Thin Line (21 page)

"Get your evidence together, Frank," I said. "You've got one hell of a case to make."

Frank didn't back down as we approached and subsequently exited. Perhaps being the only armed man in the room had given him confidence. He knew at that
close of a distance, it didn't matter. We exchanged one last glance before I stepped out and he slammed and locked the door, disengaging the electronic
lock.

We went back the way we came. Across the yard, through the gate, down the alley. The sky was still dark, the car was still parked next to the curb on the
side street. Bear checked the undercarriage and under the hood while I waited a hundred feet away. I started the car with him a safe distance back. Neither
of us blew up. I had to give that to Frank. He knew we were coming, and that we were probably going to be pissed, and he didn't call in backup.

I drove to Bear's position. He slid into the passenger seat and leaned back. His eyes shut, but I knew it would be pointless. Adrenaline was a sleep
killer.

"What do you want to do now?" Bear asked.

"Breakfast, I guess. There's a Waffle House nearby."

He shrugged. "Not in the mood for waffles."

"Then get bacon and eggs. Christ, does it really matter?"

He laughed, but both of us were too tired to care, and this was shaping up to be a long day.

WE SETTLED ON a local diner. The kind of place that opened at five in the morning and served breakfast and lunch only. The glasses they served the water in
looked like they'd been in use since the seventies. The silverware too. The bathroom smelled like it hadn't been cleaned in as long. We ate quickly, drank
a cup of coffee each, and grabbed another to go.

Back in the parking lot, I placed the cardboard mug on the car roof. Steam slipped through the lid and blended with the smoke escaping from stacks across
the street. The air was thick with industrial exhaust.

Bear exited the restaurant. Keys dangled from his hand, banging together with every step he took. The door locks clicked. As I gripped the iced-over
passenger door handle, my cell phone rang. I glanced at the display: a New York number that I didn't recognize.

Ducking inside the sedan, I answered.

"Hello, Mr. Jack." The voice was old, distinct, with a slight Asian accent. "I'm sure this call comes as no surprise to you."

"Yeah, I've been waiting by the phone all morning."

The Old Man chuckled. "I am going to enjoy working with you."

"Who says we're going to be working together?"

"Well, if not, then I'll enjoy torturing you."

The car dipped as Bear sat down behind the wheel. He turned the key in the ignition. The large engine roared, and cool air that smelled like corn chips
blew full force from the vents.

"Going somewhere?" the Old Man asked.

"What is it you want?"

"To see if you are ready for some assistance. Things got nasty over there in France, didn't they?"

I said nothing.

"Regardless, I know where your man is now. I can tell you the reason everything happened."

How much did the Old Man know? How much of my hand could I reveal to him? Not much, probably.

"And what do I have to do in exchange for that information?"

"Just a little job, Jack. You and your large friend. One job. On the house, of course." He paused, then added, "And trust me, you'll want to know all the
details behind this botched operation. It might help to extend your lifespan another few months."

"How much time do I have left to decide?"

"Well, six hours if you're going by the terms of our original deal. But, to show you how generous I can be, how about we call it a day from now?"

"Talk to you tomorrow." I hung up and shoved the cell phone into the glove box, wishing I hadn't forwarded my primary dial-in number to it. Something told
me when it came to the Old Man, it didn't matter. I had Brandon to help me gather sensitive information. The Old Man presumably had a dozen Brandons.

Bear stared at me for a few seconds, but said nothing. He eased the shifter into reverse and backed out of the parking spot. A couple miles down the road,
he asked about the call. When I told him it was the Old Man, and the two options presented, the big man shrugged. Bear feared no one. I always joked that
it'd be his downfall. And it might be, if we couldn't manage to locate Brett Taylor and get to the bottom of everything.

Going to either of our apartments wasn't an option. If Frank didn't have someone there, then the FBI or maybe even the CIA or Homeland would. We felt
strongly that we'd be marked after what happened in France. So we stayed north of DC and checked into a motel outside of Laurel, Maryland after buying new
clothes.

I crashed in the full bed closest to the window and managed to sleep for three hours. Bear only said he was going out. I didn't hear the door shut. After
waking, I showered and put on the new jeans, undershirt, sweater, and hiking boots I'd purchased that morning. A week's worth of stubble littered my face.
It wasn't enough to change my appearance. At the same time, I didn't feel like shaving, so I left it. It might come in handy a few days later when it
filled in a bit more.

Sunlight sliced through the slit between the drapes. A long finger of light stretched across the table and the bed nearest the window. I crossed the room,
parted the curtains, and looked out over the rear parking lot. Silent and still. Behind the lot, a highway teemed with cars. People on lunch breaks.

I grabbed my phone and jacket and exited the room. The building blocked the sun, but not the wind. The cold air belted me across the face. I headed left to
the stairs, then descended to ground level. A short walk later, I found a spot sheltered from the wind and in full view of the sun's rays.

A call to Bear went straight to his voicemail. It was too early to consider something happening to him, so I pushed the thoughts aside and assumed his cell
battery had died. Before I managed to stuff my phone into my coat pocket, it rang. Another New York number I didn't recognize. At first, I thought about
ignoring it. Curiosity got the better of me, though.

"Jack? This is Detective McSweeney. Are you in the city right now?"

I hesitated.

"Jack? Are you there?"

"Sorry, yeah, no, I'm not in the city."

"How soon do you think you can get here?"

"What's this about, detective?"

She clicked her tongue a couple times. "I really don't like discussing these things over the phone."

"And I don't like discussing them inside an interrogation room."

"Fair enough," she paused. "But I doubt it's going to come to that."

"Doubt leaves a possibility of it actualizing."

"Did you do something that would get you arrested, Jack?"

"I've done a lot that could get me arrested."

"You sure you want to tell that to a cop?"

"Detective, this'll go a lot smoother if you tell me what this is about."

She sighed. "We were having so much fun, though."

I said nothing. The wind managed to find my hiding spot. I turned away.

"OK, I'll get right to it then. Neil McLellan. Friend of yours?"

IT DIDN'T MATTER where I went. The wind found me. The cold wormed its way inside my jacket and under my clothing. But I forgot it was fifteen degrees out
when I heard McSweeney mention McLellan.

"Jack? Does that name mean anything to you?"

I lied. "Never heard it before."

"You sure about that?"

I nodded, then asked, "Who is he?"

"A corpse that was bobbing along in the river. They left the chain too long. DNA matched what we found inside Taylor's home. Which is odd, because it also
matched Emmings, the John Doe, at the morgue. In fact, what they are telling me is that these two were a perfect match."

I raced through the possibilities. For the DNA to match that closely, the two men would have had to have been identical twins. Which, judging by the way
they looked, was impossible. At least highly improbable. The evidence that had been presented disputed that claim as well. The logical explanation was that
someone had tampered with the lab results. Plausible, considering who all was involved.

"I'm trained to notice things, Jack."

"Such as?"

"Such as your face when you got a good look at the corpse of the Doe. Surprise - confusion even - overcame you, just for the briefest of moments. But that
moment was long enough. I couldn't figure out why at the time. I thought then that you were lying about not being able to make the vic. But it makes sense
now. You really didn't know him."

"Any reaction I had was probably due to the smell, detective. Don't read too much into it."

"Yeah, well, don't forget I have a friend on the inside who can tell me pretty much any secret I want to know. If you have a connection to McLellan, it's
best you let me know now."

I paused while an eighteen-wheeler drove past, half of its wheels falling prey to the same pothole. I made a mental note to contact Dunne and see if he had
any input.

"You don't want to do this, detective." Whether she was feigning confidence, or really had balls the size of church bells, she was entering into territory
that she wouldn't be able to back out of. "There are people involved in this… People who can make you disappear. No one can protect you. Not me. Not
your department. Not your friend on the inside. Sometimes, there is no escape once you pass through the looking glass."

Her voice lowered, sounding huskier, like she had pulled the phone closer to her mouth, and maybe cupped it with her other hand. "So you do know more than
you've let on."

"As I've said, I can't discuss what I may or may not know. What don't you understand about that?"

"Where are you, Jack?"

"Not in New York."

"Can you get here soon?"

"Possibly."

She assumed the close. "Call me when you get in. I'll meet you anywhere, and I'll do it on your terms. No more shadow teams. This will be entirely on me,
not the NYPD."

"I'll think about it." I held the line open for a few moments, then closed the phone and ended the call while she was mid-sentence.

I wove my way through a maze of walkways toward the front of the motel. Wrappers and cans and cigarette butts littered the asphalt gap between the sidewalk
and parking spaces. Our room was on the second floor, in the middle of the U-shaped building. I glanced up in time to see a man in a dark trench coat
stepping over the threshold. I stopped, stepped back, and scanned the parking lot. A black sedan was parked on the other end of the lot, close to the
manager's office. It looked familiar. A couple days ago we'd suspected a black sedan of following us. Problem was, a lot of government-issued sedans looked
the same. I glanced up again. The door to my room was closed.

There had to be a second man. They wouldn't send a single agent to deal with us. Hell, I doubted they'd send only one team. To do so, and then have both of
them enter our room, waiting for us to return? They had to know Bear and I would be together.

Unless they already had Bear in custody. Which could explain how they'd found this location at all. Aside from the call from McSweeney, I'd been silent.

I pulled out my cell. At that moment, I realized it had been on the entire time. Perhaps that was how they knew. I dialed Bear's number and scratched my
knuckles against the brick wall while it rang. Four times. Five. Six. It kept ringing, never diverted to voicemail.

"C'mon, Bear. Answer."

I dialed again. It rang a dozen times. Where was he? Why wasn't the call going to the messaging system? I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax.
Could have been a problem with any of the servers the call routed through. No reason to panic. Because panic would lead to mistakes. And mistakes weren't
acceptable when a hit team was nearby.

I tried a different number. Frank Skinner answered immediately.

"What'd you do, Frank?"

"Jack? What're you talking about?" He slurred his speech, sounded like he hadn't slept.

"I got two spooks residing in a rented motel room, and a partner I can't find. What the hell did you do?"

"Nothing, Jack. Jesus." He paused. "After you left, I erased the encounter from my security footage and made myself forget about seeing you."

"Yeah, well, somebody knows we're here."

"You think we're the only ones who might've been monitoring for your re-entry?"

Aside from the racing sports cars, I hadn't noticed anyone on the highways last night.

"Who else knew we were gone?"

"That doesn't matter, Jack. You became a blip on a radar when you came home. And obviously, someone wants to talk to you. Maybe you should go see what they
want?"

The door to the room opened. A shadowy figure appeared. The man said something, turned back, and let the door fall shut.

I said, "Yeah, I think I'm gonna pass on that. Do some digging and call me back with what you find out."

After hanging up, I retreated further into the shadows, keeping the room in view. How long would they wait? Would they get a call from Frank, or whomever
Frank called, and come looking for me outside? It was times like these that being unarmed was a bad idea. In fact, being unarmed at any time was akin to
asking for the chair or the needle. In my world, shadows were everywhere, and they hid the kind of secrets people killed over.

Five minutes turned into ten, then twenty. There was no sign of movement upstairs, or anywhere else in the motel, or its parking lot. Frank hadn't turned
me in. Not yet, at least. Or, if he had, they were waiting for me someplace else.

I tried calling Bear again. By the eighth ring, I was ready to smash my phone on the concrete walkway.

And then Bear answered. I told him about the two agents camping out in our room, and the possibility for more.

"I'm five minutes away. Secured us a few helpers. So, if you wanna head up to the room after I get there, we can."

I thought about it for a moment. The room layout gave the men hiding in there the better position. We would have to go through the bottleneck. They could
take us one at a time, and there was little we could do to improve our chances of survival.