Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“Sounds like a pain in the ass,” Dad grumbles. “But okay.”

Holding up the FedEx package, I glance at Kelly, and he nods. Inside it I find a thick sheaf of typed, single-spaced pages. Taped to the top sheet is a typed note that reads,

Sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places.

“It’s from Lutjens!” I say. “Peter Lutjens.”

“What is it?” asks Kelly.

I crumple the note and read the top of the first page. It begins, “Case Black. Distribution List Restricted. Subject: Edward Po, Macau.”

“It could be gold.”

My cell phone is buzzing again. I look down. “That'’s William Hull.”

Kelly motions me out of the room.

Walking into the kitchen, I hit SEND and say, “Penn Cage.”

“Are you feeling reassured about your lady friend?”

“Why would I?”

“I have no idea. I'm just calling to reiterate that I have no knowledge of what we discussed in your earlier call.”

“Well, now that we both know what we’re not talking about, are we done?”

“Just about,” says Hull. “I have one question.”

“I'm listening.”

“You said you had enough evidence to convict Jonathan Sands of money laundering on your own.”

“That'’s correct.”

“I’d like to see that evidence.”

“I’d like a chocolate chip cookie without the chips.”

“Mr. Cage—”

“Unless your informant wants to trade my lady friend for said evidence, you won'’t be seeing anything. And don'’t bother looking for it, or sending people to look for it. They won'’t find it.”

“I wonder if that’s because you have no such evidence.”

“You’ll be wondering that all night. Look, Hull, I’'ve been where you are, okay? How long did you say you'’ve been trying to bust Po? A couple of years? More?”

“Almost three actually.”

“And everything you'’ve done in that time comes down to tomorrow. You’re living on caffeine and adrenaline and doughnuts. You’ve probably got the AG bitching about all the money you'’ve spent, and now—right here at the end—you finally realize that everything you'’ve done hangs on the actions of one psychopathic informant. You thought you were running him, but right now, the tail’s wagging the dog. I know you wouldn'’t have okayed them snatching Caitlin, but for whatever reason, they did it. And the truth is, you’re probably relieved that they took her off the board. Just until your sting goes down. Because right now, you’re the living embodiment of the end justifies the means. Nailing Po is all you live for. I get that, William. But you’re not so far gone that you'’ve forgotten this. If Caitlin Masters dies in the custody of your informant, it won'’t matter what kind of evidence you have on Po. Your case is blown,

and you’ll end up sitting in a cell right next to Sands when it’s all over. That'’s not a threat. That'’s lawyer to lawyer. So you'’ve got one job, my friend. Make sure that not one hair on Caitlin’s head is harmed. Not

one

.”

There’s a long silence. Then Hull says, “All I can do is give you my word that I'’ll look into the situation. But my instinct is that—no, let me rephrase that—as regards anyone involved in my investigation, you should have no concerns whatever regarding the safety of Ms. Masters.”

“I have your word on that?”

“As regards anyone involved in my investigation, yes. Now, if she’s simply run off somewhere—”

“Her bodyguard was shot with a tranquilizer dart.”

“Well…she

is

an investigative journalist. We can’t know what sort of stories she might be pursuing.”

“I don'’t like what you’re suggesting, William. I'm getting a very uneasy feeling. And I think the best way for you to alleviate that feeling is to get on a Learjet, switch on the afterburners, and get your ass down here.

Tonight.

You need to get a handle on your informant, before I decide to have him jailed myself.”

“I can’t possibly do that.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t tell you. But I will be coming south tomorrow. Meanwhile, I can’t imagine that jailing Mr. Sands would be anything but counterproductive—for all of us. I think that if you can be patient for a little longer, your patience will be rewarded.”

“I'm not a patient man,” I say, and cut the connection.

“Learjets don'’t have afterburners,” Kelly says. “But it sounded good. Is he coming?”

“He says he can’t be here until tomorrow. He’s got to be bullshitting me.”

“Maybe not. He’s probably trying to get a leash on Sands from where he is, but he’s got too many balls in the air to control them all. He’s doing just what you said—praying everything will hold together until tomorrow night.”

“I hope so.”

“There is one other option.” Kelly smiles. “You said Homeland Security was part of this task force, right?”

“Yeah.”

“The threat of Mr. Masters going public could have pushed Hull over the edge. He might just be stalling long enough to get a rendition team down here to make us all disappear.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Kelly laughs. “Hell, yeah. They’re not that crazy. And it’s not going to matter anyway. We’re going to find her ourselves tonight.”

CHAPTER

56

“I told you it wouldn'’t work,” Linda says through the plywood wall. “He doesn’'t miss anything. He took one look in there and knew what you were thinking. That'’s why he took the cats.”

Caitlin balls her bloody fists in frustration and tries to keep her voice level. “It doesn’'t matter. I can get into the storeroom now.”

“So what? You can’t get away without the cats to distract them.”

“I'm going to use the puppy chow.”

Linda laughs without mirth. “You think those dogs want puppy chow? They eat meat, and nothing but. You’re crazy if you try it.”

“Have you got the bars off your window yet?”

Linda says nothing.

“Linda?”

“I got two of them loose. What does it matter? You can’t get this chain off, and even if you do, I can’t run. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“You can tell me a thousand times and I won'’t listen.”

There’s another long silence, during which Caitlin hears the trainers outside working the Bully Kuttas. From what she’s seen through her window, any man who would climb into a pit with one of them with only a knife would have to be certifiably insane, no matter how much armor he wore. Still, Daniel Kelly managed to kill one on the riverbank, so it’s not impossible. But Kelly is an elite commando; she

can’t have any illusions about what would happen if one of the dogs caught hold of an ankle as she climbed the fence. They would literally eat her alive.

“I'm not leaving without you,” Caitlin says again. “But we have to go as soon as those trainers leave. Quinn’s going to be furious after what Sands did to him today. He’s going to want to take it out on you. As soon as the trainers leave, you get those other bars off.”

“I know what they'’re going to do,” she says. “They’re going to take you away, and then they’ll put that armor suit on me and throw me to the dogs.”

“No!” Caitlin shouts, but she suspects Linda is right.

“You saw how they acted. They can’t afford to kill you. That'’s why they came and asked who popped your cherry. The mayor’s working some kind of deal for you. But I won'’t get that. I’'ve seen too much.”

“If they are letting me go, then they can’t kill you. I’'ve seen you. I could tell people you were alive. You see?”

A shout with a ring of finality echoes across the yard beneath the great shed, and Caitlin hears the lid of a pickup’s toolbox clang down.

“They’re getting ready to leave,” she says, feeling her heart pound with anticipation. “Get ready to get those bars down. The second they'’re gone, I'm getting up on the roof.”

“Caitlin?”

“Yes?”

“You shouldn’t try it. They’re going to let you go, if you’ll just wait for the trade. But if you go out there with those dogs, you’re going to die. Puppy chow won'’t hold them for five seconds. They’ll smell you coming, and they’ll rip you to pieces.”

“I'm not waiting.”

“I'’ll pray for you, then.”

“I don'’t want a prayer. I want you with me.”

“I can’t run no more!”

Caitlin can’t sustain the deception any longer. “Linda, if you don'’t run, you’re going to die. You’re right. Quinn means to kill you. It’s only twenty feet to that fence. I'’ll help you across the space, and I'’ll boost you up.”

There’s a long silence. “I can’t let you do that,” Linda says finally. “It wasn'’t meant to be. This is my time, that’s all. If you’re really going to do it, just go.”

“I won'’t. Not without you.”

“Yes, you will. Don’t feel bad about it either. You’re a good person, Caitlin. Not stuck-up like I would have thought. I wish we could’ve been friends. I haven'’t had a good girlfriend since grade school.”

“We

can

be friends. We

are

friends. You’re a good person too, and you deserve a long, happy life!”

This time the silence drags. “I done some bad things in my life,” Linda says. “Stuff I wouldn'’t want my mama to know about.”

“We all have, Linda. Trust me on that.”

“Maybe. I don'’t imagine you'’ve seen the world from some of the places I have. But at least I can say this. I never took money for it.”

Outside, the truck engine rumbles to life, and two doors slam.

“That'’s it,” Caitlin says, jumping to her feet. “Get those bars off your windows. I'm going to the storeroom. When Quinn gets back, he’s not going to find anything but empty stalls!”

She grabs her window bars and starts her skin-the-cat inversion, but stops before pushing up the tin sheet above her. “Linda?” she says. “Linda?”

She hears nothing but the receding truck at first, then the rattle of the chain next door.

“Are you working on them?” she calls, as the blood pools in her head.

“Uh-huh. It hurts.”

“No pain, no gain. Get them off!”

“Caitlin?”

“What?”

“Thanks for getting my clothes back.”

“You’re welcome. I'’ll see you in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay.”

“No more Quinn, right?”

“Right. No more.”

Caitlin almost rejoices in the pain as she kicks the tin sheet upward, then drops to the floor and climbs onto the windowsill, bent nearly double. In one smooth motion she straightens her legs

and catches hold of the outside roof, then raises herself through the hole by main strength. When the cool breeze hits her face, it feels like freedom, and when the four Bully Kuttas gather below her, their upturned faces watching her with unmistakable malice, she leans out just a little and speaks softly.

“Let’s see who’s smarter, eh? Dogs or women?”

CHAPTER

57

Despite our enthusiasm when we climbed aboard Danny McDavitt’s helicopter, it didn't take long to figure out that even with the first-class equipment aboard the Athens Point JetRanger—and Kelly’s proficiency at reading a FLIR screen—the mathematics of our mission are going to kill us. Even assuming that Caitlin’s “rivers” clue meant the Mississippi River, and confining our search to the sixty miles of river between Natchez and DeSalle Island (the site of the hunting camp where Shad Johnson had his picture taken with Darius Jones), we’re conducting the equivalent of a single-aircraft search for a lifeboat over a small sea. Actually, our situation is worse, because at least on the ocean, it’s a matter of sighting a boat on empty water. Moreover, my sixty-mile figure was calculated as the crow flies. Flying the tortuous bends of the river easily doubles that distance, while covering both banks doubles that again. If we try to search more than a half mile deep into Mississippi or Louisiana, the square-miles numbers go stratospheric.