Clearwater River, Idaho
Daylight streamed through a dusty cabin window when Gerrit finally managed to open his eyes. He tried to remember the details of the ride from Seattle during the night. He must have slipped in and out of consciousness several times. He barely remembered climbing into bed.
Noise from a television drew his attention, his eyes slowly focusing on the screen. A news reporter, mike in hand, stood near where Gerrit’s boathouse once stood.
“A joint local, state, and federal task force investigation continues as authorities sift through what is left of Seattle Police Detective Gerrit O’Rourke’s home. A source close to the investigation revealed that there appears to have been a body inside the residence at the time of the explosion, possibly that of the missing officer. However, investigators refuse to confirm the identity as bomb experts continue to search for clues. A spokesman for SPD did confirm the explosion was intentionally set.”
Gerrit closed his eyes, a headache nagging at the backside of his brain. He reopened them to see that the television screen moved to another crime scene at the Henry M. Jackson Federal Building in Seattle. The garage entrance was taped off, and two uniformed officers stood guard, prohibiting a number of reporters and television camera crews from entering. The same announcer’s voice continued.
“In a related investigation, task-force representatives are looking into the shooting death of federal prosecutor Marilynn Summers, whose father sits as chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. Police say Ms. Summers was shot and killed after she parked her car and began walking toward the U.S. Attorney’s office. And in a third killing- Wait, we just have this in. Seattle Police Department has an announcement to make. We switch you live to Seattle PD headquarters.”
Gerrit raised himself onto one elbow, peering at the television screen, gritting his teeth. A knot developed in his stomach. A third killing? Oh, God, no. He seemed to know what was about to be disclosed.
Lieutenant Stan Cromwell, his craggy face tired and angry looking, loomed on the screen. It seemed the lieutenant had aged ten years since Gerrit last saw him. His boss approached a sea of bristling microphones, his broad shoulders rounded and hunched.
Cromwell glared into the camera. “I’m going to make a short statement and I will not answer any questions. Our patrol units were called to a warehouse near the waterfront shortly before nine o’clock this morning. They found the body of Seattle Detective Mark Taylor who has been missing for eight hours. He’d been shot at close range, and there is evidence he had been subjected to torture.” Cromwell’s voice cracked.
Gerrit pounded the bed in anger. No. No. No. Mark had nothing to do with anything. Kane reached out and killed his partner just to send a message. No one ever turns his back on Kane. Raised voices on the television drew him back to the screen. He watched with clenched fists, a wave of fury pounding his head with pain.
A flurry of voices followed.
The lieutenant waited until everyone quieted down. “Let me finish my statement.”
Silence followed.
Cromwell brushed the corner of his right eye before continuing. “There has been a body recovered from the explosion at SPD Detective Gerrit O’Rourke’s residence. There is no identification on the body; however, it is believed that the remains may be that of our officer. Lastly, we are continuing to investigate-along with the FBI and other state and federal agencies-the shooting death of the federal prosecutor, AUSA Marilynn Summers.”
Cromwell paused and took a swig from his water bottle. All eyes focused on him.
“We’re pursuing all possible leads. The only connection we have at this time in all three deaths is that these victims were connected to a strike force case involving Russian organized crime groups. The primary suspect in that OC case was killed by Detective O’Rourke during the execution of search and arrest warrants in a San Diego, California, residence a few weeks ago. We’re continuing to investigate. There will be no further comments at this time.”
Cromwell turned and walked away. No one seemed brave enough to follow.
Gerrit dropped back on the bed. He felt weak, and the news seemed to wrench away any strength he had left. So the cops thought that Russian organized crime might be responsible.
Richard Kane covered his tracks well.
He thought of Senator Summers. Could he be involved in his own daughter’s death? This seemed highly unlikely. The senator might be the person to start with to get some straight answers. Maybe Marilynn’s father finally had enough of Kane and might be willing to talk.
He heard several sets of footsteps on the porch outside. The door swung open and Alena and two men entered. She smiled as he turned toward her. “We are so pleased you are alive. I worried.” She came to his bedside, stroking his forehead. “How do you feel?”
He glanced at the television before speaking. “Two of my friends are dead, and the world thinks I was blown up. Other than that and a bad headache, I’m doing just great,” he said, anger building up with each word. “How do you think I feel?”
Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Gerrit. You heard.”
He looked away and focused on the other two men.
“I want to introduce you to a very special man, my good friend Joe Costello.” She pointed to the older of the two men, who had been intently watching them as Gerrit and Alena conversed. The man stepped forward, extending his hand. His freckled face and curly reddish-brown hair-lightened by the onslaught of gray-complemented his hazel eyes. The man looked to be pushing seventy.
“Glad to meet you, Dr. O’Rourke. I’ve been wanting to talk with you for a long time.”
Something about the man’s voice sounded very familiar, as did the man’s eyes. Very familiar. “Have we met before?”
Joe smiled. “A long, long time ago, Gerrit. Before we get into all that, I want you to meet a very good friend of mine: Travis Mays. This is his cabin. He’s a professor at Washington State University in Pullman.”
Travis stepped forward and shook Gerrit’s hand. “I am glad to see you awake and breathing, Detective. You gave us all a scare.”
Gerrit felt something cold and wet press against his arm. A dog’s nose. He glanced down, thinking it was Bones. It wasn’t.
Travis laughed. “Let me introduce you to another member of this household. Sam…Sam Spade.” A yellow lab nudged his arm almost on command.
“Glad to meet you, Sam.” Gerrit smiled as he stroked the dog’s head. Bones emerged behind Sam, tail wagging. Gerrit looked up at Travis. “Thanks for putting me up here.”
“Hey, glad to help. And Sam’s thrilled to have a new friend.”
“I’ll try to be out of here real soon.”
Joe took a step closer. “That’s what we need to talk about. A lot has happened while you were out.” Joe drew up a chair and nodded at the others. Alena and Travis headed toward the door, with Sam padding behind. Alena turned for a moment. “We’ll take a walk and give you two a chance to talk.”
Bones seemed undecided. Alena coaxed the dog outside and closed the door.
Joe watched them leave and then turned and smiled at Gerrit. Those eyes seemed so familiar to Gerrit, just like his… No, it can’t be.
The man seemed to fathom what Gerrit was thinking. “So you are starting to understand.”
Gerrit stared back. “It’s impossible. My dad and mom…” He couldn’t bring himself to utter the words.
The man leaned closer and took Gerrit’s hand. “Your mother and father were killed because of what your father tried to do. To make the world safer for everyone. They died as true heroes.”
“Some lowlife blew them up and got away scot-free. Wrong place. Wrong time. How do you figure they’re heroes?”
“Because they were willing to put their lives on the line for something they believed in. Just like you did in Iraq and Afghanistan. A family of heroes…and one coward.”
“One coward?” Gerrit stared at the other man.
“I should have died that day with your folks. Instead…”
An eye-piercing pain shot through his forehead as Gerrit tried to focus, tried to understand. “Are you telling me-?”
“Joe Costello’s not my real name, Gerrit. I’m Joseph O’Rourke, your uncle.” Joe faced Gerrit. “Reconstructive surgery can really change one’s features.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“I should have been,” Joe said, a look of sadness in his eyes. “I should have died that day with your folks.”
“What happened?”
“Before I tell you, I just want you to know that I-along with Alena and others-have watched over you ever since we believed Kane might be targeting you. It has taken seven years, but Richard Kane finally made his move. Finally tried to kill what he thought was the only surviving member of the O’Rourke family.”
“Why is Kane trying to do this?”
“That’s what I am here to tell you. About Kane, and about a war going on inside our own country. It is about whether we will survive as one nation under God.” Joe leaned back in his chair. “I’d better start from the beginning.”