Breakwater

36

Steve vomited onto a sandy, rough wooden floor. He had no idea where he was. He was light-headed, his stomach cramping. He rose up onto his hands and knees, dry-heaving, moaning. Hot needles seemed to stab into his chest and head, down his left arm. Blood dripped out of his mouth.

His hands were covered in blood.

I’m dying.

A sudden bright light pierced his eyes, and he fell back onto his side, his bowels loosening. What the hell?

A creaking sound-a door opening.

The hut.

He remembered now and sobbed. “Quinn…”

“Uh-uh, pal.” A tall, dark man squatted next to him, patting him down. “Diego Clemente.”

Big, firm hands picked him up by the waist and set him down against the hut wall, away from his puddle of barf. Steve squinted, focusing on the handsome man in front of him. A Yankees sweatshirt. “I love the Yankees,” Steve said.

“I don’t. I’m from California. Where’s Quinn?”

“Lubec…” Unable to continue, Steve dry-heaved, as if his stomach muscles couldn’t stand the idea of what he’d done-couldn’t stand him-and were trying to spit him out, get rid of him. Kill him.

Clemente stayed on task. “What about Lubec?”

“He has her. He was going to kill me. I had no choice.” He remembered now, and started to cry. “I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

“Where did he take her?”

Steve held back another heave. “Up-up to the Crawford house. At gunpoint.” He lifted his head. “She’s pretending she’s one of them. One of the vigilantes.”

“Lubec believe her?”

“These fucking Nazis don’t believe anyone. They’re paranoid.”

Another man arrived. Steve squinted at him in the bright afternoon light, recognized the spit-and-polished FBI agent.

Special Agent Kowalski.

“Steve Eisenhardt,” Kowalski said coldly. “We found the car you borrowed at the marina.”

Steve tried to stand up. “I want to cut a deal.”

The FBI agent and Clemente both laughed, without humor. “You’re a lawyer, Eisenhardt,” Clemente said. “What do you think your odds are?”

Shit. This Clemente’s another fed.

Steve wished Quinn had just let Travis Lubec shoot him.

Using Vern’s cell phone, Huck called Nate. “Unless Glover’s lying through his teeth or has bad information, you’re in danger. You, your wife, Longstreet, Brooker. Oliver Crawford has two teams coming for you.”

Winter wasn’t one to waste words. “You?”

“Don’t worry about me right now. I’m good.”

Huck disconnected and dialed Diego’s number. “Where are you?”

“About to climb over a barbed-wire fence. O’Dell’s with Kowalski’s partner. We’ve got Eisenhardt. We’re on our way.”

“Quinn?”

A half beat’s hesitation. “She’s with Lubec. I hit the alarm, Huck. We’ve got guys on the way. We’re moving in.”

Huck looked down at Vern, cuffed, glowering-yet refusing to incriminate himself further. He wasn’t stupid. “It’s not that simple,” Huck told his partner.

He heard the familiar creak of the outer door and stuck his head out into the hall. Nick Rochester nodded to him.

“ Rochester!” Vern yelled. “Boone’s a fed!”

Huck tossed down the phone and eased into the hall, putting his Glock to the kid’s temple. “Hands where I can see them, Nick.” Huck patted him down, taking a nine-millimeter out of the kid’s belt holster and a thirty-eight off his ankle. “Quinn Harlowe. Gerard Lattimore. Where are they?”

“Crawford’s living room.”

“Who’s with them?”

“Crawford, Lubec, the Riccardis.”

“You’re caught between a rock and a hard place, Nick. What’s it going to be? You want to cooperate?”

The kid inhaled sharply through his nose. “The creep from Justice. Eisenhardt. I was supposed to kill him.” Hands up, he glanced at Huck. “I’m not a murderer.”

“You chickenshit asshole,” Vern said.

Rochester paid no attention to him. “Lubec would have killed me if I wasn’t armed. I thought-” He choked up, the enormity of his situation obviously hitting him. “Too much of what’s going down is personal. It’s not smart. It’s not going to help us win people over.”

“Nick.” Huck kept his tone even. “What’s happening in Crawford’s living room?”

“If Lattimore doesn’t cooperate, he’s dead. Lubec wired his boat with explosives. He’ll take Lattimore back to the marina and-that’ll be it.” Rochester ’s tone stayed flat. “I saw Lubec take Harlowe up to the house. I don’t know Eisenhardt’s status.”

“He’s alive,” Huck said.

Visibly relieved, Rochester ’s knees buckled under him, but he kept his hands up, didn’t push his luck. “I didn’t know what was going on with Alicia Miller. I thought she was sick. Lubec made sure she took the kayak up the loop road. He knew it was going to storm. I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t there. I’d have stopped it-” He broke off, swallowed. “I told you. I’m not a murderer.”

“You guys have been funneling illegal weapons through here,” Huck said. “Where are they now?”

“I don’t know. That’s the truth.”

“The teams going after Nate Winter, Juliet Longstreet-”

“They’re not going to waste a shoulder-fired missile on a fed,” Rochester said. “We haven’t had anything come through here since you and Glover arrived and Miller drowned. Too hot.”

“Inside with Vern.”

Rochester was reluctant. “He’ll kill me-”

“He won’t get that chance. I won’t let him.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better, a fed covering my ass? I hope you have backup, Boone.”

“It’s McCabe, actually.”

“Lubec will kill you. Sharon ’s one bloodthirsty bitch, too. She approved all of us herself. Lubec, Glover, O’Dell. You.” Rochester looked as if he’d smelled something awful. “She was distracted or she’d have sniffed you out sooner.”

“She’s been focused on stopping Crawford from going overboard.”

“She blames herself.”

Keeping his gun on Rochester, Huck found another pair of cuffs in Vern’s gun box. Vern had lapsed into silence, but his eyes had taken on a piercing glow, as if he wanted to turn them into laser beams that could cut Huck in two or just set him on fire. Then, he’d start on Nick Rochester.

“Blames herself for what?” But even as he asked the question, Huck knew the answer. “Damn. She had Crawford kidnapped. Then she arranged his rescue. The torture and execution of the men she hired was her doing, wasn’t it?” He shook his head. “Real nice.”

“She wanted Crawford fully committed to the cause,” Rochester said with no hint of irony.

“Sounds as if she got more than she bargained for.”

Talk time was over, Huck thought. Diego Clemente, T.J. Kowalski and a haggard, bloody, barfencrusted Steve Eisenhardt had arrived.