Page 160 of The Fourth Option
“He’s killingrivalcartels. This guy is a merc who is selling his skills to the highest bidder.”
“And Detective Gormley?”
“There were multiple 9-1-1 calls reporting an explosion. Gormley responded. This psycho kills him and probably shoved his car into the river.This is a city homicide. Fuck, it’s a mass shooting, Jarrett, and an attack on a local business.”
“Gormley just happened to be in the area?” Stanton asked, pushing.
“Yeah, it’s all hands on deck these days. Everyone’s putting in extra hours.”
“I am sorry for your losses,” Stanton said, softening his tone. “You have the Bureau’s complete support. We’ll find Chris Walker and then we’ll unravel this thing. Until then, never hesitate to reach out if there is anything we can do.”
Bates’s face was calm and controlled.
“Thank you, Jarrett. I’ll be in touch.”
As Bates walked off to the end of the pier with his entourage to get an update from the dive team, Stanton noticed a female uniformed officer watching their exchange. When she caught his eye, she turned away.
“You buying that bullshit?” J.J. asked her boss.
“Not for a second. Let’s get out of the rain.”
They turned and walked back to Stanton’s Tahoe.
“We need to dig deeper,” he said.
“You worried about what, or who, we might find?”
“I’m just after the truth.”
Half a football field away, Walker lay flat inside a rusted boxcar that smelled of oil and iron, its floor lined with burlap sacks. Rain hammered the leaking roof above him.
He ignored it.
Through the open hatch, he had a clear line of sight to the dock. He moved the camera lever with his thumb like a sniper pressing the trigger.
Gloria’s Nikon F2 was fitted with a 300mm telephoto lens, long and heavy. Wildlife. War zones. Today, it was the latter.
Walker adjusted the lens and focused on the FBI agents.
Then he aimed at the broad-shouldered man in the tight shirt with the umbrella, recognizing Bates from the news footage Belle had pulled up on her computer. Bates ran the COPE unit, the same unit staffed by the late Rayne, Hendrick, Dupuis, and Gormley. They were all tied to the Garden District Staub investigation even though they patrolled the Ninth.
Who were the two FBI agents talking with him? Were they all involved?
As the FBI agents walked off, Walker turned his attention back to Bates, who was talking with the dive team.
Who was Walt Kimbel, and who was the Afghan?
He zoomed in on Bates and snapped another photo.
He wasn’t sure who else was involved, but he did know one thing.
He was looking at a future target.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
WALT KIMBEL STEPPEDout of the elevator, the polished soles of his Ferragamos clicking against the marble. Much of his job was simply acting, and right now he had to act like he was not concerned about four dead cops, two dead dealers, a stack of Cuchillo’s Salvadoran hit men, and a terrorist attack at Dorado Freight, all of which had connections to Genyra Pharmaceuticals.
He adjusted the cuff on his tailored shirt sleeve, letting the gold Cartier peek out just enough to catch the light. He liked the heft of it. He liked the heft of everything these days: his watch, his car, his title. He wore them well.
