William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

Janicek grabbed Moroconi roughly by the arm. “Don’t give me any trouble.”

“I’m serious!” Moroconi said. He was practically pleading. “This guy ain’t what he seems.”

That caught Travis’s attention.

“Don’t listen to him,” Janicek said. “He’s desperate. He’s trying to confuse you.”

“You mean he isn’t with the FBI?” Travis asked Moroconi.

“No, he’s with the FBI, but he’s playing both ends against the middle. He’s the one who gave me—”

Janicek’s fist smashed into Moroconi’s nose. Moroconi’s head flew back and pounded against the closet. He tried once more to speak, and Janicek hit him again.

“What the hell was that for?” Travis demanded.

“He was getting out of hand,” Janicek said gruffly.

“Out of hand? He’s tied to the closet. What did you think he was going to do?”

Janicek proceeded to untie Moroconi. “Just stay out of my way, Byrne. Leave this to the professionals.”

“You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

“I don’t have time to play twenty questions. Interfering with a federal officer in the execution of his duty is a felony offense!” He finished untying Moroconi and grabbed him by the arm. “I have to get this man into custody. I have to secure the list.”

“Secure the list!” Moroconi said, blood dripping from his nose. “He’s the one who gave me the list!”

“ What !” Travis pushed Janicek away from Moroconi. “Is that true?”

Almost instantaneously, Janicek had his gun out of his shoulder holster. “Get out of my way, Byrne.”

Travis stepped back cautiously.

Janicek jerked Moroconi toward the door, only to find Curran was blocking the way, gun raised. “You are obstructing an officer of the law!”

“Maybe so,” Curran said. “But something about this smells.”

“What do you care what happens to this piece of shit?”

“Not much, but I’m not going to let you execute him,” Curran said.

“Stupid son of a—” Before Curran realized what was happening, Janicek swung Moroconi around between himself and Curran’s gun. Curran almost fired, then stopped when he realized Moroconi had become the man’s shield. Janicek shoved Moroconi into Curran, knocking him off balance, then clubbed Moroconi with his gun butt. Moroconi dropped to the ground like a rock. A second later Janicek pointed his gun at Curran’s head and pulled back the hammer.

The sound of a gunshot electrified the room. Janicek screamed and fell to his knees. Clutching his chest, he tumbled to the floor.

Travis whirled around. “Henderson!”

He was standing in the doorway, gun drawn. “Thought you’d been inside too long,” he said, entering the room. “Especially after I saw this clown go in. I got worried.”

“Damn good timing,” Travis said. “But did you have to use your gun again?”

“What did you want me to use? Harsh language?”

“Right.” Travis picked up the phone on Jack’s desk. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

Yet another voice echoed through the room. “Don’t bother.”

Travis looked up and saw an older man in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of a long overcoat.

“And who the hell are you?” Travis asked.

“I’m with the FBI,” the man replied.

“Isn’t everyone?” Travis said. “Or so it seems today.”

“I’d be happy to show you my ID.”

“Why don’t you start by telling us your name?”

“As you wish,” the man answered calmly. “My name is Special Agent William Henderson. You may have heard of me.”

74

10:49 P.M.

THE OTHER MAN—THE man they believed to be Henderson—whirled around to face the newcomer. Curran raised his gun and covered both Hendersons.

“Wait a minute,” Travis said. “If you’re Henderson, who the hell is he?”

“One of them is lying,” Curran growled. “The question is which.” Curran pointed at their first Henderson. “I’ve been suspicious of this one since he entered the picture. He doesn’t look or act like any fed I’ve ever met.”

“No, it’s him!” shouted the first Henderson, pointing at the newcomer. “He’s with the mob!”

“ He’s lying,” the new Henderson said calmly. “Believe me, I’ve known who I am for years.”

“How did you find us?”

“I followed Agent Janicek. When I arrived, I spotted this man hiding in the brush.” He indicated the first Henderson. “When he made his move, I followed him in.”

“You’re with Janicek?” Travis said. “Janicek just tried to kill Moroconi.”

“That can be explained.”

“I called the FBI,” Travis said. “They said they’d never heard of anyone named William Henderson. Either one of you.”

“What did you expect them to do? Give you my phone number? My men and I work for a special subdivision called Bureau 99. It’s kind of an FBI within the FBI. My work is extremely sensitive; I have one of the highest security clearances in the Southwest. After all, if the mob can get to me, they can get to any of the federal witnesses I’ve relocated.”

“Our first Henderson knew the password,” Cavanaugh reminded them.

“True,” Travis said. He addressed the newcomer. “What’s the password?”

“Which one? I know a dozen of them.”

“See?” the first Henderson insisted. “He doesn’t know it. That proves he’s the imposter.”

Curran grabbed the newcomer by the neck. “I don’t trust anyone connected with this Janicek creep.”

While they were talking no one noticed Moroconi pulling himself off the carpet and wiping a smear of blood from his face. He quickly surveyed the situation. “ Him !” Moroconi shrieked, pointing.

The first Henderson glared at him.

“He’s not the FBI! His name is Kramer. He’s a fuckin’ hit man!”

Kramer slammed into Henderson like a linebacker, square in the stomach, knocking him into Curran. Henderson doubled over and went reeling onto the floor; Curran fumbled for his gun. Kramer kicked Henderson’s head against the desk. Henderson’s eyelids fluttered, then closed.

“ Grab him !” Travis shouted.

It was too late. Kramer was out the door. Moroconi started after him; Curran grabbed Moroconi around the waist. Moroconi swung his arms back and clubbed Curran on the shoulders. They both fell to the floor, struggling.

Travis didn’t have time to help. Curran would eventually recapture Moroconi and Cavanaugh could look after Henderson. He wanted this killer Kramer.

Travis bounded downstairs and hit the first floor just in time to see Kramer fly out the front door. He leaped over the sofa, ran through the door, and hit the grass running. Kramer was making a beeline for the northern grove of trees, trying to disappear in the thick, dark brush. Travis couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. If he let Kramer get too far ahead, he would lose him.

Damn! Travis ran as fast as he was able. Damn these stupid shoes, and damn me for getting so badly out of shape. He was doing the best he could, but Kramer was getting away from him. His lead had already doubled; soon Travis wouldn’t be able to see him at all.

A sudden cry up ahead told Travis he had gotten a lucky break. Kramer must’ve tripped over a stump or something; Travis saw him fly into the air, then crash to the ground. It was just the chance he needed to catch up.

Kramer was lying prostrate in the mud when Travis reached him. Travis unstrapped his multistrike gun and aimed. “Don’t move.”

Kramer did not freeze. He lurched forward, grabbing at the gun. Travis managed to shove him back to the ground. This time he held the gun against Kramer’s face. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”