| |
Alina unlocked the door to the condo and stepped inside, closing the door behind her silently.
“Jessica?” she called.
Movement came from the kitchen and Jessica poked her head out, a coffee pot in her hand.
“Si?”
“I have good news,” Alina told her in Spanish, moving forward toward the kitchen.
“I just made coffee,” Jessica offered, holding up the coffee pot. “Would you like some?”
“I'd love some.”
Alina followed her into the kitchen and watched as Jessica pulled a second mug from the cabinet. She glanced around, noting the spotless counters and sink, and raised an eyebrow.
“Haven't you been eating?” she asked as Jessica poured coffee into the mug.
“Yes, but I have nothing to do all day but worry,” Jessica replied. “So I clean. Do you take cream or sugar?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
Jessica nodded and handed her the mug of black coffee before setting the pot back into the machine and reaching for the milk for her own coffee.
“What's this good news?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Have you found Jenaro?”
“Yes.” Alina sipped her coffee. “I know where he is and soon he won't be a threat to you anymore.”
“I can go home soon?” Jessica asked hopefully, turning to face her.
Alina looked at her, her lips curving slightly.
“You can come with me now,” she told her softly. “You see, I also found Marcus.”
Jessica gasped and set her coffee down, her dark eyes flaring wide as a big smile crossed her drawn, tired face.
“Is he ok? Where is he? Is he hurt?” she asked, the questions rolling off her tongue in rapid-fire Spanish. “When did you find him? Does Jenaro know he's gone?”
Alina waited for her to finish, sipping her coffee. When Jessica finally ran out of questions, she glanced up.
“He's fine,” she told her. “Jenaro doesn't know he's gone yet, but he will. Marcus is safe right now. I can take you to him, but you will have to answer questions.”
“Where is he?”
“With the FBI,” Alina said, setting her mug down on the counter. “They have a lot of questions for you, I'm sure. I've given them the transcript we agreed on of what you told me, but if I know Agent Walker, she'll have a lot more that she wants to know.”
“You trust this Agent Walker?” Jessica asked.
“I do.”
“Then we shall go,” Jessica announced.
Alina nodded.
“There's something else,” she murmured. “Rachel was with Marcus when I found him.”
“Rachel?” Jessica exclaimed.
“Jenaro took her to control Marcus,” Alina explained slowly. “When she wouldn't discipline him for trying to escape, and actually helped instead, Jenaro decided additional help was needed.”
“Oh God.” Jessica leaned against the counter, her face paling. “I know Jenaro. I know what that means.”
“Rachel is...not recognizable right now,” Alina said, trying to be tactful. “She'll be ok, but I want you to be prepared. She placed herself between Marcus and the bastard sent to keep them in line.”
“How bad is she?” Jessica asked.
“Pretty bad,” Alina answered truthfully.
“And the man?”
“Worse,” Viper said softly.
Jessica shivered at the calm chill in her voice, but she nodded in satisfaction.
“Good. Does Marcus blame himself?”
“I think so.” Alina shrugged. “I'm not used to children, but I know I'd blame myself. Agent Walker will be able to tell you more. I took him to safety, then left him with Rachel while I attended to Karl.”
“Karl!” Jessica cried in surprise. “The nice guard from the museum?”
“Yeah, he had everyone fooled,” Alina said, glancing at her watch. “Come on. If I'm going to get you to your son today, we have to go now.”
“I'm ready now,” Jessica announced, running out of the kitchen and grabbing her purse from the living room.
Alina nodded and walked over to turn off the coffee pot. She did a once through the apartment, then went to the door and opened it, stepping outside into the plush hallway. Jessica followed her and Alina locked the door behind them. She smiled at Jessica.
“Soon, you and your family will be free of the Casa Reino Cartel,” she said softly.
Jessica's eyes suddenly swam with tears.
“I prayed to the Virgin Mary every day since Gomez came back. I knew she would send us help,” she whispered. “You're an angel, sent from the Holy Mother.”
Viper blinked and turned to walk down the hall.
“God help us all if that's true,” she murmured under her breath.
John got out of the SUV, taking in the abandoned shell of a building before them. The old factory was almost part of the landscape now, with ivy growing up the sides and creeping along the edges of the roof. What used to be the parking area was completely overrun with weeds and grass that erupted through the old, cracked cement, and the road leading there was little more than a path now. The old building had every indication of being forgotten by man, the space reclaimed by nature.
“I see what you mean about it being uninhabitable,” Blake murmured, joining him in front of the SUV. “Why is this even still here?”
“Who knows,” John said, shaking his head. “Probably cost too much to take it down when it closed, then it got forgotten over the years.”
He looked around and paused, his eyes narrowing at the sight of several red mulberry trees at the side of the building. John pressed his lips together, staring at them thoughtfully until Blake pulled his attention away.
“We're not the first visitors,” he said, nodding to some fresh tire tracks a few feet away.
John glanced at them and went over to get a closer look.
“There are two sets here,” he called, bending down. “Definitely recent.”
“Well, that's a good start,” Blake answered, pulling out his gun and flipping off the safety. “You want to take the back, or go in together?”
John straightened up and pulled out his 9mm, glancing around the deserted wilderness.
“Let's go in together,” he said.
Blake nodded and they started across the crumbling cement walkway toward the entrance of the factory. The bottom of the old front door had been painted at one time, but now it was just a rusted, steel half-door with broken glass in the top and a broken lock. Blake pushed the door open and stepped inside. John followed, holding his gun up near his shoulder, his eyes scanning the entryway they found themselves in. The front area was surprisingly intact, with a counter dividing the area in half. A door behind the counter led to the factory floor beyond, visible through a long, empty section that presumably held plate glass when the building was in use. Blake glanced down the short hallway at the other end of the entryway and then looked at John. John nodded and they moved down the short hallway. Three doors in the hallway were ajar. Two were restrooms and the third led to a stairwell, covered in graffiti and layered with dirt and dead leaves that had blown in through a gaping hole in the outer wall where a window used to be.
“Do you think the stairs actually go anywhere anymore?” Blake asked, peering up the steel stairs to the closed door at the top.
“If they do, I can guarantee the floor won't hold you,” John answered. “It has to be rotted away. There's hardly any roof left.”
Blake nodded in agreement.
“Let's check out the factory floor,” he said, turning to go back down the short hallway.
“What would Gomez want with an old empty building like this?” John wondered out loud.
“Any number of things,” Blake answered, ducking under the counter. “If it was closer to home, I'd say he was using it to run contraband, but this is a long way to go.”
“Could they be considering expanding their operations to the northeast?” John asked, swinging his legs over the counter and sliding across.
Blake glanced at him.
“If they are, then we have a much larger problem on our hands,” he murmured. “It's bad enough that we can't keep them out of the border states. The last thing we need is a two-front war with these guys.”
Blake passed through the door to the factory floor, his gun securely in his hands, glancing to the left as John followed him and went to the right. They moved apart silently, eyes ever watchful, and began to move around the perimeter of the old floor. After checking the floor above and finding it non-existent between the support beams, Blake tucked his weapon back into its holster. He looked around, taking in the old graffiti on the walls and the swept out floor.
“Looks like they've cleaned it out,” he called across the floor to John. “They're using it for something. They took the time to get out all the trash.”
John nodded and looked across the huge room to the one corner that didn't seem as desolate as the rest of the building.
“What's that?” he called, nodding to the back corner closer to Blake.
Blake turned his head and frowned, moving forward. Shadows hung heavily over the corner, partially concealing a folding camping table and two folding chairs. A tall tripod held a huge spotlight pointed into the corner, and an orange, all-weather extension cord ran across the floor to a portable, battery generator near the wall.
“They have a generator to run a light,” Blake replied, crossing the large space.
“Free office space?” John asked, crossing over from the other side.
Blake stopped dead when he got a whiff of the sour smell hanging over the corner. His eyes narrowed sharply.
“Not quite,” he muttered, moving forward and going over to the spotlight. Reaching out, he flipped it on, illuminating the corner.
John stopped dead beside him and they both stared at the blood stains splattered all over the walls and the darker, deeper stains covering the floor.
“Oh my God,” John breathed.
“I think we just found where Rodrigo was hacked to pieces,” Blake said grimly.
Angela stretched and looked around the dining room. Finding herself alone, she glanced at her watch and yawned, closing her laptop with a snap. Michael wasn't in the living room and silence filled the house. She went into the kitchen to get a soda out of the refrigerator, popping open the tab on the can and lifting it to her lips before the door had even closed.
Restlessness surged through her and Angela suddenly couldn't wait to get back to her own house. She wanted her own bed, her own kitchen and, most of all, her own food. There was nothing to snack on in this house except dried fruit and nuts.
Angela crossed the kitchen and strolled past the bar and over to the sliding doors. She sipped her soda while she looked out. The sun gleamed high above, shining brightly through the tops of the trees, the sky a bright, clear blue. Squirrels scampered over the grass, frantically searching for more nuts to store for the winter while birds flitted cheerfully through the air, singing loudly to each other as they enjoyed the fall day.
Shifting her gaze to the driveway, she watched as Michael pulled his head out from under his hood and wiped his hands on a rag. Angela opened the door and stepped outside, sliding it closed behind her.
“Hey!” she called, crossing the deck and tripping down the stairs. “Have you heard from Lina?”
Michael glanced over and shook his head.
“Nope.”
“Where did she go?” Angela asked, joining him next to his truck. Her chin stood level with the engine and he grinned.
“Damn, you're short,” he told her.
Angela's eyes narrowed and she glared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“I said you're short,” Michael answered cheerfully. “Look at you. You can barely see into the engine.”
“You shouldn't drive monster trucks,” she retorted.
“Babe, this isn't a monster truck,” he said, picking up a half-empty water bottle from the ground and raising it to his lips. “It's just a regular F-150 pickup.”
“It's a hillbilly car,” Angela shot back with a sniff, “and you didn't answer my question.”
“I don't know where she went,” Michael said after taking a long drink of water. “She said she had some things to take care of.”
“Do you think Kwan was one of those things?” Angela asked, leaning on the side of the truck.
“Why would you think that?” Michael asked. He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye as he leaned back over the engine.
“I don't know.” Angela shrugged. “I just think she's doing more than she says. She didn't seem at all concerned that Damon went walking off into the woods last night with Kwan draped over his shoulder. In fact, she seemed to think it was funny.”
“How does that translate into her doing something about him today?” Michael asked, his voice muffled as he reached deep into the bowels of the engine.
“She wasn't happy about staying behind while you two went out there,” she answered.
Michael lifted his hand out of the engine and turned his head to look at her, trying to follow her train of thought.
“Again, why does that make you think she's doing something about him today?” he asked with a frown.
“It doesn't,” Angela said, looking confused.
“Then why did you bring it up?”
“Because you asked why I thought she was taking care of Kwan,” she answered calmly.
Michael stared at her.
“You realize you're making absolutely no sense, right?” he asked.
“I make perfect sense!” Angela exclaimed, her eyes flashing. “Lina is supposedly in security consulting, and while I know that's a euphemism of some sort, I'm perfectly willing to play along. If she doesn't want me to know what she does for a living, that's fine. I have my theories, and if they're anywhere close to the truth, I don't think I want to know what she really does. Last night she was way too calm and in control to not have done stuff like that before. Granted, she was in military intelligence in the Navy, but I still think she did a heck of a lot more than just codes and ciphers. First, she got her panties all in a bunch because you and Damon went out into the woods to confront Kwan, when really she should have been thankful not to have to go out there. Then, once you guys were out there, she monitored your every move on that security system of hers, for all the world like she knew how to do it better than you. And, after all of that, when Damon disappeared with Kwan, she outright laughed. Laughed! And it was a satisfied laugh, like she was happy with the fact that Mr. Hunk O' Mysterious walked off with Kwan. It was almost like she knew he would do something you couldn't do. So, of course I think she's doing something with Kwan today. Why wouldn't I?”
Michael rubbed his forehead, a reluctant grin breaking across his face.
“Ok, then,” he said, turning back to his engine. “That makes sense.”
Angela's mouth dropped open and she stared at him, flabbergasted.
“That's all you have to say?!” she demanded. “I say all that and all you can say is,” she lowered her voice to imitate his, “'That makes sense?'”
“Oh, I could say a lot more, but I don't see the point,” Michael replied, glancing at her. “You seem to have it all figured out in that convoluted head of yours.”
“GAH!” Angela swung around to stomp away. “You're infuriating! I don't know why Lina thinks you're so great. I think you're a jerk!”
“What?” Michael's shoulders were shaking as he watched her flounce away. “I was agreeing with you!”
A sound reminiscent of a cat being strangled made its way back to him and a chuckle escaped him.
“Will you agree with me when my foot's up your ass?” Angela muttered to herself, stalking away. “Jerk. Typical, dumb, male jerk.”
“I can still hear you,” Michael's voice shook, “and you're too short to put your foot up my ass.”
“I'm not short!” Angela yelled over her shoulder. “I'm fun-sized!”
Michael burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the yard. Angela ignored him as she stalked up the deck and through the sliding door, closing it behind her viciously.
Neither of them noticed Hawk slip around the corner from the front of the house and disappear into the trees.
“Make sure you get plenty of good shots of that blood,” John instructed the photographers, motioning to the blood stains. “You know Agent Walker is going to want all angles since she can't be here.”
“Got it,” the photographer answered with a nod. “I'll get it all.”
“Good.”
John turned away and watched as the forensics team bore down on the corner of the factory. As soon as they realized what they were looking at, he had called in reinforcements. The building now crawled with techs and junior agents and he surveyed them all like a watchful mother hen.
“Ms. Walker can't make it?” Blake asked, pausing next to him on his way across the building with a handful of sealed evidence bags.
“She has the boy with her,” John replied. “After she heard what we found, she decided it was best not bring him along.”
“Good call,” Blake nodded, glancing back at the gruesome corner.
“You know, technically we still don't have anything to tie Jenaro to this place except the word of a high drug addict,” John remarked, walking with him toward the makeshift evidence pool they had set up near the front door. “It will take the lab days to process all this blood, and unless one of those cigarette butts in that bottle are an exact match to the one we found at the maze, those will take days as well.”
“That's why I'm still looking,” Blake retorted. “With any luck, we'll find something conclusive we can use now.”
“What do you want me to do?” John asked. “I've got half the techs collecting all the samples now, and the other half going through the building with a microscope.”
“Let's start outside.” Blake dropped his evidence bags into the box and turned to head out the door. “You take one side and I'll take the other. We're looking for anything that looks like it's only a few days old. That should narrow it down considerably.”
“You got it.”
John followed him outside and turned right while Blake went left. FBI vans and cars filled the overgrown parking lot, and police tape draped the lane leading to the factory. Jenaro wouldn't be returning any time soon. They had the whole area locked down.
John moved along the front of the building slowly. Weeds and ivy stretched along the base of the building, choking out any grass that used to grow there, and the amount of debris laying in the greenery was staggering. Old beer bottles, wine bottles and beer cans lay half-buried alongside more sinister items like old, broken syringes and rusty metal spoons. Plastic bags and half-deteriorated fast food wrappers peeked out from under drifts of multi-colored leaves and John shook his head. The waste depressed him and he sighed, nudging a newer-looking plastic bag with the tip of his shoe. After a few minutes of searching, he didn't find anything newer than a week old. He moved on.
“Smithe!” Blake yelled from the corner of the building at the other end.
John looked up to see him motioning to him. The big grin on Blake's face told him their search was over. John turned and jogged down the length of the building, gratefully leaving the waste and debris behind him.
“We've got him,” Blake told him as he grew closer, holding up an evidence bag. Inside lay a pill bottle.
“What is it?” John asked, stopping and reaching out a hand for the bag.
Blake handed it to him and John turned it over, tilting his head. The empty pill bottle was missing its lid and covered with dirt on one side where it had been laying on the ground. John shook the bag to turn the bottle so he could read the label.
“Juan Phillips?” John read, glancing up at Blake.
“Look at the medication,” Blake told him. “Forget about the name.”
“Amaryl?”
“It's Lorenzo's diabetes meds,” Blake explained. “Same drug, same dosage he's been taking for the past year. Look at the date.”
“It was filled two weeks ago,” John said, looking up.
Blake nodded, his eyes alight with the scent of the trail.
“And it has an address in Riverside.”