointed at Cristos. He was still on guard despite the DA standing before him.

“He’s a member of the Cotis government. I’ve got a real hush-hush case going.”

“Is that what everyone downstairs is after?”

“You might say that. Who is downstairs, by the way?”

“Charlie, he’s always down there; some accountant”-Larry pointed at Aaron and Donal-“and three of their friends.”

Jack glanced at the two. “I don’t think these guys have any friends.”

“Oh, and I just sent two detectives from Midtown South, they’re just dropping off. You’ll probably pass them on the way down.” Larry smiled as he pushed the button releasing the security gate and waved them past. “What about you?” Larry said to Josh, who lingered behind.

“Sounds a little crowded down there. I think I’ll wait up here.” Josh held up his cell phone. “I’m waiting for a call, anyway.”

“Suit yourself. There’s a bench over there if you want it,” Larry said as he pointed to the far corner of the lobby.

“Larry,” Jack called out as they arrived at the elevator bank, “don’t tell a soul that you saw me or that we’re downstairs.”

“Mr. Keeler, once a cop, always a cop. You know I have your back.”

The elevator arrived, and the four stepped inside. Just as the doors were closing, Jack smiled and said, “Thanks, Larry.”

• • •

FBI Agent Joe Perry stood in the middle of the evidence room, thinking of what a misnomer its name was. The vast space was more like a warehouse or a storage facility than a room.

Perry had been assigned as the liaison with the Bureau of Courts in locating the evidence case in the possession of Mia Keeler before her death that morning.

A day earlier, an internal investigation had begun on her possible connection with evidence tampering, but he had his doubts. He had known Mia for several years, and that was something that was not in her character.

After ten hours here on top of his seventy-five-hour week, Perry was done. He was heading home for a late dinner with his wife and would crawl into bed for at least eight hours before he had to return the next morning. He was leaving behind two young agents, Bracato and Stratton, to ensure security. As both agents were younger than thirty and known for their weekend exploits and surveillance stamina, he had no fear of them being able to pull an all-nighter. Holly Rose Tremont, the analyst provided by the DA’s office, was still poring over computer records and wasn’t planning to leave until after nine. She had gone through the several hundred files in cases brought in since Tuesday but was forced to expand her search once someone realized that Mia might have had her evidence case stashed inside another case that was already down there.

Jack pushed the button for sublevel five, and the cab began its descent. The four banks of elevators were separate and apart from the prison facility serving the sublevels up to the fifth-floor medical and psychiatric facility.

“You realize we are all being recorded,” Jack said without looking up at the security camera.

Donal smiled broadly, looking straight into the lens. Both he and Aaron reached into their pockets and pulled out small black key-fob-like devices.

“Nobody sees us unless we want them to see us. You think we’d walk into the lobby of this building allowing our pictures to appear all over the place the minute we leave?”

“So, that’s how you didn’t show up on video when you killed the Bonsleys?”

Cristos smiled at Jack but remained silent.

As the car passed sublevel two, Aaron reached inside his jacket and pulled his gun.

“Absolutely not!” Jack shouted at Aaron before turning to Cristos. “You want my cooperation, no guns. Let me just walk in and get the box, and we walk out.” Jack felt as if he were descending into Hades with hell’s minions.

Aaron shook his head, but Cristos nodded in agreement. “No guns… for the moment. You’ve got two minutes to get the case.”

Charlie nodded to Perry, who stood at the exit from the evidence room, buzzing him out the security door into the lobby. Charlie didn’t much like the overly stiff FBI agent who walked around his domain as if he owned it, talking to his own people with respect yet talking down to both Charlie and the female analyst from the DA’s office.

As Perry left, Charlie smiled inwardly. Despite all of Perry’s arrogance, all of his blowhard superiority, Charlie knew he would never find what he was looking for. As far as Charlie was concerned, he was the one who actually controlled the moment. He was well aware of what everyone was looking for, he knew its exact location, and he knew that no matter how many records people pored over, no one would be finding it anywhere in the database. And if and when they decided to go through every box, it could take them weeks before they found the unregistered evidence box that Jack and Mia had hidden away.

But Charlie also remembered how scared Jack’s wife looked when asked about its contents. When he had heard of their untimely deaths this morning, Charlie knew that it was no car accident that ended their lives. Someone, somehow, gave them a little push. When he had arrived earlier in the day to see the FBI and judicial liaison waiting for him, asking if he knew where an evidence case belonging to Jack Keeler might be, he said he had no idea. It wasn’t in the system. Deny till you die; the phrase kept echoing in his head. It was Charlie’s intention to wait until things died down, grab the box himself, and turn it over to Frank Archer.

But now that Charlie knew Jack was alive, that he was on his way to get the case, a new clarity formed in his mind. Jack would set things to right. That’s what he did. It’s what he had always done.

Charlie turned as two cops exited the elevator and stood at the glass window.

“How’s life at Midtown South?” Charlie asked the two detectives who stood on the other side of the security glass.

“Hey, Charlie,” Scott Myers said. “Always fun.”

“You know, the usual summertime mayhem,” Sid Reiner said as he dug through his pants, searching for his ID, cursing under his breath.

Although Reiner thought his words were unheard, Charlie heard it all, their voices amplified through the speaker under the window. Everyone knew Charlie’s rules. Charlie had always been a stickler for protocol, demanding to see proper ID from all cops and detectives who ventured down into this world-his world-no matter if he knew them a lifetime or a day. And if they were his relatives, he asked to see two forms of ID before he granted access. This was his domain. He was charged with protecting it, and if someone wanted to curse his ass out under his breath for enforcing security, that was just fine.