| |
Mac put his two guns in the lockbox under the driver’s seat. There was a safety checkpoint as you entered the hospital so he wasn’t even going to try to sneak one in. He just followed Stan in, waited while he presented his ID, and then went on through after him, and led the way up to the ICU.
Mac stopped when he reached the floor Nick was on. What the hell? Three uniformed SPD were in the hallway arguing with Rand, or maybe with the two doctors who looked like they were trying to get them to leave — or at least be quiet. He glanced at Stan, but he had his poker face on.
“Game on,” Stan said quietly, and then he squared his shoulders, added a bit of menace to his walk, and headed toward the fight. And it was a fight, Mac realized. Anna Rodriguez was standing in front of the double doors, blocking the SPD officers from going further down the hallway. Besides the two doctors in their white coats, hospital security had an officer, and it looked like the security chief. Rand just sat in the chair, his elbows on his knees, his hands loose — an explosion waiting to happen. Joe sat in much the same position he had when Mac had left — slouched in the chair, his leg outstretched, his eyes closed. He suspected if Rand exploded, Joe would follow, and to hell with details like who or why.
“What is going on here?” Stan Warren said. His voice was cold and authoritative.
“We need to secure the room Officer Rodriguez is in,” one of the SPD officers said. “The doctors are refusing to allow us to do our jobs.”
“What is your name and badge number?” Stan asked.
The man hesitated, but he reluctantly gave it to him. Stan pulled a small notebook from an inside pocket, and jotted it down. Officer Peter Donovan. Mac would remember it, but he had to admit the notebook was good theater.
“And yours?” he asked the second officer.
“Who the hell are you?” that officer blustered. Stan just looked at him coldly.
“Name and badge number?” Stan repeated. When the man just glared at him, Stan glanced at the badge on his chest, and wrote down the information. R. Hightower and the badge number.
“And yours?” he asked the third who just gritted his teeth. “Never mind,” Stan said and jotted down the information from his badge as well: D. Mason.
“Now, let me get this straight,” he growled. “You are demanding admission to the ICU? The ICU? Damn, man, what are you thinking? Where is your commanding officer? This is completely against all protocol. You have no right to enter that ward at all.”
“We’re under orders,” Hightower said stiffly. “We are to secure the room so that he cannot leave, pending an investigation.”
Mac saw Rand look up at that, but he didn’t say anything.
“Whose orders?” Warren asked. There was silence. “Tell me,” he said, his voice soft and menacing.
Mac was impressed. He’d seen Warren in any number of tense situations, but he’d never seen him like this. He was furious.
“Sgt. McBride,” Hightower said.
“Get him down here,” Warren ordered.
“No reception up here,” the officer protested.
Warren looked at him as if he were dumber than rocks. “Well, go downstairs where there is reception,” he said. The man didn’t move. “Do it NOW!”
Hightower glanced at his two fellow officers, and then headed toward the elevator.
Warren turned to the doctors. “How is he?”
“They didn’t even bother to ask,” Anna Rodriguez said with a sniff. “Pendejos.”
Mac tried not to laugh. Damn, he liked fierce women.
“He’s still in recovery,” one doctor replied. “The surgeon thinks it went well, but we won’t know for sure until he’s out from anesthesia. It could be hours before that. I tried to explain to the officers that he isn’t even in a room yet, but they wouldn’t listen.”
Stan Warren glanced at the officers, his disgust obvious. “Pendejos might be too kind, Anna,” he said. “Something worse we can call them?”
“Pinche pendejos,” Joe said, without opening his eyes. “Fucking bastards.”
“Better,” Warren said.
“Wait a minute,” Officer Donovan protested. “We’re just doing our jobs.”
Stan Warren looked him over. “You barge into the ICU of a major medical hospital, disrupting the floor, pulling two doctors away from their duties, demanding entrance to a clean unit, and your excuse is that you’re just doing your job?”
“And they tried to send us away, don’t forget that part,” Joe said.
“You tried to send an FBI agent and the man’s partner away? In what universe is that normal procedure for a man down?” Stan said. He kept his voice low, but he was obviously chewing butt and the men knew it. “Well?”
“When the man is a dirty cop,” Donovan muttered.
“Rodriguez? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joe Dunbar said, opening his eyes to glare at the officer now. “He’s squeaky clean. Everyone knows his rep. Someone ordered a hit on him tonight. And when someone called for backup, no one came. Ordered a hit on me, to keep me from being his backup. You tell me, Peter, where were you then?”
“Shut up, Dunbar, you’re probably as dirty as he is,” Donovan said.
“I aspire to have the impeccable reputation Rodriguez has,” Joe Dunbar replied. “Shall we talk about your jacket?”
“Enough,” Stan said. “This is a hospital. Save it for later. Officers? Until this is resolved — and by that, I mean until I see an SPD captain or higher down here — you’re dismissed. FBI will provide security for the downed officer.”
The two officers looked at each other. For a moment, Mac didn’t think they would leave. He set his feet and rolled his shoulders a bit. Might be a new level of play, even for him, to take down cops in the ICU.
The head of security intervened. “Officers? There’s a waiting room by the emergency entrance that you might find more comfortable. From what the doctors said, it could be hours before Lt. Rodriguez is even moved to a room. And since it will be in ICU, you’re not going to get any closer to his room than this anyway.” He started toward the elevator, and looked back at the officers until they followed him. The other hospital security officer brought up the rear.
The doctors looked relieved. “Thank you,” one of them said. “We’ve always had a good rapport with Seattle Police. This was unexpected to say the least.”
“This whole night has been,” Stan said. As he relaxed his stance, Mac could see how tired he was. “So tell me. You said he’s in recovery. When will he be moved to a room?”
“We’re being extra cautious,” the doctor replied. “Probably mid-morning. I’d tell you all to go home and get some rest, but after that bit of drama, I appreciate the FBI presence.”
Stan nodded. “The FBI is assuming responsibility for this case,” he said authoritatively. “We will provide security, as needed, and there will be an agent here at all times. No one is to be cleared for access without going through us. And doctor? I do mean no one. Not even hospital personnel. We will check all ID. You might want to prepare a list of who has access now, and who will in the near future so that we can run checks on them.”
“Sir,” the doctor said in acknowledgement of the instructions. “Sounds like this isn’t your first security detail.”
“No,” said FBI Agent Stan Warren, formerly of the Washington, D.C., bureau. “It’s not my first.”
Mac knew Warren had run security details for high-level government officials. Now he wondered just how high?
“And I’m flummoxed by the behavior of those officers. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Warren added with a shake of his head. And Mac thought he was genuinely appalled.
Satisfied, the doctors turned and headed back down the hall to the surgery unit and ICU. Mac watched them go, making sure they were out of hearing, before he turned to Stan and asked, “Can you do that?”
“He can,” Rand said. “I’m astounded he had to, but he can. Stan, have you checked in with the chief?”
“Tried,” Stan Warren said briefly. “Voicemail, no call back. Telecommunication is still fubar.” He hesitated, then he briefed the three of them about what happened at the Moores’ home.
“The children are all right?” Anna asked anxiously.
Stan nodded. “Carolina is an amazing young woman,” he added. “You should be proud of her. Of all of the children actually.”
“And Paulina?” Anna asked slowly, as if she was expecting bad news. “She grew up in El Salvador. Her parents fled to the states as political refuges when she was 6 or 7. This must be triggering for her.”
“If it is, she’s channeling it into defending the children,” Stan replied. “She had a butcher knife when we retreated to the house before the second drive-by. Look, we have a safe house lined up. One that police will not know about. Joe? I think you should go with Mac. I’m a bit worried about how many people we are protecting with too few resources. Anna? Can I persuade you to go as well? You heard him; Nick is out of surgery, but he’s going to be in recovery for many hours. You can’t get in to see him. Go get some rest? I’ll call you with updates, and let you know when you can at least see him.”
Anna considered it. She was obviously torn between wanting to stay and wanting to see to the safety of her children. And the adrenaline that had kept her moving until now was fading.
“We have too many adults who know nothing about children, and not enough people who understand kids,” Mac said, looking for an argument she’d find persuasive. “It would be a big help to have you there, even for a bit. And I’ll bring you back whenever you say.”
“All right,” she said then. “Joe? Do you need a wheelchair?”
He looked indignant, then looked at his leg. “Or crutches,” he admitted.
Anna went to find an orderly. While she was gone, Rand looked up. “Those cops,” he began. “They weren’t here to protect Nick.”
“No.” Stan sounded grim.
“Do you think there is some kind of internal investigation?” Rand asked. “Is he a suspect in something?”
“Hard to believe,” Joe Dunbar said. “I haven’t heard of anything. But then I probably wouldn’t. But those guys aren’t IA. And that’s who would be here, if Nick was under investigation. If you rule out protection, and you rule out Internal Affairs? What motive do you have left?”
Rand nodded. “Nothing good,” he said soberly. “What the hell did Nick get himself into?”
Mac thought that was a very good question and merited thinking about — as soon as he had a few moments to himself. He took out his cell phone, locked it down, and buried it in the cushions of the waiting room chair. Joe saw what he was doing, and pulled his too. Anna looked puzzled.
“No phones, Anna,” Mac said. “We’ll get clean phones, but we can’t take these with us.”
Anna started to protest, then looked at the two FBI agents. She closed her eyes and nodded. She left her phone behind with theirs.
Mac wheeled Joe down to the parking lot. Anna had the keys to Juan Moore’s car, and it was easier to get Joe into that than his own vehicle. Anne grimaced at the smell of blood in the back seat. “Going to be hell to get this cleaned,” she muttered.
Mac agreed, but, not his car, not his problem. And right now he had enough things to worry about. He gave Anna the description of where they were going in case they got separated, but really, it was just get on the 520, go over the bridge, hang a right. Biggest house on the right — look for the gate with a guard booth. Anna looked at him skeptically at that, but he just shrugged. He got into his 4-Runner and led the way out the exit from the hospital lot.
Howard Parker’s huge mansion on the water had nothing but bad memories attached to it for him, but Mac had to admit there was a poetic justice to using it as a refuge after the events two years ago. Two years ago, Howard Parker wanted to be Secretary of Homeland Security. By his estimation, only one thing stood in his way — a squad of Marines he’d encountered back in his DEA days. Drug enforcement hadn’t been what he was really doing. Mac snorted. Really, the problem had been his clean-up methods, more than his original mission. Yes, running guns and drugs into Central America was highly illegal, and morally wrong — but the U.S. government had been doing it for decades. Then Parker started demanding people be loyal to his ambition rather to the United States, and when they weren’t, he had them killed.
And he was willing to do that again with the squad of Marines who knew about a chunk of the story. Mac’s squad. And when he came for the other squad members? And then he came for him? Mac tracked it back.
There had been a shoot-out at the Parker house in Medina. Mac lost a friend, rescued two others, and then killed the man who had spearheaded the operation for Parker. A man he’d once admired.
And then he’d gone after Parker.
The paper was nominated for a Pulitzer for the resulting story about ambition gone wrong. Parker was injured in their last confrontation. He served 11 months in federal prison and was apparently in seclusion in Duvall, of all places. Mac thought that was where he’d grown up.
Pansy-ass sentence for a man responsible for a half-dozen deaths. But then, he’d walked away with no penalty at all for the man he’d killed that day. He regretted the death, although he couldn’t say why. But he guessed, basically, that he killed the wrong man. Parker deserved to die for Danny’s death. Kellerman? He didn’t know. He’d shot Danny in the back because he was pissed Danny was getting away. It did nothing to advance Kellerman’s mission. He did it because he was angry that Danny had defied him.
And Mac killed Kellerman in revenge? Because Kellerman had been his hero once, and he felt betrayed? He didn’t know why. And maybe that’s what bothered him the most. If you kill a man, you should know why you did it. Why he deserved to die.
He shrugged it off. Water under the bridge. He didn’t want to go back to this house, but he couldn’t think of a better place for a safe house for this many people. So he’d live with it.
If the irony didn’t kill him.