I WANTED TO get back to Marie in a hurry. I dialed Dan’s FBI phone. Dan picked up on the first ring. “What’s going on in there? Is everything all right?”
“We’re comin’ out, meet us out front, two vehicles, make one of them your Suburban.”
“Be there in thirty seconds.”
I hung up. “Come on, let’s get outta here.” I picked up the Valvoline box of cash. I stuck the .45 Smith and Wesson in my back waistband and pulled my shirt over it.
Drago didn’t have to, but he grabbed hold of Jumbo by the nape and shook him a little with each step as we walked through the store to the front door.
“Ouch, come on, man, leave go. I told you everything you wanted to know. And you got my money, for Christ’s sake. Tell ’im, Bruno, tell ’im to leave me go.”
“Jumbo, you shot him twice. Count yourself lucky you’re still breathin’.”
We got to the front door.
Locked.
A ball of keys hung from the lock. I turned the keys to open the door but not fast enough for Drago. He banged Jumbo off the door like a sock puppet again and again until I got it open. Jumbo went a little limp, his eyes glazed over.
The sunlight seemed much brighter and the nausea returned.
From off to the left, the dark-blue Suburban slid up in front of us. The two doors on the passenger side opened. Dan stepped out with another agent, a new guy dressed in a blue suit and a white dress shirt. Drago handed him Jumbo, then took out his sunglasses, put them on, and climbed into the Suburban.
Dan watched all this, not saying anything. He turned to me. “What’s going on, Bruno?”
“Keep Jumbo on ice, no phone calls, the same with what’s left of those guys inside.”
Dan nodded to the agent in the blue suit, who took Jumbo to the rear of the Suburban just as another Suburban pulled up. Two more agents jumped out. Blue Suit shoved Jumbo in. After a short discussion, the three agents drew their guns and ran into Jumbo’s auto parts store.
Dan said, “Bruno?”
Dan had a wiretap on the phone, and I’d hung him out to dry with the phone call asking where to find Jumbo and then showing up in the middle of his surveillance to do a war crimes interrogation. Dan didn’t bring up how I’d screwed him over. If he came away with the military drone, the Hellfire missiles, and the terrorist who wanted to buy it, nothing else would matter, especially the manner in which Dan pulled it off.
“The trade,” I said, “the money for the drone is scheduled to go down tonight, nine o’clock at a steak house on Hospitality Lane in San Bernardino. Bobby Ray has the drone on a semitruck, keeping it mobile. He’ll see the money, hand over the keys, and tell the buyer the location of the truck.”
All the visible stress left Dan’s body at the same time and he smiled. “Damn good work, Bruno.”
I handed him the Valvoline box. “This is mine. Don’t look in it. Just hold onto it for me and, if anything happens to me or Drago, get it to Marie, okay?”
“Sure, sure.”
“Can you give us a ride back to our truck?”
“You bet, get in.”
Blue Suit came out of the auto parts store, grabbed Dan by the arm, and pulled him aside. He whispered, urgently waving his hands, his expression one of confusion and fear.
I waited to get in, to see how Dan would react to the mess we had made inside.
Dan pulled away from Blue Suit and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “I don’t care. Deal with it. Write it up as a gang fight and that they shot each other. This is national security we’re talking about.” With the Valvoline box under one arm, he pointed back to the auto parts store. “Tell me now, do you honestly think there are any victims in there, I mean, taxpayers?”
Blue Suit didn’t answer.
I felt sorry for him. I’d written up many, many screwed-up crime scenes to justify legally wrong, but morally correct, things Robby Wicks pulled off. But nothing like the mess we’d left inside.
The agent didn’t reply. Dan said, “I didn’t think so. Deal with it. Keep me apprised.” He turned to me and said, “Come on, Bruno, let’s go.”
We got in. The air conditioner cooled and soothed, dried the sweat instantly. I wanted to curl up and go to sleep. But I still had far too much to deal with.
I didn’t tell the driver where to go. Drago and I had driven into their surveillance net. They probably watched Drago follow the hippy away in the parts truck, corral him, and carjack his ride, and the whole time they just looked on.
I put my head back on the seat, let the cool air work on my face, and closed my eyes. “There are guns and money in Jumbo’s office. I told him he could keep it if he cooperated.”
Dan said, “I understand.”
“The deal with the ATF agent Larry Gerber was all bullshit, a fabrication to clean Bobby Ray’s tail from any law enforcement surveillance.”
“No, it’s not, Bruno, it’s real. At least part of it is.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. He sat in the front seat, looking back at us as we pulled to a stop next to the black GMC, with the hippy nowhere to be seen in the front, the windshield cloudy with a ganja fog.
“What are you talking about? What’s happened?”
“Special Agent Larry Gerber has gone missing,” Dan said. “He’s been gone two days now.”