Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“Were part of the very operation that’s about to take place. The dogfighting—”

“Dogfighting doesn’'t even register on the scale he’s established in the past few days.”

Hull looks at his steel watch and winces. “Edward Po’s a well-known breeder of fighting dogs. Sands had to use whatever bait he could to lure Po onto U.S. soil.”

“That doesn’'t change the fact that every instance of it is a felony.”

“Christ, Cage, you can’t be

that

much of a Boy Scout. You worked in Houston for twelve years. You dealt with major crimes.”

“Mostly murder. Not this pseudo-spook stuff. That'’s why this case sticks in my craw. Jonathan Sands murdered or ordered the murders of Tim Jessup, Ben Li, and Linda Church, all employees of the

Magnolia Queen,

all of whom were in a position to supply enough evidence to put him in state prison for the rest of his life. He also ordered the kidnapping of Caitlin Masters. All those crimes are capital offenses in Mississippi. Tim Jessup was a friend of mine, but even if he weren’t, this man would not go unpunished. I don'’t give a damn what federal authority you try to invoke, once you have Po, this son of a bitch is going to jail. Either he does hard time as part of your plea with him, or Shad Johnson sends him to Parchman for murder and kidnapping.”

Sands leans in from my left and laughs in my face. “You don'’t get it, mate. If I don'’t cooperate, Hull doesn’'t get Po. And I don'’t cooperate unless I'm guaranteed immunity from prosecution.

Full

immunity. End of story.”

“Not quite,” I say. “If Edward Po doesn’'t show up for your little Roman spectacle tonight—and I’d lay ten-to-one odds that he won'’t—do you really believe that Hull’s going back to Washington empty-handed? After all the time and money he’s spent on this? No. In that case Quinn’s going to get the free pass, and

you’ll

wake up as the most vicious criminal in America. I can see the headlines now: ‘Irish mob man kills defenseless dogs, launders money for the Chinese triads. Possible links to terrorism.’”

As Quinn glares at me from behind Sands’s head, I see that Sands has obviously considered this possibility.

“After all,” I go on, “all we’re sure Seamus did is rape Linda Church and kill a few dogs. Maybe he killed Tim Jessup, maybe he didn't. But he can tell us everything

you

did. And without Po in hand, you’re the big fish everyone’s going to want to fry.”

“Why the fuck are we even listening to this?” Sands snaps, getting to his feet so fast that Quinn jumps back to get clear.

“Because I have evidence, Mr. Sands” I say evenly. “Hard evidence. I can bust you for money laundering right now. Chief Logan is standing by on the shore, and all the FBI agents in the world can’t stop him.” I lean back and look up at Sands with all the hatred in my heart flowing through my eyes. “This is still the United

States

of America, asshole.

That'’s

why you’re listening.”

Hull looks worried. “You don'’t have cops where somebody could see them, do you?”

“Take it easy, William. I want Po busted almost as badly as you do. I understand the priorities here. But I don'’t think he’s coming. And I'm making sure that in the heat of the moment, this psycho doesn’'t slip away to a fairy-tale ending.”

While Sands flexes his fists like a man preparing to beat down a door, Hull stands, turns his chair around, then straddles it and looks at me like a sergeant about to dress down his troops. I probably already have enough audio evidence to ruin Hull’s career, but I have a feeling we’re headed into serious criminal territory.

“Let me give you the facts of life,” the lawyer says in a stern voice. “Sands may be a psychopath, but who really gives a fuck? Do you think I’d be wasting my time with him if he couldn'’t deliver? The NSA confirmed that Po’s Dassault Falcon lifted off from Madrid Barajas Airport in Spain five hours ago. He was directly observed loading three Tosa Tokens aboard, and—”

“Tosa Tokens?”

“Fighting dogs, Cage! Po thinks he’s bringing them here to fight a man.”

The reality that Edward Po might actually be falling for Hull’s trap hits me for the first time, and the force of the realization shocks me. “How long till he gets here?”

“Barring unforeseen delay—like this absurd bullshit—three to four hours.”

Sands looks down at Hull. “You’d better straighten this bastard out, Will.”

“He’s seeing the light. Cage, do you know who you are in all this? I’'ve read your file from cover to cover. You think you’re Atticus Finch and Thomas Jefferson rolled into one, but I'’ll tell you who you are. Barney Fife. Barney fucking Fife, with one bullet in your gun, aimed straight at your own foot. I'm fighting for the national security of this nation, and you’re busting my balls over collateral damage that doesn’'t add up to one day’s casualties in Iraq or Afghanistan. Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear. But we’re not in Iraq. And the laws of this country apply to you as well as to Sands. When you gave me the proof of life I asked for yesterday, you proved yourself an accessory to kidnapping.”

Hull laughs outright. “You’re joking, right? Do you seriously think you’ll be able to trace that text message back to me? There are so many cutouts between those communications…shit, you won'’t even be permitted to access the records.” He gets to his feet and kicks over the chair he was straddling. “This meeting’s over.”

I stand also, knowing I’'ve got more evidence than I’d hoped for.

“All right,” I say with seeming resignation. “If Po is really coming, take your best shot at getting him. I want you to get him. But I want Natchez cops standing by within a half mile of the sting.”

Hull shakes his head. “We can’t risk it. I give you my word, Sands will still be on U.S. soil tomorrow. That'’s the best I can do.”

“You gave me your word that Caitlin Masters would be safe last night, but she was nearly killed by your informant’s attack dogs, and the woman she was being held with died as Sands’s prisoner. Your word means nothing to me. I'm calling in my cops.”

“We can’t let you do that.”

“How are you going to stop me? If I don'’t walk off this boat under my own power, Logan’s men come aboard. If we have a shoot-out, or even a standoff, Po’s jet is heading back to Spain.”

Hull looks at Sands, then back at me. “One man,” he says finally. “You can put one detective with us tonight.”

“No,” says Sands, feeling the tide turn against him.

“It makes no difference,” Hull says, looking hard at the Irishman.

“It does to me.”

“Well, that’s the way it is. Who do you want, Cage? Whoever it is, make sure he has a nice suit.”

“Kelly,” I say without hesitation.

“No fucking way,” blurts Quinn.

Sands, too, is shaking his head.

“Anybody else is like no guard at all,” I say. “Sands could put down a city cop without breaking stride. I want someone who can control him.”

“Kelly it is,” says Hull. “Does he own a suit?”

“He’ll have one in fifteen minutes.”

“Then we’re done here.” Hull nods at the door, and the Green Beret steps forward and opens it. Quinn and Sands look like they'’re on the ragged edge of making a move, but Hull’s bodyguard projects the feeling that he wasn'’t party to the firearms prohibition governing this meeting.

Kelly’s hand is in the small of my back, pushing me through the hatch. He clearly doesn’'t want the two of us left in the room with Sands and Quinn. As I pass into the corridor, I'm acutely conscious that I'm leaving behind the taped evidence that will give me control of William Hull, but there’s nothing to be done about this, short of fighting the two Irishmen for it. I'’ll have to trust that Logan and his men can get down here and retrieve the recorder without trouble.

What fills my mind as we move up the passageway behind Hull is the real possibility of nailing Edward Po. I never quite believed that the billionaire would risk stepping onto U.S. soil, but maybe Hull knew his prey well, and did what was required to draw him into the net.

At the elevator we all bunch up again as we wait for Quinn to arrive and punch in the security code. The other three guards have gone, but when the elevator arrives and the doors open, it’s all we can do to fit the six of us inside the car.

Seldom have I felt more free-floating testosterone than I do in this elevator. Sands and Kelly, predictably, have gained the back wall, but I have to stand with Quinn’s chest pressing into my back. I half expect the knife he used to slice open my belt to slide between my kidneys.

“Fifteen minutes,” Hull says, as the car stops on the main deck. “You don'’t have Kelly a suit by then, we’re leaving without him.”

“He’ll have it,” I say, my mind on the recorder downstairs as the doors open.

Hull and his man are first out. When they step around the partition, Hull beckons Kelly forward. As Kelly moves past me, I feel a hand grab my shirt and pull me backward, then a man’s breath in my ear. “Remember that night on your porch?” Sands whispers. “You make all the agreements you want with Hull, mate. Just remember this. Nothing in my world gets resolved on paper.

Nothing.

”

As I pull away, he twists a piece of flesh on my side hard enough to pop blood vessels, but nothing matters at this point. Nothing but signaling Chief Logan to get the recorder from below. Kelly fades back to me with a curious look, as though sensing that something has transpired, but I shake my head and push him forward.

Rounding the partition, I look up to the head of the escalator, but Logan isn’t there. A large crowd is upstairs, and I try to pick the chief from the moving mass of bodies as Kelly takes my wrist and tugs me forward.

The ring of a cell phone behind me makes me turn. When I do, I see Seamus Quinn holding his phone close to his ear, trying to hear above the jangling noise of the casino. I'm about to turn forward again when Quinn’s eyes go wide, and he grabs the arm of Jonathan Sands, who’s two feet to his right. Sands looks annoyed, but Quinn jerks him sideways and speaks urgently into his ear.

Every instinct tells me something has gone horribly wrong. Without even sighting Logan, I raise my hand to the top of my head and pat it three times. Sands’s eyes lock onto mine from a distance of ten feet, the malice in them absolute. For a brief time we are joined by mutual hatred, then his hand darts into his pocket, my eyes scarcely able to follow the swift movement.

A burst of white lights the night outside the casino, then a staccato blast like fireworks rattles the windows. The crowd falls into a shocked hush, and then the whole casino lurches away from the shore, sending hundreds of people reeling. As a collective scream of

panic fills the saloon, Sands gives me a savage grin, then turns and races toward the stern of the barge, Quinn close behind him.

“Get off the boat!”

Kelly shouts, knocking me aside as he flies past in pursuit.

“Go, go, go! I'’ll get the tape!”

CHAPTER

69

Water cascades from the sprinkler system, and alarms ring shrilly while a recorded voice directs people to the exits with absurd calm. The bow of the barge seems to be drifting away from the riverbank, slowly but with increasing speed, like a log being pulled into a flooding river. The sensation is eerie, as though a huge hotel ballroom had begun to spin on its axis.