The Gatekeeper

Twenty

“This is ridiculous. There’s nothing here.” Jake threw a stack of papers back on the table. They’d spent the past few hours tearing apart Randall’s apartment. The more time passed, the more it looked like Randall’s departure hadn’t been voluntary. They both knew it, though neither had said it aloud.

“He must have told you something. You practically lived together the past few days,” Syd said.

“Not exactly. Most of the time I was driving all over God’s green earth looking for Mack Krex,” Jake grumbled. He plopped down on the couch and wished a coffee place were still open. He’d already ransacked Randall’s cupboards and found nothing but tea. “What kind of guy doesn’t drink coffee?” he muttered, checking his watch. Midnight already. He experienced a momentary flash of irrational rage at Randall. They rescued his daughter, and then the guy disappeared. Jake knew it was their own fault. It should have occurred to them to keep better tabs on Randall, but still. Everything about that guy was bad luck.

“Randall drinks it, but he doesn’t make it himself. He’s hooked on lattes.”

Something triggered in Jake’s brain. He lunged to the kitchen and fumbled through cabinets.

“What the hell?” Syd asked, hands on her hips.

“The mugs. That was how he got info in and out, something about coffee mugs.” Randall had three of everything: plates, mugs, utensils. Apparently he didn’t do a lot of entertaining. Three travel mugs with the facility logo lined the shelf above the plates. Jake grabbed one and twisted the bottom. Nothing happened. He strained harder, but it didn’t give. “Damn. Maybe if I had a knife…”

“Or maybe it takes some finesse. Randall wasn’t exactly he-man,” Syd said, reaching out and taking it from him. She held it to the light and examined it. Removed the lid and scanned the inside. After turning it over in her hands, she pressed on a spot beneath the handle. The bottom popped off.

“Impressive,” Jake said.

“What can I say? Spy stuff.” Syd grinned. “But bad news. There’s nothing in here.”

Jake grabbed the other two and repeated the trick, opening the bottoms. Empty. “Maybe there’s another compartment.” Jake tapped one on the edge of the counter.

Syd raised an eyebrow. “It’s a coffee mug, Jake, not a cryptex.”

“So he gave them info on flash drives. Let’s check those again.”

“I’ve checked them all twice. They’re blank, if there were files on them they’ve been erased.”

Jake set the mug on the counter and looked at her. “You knew this guy. Where would he go?”

“With his daughter missing?” Syd shook her head. “Nowhere. Whoever kidnapped Madison probably has him.”

“Why not grab him in the first place then? Saves them a step.”

“They needed his access to the facility. And now, apparently, they don’t. He must have handed over whatever he was supposed to get for them.”

“Shit,” Jake said, remembering their last conversation, the look in Randall’s eyes after he watched the video of Madison being tortured. “So they probably killed him.”

“Probably. Unless they still need him for something.”

Jake examined her. “You don’t seem too torn up.”

Syd met his gaze. “I gave up on mourning people, Jake. Once they’re gone, they’re gone, nothing you can do.”

“That’s…” Jake tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t hurt her feelings.

“Cold? Maybe. But in my line of work, I learned to distance myself.” Syd shrugged, seemingly unperturbed. “Besides, Randall might be fine. He’s a smart guy, you never know.”

Jake looked around the apartment. He hated to admit it, but suddenly being here with Syd was creeping him out. Her tone was unsettling, monotone and flat like she was a pod person or something. More than anything he wished he was in bed with Kelly, arms wrapped around her waist. Preferably naked. “So you want to call it a night, head back to Benicia? They probably noticed by now that we’re gone.”

“Hell no. We haven’t even scratched the surface yet.” Her eyes roved the walls. “Tons of places he could have hidden stuff.”

“You need help?”

“Nah. Crash out on the couch, if I need you to move I’ll wake you.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. Jake kicked off his shoes, swung his feet up, and covered his eyes with one arm. Within a minute he was dead asleep.

Syd watched him while she rubbed her neck with one hand. She sighed, then went to her purse and extracted her tools.

Randall glanced at Thor. He’d been dozing on and off all day. Honestly, he couldn’t blame him. Spending hours watching radioactive material get filed into a fine dust wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time. He’d initially made an attempt to be vigilant, watching warily as Randall extracted the core material, shuffled slowly across the warehouse floor and placed it in the lead box. But once the real work had begun, he’d quickly lost focus.

Which suited Randall’s plan perfectly. He waited until Thor’s head dropped to his chest, then gave it five minutes. Everyone else was on the far side of the warehouse playing poker. Occasionally tempers flared and Dante intervened, but by and large the men were left to themselves.

Randall took a few deep breaths. He had to get this exactly right for his plan to succeed. He thought for a second of his girls, and in spite of himself, Audrey. The last vacation they took together, to the Big Island of Hawaii. Their marriage was already in its death throes, and most of the trip was marred by spats and recriminations. But there had been one night when their car broke down as they returned home after sightseeing. Initially it was business as usual: Audrey enraged, as if the car’s failure was somehow his fault, Madison and Bree silent and stiff in the backseat. But the tow truck driver dropped them at a restaurant while the car was being fixed, and it turned out to be one of their best nights together as a family. Dinner was served on a patio perched on the sand, so close to the water the girls joked their table might get sucked out to sea. He and Audrey drank mai tais, and she developed a case of the giggles. They watched the sunset and munched on coconut shrimp while Madison and Bree fidgeted and chatted the way teenagers do. Everything that night had been wonderful. In fact it was the last perfect moment he’d experienced.

It was enough, Randall decided. He hadn’t achieved everything he’d hoped to accomplish with his life, there was no Nobel on his mantel, no theory named after him. Funny how insignificant those things seemed now. He just wished he could have his family together one last time.

Thor stirred in his sleep, head reflexively bobbing. Randall waited for him to still, then took a deep breath. With a solid kick he knocked over the lead case.

It hit the ground with a loud thump. A cloud of fine shimmering powder scattered across the floor, settling into the ridges like chalk dust.

“Shit!” he said loudly.

Thor jerked to his feet. It was startling how quickly he came to life. “What?” His eyes widened at the dust on the floor, and the small cloud above it. He instinctively took a step back.

“It spilled,” Randall said, raising both hands helplessly.

“Holy shit!” Thor yelled, loud enough to draw the attention of the card players. Two of them stood, and another sauntered over.

Randall pulled off his dosimeter, held it up in one hand. “It’s black,” he said with finality.

Thor tore off his own, dropping it when he saw the same color. “No, no, no!” he moaned, backing away. “The fuck did you do!”

“What’s the problem?” It was Dante, eyes cold. Thor appeared incapable of speech. Dante registered the shock on his face and glanced at Randall, who still held his dosimeter.

“It spilled,” Randall said.

“No shit.” Dante crossed his arms over his chest.

Randall shrugged, trying to look blasé. Every cell in his body was screaming at him, fight or flight instinct on overdrive. It wouldn’t make a difference, the damage was already done. As soon as that hatch opened he’d condemned Thor and himself to death; at least he’d be taking one of them with him.

Curious, the other men joined them. When they saw the powder, a murmur rose up. They backed away, close enough to hear but twenty feet from the spill.

Fools, Randall thought. They might not die, but they’d been contaminated.

“I told you to watch him,” Dante said calmly.

Thor was beyond reason. He spotted a streak of blue on his pants leg and tore off his clothes, stripping down to a pair of boxer briefs.

“We need to get to a decontamination unit,” Randall said calmly.

“Not going to happen.”

“Thor,” Randall said. “We need to get to a decontamination unit. They can save you.”

His words penetrated. Thor’s head whipped around to Dante. “I want to go.”

Dante shook his head. “No.”

“You’ll be dead in a few days otherwise,” Randall said, then raised his voice to make sure they could all hear him. “You’ll all be dead unless we get to a decontamination unit.”

A buzz rose up among the other men. Randall heard his words repeated and saw the fear in their eyes. Emboldened by it, he squared his shoulders and turned to face Dante. “You know there’s still time to save them.”

“They knew the risks,” Dante said forcefully. But he glanced back over his shoulder.

“Fuck this. Doc, where’s the closest place?” Thor snarled, drawing himself up to his full height.

“Where are we?” Randall asked quickly, hoping he’d respond without thinking.

“Outside Houston,” Thor said without hesitation. Dante’s eyes half closed with disgust and he swore under his breath.

“There’s the Texas Medical Center. Right near Rice University, south of downtown.”

“You’re not leaving,” Dante said.

“The fuck I’m not. Hey, you don’t want to die, get in the van,” Thor called to the others. He gathered up his boots in one hand and walked toward the van parked near the door.

“You’re as good as dead already,” Dante said. “They won’t be able to save you.”

Thor stopped dead, shifting his eyes to Randall. “I’m the expert,” Randall countered. “Trust me, they can save you.”

A blast by his ear. Randall cringed, hands jerking up protectively. Everyone froze. Everyone except Thor, who stumbled forward as if pushed. The second shot caught him in the back of the head as he fell. He landed hard, blood pooling around him.

Dante had already spun, holding the gun with both hands at shoulder height, military-style. “The rest of you were too far away to get sick. Strip off your clothes and we’ll shower off one at a time. You’ll be fine.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Randall said. “He’s lying to you.”

The men glanced back and forth between them, trying to decide who to believe. Dante pointed the gun at Randall as he growled, “Shut the fuck up.”

Randall shrugged. “Go ahead. Saves me a few painful days.”

Dante shook his head. “I mean it, Grant. I’ll have them bring your family here so you can watch what happens to them before you die.”

Suddenly, two other men peeled off from the group, bolting for the opposite end of the warehouse. Dante watched them run. The others remained where they were, shuffling uncertainly. At the door the men glanced back, as if surprised by the lack of a reaction. Dante kept his gun leveled on the others. The door closed behind them. A second later there were two loud reports, followed by a scream. Then one last shot, and silence fell.

“No one leaves,” Dante said firmly.

“Your dosimeter,” Randall said, pointing at it. The lower circles had filled in, he was one shy of Randall’s reading.

Dante glanced at it and half smiled. “I’m like you, Grant. Never expected to make it out of here alive.” He marched back to the remaining men and said a few words. One of them nodded, the others examined the floor. After a minute, they filed off toward the bathroom. Dante watched them go, then reholstered his weapon. “Nice try, but nothing stalls this mission. Back to work.”

“But-”

“Scrape this powder off the floor and get it back in the case. And I want the other cores finished by tomorrow. Any more accidents, your family pays. Got it?”

“What, no shower for me?” Randall said with forced bravado. In truth he was near tears. His plan had failed, and now he’d be dead within a week. He’d hoped the men would panic and rise up against Dante, enabling him to escape. At least he would’ve been able to save his family and let the FBI know about the plot.

“We both know it’s too late for you. You’re the expert, right?” Dante said snidely. He turned and walked away, calling back, “I mean it, Grant. Anything else goes wrong, we kill your wife and kids.”

Kelly was having serious second thoughts. Rodriguez struggled with the door’s dead bolt, swearing under his breath.

“I used to be able to do this in under a minute,” he said, smiling apologetically.

Kelly raised an eyebrow. “Really? I must’ve missed that training seminar.”

“Misspent youth. Anyway, I’m out of practice.”

“I’m thinking maybe we should try to get a warrant…” Kelly said, glancing around. This area was less deserted than the other warehouse district. Despite the late hour a few trucks were still parked outside other buildings. She hadn’t seen anyone around, but you never knew. An arrest for breaking and entering would definitely hasten her exit from the Bureau, and she wondered if subconsciously she was hoping the decision would be made for her.

The sound of pins clicking, and Rodriguez turned the knob. Kelly unclipped the top of her holster and put her hand over her Glock.

“Stay behind me,” she said in a low voice.

“Not a problem.”

It was pitch-black inside, the only illumination filtered moonlight from windows set far above. Kelly clicked on a flashlight, keeping the beam low to the ground. The layout was similar to the other warehouse, two smaller huts in the rear of the building, a large open area up front. Except this time, the space wasn’t empty.

“What the hell?” Rodriguez whispered. A flatbed trailer held an enormous float decked out in the colors of the American flag, with slogans splashed across an eagle.

Kelly didn’t answer, gesturing for him to stay behind her while they searched the warehouse. She checked the first door-instead of an office it housed a line of portable toilets. The smell rising from them was rank. The doors had been removed, and Kelly held one hand over her nose as she quickly scanned down the line. All empty.

She turned to find Rodriguez looking as puzzled as she felt.

“What do you-”

A sound from the other hut. Kelly motioned for him to be quiet. She crossed the warehouse floor quickly, staying to the left of the door, out of range in case whoever was on the other side was armed. She waited for Rodriguez to join her. He was breathing hard, even in the dim lighting she could see he looked pale. Pushing himself too hard, she thought. He should probably still be in the hospital.

He nodded at her, weapon drawn.

“FBI! Open the door and show me your hands!”

“Jones,” Rodriguez said, motioning at the door with his Glock. Kelly glanced down. A padlock latched the outside. She frowned. Whoever was inside was not there voluntarily.

“Can you get that one open?” she asked.

“Step back,” Rodriguez said. Kelly slipped behind him. He fired a single shot.

“Jesus, Rodriguez!” Kelly hissed. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

He shrugged. “It’s a Master. Tough to break in to. Would’ve taken forever.”

Kelly gritted her teeth and undid the latch. She yanked the door open, stepping back while she scanned down the sight. Eyes stared back at her, the whites bright in the gloom. Kelly took a tentative step forward, then another. Her flashlight beam caused them to squint; some shielded their eyes with their hands. The smell was a hundred times worse than the toilets across the hall, and Kelly fought an involuntary urge to retch.

Rodriguez called out something in Spanish, and a series of voices answered, tripping over each other in their desire to be heard. The mass of people stood. Some pressed toward the door.

“Alto!” Kelly yelled, keeping her weapon up, hoping that was the right word. “Tell them not to move.”

Rodriguez spit out another stream of Spanish, his voice heavy with authority. A few grumbles, but the people stepped back.

“See if you can find the lights,” Kelly said.

Rodriguez vanished. Kelly kept her weapon raised. She didn’t know what she’d do if they rushed her, there were too many to stop and no one appeared to be armed.

Suddenly, the lights clicked on. Kelly blinked with the others: after the dusky half-light, the glare was startling. The room was no more than ten-by-ten feet, but at least twenty people were crammed inside. Most were in their twenties or thirties, but a few appeared to be teenagers. Filthy, as if they had gone months without bathing, a fine layer of grime rendering them nearly indistinguishable.

“Jesus,” Rodriguez said, reappearing at her side.

“Ask them why they’re here,” Kelly said. The room issued a palpable sense of misery, as if long after they left the walls would still be laden with it. She couldn’t even imagine what would be worth subjecting yourself to these conditions.

Rodriguez asked what sounded like a question, and one of the men replied. Rodriguez motioned him closer, and they spoke in low voices for a minute. The man waited, watching with imploring eyes, while Rodriguez came over to explain.

“A coyote brought them here, a white man,” he said. “Guaranteed he’d be able to slip them past La migra and the Minutemen. But once they got here, they were told they’d have to stay. That the coyotes had a plan for them to slip away during a parade. Only then would it be safe. Someone comes by once a day to give them food and take them to the toilets.”

“A parade?” Kelly knit her brow, turning back to the main room. “So they’re waiting to be brought out of here on a float? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Rodriguez shrugged. “Fourth of July is coming up, I’m guessing the float is for that. Maybe their coyote thought it would be easier to have them slip away in a crowd.”

“They could just drop them in a Latino neighborhood in San Antonio,” Kelly said, shaking her head. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Rodriguez frowned. “Plus that doesn’t explain how the good ol’ boys at the other warehouse tie into it. Why would Minutemen be coyotes?”

“It is kind of perfect. They know the border better than anyone else,” Kelly pointed out.

“Yeah, but most of those guys would pay to shoot a Mexican. They’re fanatical about it.”

“You’re right, it’s strange.” Kelly eyed the float. It looked garish in the austere surroundings. Here she was trying to tie up loose ends, and instead she kept adding more threads.

“What do we do with them?” Rodriguez asked. A few of the immigrants had crowded in the doorway and were watching them silently.

Kelly hated what she was about to say, but knew there was no other option. “You have to explain that we’re going to lock them back in until their handlers come. As soon as they hear the doors open, I want them to make as much noise as possible.”

“You want to be able to claim exigent circumstances,” Rodriguez said.

“It’s our only way in, especially if Laredo P.D. is working with them.”

“What makes you think they’ll come? If they think their operation has been compromised, they might take off.”

“We rattled their cage. I’m guessing someone will come by soon to check on things, maybe even move them to a new location,” Kelly said. “And I’m willing to bet it’ll be our favorite Minutemen brothers.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Rodriguez asked, voice hard.

“Then we call the ICE.” He didn’t respond, eyes focused on the ground. Kelly examined him. “We’re still the law, Rodriguez.”

“Yeah, I know,” he responded after a minute.

Kelly considered reminding him of what he’d said earlier, about the flood of people being a burden the country couldn’t sustain, but she didn’t have the heart. Things that were good in theory changed when you faced a couple dozen hungry, desperate faces. Kelly didn’t like the thought of deporting them any more than he did, but she had no other option. She had to use them to snag the coyotes, so she could finally figure out what the hell was going on.

“I’ll go explain,” Rodriguez said, avoiding eye contact as he turned back toward the room. “But they might take some convincing. I suggest you keep your weapon drawn.”

Dante couldn’t stop scratching his arm. He could swear a rash was forming. He checked his dosimeter for the hundredth time. Still black, all but one circle filled in. He had showered twice, scrubbing so hard his skin was sore. It didn’t help.

Damn that Grant, he thought, lip curling. Bastard had to complicate things by playing the hero. Dante had never been a fan of this phase of the plan, in fact he’d repeatedly said there was too much room for error.

It had been a bad few days. First the loss of the girl, and two of his best men with her. The arrests at the bar, the contamination of the warehouse, then having to waste Thor and the others. Now the rest were too spooked to be reliable. His army had been badly decimated. Dante could get more-the network was large, and one phone call would muster reserves. But he’d handpicked the men who were closest to the operation, and look how that was working out. He decided to stick with who he had, using fear to keep them in line. That was the problem with cons, he thought irritably. They had no sense of honor. Jackson was right, they were only suited to be grunts on the ground.

Dante’s cell phone rang. He squinted at the number, then clicked it open. “Yeah?”

“We got ’em at a house outside Winters, California. What do you want?”

Dante thought for a minute. A vision of Grant’s face crossed his mind, cocky and gloating after the spill. “Take ’em.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. And the girl, the young one? She goes first.” A long pause. “There a problem?” Dante snarled, scratching at his arm again.

“Well, sir…there are four guards. And they look…”

“Yeah?” Dante said impatiently.

“They look like they know their shit, sir. I’m just saying, it’s the two of us.”

Dante rubbed his eyes with his free hand, thought it over. “All right. I know some guys near there.” He glanced at his watch: Jesus, nearly 3:00 a.m. “I’ll let you know when they’re coming. Don’t leave your position. And if they start to move again, call.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t fuck this up,” Dante warned. “And when you kill the girl? Tape it. I got someone here should see that.”

Dante hung up the phone feeling uniquely satisfied. He probably should have run the revised plan past Jackson, but he always hated to be bothered with details. And after the shit Grant pulled today, he needed to face some repercussions. Dante smiled as he imagined showing him that video. He’d see who the smart one was. And if Dante’s boys did him proud, it would be the sort of death no father would ever want to witness.