"Villarosa's death was an accidental," Bear said.
"Maybe she saw something she wasn't supposed to," Tim said.
The FBI agents bristled impatiently. The theory sounded thin even to Tim's own ears.
Malane produced a new border report. "Toe-Tag and Whelp crossed over again yesterday morning."
"You hold them?" Tannino asked.
"What charges?"
"You follow them?"
An embarrassed silence. Finally Rich said, "They played musical vehicles in a parking garage. Mexican agents lost 'em outside San Antonio del Mar."
"Didn't you have Border Patrol put transmitters on them?" Tim asked.
"Sure." Smiles's lips got tight. "On the bikes they ditched."
"So they're receiving the package in Tijuana as we speak?"
"Unless they're decoys," Rich said. "All we know, they just swung through for a donkey show and some 'tang."
"So what do you have on the smuggling operation?" Tim asked. "I mean actually have. How much of this is hypothetical?"
"I've been able to pick up some low-res intel without getting a lot of specifics."
"That's really helpful," Bear said. "While you're at it, why don't you raise the threat level to fuchsia and urge citizens to exercise caution?"
"They were bringing me inside. All the way." Rich stood up, angry, and Bear came off the wall a step to match him. "I was right on the verge-days away, maybe hours. I already had the distribution center nailed down-Danny the Wand's shop. She draws Sinners from all over the county. Oh, I'm sorry. She drew Sinners from all over the county. Because that lead is gone."
His anger seemed undercut by something softer, maybe sadness. Tim wondered-as he had when Rich had paused over Danielle's body on their way out of the shop-if Rich had gone beyond role-playing in his undercover relationship with her.
"And guess what happened there?" Rich continued. "You guys came storming in during the preshow, guns ablaze, fucking up the game plan."
Tannino rose and set his fists flat-knuckled on the desktop. "You trip through our sanctioned investigation and have the audacity to blame us for stepping on your dick? You should have alerted us that the shop was a hot spot. And your liaison"-Tannino's head snapped over to Malane-"did nothing in our meetings besides sneer and play hide-the-files. How many resources were we supposed to burn chasing these pricks with half the facts and you letting air out of our tires?"
"We spent months getting our guy inside and couldn't risk his cover being blown," Malane said.
"There wouldn't have been a risk if you'd told us Danny the Wand's shop was a no-fly zone. But you couldn't even chance us talking to Goat Purdue. Our own prisoner?"
"We couldn't have you prying around with Rich sunk undercover in the middle of it. You know how it goes."
"Where'd you stash Goat?"
"He's no longer useful." Malane nodded at Tim. "You put a pretty good charge into his face."
"We busted our asses to nail him," Bear said, "and you snaked him."
"Nail someone else."
Tim looked at Rich. "We will."
"You want to know why everybody hates the FBI?" Tannino's voice was calm, conversational. "No forest. All trees. If ever there was a time for interagency cooperation-"
"Look," Malane said, "we're trying to work with you on this now."
"And the only reason you're not still working against us is because your fucking agent wound up in my cell block."
"It shouldn't be news to you, Marshal, that federal agencies sometimes cross agendas. You hardly would've back-burnered a Top Fifteen fugitive chase that had already claimed two of your men."
Tim spoke slowly to keep his rage tamped down. "It's claimed two of our men"-here his voice wavered-"maybe a sheriff's deputy, two civilians, thirty-eight rival bikers, and counting."
Malane met Tim's stare evenly. "Modest stakes compared with what we're up against. We cannot-will not-allow al-Fath to fill its coffers for future operations."
"And your agency's got to learn that that can't be a justification for everything."
"Look," Smiles said, "I know this is an emotional case for you. I'm sorry your marshal buddies died. But we couldn't move on the nomads early without losing the big fish. We've got a shot at rolling up al-Fath's top West Coast affiliate and dealing a death blow to an incipient drug operation. Al-Malik has to surface when the shipment arrives from Mexico. He's got to confirm to the powers that be that it penetrated our borders. He'll want to eyeball the product, put his hands on it before it gets carved up and shipped out in vials."
"We need to get beyond the bullshit," Tannino said. "So where do you suggest we go from here?"
Malane moistened his lips, then rested a hand on Rich's shoulder, the little gesture revealing a friendship between the two. "Sit him in jail until tomorrow, then let Dana Lake come to bail him out. We ask that you leave the investigation in our hands."
"We can't do that."
"Why not?"
"You need us, and even now you're too arrogant and stupid to know it. We have an inside line on this case that you need. And we'll give it to you. For what we need."
"You're playing with fire here," Smiles said. "With all due respect to the Marshals Service, you're a bit out of your depth."
Tannino started to retort, but Tim cut in with a question. "How's Marisol Juarez figure in? Why'd they cut her up?"
"I don't know." Malane shrugged. "Hobby."
"They're not gonna take a Ted Bundy time-out with everything going on."
"These guys are psychopaths," Rich said. "They need to take five minutes to pressure-valve Den Laurey's bloodlust, they'll fucking take it."
"You buy that explanation, you're even dumber than your getup. You might not want to overlook the-what did you call them?-'modest stakes'? Maybe if we pay attention to the dead little people, we might find some answers."
Rich stood up and shook out his long hair with a jerk of his neck. He addressed Tannino. "The bottom line is, I can't get my terrorist with your renegade deputy stirring up the heat. We were on course, and your guy fucked it up. You need to have your deputies stand down on the small fish. I want the Prophet. And I'm gonna get him."
Tim said, "If you think I'm gonna let Den Laurey ride if I get him in my sights, you're out of your head."
Rich's hand rasped across the stubble of his face. They'd taken his leathers and his armband, but his undershirt reeked of smoke. He took a step over and glowered down at Tim. "Next time you interfere, don't expect me to save your life."
Cocked back in his chair, Tannino looked from Smiles to Malane to Rich, and then his eyes glinted darkly, and he nodded at Tim. "Your prisoner, Rackley."
Tim rose, spun Rich around, and cinched the cuffs back on, Rich wincing at the bite of the metal. Bear and Guerrera fell into step as Tim led Rich back to his cell.
Chapter 36
They sat in the command post awaiting word back from Tannino. He was in with the mayor right now, conference-calling the higher-ups and pretending to have some say if their task force would be subsumed by the FBI's or vice versa. Despite the Hanukkah jingles audible from the criminal clerk's screensaver down the hall, the mood was less than jolly. It was only 9:00 P.M., but it felt to Tim like the middle of the night. A check-in call to the hospital-no news means what?-only added to his sharply felt frustration. He flipped listlessly through photos of Den and Kaner, chewing on a brown swizzle stick until his molars ached.
Mounds of files overflowed the table, the floor, the empty chairs. Paperwork drooped from pushpins. The chief's assistant had dropped off crullers with red and green sprinkles, the few stale survivors collecting off-season flies in their pink box. The marshal's wife's fruitcake sat untouched on the tabletop, its pristine two-tone cellophane intact; Mrs. Tannino's baking, even when it didn't involve candied fruit and dark corn syrup, was eat-at-your-own-risk.