The Gatekeeper. Michelle Gagnon
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Jake’s brow furrowed. Could this be the link? Maybe some foreign power stole the kid to force Randall to share intel. It would certainly explain the level of organization, and the deep pockets. Syd’s voice interrupted his train of thought. “What’re you thinking?”
“You worked that part of the world, right?”
There was a lengthy pause. Officially they’d decided not to discuss past cases unless absolutely necessary. As far as Jake was concerned, this was the exception to that rule. Apparently Syd agreed, because after a moment she said, “I was stationed in Tbilisi for a few months.”
“That’s a little off the grid, isn’t it?”
“Way off the grid. Officially we were afraid that some of the decommissioned nuclear arms weren’t being appropriately monitored and might fall into the hands of rogue nations. Unofficially, I was being punished for not sleeping with my boss when he asked me to.”
Jake decided to ignore that last part. “What do you think? Any chance we’re dealing with a group that’s trying to get hold of some nukes?”
Syd went so long without saying anything, Jake was concerned he’d lost the connection. “Hello?”
“I’m still here. I’m just thinking.”
“Ah, Christ. You know something,” Jake said. “What the hell, Syd—”
“Nothing specific, I just…I’ve got some idea what Randall has been working on these past few months. And it might tie in with that.”
An image of the driver’s face flashed through Jake’s mind. Big white guy, could definitely be Slavic. “Great. I agreed to take this case, against my better instincts, as a favor to you. And you keep me in the dark. That’s it.” He resolutely pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Call Randall, tell him I’m getting on a plane. You want to help him, come out here yourself.”
“Jake, wait—”
“Nope. I’m done, Syd.”
“All right.”
Jake paused at the door to the sandwich shop, rental car keys in hand. It wasn’t like Syd to give in so easily. “Bullshit.”
“What?”
“I don’t believe for a minute you’re letting me off the hook.”
“No, you’re right. I promised that the minute it smelled bad, you could back down. Besides, if this Turkmenistan thing is the real deal, I can follow up just as well from here. The Bay Area part of this operation seems dead in the water anyway. Just because she got off a plane there doesn’t mean anything, she could be on a container ship halfway to China by now.”
Jake had thought the same thing, but there was something about her tone he didn’t trust. Besides, if they’d wanted Madison on a container ship, it would have been just as easy to yank her from the East Coast. Even easier, maybe. The truth was that despite his posturing, he wasn’t ready to ditch Madison Grant yet. He walked to the car, as if physically calling Syd’s bluff. “Okay. So I’ll head to the airport.”
“Perfect. Oh, one thing…”
Jake grinned. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy. “Yeah?”
“Randall’s getting nervous, he’s starting to think she might already be dead.”
“Yeah, well. He has a point.”
“Right, I know. I was just wondering if you could stop by his place and talk him down from the ledge. Give him some tips on what to say next time, how to ask for proof of life. That sort of thing.”
Jake repressed a snort at the thought of Randall Grant attempting to negotiate proof of life on his own. “You’re a piece of work, you know that, Syd?”
“What?” she asked innocently.
“I’ll hang around to make sure Randall doesn’t screw this up. But if I get the sense that either of you is jerking me around again, that’s it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Syd said smugly. “You’re out of there, I know.”
“Next time I’ll mean it.”
“Sure you will. Oh, and Jake? Give Randall a big kiss for me.”
“Go to hell. And keep running that facial recognition software. All that bragging about your tentacles extending everywhere, and so far you’ve given me a crappy chop house.”
“Hey,” Syd said, wounded. “That was a good lead. I had to pay off a slew of people for that one.”
“A name, Syd. We need something to go on.”
“Gotcha. The shadow network is on it.”
Jake hung up. Shadows was right. He felt like that was all he’d done so far, chase Madison’s shadow. He glanced back at the sandwich shop and considered grabbing another turkey club for the road, then decided against it. He’d seen an In-N-Out near Randall’s house, and if anything could help clarify his thought process, it was a one hundred percent all-beef American burger. Sprouts weren’t going to cut it on a case like this. Better save the diet for later, he decided.
Kelly skidded to a halt, breathing hard. On the other side of a six-foot-high fence a dog barked frantically. She jumped up and caught a glimpse of a Doberman chained to a pole, lunging at flannel and ragged jean shorts. She skirted the edge of the house, yelling into her radio, “Rodriguez! He’s back on Van Buren Street!”
Her breath was loud as she ran. Turning the corner, she caught a glimpse of Emilio Torres tearing across the street, stopping a cab short. Jesus, he was fast. No more than twelve or thirteen by her estimate, and small for his age. It didn’t help that he knew this neighborhood like the back of his hand. He could probably dodge them for days in here.
Kelly tore after him. After a morning of paperwork she’d decided to investigate “Psycho’s” claim that a hanger-on gave them the gun. The lawyer had provided Emilio Torres’s name and address. She didn’t expect the lead to pan out, but eliminating it would strengthen the prosecution’s case against the gang at trial. So after lunch she and Rodriguez knocked on Torres’s door, only to have the kid bolt at the sight of them. If Kelly knew she’d be dealing with a runner, she wouldn’t have ordered the grande burrito.
They’d been chasing Emilio for over ten minutes, from the back of his grandmother’s house down countless streets and alleys. Every time they thought they’d lost him, he’d pop up again. On the plus side, he didn’t appear smart enough to go to ground and stay there.
He bowled over a guy walking his pit bull and sent a Chinese food delivery man flying in a tangle of spokes and handlebars. Kelly almost sprawled on top of them. She vaulted over with a gasped apology and continued running.
Emilio glanced over his shoulder and saw her gaining. She caught a look of panic in his eyes. Kelly was ten feet behind him now, the beginnings of a cramp in her calf muscle. Sweat poured down her back, it had to be over a hundred degrees and she was getting dizzy. Emilio’s blue-checked flannel shirt trailed behind him as he sharply changed direction, turning right. She was hard on his heels, halfway up the block when a dark form hurtled out of the alley. It slammed into the kid hard. Both figures flew into the street. The screech of brakes pierced the air as an old Buick jerked to a halt. Kelly edged around it, slowing her pace, ignoring the tirade spilling out of the driver’s open windows. Rodriguez and Emilio lay in a tangle on the ground.
“Jesus, Rodriguez,” she said, grabbing the kid’s hands. He’d risen to his knees, prepared to bolt again. With one smooth gesture she knocked him flat and cuffed him. “You both could’ve been killed.”
“Little son of a bitch would’ve deserved it,” Rodriguez said, standing slowly and brushing himself off. The knees of his trousers were torn, and he raised his hands in supplication. “Christ,