Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“I'm not negotiating, Hull. I'm telling you what I need in order to give you the time you need to bust Po. Otherwise, we take Sands now. I’'ve got police standing by to arrest him, and I’'ve got the district attorney ready to take him before a grand jury in the morning.”

Sands shifts in his seat like a man preparing to spring to his feet. Quinn looks even more tense.

“Shad Johnson’s no longer playing for your team,” I tell Sands. “I’'ve got the evidence to bury you right now, and Shad knows it.”

Hull holds up his hands to calm his informant, and in this moment I sense the frightening tension between them. “Penn, you'’ve got to be reasonable here. You’ve got to try to see the larger picture.”

“I’'ve tried to do that, William. I honestly have. As a former prosecutor, I have a lot of empathy for your position. But the crimes your informant has committed in the past week alone—”

“Were part of the very operation that’s about to take place. The dogfighting—”

“Dogfighting doesn’'t even register on the scale he’s established in the past few days.”

Hull looks at his steel watch and winces. “Edward Po’s a well-known breeder of fighting dogs. Sands had to use whatever bait he could to lure Po onto U.S. soil.”

“That doesn’'t change the fact that every instance of it is a felony.”

“Christ, Cage, you can’t be

that

much of a Boy Scout. You worked in Houston for twelve years. You dealt with major crimes.”

“Mostly murder. Not this pseudo-spook stuff. That'’s why this case sticks in my craw. Jonathan Sands murdered or ordered the murders of Tim Jessup, Ben Li, and Linda Church, all employees of the

Magnolia Queen,

all of whom were in a position to supply enough evidence to put him in state prison for the rest of his life. He also ordered the kidnapping of Caitlin Masters. All those crimes are capital offenses in Mississippi. Tim Jessup was a friend of mine, but even if he weren’t, this man would not go unpunished. I don'’t give a damn what federal authority you try to invoke, once you have Po, this son of a bitch is going to jail. Either he does hard time as part of your plea with him, or Shad Johnson sends him to Parchman for murder and kidnapping.”

Sands leans in from my left and laughs in my face. “You don'’t get it, mate. If I don'’t cooperate, Hull doesn’'t get Po. And I don'’t cooperate unless I'm guaranteed immunity from prosecution.

Full

immunity. End of story.”

“Not quite,” I say. “If Edward Po doesn’'t show up for your little Roman spectacle tonight—and I’d lay ten-to-one odds that he won'’t—do you really believe that Hull’s going back to Washington empty-handed? After all the time and money he’s spent on this? No. In that case Quinn’s going to get the free pass, and

you’ll

wake up as the most vicious criminal in America. I can see the headlines now: ‘Irish mob man kills defenseless dogs, launders money for the Chinese triads. Possible links to terrorism.’”

As Quinn glares at me from behind Sands’s head, I see that Sands has obviously considered this possibility.

“After all,” I go on, “all we’re sure Seamus did is rape Linda Church and kill a few dogs. Maybe he killed Tim Jessup, maybe he didn't. But he can tell us everything

you

did. And without Po in hand, you’re the big fish everyone’s going to want to fry.”

“Why the fuck are we even listening to this?” Sands snaps, getting to his feet so fast that Quinn jumps back to get clear.

“Because I have evidence, Mr. Sands” I say evenly. “Hard evidence. I can bust you for money laundering right now. Chief Logan is standing by on the shore, and all the FBI agents in the world can’t stop him.” I lean back and look up at Sands with all the hatred in my heart flowing through my eyes. “This is still the United

States

of America, asshole.

That'’s

why you’re listening.”

Hull looks worried. “You don'’t have cops where somebody could see them, do you?”

“Take it easy, William. I want Po busted almost as badly as you do. I understand the priorities here. But I don'’t think he’s coming. And I'm making sure that in the heat of the moment, this psycho doesn’'t slip away to a fairy-tale ending.”

While Sands flexes his fists like a man preparing to beat down a door, Hull stands, turns his chair around, then straddles it and looks at me like a sergeant about to dress down his troops. I probably already have enough audio evidence to ruin Hull’s career, but I have a feeling we’re headed into serious criminal territory.

“Let me give you the facts of life,” the lawyer says in a stern voice. “Sands may be a psychopath, but who really gives a fuck? Do you think I’d be wasting my time with him if he couldn'’t deliver? The NSA confirmed that Po’s Dassault Falcon lifted off from Madrid Barajas Airport in Spain five hours ago. He was directly observed loading three Tosa Tokens aboard, and—”

“Tosa Tokens?”

“Fighting dogs, Cage! Po thinks he’s bringing them here to fight a man.”

The reality that Edward Po might actually be falling for Hull’s trap hits me for the first time, and the force of the realization shocks me. “How long till he gets here?”

“Barring unforeseen delay—like this absurd bullshit—three to four hours.”

Sands looks down at Hull. “You’d better straighten this bastard out, Will.”

“He’s seeing the light. Cage, do you know who you are in all this? I’'ve read your file from cover to cover. You think you’re Atticus Finch and Thomas Jefferson rolled into one, but I'’ll tell you who you are. Barney Fife. Barney fucking Fife, with one bullet in your gun, aimed straight at your own foot. I'm fighting for the national security of this nation, and you’re busting my balls over collateral damage that doesn’'t add up to one day’s casualties in Iraq or Afghanistan. Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear. But we’re not in Iraq. And the laws of this country apply to you as well as to Sands. When you gave me the proof of life I asked for yesterday, you proved yourself an accessory to kidnapping.”

Hull laughs outright. “You’re joking, right? Do you seriously think you’ll be able to trace that text message back to me? There are so many cutouts between those communications…shit, you won'’t even be permitted to access the records.” He gets to his feet and kicks over the chair he was straddling. “This meeting’s over.”

I stand also, knowing I’'ve got more evidence than I’d hoped for.

“All right,” I say with seeming resignation. “If Po is really coming, take your best shot at getting him. I want you to get him. But I want Natchez cops standing by within a half mile of the sting.”

Hull shakes his head. “We can’t risk it. I give you my word, Sands will still be on U.S. soil tomorrow. That'’s the best I can do.”

“You gave me your word that Caitlin Masters would be safe last night, but she was nearly killed by your informant’s attack dogs, and the woman she was being held with died as Sands’s prisoner. Your word means nothing to me. I'm calling in my cops.”

“We can’t let you do that.”

“How are you going to stop me? If I don'’t walk off this boat under my own power, Logan’s men come aboard. If we have a shoot-out, or even a standoff, Po’s jet is heading back to Spain.”

Hull looks at Sands, then back at me. “One man,” he says finally. “You can put one detective with us tonight.”

“No,” says Sands, feeling the tide turn against him.

“It makes no difference,” Hull says, looking hard at the Irishman.

“It does to me.”

“Well, that’s the way it is. Who do you want, Cage? Whoever it is, make sure he has a nice suit.”

“Kelly,” I say without hesitation.