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When Angie darted between the two houses and into the alley behind them, Rand had a man face down on the ground, knee in his back. The launcher was just feet away as if Rand had thrown it out of reach.
He looked at her and shook his head. “Figures,” he said, and sighed. “You don’t have any rope, do you? I suppose handcuffs are out of the question? Zip ties?”
Angie considered what she had in her camera bag. “Computer cable?” she said and rummaged for the cord that allowed her to download her photos to the computer.
“That will do,” he agreed. She handed it to him, and then stepped back so that the man couldn’t make a grab for her. The things you learn hanging out with Mac, she thought wryly.
“Is that the man I pulled a gun on this morning?” she asked.
“You what?” Rand said incredulously. “Did you pistol-whip him, too?”
“No, Mac did that,” Angie said, studying the man. He had a bandage along his cheek. But he was younger than she had thought this morning — her age, maybe even younger. He was a small man — or she’d just gotten used to Mac and Rand. When he smiled at her, she thought he was probably used to being considered good-looking.
That bandage did interfere with the charm, she thought with a snort. Mac had been pissed. The man had broken into their home!
“He tell you why he’s shooting big-ass bottle rockets at the Fairchild House yet?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Rand said grimly. “But he will.”
Rand got to his feet and pulled the other man up. “Can you carry that?” he asked, nodding his head toward the launcher.
Angie eyed the launcher. Probably weighs 30 pounds — not unlike her backpack when they were out hiking. But she had her camera bag.... She shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Not that and my camera bag.”
She grabbed it and tugged it deeper into the weeds by the foundation of the house. “You can come back for it — you’d look conspicuous carrying it over your shoulder.”
Rand nodded his agreement, then focused on the next challenge. “We need a way to the alley behind Fairchild House,” Rand said. “Preferably a route that doesn’t take us past all those university cops who might question why I’ve got a man tied up with a computer cable.”
“On Greek Row?” Angie said, snickering. “Other than you are too old for a hazing stunt, it wouldn’t get commented on.” She pointed north. “We can go up that way, then dodge to the east a half block and come back down the other alley.”
Rand started off, shoving the man ahead of him. Angie walked along his other side. “You got a name?” she asked the man conversationally. “We weren’t properly introduced this morning.”
The man glanced at her with that same half-smile, but he didn’t answer. Rand jerked up on the man’s bound hands, making him grunt. “Answer the lady.”
“Myint,” the man said reluctantly.
“No last name?” Angie asked.
“The Myanmar people don’t use last names or family names,” Rand answered absently.
Myint glanced at him, then nodded. “You know my people?”
“Burmese?” Rand asked. “You are Burmese, correct? Not another ethnic group from within Myanmar?”
“Correct, Burmese,” the man said. Angie noticed that there was very little accent to his speech — if anything, he sounded Canadian. Well, maybe he was Canadian, for all she knew.
“Angie? Can you check it out?” Rand asked, nodding to the street ahead.
Angie pulled up the camera to her eyes as if she was still out shooting photographs and walked into the street. She turned back to Rand and nodded, and then kept walking toward the next alley. Just because this side street seemed deserted, didn’t mean there weren’t people looking out windows. Given what was happening just blocks away, it was almost a given there were watchers. She stopped at the Fairchild’s alley, and turned back and snapped a photo of one of the fraternities. And then one of Rand and his prisoner — Mynit? No, Myint. She thought that was right. Once in the alley, she stopped and waited for Rand to come alongside.
“I heard a rifle shot earlier,” she said.
“I heard it too,” Rand said grimly. He looked down at the smaller man he was escorting. “Would you know anything about that?”
The man smirked but said nothing.
“Mac thought the Fairchild House got put on a look-away list,” Angie said, watching the Burmese man for his reaction. “Looks like there is an intersection between these two stories after all.”
Myint looked at her quickly. “You have spoken to Mackensie Davis recently?”
“You mean since your attempt to have McBride kill him?” Angie said politely. “Yes. It failed.”
“I told him,” Myint muttered. “I told him we should back out. Fulfilling the Senior General’s request for the girl wasn’t reasonable. I told him he needed to be honest with the Senior General. But he would not do it. He said one did not say no to the Senior General, and that I had been in this country too long. He said he would recommend I be sent home for re-training when we got back to Vancouver.”
Rand grunted. “A death sentence,” he observed. “Perhaps we can discover better options than that.”
Myint glanced at him. “Perhaps,” he agreed.
Well now, Angie thought with satisfaction. That had promise. Of course, this was the man who had been firing rockets at the Fairchild House roof. How trustworthy could he be?
Rand’s decision. They reached the gate to the Fairchild House, which was locked. It had better be, Angie thought, stifling a laugh. She pounded on it, and Stan came to let them in.
“We heard a shot,” Rand observed pushing Myint into the courtyard. Angie looked around the small garden with dismay. There had to be eight or nine spent rockets piled in the center of the space. She looked up at the roof. A young man — Tim, she guessed — was standing up there leaning against a broom. She brought up her camera and took some photos. A young woman — Maiah — was in the window. A hose stretched up to the roof, and it looked like it had a sprinkler head on it. Maiah was holding onto what looked like a sheet twisted into a rope. The other end of it was at Tim’s feet.
“Got him,” Rand called up. “You can come down, now.”
Tim nodded and carefully worked his way back to the window; Maiah helped him inside, and then they pulled the window closed.
“Yeah,” Stan Warren said, answering Rand’s earlier question. “A sharpshooter is across the street — probably the same spot as the last time.” He shook his head briefly. “He missed me, but we’ve been trapped in here for the last hour.”
Rand still had a firm grip on the man he’d caught. “Well?” he said. “You want to call off your partner?”
“I am sure he is gone,” Myint said. “Once the rockets stopped, he would know. He would not linger.”
“Leave the area? Or leave the country?” Rand asked.
Myint hesitated. “The country,” he admitted.
Rand grimaced and found his phone. He looked up a number and called it.
“It’s well after midnight,” Stan cautioned.
“Don’t care,” Rand returned. He hit redial. Someone picked up. “Those men we discussed earlier? They made a run at two FBI agents tonight. I’ve taken one into custody, but we believe the other is running for the border. Can you grab him?”
Rand listened for a moment, then looked at Myint. “Name,” he snapped.
“Khin,” the man said, after looking at the two grim men who had him in their custody.
Rand passed it on. “Call me back,” Rand said. He looked toward the front of the house.
“He may have ditched the rifle. Sounded like an AR-15,” Rand said thoughtfully.
Angie watched Rand and Stan stare at each other. It was kind of cool, as if they could communicate with just that look. Maybe they could. That would explain a few things about men, who seemed incapable of using their words.
“Would you all be interested in food?” Naomi asked from the door into the house. “I could fix breakfast. It has been a long night. And I do appreciate everything you’ve done to keep us safe.”
“Since we may have brought the trouble down on you, that’s generous of you to say,” Rand said, smiling at her. Angie studied him. It was almost as if he was interested in her. Well, that would be new. In the last year, she’d gotten to know Rand rather well. But she’d never seen him with anyone. She’d even wondered if he might be gay and was keeping quiet about it. The FBI wasn’t particularly welcoming to gay agents, she’d heard. Turned out Mac was easy about gay people, another surprise for her to discover, but he said he didn’t think Rand was gay. She guessed it was because of his aunt. But she’d never seen Rand with a man either. A loner, Mac said with a shrug. Well Mac had always been a loner too, Angie pointed out, but he never lacked for female companionship. Mac had then teased her about trying to set up all the people she knew. Well, yes? Didn’t everyone?
When Rand sat Myint down at the patio table, she followed them. Maiah came out of the house to listen, which she thought was interesting. And of course, Tim followed where Maiah went. She thought that was cute.
“I’ve got questions,” Rand told Myint. Myint nodded, unsurprised. Rand looked at Angie. “Can you videotape it? Leave my face out of it.”
Angie busied herself setting up her videocamera, and then she heard Mac’s voice. She lifted her head, seeking him out. There he was — with some stranger in tow — but he was here.
“Angie?” Rand said patiently. “Video this?”
Angie got the camera rolling, and Rand began his questions.
***
Once inside the house, Mac stopped and stared. Was that Angie on the patio? Rand was out there too, with a man Mac didn’t recognize from the back, but it looked like he had his hands tied behind his back. Huh. Janet was in the kitchen with Naomi. Janet looked up at him. “Angie updated us as of an hour or so ago,” she said. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“Looks like you all have been too,” Mac said dryly. “What the hell is going on?” He glanced at Naomi and winced. “Sorry.”
She just laughed at him. “You don’t know how amused I was to watch you struggle to clean up your language,” she said. “Did you think the math professors and the students don’t swear in front of me?”
Mac shrugged uncomfortably. “It seemed the respectful thing to do,” he mumbled. She smiled at him.
“The newsroom most certainly appreciated your efforts, Naomi,” Janet said dryly. “Are you hungry, Mac? We’re making breakfast.”
“Not you,” chorused three men immediately.
Naomi looked horrified. “She can’t cook,” Mac explained. “We learned out at the Parker House. Her notion of breakfast is a bowl of cereal, and we’re grateful, because she can almost handle that without messing it up.”
Janet laughed. “I can clean up the mess and fetch what she needs from the refrigerator,” she pointed out. She followed Naomi into the kitchen.
“Didn’t you grow up in Jehovah’s Valley?” Mac heard Naomi ask, her confusion was obvious.
“Yes,” Janet said. “And yes, I know how to cook a big farm breakfast. But don’t tell them. I’m fine with them thinking I can’t cook. Stan can, though.”
Mac grinned at Stan, who shrugged. “Self-defense,” he murmured, and Mac laughed.
Still chuckling, Mac looked around for Tim. Looked like he was still guarding Maiah. They were out on the patio, hoping Rand didn’t notice and throw them out of his interview, if Mac had to guess. Mac caught Tim’s eye, and gestured with his head to the hallway. Tim reluctantly joined him.
“I need all the photos on this phone backed up on a computer. Can you do that?” Tim’s eyeroll told him he could. Mac handed over his laptop. “Take it downstairs,” Mac warned. “I don’t want anyone to realize what you’re doing.”
Tim hesitated at that, his eyes going to Maiah.
“She’s safe,” Mac said gently. “You can trust us to watch over her.”
“I’m being stupid, aren’t I?” Tim mumbled, his face flushing.
Mac shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s never stupid to want to protect someone who needs protection. But she’s not alone in this, and neither are you. We’ve got your back.”
Tim looked at him suspiciously, but finally nodded a bit jerkily when he saw Mac meant it. “She protected me when I was the roof,” he said. “It’s more like we have each other’s back, you know?”
Mac’s eyes found Angie, and he smiled. “Yeah, he said. “I do know.”
Tim saw where Mac was looking, and his shoulders lost their defensive hunch. “All right, give me the phone,” he said. “Password?”
Mac gave it to him. Tim’s eyes widened as he saw the amount of photos on the phone. “It’s already in the cloud,” he muttered, talking to himself really. “OK, I can do this. But it’s not going to be fast.”
Mac shrugged. “Just set it up and let it download. It takes the time it takes.” Mac hesitated. “I need the metadata attached to the images.”
“Duh,” Tim said. “It actually takes work to erase the metadata — as if you know what that is.”
“I need the date stamp,” Mac said, making it clear, because Tim was right, he didn’t know what metadata was, not for sure. It was just the term Shorty used. “And location.”
Tim nodded. “Got it.” He took both the phone and the laptop downstairs.
Mac found Stan and gestured to the dining room. “We gotta talk.”
Stan leaned against the table, but Mac was too restless for that. He paced while he told Stan everything that had gone on, and most importantly, Nick Rodriguez’s reaction.
“He’s got to follow the rules, Mac,” Stan said quietly. He looked out to the living room where Daniel was sitting, looking a bit lost. Janet had joined him, and they were talking. Janet would have the complete story out of him before long. Good — he felt like there were too many moving parts and they were all spinning out of his control.
Mac nodded. “I get that,” he answered Stan. “And I want him to be able to follow the rules. But not at the expense of Daniel’s life. You and I both know that if Daniel goes into a jail cell, the odds aren’t good that he’s alive on Monday. Not if McBride knows where he is — and he will. Downtown holding cells are one of the first places he’ll look. I’m not even sure I trust the department’s safe houses.”
Mac grinned briefly. “The call is coming from within the house.”
Stan rolled his eyes at that, but he didn’t disagree.
“It’s like being a soldier,” Mac said, slowly reasoning it out as he went. “Being in the military means doing things to protect the democratic process back home. I want democracy to work. I want all of the foolish things people say and do to be protected. I want people to be able to make their own choices, live good lives. People matter in a democracy — of the people, for the people, by the people, right? The military’s job is to make it safe for them to do that.”
Mac paced in the room — hard to do around the big table and chairs that dominated the space. It took him past the open door, back to the entry and to the living room beyond. He glanced out there, then back to Stan. “That’s what pissed me off about Iraq,” he said. “Bush and Cheney lied to the American people so they could take us to war for their own purposes. In doing that, they thwarted democracy. They didn’t follow the rules. They lied to us in the military too. Our intelligence on what we faced was compromised. And the country fell apart — the housing market crash, the 24/7 surveillance of civilians, the militarization of police — all of that was because the leaders chose not to follow the rules of democracy.”
“Sometimes I forget you went to college,” Stan observed.
Mac grunted. “Even paid attention in class.” He paced some more. “So I want a city where Nick Rodriguez can follow the rules. Where the court process can take as long as it needs to take. But someone has to make that city safe while all that happens. Safe for a man like Daniel who is in over his head in a huge corruption case but doesn’t deserve to die for it — nor should he die just so the process can grind on. You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs isn’t much comfort to the egg.”
Stan shrugged a bit in acknowledgement. “Hired a wolf as a sheepdog,” he murmured. Mac rolled his eyes. He’d heard Stan’s description of him before. He didn’t argue with the metaphor, he just didn’t get what the big deal was. “So you think it’s your job to make the city safe for that process?” Stan asked. “A bit of megalomania, isn’t it?”
“Not mine, personally,” Mac said. “But journalism’s role? Isn’t it the newspaper’s role? Janet firmly believes it is. She thinks the pen is mightier than the sword. And I want her to be right. So I’m willing to try that route. Try it first, at least.” He had other tools if he needed them. He would always feel better knowing he had a gun if he needed it. “I think I can write some stories that will make the city safer. That will allow the rules to work. But that takes time too.” Mac rolled his eyes. “Not as long as the courts seem to take, but I need a week. What I just got from Daniel will break open this story. I can feel it.”
In fact it was all he could do not to start making calls, even if it meant waking people up at 0-dark-30. “But I gave him my word,” Mac said, with another glance out the door to the man he’d brought here. “He needs to be in a safe house Seattle cops don’t know about. And he needs to be guarded by someone who isn’t a Seattle cop.”
Mac took a deep breath and met Stan’s eyes. “And the FBI has a place, don’t they? You don’t trust the PD either.”
Stan was silent for a moment, and for another moment, Mac thought he might deny it. Thought he might express his support for the Seattle Police Department. The two of them had been through a lot together, but Mac was asking him to break the code where cops supported cops.
“No, we don’t trust the SPD’s holding cells or safe houses,” Stan said finally, with a sigh. “Yes, we have a safe house.” He gestured with his head in the direction of the courtyard. “Might be occupied, however.”
Mac snorted. “That’s one of the Burmese guys, isn’t it? They can keep each other company. Compare notes. I’m betting those two agents are in Daniel’s phone. What do you think?”
Stan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully at that. “All right,” he said slowly. “I’ll take Daniel into protective custody in exchange for a copy of that phone database. That is what you’re having Tim do, right? Download the phone?”
Mac nodded.
“What are you going to do about Nick?” Stan asked. “You can’t just blow him off. He deserves better than that.”
“He’s probably downtown waiting for us,” Mac said. “I thought I’d invite him here to interview Daniel. If Naomi agrees. We’ve kind of taken over her house. What about her boarders?”
“They were at a church thing earlier,” Stan said. “They came home and into the house just fine. So did you, for that matter. It’s leaving that was problematic.”
Rand stuck his head in the room. “Heard back from my source at Border Control,” he said briefly. “We missed him. The sniper must have run as soon as he heard the rockets stop. He slipped through before they added him to the watch list.”
Fast, Mac thought. He had to have run right after he shot — he hung his partner out to dry. Angie had been recording that interview. He wanted to listen to it.
Turned out Maiah was part of a news story after all.
Mac watched as Janet glanced outside, and then headed toward the dining room. Mac tensed. “Trouble,” he said softly. Both FBI agents straightened.
“We’ve got cops outside,” Janet told them. “Seattle PD, not campus cops. Patrol cars with lightbars flashing.”
“We did call them hours ago,” Naomi said anxiously; she’d followed Janet into the room from the kitchen.
Stan nodded. “We did,” he said. “But showing up five hours late doesn’t require lights.” He considered it, ignoring the pounding on the door. He looked at Rand. “Get your man and Daniel downstairs in the basement.”
“Trapped there,” Rand observed.
Stan stared at him. “You were planning to make a run for the border too?”
Mac snickered at that. Rand grunted. “Got it,” he said, and headed to the living room. Mac watched Daniel go with him. And so did the Burmese agent.
And Angie. Well, she could get both interviews on tape.
“Call Rodriguez, Mac,” Stan ordered. Mac nodded and pulled out his phone. This was the agent-in-charge he’d come to respect at Parker House. And if he couldn’t get it done, they’d turn the project over to Janet and let her manage it. She just treated every crisis as if it were a cranky computer and they were on deadline. And she never failed to get it done — they’d learned to count on it at the Parker House. She stayed as calm under fire as she did on deadline in the newsroom.
Mac shook his head. He was in awe of his boss. He went into the kitchen to call Rodriguez from a place with a better view of the front entry, but Stan stayed in the doorway of the dining room. Closer to the front door. He was expecting trouble.
Mac chewed his lip — Stan was also expecting trouble, and Naomi was first in the line of fire. Angie said he divided the world into three groups — his squad, the enemy and non-combatants. She insisted that he needed to broaden his ‘squad’ category to include people like her, Janet, the other reporters in the newsroom — not as civilian embeds, but as partners. He supposed she was right. But no matter how you cut it, Naomi Fairchild was a non-combatant and deserved their protection. Instead they were sending her to the door? He didn’t like it. He couldn’t see any way around it, but he didn’t like it.
“We’re fine now,” Naomi said politely to the officer on the front porch. “The university police were able to handle it from Greek Row, I believe. The need for you was hours ago.”
Way to go, Mac thought, amused, and he relaxed a bit, and focused on his call.
“Where are you?” Rodriguez demanded. “I expected you to be here an hour ago.”
“Something came up,” Mac said, his attention divided between the phone conversation and the scene before him. “I’m still not feeling good about bringing my source downtown, Lieutenant. How about you meet us at the Fairchild House? Naomi Fairchild invited you to breakfast. It smells good.”
“Damn it, Mac,” Rodriguez said. “I got Lorde down here on your say-so.”
Mac bit his lip. He wanted to get off the phone. “Bring him too,” he said softly. “Nick? We’ve got trouble. I need you here.”
There was silence. “On our way,” Rodriguez said. “That’s that big Victorian, right? Where we cornered that Army of God wannabe?”
“That’s it,” Mac said gratefully. Rodriguez ended the call, and Mac turned back to the conversation at the front door.
The officer was looking nervously behind him. “We’re not here about that,” he stammered. He hadn’t expected to be confronted by a woman, Mac thought with amusement. And Mac knew the feeling; there was something about Naomi Fairchild that made you want to stand straight and speak clearly. Everybody’s sixth-grade teacher? Was that a cliché? He supposed it might be. He’d have to ask Janet. Actually, he would be very interested in Janet’s take on Naomi.
But what he really wanted was to see who was behind the cop.
“We’re in pursuit of a fugitive, and we have reason to believe he might have gone here,” the officer got out finally. “We need to search your place.”
“What?” Naomi exclaimed. “On top of everything else, you think there’s a fugitive in the neighborhood?” She shook her head. “Everyone in my house is here by my invitation, officer. You should look elsewhere. Are you looking for the man who fired at my guests earlier?”
“Uh...,” the young officer didn’t know what to say.
“I think the cops got the kids who were firing fireworks that nearly caught my roof on fire,” she said indignantly. “Maybe you should check with them. Good luck with your search.” She started to close the door.
Mac didn’t dare look at Stan for fear they’d both burst out laughing.
Then Sgt. McBride shouldered his way to the front, and it wasn’t funny anymore. “Ma’am, we are in pursuit of a fugitive,” he said. “You need to stand aside and let us in.”
“No,” Naomi said. “I do not have to let you in, and it is 2 a.m. in the morning. My boarders and my guests have been traumatized by the events of the evening — events that you couldn’t be bothered to show up for. You do not have my permission to enter for any reason. Good night.”
She started to shut the door, but Sgt. McBride was an old hand at this. He’d already gotten his foot in the door. “We’re coming in,” he said. “We have the authority do so when we’re in hot pursuit.”
Naomi hesitated at that, and Mac was about to intervene, when Stan did it instead.
“Hot pursuit, Sergeant?” Stan said politely. “Do you want to tell me who you were arresting and how he managed to escape you?”
“What the fuck is an FBI agent doing here?” McBride said.
“Language!” Naomi said severely. “This is a Christian home, Sergeant! I don’t hold with that kind of language.”
Mac was having a hard time holding back his laughter. He wanted Naomi Fairchild on his side anytime. Maybe Angie had a point, because right now it was the non-combatant 3, enemy 0.
“I was invited here with my partner for dinner,” Stan said. “Her son lives here. It has been quite the eventful evening. And I have been quite perturbed at the lack of responsiveness by the Seattle Police Department. I plan to discuss it with SAC Noble on Monday. Was your failure to respond to the campus police’s request for backup deliberate malfeasance, or just incompetence?”
“Look here, Warren, you have no jurisdiction here,” McBride said, ignoring his question. “Stand aside.”
“The burden of proof is on you, Sergeant, as you well know,” Stan said coldly. “Who are you pursuing? Where is the arrest warrant? Or a search warrant for this house?”
“Why? Does she have something to hide?” McBride asked snidely.
“I do have something to hide,” Naomi answered. “I have boarders who are asleep and who have the right to feel safe in their place of residence. And I have a responsibility as the owner of this boarding house to see to it that they do.”
“Like she said,” Stan Warren said with a nod of respect in her direction.
“Fine,” McBride said. “I’m in pursuit of Mac Davis, and the fugitive he’s helping to evade arrest, Daniel Garvey.”
“Mac Davis? He’s had a busy night, then,” Janet said, stepping out of the dining room and joining the conversation. She didn’t look in Mac’s direction. “I thought he was doing a ride-along with one of your officers tonight.”
McBride stared at her. “Who the hell are you?”
Mac’s eyes widened. McBride didn’t recognize her? Well that was one of the benefits of being a print editor, he supposed. But after the Parker House, he would have thought McBride would know them all. Too arrogant to care about his ignorance.
“I’m Janet Andrews,” she said serenely. “I’m the news editor at the Seattle Examiner. And for my sins, I’m Mac’s boss. So I’d like to know what you’re accusing my reporter of? A reporter who was supposedly riding with your officer this evening?”
“I’d like to hear the answer to that too,” Nick Rodriguez said from the street. Mac couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see if he was in a wheelchair or using a cane. Couldn’t see if Lorde was with him. Mac bit his lip. Nick Rodriguez had come a long way since he was attacked nearly a year ago. But he still wasn’t the strong, physically fit man he’d once been. Mac wasn’t sure Nick remembered that.
“As would I,” said the crisp voice of Trevor Lorde. Bingo. “It’s not a question I’ve had to listen to before, Sgt. McBride. Do tell.”
“And what brings Internal Affairs here?” McBride blustered.
“Hardly any of your business,” Lorde responded. Mac snorted. The man had condescension down, he had to give him that.
“I think it is, if it has something to do with the fugitive I’m in pursuit of,” McBride said. He turned back to Naomi. “We’re coming in.”