She separated the drive and answered. “This is Assistant Special Agent in Charge Ava Garcia.”
“I take it you know who I am,” a smooth male voice said.
“You’re Aiden Yazzie.” She looked around, trying to pinpoint him or Killinger. “You know, this conversation would be easier to have face-to-face.”
“I can see your face,” he said in a friendly, conversational tone. “Do you have the drive?”
“I do. It would be best if you came out now, with your hands above your head. I promise no harm will come to either of you as long as you don’t resist arrest.”
“We’re not turning ourselves in. Not until we’ve rescued the witness we lost.”
Edgar Plinski. “You were the ones who gunned down fellow law enforcement officers and allowed Albatross to be taken.” After reading the despicable details of the case, she’d found out the witness’s code name.
“We’re innocent,” he said. “We were set up by the crew who ambushed us. They’re crooked NOPD SWAT officers out of the Fifth District, hired by Bill Walsh. They’re led by Frank Devlin.”
Garcia knew the name. She’d suspected Devlin was dirty for a while, and when he turned out to be the only eyewitness accusing Yazzie and Killinger, it had struck her as fishy. Too convenient.
“If you dig,” Yazzie said, “you’ll find that Devlin and three other owners of The Merry Men bar were out of town Friday.”
The FBI’s top criminal investigative priority was public corruption. Any violations of federal law by public officials at the federal, state and local levels of government. She’d heard rumors about rotten apples in the Fifth District reaching the highest branches of power, but no one had been able to prove anything. One dead end after another. Sometimes literally, with witnesses having accidents or disappearing.
However, a fugitive’s say-so wasn’t going to cut the mustard. Even if Devlin and his buddies had been out of town, it wasn’t proof. It was circumstantial at best.
“We’ve promised Walsh that he can have the flash drive you’re holding,” Yazzie said, “in exchange for giving us back Albatross, alive and unharmed.”
Garcia scoffed. “And how do you see that playing out?”
“I foresee you using the information on the drive to put away Walsh and Enzo Romero. That evidence along with more has been sent to the DOJ. At the meet, Walsh will have his men try to kill us.”
“What’s to stop them from doing that?”
“Hopefully, you.”
“Come again?”
“We’re asking for your help. Call it interagency cooperation. The rendezvous will take place at three o’clock. In a public place that’s less than one mile from where you’re standing.”
The FBI had achieved great success in combating corruption thanks in large part to working with other agencies on a federal, state, local and tribal law enforcement level, including the Department of Justice and by extension the US Marshals Service, but what Yazzie proposed was well outside of legal bounds.
“Give me the location now,” Garcia said.
“I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
Provided he was telling the truth, her people would be able to respond quickly if the location was less than a mile away, but she preferred going in early ahead of time. “If you truly want to cooperate with the FBI, you wouldn’t stonewall. Full disclosure.”
“Proof of our cooperation is on the flash drive you’re holding.”
“Why not share the site of the meet?”
“I’ll give you six reasons. The vagrant, the two sitting on the bench chitchatting like they’re a couple, the tarot reader in blue with sunglasses, jogger wearing track pants, woman pushing a stroller on your left. All six are yours. If I tell you where, you’ll scare off Walsh. He and Devlin will spot your agents.”
“Then how am I supposed to help you?”
“Keep the phone in your hand close. We’ll call again from a different number when the time is right.”
The call ended.
Slapping the flip phone closed, Garcia grunted in frustration and slid it into her pocket.
Jensen stared at her, waiting. When she shook her head that the marshals turning themselves in was a no-go, he came over. “Anything useful?”
“Maybe.” Hopefully. “According to them, Walsh has Albatross. They claim they’re innocent and are meeting Walsh to get their witness back. Supposedly this drive,” she said, holding it up, “has everything we need to put away Walsh and Romero.”
“Why would they give it to you when they could use it as leverage?”
Leverage? Hell, it was probably worth millions. “They say they’re innocent. That they were set up by the people who kidnapped Albatross.”
“Do they know who?”
“Aiden Yazzie swears it was Frank Devlin and several other SWAT officers.”
Jensen’s brow furrowed and he looked down like something had occurred to him. “Devlin was at Avido’s yesterday afternoon.”
“What?” Garcia rocked back on her heels. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He was there during regular business hours. It could’ve been just to eat, and once Walsh disappeared, finding him was our only focus.”
Didn’t it occur to Jensen that the two incidents could’ve been related?
If what Yazzie had told her was true, Devlin probably went to Avido’s to coordinate payment and the drop-off of Albatross.
Garcia shoved the flash drive in Jensen’s hand. “Have everyone stay close by for the next couple of hours and I want you to verify the contents of the drive.” She turned and took off.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“To check the end of the recording from Avido’s. See if we got the conversation.”
Chapter Eighteen
After Bill had waited twenty-one hours, the burner phone on his side table in the small passenger cabin buzzed.
Audubon Aquarium. Send a picture of Edgar Plinski standing in front of the aquarium sign, Canal Street side, by three o’clock, or the deal is off. No Devlin.
Bill chuckled. The gumption of those marshals to think they could dictate to him. Bill would be crazy not to show up with Devlin, the most merciless monster on his payroll, to finish this.
With only thirty minutes to be at the aquarium, they needed to get going.