Super Chief (A John Tall Wolf Novel Book 3) Read online

  Modesty aside, John thought being able to reach out to the second most powerful person in the world and get the help he needed was a heady accomplishment. He’d always believed that working collaboratively produced better results. But he’d never been able to reach so high before.

  He’d have to be careful. Couple his new promotion with access to the White House and a guy might get too exalted an opinion of himself. Influence always came at a cost. A loss of the common touch if nothing else. He wouldn’t want that.

  Nothing would please Marlene more than to see his swift rise result in an abrupt crash.

  “Thinking deep thoughts?” Maj asked.

  John smiled. “Despite our current means of travel, I’m just trying to stay grounded.”

  “Always a good idea,” Maj said. “So what will you be doing in L.A. while I’m getting ready to ride the rails, and should I hold my departure until you’re ready to climb aboard?”

  John told her. “You keep to your own schedule. As long as I know where you are, I can catch up with you. What I have in mind is to get a list of all the monied folk who paid to see the Super Chief pull out of Los Angeles. They were the last ones we know of to see the train. Maybe one of them noticed something unusual.”

  Maj gave John an inquiring look. “Or even had something to do with the Super Chief not turning up in Las Vegas?”

  John smiled again. “Good to know you’re not just book-smart.”

  “There are a few other working cops in my family. One of them gave me a nudge in the direction of my current line of work. So you think there might be a villain in philanthropist’s clothing?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” John told her.

  Chapter 9

  San Francisco, California

  Captain Makilah Walsh was known to some in the San Francisco Police Department as an administrative rat. That was, she was the commanding officer of the unit that investigated accusations of procedural violations by the department’s cops. Officer-involved shootings and in-custody deaths were her bailiwick.

  She’d also put in time as a criminal rat, investigating allegations of criminal conduct by San Francisco coppers. Her reputation in that role inspired awe. She approached the job with the same philosophy the justice system was alleged to apply: innocent until proven guilty. She did her best to find out where the truth lay.

  If an officer was being set up by someone with a grudge, she’d give it her all to clear his good name. But if a cop crossed the line, broke the law and disgraced his badge, she’d skin him alive and hang his hide out for all the world to see. Her approach had made her both lifelong friends and enemies.

  One of the bad cops, knowing she was closing in on him, decided to get the jump on her and blow Makilah away before she could complete her investigation and hand the DA a gift-wrapped case. In the ensuing shootout, she sustained gunshot wounds to the upper-right chest and both thighs. “Gonna make it hell for me to look good in my bikini,” she’d joked to friends from her hospital bed.

  Makilah had gotten off only one shot, fired from the ground where she lay after being wounded. On an upward trajectory, the round had entered her assailant’s head at the bridge of his nose, transited his brain and blew out a section of the rear of his skull. He was dead before he knew it, probably while he was still thinking he’d been the better gunfighter.

  Of course, Makilah was investigated for an officer-involved shooting. Not only was she found justified in her actions, she was promoted to the command of the administrative rat squad. She took pride in her work and insisted that everyone in her unit do the same. For excellence on the job, she gave out Solid Gold Rat awards: a tie pin, charm bracelet or body piercing ornament, per the officer’s preference.

  That morning, Makilah started her day with an interview of Sergeant Fabrizio “Fab” Gallo of the Special Investigations Division. SID worked what the department labeled “complex, sensitive and confidential” criminal investigations. The unit often worked with federal agencies. SID was considered a plum assignment staffed by the best and brightest the department had to offer.

  Makilah had done her homework before the interview got started. She’d read the initial reports of the attempted arrest of Merritt Kinney at his residence in the city. She’d reviewed the personnel records of the four cops sent to arrest Kinney. She’d also reached out to cops she’d cleared of false accusations to find out tidbits that didn’t find their ways into official documents.

  Gallo, for instance, had been a ladies’ man before he got married, but hadn’t played around since. Made sense to Makilah. He’d landed a lady investment banker who not only made an enormous salary but was also very easy on the eyes. A man would have to be a fool to risk that combination just to do some catting around.

  Not that there weren’t guys that dumb. Some of them just couldn’t resist random temptation. Others thought they were so smart they could get away with anything. Makilah hadn’t met a cop yet who could outsmart her, but she felt intuitively that she’d do well not to underestimate Sergeant Gallo.

  She greeted him with a proffered hand and the offer of something to drink.

  “San Pellegrino?” he asked, taking his seat opposite Makilah.

  She knew he was joking, maybe seeing how she’d react. Gauging her personality.

  Makilah said, “Might take a minute, but I think we can do that.”

  She relayed the request to her civilian secretary.

  Didn’t take any time at all. Sally brought in the bottle of Italian sparkling water she kept in the office fridge. The one she drank with lunch every day, as Makilah well knew. Sally brought a glass and a coaster, too. Poured for the sergeant as if he were at a fine restaurant.

  Gallo rewarded her with a smile that must have made many a woman flush with pleasure.

  Maybe that was how he’d nabbed his banker.

  To cap off the moment, Gallo said, “Grazie.”

  Sally, not easily impressed, left on a cloud.

  The sergeant raised his glass to Makilah and asked, “You check me out top to bottom, know what kind of water I like to drink?”

  “Happy coincidence. What can you tell me about Mr. Kinney’s death?”

  “Only what’s in the report. I’m sure you’ve read that.”

  “I have,” Makilah said. “Let me hear it from you directly.”

  Gallo put his glass down on the coaster and told his story.

  Makilah reviewed it. “Mr. Kinney fled his apartment in anticipation of his arrest?”

  Gallo replied, “I can’t say for sure what he was thinking, but it did seem to me like consciousness of guilt.”

  “It’s reasonable to assume, though, that he saw your approach, you and your men. He didn’t just happen to be on the roof of his building when you found him.”

  “The door to his apartment was open when we arrived. Again, that might be interpreted in different ways, but one idea that occurred to me was that, yes, he saw us coming and felt the only way he could run was up. So he went to the roof.”

  Gallo picked up his glass and took a sip of water.

  Makilah felt he was being truthful, forthcoming even, but the way he hedged his answers made her curious.

  “I didn’t see it in your record, Sergeant, but have you ever been to law school?”

  Gallo laughed. “You mean the way I talk? No, I haven’t been to law school. But after getting married, well, my wife and I socialize with a lot of people who are lawyers. You think their bad habits are rubbing off on me?”

  Makilah smiled. “I’ll let you know if that happens. Your report says one of your men videoed your team’s movements and your telling Mr. Kinney he was under arrest. Is that right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have a duplicate of the video file right here. The original was forwarded to your office last night.” He handed her a flash drive. “You did receive the original, right?”

  “Our tech people have it, yes.”

  “Nobody diddled it,” Gallo said.

&
nbsp; “Good to know. Let’s see what you’ve brought me.” She invited him to look over her shoulder as she plugged the drive into her laptop. They watched the SID team from the time it entered the building, through the moment Kinney made his futile, fatal leap, and then looking down from the roof to the ground below where there seemed to be no doubt that the man had died on impact.

  Nonetheless, the last image and words on the recording were of Gallo calling for ambulance.

  “You see anything we missed, anything we didn’t do according to procedure?” he asked Makilah.

  “Not a thing.” Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if even an unedited video couldn’t be shot in such a way as to distort an in-person view of what had happened. Suspicions were a part of her job. So was testing their strength. Some were easily discarded; others refused to budge.

  What she was feeling now lay somewhere in the middle.

  “There a problem?” Gallo asked.

  “Don’t see one,” Makilah replied. “Sometimes, I’m just quiet for a minute or two.”

  “So we’re good?” Gallo asked, returning to his seat.

  They both knew that question was premature. The investigation was only getting started. Just hearing Gallo ask if he’d be cleared cranked up Makilah’s suspicion a notch.

  “Who called in the complaint,” she asked, “the one that said Mr. Kinney had stolen a trade secret from his company?”

  “Arthur Halston, the general counsel of Positron, Inc.”

  A Silicon Valley high tech company, one of two working on developing high-speed train service between San Francisco and Los Angeles.

  “Mr. Halston said he feared Kinney might be working for the Chinese,” Gallo added.

  That was the first note Makilah had heard that didn’t ring true. Yes, the government in Beijing would steal any useful technology it could from the U.S. She knew that from reading both law enforcement bulletins and the business section of the Chronicle. But she’d also read the Chinese were ahead of the U.S. in high-speed rail. If anything, that was one area where Washington should be stealing from the Chinese.

  But Makilah had something else in mind.

  “Mr. Halston, is he one of the lawyers you and your wife socialize with?”

  That caught Gallo by surprise. He looked like he wanted to kick himself for giving too much away. “Yes, he is.”

  “Do you know anyone else at Positron?”

  “I’ve met Edward Danner.”

  Now, Makilah had to keep surprise off her face. Danner was the founder, CEO and biggest stockholder of Positron. A billionaire a hundred times over. Rich company indeed for a police sergeant to keep.

  “Your relationship with Mr. Halston and your acquaintance with Mr. Danner, were they the reasons you went to arrest Mr. Kinney in the middle of the night at his residence instead of picking him up, say, at his place of work during his lunch hour?”

  All the charm and animation that had made Gallo so attractive only moments earlier deserted him. His voice sounded as flat as any perp she’d ever questioned. “That and being told Kinney might be selling vital technology to another country. It was impossible to tell if or when he might run. I used my best judgment.”

  Perfectly reasonable, Makilah thought, but the mere appearance of the police had panicked Kinney so badly he’d risked his life and lost. Something was definitely wrong with that. The man had to be fearful he’d suffer a worse fate than a simple arrest and a trial in a courtroom.

  She closed her computer and said, “Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all for now.”

  Gallo got to his feet and Makilah could see he wanted to ask his question again.

  Were they good? He didn’t say another word, though.

  He could see they weren’t good. Not even close.

  Chapter 10

  Los Angeles

  Vice President Jean Morrissey had made good on her promise. The two-car train Maj had been promised was waiting for her at Union Station when she and John arrived. There was a four-man crew in the cab of the locomotive ready to roll. Word had been passed throughout the nationwide rail system. Maj’s train had the right of way wherever it went, whenever it wanted it.

  Other trains would pull onto sidings for her; she would not do so for them.

  Unless that was the way she wanted it.

  Fresh cab crews would be made available, if necessary.

  The vice president had literally pulled out all the stops.

  “Makes me think the woman is expecting big things from us,” John told her.

  He’d joined Maj at Union Station because the first person he wanted to interview worked there, station master Jack Stanton. Stanton had been among those present to see the Super Chief off. John thought if anyone might have noticed something amiss with the train, it would be him. Stanton hadn’t met them when they arrived, but he’d left word he would join them shortly.

  “What happens if we fail to deliver?” Maj asked John. “Disappoint the VP?”

  “We probably won’t get invited to Ms. Morrissey’s inaugural ball.”

  Maj wouldn’t mind that. “I don’t like to get dressed up anyway. But I was thinking more of professional consequences.”

  John had wondered about the possible repercussions, too. Not with any trepidation. His promotion had fallen out of the sky on him far more than it had been earned. He told Maj, “There’s always private sector employment.”

  She made a face.

  “What?” John asked. “You like working for Amtrak?”

  “I couldn’t find a teaching job I liked; that’s why I became a cop. But I’ll tell you that story another time. I’m going to talk to the guys driving the train. They might be nervous, what with the other crew disappearing. Nothing reassures big strong railroad men like a female Ph.D. with a gun.”

  “And a badge,” John said with a smile. “Don’t forget the badge.”

  “Right. Why don’t you check out the passenger car? Tall as you are, you can call dibs on the bigger bed, if there is one.”

  With the division of labor established, John climbed into the passenger car. It was furnished at a level comparable with a hotel earning a rating between two and three stars: clean, comfortable, suitable for middle management. Someone must have missed the memo that he was something of a big shot these days, he thought. That or the BIA didn’t cut much ice with Amtrak.

  Still, there was more than enough space for two federal employees to coexist and do their jobs without any discomfort. There were two work stations with desktops the size of card tables, electrical connections to recharge computers and smartphones and a decal on a window proclaiming the coach had wireless connectivity. A group of four large facing seats made small conferences possible. A kitchen area featured a compact fridge — stocked with soft drinks and spring water — a coffee maker and a microwave oven. A cabinet was stocked with sweet and salty snacks and, John was glad to see, herbal tea, boxes of dried fruit and granola bars.

  There were two lavatories, one shower stall and two sleeping compartments. The beds were the same size so there was no point in claiming dibs. At the back of the car was a storage area, primarily used, John assumed, for luggage and office materials but now partially filled with two dirt bikes. Yamaha YZ450Fs, John saw. The motorcycles looked fast and expensive.

  The vice president really was giving them no reason to fail.

  She probably had an army attack helicopter on standby for them, too. If John remembered right, the top model of that weapons platform was the AH-64D Apache Long Bow. An aircraft named after his own people. Some of them anyway.

  He’d no sooner sat down at one of the work stations and started reading the list of people who’d attended the send-off of the Super Chief when his phone rang. Nice clear signal, too. Marlene was calling.

  “I wanted you to be the first to know, Tall Wolf, I’m going to resign my position with the BIA.”

  “You get another movie gig?” he asked.

  Marlene had acted as co-producer on Clay
Steadman’s latest, and probably final, film “Texas Mean.”

  “No. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do next.”

  “May I offer a suggestion?”

  Marlene laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound, more one of calculation. Something that might accompany a plan for revenge. One that might include him.

  “Sure, Tall Wolf, tell me what I should do.”

  “The Secretary of the Interior is resigning. I’m sure you know that.”

  “I do.”

  “I think you should try for the job. Then you could be my boss again. Nominally, at least.”

  “You are a sonofabitch.”

  Despite the criticism, John could tell the seed of ambition was already planted.

  “You really think I could get a cabinet post?” Marlene asked.

  “Do you think Native Americans stole the Super Chief?” he replied.

  On his last case, a series of bank robberies, a multi-ethnic crew, none of them Native American, had masqueraded as Indians.

  Marlene said, “Yes, this time I do.”

  “So do I. My sense is there’s some large grievance involved.”

  “That list goes back centuries.”

  “My point exactly. You could be helpful sorting things out. Make the difference between failure and success.”

  John’s flattery was transparent, but Coyote did enjoy her vanity.

  She also wasn’t one to pass up opportunity.

  “You always have been good about sharing credit, Tall Wolf.”

  “Do my best to give it away.”

  “But it keeps finding you anyway, Mr. Co-director.”

  His promotion still stung Marlene.

  “If we succeed this time,” he said, “the moment would be right for me to suggest to higher powers that you’d be the right person to succeed George Kinsley at DOI. Darling of Washington that I am, someone might even listen to me.”

  After a pause, Marlene said, “Why would you do that for me?”

  “Half the fun is figuring it out, right?” John asked.

  Marlene laughed. “You’re right. That is part of our game.”