Dying For LA by Ian Jones (top fiction books of all time .txt) 📕

They got to the street and Pinsky had produced his mobile and started dialling furiously.

Rico stared at him, and then grabbed the phone.

‘Leo. This phone. You said you were in Vegas, you said it all got fucked up. What if they got this number man? They could get a trace on it. Jesus fucking Christ. You’ve had this thing the whole time. And you just fucking killed Greg.’

Pinsky stared at him, angry red blotches appearing across his head.

‘Fuck.’

He threw the phone on the floor and ground it with his heel, then stood up and moved fast back onto the street.

They made their way to a junction and got a cab, telling the driver they needed a hotel. Sal suggested Long Beach, it was all he could think of. They came across one on the freeway with a mall opposite and got out there, making their way over so Pinsky could buy a mobile first and then checking in.

So they were comparatively safe now.

But for how long, who knew?

Chapter Forty-One

The FBI office in Los Angeles is in Westwood, just off the 405 and not far from Beverley Hills, which was where John had been heading back to the Montage when all this started.

He was tired of being in LA, sick of the deaths and constantly coming in last. The last place he wanted to be was in a conference room listening to the FBI bitch about the police, while the police try to blame the army, who have no choice other than to sit and listen.

Judy was there, along with the local section chief, a skinny incredibly grey man called Braxton, who so far had done nothing other than to berate chief Brady about Lieutenant Oakes’ failings. Brady was in the meeting with a SWAT captain called Jennings, who angrily blamed the lack of cohesive intel, and the fact that the army had been involved in the first place.

John sat silently alongside Tom Reed, while Major Turner defended them with dignity.

It had been nearly five hours since the events at the train yard, and they had been in this room for the best part of an hour while the voices got louder and they were nowhere nearer any kind of resolution.

So far he had not spoken a word, and neither had Judy or Reed. And with the exception of Major Turner they were the only ones there who actually understood anything.

Braxton was holding forth about other occasions when he had had been forced to act following a failed police action and turning an even darker grey while he did it.

‘Fuck this,’ John said suddenly.

Braxton stopped talking and stared at him, mouth open.

‘Excuse me?’ he managed eventually.

‘Yeah, what did you just say?’ Jennings asked angrily.

‘I said; fuck this. This is all bullshit. It’s been hours and you have done nothing. We have done nothing. These guys are responsible for the deaths of five innocent women in the subway, whoever they were, a good, honest CIA man and now three police officers. Who knows how many others? And all you are doing is shouting at each other. Trying to blame someone else. You know what? Who the fuck cares? You, and unfortunately that means we look ridiculous.’

He looked at Brady.

‘Chief, it was nothing to do with you but Keane was one of your own. And he was in this up to his neck. So what are you going to do?’

Then he fixed his stare on Braxton.

‘And I absolutely guarantee you that there are people right here in this building who are on the payroll of these guys, so you need to start thinking.’

As Braxton started to bluster, John ignored him and turned to Judy.

‘Judy, we know the mobile is out of action, but we expected that. Anything else so far?’

She smiled gratefully at him.

‘We have some sightings, and they are all being checked. The area all around Hobart has been searched. The cops are doing what they can, they are mobilised right through the city. But as of now we don’t have anything definite.’

‘Ok. And what do we know from the train yard?’

‘Chief?’ Judy asked, and Brady passed round some sheets of paper.

‘We have evidence of six men in the yard, we can’t accurately say how long they had been there but we believe only a few days. We’ve been in contact with the developer, he claims the keys have been stolen so we are taking a good look at him. The dead man in the building, the fat guy has been identified. He is one Yann Voorhees, who is known to us, and also the FBI.’

‘Known why? For what?’

‘He is not a nice guy, he has been indicted on kidnapping charges, not just in LA but also in San Francisco and Richmond. High profile people but he was unsuccessful. In all cases the charges were dropped so they never got to court. He has also been investigated by ATF and Homeland Security on gun distribution, which is pending, he dropped off the radar about a year ago. Born in Johannesburg in 1974, moved to the US when he was five. His father worked for Boeing.’

John pondered the information.

‘I don’t get it. What’s his connection to 1-Too?’

‘This actually fits with how we now believe they operate John. They recruit local cells for certain actions. Vorhees could have been with them for years or just a few months. There is no strict pattern we can ascertain, which is one of the reasons we are always behind the curve,’ Judy told him.

‘Right, so they just turn up in LA and set up here to find these military plans or whatever?’ Brady asked.

‘Keane was only brought in a couple of months ago. It would make sense,’ John agreed.

‘We also traced them to an apartment in Mount Pleasant. They were definitely there a lot longer, but we can only find evidence of five men there. Some of the DNA there matches to the men killed at the Metro station, and again at the