Runaway Bomb, page 23
part #4 of Jack Kenyon Mystery Series
Patty laughed. “If you were helping someone shift their groceries, it weren’t no little old ladies.”
Jack was eager to change the subject. “What’s your special tonight, Patty?”
“Prime rib, medium rare, served with baked potato, roast carrots, freshly-ground horseradish and onion gravy.”
“Yum, I’ll have that,” said Bee.
“Me too,” said Jack. “And can you bring us a bottle of cabernet sauvignon?”
“Coming right up.”
Patty brought out the bottle of red wine, opened it, and poured two glasses. Jack clinked his against Bee’s. “To finding your granddad,” he said.
“And bringing him home in one piece,” added Bee. She took a healthy swallow of wine.
The meal, as promised, was delicious, the beef mouth-wateringly tender and the horseradish piquant. The wine was an excellent accompaniment to the meal, full-bodied and hearty.
After their dishes had been cleared and coffee poured, Jack leaned forward and took Bee’s hand in his. “You know, I feel so comfortable when I’m with you. The day’s worries seem to melt away.”
“Och, you’re a smoothie. I’ll have to be careful, or you’ll sweep me off my feet.”
“I think you’ve already swept me off mine.”
Bee came to Jack’s side of the booth and sat beside him, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
Jack kissed her gently back. “Nope. First time.” He crossed his fingers together. “Scout’s honor.”
They snuggled together for a few moments in pleasant silence, until Jack whispered in her ear. “Would you like to come back to my home?”
Bee squeezed his hand. “I would love to, but I have to prepare for tomorrow’s class. Can I take a rain check?”
Jack kissed her. “Tomorrow night? I’ll cook you some home-made pasta.”
“That would be delightful.” Bee pulled out her purse. “Can I pay?”
Jack waved her off. “Nah, I get a discount with Lou.”
“My, you do have friends in high places.” Bee activated the ridesharing app on her cell phone and ordered a car. “Monday, your place, at 7 pm?”
“It’s a date. Give my best to Mister Muggs.”
“Will do.” Bee gave him one last kiss then pulled on her coat. “If it’s delicious pasta, maybe I’ll see how good you are at pancakes.”
Chapter 36
After Jack had seen Bee safely to a taxi, he strolled back through the largely deserted streets, contemplating her eyes, her lips and her embrace. Of all the chaos surrounding this case, he was grateful to have met someone so enchanting and full of life.
He was just walking up the stairs to his home when his cell phone rang. “Jack? It’s Ruben.”
Jack reached the top of the stairs and opened his front door. “You at home, or work?”
“Work.”
Jack glanced at his watch. “Burning the midnight oil?”
“Good time to avoid curious eyes.”
Jack could hear Ruben working a keyboard. “What’s up?”
“Been trying to find the confidential informant. No luck.”
“Nothing?”
“Everything’s been destroyed. No hard copy in the paper files, nothing on the computer. There should be a confidential file with a code number from the San Diego SAC authorizing the agent to manage the CI. Not even that.”
Jack thought about Sam’s godfather, FBI assistant deputy director Fred Kirkland in Washington. “You’d need someone way over our pay grade to do that.”
“One other thing. Dean Hearst from DHS called me. He said NSA was doing a routine rundown of all investigator calls and found a bunch of cell phone calls to a burner.”
“So?”
“They triangulated the origin of the calls. They all came through the cell tower closest to San Francisco’s FBI HQ. Does Sam have a burner?”
“I don’t know.” Jack stared at the ceiling. “I think it’s time I talked to her and find out. Right now.”
“Watch yourself. She’s trouble.”
“Will do. Go home.”
Samantha lived in an executive apartment tower north of City Hall, on Van Ness Avenue. It was a modern, 12-story tower clad in cream and grey tiles. The first floor, which started adjacent to the sidewalk, housed a coffee and sandwich shop. The next three floors were offices. The residential portion of the tower had been set back to create a patio and pool area atop the offices. The apartments were fronted with three-sided window bays.
The 10th floor of the tower had been leased out by the FBI on a long-term basis to house agents who were seconded to the San Francisco office on extended tours. Jack had been in the various apartments on several occasions to socialize with visiting agents. He glanced upwards to the southwest corner, where a light burned in Samantha’s window. Adjusting his windbreaker over his shoulder holster, he approached the front door.
The night concierge, wearing a Giants ball-cap, was sitting behind a reception desk topped with granite. He glanced up from a tablet running sports highlights. “Hey, Jack, long time no-see.”
“Sanjay.” Jack pointed to the tablet. “You been watching Giants’ spring training?”
“Man, those guys really need a bullpen. Who you here to see?”
“Samantha Van Dusen in ten-o-one.”
Sanjay picked up his desk phone. “Want me to let her know you’re here?”
Jack held his cell phone in the air. “Already called.” He pointed to the lobby elevator. “Can you buzz me up?”
Sanjay pressed a button under the granite top, activating the elevator.
Jack waved as he climbed aboard, pushing the button for the tenth floor.
The hallway was lit by recessed pots, illuminating the pale green walls and flecked carpet tiles. Jack trod silently to the door marked 1001. He knew he shouldn’t be here alone. He knew he should check with Marge and Jasmine before doing anything else. But he’d also been nearly killed that morning and he was tired of risking his life. If he got into shit for taking matters into his own hands, so be it. He rapped lightly on the door
Several seconds passed before the dim light in the peephole winked out. It came back on as the person on the other side weighed his presence. The door finally cracked open, and Samantha peered out, examining him in the dim hallway light. “Jack?”
“Got a minute?”
Samantha opened the door slightly wider and glanced down the hallway, checking to see if Jack was alone. She finally opened the door wide, inviting him in. “What brings you here?”
“I was out for a walk, thinking. I saw your light. We need to talk.”
When Jack entered, he noticed that Samantha was wearing a black dress with high heels and a set of pearls. He glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen. A bottle of Champagne was chilling in an ice bucket on the counter. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Ah, no.”
“You dress up and drink Champagne by yourself every Sunday?”
Samantha appeared slightly flustered. “It’s uhm, an old ritual from my sorority days. It’s Audrey Hepburn’s birthday today. We used to get dressed up in pearls and celebrate with a glass of bubbly.”
“Ah.”
Samantha pointed to the kitchen. “Can I get you a glass?”
“No thanks.” Jack moved toward the living room. He glanced around the room. A single cup of tea sat on the coffee table. She appeared to be alone.
Samantha indicated a stuffed chair before she sat down on the couch. She glanced at a slim gold watch on her wrist. “There was something you wanted to talk about?”
Jack eased himself into the chair. “I remember you telling me you went to live with your aunt after your parents died.”
Samantha glanced down at her hands. “It isn’t a time in my life that I talk about a lot.”
“So I hear. Like the time you spent in psychiatric detention.”
Samantha glanced up, startled.
“It’s time to start talking.”
Samantha stared at Jack, weighing her decision in her mind, before speaking. “I spent four months in Dartmouth Hospital, north of Boston, under psychiatric care.”
“Why?”
“I suspect you know why.”
“Chasing a man with a knife down the street?”
“I assume you came here to find out why.”
“Yes.”
“He tried to rape me.” Samantha picked up her tea, sipped it then placed the cup back down on the table. “I was 17. He was my Aunt Dotty’s chauffeur. Everyone else was out of the house. He approached me in the kitchen and pinned me from behind onto the island and lifted my skirt. There was a butcher block on the counter. I grabbed a knife and cut his thigh. He fled, and I chased him.”
“Why didn’t you press charges?”
Samantha sighed. “I wanted to. My aunt took me to see Uncle Vick. There were no witnesses to the assault, just me chasing him down the street. It was a he-said, she-said. He claimed his injuries were unprovoked. Uncle Vick was appalled that it would reflect badly on the family. I was hung out to dry. He arranged for me to be confined in a licensed facility for four months in order to make everything go away.”
Jack stared at his shoes. That neatly explained why she was never prohibited from joining the FBI. “What happened between you and your ex-partner in San Diego, Archie McNall?”
Samantha rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “I wondered how long it would take for that to surface.” She crossed her arms. “I assume you know the official version?”
Jack nodded.
Samantha sighed. “Archie was a lush. That’s why I got assigned to him. No one else wanted him. The day of the stakeout, I never got his call. Washington did an investigation and found he dialed the wrong number. They kept it confidential so that he could retire quietly and collect his pension. I was left holding the bag. Everyone assumed that ‘Uncle Freddy’ pulled my bacon from the fire.”
“Did Uncle Freddy also pull the file on your Yakuza CI?”
Samantha stood up. “I think it’s time you left.”
Jack stood. “A handful of good agents almost got killed this morning because someone revealed where Chuck Yamaguchi was hiding. Someone with connections to the Yakuza.”
Samantha’s face screwed up in confusion, then comprehension, then anger. She spoke very low. “Get out. Get out now.”
Jack moved toward the door without another word.
Chapter 37
Monday, April 1
The following morning, Jack rose early from a restless sleep. The morning was foggy and damp. He donned his running kit and a waterproof shell and set out east, toward the harbour. Except for a SFPD patrol car and taxis, the streets were deserted. A mist hung around the street lights, making the fog glow a pale butter color.
For most of the night, Jack’s mind had whirled in a muddle. Everything that Sam had said seemed to make sense. In his heart, she didn’t seem to be the kind of person who would betray her colleagues. Yet he hadn’t thought that way about Nate Portillo either, until he tried to kill him and Marge. And, if Sam wasn’t the mole, then who was? Frustrated, he cut his run short and turned for home.
When Jack got to the FBI office, Jasmine was at her desk poring over the list of potential detonator manufacturers. He put down a coffee and a muffin on her desk and sat down. “I went to confront Sam last night.”
Jasmine opened the lid of her coffee and added a packet of sugar. “Why?”
“Ruben called. The files on Sam’s CI have completely disappeared. He also said NSA found someone making calls from a burner in this office. I decided it was time to get some answers.”
Jasmine nodded slowly. “What did you ask?”
“I questioned her first about the knife. She says she chased the guy after he tried to rape her.”
“She tell you about her screw-up with Archie?”
“He was drunk and called the wrong number. Washington put the clamps on the subsequent review to save face.”
“You believe her?”
“We need to check it all out, but yeah, I believe her.”
“But you’re not convinced.”
Jack shook his head, no. “When I asked her about the missing Yakuza CI file, she threw me out.”
“Marge ain’t gonna be happy.”
Jack sighed. “I know. But things are getting too crazy - I had to try and force Sam’s hand.”
Jasmine nodded toward her door. “We might as well go face the firing squad.”
When Jack and Jasmine arrived at Marge’s office, Samantha was already there, sitting at a meeting table near the window. Marge was behind her desk holding her phone. Her face was grim. “I was just about to call you.” She pointed toward the table. “Have a seat.”
Jack eased himself into a chair across from Samantha. She was dressed in her usual business suit, with her hair pulled back in a bun. She refused to look Jack in the eye, staring at her hands folded on the table.
Marge came and sat between Jack and Samantha. “Sam and me have been talking. She’s got something to tell you.”
Samantha raised her gaze and stared directly at Jack. “When I said I was dressed up to celebrate the birthday of Audrey Hepburn, that wasn’t true.”
Jack, who had been expecting the guillotine to fall, raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What?”
“I was waiting for Michi Cornwell to arrive. For the last two years, we’ve been having a secret affair.” Samantha’s cheeks turned red. “I know it was wrong, but I was terribly lonely, and he was very unhappy about the break-down of his marriage.” She glanced at Marge. “He asked me to buy an anonymous phone, a secret phone, so he could call me.”
“Tell us what you talked about,” said Marge.
Samantha wrung her hands. “We talked about our childhoods. He was such a sweet listener. He made me feel happy.”
Marge leaned forward, staring at Samantha. “I mean work.”
Samantha shifted back in her seat, intimidated by Marge’s glare. “Not much at first – just general chit-chat about cases in San Diego. That’s why I was surprised when he wanted to know about Dag Hammerson’s murder.”
“He wanted our file?” asked Marge.
“I told him that wasn’t possible. He got very upset. I felt terrible…I told him more than I should.”
Marge glanced at Jack. “He ask about Chuck Yamaguchi?”
“Yes. He called yesterday morning. I said they had found him.” Samantha placed her hands over her face and began to cry. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop snivelling.” Marge held out her hand. “You’re under suspension pending judicial review. Give me your badge and gun.”
Sobbing, Samantha complied.
Marge held out her hand once more. “Now, gimme your office cell phone and Michi’s burner.” She gathered them in as Samantha laid them on the table. “You talk to Michi after Jack left?”
“No. He never came.”
“Good.” An officer appeared at the door. “Mandy, take Agent Van Dusen to detention room #3 and wait with her there. If she attempts to contact anyone, cuff her and call me.”
In shock, Samantha rose and followed Mandy out.
Jack waited silently until the door closed. “It fits. When we met with Dee-Dee, Michi specifically asked about the exact apartment. When we were waiting for Ruben to arrive in LA, he stepped out with his smokes and cell phone. He could have easily contacted Gomo and set up the hit.”
Marge leaned back in her chair. “But why?”
“I don’t know.” Jack rose from his chair. “Can you wait here for a second? I need to talk to someone.”
Jack went back to his office, closed the door, and dialed Ruben in San Diego. “You alone?”
“Yeah, just typing a report in my office. How’d it go last night with Samantha?”
“Good. I need some info on somebody, though.”
“Sure. Who?”
“Michi Cornwell. We think he’s dirty.”
Ruben was silent for a moment. “This is off-the-record?”
“Totally. Start with his family background. I understand he’s part-Asian.”
“Yeah. His mom is from Okinawa. She met his dad when he was serving as an officer in the US Navy. Michi was born and grew up in San Diego. Got a forensic studies degree from a local college and applied to the FBI. They were happy to have a guy who spoke fluent Japanese.”
“Why did he quit?”
“He had some beef with the San Diego SAC and filed a complaint with HR in Washington. I don’t know what it was about, but he’s the kind of guy who carries a chip on his shoulder all the time.”
“How’d it pan out?”
“Bad. They ruled against him. His marriage went sour and his ex-wife took a big chunk of his wallet. He’s been working security at North Station ever since.”
“Thanks. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Jack returned to Marge’s office, where she and Jasmine were poring over the case file. “I just talked to Ruben. Michi left the FBI with a big grudge.”
“You think bad enough to go rogue with Yakuza?” asked Jasmine.
“Ruben says his wife left him for broke. He’s half Japanese and fluent in the language. What better way to get back at Uncle Sam and make a few bucks than crawl into bed with Gomo?”
“OK, we got motive,” said Marge. “How do we get proof?”
“We set a trap.”
Jack and Jasmine went to detention room #3. Mandy was standing adjacent to the door. Jack nodded to her to give them time alone with the suspect, and she left.
Samantha was sitting at a chair in front of a small desk, staring at its surface. Her cheeks were smeared with mascara and tears. When Jack and Jasmine entered, she straightened her back to face them. “Have you decided on my fate already?”
