The Last Family (33 page)

“He was an enforcer with Perez years ago. Lallo was reported missing by his wife about the same time this guy was surfacing … so to speak. The investigating cops found something on the coffee baron’s desk—a list
he’d evidently made the day he died, which they turned over to the feds.”

Paul crushed out the cigarette that he had left in the ashtray before he continued.

“Estevez’s wife called the police because he hadn’t come home. The driver, his bodyguard, didn’t come home either. The last thing on the list was an entry to meet ‘M’ at eleven on his company-owned dock on the Mississippi River. The cops snooped around the dock, and there was a place where there was a lot of broken auto safety glass and where something had scraped the edge of the pier. So they brought in a portable sonar, which picked up something downstream. They dropped cameras, and voilà … Cadillac with two corpses inside.”

“Estevez?”

“The chauffeur was buckled in his seat belt with a round just behind the ear. Same gun as Mr. Necktie was killed with. Estevez was in the trunk.”

“You said he had his throat slit?”

“The hitter did.”

“Was it Fletcher? Martin has time to wander around killing
everybody
he’s pissed at?”

“Peoples is ready to bet big bucks on it,” Paul said.

“So he’s been in New Orleans.” Rainey had a faraway look in his eyes. “Could he still be?”

“For the moment I’m assuming that’s possible,” Paul said. “He’s capable. Thorne’s team is moving in with Laura until this is over. He’ll meet his mother in Disney World and double back for the finale, but there is a slight chance he might be planning to escape to Florida
after
he attacks my family and meet his mother while we’re running around chasing our tails.”

“Or he might not be after your family. He said he wasn’t going to kill them. Maybe he just wanted you to worry and commit a force to protecting them while he lounged around in Disney World with Mama.”

“Possible.” Paul allowed himself to smile. He lifted the cane and tapped it against his palm. “But I don’t
think so. He’ll double back if he gets the chance. I don’t plan to let that happen.”

Rainey sat down on the edge of a chair, nervously tapping his hands on the armrests like a speed freak about to impart the truths of the universe. “Let’s think this through for a minute. If Martin killed Estevez and his pals, he’d have to be pretty sure no one could put him on the scene. At least not this fast. What if the hit man was just there to take Martin out? Maybe Estevez set him up. Martin trained the Medellín boys’ army, so maybe the hit man was working for Martin. Maybe the hit man dropped Lallo into the drink, and then he was killed in turn because he could finger Martin.”

Paul squeezed the tennis ball. “If Martin is in New Orleans to hit my family, why would he take a chance of clipping someone else in New Orleans first? He would have to assume we could find out he was there. Or he’s using the hits in New Orleans for misdirection … which is what it has to be. We look our asses off in New Orleans while he lies in the sun in Florida unmolested. Then when we’re stir-crazy a few weeks down the line, he pops in and hits my family. I can see that.”

“He wants to sucker us to New Orleans so he can be safe in Florida?” Rainey asked.

“We’re going to nail him,” Paul said. “This time it ends. One way or another.”
Hell wait for me to be there before he acts. He wants me to see them die. Otherwise they’d already be dead
.

Sherry entered the conference room. “Mr. Masterson, you have a visitor.”

“I wasn’t expecting anybody.”

Sherry handed him a business card, which Paul read. “A lawyer? Do I need a lawyer?”

“He says it’s important. And highly confidential.”

Rainey stood. “I’m going for an Egg McMuffin. Want anything?”

“No,” Paul said.

Rainey walked from the room. Sherry smiled. “How you feeling today?”

“Great. Thanks again for last night.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since. You helped me, I just wanted to let you know. Sorry I left so early, but it had nothing to do with you or the night. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“Anytime.”

“By the way—see if D.C. will send us something with real speed. The Merlin won’t do. Ask for a Gulf-stream or a Falcon. We’re going to Miami in the next few hours.”

“It’s drawing to a close?” Her voice shook a little.

“Looks like it. Let me know as soon as you hear from Peoples and”—he held up the card—“send this guy in.”

Sherry left the room, and seconds later a young man dressed in an expensive suit and patent-leather cowboy boots came in. Paul gestured and he took a seat across the table.

“I’m Paul Masterson,” he said.

“Ben Tackett.”

“Sherry tells me it’s confidential. I’m right in the middle of something, and I’m not doing drug investigations. You may want to see the—”

“This isn’t about drugs. It’s about Ed Buchanan.”

“Buchanan … should I know who that is? Coffee, Mr. Tackett?”

“No. I’ll do this fast.” The attorney scrambled his fingers and locked his hands on the table surface. “Rainey Lee was in the Buchanans’ home last night.”

“One of the scouts,” Paul said, remembering. “Sorry the name didn’t stick. I sent him. He said it didn’t produce anything.”

“Sir, this is Tennessee, and there are specific laws in Tennessee to protect our citizens from out-of-control federal officers.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Are you not aware that Agent Rainey Lee threatened the Buchanans at gunpoint?”

“What?”

“Ed Buchanan is a client and friend of mine. He is aware of the pressure that Agent Lee has been under—what he has been through—and that’s the only reason Mr. Lee isn’t already under arrest. Ed says he isn’t the same person he was before. Their sons were close friends.”

“I know.”

“In the kitchen. Evidently Rainey got verbally rough with the child because he couldn’t recall seeing some accomplice this killer was supposed to have had. Betty Ann grew hysterical, and when Ed went to the kitchen to call the police, Mr. Lee took his gun from his holster under his jacket and aimed it at Mr. Buchanan.” The attorney pulled out a pad and read the lines he had written on it earlier. “Then he told Mr. Buchanan to ‘sit the fuck down and shut his fucking mouth and stop interfering in federal matters or all hell was going to break loose.’ He told him if he ‘said one,’ again I quote, ‘fucking thing he’d come back and bury him in the flower garden.’ He told Mr. Buchanan he had nothing to lose. They said his eyes were”—the attorney looked at the paper—“feral.” He pushed it away. “In a word, it scared the shit out of my client and his family.”

Paul exhaled loudly and lit a cigarette. “Mr.…?”

“Tackett. Call me Ben.”

“Ben, Agent Lee is under a lot of stress, as you have said. Tell the Buchanans that they have the apology of the DEA and that Mr. Lee’s firearm was not loaded. We have him under the care of the agency psychiatrist, and we are humoring him by giving him some busy work. Tonight I am flying him out of here. By tomorrow night Mr. Lee will have been committed to a facility where he can get the professional help he needs so desperately.”

“Not loaded? The gun wasn’t loaded.” The attorney raised an eyebrow.

Paul shook his head. “I unloaded it myself. Rainey is an old friend. I didn’t know he had done any of this. Please accept my deep and sincere apology.”

The attorney stood. “Well, I leave this in your hands.
The Buchanans also ask that they be left out of this. They’d rather Mr. Lee …”

“I understand completely.”

After the attorney left, Paul sat down and thought about what Rainey had done. It was irrational. It was irresponsible. It was, in fact, criminal. Rainey was a dangerously loose cannon.

Paul picked up the telephone and dialed.

“This is Paul Masterson. I need to speak to T.C. Robertson.” He lit a cigarette. “A status report. Urgent. Yes, I’ll hold for the director.”
Acting director
.

“Hey, Paul. How’s it going?”

“It’s all coming together, but I’ve got a problem we have to discuss.”

“God, you know how I hate problems. You assured me—”

“It’s Rainey. I think we might have to put him on ice until this is over. He pulled a gun on a citizen. Man and his wife. Parent of one of the Cub Scouts. Looks like he’s over the edge.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“He needs a few months in the Barn.” “The Barn” was slang for a facility in Maryland where troubled federal agents were sent for extended rest and rehabilitation. It was obvious to Paul, looking back, that he should have been sent there after he’d been released from the hospital, but it never came up. Someone near the top of the DEA had probably short-circuited normal procedures because they hadn’t wanted him back in the picture for some reason. Politics, rivalry for a higher position, or maybe whoever it was thought they were doing him a favor by keeping him free. There was no proof, except that the Barn and intense therapy would have been a normal step in his rehabilitation. Maybe he had just been cast off because he was damaged goods, not worth the investment.

Something alerted Paul that he wasn’t alone. He turned as he spoke and realized that the conference-room door was standing open.

“I’ll call you back, T.C.”

Paul picked up his cane as he went to the door. The hallway was clear. He went to Sherry’s office and stuck his head inside. She was seated at her desk. “Oh, good.” She picked up a pink message slip and held it up so he could see it. “The Falcon is coming later this morning.”

“You seen Rainey?”

“He was just here while I was on the line. Isn’t he in the conference room? I thought he was going there.”

“Get on the telephone, Sherry. Tell security to drop the gate to the garage.”

“Why?”

“Just tell them to do it. Now. Tell the door guards no one leaves the building.”

“What’s happening?”

“Just do it!” Paul cleared the door and ran for the elevators as fast as he could, given the limp. No telling what Rainey would do if he knew Paul had plotted with T.C. to lock him up.

Paul stopped short because Rainey was standing at the elevators with a McDonald’s bag in his hand. There was a cup of coffee spilled on the floor at his feet. He was crying. Paul approached slowly and put his hand on Rainey’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“It’s embarrassing being out of balance,” he said between the tears. “I am not in control, Paul. I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. Please … help me. I’ll go to the Barn after Martin’s down.”

Paul embraced his old friend. “I will help you. I promise I will. It’ll be fine again, you’ll see,” Paul said. “Now, I’ll have your weapon,” he said. He backed off and extended his left hand.

Rainey had overheard Paul planning his incarceration, turned, and made for the elevators in a momentary panic. But as he’d waited for the cab, he’d heard Paul’s orders to Sherry and had known he couldn’t get out of the building. Even if he could, where would he go? Nothing but Martin mattered, and he couldn’t hunt Martin blind. He couldn’t very well follow Paul on the chase
from a distance, either. He knew he’d have to take another tack. It was easy. The tears were real as rain.

Inside he felt a calm. It was what God wanted so his family could be reunited. There would be a blood atonement. When the time came, the weapon for Martin’s destruction would be at hand.

36

“W
HAT NOW?”
L
AURA SAID AS SHE SURVEYED THE FIVE AGENTS
who were standing on the porch. Reid, behind her, was looking over her shoulder.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” Thorne said. “Martin has been in New Orleans in the last few days.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Come in. The three of you standing there like that, I was thinking you were going to tell me something had happened to Paul.” She smiled nervously.
What a strange thing to think … to say
.

“I was just going to make some coffee,” Reid said, turning and going off down the hall.

Thorne cleared the door, followed by Woody and Sean, leaving the two local agents on the porch. “Paul had ordered us to move in closer. In light of Martin’s possible presence, nothing else makes sense.”

“How about the porch? I could get a desk and some cots and a phone line.”

“This isn’t a joke, Laura. The man is—”

“Don’t say dangerous, Thorne,” Laura said. “Make yourselves at home. You don’t have to sell me.”

“More surveillance agents are coming on to watch the exterior. We’re going to put a few uniforms around the streets near the house.”

“There’s Reid’s room for your guys, and I can move Reb in with Erin, so that frees two more single beds. You can bivouac the national guard in the yard if you’d like, just keep them out of my studio.” She turned and walked into the studio. “Make yourself at home. I have work to do.”

“Laura. My orders are not to allow you or the children out of the house for the next forty-eight hours. We’re going to start with the trip home from school today.”

“Who gave the orders?”

“Paul.” Thorne leaned close and whispered to Laura. “Martin is in Florida waiting for someone we know he’s meeting with. But there’s a chance a partner may try something to keep us off his trail. Kidnapping one of you is a distinct possibility—even killing someone.”

“I see. Just forty-eight hours?” She tried to imagine her life back in her control. Forty-eight hours and she’d be free? She decided she could stand almost anything for forty-eight hours.

“Within forty-eight hours everything should be over.”

“I suppose he wants to move us.”

“Well, we feel we can watch you here just as well as anywhere. And we’d have to expose you while we moved you. We’re going to have dogs go over the house and property to check for any … unusual things.”

“I would have assumed the idea is for you guys to be conspicuous. At least I hope so. A few troopers milling around won’t bother me in the least. I’ll explain it to the children.”

Thorne followed Laura into the studio. He stood and stared at the three large canvases on the far wall. One, the centerpiece, was of Reid standing in a mountain
meadow at night surrounded by young sheep and illuminated by the light of a fire, which was out of frame to the right—based on the light fall and the shadows. In his right hand, held at midpoint, was a tall staff, carved over with scales, with the triangular head of a serpent at its topmost point. The base of the staff, which ended in the grass, was actually a gleaming spear tip, which reflected the firelight, a golden orange. Two freshly born lambs, their translucent skin accented with rivers of blue vein, were cradled in the hook of his left arm. One rested its head against Reid’s chest and had a look of peace, while the other was in a state of wide-eyed terror. In the shadows of the trees, barely visible as lighter-shadow shapes, were a pack of wolves, their eyes lit orange. One of the wolves, the one in the foreground, was very large, and his eyes were bright-yellow points on an otherwise featureless, and singularly sinister, form.