Dirty Money (A Chase Adams FBI Thriller Book 5) Read online

  Not sure what to do next, she gave him a subtle nod and then looked away. The ants continued to march all around her, once again oblivious to anything and everything.

  With a simple touch, Chase had felt the man’s loss, his remorse, his regret.

  But what she hadn’t felt was fear.

  The man didn't shoot from here, Chase thought with unexpected certainty. I don’t know where the shot came from, but it most definitely did not come any of these three buildings.

  Fear spread through a crowd more quickly and effectively than any virus or bacteria. Millions of years of evolution had attuned the human subconscious to detect the subtlest signs of danger, the faintest hint of potential injury. The first person in the group might not notice anything more than a strange smell in the air or perhaps something in the distance catches their eye. They look for the cause, but more often than not, they can’t identify it. With a shrug, they pass it off as nothing. But that slight hesitation caused their gait to falter, for them to slow down just a little. As a result, the next person in the crowd is forced to change their cadence, while the third has to swerve to avoid colliding into the second. Subtle things on their, but collectively they serve a purpose; by the dozenth person? The crowd is bumping into each other, tempers are rising, and others near the edges disperse to avoid being trampled.

  That was fear in a crowd. That was the species self-preservation mechanism, a herd warning system. And when it was all over? No one even realizes how close the lions in the tall grass had been.

  Watching. Waiting. Hunting.

  But the man on the bench hadn’t felt any of this.

  There was no fear here, and there was no shooter.

  Chapter 25

  "You coming with, Agent Stitts?" SO Pratt asked.

  Stitts chewed the inside of his lip and looked around. Half of the agents in the command center—no, not half; three quarters or more—had already left, leaving only a few techs and ATF Agent Peter Horrowitz, who had since been given permission to return.

  He wasn’t really sure how much help he could provide at the President’s presser; besides, that clearly fell under the domain of the Secret Service, which SO Pratt seemed to hold some authority over. What he wanted to do was find Chase and ask her what she’d gotten from looking at—touching, when she touches someone it seems like a memory to her—Senator DeBrusk. And he would be lying if he didn’t just want to make sure that she was okay, that she hadn’t regressed. But he also knew that Pratt’s request wasn’t really a request; it was a test. A test to see if he would fall in line with all the other soldiers if the FBI was capable of following the Secret Service’s lead for once.

  Stitts shrugged.

  "I'll go," he said. In these situations, Stitts had found it best to take a backseat. There was nothing to be gained by having a pissing contest at this stage of the game.

  There would be plenty of time for that later, no doubt.

  "Fine, you come with me, then," Pratt said as he stepped out of the trailer. Stitts double-checked that the gun in his holster was loaded. It was a waste of time, of course; his gun was always loaded. But after what had happened with Chase in Alaska, it had become a habit of his.

  Outside, he quickly it a smoke and then made his way over to Floyd, who was standing behind the yellow tape with the other onlookers.

  Frowning, Stitts waved at the man, beckoning for him to come over, but an officer immediately blocked his path.

  "He's with me," Stitts said between drags. Instead of answering, the officer looked at SO Pratt who, in turn, looked at Stitts.

  "Is he in the FBI?”

  Stitts shook his head.

  “No, but he’s our personal driver.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Stitts cursed himself.

  Why the hell did I say that?

  He knew full well what other agencies thought of the FBI. Thanks to TV shows like Criminal Minds, they’d gotten a reputation of being pampered, overpaid, spoiled brats.

  In some cases, it wasn’t far from the truth, in particular, the latter.

  Pratt made a face that said it all: personal driver? You’ve got to be kidding me.

  "Sorry, Stitts. Can't do it."

  Another test.

  The reality was, however, Floyd had no clearance privileges at all. There was no point pushing the envelope on this one; it was a no-win scenario.

  "Give me a sec," Stitts said, huffing aggressively on his cigarette as he made his way across to Floyd.

  "A-a-agent Stitts," Floyd said as he approached.

  "Floyd, think you can do me a favor?"

  "Of course.”

  Floyd looked so young and naive at that moment that Stitts had a hard time believing that he’d gone through puberty, let alone lived into his thirties.

  "Chase took off that way, was heading to look at those three towers, I think. Can you go grab her and let her know that we’re heading to the President’s press conference?"

  Floyd’s eyes lit up at the mention of the president.

  "Y-y-yes, of course. I'll get A-a-agent Adams and let her know right aw-aw-away."

  Stitts reached out and capped the man on the shoulder.

  "Thanks, Floyd."

  He took another half-dozen furious drags of his smoke then made his way toward SO Pratts car. Which, he noted with a grin, was a brand-new Mercedes.

  Chapter 26

  It was impossible for Chase to make her way back to the mobile command center. A procession of a dozen or so black cars, clearly Secret Service, were led by an equal number of police cruisers. She tried to flag one of the cars down, but almost got herself run over for her troubles. Cursing, she waited for the line of cars to pass with all of the other civilians. Just when she thought it was over, another car, this one a dark gray pulled up to the rear.

  Chase ran up to it, a scowl on her face. The window was already down, and she was startled by the young face that stared out.

  "Agent Adams?" Floyd said, grinning.

  Chase had no idea how the man had found her, but just seeing his face made her relax a little. There was just something about Floyd that made her feel at ease, whatever the circumstances.

  "Fuck, am I glad to see you," she said. "Where's everyone off to? What's going on?”

  "The president is giving a sp-p-p-peech," Floyd replied. He pulled over to the side of the road and started getting out of the car.

  "I got it, Floyd," Chase said as she made her way around to the passenger side. “How many times do I have to tell you, I can open my own door.”

  "Sorry."

  "Don't worry about it," she said, sliding into the seat.

  "You want me to follow A-a-agent Stitts? You want me to take you to the Wh-wh-wh-white House?"

  The Secret Service parade was almost out of sight, and the ants were returning to their business as usual.

  It seemed reckless for the President to go anywhere in public just hours after a Senator had been sniped only a dozen blocks away from the White House. But he’d done crazier things during his short tenure.

  But if a sniper was going to take the POTUS out, then sending another body on the ground wasn’t going to help. Even if she were to head over there, by the time she managed to convince everyone that, yes, she was in the FBI, it would probably be too late anyway.

  On the other hand, she suspected that the mobile command center would be fairly empty at this time, which would mean peace and quiet. And none of that ‘confidential’ bullshit, either.

  "No, I don't think so," she said, ignoring the disappointment on Floyd’s face. Clearly, he’d been excited at the prospect of seeing the President up close and personal. "Let’s head back to the command center, instead."

  ***

  "So, there is no re-re-requirement to register your drone," Floyd said, drawing Chase out of her head.

  "Excuse me?"

  "The drones? You asked me if you had to register them.”

  Chase had completely forgotten about the d
rone.

  "Ah, yes."

  "So, like, you can just buy it and fly it. You don't need a license or n-n-nothing. But it’s illegal to fly almost anywhere in Washington. There are a c-couple of drone club in the area, and they have spe-spe-special permission to fly places, like abandoned ai-ai-airstrips."

  Chase took this information in as Floyd slowly made his back to the mobile command center.

  "Good to know," she said absently. "Just pull over here. It’ll be easier to walk."

  Floyd did as he was asked. Chase started to get out, but Floyd stayed behind the wheel.

  "Aren't you coming?"

  Floyd crinkled his nose.

  "They told me I need spe-spe-special clearance, and I don't got it."

  Chase looked around. Security thinned considerably with everything going on with the president and those who were left look as green as they came. She spotted a pimply faced state trooped by the south end of the command center wearing a hat that looked like it used to be his older brother’s.

  "Is that what Stitts said? He couldn't get you in?" she asked with a smirk.

  Floyd shook his head.

  "No. He tried, but…"

  "Well I'm not Stitts," she said, gesturing to follow him. "And I'll get you through, don't worry about it. After all, you’re not just a driver, you’re an FBI Special Assistant."

  Chapter 27

  "I've known Peter Horrowitz for a while, and he’s a good guy, but the ATF in general? The whole department is as leaky as a sieve," SO Pratt said as he moved to the front of the line of Agents.

  Stitts raise an eyebrow but resisted speaking. After conceding to his authority twice, Pratt clearly considered Stitts trustworthy.

  So Stitts did what he always did: he listened.

  "That's why I had to tell you back at the scene that the shit that Senator DeBrusk was holding when he was killed was confidential."

  Stitts nodded and tried to keep up as they made their way towards the White House on foot.

  Pratt clearly expected Stitts to say something, but he didn’t take the bait. The problem with prompting someone, he’d come to realize, is that you guided their line of thinking, biased them toward what you wanted to know. Let them just ramble on, however, and you had vastly more knowledge at your fingertips: what they knew.

  "You see, the thing is Senator DeBrusk was on his way to the Senate. They were gonna vote on his baby, Bill S-89. And from what I hear? It was going to pass. After it made it through Congress, it was pretty much a done deal.” Pratt paused for a moment, eying Stitts up. “Ah, I forgot, you ain’t from around here. Bill S-89 is essentially aimed at stopping lobbyist. All the big companies with vested interest in what the government does have them: energy, pharma, tobacco, the financial sector, you name it. Republicans are up in arms about it, including that douchebag William Woodley who you saw on TV earlier. They think S-89 is just a gateway into the government having more power and sway in the private sector."

  Stitts took this all in. He was familiar with how lobbyists worked; the FBI itself wasn’t above their influence. Case and point Chase being rehired after her… issues.

  Stu Barnes was, in essence, a lobbyist. For himself, mostly, but also for others, like Chase, for instance.

  And that bothered Stitts. Because he knew that lobbyists never do anything for free. Eventually, there’d be a time when he’d call on Chase to repay her debt and there was no telling what that might be.

  But, in this case, S-89 wasn’t just a bill, but…

  "Motive," Stitts said, surprising himself by speaking out loud.

  "Yeah," Pratt said calmly as they approached the concrete barricades in front of the White House. "And you know what happens after a bill is passed and before it goes into law? The President has to sign it. Which makes him a target. Now let’s go make sure he doesn’t get himself shot, shall we?”

  Chapter 28

  "He's with me," Chase said, flashing the police officer her FBI badge. Before he could reply, she motioned for him to raise the crime scene tape, which he did, and she slid beneath. Floyd quickly followed, and the officer didn’t even bat an eye.

  When they were out of earshot, she turned to Floyd.

  "See? It’s that easy," she said with a smirk. “Look the part, FBI Assistant Montgomery, look the part.”

  "Thanks, A-a-agent Adams," Floyd said, hurrying to keep up with her. “And I’ll try.”

  "Just Chase, please. You’re my assistant, not my slave."

  Floyd looked confused by this comment but eventually nodded.

  “Good. Now let’s get some work done before Captain Confidential returns, shall we?”

  Chase wasn’t surprised to find the mobile command center nearly deserted; she’d expected as much. But she hadn’t counted on Peter Horrowitz being there, punching away at a keyboard.

  "Where is everybody? Someone giving out free doughnuts?" she asked, announcing her presence. When Peter looked over at her, his face series, Chase cringed.

  Doughnuts… Senator DeBrusk was just murdered outside a Dunkin’ Donuts. Classy, Chase, classy.

  "The President is going to give a speech… nearly every cop or agent in the city is doing double duty as security."

  Chase nodded.

  "Yeah, I know, I was just kidding. This here is, ah, FBI Assistant Floyd Montgomery."

  To her surprise, Floyd strode forward and nodded.

  "Peter," he said curtly. Chase was so taken aback by the sudden change in attitude and demeanor that she balked. When Floyd’s eyes met hers, and she saw a glimmer in them, Chase shook her head and regained her composure.

  A quick study, she thought. Who would've thunk it?

  "Any update on the bullets?" Chase asked, moving closer to Peter and his computer.

  He pulled out a chair for and she took a seat. Chase looked back at Floyd to indicate for him to gather around as well, but he'd already pulled up to an empty terminal and had started typing.

  Who the fuck is this guy and what happened to Floyd?

  "No, not yet. Body is still with the ME. I don't expect the forensics on the shells to come back for another hour or so. But I do have something for you; take a look at this."

  Peter brought up a black-and-white schematic of what looked like a city grid on his computer screen. As he moved the mouse, the image started to render in 3D and Chase realized that she recognized the location in the center as where Tom DeBrusk had been shot: the Dunkin' Donuts. He clicked a few buttons and the image zoomed in on an outline of the senator's body.

  "This new software predicts the location where the rounds were fired. All I have to do is input the 3D images of the senator's wounds, and it works backwards to determine trajectory and distance, etc. It’s kind of like using string or laser lights in closed spaces to find out where the shots came from."

  Chase nodded and watched as red lines suddenly emerging from Tom DeBrusk's chest. It was like watching bullets fly in reverse and it made her uneasy. The lines continued to extend outward until stopping at a high-rise three blocks away.

  Peter click another button and the red lines turned into points, but not two points as Chase expected but a half-dozen.

  "The software is having a hard time narrowing it down to just one location, probably because the angle of the first bullet before the senator fell, is unclear. Still, I’m pretty sure this high-rise is the location that the shots were fired."

  "Is her way to do a satellite overlay of the image instead of this black-and-white?"

  "One step ahead of you," Horrowitz said, clicking another button. The scene on the monitor suddenly became real, transforming into a satellite image of the building.

  It was the same one that Chase had run to when Peter had first suggested this as the probable location of the shooter.

  The place that she'd touched the homeless man. The place she’d already ruled out.

  "How accurate is this sort of thing? Fifty percent? Eighty?"

  "Depends—usually around seventy-five or
eighty percent accurate. It’s only as good as the data you punch in, including shell and rifle type, which I’m still waiting to confirm. But if you look at this here… at where Senator DeBrusk was shot and the angle the bullets came from? This building is the perfect vantage point.”

  Chase took a deep breath and debated how to proceed.