Troubleshooter

Chapter 61

Uncle Pete stared out through the bars of his holding cell at the three deputy marshals and the score of FBI agents. The cell was dimly lit, devouring his wide form, but his eyes floated in a band of light. Tim couldn't see his mouth but could tell from the crinkles at his temples that he was smiling.

A closer look at the down-payment bills-which totaled $7.5 million-had revealed them to be fake. Sweat beaded at Bear's hairline; he fanned himself with a packet of counterfeit hundreds. Malane was holding a test tube of the seized substance; minutes earlier, to emphasize his findings, the ERT agent had downed a shot of it. The Allah's Tears and Den Laurey were at large and, Tim was sure, enjoying each other's company.

Malane shook the test tube. "Sambuca."

Uncle Pete's voice emerged from the dark cell. "Is that so."

"You burned the Prophet. And al-Fath."

"I never heard of no prophet, friends, but I'll tell you this: We sure as shit ain't scared of a bunch of Allah-lovin' sweat monkeys hiding in caves halfway around the world." His eyes bunched with another smile. "In fact, it warms my heart to think you're fixin' a cot in Gitmo for another A-rab. We Sinners may be badass motherfuckers, but we ain't anti-Amurican. So if you think we burned al-Fath, then hell, you can hang a medal around my fat neck. I assume that's what you're all here for? To honor my supposed intelligence work?"

He enjoyed a good genuine laugh, his bulky shadow rippling like a cape.

The Operation Cleansweep task-force headquarters overlooked the VA cemetery. The government-issue headstones formed razor-straight lines on the lush green turf. A few durable Christmas wreaths provided splotches of color, but not enough to detract from the smog and granite.

The similarities between this room and the Service's command post were striking. Same tacked photos, same day-old food, same weary air of expired adrenaline. Bear was speaking in hushed tones over the phone to Tannino, his posture indicating that the conversation was going about as expected. Tim and Guerrera waited patiently for him to finish so they could head back and regroup in the squad room.

Smiles sat on the table, folders resting across his thigh, one loafer tip dipped to the carpet as if stirring waters. Malane had pulled Tim aside and asked him not to make reference to the Polaroid found pinned to Rich's jeans. Tim had agreed reluctantly; he generally objected to office secrets, no matter the motive behind them, but it wasn't his command post and he couldn't see what would be gained by Smiles's knowing. Especially right now. Tim assumed he'd make a different call if he found himself in possession of like information about Bear or another colleague, but he'd learned that his preconceived assumptions weren't particularly useful to him or anyone else.

"So from Uncle Pete's perspective, how was the double cross supposed to play out?" Smiles asked. "I mean, once the Prophet does the test and figures out the Sinners ran the switch on him…"

"He kills Dana Lake, and then Pete doesn't have to pay her cut," Tim said.

"And Wristwatch Annie?"

"She's a slag, not a Sinner," Guerrera said. "Expendable."

"Why burn the producers? Kill the golden goose?"

"Two liters is enough to feed the street for nine months. I mean, socio, fifty million dollars in hand? Weighed against what? The stability of terrorists and the drug trade?"

Malane sat with both hands run into his thin hair; it protruded in tufts from between his fingers. "I can't fucking believe I missed it," he said, for not the first time. "We're dead-ended. All fronts." He lifted his head, a movement that seemed to require great effort. "We'll have to dismantle the Sinners's drug-distribution network, hope to seize the AT in batches as we go. It's not much of a plan, but it's all we have."

"At least we've got Uncle Pete nailed," another agent said.

Smiles continued to review Uncle Pete's seized financials. "These figures are ridiculous. Uncle Pete reported nineteen grand last year, but he drives a"-he turned aside the tax return and pulled out a yellow vehicle-purchase order-"seventy-nine-thousand dollar Lexus LS