Page 51 - Hunter - The Vigil

Vince let the unconscious suit slump to the fl oor. “Call in sick if you have to,” he said. “I’ll
pay you double whatever you’d make on your shift. I promise.”
Her eyes narrowed on Vince. “I know you. You’re that cop my brother is always talking about.”
“Then you know I’m not bullshitting you,” Gabreski said. “Just take a look at my friend here.
She’s hurt pretty bad. This guy, too.” He pointed at the suit.
Lupe glared at Gabreski for a long moment, then nodded at the couch. “Put her there,” she said,
then moved past Vince to take a look at the unconscious man.
Jack eased Andrea onto the couch. Vince grabbed Raimundo’s arm. “Your sister keep anything to
drink around here?” he asked. “I’ll pay for that, too.”
Raimundo nodded reluctantly and went back into the kitchen. Vince stepped to the far side of
the living room, where a pair of windows looked out onto the street. He dug into his pocket for
his cell phone and looked up the number of the man who’d called him just a few hours ago. His thick
fi ngers trembled on the key pad.
The voice answered on the fi rst ring.
“Agent Carver.”

“You son of a bitch,” Vince snarled. “What the hell have you gotten us into?”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Lieutenant Gabreski,” Carver said calmly. “Maybe
you should start at the beginning.”
Gabreski’s hand tightened on the fl imsy plastic phone. “Those Russians weren’t smuggling illegals,
Carver, they were killing them. That warehouse was set up like a goddamned butcher’s shop. What’s
a healthy heart or kidney bringing on the black market these days?”
“You’re talking about mass murder,” Carver replied. “What did they do with the bodies?”
Gabreski saw the stone fl oor of the warehouse in his mind, and the wide, dark trail of blood. “I…I
don’t know for sure,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “There wasn’t much time to check things out. Some
guys showed up out of nowhere and started shooting. Everything went to hell after that.”
Suddenly Carver sounded interested. “Who do you think they were?”
“Damned if I know,” Vince said. “They were driving a high-end Land Rover. Maybe the Russians have
some competition, or maybe someone was looking to rip them off. There was a guy with a metal briefcase
who showed up with the Russians. It might have been a buy that went bad.”
“What happened to the Russians?”
“Most of them got away. I’m sure they had half a dozen escape routes we didn’t know about.”
“Did you get any prisoners?”

Vince glanced over his shoulder at the unconscious fi gure on Lupe’s fl oor. “No,” he lied.
“Everybody bugged out once the shooting started.”
“I see,” Carver said, although from the tone of his voice he didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Is
there anything else I need to know?”
A vision of the jagged pit loomed in Gabreski’s mind. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the image
away. “How about you tell me something useful for a change,” he said. “Who the hell are these
Russians, and how did they wind up on your radar?”
“They showed up in Seattle about a year ago; came over on a slow boat from Vladivostok, as near
as we can determine. Dropped out of sight almost immediately, then last month we got a tip that
they had turned up in Philly. If their operation is as sophisticated as you’re describing, they
must have put down some roots there.”
“Give me a name,” Vince growled. “Something I can work with.”
“Everything we’ve got on them has turned out to be an alias. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
Vince sensed that Carver wasn’t telling everything he knew. “Dig a little deeper,” Gabreski said. “I’ll
be in touch.”
He jabbed the END button and dropped the phone in his pocket. Raimundo had cleared off Lupe’s
coffee table and was pouring rum into four glasses.
Lupe had produced a large fi rst-aid kit from somewhere and used surgical scissors to cut away
Andrea’s shirt. With Jack’s help, they undid the Velcro straps and pulled off her lightweight Kevlar
vest. Andrea’s white t-shirt was spotted with quarter-sized drops of blood in a huge semicircle across
her right shoulder.
Gently, Lupe lifted Andrea’s torso and checked her back, probing with a gloved hand. “Dios mio,”
she whispered. “There’s wounds on both sides. It looks like something bit her.”
Andrea let out a pained chuckle. “You’ve got no fucking idea, sister,” she said.
“Still, looks like the vest stopped the worst of it,” Jack said, squinting at the holes in her shirt.
“That’s great,” the female detective said. Her laugh had a hysterical edge to it. “So why can’t
I move my fucking arm?”