“They’ll go down with the others when we do the raid. Time’s not right yet. We want to nail the big boss—Marcus.”
“Not these kids, Rafe. These are kids who fell in with the wrong crowd for the wrong thrills. Except for Dylan. Lance bought him a Ducati and this is how he has to pay him back. I hate this. Want to tell them to get the hell out before they land in prison.” He thought of Dylan, a nice kid, and not the rough and cocky kids who enjoyed stealing for the thrill.
“Jace, we can offer the kids a deal after all the arrests, but the time isn’t right. You have to keep on them. If you nab Lance, he’ll lead us to Marcus. There’s a plausible domestic terror threat on the table.”
“How plausible?”
Rafe’s voice tightened. “You hear about that train derailment in northern Florida? Found out today ten tons of ammonium nitrate went missing. Devil’s Patrol members were in the same area not long before the derailment. Hell, they might have even caused it to seize the stuff. Chatter has it they plan to do something big.”
His blood ran cold. Ammonium nitrate was a fertilizer terrorists used to make bombs. That amount was enough to blow a city block. The Oklahoma City bomber used only two tons. It was regulated and hard to purchase, but now enough to blow up a city block had gone missing. If the DP planned a terrorist attack, maybe to cover their criminal activities, all they needed was to mix the nitrate with petroleum-based oil and add a blasting cap.
Pow. Major damage. Property destroyed. Innocents killed.
This assignment made him feel like the grime beneath his biker boots. He’d gotten into riding for the freedom and the friends who enjoyed motorcycles as much as he did.
But with this new threat, he felt a grim conviction to do whatever necessary to nail the bastards.
Rafe interrupted his thoughts. “Any leads on Marcus? Anything?”
He plopped onto the sagging sofa and rubbed his forehead. The studio apartment, necessary for his undercover gig, was decorated with used furniture, a far cry from his one-bedroom condo in a respectable community.
“All I’ve heard is Marcus is shifting his attention to something big that’s personal and he needs quick cash. Lance is focusing on making one big score with these kids, and after, lying low. He’s planning a trip to New York to sell the jewels from the last theft.”
“What are your plans, Jace?”
“We have church tomorrow night,” he said, indicating a meeting of the Devil’s Patrol. “The kids will be there for Lance’s orders to pull off this heist. Might get some intel at that point.”
The gang liked him. Most of them, anyway. Called him Gator for killing a gator with his bowie knife and then grilling said gator at a BBQ. They liked that he could repair their bikes and trusted him up to a point. But still, he hadn’t cracked open the inner circle with Big Mike and Lance, and had discovered only a little about the group of young thieves Lance recruited over the past three months to steal for him.
He thought for a moment. “There has to be another reason you called, Rafe. What’s wrong?” His fingers tightened on the phone. Being deep undercover meant little contact with anyone from his normal world.
“Is it my mom? Stepdad? I haven’t talked to them in months.” Not that she’d worry about him. His mother hadn’t bothered to check on him in a long time. All contact was made by Jace, and his mother was always too busy for dialogue. Naw, it was more one-sided, telling him her latest shopping spree and never asking how Jace was doing.
Still, he couldn’t help but hope she cared a little...
“Far as I know, they’re fine. But I got word of someone else.” Rafe’s voice lowered. “Your father was released from prison. He finally got parole. Soon as I found out, I contacted his parole officer. Your father wants to see you.”
Jace closed his eyes. Swore. “Too late. He already did.”
Now it was Rafe’s turn to swear. “Jace, do you need to come in?”
“No. He didn’t recognize me. At least I doubt he did. Hell, I barely recognized him. I haven’t seen my old man in fifteen years. Not going to start socializing with him now.”
“I know.” Rafe’s voice sounded soothing. “Sorry I couldn’t get you a heads-up earlier.”
“You mean in case he takes up with this chapter, or another one, of the DP? Damn.” Jace rubbed a hand over his beard. Laughed. “He had to get paroled now, of all times? Couldn’t they keep him locked up for a few more years?”
“Parole officer says he really did a one-eighty in prison. Taught other inmates auto and motorcycle repair.”
“Yeah, he was always good at that. Taught me.” The irony wasn’t lost on Jace. The same skillset had gained him respect and entry into the DP.
“He had to give an address to his parole officer. I’m keeping tabs on him, just in case he decides to return to his old haunts.”
“Right. Where is he living now?”
A moment’s hesitation. “Why do you want to know?”
“Where is he, Rafe?”
“Jace, you can’t risk seeing him again. You’ll blow your cover.”
“Let me worry about that.” Then, because he and Rafe were good friends and he didn’t want him worrying, he added, “I have no intention of visiting. I didn’t visit in prison, not going to start now. Now, where the hell is my old man?”
“He’s in town. That’s all I can tell you. That and he’s changed. Let it go, Jace.”
“Trust me, he’s still the same asshole he always was.”
“Need to tell you... I have a CI on the case as well, with instructions to keep an eye on your father in case he wants to rejoin the Devil’s Patrol.”
Interesting. “Who’s the confidential informant?”
“You know I can’t tell you.”
He knew, but at least Rafe told him there was a CI. To protect an informant’s identity, the FBI assigned the person classified numbers. As the CI’s handler, only Rafe would know that number...and the person’s true identity.
“Whoever it is, tell them to watch the old man. He’s slick. Gotta go.”
Glancing at the clock and realizing he needed to return to work, Jace stared at his cell phone and thumbed through the contacts until finding it.
