later, he saw a cop car, lights off, moving fast in the opposite lane. In his rearview he watched the car take the El Centro exit.
Inconclusive. But better safe than sorry.
He drove back the way he’d come, landed in Mission Bay, and found a backwater motel from the fifties. He suspected that the clerk looked the other way, and often, judging from the cars parked out front. It was a place where no one would ask questions.
It was stultifying in the room, so he grabbed his laptop and went out onto the walkway outside his door. It was now almost three in the morning and no one was around. Down at the end of the walkway, the ice machine ruminated. He looked out at the sliver of bay he could see from here. The smell of seaweed and fish was stronger. He sat down on the resin chair beside the door. The wind was picking up. A paper cup scuttled through the parking lot and the dwarf palm fronds heaved in the sea-scented air. Landry found the “In Memoriam” page and stared at it in the yellow of the porch light. The neon sign sizzled nearby, making him think of a busy hive of bees.
His brain felt like that.
He had several pieces of information. Some pieces would be superfluous, and he’d have to toss them out: triage.
According to Special Agent Andrew Keller (if he was telling the truth) the FBI was operating on the theory that the first shooter had been taken out by a second shooter, and that the second shooter had been hired just for that purpose. Which meant that Special Agent Keller believed that this shooting had bigger implications. The SA had been on a fishing expedition, and he had tipped his hand.
By now Landry was fairly certain that Keller would have done a background check on “Detective Jim Branch” and would have discovered there was no such person. In fact, he would have found out that there was no Deer Valley Community College, no Zephyr, Montana, and no brother with a hunting lodge.
Landry was likely now Keller’s chief suspect as the man who took out the shooter.
And yet Keller had given him information—the existence of Sabrecor. In the hope that Landry would say something stupid?
What was he trying to find out? What did he think Landry knew?
What was the bigger picture?
Had Keller used a story about the cooked fingerprints as bait? Or was there a shred of truth to it?
There still was the possibility that the special agent wasn’t on to him, in which case Landry could learn a lot more . . . No. He couldn’t take a chance.
Landry had enough to go on. If in fact Keller was telling the truth, he’d learned something important about the shooter. If the shooter had indeed cooked his prints, he was a serious operative, and in this way Landry could narrow his search.
Sabrecor International . The mention of Sabrecor was intriguing. Landry had heard stories about them, but they were only stories. Sabrecor International was a deep dark secret. They worked with the United States government. They worked for other governments, too.
Even mentioning Sabrecor to a civilian was taking a chance. Was Keller trying to get something out of him?
Landry thought so. The only thing he didn’t know was why. But he had to start somewhere, so he would start with the idea that this killer had indeed been hired to shoot up the school—which led him back to the students killed.
The most obvious secondary target was Landry himself. If someone suspected he was alive, they might try to draw him out. The only thing that would make him break cover was a threat to his daughter or his wife.
He removed another burner from his duffle and put in a call to Gary.
Gary responded within the hour. “What’s going on?”
“You need to get Cindi and Kristal to a safe place.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
“This is not a game,” Landry said. “If you don’t get them to go now, their deaths could be on your head. You saw what happened at the school.”
“You gave up your right to call the shots, bro. I—”
“If
Inconclusive. But better safe than sorry.
He drove back the way he’d come, landed in Mission Bay, and found a backwater motel from the fifties. He suspected that the clerk looked the other way, and often, judging from the cars parked out front. It was a place where no one would ask questions.
It was stultifying in the room, so he grabbed his laptop and went out onto the walkway outside his door. It was now almost three in the morning and no one was around. Down at the end of the walkway, the ice machine ruminated. He looked out at the sliver of bay he could see from here. The smell of seaweed and fish was stronger. He sat down on the resin chair beside the door. The wind was picking up. A paper cup scuttled through the parking lot and the dwarf palm fronds heaved in the sea-scented air. Landry found the “In Memoriam” page and stared at it in the yellow of the porch light. The neon sign sizzled nearby, making him think of a busy hive of bees.
His brain felt like that.
He had several pieces of information. Some pieces would be superfluous, and he’d have to toss them out: triage.
According to Special Agent Andrew Keller (if he was telling the truth) the FBI was operating on the theory that the first shooter had been taken out by a second shooter, and that the second shooter had been hired just for that purpose. Which meant that Special Agent Keller believed that this shooting had bigger implications. The SA had been on a fishing expedition, and he had tipped his hand.
By now Landry was fairly certain that Keller would have done a background check on “Detective Jim Branch” and would have discovered there was no such person. In fact, he would have found out that there was no Deer Valley Community College, no Zephyr, Montana, and no brother with a hunting lodge.
Landry was likely now Keller’s chief suspect as the man who took out the shooter.
And yet Keller had given him information—the existence of Sabrecor. In the hope that Landry would say something stupid?
What was he trying to find out? What did he think Landry knew?
What was the bigger picture?
Had Keller used a story about the cooked fingerprints as bait? Or was there a shred of truth to it?
There still was the possibility that the special agent wasn’t on to him, in which case Landry could learn a lot more . . . No. He couldn’t take a chance.
Landry had enough to go on. If in fact Keller was telling the truth, he’d learned something important about the shooter. If the shooter had indeed cooked his prints, he was a serious operative, and in this way Landry could narrow his search.
Sabrecor International . The mention of Sabrecor was intriguing. Landry had heard stories about them, but they were only stories. Sabrecor International was a deep dark secret. They worked with the United States government. They worked for other governments, too.
Even mentioning Sabrecor to a civilian was taking a chance. Was Keller trying to get something out of him?
Landry thought so. The only thing he didn’t know was why. But he had to start somewhere, so he would start with the idea that this killer had indeed been hired to shoot up the school—which led him back to the students killed.
The most obvious secondary target was Landry himself. If someone suspected he was alive, they might try to draw him out. The only thing that would make him break cover was a threat to his daughter or his wife.
He removed another burner from his duffle and put in a call to Gary.
Gary responded within the hour. “What’s going on?”
“You need to get Cindi and Kristal to a safe place.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
“This is not a game,” Landry said. “If you don’t get them to go now, their deaths could be on your head. You saw what happened at the school.”
“You gave up your right to call the shots, bro. I—”
“If
Similar Books
