Chapter 4 - THE RAT IN THE HOUSE
The safehouse on Lake Michigan was a modernist bunker disguised as a glass-and-cedar retreat. Perched on a bluff overlooking the churning gray waters, it possessed its own deep-water dock, an underground escape tunnel leading to a boathouse, and an independent satellite array shielded against electronic eavesdropping.
By two in the morning, Elena had settled the boys into the second-floor master suite, tucking all four of them into the massive California king bed. They had refused to be separated. They slept tangled together like a litter of young animals, their breathing synchronizing into a soft, steady rhythm that felt alien in a house that had known only the silence of conspirators and armed men.
I stood on the balcony outside the bedroom, the bitter wind coming off the lake biting at my cheeks, watching the dark water roll against the rocks below.
The heavy sliding glass door clicked open behind me.
Marco stepped out, his shoulder wrapped in clean white gauze where a rifle round had grazed him during the initial breach. In his hand, he carried a ruggedized tablet.
"We ran the fingerprints from the two bodies in the foyer, Boss," Marco said, his voice clipped and hollow with fatigue. "And we pulled the transponder data from the utility van they left behind."
"Give it to me," I said, not turning around.
"They weren't contract mercenaries from out of town," Marco said quietly. "They were locals. Outfit guys. Payroll records show both of them worked security at the Calumet River freight terminals."
The Calumet River freight terminals were exclusively under the control of Cassian, my Consigliere.
I took a slow, deep breath, feeling the cold air expand inside my lungs. "And the blueprints? The codes for the perimeter gate?"
"Overridden from inside the network," Marco replied, his jaw tightening. "The override was authorized using the master administrative key assigned to the downtown legal office. Cassian's office."
"Where is he now?"
"He's at the Union League Club downtown. He checked in three hours ago. He's hosting a private dinner for several members of the zoning board and... Roberto."
I turned slowly to face Marco. "Roberto is with him?"
"Yes, Boss. They're celebrating something. Our sources inside the club say they ordered a nineteen-eighty-two Chateau Margaux. They think you're dead."
It made tactical sense. The strike team had been instructed to breach the mansion and eradicate everyone inside. When the team failed to report, Cassian and Roberto likely assumed the estate's signal jammers had simply prevented outgoing communication, or that the cleanup was taking longer than anticipated. In their arrogance, they couldn't fathom that a four-man domestic breach could be repelled by a lone man and a handful of house guards.
"How many men do we have in the city that Roberto hasn't bought?" I asked.
"Twenty. Maybe twenty-five," Marco said honestly. "The younger soldiers all answer to Roberto's captains. You've been out of the daily street operations for three years, Alejandro. They respect your name, but they take their envelopes from Roberto."
"Twenty-five is enough to burn a building," I said. "Bring Paulie and six men to the compound. Set up three overlapping sniper nests along the access road. If a single vehicle turns onto this lane without the recognition transponder, blow it into the lake."
"And you, Boss?"
I looked through the glass door into the dimly lit bedroom. On the bed, Mateo had kicked off his blanket. Even in sleep, his small brow was furrowed, his fingers twitching slightly as he dreamed.
"I'm going to have a glass of wine with my uncle," I said.
"Alejandro," Elena's voice came from the shadows of the doorway. She stepped onto the balcony, wrapped in a heavy wool shawl, her face lined with exhaustion. "Don't go back into the city alone. It's a trap."
"It's only a trap if they know I'm alive," I said, walking past Marco and stopping in front of her. "Watch the boys. If anything happens—if this compound is compromised—take the boat from the lower dock. The coordinates for my safehouse in Ontario are programmed into the helm's navigation computer. Do you understand?"
Elena looked into my eyes. She had seen me kill men before. She had cleaned blood from my shirts when I was a younger, reckless prince of the Chicago streets. But she had never seen the stillness that occupied my face tonight.
"They will pay for Sofia?" she asked, her voice cracking.
"Sofia will have her peace before the sun comes up," I told her.
I reached down, took her hand, and squeezed it once. "Thank you, Elena. For keeping my soul alive for five years."
May you like
Without waiting for an answer, I turned and walked down the hall, my long black overcoat billowing behind me like the wings of the crows my sons had spoken of.
***
