He stood up to leave but Bosch stopped him with three words.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
Hovan looked at him, and a smile started to spread on his face.
“Harry, wait a minute,” Valdez said. “I think we should take our time and consider other options.”
“Harry, are you sure?” Lourdes added. “This is a dangerous—”
“Give me a couple days to get ready,” Bosch said. “I’ll give it a shot.”
“Okay, okay,” Hovan said. “Don’t shave and don’t bathe. Body odor is a tell. If you don’t stink, you ain’t a user.”
“Good to know,” Bosch said.
“I can hook you up with a user if you want to research it,” the agent offered.
“No,” Bosch said. “I think I know somebody I can talk to. When do we do this?”
Bosch looked at the faces surrounding the table. The looks of concern far outweighed the look of excitement on Hovan’s face.
“How about we go Friday?” Hovan said. “That’ll give us time to work out logistics and request a shadow team. Maybe get you some time with our UC trainers.”
“I’ll want full coverage on him,” Valdez said. “I don’t have the people to do it but I don’t want Harry out there with his ass in the breeze.”
“He won’t be,” Hovan said. “We’ll have him covered.”
“What about when he’s on that plane?” Lourdes asked.
“We’ll have air support,” Hovan said. “We won’t lose him. We’ll be so high above that plane, they won’t even know we’re there.”
“And when he lands?” Edgar asked.
“I’m not going to candy-coat it. When he gets to Slab City, he’s on his own. But we’ll be nearby and ready for the signal.”
That ended the questions from Lourdes. Hovan looked at the chief.
“You have a photo of Bosch we can use to make a dummy DL?”
Valdez nodded.
“We have the shot we made his police ID with,” he said. “Captain Trevino can take you into the op center to get that.”
Trevino got up to lead Hovan out. The DEA agent said he would be in touch and would come back Friday morning ready to go with the undercover operation.
After he was gone, all eyes returned to Bosch.
“What?” he said.
“I still want you to think about this,” Valdez said. “Any second thoughts and we pull out.”
Bosch thought about José Jr. and his naive bravery.
“No,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
“Why, Harry?” Lourdes asked. “You’ve done your part for years and years. Why are you doing this?”
Bosch shrugged. He didn’t like all the attention on him.
“I think about that kid going to college to learn how to do what his father did,” he said. “Then he graduates and gets into the business and finds the corruption of it. He goes through all of that and — big surprise — he does the right thing and it gets him killed. People can call him stupid or naive. I call him a hero and that’s why I’m all in. I want Santos more than Agent Hovan does.”
He had their rapt attention now.
“What they did to José Esquivel shouldn’t just go by,” Bosch added. “If this is the best shot we have at Santos, then I want to take it.”
Valdez nodded.
“Okay, Harry, we get it,” he said. “And we’re with you one hundred percent.”
Bosch nodded his thanks and looked across the table at his old partner Edgar. He nodded too. He was on board.
17
Haller set up the Legal Siegel interview for that afternoon. The former defense attorney presumed dead by many, including Lance Cronyn and his client Preston Borders, was living in a nursing home in the Fairfax area. Bosch met Haller in the parking lot at two p.m. It was one of the rare occasions Bosch saw Haller emerge from the front seat of his Lincoln and the lawyer explained that he was between drivers at the moment. They proceeded inside. Haller held a briefcase that he told Bosch he was using to carry a video camera and to smuggle in a French dip sandwich from Cole’s in downtown.
“This is a kosher joint,” Haller explained. “No food allowed in from the outside.”
“What happens if they catch you?” Bosch asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I get banned for life.”
“So he’s cool with doing the interview?”
“Said he was. Once he eats, he’ll want to talk.”
In the lobby, they signed in as David Siegel’s lawyer and investigator. They then took an elevator up to the third floor. Signing in as Haller’s investigator reminded Bosch of something.
“How’s Cisco doing?” he asked.
Dennis “Cisco” Wojciechowski was Haller’s longtime investigator. Two years earlier he and his Harley were taken down on Ventura Boulevard in an intentional hit-and-run. He went through three surgeries on his left knee and came out with a Vicodin addiction that took him six months to recognize before he treated it cold turkey.
“He’s good,” Haller said. “Real good. He’s back and busy.”
“I need to talk to him.”
“Not a problem. Can I tell him what it’s about?”
“Got a friend I think is addicted to hillbilly heroin. I want to ask him what to look for and what to do.”
“Then he’s your man. I’ll call him for you as soon as we get out of here.”
They exited the elevator on the third floor and Haller informed the woman posted at the nursing station that he was visiting his client David Siegel and should not be disturbed. They proceeded down the hallway to Siegel’s private room. Haller pulled a doorknob hanger out of the inside pocket of his suit coat. It said “Legal Conference: Do Not Disturb.” He winked at Bosch as he hung it on the knob and closed the door.
The wall-mounted TV was blaring a CNN report on a congressional investigation into Russia’s meddling with the presidential election the year before. An old man propped up on a hospital bed was watching it. He looked like he didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, and he had wispy white hair that surrounded his head on the pillow like a halo. He wore an old golf shirt with the Wilshire Country Club crest. His arms were skinny, the skin wrinkled and mottled with age spots. His hands looked lifeless and were folded on top of the blanket that was tucked up neatly under his arms and over his chest.
Haller moved around the bed and waved to get the bedridden man’s attention.
“Uncle David,” Haller said loudly. “Hi. I’m going to turn this down.”
Haller took the TV remote off a side table and killed the sound from the TV.
“Damn Russians,” Siegel muttered. “I hope I live long enough to see that guy impeached.”
“Spoken like a true lefty,” Haller said. “But I doubt that’s gonna happen.”
He turned back to the man in the bed.
“So how are you?” Haller said. “This is Harry Bosch, my half brother. I’ve told you about him.”
Siegel put his watery eyes on Bosch and studied him.
“You’re the one,” he said. “Mickey told me about you. He said you came to the house one time.”
Bosch knew he was talking about Michael Haller Sr., his father. Bosch had met him only the one time, in his Beverly Hills mansion. He was sick and soon to die. Bosch was fresh back from war in Southeast Asia. When he entered the house he saw a boy of about five or six standing with a housekeeper. He knew then that he had a half brother. A month later he stood on a hillside and watched as their father was put into the ground.
“Yes,” Bosch said. “That was a long time ago.”
“Well,” Siegel said. “For me everything was a long time ago. The longer you live, the more you can’t believe how things change.”