Chest heaving, on his knees, weeping. At his side was Rudnick, the doctor’s hands wrapped around his patient’s head, steadying it against his small chest. “That’s it,” he said calmly as Uzi’s body shuddered. “Just let it out.”
Uzi blubbered like a child, the tears cascading down his cheeks.
“We can now begin our work,” Rudnick said. “And you can now begin to live the rest of your life.”
Uzi walked into his office, sunglasses blocking his bloodshot eyes. Hoshi was still bent over the laptop. Without saying a word, he moved behind his maple desk and sat down. Hoshi tapped away, apparently engrossed in her work.
“Tell me you went home last night,” Uzi said.
“I crashed on the couch. Woke up around five, went downstairs and did a half hour on the treadmill, then showered and went back to work.” She hit a few keys, then sat back and appeared to notice Uzi for the first time.
“You’re wearing sunglasses.”
“You’re so damned perceptive, Hoshi. That’s why I keep you around.”
“You look really cool, you know? But—”
“Don’t ask why I’m wearing them.”
Hoshi turned back to her screen. “You probably got into a brawl last night. Don’t want to admit you got clocked.”
Uzi did not answer. He turned to his screen and checked his email. “Did you find anything?”
Hoshi reached for her tea cup and took a sip.
Uzi looked over the sundry items Hoshi had laid out across his desk’s return — lipstick, lotion, hairbrush, cell phone, a pill case, an iPod — and that was just the top layer. “Just… make yourself at home.”
“Thanks. But the offer’s a little late. I already have.”
Uzi smirked. “No shit.”
Hoshi swiveled her foot out from beneath her buttocks and sat up straight. “I put together a document with everything we know about William Ellison.”
“Anything significant?”
“The doc is cleverly named ‘Ellison Profile.’ Take a look. Pretty boring, if you asked me. But,” she said, “you can get a lot of work done when no one’s around. It’s so quiet. No interruptions.” She took another sip of tea. “I’ve got people on my team doing some more digging, but I stepped back and looked at this Ellison murder. Sister’s ill, he’s obviously the caregiver, or at least the responsible party, and the pressure starts to build along with her medical costs. But she doesn’t have any health insurance. So what does he do?”
“Takes some money on the side.”
“Right. So I figure, follow the money.” She took another drink from her mug. “I sifted through the paperwork we got from his apartment, but there’s nothing there. I’m now at the point where I have to get out the shovels.”
“You need some warrants.”
“Yup.”
“I’ll get you what you need.”
She logged off the laptop, then swiped her forearm across the desk to corral all her items into a pile that she then dumped into her purse. Starting for the door, she said, “This teamwork shoulder-to-shoulder thing works pretty well. We should do it more often.” She stopped in the doorway and drew his attention. “And I meant what I said. Those glasses are way cool.” She winked at him, then left.
Uzi emailed the information Hoshi had assembled on William Ellison to Karen Vail at the BAU. He didn’t know if it would help them refine their bomber profile, but he had nothing to lose.
As he picked up the phone to return the list of calls that had accumulated, Madeline informed him that Hector DeSantos was on the line.
“I need your help,” DeSantos said.
“I’m there,” Uzi said, relieved that their disagreement over Knox did not damage their friendship. “What do you need?”
“Pick me up in twenty,” DeSantos said. “We’re going fishing.”
As Uzi pulled out of the Pentagon parking lot, DeSantos told him they were returning to the ARM compound. Over the next ten minutes, the bare bones of an action plan began taking shape.
Uzi popped a toothpick into his mouth, tossing the wrapper into the small garbage pail he kept beside his seat. The mint flavor was strangely calming. “So you want to draw this guy out.”
“I’ve got this feeling he’s dirty. But they’re good, very careful. They bury things pretty deep. I figure if we take them off their game, show up unexpected, rattle them a bit, we might come away with something.”
Uzi winced. “Three words: Waco. Ruby Ridge. I’m not sure this is such a good idea. How aggressive are you planning to get?”
“I’m not going to incite a riot. I just want to turn up the heat on Flint, make him sweat. People who are under the gun tend to take action — and make mistakes. We plant the seed, then watch which way it grows.”
“See who they contact.”
“Exactly. Let them lay down breadcrumbs for us.”
Uzi glanced sideways at his partner. “What if this leads to Knox?”
“It won’t. That’s the reason I want to do this. To prove you wrong.”
“Except that there’s no way we’ll get in to bug the place.”
DeSantos waved a hand. “Who needs bugs? I’ve got buddies at Crypto City.”
“NSA?”
“They’ve got all sorts of cool eavesdropping satellites, shit like that.”
“And of course you have a court order.”
DeSantos winked at Uzi, then turned away and looked out his window.
They arrived at the American Revolution Militia compound expecting a confrontation. Uzi pulled his SUV up to their iron gate and honked with a heavy hand. The guard moved out from inside his booth, then grabbed the submachine gun slung around his right shoulder. With both hands grasping the weapon’s handles, he took a position in front of them, feet spread and eyes narrow.
DeSantos got out of the truck and slammed the door. “Tell Flint his Fed buddies, Agents Spic and Kike, are back.”
“I don’t take orders from you, asshole.”
DeSantos kept his voice restrained, yet firm. “Get Flint out here. Now. Or we’ll park our truck, pitch a tent, and set up camp.”
A filtered voice crackled over the man’s two-way radio. With his eyes locked on DeSantos, the guard shifted the gun to his right hand and keyed the mike with his left.
DeSantos looked over at Uzi, who was focused on the other men standing about thirty yards back, at the edge of a stand of redwoods, Kalashnikov rifles of their own at the ready.
Uzi got out of his car and stood with the door open. His discomfort with this fishing expedition had spiked into the red zone. It had been years since he had been in enemy territory, behind the lines, outside the confines of law and order. Yet at the moment, he stood on the very brink of anarchy. He thought of his discussion with Rudnick over following rules and obeying orders, and wondered how far DeSantos could bend those rules before they started breaking.
He wiped his brow with a sleeve, the movement being watched with scrutiny by the unfriendlies across the way.
“Santa—”
“We’re fine, Uzi. Just be cool.”
A moment later, a Hummer pulled into view and stopped in a cloud of loose dirt. Nelson Flint emerged, in dress uniform, followed by an underling who brought up the rear. Flint stepped up to the gate opposite DeSantos. He lit a cigarette nonchalantly, a man whose confidence was boosted by the firepower behind him.
Flint sucked hard on his Marlboro, then blew the smoke out the left side of his mouth. “Maybe you didn’t understand me last time. You boys ain’t welcome here. Unless you got yourselves a warrant. Got one of them bogus documents?”