The Gatekeeper

Thirty

Kelly awoke to the sound of pounding on her door. Blearily, she rolled over and checked the time: 8:00 a.m. She’d finally dropped off to sleep well past midnight. Her laptop sat open beside her on the bed, screen saver pulsating green. Next to it was the motel notepad on which she’d scrawled notes about Jackson Burke.

“What the hell, Jones. Are you alive in there?”

It was Rodriguez. She sat up slowly, straightening her blouse, wishing she’d changed out of it before falling asleep. It had been her last clean one, and now it was a wrinkled mess. “One minute.” Kelly checked herself in the mirror on the way to the door and frowned.

“Jesus, I was about to get a battering ram.” He looked her over. “Finally got some sleep, huh?”

“Not enough. What’s up?”

“They got an ID on our guy.”

“Yeah?” Kelly quickly skimmed the faxes he handed her. The dead guy was a nuclear physicist from a DoD research lab. That was a far cry from the extremists they’d been rounding up so far. But it didn’t bode well for the powder.

Rodriguez read her thoughts. “I talked to someone on the Hazmat team. He said we should get checked for exposure. McLarty set something up at the hospital downtown, and we’re supposed to head there ASAP. But since we were only in contact for a few minutes, and they got us out of our clothes and shoes, chances are it wasn’t too bad.”

“Meaning what, we lose all our hair?” Kelly tried to sound flippant, but the gravity of what had happened suddenly struck her. She thought of Jake, how he’d handle the news. A small, cold part of her wondered if he’d even care.

Rodriguez tried to match her tone. “That happens, I’m filing for full disability.” He ran a hand through his buzz cut. “People would kill for this head of hair. And I want compensation for those shoes. This case has been hell on my wardrobe.”

“Did Leonard have any theories on why they killed this guy Grant?” Kelly asked.

“Not for his clothes, that’s for sure.” She raised an eyebrow, and he dropped the tone. “Oh, we’re being serious now. Leonard still isn’t telling me jack-shit. But after we swing by the hospital, I’m thinking we head back to the warehouse, see what we can rustle up.”

“You’re that eager to expose yourself again?”

“I just want to find out what the hell is going on,” Rodriguez said. “This is our case, it was our lead that got the ball rolling. I say we fight to get back in there. Can you get McLarty to back us?”

“I can try, but you’re his golden boy.”

“Please, Jones.” Rodriguez shook his head and grinned. “Everyone knows you’re his favorite.”

Kelly flushed. “He has a funny way of showing it. Give me a minute to get ready.”

“Sure. Might want to run a brush through that hair, too,” he said pointedly, eyeing her scalp.

An hour later Kelly shifted in a chair as a technician drew her blood. “I didn’t realize you could test for radiation exposure this way.”

The technician focused on the syringe. “It’s a relatively new procedure, but probably the quickest.”

“And what if I received a serious dose?” Kelly asked.

“The doctor will be with you in a minute to explain,” the technician said. She avoided eye contact on the way back to the waiting room, which Kelly took as a bad sign.

Rodriguez was already slumped in a chair drinking a can of apple juice. His raised his hand in a halfhearted wave. “Did they give you some juice? It’s free.”

“They didn’t.” Kelly turned back to the technician. “Was I supposed to get some juice?”

“We usually only give it to people who might pass out, but if you want some…”

“No, that’s fine.” Kelly sat in the chair next to Rodriguez. “Fear of needles?”

He flushed. The bruises on his face were finally fading, although his nose remained noticeably off-center. “The week I’ve had, I can’t really afford to lose more blood. They tell you it’ll be at least twenty-four hours until the results come back?”

Kelly nodded. “The doctor is supposed to come discuss our options.”

“Antibiotics, antiemetics and potassium iodide. Worst-case scenario, we’ll need a bone marrow transplant.”

“Who told you that?” Kelly raised her eyebrows.

“Read all about it on the Internet last night. That pill they gave you before was potassium iodide. Keeps your thyroid from absorbing radioiodine. ’Course, if we were exposed to a different kind of radiation, we’re screwed. Until they get the results back, they can’t do anything.” He stood. “So let’s go.”

Kelly looked at him. His jaw was set, and he seemed determined. He was probably right. The doctor would tell them to wait for the test results, and they’d deal with the consequences then. She nodded. “Let’s go.”

“You talk to McLarty yet?” Rodriguez asked as they strolled back to their car.

“I was going to call him on the way. I needed to power up, my phone died last night.” In the car she pulled it off the cradle. Almost immediately, it rang. She recognized Jake’s number and picked up. “Hi.”

“Jesus, Kelly, are you okay?”

Sure, now he was concerned, she thought. “I’m fine. We’re leaving the hospital, they should have the test results in a few hours.”

“Okay. Are you heading to the warehouse now?”

“I am, actually,” Kelly said, puzzled.

“Great. I’ll meet you there.”

“What? Where are you?”

“In Houston. It’s a long story, but it looks like our cases overlap.”

“What are you talking about?” Kelly struggled to process what he was saying. How could a K &R case in California have anything to do with the Morris killing?

“Look, it’s a long story. I’ll see you soon.”

“What was that all about?” Rodriguez asked.

“I have no idea. But my fiancé is here, he said something about our cases overlapping.”

“Great. Can’t wait to see Jake again.” Rodriguez steered them onto the highway and gunned the engine. “Maybe he can tell us what the fuck is going on.”

Jackson Burke sat in front of a row of mirrors. This was an important appearance, an interview on a national political talk show the day after his Senate appointment. He needed to look just so, and with an eye to that had carefully chosen his wardrobe. The conservative blue suit-nice but not his finest, so he wouldn’t alienate his base. A red tie, no stripes, a little wider than was currently fashionable. And of course the ubiquitous American flag pin. He’d instructed the makeup girl to eliminate the pouches under his eyes and even out his skin tone, but not to make him look like a dandy. He knew exactly what people expected from their politicians, it was all about attention to detail. Look trustworthy, and they’ll trust you. Don’t come across as too slick, throw in a few folksy expressions, and they’d be eating out of your hand. He’d spent a lifetime crafting his image and building his position as both a major donor and tried-and-true standard-bearer for the state party. When it came to naming Duke’s successor, there was only one logical option. There had been a few hours of panic over rumors that the governor was considering some spic state senator. But one phone call reminded the governor who had buttered his bread through countless campaigns. Now it was finally time to reap the benefits of all he’d sown.

Of course, he could have run against Duke in the next election. But that raised the risk of splitting the party vote, not to mention alienating Duke and his supporters. No, this had been so much more elegant. This way Duke’s legacy lived on, he became a martyr to the cause, and his supporters were now Jackson ’s. Everyone won. And after tomorrow, he’d not only be leading Arizona, but the nation, as well. Everything he’d said yesterday at the swearing-in ceremony would appear prescient: he, and only he, knew how to protect the American people from the danger on their borders. He’d already crafted his speech for the aftermath, pointing out how the administration had failed to stop the flood of terrorists, criminals and prostitutes who were destroying the American way of life.

People would be afraid, probably even more frightened than on 9/11. And he was fully prepared to capitalize on that fear. Years’ worth of failed legislation could be pushed through Congress in a matter of weeks, if the Patriot Act was any indication. The president, already facing a disenchanted electorate, would find himself sliding in the polls as he was gearing up for reelection. And if everything went as planned, there would be an appropriate challenger confronting him, someone who had developed a reputation for steadfastness and strength when America needed it most. Sort of the Giuliani model, but without the tawdry affairs.

Jackson ’s phone rang, and he frowned at Dante’s number. The man was turning out to be such a disappointment. Though Dante was infinitely more capable than the scum he ran with, and had mustered support in arenas that he could never have accessed otherwise, the string of recent failures proved what he had always suspected. Once trash, always trash.

Jackson answered on the fourth ring. “Yes.” He listened, and the frown deepened. A PA appeared at the door and held up five fingers. Jackson nodded to show that he understood, waiting until she was out of earshot to say, “This is very bad news. How did they find it?”

As he listened a red flush rose up his neck, tainting his makeup. “You’re right, under the circumstances we need to reconsider the targets. We’ll switch to the backup sites. Make it happen.”

Jackson hung up and drummed his fingers on the armrest, blood pressure climbing. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for a bottle of pills, popping one in his mouth. As his pulse stabilized he focused on his breathing, eyes closed. It was going to be okay. He’d been very careful, and hopefully Dante had, too. Nothing tied him to that warehouse, and according to Dante it would take the FBI days to sort out the situation anyway. By then it would be too late.

The PA reappeared and Jackson hopped down from the chair, practicing his easy grin as he followed her down a long hallway to the set. In a way, this might be for the best. The new targets were not obvious ones, which meant he wouldn’t have to worry about last-minute security measures. And after all this was over, he’d send Dante on a well-deserved vacation-one he’d never return from.

Jackson rolled his shoulders once, waiting for the applause to begin before bounding onstage to shake the host’s hand. No one can stop me now, he thought, raising both arms to the crowd and letting their approval wash over him.